In the beginning, in a barren land shrouded by fog, great archtrees and everlasting stone dragons ruled across the cracked and ruined earth.
But then, came the Fire.
And with that Fire, came disparity; heat and cold, life and death and most prominently, Light and Dark.
And from that Dark, They came; all clamoring to the Fire for the Lord Souls trapped within.
Nito; the first of the dead.
The Witch of Izalith; and her Daughters of Chaos.
Gwyn; Lord of Sunlight, accompanied by his faithful Black Knights.
And the furtive pygmy; so easily forgotten.
With their new-found power, they challenged the dragons.
From there, Gwyn unleashed his mighty bolts of lighting and peeled back the stone scales of the dragons. The witches weaved storms of fire that burned the dragons to ash. Nito unleashed a potent miasma of death and decay, reducing all the dragons to nothing but rubble. And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own flesh and blood as they all fought back the dragons until finally, they were no more.
Thus began the Age of Fire.
But, eons of years later, the Fire has begun to die, the flames have begun to fade and soon, nothing but Dark will remain.
And now amongst the living are those branded with the accursed Darksign, the Undead, burdened to see no more days, instead, only eternal nights.
Now, all over the earth, Undead are corralled to the Undead Asylum, where they are left to rot until the end of time itself.
But, legends also speak of the Chosen Undead who would return to link the Fire…or to end it and bring in the new Age of Dark…
This is your fate…
Within one of the damp and aged cells of the Undead Asylum, a place to where all Undead are banished to await the end of time itself, a figure is sitting down on the floor, his back up against the wall as he stared through the hole in the ceiling.
So many suns and moons had passed overhead, so many days and nights since he was banished here and left to rot out the rest of his unending life. He let out a raspy sigh before looking down at a set of numerous keys in his hands.
Before he was branded by the Darksign, he was a notorious bandit who would steal from both the rich and the poor, yet ironically never took a life in his whole time as one. All the keys he had acquired allowed him to break into and out of almost any building or residence. Ironic, how every one of those keys meant nothing now, with each key being unable to open the door right in front of him.
He returned his attention to the hole in the ceiling, expecting to see the same sun he'd seen every day. But to his surprise, there was now another figure looming over him. The man was obviously a knight; his lustrous steel armor and regal shield proved it. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, the sound of the moans of the other tenants in this prison echoing with the wind, until the knight pushed in what looked like the body of a guard. It fell down quickly and hit the ground like a sack of bricks, the sound of a few cracking bones resonating through the hallway.
The figure looked down at the corpse lying in front of him. While there was nothing spectacular about the guard's weathered leather armor, small steel ax hilt, there was another key on his body which almost seemed to beckon the man. The figure looked back up to see if the knight was there, but to his dismay, all that was there was the familiar sun and sky he had gotten so used to.
The man walked over to the corpse, pondering whether or not he should take whatever was on it. He had taken many different objects, both treasure and trash alike in his lifetime, but never had he taken from the dead. But now was not the time for remorse, and the man took everything that the corpse could offer. The man, now donning the guard's leather armor and wielding both the small hilt, walked over to the rusted iron door.
He looked at it for a moment, its sturdy yet extremely rusted iron bars were the only thing keeping him from the outside; keeping him from his freedom. Yet as he moved the key closer to open the door, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety wash over him. Could he really survive out there? Could he really abandon his own little piece of sanctuary, no matter how melancholic it may have been? Could he really face whatever would be thrown at him and withstand the burden of what would be placed on him?
Quickly shrugging off the numerous doubtful thoughts racing through his mind, the man began to feel for the keyhole on the other side of the door. Once he found it, he stuck the key inside and attempted to open the door. Despite how easy it was to slide it in, the key was almost impossible to turn inside the lock, until finally the man heard a loud click. He gently pushed the door open and took his first step outside his cell for the first time after what seemed like eternity.