Chapter 1: Reborn

The land is strange, a twisted purgatory is the only way to describe it, encapsulated by towering cliffs, where hills seemingly float from the ground and lead to a bottomless abyss, all while an unholy source illuminates the deep hollow a shade of blue, but the strange land isn't odd, at least not to him. Infact one would need to have any sorts of thoughts to think such things.

Getting up from the pillared structure he could feel the coldness from within, a dark ominous chill that beckons him to find warmth. It's an odd sensation that isn't natural, yet a sense of familiarity that harbors only one goal, the curse.

He steps forward feeling his foot slightly sink in as he leaves the rock structure, steping on the ground composed of lose dirt held together by the collection of wild weeds spurting from underneath. He ventures further into the purgatory aimlessly walking, weaving and navigating through the odd formations without a single thought, hearing moans and unwordly sounds the deeper he ventures, but the fear a normal man would have felt is lost on him.

The strange place isn't odd, the blue light isn't frightening, neither are the rotting corpses, but instead he feels one thing.

The curse.

It's all that remains, every action or inaction is that of the curse, there are no more thoughts, no more worries, nothing but the curse. And with the curse comes one desire. Warmth. It is what he seeks and fire is what draws him.

He stops midway seeing an organge light flutter and flourish among the dead sea of blue and black there lies a cottage, lonely and odd, but it is the warmth he desires so he ventures towards it. Opening the door he hears voices, old and withered as a flash of memory strike him and he has his first thoughts that he can recall, he gazes upon three elderly women, their voices are indistinguishable from one another, two seated around a table and the last piering into the fire place, he's not frightened nor is he concerned, but what shocks him are the small flickers of thought in his mind, tiny but nevertheless there, he watches the three as they speak words he doesn't understand from the door, relishing the newfound commodity he once lost.

But regardless, it's just noise to him as he watches with a blank stare...that is untill one pulls a firgure, a rather percurlier firgure, from her long robe, which he mindlessly takes, and like that an unwavering sensation courses through his body to stare into it. The dark firgure forms a face unfamiliar to him, but the longer he stares the more his thoughts begin to form, where once small flickers become large flashes and flashes form into solids, the sensation grows intense as the crackles and laughs from the old lady begin forming into something he can comprehend.

The feeling is ungodly and intense the firgure looms into a ball of light, as the deeper he looks into the firgure, the more he sees. It's face changes as he stares at it, seeing himself, seeing his past, seeing his life, a life he lost long ago, forgotton in his mind, the sensation grows as the world around him forms. His hands shake from the intensity as he feels everything, his eyes finally register what he sees, his ears understand what he hears, it's too much when he suddenly plunges the firgure in his chest trying to reclaim it all.

And for a brief moment he does.

But in a flash his life is gone and his memories flicker from existence, but now his mind is clear and his thoughts are once again. He stares at the old sages as they finish their crackles.

Their adorned in worn out robes, dyed a blood red withered from age, much like them themselves, their faces sunken and used, deep lines formed from their advanced age. They sit carelessly around looking intently at him, it registers in his mind their waiting for a response.

"What?" The word sounds foreign and strange to him, as he smack his lips in shock, it's his first word he has spoken since the curse took hold of him, well that he can recall.

"Your name, you remember your name do you, undead?" One speaks rather annoyed as he grabs his mouth feeling the new sensation of speaking.

"Oh, right." He says sensing their annoyance. "It's...Machru."

Machru, he is sure that's his name, but there is a sense of...uncertainty, it's an odd thought, knowing one's own name as an accomplishment.

"Well, at least he remembers his name." One of the ladys snips out apatheticly as the others nod their head.

"Do you remember anything about your past, undead, who were you before?" The other ask, while her young servant places a plate of food infront of her.

"I...I don't know." He words out.

"Pity." The same one speaks as she sips on her soup. "Thank you Milibeth. We knew of your arrival, that old dear has a way of sending creatures like you, upstairs you will find relics of a past, your past, one of before the curse, Mililbeth will show you."

The old lady says pointing towards the young maiden, who's also adorned in a blood red robe, but much vibrant as her's aren't worn from age. She bows her head and with a quick motion and a quiet, "yes follow me please." Heads up stairs where he slowly follows.

"In this chest your sword and shield lay rest, while your garb is in this one." She speaks refined and kind, a far cry from the senile ladys she cares for, as she lays the two chest infront of him. "You outta change and get ready quickly, the fire keepers don't like guest."

"I will." He musters out. "Fire keepers? What is this place? And why am I here?"

"Young undead, those are many questions where you will find few answers here." She speaks softly. "But further up north there is a place where undead go and rest, it's called, Majula, there is a herald, draped in emerald, who lives there she has the answers you seek. But for now please change the fire keepers don't like to be kept waiting."

Draped in hard leather he feels a tinge of...familiarity, as do the sword and the shield, but at the sametime it feels distant and cold, nevertheless he adorns the armor and makes his way down where the old fire keepers rest.

Coming down one notices and crackles before she begins her speech. "Why if it isn't our lastest undead? A warrior I see, but a lost soul I feel."

"Lost indeed." Another adds.

"You know who I am?" He ask feeling a tinge of hope they might shed light on his past.

"Young undead we know all undead who come through here."

"Tell me who I was before." He ask leaning forward intently.

"Nothing." The old lady answers sternly. "Once branded you are one with the dark, your past, your future is lost to the shadow of darkness, many have come before you and many will come after, and like many have tried all will eventually fail. There is no point in knowing your past for in time it will be lost."

"But I think now, why can't I know?." Machru speaks confused and lost.

"You will in time young undead, now head off to the North, there is a place where all undead go to rest, a place unlike any place you will encounter in this decripted land, there is where you will start your journey."

"What journey?" He ask.

"The journey of which why you are here."

"The curse." The words leave his mouth as a realization sets in as he remembers why he came, and for what.

"Exactly." The old lady states with a grin. "Now go, but remember, hold on to your souls for without them you'll go hollow...who am I Kidding you'll lose them over and over again."

As he leaves their crackles can still be heard through their hut.

There's a calm breeze, a relaxing scene from the hellish place he came from, the town they called Majula he can see. A place where undead go to rest, a place unlike any other in this decripted land, and out in the distance there stands a firgure drape in emerald overlooking th endless sea.

Maybe she has the answers he seek.