Apologies for the long silence. I've had a lot on my mind and with college, I've had to seriously reshuffle my priorities and consider where I stand. The passion to write, and achieve, left me for the longest time, so I've done my thing and hung in my basement, playin tuh derk soos and shutting the world out.

This is the first thing I've written in awhile, other than my novel, and I consider it a gift to all of you, and a chance to contribute something to the world. Entertainment. Talent. Inspiration, whatever, and for your patience and understanding, I thank you.

Umbasa.

Verriar Nox.

Fear the Old Blood.

The stream gently wound through the valley, or rather, a shallow ravine between a pair of hills. The creek was down so low, there was more bank than river, long swathes of grainy sediment and sparse grasses covering the way, swaying in the chill breeze under the overhanging trees while the water splashed over the heavy rocks, down the way.

Aura followed close, her back rigid and she held her shoulders, as she often did, her cloak drooping at her heels as it swept through the puddles of water at points, everything damp with rainfall. Her catalyst, a short, blunt staff of wood Straid had blessed with the force of his ancient soul, was close to her side, the thing secured to her leg with a fine leather strap, Aura having gained a few sorceries already.

Straid said she had strong potential, though mostly unrealized due to her lack of wondrous souls, but for now, she need only worry about the basics, Aura accepting his wisdom in kind, grateful to have such a talented teacher to guide her through such strange times. According to Vance, her skill in swordplay was pathetic to put it lightly, so it was a good thing she could just "tip her stick and they die", though she still needed practice hitting a moving target. Or a stationary one.

Bridget was ahead of her, insisting the hollows in the area were gone, and it was safe to proceed, though she was still vigilant for danger, until she finally led them to an alcove in the wall of the valley, a bonfire burning gently on hollow bones.

"Here."

Aura nodded, resting by the fire while Bridget unpacked her things, laying out some food and water for them, her strength returning immediately as she basked in the bonfire. The deprived never knew what they felt, when the undead rested. All she felt was a faint warmth, a comfort for when she got weary, but her wounds didn't heal. She didn't feel all of her stamina being restored. Her mortal body still craved, her infant mind clouded with shame and doubt.

Her stomach growled, Aura grimacing as Bridget handed her some tough, dried meat and a few lumps of hardened dough, from the camp. She appreciated the food, feeling like her jaw would come out of place as the incredibly tough meal refused to budge, but nonetheless being filled by it.

"This is a good place," Bridget remarked, surveying the valley with a wistful look, "Nothing but hollows from The Great War, a few remnants of the past, but you shouldn't have trouble." Aura finished drinking, drawing a long, chalky hunk of ivory wax, imbued with an old charm, gazing at it with hesitation.

"Are you sure it's safe?" She spoke, her voice the barest whisper, as it usually was.

"Definitely." Bridget said, sounding more pleading than certain, "Engaging in Jolly Cooperation will only help you in the long run. Other undead are just starting their journey, by helping them, you can get stronger as a fighter."

"And…" Aura shook, still hesitant, "What if they don't like me?"

"They'll love you." Bridget said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Trust me."

Aura nodded,

"Okay, I'll try." She touched the stone to the surface, trying to spell her name, each line wobbly and uncertain, Bridget guiding her hand, until a barely legible signature formed, glowing brightly after a moment.

"Perfect."

"Mmm." Aura nodded, gazing at the mark and trembling. It was Bridget's idea, since Aura's training hit a dead end at the Bastille. Since the incident with the Brother of Blood, she refused to let Vance out of her sight for additional training, and for good reason. In barely concealed conversation, Vance said she learned more in that skirmish than weeks of "jacking eachother's swords off", Aura knowing he would take her to the Bellfry for more "applied training".

The Bastille had remained under siege since long before she got there, and now there were only two wings left untouched. One was a great tower with a grand bell, which Straid said he did not recognize. All attempts to explore it had failed, as an endless column of invaders swarmed the area in defense of the bell each time, leading to a prolonged stalemate with the covenant of bell-keepers. The other was a so far impregnable fortress, spanning a tall keep overlooking a bridge, which constantly rained arrows, to a deep shaft all the way to the water, the structure crawling with raptured hollows and great undead aberrations. The undead had taken heavy losses, but they were desperate to find the one with a great soul, Aura learning the significance:

To break the binds of hollowing, and try and save their respective homelands, there were rumors of four great beings, that when slain, would grant them the power to reach Vendrick's castle. They didn't know what came next, all they knew was the need to seek out the king. More prevailing rumors postulated that it wasn't four beings, but four kings: four great lords of the land, who fell ages ago along with their kingdoms.

Either way, they had reached dead ends and stalemates across the map, and were willing to do anything to end the deadlock, Bridget using the opportunity to take her out for a summoning. According to her, through the sign glowing between her legs, undead could call her into their world, so she could help them overcome challenges for souls and experience.

She spoke highly of gold phantoms, as bright as the sun, and her desire to be one of them, one day. They represented hope, loyalty, and light in a time of darkness, and with a near zealous fervor passed on tales of their glory, though she needed to make pilgrimage to one of the rare alters of sunlight before she could truly be one of them. All she had were their teachings, and a few of their miracles, passed to her by true warriors.

It was becoming clear to Aura she was caught between the two of them; Vance wanting to turn her into a blood soaked warrior, able to conquer the world by force, and Bridget wanting to convert her to the light, become one of a group of undead struggling to conquer the curse by living to some higher standard.

This mark represented Aura choosing what side she wished to align with, if she could call it a choice.

"How long?" She asked, Bridget seeming far more accustomed to waiting than her,

"It depends, the link between worlds is always changing." She noted, "Don't worry, I'm sure someone will pick you."

Aura hung her head, noting her old, petrified branch, thin dagger and raggedy clothes, since she was too weak to wear any armor. Who would want her?

"Hey, cheer up." Bridget insisted, "Just give it a little time."

Aura felt something in her chest, perking up and thinking it was an invader, a shiver going up her spine. She stood, feeling her body go numb, rubbing her hands on her arms only to have the feeling fade, like she was rubbing herself out of existence, the deprived looking down and feeling her heart race as she shrieked.

She was vanishing! Her arms and legs were turning transparent, her chest starting to gain an almost frosty texture as she saw the grassy knoll materializing through her hands, Bridget's hands wrapping around her-

"Breathe! Breathe!" She shouted, getting more panicked than Aura "It's alright." Aura's vision turned black, her entire body numbed as Bridget's hands passed through her, Aura breaking off and watching herself disappear, her cries silenced as blackness overtook her.

Another hollow was sliced in two, its blackened blood spilling on the ground. The sister of blood slouched over, trying to catch her breath as she placed the long, crescent reaper on her back, eventually falling back on a tree to rest herself, its skeletal shadow resting across the ground like a boney hand. Everything here was steeped in death, ravens flying in great swarms over the mostly dead, bleached trees with hollows wandering the woodlands, covered with dirt and moss, remnants of some great undead purge centuries ago, the dilapidated army of the dead harassing her everywhere she went.

While she regained a lot of her old strength, and some new, Umbri was still having difficulty managing. She regained the use of her magic, or at least some, but the forest was so vast, covering every horizon around the treacherous, deep cliffs, she grew lost and disoriented, having to hug the overgrown, cracked paths through the copse.

But, she couldn't give up, even with an old, cracked bone able to return her to the purgatory. She was searching for someone. There was talk of a great black wizard in the wilderness, who could teach her new, deadly dark arts. While she was temporarily pledged to the Brotherhood, and the Chaos flame hidden within, her ultimate goal remained the same, only the power of the abyss could elevate her to a higher realm, and any knowledge of the dark should unlock was a priority.

Besides… To Umbri's humiliation as she recalled her time with the Brotherhood. The Arena was not going as swimmingly as she imagined. Her wile, charm, and seduction were useless there, in fact they seemed to tear her apart with even more fervor, taunting her afterward in whatever way they saw fit.

They were smart, strong, and deadly without equal, many of the visitors from other worlds having already achieved a level far beyond hers. It was clear clinging to the arena, where even at the highest echelon she could be roundly beaten, would cause stagnation in her, but she needed to win more duels before she was permitted the use of the coveted Red Eye Orb. She had used a few mock ones in her time, though she wasn't properly equipped to be a real threat yet, but this wasn't one of the disposable, cheap ones she used in case of emergencies, no, Titchy Gren had, in his little mind and body, the power to forge a true eye orb, one that could be used limitlessly and with no drawbacks.

With the power of dark, she could slay countless, their souls bolstering her rise to power. Still, she couldn't help but feel deep frustration. She hadn't had a good lay in months, hadn't slept right since joining the Brotherhood, and was getting only scraps of souls from the hollows she cut down out here. As if to tease her senses, her covenant ring continued to feed her bloodlust, so much so she stole a crescent scythe from one of the towering behemoths in the moods and had been using it to rip and dismember her hollow victims, imagining they were weak, pitiful undead like her, only they didn't have what it took to survive, alleviating her lascivious inclinations.

Umbri smirked on that, getting up from her tree and heading down the path, no longer concerned with the blackened, tainted blood dripping down the back of her pantlegs from the cruel weapon on her back, used to the smell. She knew what the Arbiters thought of her. They preached she was a perverted harlot, with an unquenchable thirst for souls, sex, and blood, that she was an insolent wretch that was not to be trusted. That she would have a rose in one hand and a dagger in the other, for anyone she advanced on.

Well, she thought they were a gaggle of pompous, egotistical megalomaniacs who needed to wake up and realize the cozy, "honorable" world they cling to is dead. Every established nation fell to war and genocide, every great king had vanished or died, Heide sunk, though they tried their very hardest to cling to the ruins and claim they were still a relevant power in this day and age.

Slave to pleasure? What was there but pleasure, here, where the entire world was trying to kill her, where even in the most civilized places invaders could spell death, where the future was uncertain, nothing but entropy and hollowing.

In living as she did, as a cursed hollow, she was losing- what?

Maybe there was a reason she was gripped by lust, wherever she went, but she forgot. And if she remembered, it didn't matter. Umbri tripped herself up on a rock, cursing herself and realizing she was falling asleep on her feet, daydreaming.

How infinitely inadequate- how entirely powerless-

When she found her body, when she got her old power back, on top of these newfound souls, she would teach the world to respect her power. Afterall, what was a monarch but an undead who refused to surrender their dream?

She felt a tingle run up her spine, her crest of blood acting up. She stopped, looking about and drawing the great, crescent sickle from her back, noting her catalyst at her side.

Whoever it was, she would teach them to invade her world. That is, if she could find them.

She looked left to right, all around, gazing intently through the shadows around her.

She could swear she felt the presence of an invader, but they were nowhere in sight. She raised her sickle, her crest of blood so excited she was trying hard not to let the ecstasy overtake her, her skin tingling. Having her natural, base desires and savagery multiplied in the presence of a target was useful, but she would still need practice to get it under control.

Finally, she swore she caught movement, focusing on a stretch of trees, and realizing there was indeed a near-invisible entity there, only as he got closer, he didn't seem to turn visible from being transparent, but fade into being, as though he was stepping through a waterfall, his presence between this world and another.

He wore dark, rusted and decayed plate mail armor, fitting his arms and legs snuggly, his form framed by an ancient, shredded black cloak, as though it had been torn by thousands of brambles over the ages as it was coated with ground in dust, dirt, and blood, bits and pieces and scraps of it flying all around him in a cascade. His face was obscured by a hood, which seemed to merge with the cloak. Though he was getting close now, he made no sound when he moved, and his face was completely obscured by shadow.

Umbri gulped, the Forlorn figure reaching behind him and drawing one of two great weapons from his back, the motions of his arm jilted, disjointed as his whole body seemed to twist around, his hand grabbing the top of the reaper and drawing it in front of him, the Forlorn grasping it in both hands and moving towards her in awkward, shadowy movements. It was like a hollow, but his presence felt… wrong, unlike a hollow, undead, or phantom…

Without any shame, Umbri found herself disturbed by the incredibly eerie figure and readied her weapon. The Forlorn's weapon was similar to her own; a scythe built for slashing and rending flesh.

Only, his was infinitely more hellish, while Umbri held a sharpened sickle of deadly old steel, she couldn't begin to imagine was his was made of. It was like melted, flowing bone, or some form of black, partially melted rock, the red pits all across it radiating with faint, dull red, the embers jaggedly reflecting from the scars and nicks on the ashen grey blade. Rather than a sickle, it was a true scythe, a savage crescent blade affixed to a twisted, gnarled staff of petrified wood.

No. He wasn't a hollow. He was something infinitely more eldritch. The lost soul went from a slow walk to a dead sprint, the burst in speed causing the sinner to jump and draw her staff, firing on it. Within the flash of her soul bolt, the Forlorn was gone, Umbri still feeling it and sweeping in all directions.

She felt the blade before she saw it, the weapon making a shiiiing as it sliced through her minimal layers of armor, the sinner feeling blood pour from the wound as she turned around and threw her body into a slash, hitting the air as a ghostly wail seemed to echo around her from the lonely, soul-starved figure. She felt another slash over her side, Umbri watching the black blade rip through her hip, the sinner crying out as it went through in one clean slice, turning and this time seeing it vanish, as though his body were made of smoke, scattering with every breath.

She couldn't see him coming, and is she didn't hit fast enough, he'd become intangible before she could strike. She took a massive gulp of Estus, limping to the side and seeing the shadow of the blade in the moonlight, Umbri using her good leg to jump to the side, watching it narrowly miss her, the Forlorn seeming to more glide then walk, his face still hidden in shadow. The wounds barely healed, Umbri feeling her blood pour over the ground as they tried to close, but the skin on her side was blackened at the edges, afflicted with some form of necrosis being fought off by the Estus.

His scythe was steeped in dark, and seemed to bleed her straight to the bone, Umbri using her stamina to keep out of his reach as he swept towards her in a great, vertical slash from below, the scythe missing, only to reverse direction and sweep back down at her, The Forlorn pursuing her aggressively now, like she was trying to fight off a gust of wind. She realized how lethargic she was, trying not to lose any more blood, rolling past him when he slashed down.

She went for his back, the scythe striking nothing as the armor and flesh turned to dust and harmlessly evaporated around the blade. She saw the shadow of Forlorn swooping down on her, Umbri hitting the ground as the scythe swept across, nearly beheading her, the Forlorn hitting the ground in a shower of shattered metal.

She ran into a more open spot, realizing that while he was completely invisible in the shadows, the moonlight seemed to make his form more solid, at least enough for her to see him coming, his blade appearing by her, Umbri turning to face the ghostly figure, his face a black void as he swept his scythe to the side.

She stepped past the blade, grabbing the shaft with her hand and pulling him in, bringing her scythe down on his shoulder, the sweet sound of punctured metal reaching her ears.

The Forlorn froze, his hood turning towards the mark, more confused than anything. Umbri felt a pit open in her stomach, pulling her scythe out and feeling how little resistance there was, how she felt the blade move freely inside the metal, and how his face was still missing, even when she was so close, she could look through his empty hood to the bloodstained fabric on the other side.

He wasn't hollow, he was dead. Umbri backed closer to the cliff's edge, to hopefully keep him from getting the drop on her. He could not be harmed, but… he had to have a weakness, there was no way he was completely invincible.

She threw down her useless sickle, drawing a flame in her hand, and a staff in the other. He was incredibly fast, but she had heard that soul arts could damage the dead, miracles were the best, but this would have to do.

He faded in, Umbri leaping to the side to evade his slash, shooting a bolt of energy through him. The soul arrow punched through his armor, the sides smoldering and the Forlorn actually reacted, a moan escaping him as he staggered backwards.

She concentrated another shot and fired again, the lonely figure shattering around the arrow, but she was ready, concentrating her pyromancy flame, feeling the pressure building as she looked for the shadow. She yelped, her breath catching as a greatsword lunged from the ground and impaled her abdomen, the Forlorn's hand leading him from the ground as he lifted her into the air.

She shot the spirit point-blank, using her soul to try and divert it around her body as she covered the partially submerged figure in a gout of flame, all her pain and rage combined, the inferno burning her eyes as it blew over him, pouring over the ground in a liquid sheet breaking at the edges.

She felt drained, the blade impaling her lurching forward, blood spraying around the edges as the virulent weapon bit into her. The flames left behind a suit of armor, burned black and crackling as it warped at the front, the hood and most of the cloak turned to ash.

The arm held her aloft, Umbri's bleeding hand clutching the hilt to try and hold herself up, her grip slipping on the slick, porous surface, finally gathering the strength to bring up her catalyst and shoot it more, one soul arrow after another burning through the Forlorn, though he showed no signs of pain, even as deep, acrid smoke begun to pour from inside his armor, the invisible essence he was made of catching fire and sending dark sparks over his body, a moan leaving him as he burned up.

The blade turned intangible, Umbri falling flat on the ground as Forlorn rose up, towering over her. His blade turned substantial again, the headless, burning figure starting to shake and quiver as fire poured from inside him, black smoke billowing from within, escaping every joint and segment of armor. Yet he mechanically, slowly rose his sword to finish the crippled undead. Umbri clutched her staff in both hands and fired one last, great soul arrow, drenched in energy, the violet bolt bursting his chest, clear through to the other side.

He went rigid, his hand breaking off, letting his bloody greatsword impale itself in the ground. Immediately after, he came unglued, his body breaking apart into a pile of scorched, smoldering armor, the traces of unnatural life leaving him as it all piled on the ground. The bizarre soul poured into Umbri, who immediately drew her Estus and drank deeply, nearly passed out on the ground.

It had been a very long time since she'd had such an exhilarating fight, even if she could come back, making up all that distance would be horrid. And, she had never encountered anything like the Forlorn before, the sinner feeling herself tingling with curiosity.

Whatever he was, he was more than a simple dark creature, and there was no way he was a creature of the light. It only made her more motivated to uncover the abyss, assume the mantle of the Darkwraith, to come closer to that kind of power.

She went to the body, inspecting the remains and finding the armor was destroyed beyond all hope of repair. A shame. His greatsword remained impaled in the ground, Umbri about to move on, when she spotted a malign, dark weapon lying in the grass.

She crouched down, pulling the Forlorn scythe from its rest, bits and pieces of scorched armor falling off, where it's former wielder fell on it. Just looking at the wicked blade made her wounds hurt, Umbri adjusting it in her grasp, strands of humanity seeping down the blade, the red pits seeming to glow brighter in response to her touch.

In fact, just holding it seemed to rouse the darkness in her, the cursed blade in turn feeling sharper, stronger, the crest of blood settling comfortably around the shaft. It seemed she'd salvaged a useful trinket from this encounter afterall. Granted, it was a lot heavier than what she was used to, and it was meant to be wielded with grace and skill a little beyond her, but she would adjust very well in time.

She pulled a scorched belt from the ground, finding it strong enough to secure the scythe to her person, finally moving forward, spotting a small, dim cavern across the way.

She hadn't been looking that way before, the skirmish with the Forlorn throwing her sense of direction off and facing her the other way around. Umbri thought it couldn't be a coincidence, working her way through the forest, into the mouth of the cave, wincing as she limped along, still needed time to recover.

It was so dark she could barely see, even with the moonlight filtering through the open mouth, the sinner casting an orb of light over her head to open the path, illuminating the desolate grey space, water pooled among the stalactites.

A shadow fell on the far wall, highlighting a single, lonely figure in a high-backed chair. His head and face were covered with a black, white-blotched cowl, his body garbed in old, heavy robes in dark blues and greens, Umbri stepping closer. He faced the wall, staring into it with his odd blindfold, nothing but cold rock and phosphorescent flows to occupy him in the chill, dank space.

He didn't register her presence a moment, even as her shadow fell over the wall, the Forlorn scythe's blade silhouetting her. Then, he perked up slightly, as though in epiphany, raising his head.

"The dark stirs."

Dark. It was so dark. Aura was breathing heavily, hunched up, her whole body still numb, though sound and a very faint sense of touch came back to her, the young woman hearing herself sob, shaking up and down. She had her hands pressed to her face, slowly taking them off and opening her eyes, though she was afraid she would still see herself melting.

She was semi-transparent, but solid, her form fuzzy and insubstantial, with a bright, glossy white glow to fill her out. She studied her hands, turning them this way and that, still in a little disbelief, but she felt real again. She felt eyes on her, freezing and looking up.

A small band of undead, all in pretty shoddy shape, were all staring at her, Aura sheepishly standing up. A feeling of vertigo overtook her as she realized her movements were muted, and while she looked solid, she felt as though she were hovering above the ground.

They didn't address her, merely walked on, Aura falling in behind, duly noting how unimpressed they were. Bridget said that was fairly common, some summoners were polite, others saw it as a simple necessity, and were more intent of getting where they needed to be.

Bridget told her it didn't matter what they asked for, or how they treated her, her concern was to make sure they made it safely to their destination, and make sure no harm came to them. Aura was hesitant, and a little uncertain as they made their way along the valley. She had no idea how useful a guardian she would be. She couldn't even protect herself, let alone shoulder the burden of protecting them, and Bridget talked her up and down about how important it was she didn't get herself killed while co-operating, that there was no greater dishonor to yourself letting the hosts of your world get hurt.

She kept in step. Until several hollows appeared around the corner. They were grotesque, zombie-like figures, their skin melted and decaying as they shambled along in their patchwork, worn armor. They all moved as a fairly singular unit, advancing all at once, the hosts getting their weapons ready, while Aura drew her makeshift catalyst.

Though it wasn't an official catalyst, Straid had assured her it was more than formidable enough to serve her until a suitable replacement could be found, though she had no idea what it would do to a living thing. She drew it close, feeling her soul direct power through her, into the rod, and accumulate at the top. She thrust forward, shaking the mass lose and using her practice to project it forward. It moved like a blue comet, streaking through the air and striking a hollow in the chest, and while it didn't do anything too dramatic, the bolt punched a circular, cleanly scorched hole through him.

Moments later, Aura felt souls enter her. Vance said magic was for cowards, but she couldn't deny feeling safe as she used her aim to shoot down more of the hollows, one at a time from behind the group of undead, who were holding back the group of deprived with relative ease.

She heard something behind her, turning around and yelping as she faced a hollow that had gotten up from the ground, his front coated mud where he had lain flat. She more stumbled than jumped out of reach as it swung for her wildly, Aura dispatching it with another Soul Arrow.

She turned her focus back to the undead, heading where they were and continuing to offer them ranged support. She felt disturbed seeing one body after the other fall, but Bridget told her it wasn't that bad, that they were no longer human and she needn't fear hurting them.

They made it a good distance, reaching the outskirts of a fortress, its mossy, broken walls looming over the river, the smell of the ocean coming over the ridge to Aura. Would she see it again?

They all stopped, the lead figure looking around as a sound echoed through the valley. It sounded like a screech, like a seagull she had heard, only far more fearsome.

Aura heard a bang behind her, turning around and seeing a figure rise from the dirt, a great eagle circling overhead. He was enormous, at least twice her height, and hundreds of pounds heavier, with deformed, thick silver armor depicting the faces of the dead. His one eye glowed a bright crimson through his visor as he rose to full height, the dirt around his feet getting blown around as he started to hover midair.

He tucked a sword longer than she was too the side, Aura hearing the other undead scrambling to escape, while the lost girl herself couldn't process the situation, watching herself start firing soul arrows on reflex, only for the monster to shift his shoulder, a massive silver shield blocking her soul arrows effortlessly, the azure bolts shattering against it, leaving the beast completely unphased.

He tilted, lunging forward, his shield like a stone wall as he picked up momentum, Aura turning and sprinting as he picked up momentum. She was laboring to breathe as she ran, until she caught a flash of silver, cartwheeling through the air, the world a blur around her.

She landed on her back, her head to the side, seeing her lower half, from the abdomen down, tumble to a stop nearby. It took that moment for the pain to catch up, Aura puking blood and strangling herself with disgust, unable to move. The silver knight hovered over her, Aura's core shaken as he heavily dropped to the ground, angling his sword, the blade glowing a fierce blue.

Aura shielded herself with her arms, mustering a scream as he plunged the blade through her, the arcane energy searing her to the core. She felt it spreading through her, burning, her vision going black.

She jumped upright and ran, getting tackled to the ground, Aura continuing to scream and struggle to break free.

"It's alright! It's alright!"

The lost girl continued to struggle free, stopping more from exhaustion than will. Tears pouring down her face. Her entire body felt fragile, sensitive, the white, ethereal glow gone from her, though she was in one piece.

She pressed her hands to her stomach, still feeling the pain, watching her split body spilling out. She vomited, her face red as the armored paladin squeezed her tightly.

"You're alright."

Aura's sobs continued to wrack her as she went limp.

Vance was right. She couldn't protect anyone, even herself. Had she not been a phantom, she would have been killed in one strike. But, if she was, who would miss her?

She was nothing, no-one. She was a weak, fragile little mind in a body that belonged to someone else. Her vison filled with that knight, the great, dark silver knight and his piercing, red gaze as she passed out, too weak to hold on.

"Ah.. yes…" The sage mumbled, his focus uneven and scattered as he studied the savage, life slaying blade, "A long time ago… someone… tried to destroy- the Dark and the light… wanted to end it all… created… something else… something… new…"

"So it's outside the cycle of light and dark?" Umbri commented skeptically, "how?"

"Lost… that knowledge… is unknown…. The king's brother… Aldia… he had… an obsession… he wanted…. to end the cycle then he just… vanished." He stuttered, "now… they wander… all over. No world to call their own… the F-Forlorn are the worst… k-k-knights… lost their bodies and their minds."

"How do you know that?"

"N-Navlaan, the Royal Sorceror, we hexers are a lonely lot… we share what we know… he understood… the depths of magic… Chaos… the Dark. T-tried to steal Aldia's knowledge to achieve resurrection… V-Vendrick… hated the idea, and wanted the power to stay S- S- lost. I knew him, once."

"How many hexers are out there?" Umbri insisted, "I need to harness the abyss if I am ever to become the dark lord."

"How right you are," Felkin nodded, "I- I- we… all grasped different aspects of the… Dark, but N- Never could we unite our knowledge before the curse claimed us. I knew Navlaan who… he wanted to achieve the art of manipulating… evoking… life, ascend his magic to a n-new purer form. Straid was fascinated by wondrous souls, even the… the dark ones… he was petrified… before… before I could learn from him. I- I learned to harness the Dark within me… by feeding it souls. But… I… I would never surpass my master… Grandahl. He- V-Vanished during the inquisition long ago, and Grandahl had… a man he once knew… he hailed from a l-land far in the North, blessed by the war god, Faraam. He was- great, beyond words… until he went on a journey of great hardship… and disappeared a long time ago. He traversed a l-lost kingdom and N-never came back. It's all quiet now, h-hard to say who is alive to pass on the torch."

"Grandahl is alive, I spoke to him." Umbri said, "He told me to seek a deeper dark, that is why I came looking for you."

The edges of the outcast's lips turned up, rumpling the this, unshaven black hair across his face.

"Yes… good news… very joyous news… h-he opened the chasm? That was his dream… to see the Dark that drew me here so long ago. He could peer into the… deepest Dark, and never lose his n-nerve like I did."

"Yes, he did." Umbri nodded, itching with anticipation, "My desire is to follow him into the void, but I can't do it without help."

"Then… come closer… I… will teach you everything I know. My knowledge… is yours."

Now it was Umbri's turn to smile, the Forlorn scythe shining as she strode towards him,

"That's just what I wanted to hear."