Reman groaned, sitting up slowly. How long had he been asleep? Why had he fallen asleep in the first place? What the hell did that fire do to him? Bah- he didn't have time to ask why; he didn't have time to ask questions at all. His memory was melting away. It was as if he could feel his mind emptying of the thoughts he once cherished. This undeath truly was a curse…
Standing, the undead looked around him. The door to the hag's home, an abandoned cart, and a dead body were the only things in the room, besides that fire. Reman sighed, feeling his rough travelling tunic. This wouldn't offer anything in the way of protection, which he would need against hallows. And he didn't have a weapon of any type, either. "Bollocks…" he muttered, making his way over to the fallen body.
He was wearing a strange set of armor- it was white, primarily made of chainmail. His legs and arms were covered in plate metal, while his head remained uncovered. A spear rested next to him, glowing slightly with what appeared to be lighting. It reminded Reman of the boar hunting spears back home, with the guard preventing the boar from charging into the spear and attacking the wielder. A few arrows were sticking out of his back, but they seemed ancient. How long had this knight been here?
"Sorry about this, chap," Reman muttered, slowly stripping the man of his armor. With one quick tug, the tunic of chain mail slipped off him, followed by the whit cloak. After a minute or two, Reman had removed the white armor from him as well, leaving him in nothing but an under tunic. Out of respect, Reman rolled him under the cart, out of the eye of travelers such as himself. Now came the easy part- suiting up.
Reman had slipped the armor on within a few minutes, making sure each strap was tightly secured, and each plate was guarding his vital regions. He hefted the spear, checking it for any cracks before heading down the path of roots. A large cavern awaited him, lit by sunlight streaming through a huge crack in the ceiling. As he traversed the narrow land bridges, Reman's attention was grabbed by the huge walls of white fog. What could possibly be causing those to appear? So many questions, and he couldn't even begin to find answers to them. If he didn't go hallow, he would surely think himself to death.
The small bridge entered yet another tunnel, this one tipped by a faint light. Slowly but surely, Reman made his way towards that light, tripping over the occasional protruding root. After what seemed like an eternity, sunlight enveloped him, filling him with energy. Perhaps now he could find some answers- his eyes had caught sight of a small village ahead of him, and where there was a village there was sure to be people.
Reman quickened his pace, using the spear as a walking stick. His body still felt a bit damaged, even though it had been restored from its rotting state. Ah, there was one of those blasted fires! A woman adorned in an emerald green cloak stood nearby, gazing out over the ocean. The sunlight reflected off of it brilliantly, calming the undead slightly.
"Um, excuse me miss. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a cure for a curse, would you?" Reman asked awkwardly. What kind of question was that? Granted, it had been a while since he'd had a proper conversation, but still… The woman looked at him, her eyes inquisitive and fierce. She was beautiful- her face looked young, and yet her eyes seemed to emanate age and wisdom. And maybe… sadness.
"Are you… the next monarch?" she asked slowly. "Or merely a pawn of fate?"
"A monarch means king, right?" he asked, wincing at his own idiocy. Hey, when your memories are fading away, you get a free pass on forgetting what words mean.
"Bearer of the curse," she said, ignoring him. "I will remain by your side, till this frail hope shatters."
"Wait, how did you-"
"Take this with you. May it ease your journey," she interrupted, holding out a green flask filled with a strange orange liquid. "Go on, and seek the king. He who made Drangleic what it once was; he who peered at the essence of the Soul. King Vendrick…"
Going after kings now? What was it going to take to get this cure? Perhaps the king knows what could cure him? "Could you at least tell me your name?"
"I have no need for a name… I am simply the herald of the next monarch."
"Alright then. I'll call you the Emerald Herald then, since your cloak is colored like an emerald."
The Emerald Herald smiled slightly, turning back to the water. "Do as you wish, Bearer of the Curse."
Reman smiled happily. He had found at least one… acquaintance. Granted, he didn't know her name, but she wasn't an enemy. And she had given him his motivation. He needed to find the king. King Vendrick had the cure, and if Reman wanted it, he would most likely have to fight his way there.