Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24841494-20140407130508/@comment-24841494-20140409195052

Full version. Ultra super rough draft, I need to expand it a lot. Let me know what you guys think.

My first death was excruciating; the pain of the thief’s blade was sharp, and blood flowed freely from my throat. However, the pain of the knife paled in comparison to the sign burning itself into my back. This, I feared more than death. The curse has claimed me, doomed me to an eternity of death and rebirth, of darkness and fire. In my dying breaths I saw the fear in thiefs eyes, and the weakness of his miniscule soul. My body grew limp, then I finally died.



The fire was impossibly hot. I moaned and writhed in the heat, yet the same flame filled me with ecstasy and life. The bones of the undead; now my brethren, fueled this unnatural fire. In life I knew little of the undead curse, simply that it was something to be feared, something that turned the strongest willed of men into shambling corpses, with only two things in mind: souls and fire. I heard rumours of these bonfires, lit by the first flame, all those millennia ago; and fueled by the humanity of those afflicted.



I can no longer remember the faces of those I loved. It seems eons ago, but I have no way of knowing. I have not spoken to another human; undead or not in an eternity. Maybe they have listened to the call of the curse, listened to the call of the powerful souls and the intense fire infinitely far away. What if I am the only one to still have my sanity? Even so, the urge is strong, I can not resist it for much longer.



This broken sword is all that protects me from the hollows. I can no longer remember where I had found it. Perhaps I have always had it. Was I once a proud knight? No, that doesn’t seem right. I must have pillaged it in in my journey; my journey without end. No no no… I must be close. There are more undead here, more hollows, than I have ever seen.



I have lost count of how many times I have died a long time ago. Death is just a minor obstacle for those afflicted. Souls are all that matter now. Souls; and the fire. Sometimes I stare into the fire, and I remember a face. A face unmarred by the effects of hollowing. Not an undead, a human face. A beautiful woman's face. A face with no name, but one that seems so familiar. My tears sizzle and evaporate in the fire.



For the first time on my journey, I came across a man with his sanity. He told stories of a place of legend, a place with many great and powerful souls, a city of kings and gods and heros. He explains that his land’s time is twisted and broken, great warriors known only in legend, grand long dead kings known for their wisdom and kindness, and even the everlasting dragons of the oldest and most ancient legends are all common sights in this land. Perhaps this is where the curse intends to lead me?



I discovered a small black sprite, darkness seemed to be it’s main feature. It felt very different from a soul, but at the same time was very similar. The curse dug it’s filthy claws into my mind, and forced me to crush it. I felt a strange power rush inside of me, and felt slightly invigorated, but nothing else. I continue my journey, but with questions on my mind. Is my quest nearing it’s end?



The great city that surrounds me is in ruins. The cursed own this land now. Great towers are green with ivy, the homes of families are nothing but scattered rubble, and I can no longer hear the screams of the hollow’s victims. Could it be that the land itself is cursed?



The souls fuel me, they are the only thing that feed my decrepit body. The greater the soul, the more it powers me. Every soul I consume fills my body with ecstasy. Souls… I need more souls…



souls of my fellow undead no longer fuel me. I need greater, more powerful ones. I already feel the brand burning me, punishing me for not feeding it. It is almost too much to stand. I must reach this land of legend, I must find more powerful souls…



Each death I feel my sanity slip. my memory fails me and i become more and more a beast of instinct is this what it means to become hollow?



the souls are good here. did I make it? the souls are so tasty mmm this must be it i made it im ade it i made it



hehe i found a good soul. this soul is nice. more souls. more. more moremoremoremore I NEED MORE



what was my name?



wat was it?!?



WHY DON’T YOU ANSWER ME?



i ned soul souls givme soul whydont u givme soul where is souls



(unintelligible scribbles)



The hollow wandered, but not aimlessly. He searched for something: something that everyone had; but was so, so rare. His desire would never be sated however. His desire for souls was too great, and his desire to be human was even greater. His bony, decrepit body creaked and shuffled, the darksign glowing faintly beneath his papery skin. he was barely able to support his miniscule weight. He was dressed in tattered rags that might have once been fine clothing, and dragged a broken sword behind him. In his left hand he clutched a small ruined notebook close to his body. It was not rare for a hollow to hang tightly to habits they had in life. He traveled thousands of miles from his homeland, yet his quest was still not over. For this was the nature of the curse; a journey without end.