Roleplay. the writing game.

Smack!

The sound of Wood being hit by hard metal can be heard behind the Door. With it being shut by the large wooden plank in front of it, the intruders bash at it with their weapons of intrusion.

Smack!

The Benches in the Room are empty, with some even broken or chipped by foul play. The Brick Flooring holding them, with the Pillars surrounding the Wooden Furniture with numbers that rival it.

Smack!

Although many empty, and some destroyed, some have been warmed by the resting of a few. Some wear clothing of Clerics of the church, being clothed with Pilgrim Clothing from head to toe, with a Priest Hood over the Holy Travel Wear they have on. All Sitting, with their heads turned to the ground.

Smack!

Three of these Clerics fill these Benches, with three other beings inside. Each a Stranger, although not to this holy place. Or unholy, for some. One, is clad in thick armor over his body, with leggings of leather, and the rest of his limbs having protection for the joint. His helmet rests easy, with the Lid of the Knight's Helm brought down, with only the many breathing holes exposing its beard. His back being covered by his worn red cape, with his Sword and the Black Long Shield with the Tree Crescent on the Black Surface. Tall, his height over did everyone else in the room, although his legs were on the ground, as he prayed towards the alter of the Gods

Smack!

The Second Stranger in different wear than the Knight. Covered From Head to Toe as well, however by leather clothing, which was thin enough to let her slip pass anything. Her hood covering her entire upper face with darkness. She was sitting on the bench, on the Opposite side of the Clerics, with her Sharp Dagger resting in her Palms.

Smack!

The Third, a Scholar. With Tattered Cloths that have come from the Great Swamp, he held nothing in his hands. He was standing up, unlike the rest, with a Catalyst that was twice the size of this almost six foot man. With the tip of it having an Obsidian end with glue and mesh holding it to the improper staff it rested on. His clothes were grey and black, with many beads surrounding his body, and his clothes aged entirely. As he stroked his chin with his free hand, his hand that held to the Catalyst was lit like a small flame.

Smack!

As the six beings stayed within the Church, the church with broken statues and windows of gods and saints, the Alter in front of them laid a Lady with large robes, with her arms extended for an embracement of another. Who that may be can not be said, although her still frame had a grim smile, with the ageing having it chipped in many places. The small candles around it made the shadow over her seem even more an inspiration of the Grim times of these beings that hold Barricade within the structure from the outside.

Smack!

As the beings are stuck with one another, all never looked as grim as the Statue. The lady thief's expression was none, and the Knight and Clerics all were in a blissful prayer. The Sage, who was the only one standing, was looking with determined eyes, not ever looking away from the Barricaded Entrance.

Smack!

It will only be time, before the Hollows of Undead Burg break it down. But how long?

@much http://darksoulswiki.wikispaces.com/message/view/home/49094223?o=40

sweet. first I'll have to spin up the deal with him and sif then ill get cracking on the darkwraiths but lol

The lights dim, as the sun's rays began to dull from the ever elapsing time of this world. The many windows become dulled, with the shattered holes they had beginning to fade in with the rest of the frame. The Candles beginning to reach towards the bottom of the wax, the lights inside the church starting to lower itself in the structure. The broken church seemed more grim than it once was, as the six beings that reside in their were still Grim as well.

The Large Wooden Doors, which still hold off the Hollow Intruders, was still getting hit by these beings, although the sound had began to become fainter. Perhaps the weapons they used were beginning to Dent and Break. Or perhaps some have lost interest. Whatever reason, the Hollows were still trying to breach it. The door still stands, however a jammed piece of metal can be seen ticking threw the cracks of the wood. As the hollows bag on the locked gate, it seems as though they have resorted to the hilts of what was left of their arms.

And the men, and the lady thief, all were still silent. However, the Knight got out of his kneeling position, and was sitting at the bench by the wooden door, which had been turned to face the breaching process. His cape behind the armor he wore, with all residing on the bench. His Shield resting beside him, and the sword readily held by his left hand. His face was not as blissful prayer as he once was, but the crestfallen expression that was behind the metal sheath in front of his face was a look of somewhat defeat. The Balder Knight, who had been facing to door, had been greeted by the Sage that was standing beside him, who had both hands on his makeshift Catalyst

"Do you think that they will ever wander off once more? To leave this holy place to wither away in peace?"

The Knight looked at the man, with a dissatisfied longing for an answer. The Pyromancer looked at the door, and the sound of banging at the door could still be heard in front of them. The stern face of the Pyromancer showed strength than weakness, unlike the Knight who was sitting by him.

"Tis hard to say. However, I can say that I shall take arms when the times comes of this place being breached. I am not in a mood to die, and the flame will help burn these creatures of rage."

The Knight looked away from the bold sage, and looked at his sword that he was holding. With the sword pointing down, almost touching the ground with its tip. The look iron needle he had was the used as a side sword from where he came from, however his love for the sword was greater than a Rapier, so he kept it as more of its primary sword than his side arm. The Knight was ready for death, he felt, although he did not yern it. Only peace. But it seems that peace will never come to him, where ever he went.

When he was a Balder Knight, he was tasked to hunt the Undead. After his death by the hands of the creatures he hunted, he became one as well. Not only hunted by the Undead, he was hunted by the people he once knew as well. Stranded, he and a few of his kin went to Lordran for some redemption. However, only he remained sane, and he counted himself unfortunate. The knight looked at the ground, in silence.

"Why look so grim?" The Pyromancer said, "Do you think we shall die here? I think I would not be seen favourable if I did. By all rights, you should be happy that your gods have kept you alive, and not like those outside."

The Pyromancer, with his goatee, was rough and shambled. The great swamps had made most of his skin hard and grey by disease and uncleanliness. Despite his stature of roughness, which matched the attire he had on, he was still stubbornly looking at the foes with ever so intent.

"When they breach, I want you to hold with me. I do not want to die, and I am sure you will find peace once we reach safe haven, I guarantee."

"But is this not suppose to be safe haven. Thy gods are not so kind as to struck these beasts of darkness from disturbing a house of god. I would prefer to find peace whenever chance I get, although I grim say I feel none in time."

"We are not alone, Knight. Pilgrims of the gods also hold this fort, and the Lady Thief also holds as well, although her helpfulness I can not say. Together, we can stay strong. As long as you hold your bargain, we shall live another day.'

"Live?" The Knight looked at the Pyromancer from the ground; his face turned from grim to distasteful. "How can we live, if we are neither living nor dead? How can we feel anything, if were are mere shadows of our past? This undeath has been a burden to me, and I see no why for you to be so bold as were. A verminas yourself is the scourge of these lands..."

"Lands that we now share, Knight. Although we might be treated differently if we were alive, we are still not dead. And as we are all together in this one place, can we not set our differences and 'live', despite our sense of Undeath? Hold your tongue of rage for the wrath of the enemy. I feel we may be facing them soon."

The Pyromancer looked away from the Knight, as another Blade was struck threw the Barred Door. More wood splintered than the first. The knight stood himself up from his bench, and picked up his shield with his right hand. Standing up, the Ragged Metal showed more than he slouched, as scraps and breakings could be seen where the iron suit had once been bold. With his sword and shield slothfully lifted up, he seemed more of a warrior than before, although a worn one at that. The Pyromancer started to walk away from the door, and back to the Alter. The Clerics still praying, although one of them had disappeared in the church somewhere. The Thief still sitting where she once was. The Pyromancer was walking by all the chipped and decayed benches, as the sun was finally setting down where the horizon was. The church was getting darker.

...How long?

How long had he been there? Sitting in that small, dank cell? A month? More? The days all started to blur together now. Days didn't exist anymore, down in that cell. There was only light and dark; either the sun was up, or it wasn't. The curse of the Undead removed his body's need for food and drink, but that offered little comfort. It only meant that instead of dying, he would be stuck here in this cell forever, contemplating his miserable existence until he Hollowed.

The worst part was the moaning. The constant moaning of the Hollows, emanating from the other cells he could see through the bars of the door. The sound served as a reminder of what was in store for him: an existence without meaning, a life without life.

The moaning was interrupted by the heavy thud of the body, a strange sound to the man's ears. He lifted his head to see the body of a Hollow, lying there in the middle of his cell. When he looked to the hole in the ceiling of his cell, he saw another man, clad in armor. The armored man nodded to him, and left without a word.

After searching the Hollow's body, the man found, to his great surprise, a key. Hope began to flow through the man; he couldn't stop it. He had been resigned to his fate, and this... this... miracle had given him the chance he needed. He inserted the key into the rusty metal door of his cell, and turned it. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open, a loud creak coming from the hinges. A large grin spread across the man's face, as he took his first step on the path to freedom.

'Shall we?' the gentle voice behind the golden helm asked.

After a split second of indecision, she nodded.

'Do not worry. Master Gwndolin will only assign you what he sees fit. Afterall, we are his Blades. He will not risk us in vain.'

She could almost feel a smile coming from under the metal. Smile or not, the thought soothed her. She stood up, with the orb in her hand. 'I'm ready.'

'And so you sound. Very well. Do as I do, and repeat after me.' She knelt and muttered a very simple verse.



'Sinners that enter The Tomb,

And those that dare offend;

May I deliver thy doom,

And bring thou to thy end.'



Her body lost its weight, and was lifted from the ground. The world faded away, and all she saw was a blue vortex. This was her first assignment.



End of prologue: Selena of Thorolund, Blade of the Darkmoon

Here's an intro to a thing! If people like it I might continue, though I may make my own thread just for the sake of not clogging things up.

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He was promised glory in the name of king and country, that if he served his people, he would be knighted, and showered with honors befitting a great hero. Bright years and legendary service were to await him.

But that all changed in an instant, when a blade, cold as ice cut through the hardened leather armor, and dropped him like a sack of stones. Most stories would end there. However he had been branded with that accursed black halo, just behind his ear, and when he awoke, his body cold and clammy, a miracle would have been the last things the priests of Thorolund spoke of. He was taken, corralled, like so many others, and cast so far away not even the sun's warmth reached most days.

Like so many others he was left to rot in a dank cell with mold and rotting food that would never be eaten, listening to the maddening sounds of those that had long since gone hollow, their cacophonous groans broken only by the stomps and grunts of something much more vicious. What cruel act, what divine being would curse man and woman with this blight?

Days turned in to weeks, which in turn fed in to months, eventually spanning years until count was lost. He had forgotten his homeland, his beautiful wife and her smile, even the smell of fresh air and sunshine were lost to him. Only the occasional ray of cloudy light, and the musty smell of wet air remained, his flesh gaunt, and his body haggard. His own face was a mystery to him now, features not seen in ages but a distant thought he didn't even entertain. He was losing himself, bit by bit. His name was his only sanctity.

"Rekin..." He would whisper, reminding himself of his name. A name made you a person, gave you weight, presence. Those hollows didn't have names, not any more. A name set him apart, even if only by a little. Rekin repeated his name, over and over some days, sitting in his cell murmuring while he awaited the thing that would bring him his final death, or for the last vestige of humanity to fade from him so that he would finally go hollow.

Neither thing came soon enough.

The Knife, so sharp and pointed, was a dirk that was sharp enough to cut a man whole. Strangely, the grey quality of the dagger made it seem as if it was not made out of steal, although it was sharper than the blades of others with ease. The dagger, with an odd-looking texture of abnormal quality, rested in the palm of the hands of a Hollowed hand. Withered and her flesh greyish blue, the Hollow had her head covered by the brown hood that darkened most of her face. Her hair, which was black, was draped raggedly from her scalp behind the face, only only a dab of hair sticking in front of her black, hollow eyes. Her face was grim, like the statue she was facing, although she was not looking towards such a structure. Dressed for stealth, and holding a dagger meant to kill, she was by all rights a killer, a thief. Her lack of muscle and flesh could be seen, as the clothes had somewhat sunk and had air pockets, despite how tight the clothes are. The silence was deafening, with the only sound being the sound of the wooden doors being breached by the Hollows of the outside. The ones that she knew were not like her, mad with an insane rage. As she looked at her dagger more, she saw a darker shadow fall before her, with grey drapes in front of her.

"I Hope you have not hollowed yet. We may need of you when the time comes."

She never stirred, her continuing stare at the dagger was all she could see, with the rest around her being a blur to her. Quite, the man in grey put his catalyst in front of him, and his legs moved, as if his upper body bent forward.

"Listen, lass. You may be silent to me, but your silence will not be accepted by the creatures at the gates. Unless you want to fall like the knight, I think it would be time for us to fight for our lives, or become the subjects of them to come. I hope that you don't go hollow like the rest, once they have been entered. I do not want my throat to be splintered, ya see?"

With no words said, the hollowed skinned lady showed her arm, which held the Dagger she wield. The Greyish Blue skin she had was exposed by the lack of sleeves on her arms, as it extended only to her elbow. The flesh she exposed was almost similar colour to that of the blade she wield. After a while, she put her hand back to where it was. The sound of the door being slammed was greeted with crunching of wood. The Pyromancer stirred in front of her, and she turned her head towards the door. A quarter of the door had been shattered by a mace, and splinters of wood can be seen scattering across the halls. The two clerics still in the church removed themselves from the benches, and had fled to the upper levels of the Church. The Knight, who was standing by the door, had his shield up, and sticking his sword at the hollows threw the cracks and holes of the remaining gate. His stabs were righteous, stabbing at a few hollows with his Side Sword he wield. Daggers and other things were thrown to the Knight, but his shield protected the projectiles. The Pyromancer, who was still holding his Catalyst with both hands, had it pointing towards the door, ready to fight the upcoming horde. The Thief did not stir.

As the sound of the room had began to fill the darkness, she gripped onto her blade with her hand tightly. Whatever she was thinking could not be said. Although the cold grip she had could be said to be something that awaits the end.

The Pyromancer's catalyst was glowing with a heat, like a flame, and the red mist that surrounded it had also surrounded the Pyromancer. With only he and the Knight facing the doors, with others but the thief scurrying away from doom, fire can be seen at the grasp of the Obsidian Tip he had. Sorceries and Pyromancy, she saw from the Pyromancer. As the Doors began to lose its grip, the Knight backed away, standing beside the Pyromancer. When the Gates came threw, the Wood flew across the world, with the Plank that held the door firm had fallen to the ground, with the centre of it being bent and broken, although not split. As they went threw the door, the Pyromancer had the Catalyst grow with fire, and he now only held it with one hand. The other, which had glowed with an Orange Glow, had its palm facing the crowd, as a jet of flame poured threw the door. The Hollows who entered first were cast in flame, and those behind were also caught in flame. Some withered and died, but many went forward in a fury, despite their flesh burning off. As they got close, the Pyromancer stabbed those that went close with his Catalyst that was on fire, and the Knight his sword. The two defended the door, as the Drunk Hollows were coming with an inferno rage. Yet she did not stir.

The Knight, using his sword and shield to defend the Pyromancer and himself from the Hollows, had his metal heated by the Fires the Pyromancer's burning hollows that charged towards him. An arrow zipped through the crowd, and it hit the right shoulder of the Knight, in which case the shield had been moved away, as a Hollow stuck a Sword by his side. Even wounded, the Knight stuck the Hollow with his sword, and brought his shield back up, looking for any more arrows. As the Hollows seeped in, Hollow warriors with shields and spears and swords entered the room, all had their shields up from the fires catching them ablaze. The hollows were closing around them, with the only exit being behind them. The entire mass of the Undead Burg seemed to have poured to his church. The Pyromancer stuck those who came close with his flaming catalyst, and had his empty paw spew fire from what seemed to be nowhere. The knight still stabbed and had his shield up. Both were going backwards, as the burned corpses had lit the wooded chips, and the Church was setting ablaze. Fire was surrounding the sides, with the hollows surround the rest. The only exit being behind them.

Yet the Thief did not stir. She was only looking at her Dagger. Her grey dagger. It called to her. But what it called for was unknown to her. Despite its origin, it was her only comfort, despite the cold grasp it had to her. Despite the terror it had inflicted, with its host being a subject of betrayal. The grey hollow was not defeated, nor was urged to move. Her hollow, empty eyes still stared at the Dagger.

...She did not stir.

OOC: okay everyone. This thread is finally getting a lot of attention that I hoped it would . And sit grows it may become cluttered. Eventually I'm going to request a moderator if there is anyway possibl to start another forum topic. Roleplay. Hopefully then in that section we can fit multiple stories fromhere for each seperate story. I love a lot of your guys ideas awesome!

same, we could actually unite all stories and make a book, which diferent characters for every chapter. no kidding just like lord of the rings started

You mean how the writer was forced to make a sequel trilogy because the first was so popular? or am i getting the wrong end of the stick here..

would you write something that you already have in mind for billions of money?

LOL you know he didn't make that much money while he was alive.. the guy released majority of his successful books (didnt finish lord of the rings then) inbetween WW1 and WW2 lol and film adaptations were long after his death?

not sure but i liked the movies, happy ending, for me

"Come on, they will surround use if we do not fall back!"

The Pyromancer and the Knight were walking backwards, as the Hollows and the Flames were englufing the church. Despite how the church was made out of stone, the furniture was being lit by the Burning Hollows as well, and the Darkness was being absrobed by the fire. The Bench where the Thief still sat was two benches away from being engulfed by fire. The Knight was bleeding from the Arrow and the Blade cut he received, and the Pyromancer was untouched. However, both looked close to be evenly rough of stature. The Duo was still fighting the remaining bare Hollows, yet the ones with the shields who were closing in were slowly approaching with their spears and swords to kill them. The Door beside the Alter, which was being clsoe to lit by the fire, was the only exit reachable by foot. Slowly, the Knight was walking backwards, towards the Door. The Pyromancer did the same.

The Thief, who had been sitting, had her bench being somewhat lit by the fire. She could feel the Leather of her clothes being warmed by the fire. Immediately, she felt uncomfortable, as the cold she felt had stung her flesh, as she felt the warmth touch her flesh as well. Standing up, she saw that the world was on fire, with many of the Hollows trying to reach her and the two who had stood their to fight. As she saw them walking backwards, she turned to head towards the door which the Clerics used. As she hurried towards a door, a spark of flame stood in front of her with a burst, and she stood back. As it withered back, she fastly scurried to the door, and Opened it. Leaving it Open, she left the Two to hold off against the Hollows. They did not notice her move, yet the Pyromancer looked to see the door with a quick glance, and saw that the door was now open. He looked back at the Hollows

"Alright Knight, it is time for you to go."

"What? Are you Mad?"

The Knight had swung his sword to parry off a Spear that lunged at them. It moved to the left, yet the Shielded Hollow did not lose grip of his shield. The Knight held his grown as well.

"We will not die today. I shall engulfed them with the fires of the Flame. You must leave the Church with the Thief, or you will be burned as well. Go Now, I shall be their soon."

The Knight, which had said nothing, nodded his head, and thrusted his sword at the forehead that was sticking up from the shield, a dent was made where the forehead was struck by the Iron Needle, and blood dripped well. He backed off from the Crowd, as the Pyromancer lit the crowd with a Fireball. Their Shields were raised and thrown back, as the Pyromancer Struck One, and went back. As the Knight had left the Halls, the Pyromancer had held her palms together, with the staff between them. The fires of his fist was being lit up, as the Pyromancy Flame was surrounding his palm, with his flaming Catalyst fading of the flame it was surrounded by. As the Hollows were back walking towards them, he bent down to the ground, and swayed his fists to the ground. As he did, the Flames ushered through the ground, and Pillars of Flame spewed from the Ground. Although just flame, stone had begin to chip by the pressure, and the hollows caught by it were burned instantly, with their bodies flying. The corpses flew into the Hollows around them, and they were knocked back by the flaming corpse, with their flesh also sizzling with flames as well. As the Pillar of Flames had chipped the Pillars, some of the Shields and Corpses were also blown to them, and had broken a few of the pillars. As soon as he lifted back up, the Pillars had faded, and only fire and corpses remained. Although the fire could be heard only, he saw eyes of hollows outside in the darkness, looking at him. Without delay, he left with the rest of the group, as the Hollows were left behind by the dead and fire.

The Knight who had left the Pyromancer was walking through the Alleyway. Their was no light other than the small clasps of moonlight that was mostly covered by the structures he was between. The Alleyway was empty, excluding the small rats and litters of rubble. The flame of the church did not seem to light his journey. As he journied through the alleyway, he saw a corpse at the next Alleyway, which lead to the Pathway through the Burg. The Corpse was dressed the same as the Clerics who had left them to die... as well as the thief who had done nothing as well. He felt envy and pity for their leaving and the Cleric's death. He could hear no one walking, nor did her hear the yelps of Hollows as well. He was alone. As he poked his head from the alleyway the cleric laid, he saw that the hollows were surrounding the entrance to the Church, and fire could be seen from the windows and the entrance. Corpses were also running from the flame as well. Yet they still went to the Church, for the Pyromancer who stayed behind. Without warning, he was tugged by something from behind.

Before he could react, a Knife was put to his Throat, and the Collar of the Cap was tugged, making him bad back to the being who held him. The Knife around his throat was shimmering like the Moon. He prayed that it will be quick and easy.

He gazes out at the sun, reflecting on recent events, dreading the final act of a God but finding no other alternitive.

Gwyn's reflection is interupted by the soft scrapping of scale upon marble. "Why, Lord Father, here you are, standing about while our family withers and dies." Gwyn's knuckles crack as his mighty hands clench infrustration at his childs words. Not only at the offensiveness of the words hurled at him, as he has grown accustom to their barbs, but at the truth within them.

"At least the Witch did something about our failing powers." The God of Sun's shoulders tense at the twisted truth. She did something, indeed. She unleashed a hell upon Gwyn's perfect world the likes of which dared not dwell even in nightmares. In her desperation she went out, against the wishes of Anor Londo's ruler, to recreate what was squandered over the millenia. She foolishly thought her flame the match for the First Flame. She and her children have paid for their transgressions and now the rest of the world will as well.

"If it is of any concideration, to my lord father, at least all of his line wont starve to dea..."

Lightning cracked and Thunder boomed as the so called Lord of the Dark Sun was thrown across the room and crashed through the solid marble wall. The fear in the face of Gwyndolin was proof enough that even he knew he crossed the one line not to when mentioning the First Born in the pressence of his father.

The rage faded from Gwyn's face as he turned towards the child he would gladly have given up to just see his first born son again. "Begon, woman. Slither away as I have plans to see to and have no time for you." The last word was said in twisted disgust knowing that he sired...that.

As Gwyndolin dragged itself out of the room, arm badly broken, he could not hide the smirk that lit his face in knowing what he had just goaded his "father" into doing. Soon. Soon there will only be one God in Anor Londo. And then it will begin...

Whistling a tune and skipping silly with the girl to make her smile made me enjoy her company. Such a small spirited young lady out here in such a cruel fate. Why must these endless tragedies happen to these people?...

We were walking along the caverns to the forest, she lit a magic ball of light that appeared when i fought the plant creature. It went through the cave and we saw small roots and glowing flowers until we came into a forest. Beautiful, dark and mysterious it was. It was the first part of nature i had seen in a long while. However... all forests have their secrets...

A flashback of my past:

When i was young, i journeyed with Iriles, my best friend. She was a beauty of non comparison with faded blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes. She was good with a bow and poison, and if you weren't quick enough you may find a dagger in your belly. We sat at a small campfire in the woods, smiling at eachothers company but aware as well. Being young we were not as cautious as we should have. Spirits, glowing things surrounded us. As spirit animals came around and picked up up into the air. Iriles was surrounded by a swan. I was confronted by a white wolf, glaring into my soul. We both were caught unaware and helpless, but they faded into our bodies and we never saw them again.


"Oh sweet Iriles.. how i miss your eyes..." I mumbled to myself
Crosia looked at me with her head tilted. "huh?" she looked at me wide eyed.
"Nothing dear crosia" I smiled and patted her head.

We continued to walk as I kept on my toes as usual. The trees move here.. they whisper to eachother of something unnatural. We are trespassers. Oh please if i have any part of this place please let us pass safely. I pray in my mind that Crosia is unharmed. I have rather taken a protectors stance on her. She is too fragile for this world and she needs to be taken care of.

The tree moved... i saw it, but... revealed a path? Behind it i nudged Crosia in front of me as i walked battle ready. Seeing statues of people i remember stories of cockatrices and mythological creatures hiding in the forest. Hm.. something is familiar but i cant say what it is... Crosia suddenly tripped in front of my and rolled into a mushroom cap. The mushroom popped up and waved at us then walked away. Crosia said "How cuuuuuteee!" she yelped with joy and held one. He saluted and danced in her hands happily then she put him down and waved. I cant say i have ever seen anything like it before, such happy mushroom people living in peace. How do they do it...? Suddenly i felt an ache in my heart. Time to press on.

We continued pass the mushroom people on towards a big ruined forest gate covered in vines. I slashed at them and cut them all down and slowly walked in. The things inside were something of my past... The spirits, they were there. But more of them. "So this is where they came from..." I said to myself as Crosia looked confused. "I dont see anything Lief!" she said.

"Wait... how did you know my...?" She cut me off and then tapped at her wand.
"Magic at its finest!" she smiled sweetly.

I observed the spirits as they looked at me, the wolf. He was in the center staring at me, calling me into his brood of spirits, he proved dominant. The wolf rushed at me as i readied my blade but he stopped right in front of me. The wolf howled loudly and disappeared. Only to fade into the ring Iriles gave me before she disappeared. I felt powerful, and i grinned as the comfort of the wolf with me was satisfying. The other spirits however were not happy. They enraged in balls of light and combined together to make a creature of spirits. The spirit was in the shape of a man.. no.. a king. He held his kingly stature high with his sword on his arm. He raised it at me and i readied my blade as he charged. I parried his hit and went for the stab when suddenly he was behind me! Shocked i rolled forward hoping to avoid the deadly apparition. Crosia looking around confused she ran back away from the ghost and i. "good... i hope she gets out okay" i thought to myself. I was losing the battle. Whoever this was he had the power of many. I kept swing in my form that the blades were taught. Ankle slash, uppercut. slam down. He knew my every move and i thought he had me when i tripped. But..

Crosia looking tough brought the mushroom people to help, they marched and all focused their energies. I saw a bright golden glow from their heads and it homed in on the ghost. It dispersed immediately and i was on the ground catching my breath.

She smiled happily at her cleverness and i just grinned and shook my head. Such a weird girl. But she keeps hope which is what we all need. After we thanked the small people that were only as small as our palms one stepped forward. He asked if he could accompany the green haired princess and she smiled and picked him up and put him on her shoulder. Such a cute thing.

The ghost looked down on the adventurer and his companion.

"He will one day find his true meaning, and the afterlife will return to its glory days" the ghost grinned menacingly and dispersed into small green orbs of spirit light into the forest.

We head back to the castle towns, in search of others that need our help. Hopefully we can help another person out there!

The Pyromancer scurried in a brisk pace from the structure he had destroyed with the flames he had used. His tattered Clothes now had burned black marks along with his grey robes he had on. He himself and the Catalyst were still intact. The scruff goatee had brushes of ash and charcoal on it. It did not seem to light his goatee up at all. His eyes darted threw the Darkness, as he gripped the Catalyst firmly, waiting for another to grab him from the dark. THe knight that ran off had disappeared, and his pressence was gone. Wherever he went, he left no trail. Nor did the thief. However the corpse of a Cleric reminded him that they possibly had been grabbed or killed by the creatures of Undead Burg, if not killed by the Hollows. As he was walking in the Alleyways, he saw light spewing from the roads. Shadows of humanoid beings were running with sticks high in the air. Torchmen seemed to search the streets. However none dared to enter the Alleyway. The Pyromancer clutched to the Darkness, and held his Catalyst tight. He was not in a safe haven as the church. Well, safer haven.

As he waited for the shadows of fire to withdraw, he heard a metal mass being moved from place. At first he did not see where it was, as he darted his head all around. However he saw that one of the Metal grates that lead to the Depths had been opened. The hands of the being had brown robes, and talismans could be seen on the sleeves. The hands shifted away, and opped his head. It was one of the Clerics.

"At ease, brave one. The Depths we have hidden. Come, before they come."

Without delay, the Pyromancer had paced himself towards the sewer ladder. The Cleric went down to allow room for him. As he went down a good amoutn, he sealed the Grate once more, to not attract suspisious eyes. As they climbed down the ladder, the Cleric Spoke.

"God Praise us for such access. I can not say that any of us would survive up their. Pray say, I would rather sulk threw mud than be stacked alive, or go hollow as the rest."

As the Cleric reahed down the steps, the Pyromancer was also almost at the Bottom as well. The Cleric, who had not carried anything before, picked up the torch that hanged beside the Ladder. As the Pyromancer looked and saw, he could see the Depths all around him. It stank of vermin and things he cared not to smell, as well as taste it in his mouth as well.

"Even so, monk, I care not the smells and tastes of carcasses, but the place is more corrosive than so."

He lifted a cloth from under his collar across his face, covering his mouth and nose. It did not push it away, but the tastes and smells withered and became fainter. As he looked at the Cleric, he walked on the dry path of the Depths, with the Torch Guiding them. He kept moving on.

"My brother had run into the Depths with me, but I stayed for the rest to come. Brother Grancun ran out first, to his dismay only quickening his death. Sad, but at all remorse his departure from or way's sanctuary without call was what he deserved."

His browns lowered to his eyes with a Stern Look "It is not so that you had done the same for us. Should you share the same fate as your 'brother'?"

The Monk slightly turnned his head towards the Pyromancer with a Slight Grin. "I stayed to wait for you to depart as well, unlike my other Brothers. If it were not for I, you would have faced the wrath of the Hollows, or worst the Demons that have taken the Burg from the Gods Grasp." He turned his head away, before showing his Grimmer Face. "May Mercy befall those in their sight. I do feel envy for the rest of your Companions."

"The Knight had fought bravely, and the Thief did nothing as you had. Yet both have disappeared from View. Wherever they went, they will probably be safe. The Thief knows her way. The Knight knows how to guard himself. I do not worry them on those regards."

As the Cleric and the Pyromancer had travelled through the Depths, they had passed some rats, large and small, and build ups of gunk in the Depths as well. The 'Gunk' covering the walls, and sticking out of the ground like pillars. The sight was not pleasing, and the little light the torch gave out was injustice to show the entire plagued area. The light had lit the large Depths only a few. That was when the Cleric had turned a left, and faced a Wooden Door. As he was searching his pockets, the Cleric moved the torch towards the Pyromancer.

"Hold these. I need to fish out my keys before we may enter."

"... what is behind this door, monk?"

Keys rattle violently, as many keys were on one ring "The door leads to a staircase and a hidden path towards the upper levels of Undead Burg. Their we can find sanctuary at the church of the New Gods, and use their elevator to reach real sanctuary. Ah, here it is!"

The Cleric pulled out a key from the ring chain, a Copepr Key with three nots and a little pointed end. He stuck the key into the door, and it opened.

"This way, Pyromancer. Safe Haven truly awaits."

As the climbed the stairs, the Pyromancer hand his right hand holding the Torch, with the other holding his catalyst with ease. He used it as a walking stick now. His face had grown weary after the stench had dis-tasted his senses, although he could feel the taste and smell being removed by stale, cold air. He followed the Cleric, who had now both hands rapped in his sleeves snugly.

"What is this 'safe haven' you say? If I recall, a church was suppose to be Safe Haven from evil."

His voice was emotionless, and stern "The Gods did not welcome those with little faith as yourself, Sage. However the Sancturary we head to allows rest for all. Do not worry, I will not faulty you as the rest have. Each is a man of his own, a wise man once told me. All have their qualities to them. Out of the three, I would prefer you than a killer or a crestfallen warrior."

I want to write something, but I have no ideia about a theme right now. This is so odd I used to think a lot of stuff like this when I'm trying to sleep or I'm taking a bath. Can someone give me a theme/character or something?

Go dragonoid! We could use one around.

He was trained since childhood to be a loyal knight and fight for his kingdom, he was trained to be the no diferent from every other man in the land. His father was a farmer but he knew that one day, his son would join the Order of the Holy Knights. But, as he was obsessed by the stories of mighty dragons that used to live among these plains, everyone around him thought he was crazy and a lier

"Dragons? Such things could not existed in our world."

But the new Knight did not lost hope, his grandfather told him everything about how the Great Dragons were slain by the true lord, and how the humanity replaced the dragons in the land. The young one was prepared to face anything in his jorney. Abandoning his friends and family was dificult, but his dreams guided him into a adventure that he would never forget. Traveling by horse, searching the great plains, the deep jungle and even the ancient forbidden forest. As he saw the great archtrees, he barely believed his own eyes. Even more wonderful than he used to hear about. When the night came, and the young adventurer was tired, he searched a place to rest and found a suitable cavern inside one of the trees. As he prepared to sit, he accidentaly opened an ilusory rock wall.

"More caverns?"

He was tired but the new discover made he recover his strenght to travel a bit more deep into the cavern. He made a torch, and helding a knight sword, he could saw strange things surrouding him.

"What are those human statues doing here?"

suddenly, great frogs appeared, the knight was prepared to face them, but he noticed a strange smoke near him, he saw the wood torch transforming into stone, and for a moment he knew what was happening. There was only one thing to do, he took off his heavy gear, holding only a sword, and fast as he was, he could kill all the frogs before they could realese the smoke, but with a cost. All his heavy gear was transformed into stone. Now with only a sword and his faith, he continued his way down into the great tree, very slowly because the of the height. When he reached the bottom, there was a strange light guiding him to outside, to an ancient place that nobody would ever believe. A great black sea, with only some sand available for walking. The place was full of the great trees, so beatiful, he could see his own image in the water. But, distracted as he was, he did not notice a huge serpent head staring at him. He did not thought twice before cutting off that serpent's head. Before he could recover his stamina, another 6 serpents appeared from the black water. He tried to run but those heads could breath a deadly water projectile, so he hid behind a broken piece of the great tree.

"What am I going to do now?"

As he was thinking in a strategy to defeat that monster, he saw a strange sort of scale, and next to it there was a great stone shield.

"A dragon scale! My grandfather was right!"

he took the shield and faced the black monster. No water projectile could destroy that shield so he was safe behind it. Then, the monster tried to smash the young knight, but he defended the attacks of the serpents. After each attack, he noticed that the serpent heads were stuck into the sand, so he cut them with the sword. After all heads were cut, the black monster died before him.

He was so tired, but in any moment he lost hope of finding a great dragon. The sand path guided him into a lair hid inside one of the great trees. He saw a big stone inside it, but that stone as diferent, it had wings! So the wings opened and revealed a great everlasting dragon. The knight felt fear, but at the same time he felt cheerful. So he listened something in his mind, as the dragon kept staring at his eyes, he listened to its voice:

"Young mortal, I am one of the descendant of the great everlasting dragons. They used to rule these lands but one day, another mortals like you invaded our land and killed my family. I could survive the slaughter by hiding in this place, but I am weak. I don't have too much time left, the only thing that could help me are the scales of my family. But the mortals seek them like if they were treasures to them. So I ask you, young one, to help me hunt those who once destroyed our world, in return, I can give you a power no one has ever dreamed about it, the power of the great Dragons."

The knight accepted the offer, and using a dragon eye as his sign, he hunted every mortal who had a dragon scale. After offering them to his master, he gained the power of the ancient dragons. He was no longer human, but something more.

Sorry for bad english, please tell me to edit what is wrong

lol, made me laugh a little bit that, describing the decent to the dragon covenant like that enjoyed it though

The garmets of the gloves laid heavily on the hilt of the sword. Discoloured by age, the blade was once a weapon that even knights would have used, being that of a Greatsword as it once was. With it having a short, cresent crossguard after the hilt, it could have hinted that it once was indeed a sword of massive strength, wielded by only the strongest of warriors. However, the rusted brown texture had faded its great craftmanship away. The upper half of the blade had broken from a fin tip to a shortened blade with jagged spikes at the top. The grip's leather had turned from brown to a burned charcoal colour, with most of the leather fading away, exposing itself the metal underneath, which showed the content of fine steel left untouched by age. Shortened, Rusted, and broken, the blade looked like no weapon for any warrior. Yet it laid in his hands.

His hands gripped onto the grip tightly. Sitting towards the light in front of him. His armor was burned, once was that of a proud knight. The craftsmanship showed that of the regions of Astora, with the Steel Plate Armor being covering the mail and leather underneath. However, the Black and Brown Smudges of the armor showed as if it was put to a flame. The right shoulder piece was missing, with the helmet having a dent on the left side by some club from long ago, Never put back in place. The Standard Astora Helm was Mostly covered by a Hood, which made the being even more covered in Darkness. However the fires made the armor gleam with Yellow and Orange, reflecting across the rest of the Stone room. with his Insigma withered, no hint of origin could be seen, as the Yellow and Black Insigma of the Creature that laid easily on his chest was covered by Grey and Brown Smudges of the Flame with the rest of the Armor. His shield, however, was barely rusted, with only hints of being affected by the Flame he stood by. However Age had taken a good chunk of it.

The Iron Round Shield was rusted at the edges, and the Iron metal is once was, had a leather grasp over the covering of the shield. On it, the loosely stuck leather on the shield had the Black and yellow insignia, which showed more so that the one on the burned knight. The Black Four Headed Serpent, with a Yellow Fierce Lion facing it. The Yellow Lion was biting one of the necks of the Snake, while the other two heads stuck their mouths on the Lions side, and the fourth glared at it with its teeth. The Shield rested easy on a rock, farther from the Fire than the Knight. As their was no other light in the room, the only light in the area was the Bonfire.

The Bonfire, which had a similar rusted sword, however the hilt was different, covering it from a cross-like way than a crescent cross-guard. even more so, the metal had twisted down to the Bones that it laid in, with most turned to ash. However the Fire Blazed High and fierce, and reached higher than the sitting knight. Beside it, a green, somewhat empty bottle laid beside the Flame, yet unaffected by such a flame. The Man in the armor glared at the flame... or at least what his helmet showed. The Hood that Darkened his Frame, and the helmet that protected his entire face, show no hints of anything. He stayed their, motionless, looking at the Flame. Alone, in the empty, cemented cylinder room, with only one way in and out, and the stone structure having debris laying all across the room. Even the Knight used such wreckage for his Homage.

Minutes had passed. Hours, days, weeks... it felt like months to him, although it could have been years. Just laying by the fire... looking at it with all intent. Time passed, but yet he stayed. The Structure had swayed form time to time by the outside, bricks and wood have collapsed and fallen. Yet he remained. The Door in front of him and the walls and flooring covering any outside perspective.

Then, the door opened. The being who entered closed it tightly, as the sounds of destruction could be heard from the outside. The being, as he closed the door, had a Spear at his hand, with a shield on his back, with a sharp dagger seathed on his belt. The man turned and saw what was inside.

He was in clothing of a soldier, wearing heavy leather and some points of steel and iron covering his body. On his right wrist embodied a red cloth around it. His helmet covered most of his head, excluding the face itself. It showed one cut eye, with blood dripping form his lips. The warrior had stab wounds all over his body. However, his faced showed the expression of fear, as his eyes were shot wide open, and his skin was ever so pale. As he turned and saw what was inside, he saw a body of a soldier by the flame, which was blistering upwards ever so high. Although staring at the room, a crushing sound behind him reminded him of the dangers from behind, and laid by the flame. Instantly, the flame blistered and the room was englufed with the queer flame. Instantly as it came, it faded away, and turned back to normal.

The sounds outside became quite, and the rustling of destruction behind was removed with silence. The danger seemed to have withered away. The warrior that sat by the flame now had his wounds seep back into him, with his cuts and jabs becoming scars, and him turning back into a normal fleshy color. Time had reset itself, and he was safe and secure. As he looked at the flame, he just started at it, with the eyes of fear still looking towards the twisted sword. As he stared at it, his eyes calmed. His expression changed from fear to a plain, stern face. He felt strong again physically and mentally. He was prepared to challenge the world once more... until he looked up from the flame.

He stared at the burned, broken knight that sat at the other end of the flame, with the makeshift shield and the rusted sword laying their, with burnt and bent marks all over the knight suit of armor. The warrior Stared at the burned being. After a while of staring, the Knight's Helm tilted up. The man jumped back from his sitting position. Startled, he had his spear ready to jab at the knight. Yet the Knight did not move. Within seconds, the shock left his system, and he put the end of the spear on the ground, using it as a walking stick. Walking towards the Knight, he saw the Broken being that laid their.

"Greetings, comrade. Why do you lay in such rubbish as so?"

the knight did not answer. He tilted his head away form the warrior and back to the flame. Staring intensely a it.

"Crestfallen, huh? Ah it figures. No Man would ever leave his things unclean as thee."

The knight did not answer, "Well, I know what to do with cravens such as ya. I stick them with a spear to save them from their nigh fate. is that what ya want?"

The sword's hilt had been tightly firmed on the palm even more, although the warrior did not notice. As the warrior lifted up his spear, The sword was brought an inch closer towards the knight.

"Well, say hi to the gods for me, I will probably see them soon anyways in this godforsaken place!"

As the spear was lifted forward to the knight, the knight lifted his sword to parry the spear away. Instantly, the rusted sword broke the metal tip of the spear off, and wood and the spear head flew away. Instantly the flame withered away. Without realization, the Warrior was shocked. Instantly, he Pulled out his Small Buckler and the Dagger in his arms. A grasp of war came over his face, ready to jump the Knight once more. As the Knight slowly stood up, he used the sword with his right hand. As he was halfway from standing, he used his other hand to grab the Sword that laid at the Bonfire. Instantly, the flame had begin to somewhat glow on the sword. Holding a Broken Sword and the Twisted One, the Warrior Held a Buckler and a Dagger. Suddenly, he left unmatched. As the warrior charged at the broken knight, he charged with his shield up, and his dagger under it, ready to jab the Knight at the lower end. As the shield was near close to the knight, he bashed the shield with his head, which in turn staggered the Warrior. The dagger hand was still clenthed tight, and had jabbed itself in the metal steel, being held deep and unmoveable. As the Warrior tried to take it out, the Knight used the Broken Sword to remove the hand of the Warrior, in which case half of it still was connected due to the rusted end. Nonetheless, the Warrior Screamed in Agony, as he fell to the ground.

As he still held the buckler with his other hand, the Knight slowly walked towards the warrior. With a hand holding a blade, he sheathed the broken sword into the Sheathe that was on the knights back, and took out the dagger with his new hand.

"Please... show mercy..."

As he meet a wall after crawling away, he could only use his feet and shield to block the endless blows of the twisted sword. As each blow the shield took, the Warriors living hand could feel the strong heat touch his knuckles, and he was tempted to let go, if not for the Sword being his soon lifetaker. Blow after Blow, the Warrior shrunk deep into the ground. his knuckles skin broke, and he feel the pain and itchiness of his knuckles from the irritation from the sword of the Bonfire. After about the 20th blow to the shield, the Warrior let go. The Bones of the Knuckles showed, as they were barely bleeding from the gaps from it. The warrior showed a face of fear in his face.

"Please... I don't want to die! Please!"

The Knight put the sword and dagger hanging from hsi waists. The burnt and twisted helm, which was ever so darkened by the hood and the lack of the flame, showed the deathly quality of the Knight. The Glow of the steel was no more, with it being replaced by the dark aura that filled the room. The ashed and burnt areas of the armor showed well on his armor. He looked deathly, as if the dead was here to take him away. The warrior knew it was the end of him. As the Warrior was bloodied, with a half hanging hand, with the other missing flesh from irritation, he was crippled to fight. As the knight lifted the dagger high, the Warrior flinched and closed his eyes, in fear of death. Seconds passed, and the sound of metal and rock could be heard colliding. The warrior, still struck with fear, opened his eyes. The Knight still stood with the sword in his hand, but the dagger was gone. As he stared at the Knight with fear, the Knight turned around and walked to the Bonfire. As he thrusted the Twisted Sword into the Bonfire, it was lit once more, filling the room with heat and warmth. before he fell to eh floor, he unsheathed the Rusted Sword, and put it in front of him. As he kneeled and sat by the Bonfire once more, he was in the same seated position as once before.

The warrior was shocked with mercy. The Knight, like a still picture, had went back to the place it was at before. The only thing that stuck out loose was himself. As he looked around the room, he could see the bent shield he had once used to protect the blows of the knight. The broken staff of the spear, with wooden chips and the spear head hidden behind fallen bricks. And the Dagger, the weapon he thought was to be his death, was laying on the ground, right beside the floor. As he looked back at the knight, he was where he saw him the first time. Without hesitation, despite the injuries he had, he picked up his bent shield and put it away, and picked up his dagger, leaving past the door. With courtesy, he closed the Door.

Such is the way of the guardian.

Bump*)