Tales of The Dark

Journey of a Misguided Soul

Stepping beyond the wall is your first mistake. Were you brave or stupid to ignore the skeletons embedded in the stone? Their gaping jaws screamed warnings no longer reaching the air around living ears, but they have no kind words to share about what lies beyond their posts. What caused you to wave aside the warnings of the divine guards that walk the perimeter in their shining armour? What pushed you here? Was it morbid curiosity? Or did something lure you in? Nevertheless, here you stand in the land cursed by many angry souls...

Where will you find yourself first? Perhaps the broken hills, where the terrain has been carved into chunks. An invisible push that heaves them aside to rise as tall as any building you've ever seen and leave crevasses that sink to depths unknown. You do not want to know them. Those who have been fools enough to glance in the cracks between only see pure darkness. Is it the wind whistling through the underground-compelled caverns or is it the screams of those who fell before; who are still falling? Do not make the same mistake they did. Stick to the path. That long and winding path through ever-shifting earth...

No matter how long the road may seem or how hard the sun beats down upon your back, do not seek out the shade. In this land, the dark will offer you no sanctuary. It will muddle your mind, make you forget your past tracks. Where was the path again? Pray you find it before your broken mind is lost to the broken hills forever...

Should you survive, soon foliage begins to grow from the cracks. You'd think this is a comfort in this strange land until you see it bleed. Red drips from the early leaves, forming pools at its roots. Footprints of small creatures leave barely perceivable imprints in the dirt, leading towards the plant but never away. It takes glee in that fact. Its brethren rise into the sky behind them, dark trunks and leaves unashamedly red. There is a path that welcomes you into the blood-tinged shadows.

In the shade of the forest, the trees groan, hungry for their next meal of more than sunlight. Uncountable unofficial burials have taken place here for the soldiers of the past who thought themselves brave to enter the woods. The brave and foolish, strangled by vines, slashed by thorns, drowned within the blood of their ancestors or.. Is that a stab wound? In a corpse just off the worn path, tangled amongst the weeds, blood weeps from the open cut in its stomach. A wound of that size, you realise only a sword could have caused-

Then you feel the air shift. You are no longer the only humanoid here. Are they human anymore? Does the distinction even matter when, animal or human, you know that they will hunt you. You do not see them, but they definitely see you. Just ease away, continue on your path. Try to pick your way between the vines that drape themselves in your path, their thorns tearing at any skin you foolishly left exposed. The shifting in the shadows turns into a sprint. You have no choice but to do the same, compelling your body to move rapidly, surely drawing the eyes, ears and limb of every hostile thing around you. Your feet pound the packed earth, your ankles threatening to roll on raised roots. Even as you feel your pursuer get nearer, the forest itself presses in. Is it behind you? In front? It toys with your fear, getting closer and closer, its breath upon your neck.

You break the cover of the bleeding trees, it must be upon you now- It has stopped. The shadow of your pursuer pauses at the boundary and turns, slinking away. Why would it stop the hunt when its prey was so close? You now stand in the answer. Chalky white, dead earth crumbles slightly beneath your feet. You turn to face the path ahead and it is empty. Nothing stands between you and a walled city by the sea. Nothing between. They lay beneath.

Each step you take, filling you with hope, sends vibrations down into their bones. Those who fell never got to rest in peace. And now, you trespass upon their ground where they try so hard to find that quiet end. How disrespectful. Angry restless souls do not sit idly by while intruders make a mess of their bed. It's subtle at first. They look like little white shoots of some peculiar plant, growing slowly, reaching for the choking sky. Soon enough, a whole skeletal hand has clawed its way above ground. You tiptoe around the grasping bones. One fatal misstep and one wraps around your ankle. A chill shoots through your nerves, sending your leg into an involuntary spasm. You shake it away only to reveal more of the arm and a gasping skull emerging through the crumbled earth. You're free, but it's starting to pull its torso above. You're free, but other skeletons are doing the same. You're free, but the wind in this flat expanse moans through the bones, permitting their long-dead voices to call for retribution. You're free, but only to run. Through the rising dead, your feet swipe past, colliding and scattering the arms that reach for the closest resemblance of life.

On the horizon, a vague image of civilization. Walls of hard grey stone reaching up into the sky; a beacon against this bleak landscape. It's your only hope of not joining the fallen that continue to reach for you. So you run, with a goal in mind. The loose earth slips beneath your feet. Behind, you can hear it shifting as the skeletons lift their full bodies from their unmarked graves and begin their pursuit. You may have the energy that comes with life, but their hunger for a living body and their overwhelming numbers poses a staggering threat as you continue to weave between the uncovered bones, each at varying stages of digging themselves out. You continue to fight through the dirt and bone, getting closer and closer to refuge.

With your heart pounding, by the time you get there, many fallen soldiers have clawed their way out of the ground, some still wearing the dishevelled armour they died in. Luckily for you, it weighs them down just enough to give you extra time to hurl yourself against the towering gates to the city. You beat your fists upon the heavy wooden door, praying they let you in. Praying for sympathy. Salvation. Anything but the torturous afterlife that awaits you in the embrace of the fallen- Someone opens the door!

Hurriedly, they usher you in and slam the door, leaving the dead to crash helplessly just out of view. Fighting for your breath, your mind returns to you. So many questions flutter to the forefront about the land you had been told never to travel. What type of person could survive in such a hostile place? Someone of great power, surely, but your rescuer is small. No overpowering strength to speak of, and their limbs did not seem nimble enough to handle the terrifying ordeal beyond the walls. Their mind must be sharp then! You know what a sharp mind can mean. Magic! But magic comes from the area; a caster must use their surroundings to manifest and to influence, what is there to use here but fallen bodies? Then you recall corpses can be used in that most soul-shaking of practices. Necromancy.

Your "rescuer" smiles at you. A glint in their eye. They look inwards towards the city. Already, you can hear people conversing, muttering, whispering. As they take up your arm and guide you onwards, you would hope that the necromancers inside would find you better company alive, but your hopes were dashed long, long ago.