We Will Find Our Redemption - Darkest Dungeon Novel

Prologue - The Old Road

Ruin has come to our family...

You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial, gazing proudly from its stoic perch above the moor? I lived all my years in that ancient, rumor-shadowed manor, fattened by decadence and luxury, and yet I began to tire of conventional extravagance. Singular, unsettling tales suggested the mansion itself was a gateway to some fabulous, unnamable power. With relic and ritual I meant every effort towards the excavation and recovery of those long buried secrets, exhausting what remained of our family fortune on swarthy workmen and sturdy shovels. At last, in the salt-soaked cracks beneath the lowest foundation, we unearthed that damnable portal of antediluvian evil.
Our every step unsettled the ancient earth. Hideous, rotten aggressors assailed us from the shadows. We drew what strength we could from our companionship, but we were in the realm of death and madness! In the end, I alone, fled, laughing and wailing, through those blackened arcades of antiquity, until consciousness failed me...
You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial? It is a festering abomination! I beg you, return home, claim your birthright, and deliver our family from the ravenous, clutching shadows... 

...of the Darkest Dungeon.

You will arrive along the Old Road. It winds with a troubling, serpent-like, suggestion through the corrupted countryside, leading only, I fear, to evermore tenebrous places.
There is a sickness in the ancient, pitted cobbles of the Old Road, and on its writhing path, you will face viciousness, violence, and, perhaps, other damnably transcendent terrors.

So, steel yourself, and remember, there can be no bravery without madness.

As you traverse the nightmarish landscapes, each locale reveals its own unique horrors, echoing the torment that lurks within the human soul.

Beneath the earth's suffocating embrace lies the Warrens, a labyrinthine network of tunnels and filth. The air is thick with the stench of decay, and the ground squelches beneath every step as if the very earth resents the intrusion. Shadows dance grotesquely along the walls, and the flickering torchlight barely penetrates the pervasive darkness. The Warrens are a breeding ground for unspeakable monstrosities, where the boundaries between vermin and nightmare blur into a grotesque tableau of suffering.
The salty embrace of the Cove whispers of a watery abyss that devours both light and hope. Jagged cliffs give way to a foreboding expanse of churning waters, where unseen terrors lurk beneath the surface. Ghostly mists shroud the shoreline, casting a pallor over the skeletal remnants of ancient sea creatures. The relentless pounding of the waves echoes the ceaseless torment that pervades this desolate coastal realm.
A primordial forest, the Weald exudes an unsettling vitality that seems to resent the intrusion of mortal footsteps. Twisted trees with gnarled limbs intertwine, creating an oppressive canopy that barely allows glimpses of the dimly lit sky. The air is heavy with the musk of decay and the rustle of unseen creatures. In the Weald, shadows play tricks on the mind, and every step feels like a descent into a labyrinth of perpetual twilight where ancient, malevolent forces stir.
The remnants of a forgotten civilization stand as silent witnesses to the ravages of time and malevolence. Dilapidated stone structures reach towards the heavens like skeletal fingers, casting eerie silhouettes against the blood-red sky. The air is thick with the whispers of forgotten souls, and the ruins seem to pulse with an otherworldly energy. In the Ruins, the past and the present converge in a macabre dance, and the boundary between the living and the spectral fades to a tenuous thread.
Perched on the precipice of desolation, the Mountaintops offer a desolate vista of jagged peaks and swirling mists. The air is thin, and the wind carries the mournful wails of unseen specters. Barren rocks jut out like skeletal spires, casting long shadows that stretch across the harsh terrain. The Mountaintops are a realm of isolation and desolation, where the unyielding landscape mirrors the relentless trials that await those who dare to ascend.
A ghastly court of blood-soaked decadence, the Crimson Court is an opulent nightmare draped in tattered elegance. The air is heavy with the scent of iron, and the walls seem to bleed with a perpetual crimson glow. Decaying tapestries depict scenes of debauchery, and the courtiers, trapped in an eternal masquerade, exude an otherworldly allure that conceals their vampiric hunger. In the Crimson Court, the boundary between seduction and savagery blurs, and every step is a dance with the macabre.
Nestled in the darkest recesses of the realm, the Wicked Camps are a collection of malevolent enclaves where the wicked congregate. Shrouded in perpetual night, these camps exude an aura of malevolence that seems to seep into the very soil. Dark rituals unfold beneath tattered canopies, and the air is thick with the acrid scent of burning offerings. In the Wicked Camps, the boundaries between sanity and madness dissolve, and the whispers of unholy pacts linger in the chilling winds.

And now, knowing what you know, you stand at the precipice of revelation, a hesitant traveler on the brink of a descent into the abyss. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, a palpable force that whispers promises of unearthed truths and damnable revelations. Whether you are willing or unwilling, the narrative unfolds its gnarled tendrils, beckoning you into the heart of the story, where the darkest secrets of the world lie in wait.
The path ahead is veiled in shadows, each step a decision etched in the annals of fate. Willing, you tread with a courage that borders on foolhardy, drawn by the allure of forbidden knowledge that casts its seductive spell. Unwilling, you may feel the weight of trepidation, the apprehension clawing at the edges of your resolve, as if cautioning against the horrors that might be unearthed. The tapestry of this tale is woven with threads of intrigue and dread, and as you venture deeper, the narrative unfurls like a map to the abyss. The characters you encounter, each bearing their own burdens and secrets, become waypoints in this odyssey. Their stories, intertwined with the tapestry, are but whispers of the larger, looming truth that lurks in the shadows.
The world, once familiar, now reveals its hidden layers, the façade of normalcy peeling away to expose the grotesque and the sublime. You, the reluctant explorer or the intrepid seeker, are a vessel for the narrative's unveiling, a conduit through which the enigma of the world manifests.
Behind every door, within every cryptic passage, and beneath the surface of every uttered word lies a revelation waiting to be unraveled. The pages turn, and the story pulses with a heartbeat of its own, a rhythm that quickens as the layers of deception are peeled away. Whether driven by insatiable curiosity or propelled by circumstances beyond your control, you press on. The journey ahead promises no respite, no sanctuary from the gnawing tendrils of the unknown. The narrative, like a siren's song, entices you further, daring you to confront the truths that have festered in the shadows for too long.