"Never send to know for whom the bell tolls.....it tolls for thee."
Drip….drip….drip….drip… What was that noise? Drip….drip….. It sounds vaguely familiar. Drip….. Where had it been before? Drip… The noise was faint but it came gradually closer. Drip…. What’s this hard thing behind me? Drip…. It’s so cold, and damp. Slowly like the setting sun something of a world came into focus. Drip…. The air, it’s very damp and musty. With a sudden gasp of air, like coming out of freezing water, a figure sits up. Darkness…. Drip…. Am I dead? Was I once? Blue light slowly fills the room. The source is blue designs on his chest and shoulders that peek out of the burial cloths. What’s this? Suddenly the man jumps as the center of his eyes change from glowing red to glowing purple. I can see! The room the man is in is small and made all of stone. Water drips in from the ceiling above and all the evidence shows that this is a catacomb. Who am I? Where am I? As the man looks himself over the black skin seems familiar. Something tells the man that the scales and claws however were never there before. His reflection in a small puddle is equally disturbing. Where his skin was black his face was the color of ash. Oh, it’s just a death mask. Trying to remove it to his horror he discovers it’s part of his face. The white hair and pointy ears give some comfort, though, he doesn’t know why. Searching his memory he realizes that he remembers nothing not even his name. A small bouquet of black roses and ghost orchids lies at his feet on the stone shelf. As his hand touches the petals of a rose there is a swirl of color and images. The sensation makes him dizzy and he jumps back from the bouquet. The flowers have been there a long time. Even in the damp climate on top of the shelf they have been able to dry, the color preserved in the petals. They could be crushed to dust but for some reason he feels they have some sort of significance. They are dear to him though he doesn’t know why. Carefully picking them up by the steams he makes his way out the door and through the catacombs. Water and ruin seemed to be the common theme here. Only bones remain of the people buried here. After wandering the catacombs he finally finds a stone staircase spiraling up. As he gets farther up the stairs the howling of wind tells him that he has neared the surface. A mausoleum; that is where he was, though where the mausoleum is in relation to well anything he didn’t know. The mausoleum stands in the centre of a large weathered and worn looking cemetery. Off in the distance over a twisted overgrown hedge he can see the ruins of very large ominous looking manor. The land here is swampy. Twisted blackened trees surround the manor and its grounds. The air is thick with water and everywhere is the sound of water dripping from the trees or the moss on the trees. The sky is thickly overcast and mist lays thick on the ground. So thick, that the man can’t see anything below his knees. Ahead the manor looks black, a solid monument to the decay of this place. Every now and then in the thick trees surrounding the grounds, shapes of blue spectral fire, similar to the ones that the man bears on his body, can be seen flowing silently across the trees. Everywhere the fire lands the land changes after it has gone. The overall silence of the place makes it all the more foreboding.
On the other side of the manor the grand entryway doors have been torn from their hinges. Dust and decay work on the inside as portraits, furniture, and tapestries seem to age right before his eyes. The cellar, first and second floors with their individual wings all seem to be equally abysmal. It felt as if when the original owners left death took up residence and turned what must have been a grand house into a tomb. The only residents in the manor now were ghosts, and the specters of memories of those that once lived there. The third, fourth, and fifth floors lay in the most ruin. Mostly they were just the skeletons of the walls. In one of the ballrooms the man sees for a brief second figures twirl around the ballroom to the sound of some faint otherworldly tune. The man wasn’t sure if it was his imagination because they were there for only a second and then were gone. After a thorough search of the manor the man found himself back at the cemetery. He was in this world for some reason. He knew it had something to do with the strange blue lines on his chest and a deep anger he wasn’t aware was there till now. Without thinking of what he was doing he reached out to the spirits of nature around the manor and woods. Suddenly there was a large shadowy bear spirit with blue eyes standing next to him.
“You summoned me?”
“I did?” said the man hesitantly
The bear growls a little then replies “you are a shaman are you not?”
“Well, I guess I must be?” replied the man
“And your name?” says the bear a little taken back.
“I don’t know my name, I don’t remember anything.” the man obviously doesn’t like admitting this fact to himself let alone a spirit bear.
“I shall call you Dredge then. Dredge Samhain. My name is Gerben.”
The bear seeming satisfied with the name he had given the man turns and begins to walk into the twisted woods. “Come Dredge I have much to discuss with you. Though neither of us knows your past or why you are here. I think we have a common purpose. Only that would have called me here to you, and only that has kept me from devouring you.”
Dumbfounded with all that has happened Dredge asks the only question that seems to be willing to come out. “And exactly where are we?”
The bear turns his head only slightly as he walks into the woods. “Keep up, this is a dangerous place, and most people know it as the Plaguewrought lands.” Dredge almost in a trance like state begins to follow still clutching the bouquet of black roses and ghost orchids in his cold dead hand.
Question and Answer for Lady Saharel
“Will you date me, even the undead need love?”