I got some parchment from a dead man.
It’s taken me long enough. I thought with all that was scattered around me finding parchment would have been a lot easier. The bottle of ink was simple by comparison. Just sitting on a writing desk in Majula. Mine for the taking. Thinking about it i might have been able to get away with writing on a scroll. But, that seems wrong.
I’ve been itching to write for a while now. I don’t know why. I’m not some scholar. But, this needs to be written down, for someone to find should i not make it. I apologise if my style is terrible. I’m not exactly gifted with this sort of blade.
I feel i should start at the beginning, but too much has happened that my attempts at remembering it would be dulled by more recent events. Too much feels like an understatement, yet it rings strangely hollow as well. I am lost and confused. On a quest with no meaning nor prize. A old lady gave it to me, right at the start, but that was long ago, right back at the beginning.
I shouldn’t ramble, or maybe i should. If this is to be read, i suppose i should make it orderly. But not the beginning. I’ll come back to that when i’ve cleared up the more recent events and got them out my system.
The wharf is the place i find myself starting. Dark, underground. Decrepit. Considering i had started in wondrous ruined towers that seemed to shine in the sun i am unsure how i ended up there so fast. A hole in a wall and a tunnel. Before i knew it i was visiting the underbelly of a society that didn’t seem to be aware it was the underbelly. Bandits and Brigands appeared to be living there, waiting for no one in full armour ready for battle. They couldn’t have been expecting me, yet each of them was ready for combat as if they had been training to fight me for a dozen moons.
They fell to my blade, fortunately for me. Ambush and trickery was not enough and they were weak in their skills, even those who carried two blades seemed to only have a basic understanding of combat. Their dogs were more exemplary at fighting me than they were.
The wharf contained a ship, yet the village lay between me and it. It felt like a suitable destination, one that called to me. Reaching it was taxing, the sheer number of enemy was enough to keep me paced, made me move slowly between their ranks, dispatching them in ones or twos. Were they more coordinated, they would have surely bested me.
It nearly happened at one point. I saw a man, different from the others, drinking a large flagon of what i presumed to be the local ale, if they had such a thing, on the floor above me through a hole in what was once a finely constructed house for an underground dwelling where only the scum dare lived. As i entered i expected little challenge. He seemed different to the others. Still alive, as much as i was anyway. I thought it a good sign until the demons attacked. Strange grey and leather skinned creatures. Protruding arms that they almost walked with. I had faced a few earlier, but always in single combat. As three attacked me i feared for my safety. Their blows tore through what little armour i had and i felt cuts emerged on my covered skin. The trip was wearing my blade out and i was forced to use a weaker scimitar. As i gained some distance i was able to throw a small fire device i had found, more out of desperation than any real tactical illusion. Still, it gave me the moment for victory. Which made it all the more vexing when the next one fell from the ceiling.
Six were killed in the end and the man was still drinking his ale. He was short and stout, like the dwarves of legend. What i had hoped would be a helpful soul was quickly filled with disappointment. Whether the man was had been drained by the events surrounding him or he was simply slow of mind in the first place i could not perceive, but he was another of these damnable fools seeking souls to sate his own lusts. He was willing to trade at the very least, rather than attempt to rip them from me. But i gained nothing from the experience besides a few items to protect against poisons. For all i know they don’t even work.
He was at least more helpful than the next one though. As i rang the bell to call the ship, i saw and knew full well i would most likely be forced to wage war against its inhabitants, the creatures on there being more of the bandits i had faced already. But before i reached the bell i would meet a cultured fellow, sitting watching the ship, with no apparent intention of moving anytime soon.
This man, though he was clearly educated and refined, with a beard that clearly been immaculately trimmed that day, would not give me the time of day. In a land like this where the sane are in apparently short supply, he saw it a perfect time to insult my intellect and send me on my way. I would be the first to confess i am not exactly educated but that should not be enough to not even share a few survival tips with one another. Watch out for knives in the back from people you are a pissant too, would be my wise words.
He didn’t have to warn me of the archers. They were in plain sight from the start. The men below deck however weren’t but in their rush to fight me one found himself thrown to the waters below, and the other fell by my blade quickly enough, allowing me to take out the bowmen as well.
Now, though i had seen the ship approach not five minutes before, i must say it was certainly bizarre to find it empty except for these four scoundrels. Well, almost empty anyway. But the monster i found below deck was certainly not the one responsible for piloting the wrecked vessel. In retrospect the whole experience was rather bizarre, even without the monster.
The monster was two large men, or rather two large bodies connected to one set of legs, though not in competition despite their narrow proximity. He was slow but i felt a single blow from one of his kugdals would be more than enough to dispatch me. His size and the water below deck made him slow though, and i managed to defeat him without taking a blow.
The ship started off shortly after that. It seemed aware of its own destination, whisking me along for the ride. I would have considered myself quite fortunate, to be taking on a cruise with no destination in mind but one apparently set in place, until i discovered that the final destination was a Bastille. One i had just spent my time spending hours trying to get out of, suffering death after death in the process. That’s one of the stories i’ll be getting back to.
Oh, yes, i suppose i should be mentioning that as well, lest anyone reads this with no knowledge of my current condition. I appear to have died several times now, and so far, i’ve been able to get over such an affliction every single time.
I have no idea why.