RISEN
A bubbling mire lay on the outskirts of a forgotten ruin, seething with deadly poisons and churning with a sickening sound. Few traveled this way any longer for the area had grown rife with danger and peril and those who knew the way were all but gone.
Old bones lay about the wretched retreat, the collection of lives lost, of creatures that strayed too close, or those who escaped the depths only to succumb to the mire abound. Yet, those bones did not lay still. Some unknown power began to rattle and raise itself from the sunken land, boney fingers clawing at the air, dragging a submerged corpse that slowly assembled itself. There was no flesh or meat left, only old rags, mud, and marrow. As the skull pierced the muck it gave a frightening shriek, wailing at the dreary sky above, making itself known to the world once more, for it had forgotten about him however he had not forgotten the deeds linked to his demise. And so, this driven spirit took hold of its old bones once more and dragged itself away from that place, using some unforeseen power to wield itself together and stagger into the realm of the living.
There was an old tower nearby, decrepit, broken, unwanted, all features they both possessed. It was a perfect retreat for a creature such as himself, especially now that he no longer resembled a man. Clawing his way through the broken threshold that once held a door, the skeletal figure clambered into the shattered refuge. He pulled himself into a corner and leaned against it already tired from the whole ordeal. Though he possessed no breath he was still bound by and energy, of sorts, which limited his activities, for now. Staring through the broken portal from desolate eye-sockets he could see the rain begin to pour down on the marsh, trickling inside from above through the dilapidated roof. At least he couldn’t catch a cold he thought to himself, chuckling at thought. There many things he no longer need fear or fret, though there were still ways to harm him in his current form.
Watching the rain, he rested. It seemed he no longer needed sleep either. Rather, he could allow himself to become still, reserve his strength until needed, seeming quite literally dead. He waited until a moment presented himself, when the storm would aid him in his ragged state. Propped against the wall he remained motionless, cautious, watchful from eyes unseen. The rain fell stronger as the rigid collection of bones stared on, awaiting some sign to stir.
He lay there for three days, motionless, persistent. Death had taught him of his folly with being impatient and ill prepared, costing him dearly once. He vowed not to fail in those aspects this time for the stakes were too high now, so much rested on his return. His patience had brought him an opportunity yet he still had to remain thusly still, watching as a figure scurried toward the ruins he lay in.
It was a young adventurer, seeking momentary shelter from the relentless storm to gather his bearings and rest for a moment. Ducking into the mangled opening, the man let out a heavy sigh, removing a heavy bag from his back and leaning it against the wall. Quickly, he pulled a few items and built a fire with scraps and sticks, attempting to warm himself. After the light revealed more of the room, the man noticed the ugly skeleton leaning in the corner, jaw wide open as if shocked or in horror. He shook his head at the sight, moving towards it and adjusting his stance. To the dead mans amazement, this adventurer relieved himself all over his skull and chest, laughing as he mocked and defiled the remains. After he was done, he turned and foraged for some food from his pack, back exposed to the thought to be dead and threat less skeleton.
He remained patient despite the vulgar display, knowing this to be a sign of inexperience and foolishness. He let the man eat, grow tired from the meal and the warmth of the fire, bedding down and drifting asleep, weary from his travels. Now, the man lay asleep, lulled into a false sense of security, dreaming of riches and women, dreaming dreams he would no longer be able to achieve. The skeleton outside tore from him his own, replacing his bones with the ones of a dead man, stealing his spirit, devouring his soul, and donning his face. The bones that lay in the corner now were fresh and spiritless, jaw agape as if it was in horror at seeing its own flesh move around.
The body was hard to get used to, adding more layers and functions on top of the frail bones beneath. He took his time, trying to remember what it was like to have a body, to maintain one, postures, pains, a prison he had been freed from yet now relied on once more. After working through the motions, he set to work on altering the face of the flesh he wore, not wanting to be recognized as the man who it once belonged. Finding a small pool of water, he gazed at the face unflinching at the sight, wearing another’s skin now as if it were merely clothes. He drew a dirk the man had been carrying, now raising it to his face while gazing at the reflection. First, he cut the medium length brown hair shorter, trying to hide any imperfections in the transfer. Second, he cut a deep gash from above the right eye down to the neck, a heinous wound that would leave many dead. Lastly, and most important, he removed the left eye, allowing him cover part of his face and use the grotesque facade to his advantage. He stared down at the puddle as it settled from the trimmings that feel from his head and face, admiring his work, the removed eyeball floating in the water, gazing back at him.
Now, he was ready to begin his next phase. He would renovate this tower, rebuild it into something new and valuable, it would be a beacon in this unforgiving swamp. His plan was to gather as much power as he could muster, whether it be information, items, or assistance. He would use this body and place to its fullest potential so he could pay the debt he owed. He gazed outside as these thoughts imbued him with purpose, staring at the ruins beyond, swearing to return to that wicked place and destroy it once and for all.
A bubbling mire lay on the outskirts of a forgotten ruin, seething with deadly poisons and churning with a sickening sound. Few traveled this way any longer for the area had grown rife with danger and peril and those who knew the way were all but gone.
Old bones lay about the wretched retreat, the collection of lives lost, of creatures that strayed too close, or those who escaped the depths only to succumb to the mire abound. Yet, those bones did not lay still. Some unknown power began to rattle and raise itself from the sunken land, boney fingers clawing at the air, dragging a submerged corpse that slowly assembled itself. There was no flesh or meat left, only old rags, mud, and marrow. As the skull pierced the muck it gave a frightening shriek, wailing at the dreary sky above, making itself known to the world once more, for it had forgotten about him however he had not forgotten the deeds linked to his demise. And so, this driven spirit took hold of its old bones once more and dragged itself away from that place, using some unforeseen power to wield itself together and stagger into the realm of the living.
There was an old tower nearby, decrepit, broken, unwanted, all features they both possessed. It was a perfect retreat for a creature such as himself, especially now that he no longer resembled a man. Clawing his way through the broken threshold that once held a door, the skeletal figure clambered into the shattered refuge. He pulled himself into a corner and leaned against it already tired from the whole ordeal. Though he possessed no breath he was still bound by and energy, of sorts, which limited his activities, for now. Staring through the broken portal from desolate eye-sockets he could see the rain begin to pour down on the marsh, trickling inside from above through the dilapidated roof. At least he couldn’t catch a cold he thought to himself, chuckling at thought. There many things he no longer need fear or fret, though there were still ways to harm him in his current form.
Watching the rain, he rested. It seemed he no longer needed sleep either. Rather, he could allow himself to become still, reserve his strength until needed, seeming quite literally dead. He waited until a moment presented himself, when the storm would aid him in his ragged state. Propped against the wall he remained motionless, cautious, watchful from eyes unseen. The rain fell stronger as the rigid collection of bones stared on, awaiting some sign to stir.
He lay there for three days, motionless, persistent. Death had taught him of his folly with being impatient and ill prepared, costing him dearly once. He vowed not to fail in those aspects this time for the stakes were too high now, so much rested on his return. His patience had brought him an opportunity yet he still had to remain thusly still, watching as a figure scurried toward the ruins he lay in.
It was a young adventurer, seeking momentary shelter from the relentless storm to gather his bearings and rest for a moment. Ducking into the mangled opening, the man let out a heavy sigh, removing a heavy bag from his back and leaning it against the wall. Quickly, he pulled a few items and built a fire with scraps and sticks, attempting to warm himself. After the light revealed more of the room, the man noticed the ugly skeleton leaning in the corner, jaw wide open as if shocked or in horror. He shook his head at the sight, moving towards it and adjusting his stance. To the dead mans amazement, this adventurer relieved himself all over his skull and chest, laughing as he mocked and defiled the remains. After he was done, he turned and foraged for some food from his pack, back exposed to the thought to be dead and threat less skeleton.
He remained patient despite the vulgar display, knowing this to be a sign of inexperience and foolishness. He let the man eat, grow tired from the meal and the warmth of the fire, bedding down and drifting asleep, weary from his travels. Now, the man lay asleep, lulled into a false sense of security, dreaming of riches and women, dreaming dreams he would no longer be able to achieve. The skeleton outside tore from him his own, replacing his bones with the ones of a dead man, stealing his spirit, devouring his soul, and donning his face. The bones that lay in the corner now were fresh and spiritless, jaw agape as if it was in horror at seeing its own flesh move around.
The body was hard to get used to, adding more layers and functions on top of the frail bones beneath. He took his time, trying to remember what it was like to have a body, to maintain one, postures, pains, a prison he had been freed from yet now relied on once more. After working through the motions, he set to work on altering the face of the flesh he wore, not wanting to be recognized as the man who it once belonged. Finding a small pool of water, he gazed at the face unflinching at the sight, wearing another’s skin now as if it were merely clothes. He drew a dirk the man had been carrying, now raising it to his face while gazing at the reflection. First, he cut the medium length brown hair shorter, trying to hide any imperfections in the transfer. Second, he cut a deep gash from above the right eye down to the neck, a heinous wound that would leave many dead. Lastly, and most important, he removed the left eye, allowing him cover part of his face and use the grotesque facade to his advantage. He stared down at the puddle as it settled from the trimmings that feel from his head and face, admiring his work, the removed eyeball floating in the water, gazing back at him.
Now, he was ready to begin his next phase. He would renovate this tower, rebuild it into something new and valuable, it would be a beacon in this unforgiving swamp. His plan was to gather as much power as he could muster, whether it be information, items, or assistance. He would use this body and place to its fullest potential so he could pay the debt he owed. He gazed outside as these thoughts imbued him with purpose, staring at the ruins beyond, swearing to return to that wicked place and destroy it once and for all.