Story of a Paladin

Samrux

Santa Claus
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Alive is a vague term.

Those referred to as alive aren't compared to the deceased very often. Most people would agree on the existence of a clear distinction: A line, separating corpses from bodies, and slumber from eternal rest. But said line was drawn into our mortal minds by those unknowing. More than the human eye has seen inhabits the depths of the Earth, things that defy what you and I used to know as Life and Death.

Whether by the act of what we would view as vengeful gods, or by cause of those who decided to follow the dark arts, there exist beings whose sleep might be mistaken as permanent, or whose rotten bodies might be mistook as non-living. Yet it is so that from their rest they have woken up. And those corpses, in an act that could be taken from the nightmares of men, have moved again by their own.

There are people, should they still be called human, that are neither alive nor dead.


I am one of them.






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It looks great so far, and despite being on the shorter side, it makes for an excellent prologue or introduction of sorts. Length =/= quality! You definitely have some real skills as a writer and as an artist. I'm eagerly awaiting more of this!
 
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I now write these words in royal ink, and on empty parchments of elder libraries. My hazy memory tells me of my home and kingdom. My warped soul asks me to take vengeance to whatever thing did this to me: I was taken from my own kind, and now reside in a dark structure, only lit by faint, blue flares, and although they comfort me, they are equally as depressing. My skin is now found to be pale, my mind rusty, my spine chilled as I discover that my armor is stuck into my body, and bound to me. Before I started writing I realized, not by sign of my current condition but by an indescribable, persistent feeling, that I have been here for a long, long time. But I can't remember a thing, not one.

Whether it has been a hundred years, or perhaps a thousand, I wouldn't know; I only just woke up.

I am surprised I can maintain my sanity. I am astonished I have the coordination to write on paper without trembling, and without skewing a single line. For since my awakening, my mind has been oppressed, tormented by a horrible, creeping sensation. It is as if my head was being surrounded by an infectious and disturbing fog, coating my whole being in confusion and agony unnatural. It is the worst thing you could imagine; as if your thoughts were invaded, as if your primal being was being violated with you still standing. Recording my thoughts might be keeping me sane for longer. Despite said hope, I can’t but to fear.

This place is unholy over every other; its dark aura penetrates my soul, and my spirit is engulfed in horror from the things I saw. Oh, how distressing it was to open my eyes and not see the slightest, then end up sighting the worst things I have found in my life.

Before starting to write this entry now on your hands, which I take fright might become either my testament or the first chapter of a tragic journal, I had no choice but to explore the place I find myself in. These rooms and corridors are familiar and reminiscent of things I hold in my memory. Yet, it is also nothing like I believe I’ve seen before, and the structure itself is of mysterious origin to me. Still, I was able to traverse much of the place almost with ease, and I found it to be huge, but left waste in its ruined state. It is, despite dark and demonic, majestic, but now bedraggled. The impressive facility seems to be almost completely submerged into the earth below, but not by design; it is buried. Rocks come protruding through from what looks like overwhelmed windows and doors. What a saddening end for what appeared to be an incredible human creation.


To my surprise and awe, continuing my quest then led me to an exit, or so I'm convinced of.






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It just keeps getting better. I actually really want to know what happens next. Very few stories actually enthrall me this much.
I am glad I got your interest.
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And thanks to everyone else I didn't quote. I appreciate your replies.

It would make me very happy if you, reading this, could share the thread a bit if you liked it, in whatever way you can. A status update is small, but spreads easily with a few people, so that's an idea. It's been a while, and I haven't been active. I'm sure some people would really like it, but they either don't know me or haven't checked on me because of my inactivity, or don't visit the literature subforum very often or at all. The suddenness of the thread and the lack of extra commentary were on purpose, though. Tried to keep it serious and mysterious, and I will continue to try so. This time, the story will be much different than last.

To make it clear, I will post a new page of the story every day. The total length is, for now, unknown. But I've been writing ahead. It will be a while until it ends, and will be a journey for both me and the reader
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About the story's structure; I've separated it into pages, to fit the daily fee easily. In the thread, these will be connected by links or buttons at the end of each, to jump to the next, as you have seen. Samrux's symbol is attached atop of every entry, followed by the page number, but this shall be explained in depth later on.

I would be pleased to see some discussion; some theories, some opinion on the story as it progresses. Be sure that every single post will be read, but I might or not give individual replies to each. I don't want this thread to look dead and silent. Having no posts between every entry is no fun, and breaks the point. So go wild!
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Big times are coming.
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Is this parallel to your art thread story?

It's really nice, I really enjoyed reading it. Can't wait to see more!
 
Well, this is certainly one way to slay the Wall of Text!

And great to see those writing skills aren't as rusty as your memory, Samrux! :p (*Addressing the character here*)
 
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The light of day might be that which is faintly shining, with its gentle rays penetrating the contrasting blackness below it, into the corridor leading to the top of the place’s tallest tower. Yet the halls and stairs leading to its inviting balcony, open to the land above, are protected by a strange, magical barrier, that forbids my pass. I cried for help, but there was not a single soul to hear me on the surface, or at least not any willing to aid. Maybe my words were not even able to get through the barrier at all; maybe it was a hopeless act. So, this tower, my only known way out, was proven to be useless for now, but I plan to investigate further due to its incredibly promising nature.

To arrive at that location, high up in the giant building, I had to explore for hours. And the things I found along the way there…

What I found there, what this entire place is ridden with, is of horror and brutality not fathomable by regular, innocent minds.


As I have written, I realize and understand the state of my condition: I am as if my body was not living, because it is not; my touch is cold and dry; I breathe dust. Whatever has happened is not natural, but has rather made me an abomination. What if the torment inside my mind is none but the thousands of voices of the dead, calling, trying to claim my soul? I do not know what or who did this to me, but I oh so wish for it to stop, with all my being.

In the name of all that is holy, this is torture.

What I found in this damned, horrid, perverted place is that I am one of many. Tens, hundreds; my God, maybe even thousands. On the halls I saw multitudes of living cadavers, with their flesh torn off, their faces destroyed, their fingers and hand palms on the bone from scratching the walls of their domain. Rooms collaged in putrefaction and their own God-forsaken dry blood, in a scene that could induce vomiting, and break any man. And they were all moaning. They were all pleading for help, in shrieks and screeches of pure agony.

They want to leave, just like me.





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As I have written, and as you, should someone ever find these documents, have read; I have already realized my condition. I am a monster: a living corpse. What if the torment on my mind are the thousands of voices of the dead, calling, trying to claim my soul? I don't know what or who did this to me. But I want it to stop.

Oh, in the name of all that is holy, this is torture.

What I found in this damned place is that I am one of many. Tens, hundreds. My God, maybe thousands. On the halls I saw dozens of cadavers; their flesh torn off, their faces destroyed, their fingers and hand palms on the bone from scratching the walls. Rooms collaged in what God wish is not their own dry blood.

And they were all moaning. They were all pleading for help, in screams and screeches of pure agony.





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Dunno what it is with the dead having a hard time resting in the grounds of Terraria without their bodies being destroyed beyond their ability to reanimate.
The earth really is cursed, as are a few other things...
 
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