Story of a Paladin

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Today I saw a spider. I thought it was a miracle to see a living being here, again, after so long. How did it even get so deep below? I watched it calmly for longer than I should have. Then I killed it. I don’t know why; I just wanted to. Maybe I got tired of it.
I don’t know what to think of this. It was alive, sure, but it was also considered vermin. It shouldn't be too bad, but I’m paranoid of my own intentions and mental evolution since the first day I arrived. I don't want to grow careless or even evil.

It’s been so much time already. But even with every capacity inside me to do so, and the meaning that it would give this text if put on it, I don’t feel like making a guess. It also was so that watching the sunray above to count the days and nights stopped helping me long ago. Something, the force or presence of this place, simply doesn't want me to know and sense time, and so I stopped caring.

And so I stopped writing as well.

Nothing to note, apart from things I have found. Since my last journal note I have opened two more rooms: One ramified, connecting it to a few new places to see, and a few more undead to mourn, but nothing of interest. The other contained dust and no more. In the upper levels, moving things around, I found a broken sword too familiar for me. It was very worn out, but it only barely reminisced one of a paladin. Were my comrades in here? It would be like a dream to find one of them, trapped somewhere, but I wouldn't wish for any man or thing to go through the same circumstances as I have; I would rather stay alone forever than get someone to talk to, if that implies that the person would be to suffer as much as me.


God, how am I still mostly sane. The paintings have accompanied me for years now, and their scenes and faces stare at me, trying to make me remember. I now know for sure that this malediction is simply making fun of me, by not simply letting my intellect die off and leave my carcass behind to roam this place as an animal, like the rest; making fun of me by letting, or forcing me, to remain alive and conscious. //






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From now on, a single dash / marks the end of an entry. A double gray slash // marks a separation between parts (Chapter, final chapter note, chapter epilogue). It's totally meaningless and shouldn't even deserve to be mentioned but still.

crackshotCerberus said:
It appears RNG hates you, it took you years to get a broken hero sword.
Click to expand...
darthmorf said:
How do you know you're still mostly sane? Maybe you're not even a paladin, that's how crazy you are.
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You people
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This thing has somewhat renewed interest in my own story... though not enough to get me back to how I was in the past. Hoping that once 1.3 comes around that the creative juices start flowing again.
 
I keep finding your fellow Paladins but they're not dropping any hammers D: (Only hammers they're dropping are the ones they're throwing at me D:)

Still cannot wait for these new chapters!

10,000 pages?? *Grabs popcorn* This is gonna be big!
 
So... did some thinking and I eventually thought of what one of my characters (from my stories) would write to Samrux's character if he found his journal in the Dungeon.

Note: Not asking this to be included in Samrux's story. Only sharing something that I took a little time to write as it was something that suddenly came to mind as a fan of his story. Think of it as something equivalent to fan art, although I'm completely uncertain of where this belongs and what it would be considered.

To, The Cursed One

If you yet still live and still have your mind about you, know that you have someone out there that sympathizes with your plight and even fully understands it. I, too, had been a prisoner and cursed to an eternity of torment. For almost 10,000 years I had spent in that cursed place, completely unaware of the sordid state affairs that had befallen me. To this day I still don’t know when my body passed on but my spirit lived on within the suit of armor that my kind used to brand their prisoners and suppress their powers.

To this, I bare bad news. Something that separates you and I. I had been freed and now walk the world as a freeman, or at least how it should have been. As it turned out, my soul was utterly bound to my armor and I was powerless to remove it. I was freed from one prison but only to find that I now carried my prison and tomb with me.

You might wonder. What did I do to be imprisoned so? Well to that, I answer, is a longer story than what I care to write. Perhaps if you yet still live, and have your mind about you, we could meet and talk. I’m sure, regardless of what I am, you would be pleased for any sort of social interaction. Worry not of the possibility of killing me in this possible encounter. I have ways of giving even the dead stall.

From, a sympathizer,
The Imprisoned

Edit: Right... forgot the R word had a highly offensive meaning to it... even though I believe I was using it in it's proper context.
Note: Edited it to replace that word with a synonym (or at least the meaning I was going for). So... instead of the R word, I put down "suppress" in it's place.
 
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Wait, so we can find a painting of the dryad (pause for shudder out of disgust) In the Dungeon, so that means...that the dryad was around all those years ago ?
 
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