"Is this all you see, dear Spirit? The eternal blackness that rests upon each of our souls?"
Throughout our lives we create what is known as a personality. It is created from the things we witness and through the things we do and can never be lost, but remember. That which is forged with such ease, can be broken just as easily.
Throughout our lives we create what is known as a personality. It is created from the things we witness and through the things we do and can never be lost, but remember. That which is forged with such ease, can be broken just as easily.
His mind had snapped again, after witnessing another hallucination he had once again lost his senses and delved into the deep cell beneath the burned down Arcane Offices. It was apparent that he'd forgot to bring wine, perhaps a bigger issue was this forgetfulness that plagued him.
The first creature that had appeared to him in the Freisnolder Keep was seemingly the beginning, the further he delved into the darkness, the more terrifying the creatures became. It wasn't long until he witnessed the second in his bedroom, eyes like a dragon and decayed flesh that produced a horrifying smell. Unlike before, he refused to listen to it, fleeing from his home in an almost trance like state.
When he arrived at the old Arcane Office building, he brought himself through one of the upper enterances and rummaged through the ashes until he found his way to the cells, locking himself in one and sitting there in complete silence, apart from the occasional bird that flew in and let forth a sweet harmony for him.
After hours of sitting in his trance, his face grew pale. He realised where he was and knew little as to how he got there. He rattled at the door to his cell, soon simply laying back unto the ground and staring at the ceiling and glancing occasionally to the candle he had lit to brighten the room. A couple more hours went by with only his notebook and pen to keep him company, upon it was a sentence. A sentence written time and time again, scratched into the back of his hand and drawn unto the stone walls with blood. "It's behind me." words written in the Leutz Dialect and seemingly put there to stop him from forgetting.
It took a day for the writing to stop, the man had witnessed day turning to night in only his own company and as I'm sure, nobody would enjoy that.
In the morning of the fifth day of the three hundred and sixth year, after cataclysm of course, the blonde finally looked over his shoulder to witness a being from the Aristocratic District, the same decayed and disgusting figure that had plagued the Nobility with rotted food and dead vegetation. Perhaps he wasn't so mad after all, this was a face he knew from his first breakdown and it wouldn't leave him any time soon.
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