Introduction - Awaken

 A sound echoed in the dark. It distantly tapped until the taps became thuds that grew closer and closer. The sound, however, trailed until finally nothing was heard again. Suddenly, with a loud smash, something fell from the ceiling. Being drawn to the sound he walked in its direction. He was tired, his limbs heavy. How long had he been walking?

A warm light peaked over the horizon, and with every step the darkness receded. The light grew wider and wider, yet with its growth, its warmth seemed to grow colder and colder. His feet grew heavy beneath him, his shoulders tight, and his fingers stiff. He realized then how heavy his eyes felt, so heavy he wondered if they were ever open to begin with. Like the rising cold light – his eyes peeled open.

Before him was a room, and in front of him, close to the far side of the room, the source of the sound: a boulder. His stiff neck moved and followed his eyes upwards towards the ceiling. Not a boulder, but a part of the ceiling had crumbled to the floor. By discovering the chunk’s source, he revealed to himself the vastness of the room – the ceiling so high it was cavernous. Behind him a source of light dimly allowed him to see, and in doing so cast a long shadow. Yet the source of the shadow was coming from where he was in the room.

He was sitting, he realized, his stiff joints responding. The fatigue of his previous journey dashed away, and he wondered if he ever had been walking. He shrugged his shoulders attempting to move the stiffness from his body when he felt something in front of him. On top of him, to be more accurate, were dark lines. As his eyes became more adjusted, he saw them as a formation of rib like stones, which enveloped him and caged him to the chair in which he sat.

There was a sharp pain in his chest as he moved. Had he taken a breath yet? This thought made him panic, and he realized he could not. A lump in his throat seemed to keep him from taking a breath. He struggled to force whatever the lump was out – his mind beginning to haze from the lack of oxygen. With one last conscious thought he calmed himself down and allowed the lump to pass freely. The lump, however, passed over his mouth as nothing but air in the form of a deep sigh.

The air in the room stiffened from the sigh, and a wave of rushing air centered around him burst forth and climbed up the walls. The wave dismantled the stone like carcass that had ensnared him to the chair and forced him into the air slightly onto his feet. The room rumbled, and with the shake the dim light behind him grew into a wide overarching light source which illuminated the room.

On his feet he felt heavier than he had before, like the fatigue from both walking and sitting had become one. It was hard to tell if either had really affected him, or neither. He couldn’t recall his name and struggled to remember anything from before. If there was a before. He looked down at his feet, as if trying to summon the memories, and in doing so observed himself: he was dressed in head to toe with linen clothes, mundane in look, but entirely in black colors. A pair of black boots drawn comfortably snug to his feet, with a pair of black gauntlets and gloves protecting his forearms and hands. A set of black trousers and a long shirt, accompanied by a dark leather belt. He reached up to his head to feel the hood and silver chain which held the black cloak on his back. To his surprise, however, he felt something on his face. A mask, perhaps, its metal contours covering what should be his fleshy face. The eye slits of the mask had shielding on them which protected his eyes, and the sides of the mask were molded well to the sides of his face as if yet another layer to it. The craftsmanship of the mask had to be advanced, as it was hardly noticeable that it was there – his hand reaching back and feeling the band wrapped around his head.

He sighed again, though hoping another surprising burst of air didn’t occur, and decided he would observe himself more closely later. He turned to the chair and looked around at the surrounding area. The chair, more accurately – the throne set a few plateaus higher than the rest of the room. It was the center of the cavernous room; its vastness filled with emptiness and gray stone flooring. He turned again to face the direction he originally had been facing, and at the far end of the room appeared to be an outline in the stone face. A doorway made of stone, snug tightly against the wall, and hardly noticeable.

Taking a step down from the throne and onto the stairs, he stepped back from doing so. As he stepped down – the air in front of him began to fold and distort as if the very air was conjuring something. Out of the air, a strange outline formed, which in turn formed words within.

A console. He thought to himself. Though the word rang hollow, its meaning a momentary memory.

“What is thy name?” The words of the console asked.

A memory of a world flashed before him – another world that he once knew. He struggled to recall names, let alone his own, but he did recall one.

“Arn.” He said under his breath and pressed on the screen.

“Confirmed. Dark Lord Arn.”

The screen then flashed to another – initially his character screen, which showed his equipment and stats. The items he wore were there, all labeled with Dark Lord as their prefix, however, most of the items he wore gave no statistical advantage besides the Dark Lord’s Mantle, and the Dark Lord’s Visage. His cloak appeared to give him resistance in all categories, magical or physical, and the mask’s description read simply: A will personified.

His eyes scanned over his stats, but he was unable to give them context as to whether they were high or not. It was also possible, he thought, that the stats were not one to one – that these were to help grasp the world around. The thought of his designation as Dark Lord was one, if it was unique, then his own perception may be as well.

Next, he pressed upon a tab on the right of the console, and a skill tree opened. It was overwhelming but organized, melee was unique to each set of weapons, and magic to different fields. Although, there was a strange simplicity to the skill tree – as most were passive abilities. There were also trees for cooking, and several other day to day tasks such as bureaucracy, which he seemed already quite skilled in. Notably he was already quite skilled in many skill trees, his skill with one-handed blades and two-handed were already quite high. As he scrolled the weapon tree, however, he noticed there never seemed to be an end – going forever with passive statistical bonuses to his weapon proficiency.

Is there no end to the growth? He wondered to himself.

His eyes glazed, then returned to the overall skill menu. Like the skill menu, however, another appeared like a visceral gouge: The Dark Lord’s tab. Arn opened the menu, and it too, like the skill tree, was a collage of organized chaos. There were sub-tabs titled namely: Soul Engraving, Authority, Power, and Domain. He was not surprised when scrolling each of these branches to find them endless just like the others, but that he was just beginning in each. This was where his focus was to be then.

Arn felt his head begin to spin slightly and decided to sit again on the throne. It was all overwhelming, and he was tired just from the daunting amount of information already thrown at him. He couldn’t help, however, in his exhaustion, feeling a bit of excitement and dismay.

“There’s so much.” Arn said aloud and sighed. “Why am I here?”

His eyes wandered to the ceiling, and then back to the character screen. There were the regular stats: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma. At the bottom, however, was another that was normally in the Wisdom category: Insight. Why was it separate from the others?

His hand hovered over the Insight stat when the wall in front of him groaned. The wall shook and began opening. A being entered, hooded, and cloaked in black – quickly but gracefully approaching Arn. They came to a stop in front of the plateau and knelt.

“My Lord, you are awake.” A man’s voice came from the hood, raspy and almost hushed. “I am Gelicarus, the Caretaker. Your servant and advisor. I am humbled to be in your presence once more.”