Steampunksoldier12

Ferrus swung his sword at the zombie, decapitating the undead with one swift movement as its body fell to the ground, limp. Ferrus felt his breath shorten, all those times doing mercenary work, climbing the ranks towards lieutenant, only to be consumed by ravenous abominations. Another undead tried to ambush Ferrus from behind, but he quickly turned around and bashed the zombie back with his shield. The zombie staggered back and fell off the platform and onto the main horde. Ferrus tried to remember how he got here, what mistake took him to a hive of undead; he remembered how his band took a job from Lutenburg, and the mayor heard disturbing rumors coming from an ancient crypt. Ferrus instinctively blocked an arrow from the left corner of the room; he looked and saw skeleton archers perched at the rim of the crypts. As Ferrus was distracted by the archers, one of the zombies grabbed his leg, wanting to drag him down to the feasting banquet below. Ferrus acted quickly and sliced off

"1...2...3...4," Torsten repeated as each hour passing, and he felt his memory start to fade. Torsten knew this was the sign for Hollowing, a final stage of an Undead curse to become nothing more than a wandering hollow. Torsten remembered that if an Undead kept his mind busy, he would not turn into a husk or at least slow its process. "5...6...7...8," Torsten luckily still remembers why he was going to Anor Londo to seek a cure for the undead curse, hearing the many tales from Berenike that the gods could help cure him and his nation, that so falls in ruin. His homeland was famous for its steel armor and heavy weaponry, famous for slaying rage-filled demons to participating with the golden lion himself in dragon slaying. He heard that the legendary hero, Black Iron Tarkus, was on the same journey, but he's yet to meet him. "9...10...11...12," Torsten remembered how he fought his way here, hollowed soldiers, dregs, lost souls seeking to feast on any shard of humanity; the most