Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-27550231-20170103080604/@comment-28358106-20170106192837

The cobbles of the alley are rough, the walls rude stone. Steam from basement boilers leaks into the passage, making sight difficult. He presses on, not through his senses, but putting one foot in front of the other. He doesn't know how long he walks, but by the time he is aware that the passage has not ended, he feels something is different...something wrong.

The air is heavy, creeping into his armor with clammy fingers. A familiar feeling washes over his heart, and his instincts go off like an alarm. There is something wrong about where he is. His footsteps hasten, reaching the end of the twisting passage...

Midway upon the journey of our life

I found myself within a forest dark,

For the straightforward pathway had been lost...

He emerges into the open. Like a blade in his spine, he suddenly realizes where he is.

It is a shell of Whitemarch. The city is twisted, lifeless. A husk. A bare thread of a memory, spun into a shape. But the realization doesn't hit him until he looks in the distance, in the middle of the city, and sees there the terrible tower, the dark spire.

As soon as his eyes fall upon it, it calls to him. Something powerful beckons, inviting him...