Darkness, emptiness, quiet, confusion. These things fluttered within one another. Fear, pain, amnesia. Such things were instinct to one lost. Life, Death, eternity. The endless cycle of everything, the beginning and the end converged. Sleeping, Awakening. Nothing was known, nothing was seen, nothing was heard, only pain was fealt. White lights began to dot the black sheet that was seen. Sound was still nowhere to be found, neither was a sense of smell. Eventually the sky filled with countless amounts of these white light, all twinkling in the sky. A muffled sound was then heard, it was slow, steady, loud. It slowly melded, it slowly formed. It was a howl, but not one of a beast, one of something new... Wind. That's what it could be called. It seemed like a wind. The lights above could be Stars. Now, pain was fealt, it was centered, it was sharp, scouring the body. Thoughts now swarmed, questions. Everything rushed. Something reflective was seen. In it was the being that looked at itself in fear and curiosity. There was one last sharpened pain, one in the head. The mind fealt like it was ripping apart. After a moment it passed, basic knowledge was passed to the creature that looked at tiself. Perhaps this knowledge was a gift from the goddess of Life? The creature looked to the left and right. To the right was old paper and some bits of clothing. The creature walked to it and picked the paper up, reading it.

The note was not very informative, but the undead creature put the clothes on and looked back. It saw a cross, where it had lain before reading the note. what was it to do, what was this creature, possibly known as Untote, supposed to do from this point on? It, he, possibly male, leaned against the cross and let out a shallow, breathless sigh. It knew nothing more than basic information and that note. Maybe things would turn out for the better, maybe if Untote waited he could remember everything about who he, or she, it, was.

((OOC: It's very lengthy, I admit; rediculously lengthy. But I felt compelled to supply a decent reason for Valin bumbling off into the Land of the Dead. And I had a little fun with it too.))

The land grew bleaker and bleaker as Valin passed further into the Land of the Dead. As the dwarf traveled along a gnarled path, bordered on either side with black thistle-thorns, night seemed to have fallen. But the darkness seemed to pass too swiftly. Valin was unsure if the sun had fallen or was stolen by a faintly flowing curtain in the sky. Cackling black birds glided high above.

Thankfully for Valin, dwarves were a most resistant race; resilient to many forms of magics, poisons, and spirits. If he were any less ignorant of the gathering peril, the fine hairs on him would have stood on end, and a most terrible dread would have sent him running. Invisible chasms of apparitions sprouted nearby; the ghosts coyly swirled about, conversing and speculating. The gray soil of the land swirled in tiny twisters of pain.

Calloused hands reached inside a leather pocket; Valin looked over his map for the dozenth time in the past hour. Though he was certainly foolish and altogether ignorant, Valin had a plan—or more of a lulling purpose driven by hearsay and songs and trickery.

“Along the bank o' 'Willow Ridge' and down,” Valin murmured to himself; glancing to and fro, “this way and left on this dag 'Frozen Path'. Then a wee fort with two stories up and. . . twelve down.” Valin gulped, “That blusterin' bloot rogue had better be right about this or I take his dag eyes and show him this tower is not ta be found!”

The “plans” were for Valin to follow Mr. Trenten's (as the rogue called himself) map to the “Bottomless Tower”. It is not bottomless, far from it! Valin thought, These men dun' even know deep until they see my home. A league strait down into ole' Ashen Hill would show 'em!

Mr. Trenten had told Valin of his recent escape of the Bottomless Tower the night before over a few strong ales and whisky toasts:

----------------------------------------

The thief traveled with a small party of men (ten, as he claimed) into Dori'ba, the Land of the Dead. Their quest was to unlock Rondell's Box. Rondell's Box was rumored to be a small chest that weighed more than most men could ever dream of lifting (much less carrying). Inside were untold riches, for Rondell was a great Elven king from long, long ago. There were countless stories and opinions over how the king and a few of his servants traveled to the Land of the Dead, but there was one view more popular—yet no more likely true—than the rest. There was an old short song that told of it, and Mr. Trenten, garbed in a black cloak and thin gloves, sang it for the dwarf.



“So you see,” the rogue spoke to Valin while his hands twitched and shuffled, “every time somone speaks 'Rondell' the more and more riches gather within the chest!”

“But the box is wee? And is this dag place a well or a tower?” asked Valin

“Both. And yes the chest is small, but it is very heavy. It is told that the box has no bottom at all. The strongest one of our men could barely carry it. But alas, he was slain along with the rest of my party. We fought for all we could, but there were too many. . .” the man trailed off as his eyes drifted off into blackness.

“Too many what?” Valin shouted, pounding the table the two sat at, in the corner of a candlelit tavern.

“They were bones, nothing but bones and they carried swords; walking and screeching. They were terrible! They killed many of us at first. But there was a wizard with us, and he cast a great light. They fled and so did we. We carried the chest with us too! Oh, how it shimmered in the dark!” Trenten lowered his voice and leaned close to Valin, “We made it all the way up to the top. And even out the door. Then they were upon us! I don't remember anything after that for a while. When I woke, there were skeletons all around me, but they did not kill me!”

Valin blinked, slapped himself on the forehead, and leaned back in his musty chair, chuckling to himself. And all he could say was, “I have been conversin' with o' mad man this whole night?”

“No, no! Listen! They could not touch me, for I had this.” the rogues eyes danced about the room skittishly, and he pulled a black key from his cloth sleeve.

“Hrmph!”

“Here! I'll show you! Take the key,” the man whispered, “and break it. Just don't do it too loudly. Quickly now, I need to show you!”

Valin took the key with a sigh and leaned to the floor. Slipping the key under his chair leg, Valin twisted hard: Snap! The strange metal broke in two.

“Now, give the pieces to me!” and Valin did, “Now watch!” he said with a strange glow in his eyes.

Mr. Trenten set the two pieces on the table and pressed them together; then he let them sit. For many flickers of the candle they waited; Valin felt dumb, but drank on. The ale tasted of something awful, and so the dwarf mixed it with whiskey. His nose burned and his throat throbbed. The candlelight showed grim on Valin's face, for he felt he may break the man's back, take his key, and shove the halves in both of Trenten's shifty eyes.

“It's not working!” the man looked up and shook his head; Valin was beginning to feel murderous.

Then, when the two looked down at the table the key was whole again! Valin declared that he was Mr. Trenten's good partner after that, and he sat dumbfounded for minutes, mouth agape. Treasure gleamed brightly in every dwarve's dreams; but magic treasure? Valin could taste the silver on his lips as he bit coins as big as his palm. He sat with a wide grin for quite some time.

“There! That's your proof, and the chest is sitting right outside the door of that tower. All you have to do is pick it up and bring it back.”

“Now what kind o' fool would come ta think Rondy's Box is still stittin' there?”

“Well, I sat and watched them for a bit, before I ran off that is. And I noticed that they didn't come near me nor the chest. They were scared of it. In fact, one of the creatures nearly backed into the chest and then jumped away from it like its life—or what magic have you—depended on it!

“Bring that box back and I can open it!”

---------------------------------------

Valin stumbled over a rock and overturned a flat scorpion. It crawled off into the gray haze. The air had grown thick around the winding path. Not a mist, but a strange hue touched the sky like wreathing fingertips closing together in a fine web. Valin folded the map neatly and tucked it back into its place. Had his blood not been so warm and his skin so thick, Valin would have taken more notice to the chilly gusts that blew cruel across the ghastly landscape.

Gray; all was gray.

Valin looked to his left and stopped suddenly. He saw a pale man with bare arms and legs. He stood before a cross and wore a strange hat. Valin squinted and felt cool sweat on his palms.

Before he stepped off the Frozen Path, the dwarf scoured the flattening lands for a tower, and found none; only crumbled structures, completely destroyed long ago.

Valin was weary enough of the stranger to draw his sword as he approached. The steel sliding out of the scabbard on the dwarf's back didn't carry the same crisp sound it usually did. It seemed muffled by wicked things just beyond mortal eyes.

The undead leaned against the cross, all of it's dead weight was not even enough to push the mighty grave marker. Perhaps it was to wait here for it's creator to return? Or for it's memories to return? It was clueless, lost in arda without an identity or a face. Was it good-looking? Was it ugly? Either way, it was one without a true identity. The heart it was gifted with fealt heavy, at least it was a good heart. Perhaps it belonged to somebody live, the creature couldn't tell if it truly had an opinion on the matter of taking organs or not. Again, it let out a shallow, breathless sigh. Why did it even have a working heart if it was undead? It knew nothing, even about this body of its'.

There was a sound in this dark place, the sound was so familiar, so foreboding. Untote looked over into the darkness and a shine from the moon illuminated. It was a silver shine in the darkness. short, muscular figure seemed to hold a blade in it's hands. Untote stepped backwards, falling over the stone table it awoke on and falling to the other side, losing it's left foot in the process. Oh, why now to lose a foot? Untote thought to himself as he desperatley reached for the patchwork foot. Thinking about it's appearance the creature didn't exactly look like a trustworthy creature either.

Untote stood on it's remaining foot, a bit wobbly, but it managed to stay up by supporting itelf against a wood frame. Untote didn't notice at first, but it seemed to be hacking. Perhaps whatever creator had made it, gave it full working organs? So that it may at least be more than undead? The strange undead creature would need to test this at a later date, if the dwarven being did not hack him into pieces. The creature stood, watching the dwarf who had stepped into the light. It's eyes were Dark brown, it's skin looked thick, but beyond that and the hairyness Untote could not tell more physical features.

"Umm..." The undead abomination did not know what to say in this situation. It knew that the dwarf would be clueless as to the patchwork creature's true identity in it's current form, but it owuld have to ask something, show that it meant no harm to this person. "Do you know..." What was it going to ask? It's words were spaced out by a few seconds, in a fearful tone. "Do you know where we are?" Should it say more than that? Would any more anger the dwarf? Untote would have to test a theory. "I..." It fiddled with it's dismembered foot a bit in confusion and worry. "Don't know much about what I am or where I am." No more would come out from it's lips unless the dwarf meant no harm. "But... I think my name is, Untote Abscheu." Untote gulped down a big, invisible ball of air down it's throat, waiting in anticipation for an answer.

Valin's face changed from grim to some mix of horror and astonishment; his brows flared and his body felt cold as the undead creature's foot came loose from its body. The Dwarf stood still as stone for a while. The strange thing stood back up, fumbling its foot in flaked-flesh hands carelessly. Its body was varied and patched like some evil wizard's terrible experiment. Though it seemed altogether unnatural and void of any life, the eyes had a character to them. Its ornate orbs seemed to Valin very human, and horribly alive.

Valin tried to speak, though he did not know what he would say, but his voice escaped him. As if his mind was frozen, the Dwarf failed to move his lips.

Had the thing not moved so casually, Valin would have smote the pale monster as swift as Valin's chilled body would carry him.

Finally, Valin moved. He bent his knees and tightened his grip on the sword in his hand. He quickly shot his eyes around him, his wild black hair whipping all about him; the Dwarf suspected an ambush or some dark magic to seize him from behind. With his empty hand, Valin unslung the axe on his back. The tattooed barbarian was now the image of steel death; two hefty weapons at-the-ready in each coarse, clenched fist. And as Valin slowly paced around the creature, his stout legs poised and ready, the thing spoke like a Man. It seemed confused about many things and begged strange questions (of which Valin did not care to answer), and it gave Valin its name: Untote? This dag thing is up ta some sort o' devilry. Valin thought, It must be a diversion meant to lead me away from the treasure! I had best be off ta kill it quick and move on. But those dag eyes!

At length, after much gray earth was swept away by a cruel wind, Valin spoke.

“From what hell do ye come from? Or what hole in this dag dark place did you crawl out of?

“Do ye know where Rondell's Chest is?”

As Valin questioned the pale being, a shadow loomed over them. A most bizarre and horrid storm was brewing in Dori'ba, the Land of the Dead. Blue lightning sizzled silently against the horizon. Gusts of icy air tumbled all over the dreary plains. The spirits grew angry over the newcomer, and they spoke in the Tongue of the Dead behind the eternal veil of which no living Man could see or hear (without the aid of ancient magics).

“The Dwarf is still here?” one said as it swirled and spun fiercely through the hazy air.

“He is not welcome here, though he smells of death and despair,” another said, “He is not welcome in our home. We must wake the Guards of Demise and blind the Dwarf with dust and wind.”

“Why will he not leave? He does not heed the warnings of the perished?”

Voices, voices everywhere. Voices of the dead. So familiar, but such strangers at the same time. The undead abomination knew not what it was surrounded by. were they Ghosts or Whigts? Or were the echoes of the past? THe mind of the creature known as Untote began to pund. The pain, it was unbearable. It began to hurt all over. It couldn't see anything. Everything was black. This scene was too much for the freshly awoken mind to proccess. Everything was happening too fast, it was blurry. Flashes ere and there, but what were they. They went to fast. The being let out a scream of torment as it watched these flashes. But it could not see or understand any of them.

Untote's mind returned, back to the bitter words of the spirits that circled. They forebode this dwarf. "Why? Why must he leave? He may know who I am!" Untote shouted as it cringed in fear at it's corner. "It is alive." One ghostly voice said. "It is alive! It is our life!" Another said. "The life is supposed to be ours! Ours! Not His!" They seemed so angry at the living. They were jealous, but Untote did not know that. It simply cowered in fear as the spirits combined in to an uproar. The abomination looked up through a crack, a shadowy figure stood in place of the moonlight. It seemed to have a faint pink glow to it, but with the coming of a spirit, the shadowed figure was gone.

"What was that?" Untote announced unknowingly. It believed itself to be thinking, but instead it spoke. "What!?" The first spirit said once more. "Was it alive!?" The second one responded. "Where!? It's life is ours!" The Undead Abomination shook it's head, perhaps this mind was playing tricks on it. But it knew, it knew that the spirits were now swarming it, asked these questions about a figure, for they wanted a life they had long since lost. "No, no, no! Leaave me alone! Leave me be! Leave me accursed spirits." Untote cried with it's head buried in it's own corpse. It was frightened, to such an extent it blacked out once more. But instead of black it saw white, with two black dots, eyes, watching it.

The eyes were gone as was the figure. What was this, a hint to it's identity? Or to it's creator? What was the answer to this hellish quiz? Was this some twisted game crafted by the gods? No, most would have nothing to do with this. Hardly even any guardians would do such a thing. But the creature cowered, crying for help, no matter how futile. The spirits now returned to circiling around the whole room. "Your life shall be ours!" The second one replied in place of the first one. "We shall live once more through your corpses!" The first one responded at last. "We will breath again!" THe third one finished. A wind current could be fealt as it began to engulf the room.