AgeOfChaos

Brother Murus doubted that the cataclysm would come despite what the scrolls had warned us. His doubt enabled the darkness to move more freely in our sacred halls on that fateful day.

We heard them, dragging their rotten feet upon our marble floors. Their groans grew louder as the darkness swallowed us up.

We fought them as best we could. Our mighty hammers crushed and mangled their feeble flesh, but still they approached. In haste, the brothers erected barriers and obstacles to keep the shuffling horde at bay, but they were of little use. Drawing ever nearer we could hear them coming still from the ground.

I watched in horror as brother Murus was overwhelmed by 3 of the wretched abominations. He fell, and yet, he rose again, but now walked with the ghouls.

Their dry and aching throats produced the most unnatural of request's "Join us! Join us!". Dear brothers, the sound has never left me.


The trickster was nearby, watching. Myself and 2 others were able to flee the cathedral as it fell into the hands of the undead that serve the trickster. We fled blindly into the darkness, never to return to our once glorious cathedral.


That day, the greatest of tragedies in our history. We should of been ready, we should of heeded the warnings from our enlightened ancestors. Our only defence was to build the great wall that now protects the city from the undead advances. And although brother Murus was in part responsible for the onslaught, knowing all these years later he is still trapped in that horrid place. May one day his soul find peace. Pray thee to the builder.

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