Hollow

A Dark Souls Story

The Undead knight trudged wearily around a boulder, the pendant heavy around his neck, and caught his first sight of the Undead Asylum where he would spend the rest of his days.

The image shocked him. He had known the Asylum was a prison, a place to separate the cursed unclean from the godly men and women of the world, but he had not expected it to look so grim and hopeless. Had he not known better, he would have guessed it an abandoned ruin. The stones of the Asylum rose straight up from the bare rock of the mountain it perched on. Its walls were so weathered and cracked that it looked almost as though it were a part of the mountain itself. Broken towers thrust up into the sky like shattered swords. Collapsed walls spilled ancients stones across the ground. Weeds and thin runty trees had shoved their way through paving stones. The windows were all bare open wounds, black and cold. Wind howled through the gaps in the buildings like a lamentation. The knight clasped the pendant through his surcoat, but it gave him no reassurance. In his mind's eye, whispered words fell from rotten lips, and he shivered.

"I can see no signs of life," the knight said. "Where are the caretakers?" His escorts laughed. The handsome, sandy haired cleric sneered as he answered.

"There are no caretakers. You rotters have the place to yourselves. Well, you and the demons."

"Surely you jest," the knight said. "There cannot possibly be demons here..."

The other cleric, a portly, dark haired man grunted. Though the sandy one was cruel and petty, this one was worse. He never spoke to the knight except when required, as though he did not want to waste words on the dead. The knight would rather be treated as a prisoner than as a monster.
"You make it out of your cell, might be you'll find out," the sandy haired cleric said, then shoved him in the back to keep him moving. "Get on with it dead man, the journey's nearly done. I'll not tarry here any longer than I have to."

The knight's internment passed in a daze. Now that he was finally here, nothing seemed real. He passed through dark halls lit with the occasional torch. Someone had to be lighting them, he thought, there are no demons here. The ruddy light of the flames made the dirty bricks of the walls seem to be stained with old blood. Sad, scrawny creatures sat unmoving in tiny cells no larger than a closet, or screamed wordless rage at the clerics as they passed by. The Undead seemed to be made of sticks and old leather, their faces skulls covered in taut skin. Ribs stood out stark on bare chests. They did not look human, could never have been human. Are these my brothers? he thought. The darksign had appeared on his body less than a month ago. He still had the look of humanity about him, though lately he had begun to fear that his skin was taking on a greyish cast.

Most of those they passed had empty eyes, showing nothing but bestial rage and evident hunger. Their sanity lost, they no longer had even a pretense to humanity. They paced in their cells like restless lions (those that had the room to walk), hands fidgeting and occasionally snapping their teeth together hard enough to let out a loud crack. The still sane simply sat or stood in silence, uninterested in their newly arrived companion. The knight wondered if perhaps the Hollow were the lucky ones. They at least had no worries, no unfulfilled dreams.

"Here." the portly cleric said. He tapped his mace against a set of iron bars. On the other side was a brick cell large enough for a man to sit or stand in. The only distinguishing feature of the cell was a spot of discoloration on the wall where a ring for chains had once hung. A key was produced, the door opened. The knight's manacles were removed, and the two clerics tensed, suddenly watchful. This would be his last chance to escape. For a moment, the knight considered it. He was a strong man, trained in the art of war since he was a child. He was unarmed, but his curse gave him a certain inhuman toughness that may allow him to overwhelm one of the men and seize their weapon. But even if he escaped, where would he go? He could think of no sin he'd committed that would warrant this punishment, yet the darksign had appeared nonetheless. The gods had decreed that this was his place. No matter where he went in the world, all men would know him as a monster. Suddenly the pendant felt very heavy around his neck, and he remembered his sword coated with thick black blood.

And then the door was closed and locked, and his chance was gone. The clerics left, and made no final remarks. Why waste words on the dead?

The only luxury left to him was sleep, and he sunk into it gladly. For a time he dreamed pleasant dreams, memories of his beloved Astora, of the castle where he'd lived, the woman he'd betrothed, his little brothers training with blunted swords in the yard, his little sisters chatting and knitting with the other ladies. Then his dreams turned dark, to vague images of a woman rotting in pristine white robes, blood bubbling up from her lips as she tried to speak. The silver serpent around his neck tightened and cut off his air, and he collapsed before her as if in supplication, choking on his pleas and regrets.

He awoke in darkness. A torch burned down the hall, but only the smallest hint of its light ventured as far as his cell. Opposite his cell was nothing but bare brick wall stained with soot and ash. His cell walls were much the same. He could stand and touch the ceiling by standing on his toes. He could sit with his back to the wall, though he had to pull up his legs in front of him, there was no room to stretch out. He could not lie down. To his right, just a bit above eye level when he sat, one of the bricks had a bit of its mortar scraped away. He wondered if some former prisoner had tried to dig their way out. If so, their choice was a foolish one. He knew from his approach to the cell that the hallway stretched on and on. Even if he could remove the bricks of his wall, he would only break into another cell. Perhaps that had been the idea. Remove enough of the wall, and he would have room to lie down between the two cells. That seemed a noble enough endeavor.

Since his cells held no distractions, the knight turned to his own belongings. All he had was his clothes and the pendant. He removed it from beneath his surcoat and let it hang from his fingers, watching it swing back and forth, flashing silver in the dim light. He could not say why he had taken it with him. The pendant was ostentatious and pretty, with intricate ivy and flowers carved into it. It was more suited for the neck of a lovely lady than of a dishonored knight. Though he had owned it for more than a decade, he had never worn it until the day he set out for the Asylum. He had been told he could bring some item of sentiment with him if he wished, and at once his thoughts had gone to the pendant. But its presence had done nothing to soothe his anxious mind. The sight of it only filled him with old memories he had spent a lifetime trying to forget.

Again, he slept. There was little else to do. This time his rest was blessedly undisturbed by dreams. He floated in a timeless expanse of darkness, content, until at last some sound rose out of the abyss to bring him back to the land of the living. A voice, low and muffled, singing.

"...please young warrior, put up your sword/ please come home once more..."

The song was vaguely familiar. The voice came from somewhere to down the hall to the right, away from the torches faint light. It was close, perhaps in the very next cell. The knight leapt to his feet and gripped the bars, trying to see around the side, but it was useless. He could only see a few inches of brick.

"Is there someone there?" he called out, his voice strained with anxiety. He had thought himself all alone here. "Please, can you hear me?"

"Aye, I hear you, you're certainly loud enough," the voice answered. When it spoke instead of singing, the voice was rough, raspy, masculine. A dry cough preceded it, and some of the words cracked as though he were not used to speaking. The words were faintly touched with the accent of Carim. "A new arrival are you?"

"I am glad to hear your voice," the knight said. "I had thought myself alone."

"Heh, think again. There's thousands of us here, all around you. It's just most of them make for damned poor conversationalists."

"How long have you been here?"

"You got yourself a bloody clock over there? Sometimes I sit. Sometimes I stand, sometimes I sleep. The torch goes out, and someone replaces it, I've no bloody idea who, they don't respond to questions nor insults. How exactly am I supposed to keep track of time? I've been here a long time, how's that for an answer?"

"Of course, sir. Forgive me, I did not think."

"Well, that'll change I expect. Not a lot else to do but think in here."

"Though I regret our meeting under such circumstances, I am pleased to know you. I am a knight of Astora. My name-"

"Bah, keep your name. Names are for the living. What do need them for? We aren't men, we're just meat hung up for storage. More hams than men, do you name your hams in Astora, sir knight?"

"Of course not. But I should like to know how to speak of you. Would you have me call you Ham?" He meant it as a joke, but the other only laughed and said "Aye, a fine name! I think I prefer it to my old one, heh."

There was silence for a time, and for once the knight did not find it an uncomfortable one. They had all of the time in the world for conversation. There was no need to rush heedlessly in without thought.

"I am sorry I missed your arrival, sir knight. I must have slept through it. I wish you'd made a bit more noise when they shoved you in, I might've woken. Did you bloody the bastards, at least?"

"No, I... I did not fight."

"No, truly? Come now, what good is a knight who cannot fight?" Ham asked.

"I fight as well as any man. I did not wish to dishonor myself with a ghastly display. I have accepted my fate."

"Oh gods, don't tell me you let yourself be caught?"

"When the darksign appeared, I prayed that it would fade. When it remained, I had no choice. I went to my liege lord and informed him of my curse. My lord was kind. He could have had me dismembered and burned, but instead he allowed me to be transported to this Asylum, so that I may keep my life."

"Ah yes, quite a kindness there. Tell me, sir sheep, how do you like the accommodations?"

The knight looked around in unease.

"I must admit, I had hoped for better. But my lord was not at fault. He could not have known the conditions of this place."

"Couldn't have cared, more like. It's as I said, we're just meat to them now. Once you've got the sign, that's all they see. If you'd had the wits to keep it secret, might be you could've lived a few more years before you wound up here."

"Lived as a coward, yes. Hiding in the shadows, skulking from place to place. That is no life for a knight."

"If you'd tried it might be you'd feel differently. Speaking for the skulkers, it's not so bad. I managed three years free and Undead, with no one ever knowing the wiser," Ham boasted.

"How did you manage that?"

"I was a thief! A damn good one too, if you don't mind my saying so," he said. "I never stayed in one place for long. Villages I'd only stay a single night. Cities were better, you can get lost in a good city, but you've got to watch out for the bloody clerics. Some of them can smell the dark on you, or so it seems. I never got the knack for picking pockets though. I did most of my thievery at the point of my knife, heh. So long as they didn't do anything stupid, no one got hurt."

The knight was surprised that the confession produced no outrage from him. However terrible his crimes were, the thief had paid for them most dearly. Undeath was the great equalizer, it seemed. As a living man, he would have been loath to share words with such a wretch. Besides, disapproval would have been hypocrisy. His own crimes were no less foul, or why else would he be here now? The pendant, lying in the dirt in the corner of the cell, caught his eye for a moment, but he looked away with a sick feeling.

"I must admit, I do not know much of the skill required for robbery," he said dryly. "I imagine it would be a simple task to convince old peasants to part with their belongings."

"Heh, not as easy as you'd think, some of them peasants are mean whoresons. But don't go thinking it was all weepy maidens and half-blind cripples. I'll have you know I once robbed a knight with nothing more than a chipped dagger!"

"A knight you say? Surely not. Perhaps it was only some old man in rusty armor. A knight would never have been so lax."

"You mistrust my words? Heh, a liar I may be, but I never lie to my

Undead brothers. I swear it on the gods, a knight he was, and not an old one either."

"I should like to hear how you accomplished that."

"Aye, and well you should. As it happens, I had fallen on a patch of hard times. Ten days I'd gone without food. I'd probably have starved if I weren't already dead, heh, but as it were it just made me angry. The last three jobs I'd pulled had all been fruitless. Two penniless farmers and a drunken priest. Well the priest had himself a good skin of wine at least, so in lieu of anything to eat I'd gotten myself truly stinking drunk. So there I was, wandering through the woods beside the road, somewhere out near old Vinheim.'

I'd been wandering for hours, probably in circles, who can say? I could barely see straight, and it was getting dark as well. I was just about to curl up under some likely bush and try to sleep, when I caught sight of some distant light flickering in the woods. Well I know a campfire when I see one, so I took off my boots, readied my dagger, and crept up through the trees, making no more noise than a cat. Drunk I might have been, but I knew my business. Anyway, I get up close enough to see, and sure enough, there's a campfire, with a plump knight sitting beside it. He was one of those Catarinans, you know how they are, they got to be round just to fit in that ridiculous armor, heh.'

Anyway, this knight was sitting there roasting a rabbit, and the smell was enough to make my mouth water. His armor was all set out to one side, looked like a big ripe bunch of onions, maybe he was gonna put it in the stew, ha. He had a sword too, but it wasn't in his hand. I was hungry, and he had the meat, so I thought I might as well give it a try. I got my dagger ready, let out a cry, and charged right up into the firelight. 'Give me your gold and your meat and might be I'll let you live!' I shout, and get my toe under his sword so I can kick it out of reach. Well he don't react as I'd hoped, he just stares at me like old Lord Gwynn himself had rode in on a dragon juggling pies. Then he starts laughing, and well, I could sort of see the humor, so I start to chuckling myself. And then I hear something.'

I turn around and another bloody knight walks out of the woods, lacing up his breeches, with his sword still hanging at his side. At that point I figure I'm already in for a penny, might as well see it through, so I tell him to drop his sword and hand over his purse. Well this one doesn't have much of a sense of humor, he just calls me a knave and draws his sword.'

I let out a scream and threw myself forward, but my foot gets tangled up in the bloody sword and before you know it I'm stumbling around. This knight takes my shoulder like he's about to help me up, then shoves his sword right in my chest and out the back. Must've been three feet of steel sticking out of me."

Ham paused, and the knight felt as though some comment were required of him. "That must have been painful," he ventured.

"Of course it was painful, I had a bloody sword in my chest!" Ham said. "But, well, being Undead has its advantages. The darksign on my chest starts to heat up, you know how it does when you get in a bad state. It's burning near as bright as their fire, and the knight goes pale and tries to back away, but I've got his sword in me so he just ends up dragging me along. Now I'm about to pass out from the pain and the wine, but I'm still pretty bloody hungry, so I figure I'd better make the best of the opportunity. This knight is shaking like a little girl who thinks she saw a ghost, so I put on my best monster grin and pull myself up close, and I say'

"So what'll it be, sir knight? Your gold... or your SOUL?"

Ham cut off his own story with a racking laugh that turned into a cough, and the knight couldn't help but chuckle along himself.

"So believe it or not, this knight goes running off into the woods screaming like a scared squire, leaving his sword hanging out of me, with his friend chasing after. I wake up a few hours later and find I've got a burnt rabbit, a new set of armor, and a good sword, slightly used. All in all, not a bad haul, don't you agree?"

"Not bad at all, sir Ham," the knight said. "I hope you were able to spend it well."

"Well, as to that, not so much," Ham said, his tone going melancholy. "Them onion knights made it to the nearest church and put the word out. They sent a couple of corpse catchers after me, ol'Father Lloyd's boys. I tried to fight em, but they know how to deal with dead men. That they do. They knocked the fight out of me soon enough, and gave me an escort all the way to my new home. I've been here ever since. Like I said before, I've been here a long time."

After that Ham was quiet, responding bitterly to any question the knight put to him. After a time he gave up and let the thief sleep for a time. Left alone with his thoughts, the knight tried to sleep (unsuccessfully) then stood and looked desperately for something to do. He had never been comfortable alone with his own thoughts. Too often, his memory returned to old regrets like a tongue to a missing tooth. He was a man of action; he had to think of something to do to pass the time.

His eyes returned to the wall separating him from Ham's cell. He'd noticed before a brick with a bit of its mortar scraped away. If he were to keep at it, he could perhaps remove the brick, and then at least he'd be able to see his companion. It would take a great deal of time, to be sure, but time was his one luxury. At least it would give him some method of gauging the passage of time.

But how to do it? His arms and armor had been taken from him, stored somewhere within the Asylum for some unknown purpose. He had no tools, except...

The pendant. It was plated in silver, not the most robust of metals, but beneath that it was probably iron. Its beauty would be quite ruined, of course, but he'd never carried the pendant for its looks. When he looked upon it, all he saw was the woman in white. It will serve, he thought.
Some time later (it must have been at least an hour, wasn't it?) he'd scraped just enough mortar away to realize that he still had a long way to go. The pendant's edge was rounded, and ill-suited to the task, but it was all he had, so he kept diligently scraping and tapping away at the brick. In time, he found a rhythm, and soon all thought fled to leave him a comfortable pattern of scratching and scraping. For a time, he was at peace.

Tap tap tap tap tap tap.
Tiny grains of mortar fell away, and he blew on them clear the space. He'd gouged out a thin line several inches long. The pendant was now dented and grimy, but he was making progress. He leaned forward and continued.
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"Eh, what's that racket? Are you up to some mischief, sir knight?" Ham's coarse voice carried around the wall.

"I'm chipping away at the bricks between us. Perhaps we can get this wall down."

"Heh, why would you want to do that? You want to chip at something, work on those bars. You break through this wall you'll just be in another cell. Are all knights as clever as you?"

"I'm not trying to escape. I will not break the oath I made, to atone for my sins and live apart from those uncursed. But I would like to see what you look like, and we could better hear each other without this wall in the way."

"You're an odd one, knight. If you want to waste your time- ha ha ha. I suppose that one's on me. As if there's anything you could do that wouldn't be a waste of time in here. By all means, chip away."

"I am glad you are awake, Ham. Your voice is a fine distraction. I am starting to grow very hungry, and my mouth is as dry as a desert," the knight said. Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"Yes, well. I'd say you get used to that, but it's not precisely true. Being Undead, we've no need of food or water...but try and tell that to our bellies. The ache does come and go though."

"We are never fed?"

"Well I don't know about the likes of a noble knight like you, but no one's ever bothered to bring any food to me. Aside from the clerics come to bring new prisoners, I've never seen anyone else here. Sometimes I hear things though..."

"Things?" Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"Roars. Heavy footsteps, like some giant stomping around. Dragging noises. It's nothing human, I'll tell you that."

The knight shivered. "Demons."

"Might be, might be. But they won't bother us none. They've got no reason to care what we're up to, so long as we hang quietly like good hams."
Tap tap tap tap tap tap.

"That tapping is like to drive me mad, sir knight. Best cover it up with words. I told you a tale. Now it's your turn," Ham said.

"A story? I've never truly been one for telling tales."

"Best try and learn then. There's naught else to do."

"Alright then, a story." The knight paused in his tapping and leaned back, trying to think of what to say. He couldn't tell the story of how he came to the Asylum. The pain was too fresh, and besides, it wasn't much of a tale. He'd woke up one morning with the Darksign burning on his flesh, and after a few hours of panic and prayer he'd gone to his lord to ask his command. He'd spent a few days confined in his quarters, under guard, and then the clerics had come to take him off. He'd been permitted to say farewell to his family and his betrothed, but she had not come. No doubt the woman wished to distance herself from the shame of nearly marrying an Undead.

He considered the pendant hanging from his fingers, but shivered and put it aside. That was no memory he wanted to speak of. Finally he settled on a story he'd been a part of in his youth, a droll tale that had been often repeated about the castle, even years after it had first been told.

"Alright then. Here's the tale: I was a young squire still, I'd seen fourteen summers I think. I was picked to go on a hunting trip, accompanying the old knight I served then, and several others. It was summertime, and we were hunting boar. But we didn't find any for a long time, until one found us. My knight had been drinking all day, and by the time the boar came he was completely drunk. The boar charged in and came right for him. His horse threw him off, and he fell in a ditch. The other hunters dismounted and baited the boar, until one of them slew it with a spear. It was a long hard fight, but when it was over, we saw that the old knight had slept through the entire battle, and when he woke up he asked what happened to his horse."
There was a long silence.

"...that's it?" Ham asked.

"That's what happened," the knight said.

"Knighthood is the right job for you, sir. You make a lousy storyteller."

It went on in that way for a long time. The knight kept tapping away at the wall, and, with Ham's urging, he told about his life in Astora. His quality of storytelling did not much improve, but Ham still seemed to find his words entertaining. They had lived such vastly different lives that many minor details the knight thought barely worth mentioning were of great interest to the former thief. In response Ham told an unending stream of droll stories, some of which were so outlandish that the knight suspected they were made up. But he did not mind, true or false, the tales were fascinating.
But Ham could never talk for long. If he spoke at length, his voice gave out, and he would become exhausted quickly and beg off time to sleep. He seemed very old and frail to the knight, and he reminded himself that the thief had been here much longer than he. The longer one remained Undead, the more toll it took on one's mind. The knight had heard stories of sinister Undead who murdered the living and stole their humanity to stave off Hollowing, but he'd no idea if it were true.

His progress on the wall continued. By the time he thought that perhaps three days had passed (though on further reflection, he thought it might have been a week), he'd managed to chip away enough mortar that he could shift the brick a bit in its frame. A few more days (at least, as close as he could guess) and he finally managed to wrench out the brick. Ham was asleep, and he'd hoped to surprise him with the hole when he woke, but upon removal he'd been devastated to see more bricks behind it. Furious, he'd shattered the brick against the floor and collapsed to sleep.

But with nothing else to do, he soon returned to the hole. He focused on the six bricks surrounding the missing one, hoping to remove enough that he'd have room to work on the next layer. As he was tapping away at it, he heard a sudden noise as Ham awoke on the other side of the wall.

"Who's there?! What are you?" Ham sounded scared and confused. The knight paused in his tapping, uncertain whether he was being tricked.

"Ham? It's me. The new arrival. I've been here for-" he tried, but he couldn't remember how long his current estimate of his time spent here was. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped mattering. "I've been here a long time."

"The knight? That's right... the Astoran. I thought... why do you call me Ham?"

"It was a joke. One you made, don't you recall? You said-"

"Yes. A joke. I recall. And you're the knight, yes. I need to sleep."

"You've just woken up."

"No. No, I've been awake much too long... I..." Ham trailed off, and left him in silence. The knight listened in concern, straining to hear any signs of life. The thief had been confused on occasion, forgetting that he'd already told a certain tale, or simple details. But he'd never forgotten the knight before. The knight put his ear to the wall, in the hollow where he'd so far removed three bricks, and listened. After a moment, he could hear a very faint breathing coming from the other cell. He sighed in relief. For a moment, he'd worried... but no, Ham would be fine. He's tired, that's all. The knight thought. He's been here longer than me. He just needs to rest. In a few days, I'll have the next brick out, and then maybe we can see each other.

Soon, Ham awoke again, and this time he seemed improved. He told a long story of his youth, before he had become Undead, that had the knight laughing and sobering with sorrow in turn. Another brick was dislodged, and the knight felt as though he'd accomplished much.

The next time he woke, Ham was singing again, his voice sad and wracked with sobs. The song was in some strange tongue the knight did not know, but it was laced with despair, and he felt as though it was not meant for his ears. He said nothing, and did not return to the wall, but sat in stillness until the song faded away and Ham returned to sleep. Only then did he begin chipping away once more. Soon he had enough bricks removed that he could reach the second layer. I only need move one more brick, and I will be able to see into the next cell, he thought. Unless, of course, there was another layer of bricks behind that one... but that didn't bear thinking about, and he set himself to his work with renewed vigor.

"Are you still digging, knight?" Ham asked, sometime during what the knight thought of as the next 'day.'

"Yes. I think I'm almost through."

"What's the point? You want to know what I look like? I'll tell you what I look like. I look like corpse that's sat out in the sun too long. I'm sure you can smell me over there, assuming you've still got your nose."

"Even so, I'd like to see. Besides, it makes me feel productive. I've got to do something to pass the time," the knight said.

"Why bother? Nothing you do will amount to anything. This is the end of the world, don't you understand that?! You came to this place of your own free will, you threw away your life for some foolish idea of honor, and now you chip away at the bloody wall to try and convince yourself you're accomplishing something. Do you have any idea how hilarious that is? You can't tell a story to save your life knight, but that's fine, cause your life is the biggest joke I've ever heard. You think you're being productive? You're wasting your time with everything you do, because you're nothing but a waste of life."

The knight paused for a moment as the words washed over him. Once, they would have angered him. If a common thief had spoken to him that way in the past, he would have drawn his sword and slain him where he stood for such malignance. As it was, he felt nothing. He was right, after all. He bent to the wall again and proceeded to chip away.

"You stupid, ugly, bloody bastard!" Ham screamed. "How dare you give up your life when the rest of us never got a chance to live one?! What do you think is gonna happen when you break through to here? One of these days I'm going to go Hollow, or you will, and then we'll kill each other if we can manage it. Not that it'll last. We can't live, we can't die, all we can do is exist. Might as well put down whatever you're using to chip away over there and just go to sleep. Sleep is all we've got left."

The knight stopped, letting the pendant hang from his fingers, heavy with guilt. He hadn't let himself consider the idea that his companion might go Hollow. If he did, he would lose any semblance of humanity he might have, and would attack the knight if he had the opportunity. In that case, digging at the wall was pointless. They were going to be here forever. Sooner or later, one of them would change. Why waste time digging if he was just going to have to brick it up again later? He opened his fingers, and let the pendant fall to the floor.

"Alright, Ham. I'll stop now."

Silence answered.

"Ham? I'm sorry if I've offended you... can you hear me? Please say something." There was no response. Sighing, the knight sat and let himself fall asleep.

The clouds of smoke filling the air was nearly enough to make him gag, and the heat from the ring of flames surrounding the small town was making him sweat beneath his leather and mail. Screams of the dying filled the air, along with encouraging shouts from the knights who'd arranged the attack. One thing was missing, though it took him some time to realize what it could be. The squire had been in battles before, guarding his knight's back and warning him of approaching foes. The clash of steel on steel was conspicuous in it's absence. He had never before been involved in a battle where only one side was doing the fighting.

Desperate, the squire slammed his shoulder against a locked door, then hacked at it with his sword until the latch was in splinters. A few good kicks knocked it aside. He forced his way in, sword in hand, and scanned the house for a target. The room was empty, but before he could go forward a woman stepped out from the back room. She was unarmed and unarmored, wearing only a pristine white robe over half-atrophied flesh, her darksign unhidden on the skin just beneath her neck. He expected her to beg for mercy, but instead she just met his gaze and stood waiting. Her eyes were the only thing that looked alive about her, cool blue eyes like two sapphires shining in the dark. Around her neck, a pendant hung on a silver chain.

Rotten lips moved, speaking, but he turned and fled, covering his ears, trying to find someplace to escape to...

The knight woke in a cold sweat. The Asylum was silent as usual, but something felt wrong. Just as in his dream, there was something missing, something so subtle that he couldn't place it, though he was certain of its loss.

He stood, and put his face to the metal bars, peering out into the hall as far as he could see. Nothing was changed, just empty dark hallways filled with many more cells. He wondered if any of those close by contained sane prisoners. If so, they must have heard him speaking with Ham these past weeks, yet no one had attempted to communicate with them. Did they simply not care? Like Ham, had they lost interest in this dull and empty existence, and simply confine themselves to sleep.

"Hello?!" he shouted. His voice echoed down the halls but there was no response. He sighed and slumped against the bars. "I suppose it's just us here, isn't it Ham?"

THUD.

The knight hopped back and fell against the wall, instinctively moving away from the sound of something slamming hard against the wall separating his cell from Ham's. His heart beat faster and he felt the familiar rush of energy that came from sudden danger.

"Ham?"

Again, something hit the wall, hard. A bit of dust and mortar crumbled away from the impact.

"What are you doing? Did you change your mind? You want to break down the wall now?"

THUD.

"Be careful, you're going to hurt yourself. Can you hear me over there?"

THUD.

A shiver ran down the knight's spine as a terrible suspicion formed in his mind. He thrust it aside and pulled the pendant up from the floor of his cell. With it he began to scrape quickly at the mortar of the final brick once more, faster than he'd done so before.

"Alright Ham, I'm working at the brick. We'll have it aside soon. It's going to take some time... why don't you tell another story? You're good at that, and they pass the time faster. Can you hear me?"

On the other side of the wall, he heard some furtive movement, but no voice spoke.

"You're having trouble speaking right? Too long without water I suppose. My own throat is dry as dust. But I'll talk if you don't want to. I'll tell a story, to pass the time. What should I talk about?" He tried to think of something to say, but not a single tale came to mind. His eyes focused once more on the pendant in his hand. "Did I tell you how I got this pendant? For fifteen years or so, I've kept it close, though I couldn't tell you why. It's caused me nothing but pain. I've tried to forget about it, but the memories remain. Sometimes I'll forget for a year or two, but they always return in my dreams. I've thought about selling it, or throwing it away many times, but I've never been able to bring myself to do it."

He kept scraping away. The brick was loose enough that it wobbled when he touched it. It wouldn't take long now.
"I took it from a dead woman, a woman I killed myself. I was only a boy, a squire, and I wanted to desperately to prove myself in battle. I wanted to be a knight, and I knew I was ready. All I needed was to show the knight I served that I was worthy. And then my moment came. A small group of people had formed a village in the local woods, hidden, and were harboring a number of Undead. Bearers of the accursed darksign, I couldn't understand why any warm man would protect such a creature. For their treason, the people of the village were sentenced to death. A band of knights were sent in to destroy them, but the village was reputed to be unguarded. The knights felt it was a waste of their talent, so they decided to make a game of it. Each knight had his squire. We were given this opportunity to prove ourselves worthy of knighthood. We alone would make the attack, and annihilate the cursed and their sympathizers.'

When the attack began, all I could think about was that I had to find one of the Undead. If I could kill one, then that would show my prowess wouldn't it? I was old for a squire, sixteen years, and I was starting to worry that I would never receive my knighthood. This was the opportunity that I needed. My luck was good. The first house I broke into had a woman in it, an Undead woman in a maiden's white robe. The darksign burned on her chest, and this accursed pendant hung atop it. She showed no fear. She tried to speak to me. I can still see her lips moving, even now, but I did not hear her words. I still wonder what she was saying. Did she curse me? Beg for mercy? Did she accept her fate, or did she try to reason with me? I didn't listen. All I thought about was killing her before one of the other squires found her. And when her cursed blood stained my blade, I took the pendant as a prize of battle'

So you do you see Ham? I'm a thief as well, just like you. This is the reason I'm here, the reason I was cursed. I was cursed by the gods for the murder of an innocent, but if that's so, why was she cursed? What sins did she commit that started this chain? If the darksign forces us to live on, unable to die, what are we supposed to live for? What's the point of it all?"

With a rasping sound like cheap iron on raw bone, the brick finally tore loose from the wall. He stumbled backwards, clumsy on his desiccated legs, but the cell was too small for him to fall. On the other side, he finally heard something. A low, animal growl, then another faint thud against the wall.

"Ham? Are you well?" he called out. There was no answer. Gripping the pendant in hand, he forced himself to kneel and put his eyes to the hole.

In the darkness, two yellow orbs stared back. Black blood congealed in his drooping cheeks. A few strands of brittle, rotten hair hung across his face. His mouth hung open, black teeth cracked and shattered were wet by a tongue that slithered back and forth like a blind worm. Those eyes showed nothing of the thief's dark humor. They were mindless, bestial eyes. Devoid of life. Devoid of thought. Cold. Empty.

Hollow.

A long time later, the knight sat staring at the bars of his cell, pendant still in hand. Its edges were dented and misshapen from its work as a tool, its beauty long gone. All the silver had been chipped away to leave hard iron behind. In the next cell, the thing that had been Ham growled and made meaningless noises. Every so often, it slammed against the wall of the cell, or forced its fingers through the hole to try and grasp blindly into the cell. The knight ignored it.

"I finally thought of a story, Ham," he said. "It's not a proper story. It hasn't got an ending, only a start. It's more of an old saying, passed down in my family. It goes thus."

"Thou who art Undead, art chosen... in thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords... when thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know."

There was no answer but silence. The knight sat, considering the words, and as he did so his eyes fell on the bricks beneath the iron bars of his cell. One of them was a bit loose, some of its mortar scraped away. The pendant was still heavy in his hands, still full of guilt. He thought for a moment, then leaned forward, took the pendant in hand, and began to scrape away at the floor of the cell. It would take much time to clear away the bricks holding the bars in place, but that was alright.

Time was the luxury of the Undead.