The Adventurer journeyed into the depths of the cavern, not knowing what he would find. But days and nights went fleeting by, and still no solace graced the forgotten man.
Against a rock he slept, in the depths of the earth, now unaware of his whereabouts. His torch still burnt, and around him the walls, slicked with water and fungus glistened majestically.
But little did he know of the horrors which awaited him, deeper into the confines of the subterrance.
When he awoke, he readied himself to move on as normal, when he heard a most uncommon, almost unnatural noise.
Just out of his distance of sight, a slight movement stirred the otherwise still darkness which sorrounded him.
A slight glint flickered from a blind corner, and the Adventurer readied his blade.
He was a skilled and proficient fighter, and was prepared for an assault, but not for what happened next.
Out of the darkness, a man, with eyes sunken into his head and skin as pale as the full moon in the clear sky, lunged at an alarming pace from the darkness.
He wore a dark, thin robe, and a hood pulled down, concealing his forehead.
In his hand, he held a short narrow bladed knife, the kind one would expect to see wielded in books, or tales.
In less than a second, he had disarmed the Adventurer, and begun maniacally slashing his blade towards the man.
The Adventurer avoided these slashes, and desperately sprung towards his sword, now lieing on the nearby ground.
He dived into it, grabbing it just in time to turn onto his back and deflect several thrusts by the hooded man.
He scurried back, until he was pinned against the wall.
The hooded man continued to lunge and thrust his blade, as though his life depended on the demise of the Adventurer.
At first, he could manage to hold his own, until the hooded man broke from his cycle, and kicked the Adventurer sharply on the bridge of his nose, fracturing the fine narrow bone, and knocking him to the side.
In a desperate effort, the adventurer swung his blade at the hooded man, who swiftly bashed it from his grip.
The Adventuter looked into the mans eyes, expecting no mercy.
But the hooded man did not strike him down; Not so quickly.
Instead, he performed a rapid strike into the adventurers exposed neck, riveting him with pain.
He then mounted him from the front, softly and gently touching the blade against his cheek.
“You are but the arrogant man, who sold his life to seek that which he can never have.” The hooded man said, in a dark, old tone.
“What do you want?” The Adventurer asked, fear struck through the chords of his words, as an overture in a choir.
“You came here to learn, did you not? What did you truly hope to find down here? Well, you may not know, but i want you to think. For days you have walked these halls, in search of something. But you dont know what it is, do you?-
You continue to persist however, and now here we are. You came here to learn. And learn you will. But in order to learn, you must be enlightened. And i shall be your catalyst.”
To the unsuspecting Adventurers horror, the man pulled back his blade, and thrust it squarely into the Adventurers left eye, twisting it, then ripping it out.
Blood flowed from the wound, and the Adventurer cried in agony and torment.
“Be silent, be silent. Soon you will understand.” The hooded man said. Still calm, and measured.
He then thrust the blade into the Adventurers left eye, twisted it, and tore it from its socket, as with the other.
The Adventurer shooked and convulsed, unable to produce a sound, barely able to breathe over the suffering.
“Perhaps you are ready.” The hooded man said. “As i am, so are you.”
But before he could go on, in a final effort, the Adventurer reached to his blade, grabbing the sharp end.
Still in pain from his lost eyes, he felt nothing.
He swung the sword back around, and while he could not see, he heard the scream of the hooded man.
From what he could feel, the blade lodged in the back of the hooded mans head.
How he was still alive was a mystery.
Blood trickled onto the Adventurers face, but he did not know this.
He was unable to feel anything.
He let go of the blade, and rolled onto his side, his hands over the empty sockets of his eyes.
He rose to his knees, still curled over.
Then it occured to him.
While he was in pain to the extent he could not feel, now he could feel.
But there was no pain.
His mind told him he was mortally wounded, but his body sung another tale.
Little is known of what transpired beyond this point.
The Adventurer walked the black halls, following some unseen path.
He learnt things along the way.
Somehow, he was gaining knowledge.
But not his own.
He saw peculiar writings, and felt the presence of strange creatures.
He heard the most unfathomable sounds, and somehow he understood.
He stood on the precipise of existance, and somehow he knew.
He knew so much now, but he could not understand it.
However hard he tried, he could not bring himself to speak.
Somehow, he knew his sorroundings. He knew where he was, and what was around him, but he could not identify anything.
He simply knew.
After an unknown length of time, he emerged into the daylight. The sun crossed his face, and still not knowing how, he walked to the nearby village of Ngath.
Here, the Adventurer told of things unknown to mortality, and drew things of impossible proportions and shapes.
And so, he now resides in Ngath, the blind prophet, the unknown Adventurer.
End Notes: The dialogue i added in myself, but it seemed fitting. And the things he saw were actually passive enemies and engravings that read out pieces of RAW code for some reason.
If this story inspired you,
Learn to Play
with Peter Tyson's new book.