Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25038310-20160405011238/@comment-25038310-20160427180921

Abello briefly turned to the rest as he sighed, not annoyed by any means, but rather recalling some things. He could relate very well to the Brass Knight, but unfortunately he already recalled some of the worst moments in his relatively long life.

"I.. I used to be the son of a noble, back in Daggerfall." Abello suddenly blurted out, trying to remember his vague past. What happened before and what happened after.

"It.. it was a very long time ago, though. I guess I am one of the only ones that managed to stay sane after such a long time. The world wasn't that bad before I became Undead, so it must have happened decades, if not centuries ago. As I said, I cannot truly recall how long I wandered across this province, but what I do recall are all the other Undead companions I travelled with before.

They were good people. Brave men and women, all rather merry and unworrying, not as brooding or melancholic as some of you." He said as he snickered, in particular looking at Dunistair and Katla.

"Although, then again.. I was very much the same, but more frightened, and not as steadfast or... indifferent towards danger and fear. I became very attached to them.

Regardless, apparently I can last quite a while longer as an Undead than other Undead. Years, while others perhaps month or 1 year at the most, before they suffer the same fate as Abelkain did.

It's.. It's horrible - trying to guide them through the process, trying to travel around mountains in search of Immortals to slay, yet we rarely managed to. We were like a bunch of jovial misfits-- a few knights, a few female mages and a thief.

But then they started.. withering. Like rotten leaves. One by one, we'd lose our minds, except me. One would lash out at someone when we woke up. Another one tried killing the rest in their sleep in a fit of insanity.

Except.. except me." He added, and with that last line Abello, for the first time did not sound that uplifting anymore. A definite, absolute sense of sadness emanated from his words.

"First 6. Then five. Three. Two.

Surely it must not be said who was the last one. Was rather fond of her, even in her last days. She lashed out at me sometimes in pure anger, and I can recall her words very, very well."

"Abello," He repeated, in a higher tone of voice, attempting to sound feminine.

"Why? How do you do it? Please, I beg of you, please tell me how. Tristan is dead now, so no need to tell him anymore, but please, tell me how you do it. You don't show any signs whatsoever, and that peculiar bit cannot be coincidence! Please, please PLEASE! I don't want to..-"

 He tried sounding jovial while saying it, as if he was trying to repeat a line in a comedic nursery rhyme or a story. Yet it sounded forced, which made it rather awkward to listen to the knight as he tried making fun of his own loss in a hopeless attempt to stay positive.

"I just told her I couldn't." He told the Brass Knight as he cocked his head at him. "Told her I didn't know how. Or why. Thing is, she wasn't insane when she died. Hadn't lost her mind. And that last part is the reason that perhaps it's better to try and not recall these memories."