Welcome to the first installment of my play through series titled "The old Adventures of Young Metzgro". This series will take you through the life and times of an up and coming young pyromancer named Metzgro.
We start off our story with creation. I keep the default build the same, and mainly pick up the "Master Key". It seemed like the most useful. Background, Metzgro speaks with a broken English accent, as if he came from some foreign Asian influenced land. Now I say broken English accent, because fundamentally, he speaks great English, but his accent is derivative of heavy Asian influences...Straight outta the rice fields.
(Beginning intro) (Cut scene where Ole Oscar drops that body down)
Metzgro of the East lived a very fulfilling life before he went undead. Back in his homeland, he had been a rice farmer. He was a lean lad standing just under 6 foot. He had fair olive skin and a main of onyx hair. We know nothing more, and nothing less fore he has forgotten most of his memories. This is where his story ends. That of Metzgro of the East. No one knows him here, he barely knows himself. But at the same moment, this is where his new story begins. That of Young Metzgro.
Haunting memories on why he was detained in cell interrupted by the sounds of shifting metal as our hero gazed at the grate on the ceiling and the events that would lead to his escape. "Hello friend, would you fancy helping a newly undead out?" yelled Metzgro timidly as he saw the silhouette of a knight appear above him as a corpse fell to his feet. He received no reply as the grates were closed. Metzgro laid there in frozen stillness gawking at the corpse. He didn't know what to expect. He knew not whether it was a true corpse, or whether it had the capability to breath and be brought back to life. He braced himself along the wall for a few more moments.
He clenched his fist tightly, anticipating any sudden movement from the body. His assumptions were true for the body was indeed lifeless, a mere corpse of someone who had hallowed out long ago. Upon his person, the corpse maintained a Dungeon Cell Key. Was this the husk of a once diligent guard, or a pour soul who made it as far as acquiring a set, before running into the knight that dropped him in here.
He reluctantly tried the key on his own cell door, and to his own surprise, the latch twisted. He heaved his whole body weight towards the door to get it to budge. The turn to undeadhood was not kind to his bones and muscles. Not waiting for the door to fully open, he forced himself through. An eerie corridor greeted him, filled with more cells on the left and grated windows to the right. Each step he took forward was filled with caution, fearing and anticipating an attack to come from any angle. At the end of the hall was a room designed as some sort of makeshift stairwell with a drain on the first level that had flooded, and a small set of stairs leading to a ladder. Above the ladder he could see a glimpse of light. He proceeded up.
He walked through the exit to be greeted by a breeze of fresh air, he had arrived in some sort of courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard looked to be the ashy remains of a bonfire. He approached the bonfire and kindled it. He needed some time. Time to think about where he was and how to get out. Time to process what he has seen, and what lay beyond the grates back in the corridor containing his cell. Most of all, he needed time to rest. What a good place as any than right there at the warm bonfire.