I stumbled to my feet, and staggered on. This place reminded me of the Shrine, a last bastion of light in a world where Darkness reigned. Somehow, the Flame had indeed touched this place, long ago, yet for centuries since, it had lain cold and lifeless as the flagstones on which I collapsed, my legs failing me.

In time, I rose again, and dragged myself onward; this place was indeed soured by the Dark, strange beasts grey and emaciated rose in pools from the stones, clutching to their frail chests the molten light of weapons and the promise they held. Tentatively I knelt, yet they offered their bundle without hesitation, and from it I withdrew a weathered ax, that with a dexterous slash became an ashen halberd, its ragged edge glinting like sundered glass in the sickly light, its shaft rugged and beaten beneath my gloved fingers.

I bowed, knowing not whether they would understand my gratitude, and turning on my heel knelt before one of many jutting tombstones, knowing intuitively that this was the Gate between domains much as the bonfire was. Foulness devoured me, and spat my soiled frame back into that realm in which I had first beheld the vision, had first woken into this nightmarish land. Then, I had been devoured, yet now, now it was I who would triumph.