(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

journey into my hands."
The Keeper sighs, "It seems that if my collection is to be forever incomplete,
it is better for such a thing to die a slow death, than remain yearning after
its brethren forever."
Slim fingers circle the cap, and long nails click down about the metal. There
is a twist, a pop, and the vial is opened.
"Have it and lament, o mortals... the final memory of the journal of the
Nameless One."
Chapter 110
I pray this thing is recording these final moments, but I don't have much
hope that the Powers could hear or answer my pleas.
A cold wind whipped my skin, carrying a chill that drew not just warmth, but
the very substance from my flesh. There was an emptiness in the sky,
blacker than a starless night or the heart of a fiend. Gazing upwards was
tempting madness, staring into a yawning oblivion that threatened to
swallow my sanity. Senseless as it was, it seemed that if I dropped my guard
I would've been swept from my feet and drawn into bleak eternity. It was a
void I was vaguely familiar with... in many ways it seemed to mirror the
hollowness at the core of my being where a soul might've rested once, a
thousand lifetimes ago.
I had to move, had to recall every ounce of sensation and feeling and
warmth to keep the essence of my being from being carried away by that
wind like motes of dust.
I clung tight to what I was, wrapping identity around me as a cloak, and
strode down the walkway.
The Fortress had been built from regrets: wounds still raw and bleeding, or
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