Dark Souls is owned and produced by From Software.
No permission has been obtained from any of the copyright holders for the use of the characters and situations from these series. This work of fiction is not for profit and not intended to infringe on copyrighted intellectual property in any significant or harmful way.
Should they, or any of their affiliates, request it this non-profit story will be taken off line as quickly as possible.
Any original characters, however, are owned by me and me alone. Should I find out someone has stolen my characters, I will find them and launch them out of a cannon and into the sun. Or beat them to death with a napkin, whichever mood I am in. If you want to use the characters, just ask. I'll probably say yes.
Feedback is encouraged. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows.
Anyway, let's get on with the story, shall we?
Final Moments
Chapter One: A Desolate End
Blood.
There was too much damned blood.
Alexia Beatrice limped forward, one foot in front of the other, her hand clasped to her side. Blood seeped through her fingers, slowly dripping to the ground once every few feet she took. She didn't know where she was going, precisely, just anywhere but the dark hell-hole behind her.
Fire. Everyone screaming. Town people running and panicking in their search for escape. Dark Wraiths grabbing people left and right, stealing their humanity before dropping their lifeless corpses to the ground. The Sealers and their squad of arcane warrior escorts in a tight circle, firing countless soul arrows indiscriminately into civilian undead and Dark Wraith ranks alike.
She had tried. She had tried so hard to stop all of this horror before it even began. She was a living legend, the "Rogue Witch". The last of a magnificent line of witches stretching back centuries who weren't bound by the petty rules of "modern" Sorcery practiced by Vinhelm. Her magical ability was unmatched by anyone except perhaps the father of sorcery himself, Seath the Scaleless. She had even spoken and trained in the art of abyss-walking alongside poor Artorias shortly before his fateful mission to halt the spread of the abyss and save the last of the royal line in Oolacile. She was a prodigy, a legend. If anyone could stop the abyss' spread in New Londo, she could.
Not strong enough.
She was a fool. Even Artorias himself had been hesitant on confronting the Four Kings, and when he had, he came back bloodied and barely alive. If Artorias the Abyss Walker couldn't defeat them, what hope did she have of facing them?
She had prepared herself well before-hand. She had refreshed herself on her most powerful of spells, sharpened her emergency dagger, and even bothered to put on a steel plate armor underneath her robes in a show of disdainful paranoia. It was probably the only reason she was still alive. Even after she was prepared and had fought her way through the chaos of a warring city, she had even set out a summon sign to help another soul in another world face the same challenge to attain experience fighting the reality warping monstrosities.
To her delight, her summoner, a man known simply as Lux, a man whom had summoned her in his fight against the giant butterfly creation in the Dark Root forest, had found her once more. Smiling softly, she waved at Lux prompting him to do the same. For a moment, they were both silent, staring at one another in the dank ruins before both erupted into a spontaneous fit of maniacal laughter. They were in the midst of a dead city, surrounded by abominations and the tortured lingering souls of the truly dead, about to confront something even the greatest heroes in all of history had failed to defeat and they were exchanging pleasantries.
Goddess, I needed that. When was the last time I actually laughed?
Their laughter was soon brought to a stuttering halt as several banshee wails sounded off in the distance in response to their laughter, reminding them of the encroaching danger and the titans they were to challenge. They, shortly after ensuring no threats were immediately nearby, spoke for a short time of plan and strategy, but few words were really needed. They both knew what was to be faced, and both knew the price of failure. With little left to say or discuss, they left for the Four Kings' old tower, venturing down the stair case that led to the all consuming abyss itself.
Alexia followed close behind Lux, staying well within the illumination provided by the flickering flame Lux held in his hand as a non-pyromancer would a lantern, the sound of her and Lux's footfalls the only thing to be heard. She occasionally glanced at her companion, studying him. Despite traveling with him for a time as a phantom in the DarkRoot Garden, he was still an enigma. She knew next to nothing about his past or motivation, and he knew presumably next to nothing about her, but that had not stopped them from forming something resembling a friendship in their short travels together. What she did know about him, though, surrounding him and encompassing his very being and soul, was an aura that she had only seen in a select few people...
Artorias the Abysswalker. Hawkeye Gough. Ornstein the Dragon Slayer. Lords Blade Ciaran.
The most legendary of heroes whose accomplishments and fame will far outlast any deeds done by a mere "mortal" hero. It should have been impossible for anyone to even approach their level, to even be remotely similar, yet here he was, challenging the Abyss Kings alongside her where even Artorias had failed. Could he really be like the Four Knights?
Could I?
Her thoughts were interrupted as she took another step and found herself falling. Her eyes snapped downward, and she found the never-ending staircase she and Lux had been walking down had ended sharply as if deliberately cut... and she had stepped over the edge. Acting on instinct born of months traveling through Lordran's treacherous mountains, she twisted her torso in midair in a split second, both of her hands reaching out in the brief moment of time to grab hold of the stair-case's ledge.
Hanging by the tips of her fingers, even as Lux bent down to help her, she pulled herself up with strength earned by years traveling alone. She paused even as her muscles strained, staring, transfixed as Lux knelt down and offered her his hand. If she could have, she would have slapped it away.
I don't need his strength, nor his pity. I'm not some pathetic princess in need of rescue.
Grunting with effort, she pulled herself over the staircase's edge, ignoring Lux's offered hand. She paused there, kneeling as she panted from the struggle before turning her head and lightly glaring at Lux. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his offer to help pull her up. It was just that she hadn't needed it. Did he think her so weak as to perish from the simple act of climbing back atop the stair-case? Surely he had known this little obstacle was nothing to her. Did he doubt her strength after their previous travels together?
She opened her mouth to rebuke him, but stopped when she noticed him staring not at her, but what was behind her. Frowning, she followed his line of sight to its source and she, too, stared.
Where she had been hanging moments before, now a mass of shadows stretched from the abyss below, probing the air for her missing form. It was difficult to even see the shadows, as they were of the same darkness as the abyss itself, but enough light reflected off of the tendrils to give it a somewhat shinier, if murky, appearance in comparison to its origin. A chill entered her blood as she came to a realization. If she had been just one moment later, even a few seconds later, the embodied shadows would have wrapped around her and dragged her down, simply another meal for the Abyss.
Shaking her head and forcibly driving her chilled blood and fear into submission, she glanced away from the pulsating mass of shadows slowly reaching for her and Lux and over the edge of the staircase and into the Abyss itself. True to its name, she saw nothing, absolutely nothing, and even the tower's walls seemed to melt seamlessly into the shadows lying beneath. What got to her and caused chills to go through her body, however, was the fact that, although nothing appeared to be down there, she could swear she could feel hundreds of eyes looking back at her. She looked up, visibly shaken, and, surprised, found Lux, while as stoic as ever, his hand trembling and gripping his now drawn blade tightly in a death grip.
They met each others eyes for a moment, and an unspoken agreement was immediately reached.
This is it.
She stood back a moment, closed her eyes,flexed her muscles a moment, and then slammed her staff into the stone, mentally preparing herself as the lessons on abyss-walking Artorias had imparted onto her came back into her mind.
"Remember the Abyss is not so much a place as it is an embodiment of hunger. It doesn't care of corporeal concern, it only seeks to sate its appetite by consuming all-your mind, your body, your sorrow and rage, eventually even your soul will be fuel to its endless hunger if you fall to it.
And what it can't eat it corrupts. This is the fate of the Four Kings, men who were strong enough to resist its hunger, but of too weak will to resist its temptations. If you are not diligent, this shall be your fate, as well."
Alexia stood still, not a single muscle moving or even twitching as she focused on her memories of lessons of the past until she could almost hear Artoria's voice once more. Before his departure for Oolacile, she had sought him out, and he had taught her everything he knew of the abyss. At the time, she had considered herself extraordinarily lucky to be the only other soul Artorias had thought worthy to be taught how to traverse the abyss, but after he met his end stopping the Abyss in Oolacile, the knowledge that she was the only one in the world now capable of traversing the abyss terrified and awed her...
Then she had heard of the Dark Wraiths besieging New Londo, newly arisen from the shadowy lairs of the Four King's palace of darkness. It was her duty as the unknown inheritor of the title of Abyss-Walker to go there and confront the abyss and slay the Four Kings. The fact that she would earn fame rivaling that of the Four Knights and officially be recognized as the new Abyss-Walker once the Four Kings were defeated was a very happy coincidence.
"If you are to traverse the abyss, you must first clear your mind and bring serenity to your soul, for any disruption and the abyss will exploit your weakness and consume you."
Alexia breathed in deeply, and breathed out, over and over again. Slowly, all of her worries, her pains, everything left her until nothing but detached serenity remained.
"The Abyss seeks to consume and envelop all in shadow. Remember that shadow is incapable of consuming the light. To traverse the abyss is to become an embodiment of light."
Beatrice thought and focused on the image of a growing light, blinding in its luminescence emanating from every fiber of her being. Slowly, her soul began to stir.
" Let your soul grow and shine. Allow its power to flow unimpeded through your corporeal bindings, and let its light shine forth to illuminate the dark."
Deep insider her, her soul slowly stretched as her body let it be free. Its energy, its essence slowly poured into every fiber of her being, filling her, completing her. Her veins and arteries all throughout her body began to glow a gentle blue as light began pouring out of her being. Over the span of a few seconds, an aura of broken light imposed itself over her in the form of slowly falling particles of blue light forever falling around her in a protective barrier.
Alexia Beatrice opened her eyes, and looked upon the world with a new perspective. She could feel the power flowing through her body, bathing her in raw soul energy. Blue light emanated from her being, the rays of light repelling tendrils of shadow that had been stretching towards the piece of staircase she and Lux stood on, attracted by the resonating strength of their souls.
The abyss wouldn't dare touch her, bright as her soul was, and the strange ring Lux wore provided a similar, simpler yet effective protection from the abyss. She looked to Lux and spoke three simple words.
"I am ready."
She then looked into the abyss without fear and stepped forward into the darkness, Lux falling right behind her.
The ensuing battle was one of mass chaos as the four kings split themselves apart into even more copies. Their unholy attacks thundered throughout the abyss, and the abyss once more knew light as countless blasts of purple, red, and blue light exploded throughout the battle field as the power of life drain met with the strength of pyromancy and sorcery. The battle was long and hard, but with her sorcery and his flame, their combined might had been enough. The kings of the abyss had fallen, one by one, and, with one final goodbye to Lux, she had returned to her own world with invaluable experience for her own confrontation.
Filled with confidence from her victory alongside Lux, she had gone on to confront the Four Kings and stop the destruction of New Londo in her own world before the sealers implemented their contingency plans and flooded dying city to stop the spread of the Abyss
I failed. Miserably.
It hadn't even been a real fight. The Kings shrugged off whatever spells she threw at them and instead chose to toy with her, tossing her across the abyss like a simple doll and occasionally draining some of her gathered humanity. This had gone on for quite some time, each taking turns throwing her at one another like a child's game of catch until she finally managed to injure one, the entirety of a super-charged homing soul mass slamming into one's shoulder and blowing apart the stone root like arm. This injury stopped the game and the injured King had finally got serious. With one single strike, he had brought his sword deep into her side, cutting through her robes and flesh like butter and stopping on several of her now shattered ribs. Three things had saved her: her sparse steel armor, an emergency teleport spell she had scavenged from one of the channelers' corpses, and an emergency salve that slowed bleeding and briefly enhanced her regeneration.
That brought her back to the present, limping out of the now slowly closing gates of New Londo, a trail of far too much blood spilling down her side as she fled the now eerily quiet city. Her flight from the city had been a desperate, terrifying experience. The masses of the city were almost all dead, but their spirits were enraged, emerging from the broken corpses to slaughter the living. The Dark Wraiths prowled the streets, seeking out whatever life remained. What few of the civilians she had seen had lied there wherever they had fallen, staring straight ahead with blank eyes in shock, making them easy prey for the specters or the Dark Wraiths. The only coherent soul she had seen was from a distance, and that was of the three sealers and their few remaining escorts retreating deep into the dam on the far side of the city, bright flashes of soul arrows fired from the sealers and arcane warriors exploding amongst the hordes of closing enraged spirits. Their escorts had stopped at the damn's entrance and held their ground in a desperate last stand against the ethereal horde meant to buy the sealer's time to open the flood gates keeping the city's reservoir back.
It was very clear. The city was lost, its prosperous citizens doomed to either die by a ghost's ethereal blades, a Dark Wraith's humanity stealing blade, or to be drowned in the frigid waters soon to come. All of this happening because she hadn't been strong enough to stop it.
Dammit.
She gasped as an intense surge of pain flowed through her body, bringing her to her knees just outside the New Londo gateway. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily to try to reduce or control the pain even as her life blood continued to flow from the deep gash in a steady ebb. She was so focused on trying to bring the pain back under control that it took her a moment to notice the sound of rubble moving. When she did consciously register it as a sound, her eyes shot open and darted around her even as she brought her staff to bear and prepared to fire off another soul arrow at whatever may be threatening her. What she saw made her blood run cold.
At the far end of the ever so slowly closing gateway, dozens of ghost had arisen from the freshly slain corpses lying in great piles within the ruined town's plaza. Each and every ghost, once fully risen, turned murderous and homicidal eyes upon her, several releasing furious banshee wails that sent throbbing pain through her ears. However, the specters were not what had her attention, as, horrid as they were and weakened as she was, she could hold her own long enough to get out of the wrathful ethereal beings territory and range. No, it was what was behind them that drew her horrified attention.
A trio of large beings in darkened armor had jumped impossibly high over several collapsed walls, each landing in formation in the midst of the ghosts. Several of the spirits turned to them and, seeing their murderers, forgot of her for a moment in their rage against the Dark Wraiths. Even as she thought this, several ghost had reached out with impossibly long arms and insubstantial blades to slash at the Dark Wraiths.
The Dark Wraiths rose in unison and began charging through the ranks of phantoms, casually dodging the multitude of scattered strikes from the enraged ghosts and easily banished many of the specters in their path to the slow closing gate. Their charge, however, seemed to be futile as the gate ultimately slid closed just as the dark wraiths reached the gate's entryway. Their deaths were almost assured as the spirits had closed in around them, and all that had been banished before by the wraiths had been replaced by ten times the number of the fallen.
Beatrice let out a deep sigh of relief she had been holding in as the Dark Wraiths were obscured from her vision, but froze when she heard a loud screech of grinding gears.
No. It can't be. Not now.
Sure enough, she saw a fresh nightmare coming to life. Two of the dark wraiths had jammed their hands in-between the two pieces of the gate, and, to her shock, they were pulling against it. To make matters even worse, with their unholy strength, she saw that they were actually winning the contest of strength between master engineering and supernatural unholy strength, inch by tiny inch prying open the gate. The third of the group had set himself behind the others, his dark hand generating an elongated bubble like barrier of shifting energy around him and his comrades against the ghosts while the relentless spirits pounded against it.
What am I doing? I haven't survived this long being a timid maiden.
With her own mind's verbal rebuttal, she brought her staff to bear and began firing whatever useful spells she had left. Her arm shook with the weight of her once light staff as weakness overtook her arms, causing her aim to horribly waver, but eventually conjured a homing soul mass. The mass of four balls of spiritual energy immediately locked onto the Dark Wraith prying the massive gates apart on the right launched themselves forward at extreme speeds.
A spell's strength can be determined by how it is formed and the elegance with which it is created, but the primary factor in determining just how powerful a spell is or can be relies upon the strength of one's soul and how "trained" it is in pouring its strength and energy into the spell in question. This is the primary reason an aged master sorcerer will almost always beat a young novice even when using the exact same variety of spell in controlled conditions. Let it be known that, while Witch Alexia Beatrice is quite young compared to her mother, a master rogue witch herself, she has spent her whole life training in the art of sorcery and, were she to have been raised in an academic circle instead of by her mother in the wilderness, she would have been considered a prodigy. When other kids were playing at the ripe old age of five, Alexia was training to strengthen her soul or using her expansive skill to further her knowledge. Now,only thirty years of age, Alexia Beatrice has strengthened her soul to the point that it is more powerful than two dozen master sorcerers from the Dragon School and the only entity in the entire world whose soul is most definitively stronger than hers is the grandfather of sorcery himself, Seath the Scaleless.
The average homing soul mass's strength of a single member of its four orbs of energy can be said to be akin to the force of a long bow's released arrow and the small explosion of energy afterward equivalent to a weak firebomb. Witch Beatrice's homing soul mass is not so much an arrow as a force strongly reminiscent of a cannon ball at terminal velocity and the ensuing explosion is not so much a small firebomb as that of a powerful artillery piece.
The first soul orb slammed into the bubble like shield created by the dark wraiths and instantly shattered the impressive shield capable of holding up for a short time to dragon's breath. The second soul orb missed its target when the Dark Wraith ducked its head and the soul orb careened over it to explode and destabilize a building in the dead city. The third one hit its mark, but lost much of its energy in a hastily conjured dark shield and only hit the wraith with a tenth of its energy, more than enough to batter its armor and even crack some of its reinforced ribs, easily causing great pain but this being's will was far too great to concede defeat to something as silly as "pain". The last of glowing orb of the homing soul mass slammed into the very same dark wraith and, instead of exploding like most soul masses would and bruising the recipient, perhaps breaking a few bones, it continued on straight ahead, drilling through the dark wraith's armor and creating a massive hole a man's head could have fit through before detonating on the far side of the ruins with enough force to bring down another building. The dark wraith fell backwards without a sound, black blood oozing from the newly created cavity.
With one black wraith dead, the gate overwhelmed the strength of the remaining one prying at it and once more began to close, prompting one dark wraith to jump into the recently created space in between, set his hands out, and attempt to hold the gate. This time, it did not have the strength to resist empowering gears of the gate's crushing force
She watched in horrid fascination as the usually silent humanoid abomination screamed in agony as it was crushed between the gates, its screams echoing terribly in the canyon as its reinforced bones broke under tremendous force until it was finally silenced with a very loud "crunch". Its last sacrifice was not in vain, however, as it had bought enough time for his last "comrade" to jump over its body and through the now closing doors to land in an unsteady heap front of the just now closed and locked gate, deep gouges from ethereal blades and smoking burns from second hand exposure to the intense heat of her earlier homing soul mass scouring its body. Using its sword as a support, it slowly pulled itself back up to a portion of its impressive height, leaning on its sword and it paused, concentrating a moment before a dark aura overtook it, bathing it in unholy energy drawn upon by forcibly enslaved humanity.
In the span of a few seconds, its wounds were healing, the third degree burns of sorcery and the ethereal slashes were sealing and knitting itself back together Slowly, the aura faded, leaving the Dark Wraith haggard and unsteady, but no longer as near death as it once was. It turned to regard her for a moment before ripping its blade from the ground and charging her in one single motion. Alexia Beatrice stared in shock, not really registering the nearing being until it was almost too late
No... NO! I won't let it end like this!
She almost instinctively brought up her staff up as an impromptu club at the last second and blocked the overhead two-handed slash destined to cleave her head in two. For a moment, they struggled over their connected weapons, both vying and pushing for control. If the Dark Wraith were at full power, it would be no contest. The creature's muscles capable of crushing solid rock would easily have overwhelmed her thin form, but it was not at full strength. The enraged spirits had weakened him considerably with their innumerable slashes, and the explosion of Alexia's spell had pushed its body to the limits. To just stay alive, its body had turned on its own muscles in a desperate hunger for energy and nutrients, leaving it horrifically weak in comparison to its prime.
Gritting her teeth and snarling with a combination of fear and rage, Alexia pushed forward with one last burst of adrenaline fueled strength, knocking the Dark Wraith's hand back, causing it to stumble. She brought her staff forward sharply, hitting it in its stomach, causing it to pitch forward before she brought her staff high above her head and swung it in counterclockwise rotation as hard as she possibly could, slamming it into the Dark Wraith's face. The Dark Wraiths entire upper torso flew backward until its upper body made a near perfect ninety degree angle with its legs.
A sickening crack of twisting bone echoed in the canyon, but this was followed by another, and then another, each crack getting louder and louder and closer and closer together until it was all one long continuous horrific sound. The Dark Wraith pitched forward suddenly, its blade arm once again coming at her overhead. She brought her staff up to block it the sword, the impacting force pushing her back but Beatrice grit her teeth as she prepared for an out to the once again coming contest of strength, mentally preparing the only spell she could do right now, a weak soul arrow to fire into the dark wraith before it could overpower her. She absolutely did not expect the steel clad boot to slam into her midsection with enough force to knock her several feet away, her catalyst slipping from her fingers in her flight.
Blinking away tears and the pain she raised her slowly red tinting gaze back up to the Dark Wraith just in time to see it catch her staff in midair before he brought it down, hard, on his knee, instantly shattering it in two. Were she not in so much pain, she would have shed several tears; not because the staff was intrinsically valuable, no. The staff was just a sturdy piece of gnarled oak enchanted to act as a catalyst. No, what would have caused her tears was the fact that the staff was a family heirloom and an embodiment of her mother's memory.. It was the only thing she had left to remember her mother by, and now it was gone, forever out of reach.
The Dark Wraith threw the shattered pieces of wood to the side before it smartly turned and began to advance on her, cold anger clearly defining its every step. However, it did not act on its anger and paused before her prone form, staring deeply into her, studying her with undecipherable eyes.
She slowly pulled herself to her knees and managed to straighten herself up, pausing a brief second to spit out bloody saliva and wipe the sweat-soaked, grime encrusted ebony hair out of her eyes and stared defiantly up at her executioner. There was almost nothing left she could do except die with dignity. Her catalyst was broken, shattered, depriving her of her spell-craft. Any other tools such as firebombs she'd long since discarded or used in her desperate flee through the war torn city. Her hands fell to her sides, and she slowly started to feel despair envelop her as she stared her end in the eye, but froze when she felt a familiar, long object strapped to her side, beneath an opening in her tattered robes.
My dagger. How could I forget?
If she had had time to reflect, the answer would have been easy: she almost never used it except to cut up bread or meat around camp fires. For combat, she relied on her sorcery and, if someone did close enough, which was a very rare thing indeed, she was quite skilled in using her staff to bludgeon foes to death. However, she did not have time to act, as her executioner was done with its examination of her and was already moving to behead her. Gripping her dagger tightly, she lunged from her prone position like lightning, surprising the Dark Wraith with her speed.
Goddess, I only need one chance. Just one more chance. If I can just get at his neck, this will all be over and I'll live another day. Just one more is all that I ask.
The Dark Wraith swung at her, but she was already too close for its dark blade to be effective. Using her shoulder, she rammed into the Dark Wraith and slammed her dagger forward and into the small opening between its helmet and breast-plate. Her dagger sunk in, releasing a trickle of black blood from corrupted flesh and she smiled triumphantly, knowing her prayer had been answered.
Her smile immediately disappeared as the Dark Wraith, with lightning reflexes, dropped his sword and grabbed her dagger hand, stopping her push just before the dagger pierced his trachea. A normal human would be choking on their own blood at this point, or at least desperately hugging the neck to staunch the flow of blood. The key aspect here is that it isn't human. With cold precision, even as its life blood oozed from severed veins and arteries, it slowly began pushing the dagger, its tip black with unholy blood, back out of its own lightly pierced neck.
Alexia grit her teeth and pushed back with trembling arms. She was too tired for another contest of strength. The Dark Wraith continued to push from his end, and Alexia watched in horror as the dagger slowly began to twist around despite her best efforts. Desperate, she adopted the Dark Wraith's trick from earlier from over and sharply brought her knee into its stomach. The dark wraith merely grunted and used the momentary lapse in her attention to gain the upper hand and began to drive her own dagger the final few inches into her chest. She watched as if in slow motion, the dagger slowly being slammed into her own chest, right over a lung. At the last possible moment, knowing of the pain and not being strong enough to watch what was to happen, she closed her eyes and waited for the final strike.
She didn't have to wait along
The small dagger sunk into her chest, slicing through what little armor she wore like it was nothing. Pain blossomed in her chest, and she suddenly couldn't seem to breathe. She opened her mouth to scream, but only a pained gurgle came out.
Suddenly, her mind seemed to slow down, and it seemed as if she wasn't the woman being cut open and was instead a simple observer. She watched with detached curiosity even as her body convulsed and gurgled in pain as the dagger was sharply pulled out in a spray of blood. A foot connected with her chest and shoved, knocking her onto her back, but she didn't really feel it. She heard the clatter of her own dagger being dropped on a nearby rock and footsteps walking away, but didn't really listen.
She stared straight up, watching the golden clouds slowly drift by overhead in the evening twilight. It really was a beautiful sight, and she idly figured there were worse things to see before one died.
She had gotten so far. From the glittering beauty of the eastern ocean to the extravagant temples of the Way of White in the far west, she had traveled and learned. She had met so many people, made so many friends, even meeting and befriending several semi-mythical legends like the Four Knights of Gwyn. She'd done a bit of good here, a little bit of mischief there, even taking on fearsome monsters none but the bravest of heroes would dare face, all in her quest to sate her wander-lust and her urge to be remembered for something, anything other than being another in a long line of rogue witches. She lightly touched her chest and her once clean hand came away streaked with crimson that glittered in the evening sun, a sight which transfixed her with its horrible beauty and drove the finality of her impending darkness into her.
It's over. I lost.
She was going to pass on, and once she did, the long, everything she had hoped for, everything she had stood for, would fade away. Even her blood line, stretching back to dawn of the Age of Fire, would end. She was the last, a remnant of a soon to be deceased magnificent line of witches, and her time was up. She'd never even bothered to have a daughter or even adopt some orphan as her apprentice and no one else of her family remained amongst the living to continue on.
Everything she knew, everything her ancestors stood for, all of their accumulated knowledge and hopes and dreams would end with her. all because she just didn't know when to back down. Unbidden, tears began to stream from her eyes, the pain and sorrow of her fate just too much to hold in any longer.
It's not fair.
She had tried. She had tried so hard, and it was still over.
Why? Why does it have to end now?
Darkness had long since moved in on her vision, and the world was slowly blurring. She knew what was happening, consciously at least. Her mind was shutting down, and she had gone into shock. Pretty soon, assuming she didn't die of blood loss or massive internal damage(which she probably would), she would likely go into a coma. She could have done something about this, perhaps fumbled for more of that salve or tried an experimental spell of healing she had developed, but she just couldn't bring herself to try or truly care. Besides, the fresh grass really did feel quite good to lay on, and she was so tired...
Maybe... maybe I should just rest here for a little while, take a little nap. Yes, a nap sounds lovely.
Some tiny piece of her screamed as she slowly closed her leaden eyes. Death was the culmination of her worst nightmares: the complete loss of mind and soul. Death was something everyone who practiced sorcery in any extent feared for this very reason, whether the person was a mere novice student or the father of Sorcery himself, Seath the Scaleless.
Worse yet, by her own definition, the act of death was giving up. She never gave up.
The inner part of her that was screaming to not give up, to continue fighting until the bitter end, however, was currently being strangled by the overwhelming darkness flooding her mind. Wherever it touched, the light of her mind and soul faded until it too joined the ever-expanding dark. In mere moments, the exponential growth of the darkness clogging her mind and smothering her soul would end abruptly as nothing would be left to consume.
It's dark...
Why did it have to be dark?
Anyway, that's finally over with. It has been a little bit of an adventure in and of itself getting this story done.
I have to give a shout-out to , my Beta Reader. She had been an absolute god send in getting this story done, and probably improved its original quality by a minimum factor of two, probably three.
Assuming anybody is still even reading this author's note, I think I'll go ahead and say I got the inspiration after I found Witch Beatrice's body in the canyon outside the gates to the New Londo Ruins. I literally just stayed there, staring at the body for a few minutes, wondering of the implications in the game's world, and this is the result.
Much of what is in this story is just conjecture on my part and cannot be supported by much of what is in game. This ranges from most of Witch Beatrice's character I wrote about (heck, even her first name) to the bit I went on about how sorcery works. If you have any questions, just ask me. I can't promise I'll answer immediately, but I will get to you eventually.
HiddenMaster out.