Author's note:
First off, I recommend reading up on the lore of Anor Londo, Gwyndolin and Lady of the Darkling before reading this, since a bit of confusion might occur otherwise.
In this story The Chosen Undead will adorn the Elite Knight armour set, the Tower Kite shield and the Astora straight sword; together with a generic knight protagonist personality. Mildly bland and mostly straight forward...
Also, Gwyndolin will currently be refereed to as "she", because I feel like its more fitting. Even though he is male by birth.
To clear things up:
"Speech will be written like this."
*Thoughts will be written like this.*
-And this will indicate a transition, and describe its nature-
Now, with the introductions out of the way, lets begin...
A new Champion Chapter 1:
A long time ago, in a land far to the north, a series of events most peculiar were about to unfold.
The time was The Age of Fire. And the land was Lordran, kingdom of the ancient lords.
Within Lordran, there is a magnificent city known as Anor Londo, the city of the gods and the giants. But this wondrous city of bright marble and towering cathedrals harboured a few dark secrets. One of which is the lie of the sun. If you happen to be in Anor Londo and were to look up into the sky, your eyes would be met with the warm incandescence of the sun... or so it would seem. Like many other objects and phenomena in Anor Londo, the sun there is an illusion, conjured to hide the truth. What truth? The truth about the Age of Fire, and how it is slowly coming to an end... The strength of the old lords is fading and the world is becoming dark...
-(Chosen undead point of view)-
Close by, past the mountain range, at the top of Sen´s fortress, a battle had just concluded.
The victim, a giant iron golem swept off its feet and cast to the depths below the fortress.
The victor, an undead warrior, his actions driven by the words of a primordial serpent, to seek the holy city of Anor Londo. But he was also a knight in battered armour with fire in his heart. Reborn from a life he cant remember, fighting battles that aren't his own, clinging to the last bits of the sanity he still has left in his still short time of being undead.
The warrior silently savoured his victory. He had lost count of how many enemies he had vanquished and he had no idea how much more fighting he had to do, before being rid of the undead curse. Since his aimless "quest" began at the undead asylum, he has followed the orders and requests of people he met around him.
The victorious knight grabbed an emerald flask from his belt and undid the cork.
First a fellow knight by the name of Oscar, before he perished... Then a nameless, crestfallen warrior, who had given up on trying altogether. Sorcerers, clerics, pyromancers, blacksmiths and merchants... And now a talking serpent. What will the next be?
He shakes his head and takes a few gulps from the flask, its fiery contents rejuvenating his body and healing his cuts and bruises.
But what else was he supposed to do? An undead without purpose will slowly turn mad and hollow inside, worse than even an animal, truly. Some find purpose in their religion, some in their families and relationships and a blessed few can invest themselves into their crafts. But he who has forgotten his past, is doomed to have purpose thrust upon him by others. So he fights. He don't care much for what, or who, or why. He just fights to get to where he has been told to be.
Once the emerald flask had been re-fastened to his belt, he stands up. He was ready to resume his journey. Onwards to whatever the iron golem had protected.
-(Gwyndolin point of view)-
...Yes, the world is indeed becoming dark. But where there is dark, there is also light, however faint it might be. And in Anor Londo that light is Gwyndolin the "Dark Sun".
She resides in the lowest chamber of the central cathedral, accessed via a mechanical, spiralling staircase, hidden behind an illusionary statue resembling her dear father Gwyn.
From there she maintains the illusion of the sun, the illusion of the statue and the illusion of her beloved older sister, Gwynevere. In this reclusive chamber, which also happens to be the tomb of lord Gwyn, Gwyndolin sits patiently, and lonesomely passes the time while channelling her multitude of enchantments.
"Oh father, why does thou stubbornly insist on continuing thine plight...? This burden needest not be thine forever... Please, join us soon..."
She mused to herself, whilst stroking the dusty surface of her fathers would-be stone coffin. Gwyndolin herself rested upon an ornate chair next to the coffin. Patiently. longingly.
"Thou left us to take care of sacred Anor Londo alone. Dear sister has left us, together with her beloved Flann, she fled. And Brother, strong as he once was, was banished by thine will, dear father.
And thineself have been busy with thine self torment, ever since the flame first began to fade.
Alas, we are the last god in Anor Londo and we are so lonely..."
A single tear escaped Gwyndolin´s eye, until it was caught by her golden crown, which covered her head and face from the nose up. The tear ran down along the inside of the crown, until it finally fell upon her pale-white moonlight robes.
Gwyndolin sobbed suddenly, and shortly, clenching her fists to stop herself from crying.
The long, sun-lit corridor darkened momentarily, caused by her broken concentration, before returning to its warm, bright state. The sun outside was unstable.
*No! We must not falter! We must not relent! We are the Queen... the GOD of Anor Londo. If we wish for there to be light, then lightshall there be, by our will.* She thought, reassuring herself with a deep breath.
"We bring the light..."
She reached up and lightly touched her Sun-crown, both the symbol of her rule and, at the same time, the mask she hides behind.
"Indeed we do..."
She sighed and closed her eyes.
-(Chosen undead point of view)-
The peak of Sen´s fortress had led over the mountains, and the chosen undead was met with overwhelming light and warmth. Sunlight washed over him, as he approached a city of marble and tall spires. His journey had led him to forgotten Anor Londo.
An enormous cathedral appeared to be the centrepiece of this architectural jewel; encircled by towers, long-houses and arches. Stairs everywhere appeared to come in two sizes, one fit for humans and another for something severely larger.
Our hero enjoyed the view in full breaths. This find was a refreshing change to the trap-filled, fortified fortresses and toxic, underground caverns, filled to the brim with infected ogres and venomous insects; to which he had grown accustomed to these previous days.
Truly, this rekindled his spirit and urged him forward with renewed fire in his heart. He almost didn't feel the weight of his beaten armour against his sore limbs.
He continued onwards, across the white floor, down the stairs, until he was met by a large sentinel, a giant, clad in the heaviest armour, stood behind a shield almost matching its own height and with a halberd taller still...
Our transient friend unsheathed his sword and raised his shield but didn't advance, his knees shaking from fear.
A moment passed, the giant unmoving, not reacting to the intruders presence.
*Perhaps...* he thought, sheathed his sword and began moving forward, shield still raised. Slow at first, but progressively walking faster, until he was not fifty but five meters from the giant guardian and stopped. To the left of the giant was a door, seemingly fitted to his size.
Since the giant hadn't reacted aggressively towards the undead, he decided that he wouldn't either towards it... mostly out of fear... but he wouldn't admit that to himself.
The door led to a large room inhabited by two equally well armed, but also seemingly equally peaceful, giants.
Our "little" knight found himself wanting to move on before they could change their mind about their hospitality.
He left the room through a door on the opposite side of the two giants.
First now, when he was in the open again, did he truly notice that, the grandness of this city was indeed catered to housing giants, not humans. The double-sized stairs finally made sense, as did the massive doors and buildings everywhere. It would require a bit of endurance to get around on foot here...
Luckily for him, the next door he looked through revealed a bonfire further down a flight of stairs.
*Finally, a bit of rest upon the golem fight* he sighed in relief.
Almost excitedly, he rushed to the bonfire to claim his well deserved rest and relaxation.
When he sat down to rejuvenate, he was met by a female voice not far from him.
"Well, you are a rare visitor." She stated calmly.
The chosen undead hadn't noticed that he wasn't alone until she had spoken to him. He was a bit startled, but stayed put and looked in her direction.
"Welcome to the glorious city of Anor Londo, chosen undead.
If you seek Lord Gwyn´s old keep, exit here, and head straight yonder." She said and pointed out the door, towards the central cathedral from before.
"If you are the chosen one, a revelation shall visit thee...
What follow thereafter, depends upon you..."
Once again, someone he didn't know was calling him the chosen undead, and directing him somewhere. To what end? He couldn't remember anything, so for all he knew, there could be this big common knowledge thing that he wasn't aware of... He couldn't even remember his own name or how he died...
"If you require rest, now is the time. That is, after all, what the bonfire is for." She continued, snapping him out of his depressing train of thought.
He hastily gave the knightess a polite nod to signal that
he was actually listening, urging her to go on.
"Hmm, what is this? What am I? Well... I am the Keeper of the bonfire. If not for me, what beacon would there be in this lost city? A gatekeeper, and a guide; that is my calling."
The chosen undead looks back into the bonfire before him, suddenly deep in thought.
*A fire keeper? The last fire keeper I saw was a mutated spider monster. I slew her without hesitation and she yielded another powerful soul to bolster my strength. Perhaps that is all the fire keepers are good for? Perhaps this one before me here, is as much a monster as the spider from the caverns? Perhaps she just conceals it, to better survive? It is probably safer to eliminate any possible threats, while I can...*
He mentally prepared for what he was going to do.
*The way she stands, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, I should be able to stand up calmly, seemingly meaning no harm; and then lunge forward, drawing my sword and plunge it into her belly before she can react and draw her blade. Hmm... Forgive me, my lady.*
He calmly moved his feet in under himself and stood up from the bonfire with renewed vigour, avoiding eye contact with the knightess. He turned towards the door, as if to leave; but ultimately, it was to conceal him reaching to grab his sheathed straight sword. As he drew his sword in a slashing motion, he spun on the spot, continuing the drawing motion towards the knightess as he leapt forwards like an arrow.
She stood seemingly still during his flight.
When his leap ended in front of her, he didn't hear the sickening puncture of metal through flesh, instead, the tip of his blade met the stone wall behind the fire keeper.
*Parried?! But how could she?*
He looked down from his awkward position in search of an explanation. And there he saw it, a small knife in her left hand, given extra deflection strength from the palm of her right hand pressed against the flat side of the blade. His thrusting attack had been redirected to a mere few centimetres above of her left shoulder.
*A parrying dagger! She must have held it this whole time! Hidden within her glove as she had her arms crossed?!* He concluded in sudden panic.
She expressed a small groan of effort, as she tried to shift her weight while also keeping his blade away from herself. A swift toe-kick to the inner side of his right foot, upon which he supported most of his weight, threw him slightly off balance from his already exposed position. Before he could adjust his footing, a follow-up heel kick to his chest sent him flying backwards, landing hard on his back and continued rolling unto his stomach, his armour producing a ton of noise during the landing and roll. He was somewhat quick to recover, get up on his knee and use his sword as a cane to hold him up and able to look forward.
*She's fast... but luckily she doesn't hit as hard as the iron golem...* He thought whilst panting.
Meanwhile, she stared him down from afar.
"Very well. So be it." She said coldly, slowly unsheathing her estoc. Her parrying dagger still held ready in her left hand.
"Expunging fools like you is part of my charge." Her voice was nothing like when she had greeted him moments ago.
The knight and knightess measured each other, both knowing that only one would leave this room. She was fast and clever, but he was strong and persistent.
She had caught him off-guard, where he thought he could get a clean kill; but her counter attack hadn't accomplished much more than knocking the wind out of him temporarily.
*I can do this.* The chosen undead reassured himself.
He was the first to break the static suspense of waiting, rising up and shifting his sword-grip to wield his weapon properly again before acting. But before he could do more than that, it had become her turn to leap towards him in assault. He reflexively raised his kite-shield to absorb her initial lunge and quick follow-up slashes.
She only attacked with her estoc, and only in ways that wouldn't expose her to counter attacks.
*She's annoying...* he fumed to himself.
The strikes from her light weapon didn't strain his blocking arm significantly, but he knew he had to attack at some point.
He tried a stab aimed at her left leg, only to, once again, have his attack deflected by her dagger and this time, he was also punished with a cut from the estoc to his lower right arm, his sword arm. He only barely managed to not drop his weapon from the sudden pain, but it did manage to extract a grunt of pain from him.
Her swordplay was getting on his nerves.
Recklessly, he swung after her chest in an upwards slashing motion. She halted her assault to deflect with the estoc. Sword-hand now raised above their heads, he quickly followed up with a simple downward slash and a few thrusts aimed at her throat, thigh and chest; taking a step forward for each attempt.
She skill-fully parried all his attacks with her thin sword, barking a small "hai" sound for every deflection, as well as taking a step backwards every time.
Inevitably they reached the wall, her dodging space limiting by the second. He saw this as an opportunity to end this dance. Overconfidence rushed through him, as he thrust his sword directly towards the open visor in her helmet.
She stepped back, but gasped as her heel met with the white wall. *Trapped!* Her mind screamed. She looked towards her assailant, knowing that she had no escape.
*A cornered beast is the most desperate... and most lethal...*
The wall acted as a springboard, when she, without notice, launched herself forwards to meet his attack, deflecting it upwards with her estoc and thus exposing his chest-area to her already oncoming parrying dagger; although designed for defence it is still a deadly weapon.
His eyes widened, knowing full-well the extent of his mistake. The dagger was en-route to his heart. His left arm wouldn't be able to move the shield to the proper angle and protect him in time, and this sword was being guided away by hers and with it, also his sword-arm.
In a desperate attempt he did the only thing he could think of at this point. He let go of his sword to be able to withdraw his arm and absorb the dagger, burying it in his biceps. Fresh blood ran down along his armour to his elbow and fell to paint the marble floor...
The knightess was shocked and struggled to retrieve her dagger, but was unable to pull it out of his wound. The wiggling dagger caused the chosen undead no small amount of pain, from which he certainly didn't suffer in silence. He reached up and grabbed her by the throat, but just as quickly threw her aside and off her feet with the last adrenaline-fuelled strength that arm had left to offer.
She stumbled unto the floor but quickly recovered her footing, now alone with her estoc.
The knights breathing was less panting and more whining from the dagger lodged in his arm.
"I'm not that easily toppled." He taunted, mostly to calm himself, since his weapon arm was weak for the moments to come.
*My sword is somewhere on the floor, out of my reach. If only I had a second weapon like her. Wait... that's it! It might not be a weapon per-say, but I can make good use of it nonetheless. I have to...*
When her breathing had steadied, the knightess clad in brass moved steadily forward, determined to finally eliminate the intruder. She wielded her sword with both hands now, dedicated to the final offensive.
He took a small step forward with his right foot, readying himself.
*It all comes down to this.*
She raised the sword above her head, preparing for the final strike, while uttering some final words:
"Tis a pity... to think I saw potential in you."
She was close enough now, that he could see her eyes through the visor in her helmet. He could see determination, conviction, but also sorrow, or was he imagining it? He hadn't the time to decide right now.
He pulled his left arm as far back as he could muster, then suddenly took a long step forward accompanied by a war-cry:
"Oi, parry this!"
He barked and put all his weight behind a punch utilizing his shield with the top pointing forward.
In a sudden panic she tried to do just that, pulling her estoc back down to try and parry the oncoming shield slam. The slender sword, not in any way or fashion designed to be used this way, splintered across the middle, dropped half its blade on the floor and left its owner defenceless to the remaining power of the punch, numbing her left shoulder from the hit.
In the next second, she gasped and looked down in disbelief at her ruined weapon, before she was knocked backwards by a quick-followed uppercut. This time, from the flat, outer side of the shield.
She was knocked off her feet and into a sitting position, at the same time her helmet was knocked off and into the wall where it cracked open.
Her face was now revealed and her brown hair was tied up in a bun, so it did nothing to hide her scars? No, those weren't scars on her face, it was burn marks.
When she came to after the impact, she panickingly cowered her face and neck to no avail.
The chosen undead was reluctant to press his assault, bearing witness to what he did. But knowing that she would show him no mercy, he pressed on.
As he took a few steps forward, she reacted snappingly with a wail and buried the broken blade in his left thigh, drawing from him a muffled grunt of pain. He pulled it out without much effort needed, as the splintered metal barely managed to pierce his armour to begin with.
While still sitting, the brass knightess used her legs to kick herself backwards until she met the wall, her right arm was still shamefully cowering her face as best she could.
He continued, slightly limping, and with her weapon in hand, until he stood above her.
"But, how... This man is a threat... Master Gwyndolin."
Could be heard between her sobs of despair. She looked up and quickly switched to screaming and clawing at his armour with her right hands nails, as her left arm was still useless from the shield slam.
He grabbed a hold of her wrist, pursed his lips, took a deep breath in through the nose and regretfully sank the knightess own splintered sword into her naked throat, turning her screaming into gurgling of blood. His entire body tensed while the last jests of resistance left her body. His knuckles turned white from holding the knife so forcefully.
He couldn't look while she suffered, so he only turned his eyes towards her again when her strength had left her; and when it finally did, he sunk down to look at her face to face, while she was still conscious. The eyes that stared back at him had no hatred left, only sadness and regret. He let go of her wrist to hold her hand, just for a few seconds. Only a single tear remained on her burn-marked face when she closed her eyes one last time; and when life left her together with her final breath, the entirety of her being disintegrated into ashes and drifted off to be reanimated at another time, at another place, like every undead does when they are slain.
The victorious knight stood up, while the last ashes flew off from between his fingers.
He sighed deeply from relief, retrieved his sword from across the room and sat down by the bonfire to rest...
-(Gwyndolin point of view)-
Gwyndolin sat in her chair, at the end of the long, marble corridor, like she always do. Breathing calmly, deep in thought, and fidgeting the edges of her dress all the while.
"Perhaps we should visit niece Priscilla again soon, she would love that. She always gets that warm smile and hugs us when we come to see her."
The tiniest of smiles crept unto the feminine sorcerer´s lips.
"Maybe we will even get a chance to discuss-"
Her monologue was cut short. A stinging pain had struck in her chest. It was the first of its kind she had ever experienced, but she immediately knew its exact cause.
*Oh no-*
She couldn't speak, not now. The pain forced her off her seat and unto the floor, on knees and palms, a position she had never imagined she would assume, it was to be reserved for the servants and soldiers.
With some effort, she managed to get up unto just her knees, fist clenching at her chest, while her other arm was stretched out with the palm facing the far end of the corridor.
"My lady... You cant be. Please don't be!"
But she was... Gwyndolin's connection with her closest companion, The Lady of the Darkling, had suddenly been severed, which could only mean that she was no more...
And with that, Gwyndolin cried. And she hammered the hard floor with her fists, as if it would make a difference. Her grieving strikes, sounding only like small claps on the massive floor, did little good other than spread her falling tears further across the marble.
"Revenge... Avenge those unrighteously slain... We pr-... I promise you, I will..."
She collected her thoughts and breathed steadily as she returned to her seat. Whatever fiend or depraved undead that had dared to kill a knight of the realm would soon be here after the grand prize. She needed to be ready. She needed to be calm to muster her magic, to shoot true. She needed to destroy whoever had attacked her kingdom; that she swore.
"We will be waiting for thou... fiend!"
To be continued...