Pilgrim of the Darkmoon
Prologue
The halls of the chapel basement were rather quiet save for the methodical footsteps nearing the far end of the Tomb of Lord Gwyn. The steps of Gwynevere were soft pats, and the sound of her bare feet slapping stone was drowned out by Flann's metal boots colliding with the floor. The sound agitated Gwyndolin, who sat in a chair beside his father's tomb awaiting Gwynevere and her husband.
Only the light of Anor Londo's eternal sun shone through the tall, narrow windows, paneled expertly and clear as crystal. In the luminance at the end of the long hall, Lord Gwyn's tomb imposed itself upon the rest of the room, almost empty beside's Gwyndolin's chair and a stone dais in front of the tomb. Atop the stone vault, a single bundle of flowers feebly decorated its blank face.
The princess Gwynevere held onto her husband's arm tightly, sobbing gently into a white handkerchief, laced with gold. Gwyndolin himself was on the verge of tears as the two finally stood before him.
"Gwynevere… Thou needn't departest."
"Oh, Gwyndolin. Sweet brother; when will thou seest that nothing remains in Anor Londo? It taketh mine leaving, I think."
"Thou art wrong. The legacy of Gwyn remains. I will restore his glory to this place, whether thou -" The god's voice quivered and he stopped speaking. His sun crown, worn in honor of his father, shook atop his head. The snakes beneath him writhed and hissed in frustration.
"My sweet… come with us. Together, we might abandon these sour souvenirs of our past. To stay is only to remindeth thyself of thy past troubles." Gwynevere reached for Gwyndolin's shoulder to comfort him. As she did so, her glowing white robes fell from her arm and hung at her side.
"No!" Gwyndolin shouted. "I'll not accompany you and this flaming, barbarous wretch! If thou are to leave, doeth so now! Begone!"
Gwynevere fell back. Her face was fearful and grief-stricken. She sobbed into her handkerchief again.
"O, father…"
Flann's eyes bore into Gwyndolin's mask. Underneath it, the Dark Sun's mouth was a hard, unyielding line of defiance. It gave no clues to the torment he felt tearing at his insides.
In a moment, Gwynevere and Flann glowed with a pair of golden sigils, and then disappeared.
There was a long period of silence in the tomb. Gwyndolin took a deep breath and drew his catalyst. Suddenly, shouting like a call of thunder, he sent dozens of soul masses around the room. Each of them collided with the stone walls around him, though they all curved around Lord Gwyn's coffin. Large bricks tumbled from their fixtures in the walls and crumbled to dust on the cold floor. Sunlight shone through the hollows that remained.
Gwyndolin disappeared from the tomb and reappeared in Anor Londo's central chapel. Smough sat on the floor behind a column of stone, using a piece of cloth to polish his hammer. His sickly-colored armor looked dull in the otherwise illuminated chapel hall. Though Gwyndolin's appearance created a crystalline ringing sound through the room, Smough ignored him.
Ornstein's lion head peeked from behind the stone balcony, his spear standing several inches above him. The knight grunted, dropped from the balcony to the ground floor, and slowly strutted from the chapel.
Gwyndolin glided through the air to Ornstein's balcony. The serpents below him reached and slithered for solid ground. He presently stood before a set of double doors made of gleaming, sleek metal. A small sun adorned the center of each door, another symbol of Gwyn himself.
The doors opened before Gwyndolin. They revealed a gold-laced red rug draping an enormous dais that made up most of the room. On the dais, a settee of pure gold framing and blood red cushions towered several times too large for any human or even Gwyndolin.
"I shall keep you here yet, dear sister," the god said before kneeling to pray.