All for one

by Sir Something

They fought the Dark, and burned to stave it off a bit longer. And now one comes to make them burn again. A look at the Abyss Watchers and what led them to their final battle.

We have fought countless battles. Our swords cutting down the dark wherever it may be found. We were feared, for our presence meant the expulsion of the abyss by any means. Entire city's were purged, blood and black ichor splattering all over our armour and running in rivers through streets.

We fought as one. We lived as one. We were as one. And when the flame began to die, we burned as one, to rekindle the first flame, and stave of the dark. As our very souls burned for what seemed an eternity, as one we gave into madness.

We rose from death, when the flame started to fade again, but by then our minds were already lost. And so we fled, returning to Farron Keep. And there we split further, our minds fracturing more as we fought and killed each other, all so one could claim the soul shared between many. Steel flashed and the wolf blood filled the air. Our footing becoming more treacherous for every comrade that was added to the floor. The cold stone and damp air left us all with a chill and did nothing to mask the scent of death and blood.

Then he appeared. Clad in bulky plate armor like that of a knight. Carrying a simple long sword in one hand and kite shield in the other. We did not know him. He was nameless. Ash, unfit to be cinder. One to weak to rekindle the first flame. We could not tell why he had come. Our mind too taxed with battle and maddening flame to comprehend anything more than he was an enemy. Only one of us still stood when he came, raising their sword to point at the intruder, to challenge him. Others rose to fight again. Some to slay the Knight, others still set on fighting the rest of us.

We cut him down. Again and again. Our sword's shearing through their armor, our daggers finding the flesh in between plates. But he always returns, each time drawing closer to killing us. A cut here, a gash there. And eventually we fell. But we would not let ourselves end there. One last time we rose. One warrior. To fight for the Legion. We gathered all our power, our shared wolf blood and soul, into one vessel, for one last battle. And we rose again, now truly as one. Our sword alight with the flames that burn our soul, it's weight both familiar and foreign. We feel it's heat on our arm. Our dagger held in the other hand in a grip strong enough to turn our knuckles white. Our armour creaks as we come into a crouch, prepared to spring into attack. The sweat building up under our helmet stung our eyes but we ignore it. The cold damp air seeps into our skin through our armor, leaving us chilled and feverish despite the fire constantly burning our soul. We rise and prepare for battle once more. We are one. And now we will fight until the ashen one finally manages to land the final blow. But until then we will fight, and kill them as many times as it takes.

We fight as one.

We live as one.

And we will die as one.