In the hidden valley of the Things Betwixt, the cursed undead arrive with a purpose that, even to them, is unknown. They travel towards a goal that they have no knowledge of, and none have ever stayed sane for long, turning into the feral and savage Hollows that roam this land, known by the old ones as the kingdom of Drangleic. Once led by the great King Vendrick, the kingdom has fallen to monsters, demons and corrupted gods under new order.

Once in a millennia, an undead is chosen to take lead over the rest to do something extraordinary. One such undead has trekked from the lands afar to attain his destiny, as few others have done before him, and crush all who oppose his dominion.

The Dominion of the Throne.


Darkness was all that could be seen. An empty void that was blanketed by a seemingly endless sleep.

But then, he awoke.

The new arrival to the kingdom of Drangleic clenched his fists as he was ripped suddenly from his slumber. His face lay against the freezing stone of a shrine in the middle of a dense forest. He was clad in armor of steel, fur and dyed cloth. He opened his tightly closed eyelids and peered through the slits in his helmet. It was night, or so it appeared to be, as a powerful source of dark magic could mask the presence of light, as could the opposite. He opened his hands and pushed himself up so that he could stand, his bones cracking as he extended his legs fully. The wind blew heavily against him.

He pushed onward.


Eventually, he stumbled upon a small cottage. He saw it from across the rickety bridge that he was now crossing. It swayed from his every step, creaking with his every movement. The board below his left foot cracked in half, and he steadied himself quickly, as not to descend into the murky waters underfoot.

When he finished crossing, the realization of dirt and stone below him relieved his thoughts of any nervous feeling. He continued towards the cottage and walked up its stone steps. He felt a powerful presence emanating from within its walls, causing him to hesitate with his hand on the door's knob. A being with such great power could likely sense his presence as well, so there was no point in letting his hesitation get the better of him. He turned the knob and opened the door.

Inside was a blazing fireplace, and several figures in blood-red robes. As if they were one being, all four of them looked up at precisely the same moment. Three of them sat around a rickety wooden table, while the fourth faced the fireplace, seated in a rocking chair made of oak. Above the fireplace was a dirty, cracked mirror.

The figure at the head of the table appeared to be most interested in the man who had just stumbled into the cottage. As he looked closer, he noticed that all of the figures were women, and they were very, very old. Ancient, even.

"What is this?" The head woman asked, curious.

The man raised his hands to his steel helmet and, after a brief moment of hesitation, he removed it.

"Ooh, my! Your face." She said.

The man had the face of a Hollow, his skin shriveled and cracked, and as dry as bone.

"The face of the curse. It's an Undead." She said. "An Undead has come to play. Heh heh…"

The man clenched his muscles, but was unsure why. The women before him all held a magnificent power, so one could guess that he was...

...Intimidated.

"They all end up here, all the ones like you…" She continued. "You're finished. You'll go Hollow. You will become one of them. Hollows prey upon men, feast upon their souls. This is the fate of the cursed."

The Undead and the woman locked eyes for the briefest of moments.

"What is your name?" She asked.

The Undead was about to say his answer when he realized something.

He didn't have the answer.

He thought long and hard, and searched his brain for a full minute. Suddenly, he knew.

"Oderon..." He said in a raspy, deep voice. "...I am... Oderon."

The woman chuckled. "At least you know your own name." She said. "Here's your reward for sharing."

She reached into her pocket with her withered hand and pulled out a small object. It was a wicker doll, about the size of a clenched fist.

"It's a Human Effigy." She said. "Take a closer look… Who do you think it's supposed to be?"

The old woman held it out to him, and he stepped forward. She dropped the Human Effigy into his hand, and he looked at it.

"Think back, deep into your past." She said.

He thought far back, as far as he could go. He looked at the Effigy's face, and he felt something in his rotten cheek twitch.

"...Me...?" He asked.

"Yes, it's an effigy of you." She replied.

He looked at it for a moment, unsure of what to do, but, once again, he knew. He slowly clenched his fist and crushed the Effigy in his hand. It flashed brightly, blinding his sensitive eyes.

When he looked down, the Effigy's remains were gone. He felt...

Stronger.

He looked towards the old mirror above the fireplace. His skin was smooth and a pale white, the color of pine wood. He walked closer to the mirror, leaning downwards slightly to observe his features.

His eyes were a violent shade of cobalt, and his hair was the color of driven snow. His lips were rather thin, his nose a little bit large, and his ears were somewhere in the middle. He raised a gauntlet to his forehead and touched his skin. The metal felt cold as he ran it up into his blinding white hair, touching his equally white eyebrows on his way up. He put his hand lower on his face. No facial hair.

He had always wanted a short beard, he remembered.

He...

He remembered.

He looked to the old woman. He knew who she was. Or, at least, what she was. He knew a firekeeper when he saw one.

"All people come here for the same reason. To break the curse." The Firekeeper said. "You're no different, I should think?"

There was a pause. The Firekeeper looked Oderon up and down, obviously with some doubt.

"Well, you never know." She said. "Go through the door and trot along to the kingdom."

He looked towards her with a silent thank you and walked towards the door.

"But remember, hold on to your souls. They're all that keep you from going Hollow." She said. She chuckled and shook her head. "Oh, I'll fool you no longer… You'll lose your souls… All of them. Over and over again. And if you finally get to where you need to be... Where you want to be...

... You'll have much to worry about that isn't the Curse of the Undead."


Hey there Wolfgang/possible Wolfgang/random passerby!

Don't worry, this story is one that I can actually get somewhere with. My Dishonored fanfic isn't easy to write for, namely due to the fact that I can't remember literally anything about Dishonored, but I think that a Dark Souls II fanfic could be entertaining.

Have a good day!

~Husky