Soul of a Weary Warrior
Author's Note
At the time of this note's writing, and I am currently working on the final chapter to Morals and Heroes and am currently writing out a massive fight scene. That is why it is taking me so long to write it out, in addition to RL matters as well as my other hobbies such as game modding. I wanted to let you all know that and to inform you all I have not forgotten my obligations to write it. (It's my favorite story I have written thus far anyways, Dark Souls: A Knight Afield got a backhand when I wrote Morals and Heroes).
But it won't be released soon. Action scenes need more time than others to perfect and so I will be taking my time to ensure it is fluid and exciting. Thank you for your patience and understanding. :D
Without further adieu, enjoy. :)
It was over.
The dragging of her blade was deafening.
Metal grinding upon grassy stone, leaving sparks and a thin trail through her own blood.
Her weary arms could no longer even lift the weighted object.
Her feet a shuffling mess of grime and muck in a casing of steel - caked with the blood of that who had wronged her.
Her chest piece nothing more now than a hunk of metal, painted red and dirty with the scars of battle upon it.
Her helmet long cast away, allowing her shaven head to shine upon the world and her hazel eyes to gleam once more fervently upon the landscape around her.
Behind her lay the corpse of a man, head rolling to a complete stop with an indignant stare into her back, and blood pouring from the point of separation.
Trees, rocks, the sounds of faraway birds, and a stream of water flowing freely afore her.
She smiled, her eyes gleaming with a semblance of peace and content.
But her bloodied blade spoke otherwise.
She then grunted, a hand moving to her gut as a hilt came into her gradually blurring vision.
She had been run through in the heat of combat and now there was no going back.
No Estus to save her.
No hope of reawakening at a bonfire far off.
She was doomed.
No purpose left.
No anchor to keep her sane.
She grasped it and winced as the blade inside her moved ever so slightly.
More painfully, she pulled slightly.
A small scream following as it ruptured whatever it had stuck.
She stopped, deep breathes inhabiting her chapped and bloodied lips.
Then, in one quick motion and ignorant of all the pain, she yanked hard.
And her screams echoed all around, the chirping birds ceasing their songs and the sounds of the water deafened as her pained vocals took over.
All followed by a large spurt of dark blood, staining the beautiful grass and nearly tainting the stream; stopping just short of the edge.
It was too much.
She fell to her knees and dropped her blade, she had no more use of it.
Her duty fulfilled.
Her purpose completed.
It's purpose completed.
Eventually she quieted herself, the screaming dying away into pained gasps as air became a succulent mistress to herself.
But even so she smiled with a content look and closed her eyes, leaning back as she allowed the bright sun to caress the face of a woman scorned.
The man she killed was a man she had long sought after.
A human knight from the land of Astora - her former lover and compatriot on the field of battle.
She had been stricken Undead and was banished from her home as a result.
He followed because he claimed he had loved her.
And like a fool she believed his lovely lies.
For a time they traveled together.
Her purpose only to become happy with him.
But as time went on, his love for her became less and less apparent.
He began abuse towards her.
Physical, sexual, and emotional.
Demands became more and more commonplace.
Ignorance of her needs as both a woman and a being with a semblance of humanity.
Her feelings…
Her thoughts…
Her actions…
She stuck with him through it all, however.
She did not want to go insane and hollow out.
She wanted to remain true to the purpose of maintaining happiness with him.
But it was not to be…
Happiness began fading from her…
And then her memories began to fade…
Until one day she had wandered in at Firelink…
Their camp was beholden to a new guest.
A mage was in their tent, and she had claimed to have been with him many times since their arrival.
He had no defense and quickly shattered what remained of their relationship.
He had said: "You're doomed. You're Undead. I tire of this little game. A man has needs and a doomed woman can't settle those."
"What the…? But…? What is this?!"
"Don't be daft, Amelia. You're doomed to go hollow and a man has to move on. We're done, now leave us!"
"Richard…. How could you? You loved me! You said that! You journeyed he-"
"I came with you because I thought you could be cured but I was wrong. Eight months and nothing! I'm done! I'm not wasting another moment with a bitch who could drop dead at any moment."
"But-"
"Leave before I make you!"
"Richard… I'll never forgive you for this!"
And she never did.
The mage was a human, yes.
But Richard was an infidelic husk.
She, for a time, sobbed alone and blamed herself.
Blamed herself for becoming cursed.
Blamed herself for loving a man with a personality he had hidden so cleverly, so rogue-like.
Blamed herself for being so stupid.
And her purpose was nonexistent…
She would cry even louder at the prospect of going mad and suffering beforehand.
The process of hollowing being a terrifying reality, much less akin to simply dying and becoming one of those soulless husks.
That was until she had decided upon a new purpose for her weary life.
A purpose of revenge.
A purpose to act upon the scorn she had developed.
For nothing was more dangerous than a woman scorned.
It took three years but she tracked them both down.
First she slew the mage who had stolen her purpose.
Then she tracked and battled the man who broke her heart.
And here she was.
Alone.
Purposeless.
Dying.
Blood poured out of her gut.
And her face was becoming pale - a feeling of cold mixing with the ever present bounty of pleasant sunlight - as she drained out.
But she didn't care.
Death was a process that would end this whole game.
She had no purpose now, she knew this well.
This death would be her last.
But it was fine.
There were worse ways to go out.
But it was time.
The bell tolls even now.
And she would open her eyes, preferring to die with a wonderful view.
The grass and the rocks, the water and the sun all being a perfect visage akin to a painting - stained with both her and the body of her evil lover.
A dizzy feeling came over her.
And her vision finally left her.
A small exhale, and she fell forward.
A loud collapse of a being clad in a steel suit.
No pain this time as all became numb.
Absolute darkness took over.
And as she drew her last sane breath, her smile would remain forevermore.
As while she would die and return an insane husk, she also knew well that it was better this way than the alternative.
She was just a Warrior, Weary of what life had thrown at her and the injustices served so blatantly who had gotten her revenge in the very end; dying and hollowing a happy woman.