I saw
I saw monsters
And I
And I started to dig within
When I
When I turn my back on them
They devour me

Azur I

Beyond the fog gate in the Lower Undead Burg, a towering demon with the head of a skeletal, four-eyed goat uttered a final unholy scream as Azur plunged her scimitar through the base of its lower jaw. Taking no chances, she tore it free immediately and took several paces back to watch the demon fall.

The Capra demon had been unrelenting, and its hounds ferocious. In combination, they were enough to immediately destroy most undead who stepped through the fog and engaged it unprepared. The small, enclosed room one was forced to contend with them in was ideal for the demon and its hounds to mete out punishment on those who entered.

Neither, however, had managed to present quite enough of a challenge to slay the young knight and force her consciousness (followed by her reanimated corpse) back to the bonfire.

For a drawn-out, silent moment, Azur replayed the battle in her mind. She remembered the wind rushing close (too close) to her from the wild swing of the demon's savage, oversized machetes, the sharp clamp of the hounds' teeth on her mail. Arrows, her own, piercing the hounds' dead eyes and their half-rotten skulls, their dark blood oozing from the wounds as they twitched lifelessly, satisfyingly on the grass. Her blade slicing cruel arcs through the Capra demon's hardened flesh as it grunted and shrieked agonizingly in the ancient tongue of Izalith, savoring the feel of the point of her sword pushing through the exoskeleton of the beast's goat-like head as it crunched sickeningly through the meat inside and exited the opposite end; the stink of fresh blood filling her lungs as she inhaled deeply.

Azur abruptly halted her thoughts. Though they disturbed her conscious self immensely, she was accustomed to dealing with odd, often violent musings. Even before she'd been cursed.

The creature set a trap. I defended myself. That is all. She justified, attempting to soothe the part of herself that didn't condone her gratuitous, bloodthirsty enjoyment.

It worked well enough.

Sighing through her nose, Azur knelt and picked up the items her effort had awarded her. An iron key, and an enchanted bone fragment. Gripping the piece of bone in a mailed fist, Azur brought it close to her forehead to help her focus. She allowed her mind to drift with its pull, towards home, she thought, until a shrill (but not unpleasant) noise and the white glow of the circle that appeared around her engulfed her senses.

Quickly enough, Azur materialized once again in Firelink Shrine, the effective hub of every relevant location in Lordran. Or perhaps, the once-proud, ancient Archtree standing solemnly nearby was the true center of Lordran.

It is near the same height as the one in Sepri, she recalled. Even in the tumultuous Eastern lands, the legend detailing the emergence of the Age of Fire and the Disparity had widespread credence, and had been a part of her upbringing. Azur understood the significance of the great Archtrees.

She was greeted immediately by a familiar face across the stone-rimmed circle of land, undoubtedly once a tower belonging to the old structure which enshrined the bonfire, seated in his usual place. He never seemed to move a single step from that spot.

"You again?" The clean shaven, brown-haired man in mail whom Azur had mentally entitled 'the Crestfallen Warrior', gave her a melancholy grin. "Something happen? Get a bit of a scare out there? That was rather quick."

Azur gave him a knowing look, but softened it with a small grin. "What happened while I was away?"

She began pulling off her plated mail hauberk in order to inspect it. The demon's great machete had nicked her left pauldron and its hounds had bitten at her vambraces and mail (a few rings near the edges had come loose), but there was fortunately no significant damage. She was grateful to Andre for reinforcing it and confident in his skill as a smith, so she would return to his forge to repair it before her next outing.

"Well…" The man furrowed his brows thoughtfully for a moment. "...There's nothing to talk about, really."

Azur hummed in acknowledgment as she went about putting her armor back on over padded jacket and loose trousers. Because of the lack of desert in Lordran, Azur decided to layer her armor and outer clothing slightly differently. There was no sand to keep from getting inside her mail or helm, so she had wrapped her headscarf around her shoulders instead.

Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Oh, actually...Something strange did happen." He smiled slyly and pointed at the enormous raven perched in the ruins just beyond. "That crow flew in with somebody in its clutches. I think it was a man curled up in a ball. He appeared to be bald..." At Azur's squinty-eyed, raised brow, the warrior laughed in that resigned way of his. "Stranger things have happened, right?" Azur continued squinting judgmentally. He raised his hands and shrugged, "No, maybe not…"

Uttering a short, tired laugh, Azur slung her round steel shield onto her back and began making her way up the steps on the far right into the ruins. She shifted her helm under arm and brushed strands of wild, dark hair out of her eyes. "I will return."

In a relatively large, open room filled with tall clay jars just before the lift that led into the Church, the large cleric from Thorolund's Way of White called Petrus stood in his usual place near the wall.

Still waiting, Azur assumed. She had met cleric knights and maidens from the church in her homeland before, and though some of their beliefs were very much in contention with her own, she found many of them considerate and well-intentioned, and not altogether different from her own people. Aside from their strange priorities...

Petrus himself had always been well-mannered and kind enough, but there was something very odd about him. Something that made Azur want to toss him off a cliff after giving him a few good stabs and wash her hands thoroughly afterwards.

This is the land of the cursed. There is something 'odd' about every person I come across. She dismissed her concerns, but remained wary.

Azur gave him a tentative wave. He seemed to startle at her appearance, as if he had been deep in thought.

"Oh! Hello. I'm sorry, I was just...rather preoccupied." Petrus cleared his throat and relaxed his posture a bit. The look on his long, round face was always situationally appropriate, but his blue eyes were carefully guarded. Distanced, though observant. "Have you changed your mind? I can teach you miracles, if so."

"I am afraid not." She had been offered the same thing in her own land, before she was branded by the curse. "It is not likely to happen any time soon, but I thank you."

Unwilling to continue to remain in his presence overmuch, Azur started toward the next flight of stairs, raising a hand in farewell as she went.

The brief trek to the Undead Parish was simple as always.

Not a single invader entered her world in search of humanity. The Balder knights near the front entrance of the Church were entirely deaf, as always, and Azur laid waste to the three hollow soldiers in the courtyard of the side entrance with casual ease.

Descending the stairwell leading into Andre's smithy had proven to be the most difficult part of the trip. I imagine it does well to deter the less intelligent hollows, but I doubt it helps attract many heavily armored patrons, she thought with slight irritation as she set foot on the final floor.

Azur couldn't help but imagine a curious hollow wandering too clumsily toward the stairwell, tripping and violently flopping down them to the bottom. She smiled humorously to herself and pictured its dim-witted friend waddling after it, only to find its footing was as stable as the first's. They would pile up, groaning and trying to untangle in the uncoordinated fashion of many hollows, and Andre would stand from his seat in front of the anvil. He would make his way to them, smash their heads in with brutal, painful strikes of his hammer, and drag their corpses out of the building. Perhaps he would cut the meat from their bones, leaving it in wet, gnarled piles for the hounds to devour, and feed their skeletons to the bonfire.

Azur felt the smile drop from her face and her stomach plunge. These thoughts have slowly worsened since I set foot in Lordran. Her fists clenched, They are not me, she reminded herself.

For the first time, Andre of Astora was not smashing away at a blade in order to shape it, or in the midst of one step or another in the process of forging a sword, spear or axe head when Azur came in. The smith looked up at her with warmth in his eyes as she approached.

"Well, well. Hello again. Somethin' you need?"

"Some minor repairs, that is all." Azur removed the damaged articles of armor with practiced ease and handed them to him. He took a few short seconds to look over each before starting his work on them. Silence followed for a short moment.

"You look troubled." Andre stated without a single pause in his work. Azur furrowed her brow at his observation and wondered if she was normally so easy to read (she knew she wasn't), or if Andre was simply blessed with sharp observational skills.

She hesitated a moment. He is Astoran, but the Way of White has spread its branches there as well.

"What do you know of Thorolund's sending Undead clerics and Church members to this land on 'holy' missions?" She bluntly inquired.

Andre stopped to hand Azur her newly repaired pauldron and raised a brow before grabbing one of her gauntlets.

"I know very little of the Way of White, but I can see why you'd find that suspicious. Their treatment of the undead has never been particularly...glowing." He gave her a grin, and when Azur returned it with an exaggerated sneer he laughed.

"Their famous prayer, I'm sure you've heard it, 'Vereor Nox'...Well, it explains a lot of their behavior. The Church was in charge of all those savage hunting parties searching for anyone bearing the darksign to toss into caged wagons and haul off to the Asylums. They built those Asylums, too, you know."

Azur frowned. The clerics and maidens they sent my lord said that prayer, she remembered, before the hunt, and again after my first death.

Andre handed her one of her greaves. "What is the meaning of 'Vereor Nox'?" She struggled slightly with the pronunciation. Though she was fluent in the most prominent language of the West, Azur's own native tongue did not branch from the same roots.

"Oh, right. It means, 'Fear the dark', or somethin' like that." Andre's thick, grey brows furrowed. "Guess that means it's acceptable to run around murdering and imprisoning Undead whether they're still sane or not. Long as they aren't part of the Church, anyway. When an Undead appears in their midst, they send 'em here to Lordran, instead, and it doesn't seem like they have any say in the matter."

Azur's face darkened. The surviving maidens and clerics she'd met in her province had gently urged her to 'make pilgrimage to the land of ancient lords', after she had first risen. Was their passivity a ruse? What is their true purpose?

The room filled with the sound of Andre's work a while longer, and when he handed Azur the final piece of fully repaired armor, he said, "I suppose that doesn't quite tell you much about what this mission of theirs is."

Azur buckled on the vambrace. "It is more than I knew before I came here. And now I must be returning to the shrine. Thank you, as always."

Andre nodded to her with a broad grin. "I'll be seeing you then. Be careful out there. And come back when you've gotten yourself beat up again!"

Azur gave him a loud, long-suffering sigh as she ascended the steps.

When she arrived at the Shrine, Petrus was missing. Azur thought it strange, considering he had never moved from that room before as far as she had known, and because he was waiting for a group of great importance from the Church. Perhaps he is taking a piss, she thought, or praying elsewhere.

Azur had almost begun taking her first steps toward the bonfire when she picked up on hushed voices, seeming to emanate from just beyond the far wall of the room, and froze. She considered the layout of Firelink Shrine, recalling an open area, not easily accessible and rather hidden away from the average traveler passing through, which was beyond that same wall. The windows just across as one got off the lift would give her a view, and allow her to eavesdrop more easily.

Taking soft, slow steps so as not to allow her armor to rattle, Azur quietly made her way there and crouched beside a window.

"...the way we always do. It's fine, we've been through this plenty of times before, always goes without a hitch. Nothing'll go wrong this time either. You've got nothing to worry yourself over!"

The first voice was slimey and subtly patronizing, though perhaps not as subtle as the man who it belonged to hoped.

"You know as well as I there was a time you hadn't been thorough enough. I need to be sure you will take care to finish the job entirely. I cannot have news or evidence of any failings on my part reaching the Church." That voice, Azur knew.

"Yea, yea, I've got it, I really do mate. No problem."

Azur chanced a peek through the window, into the enclosed yard below. Petrus was having the secretive discussion with a bald man dressed in leathers, who was grinning sardonically and leaning casually against a wall along with what she assumed were his greatshield and winged spear.

"You had better. You wouldn't want to risk your generous cut of the spoils, would you? Now, those young fools will be here any moment. I will set out with them tomorrow morning, and I expect you to be prepared."

The bald man nodded, sly smile never dropping as he left first, heading out into the graveyard with spear and greatshield in hand. Petrus stayed behind, likely not to appear too suspicious should anyone observe them emerging from their hiding place.

Azur frowned grimly. I wasn't wrong after all. He and that bald man plan to do something vile.

Standing tall, she strode purposefully into the room full of large clay jars Petrus normally waited in, resting her left hand on the pommel of her sheathed scimitar. She was not fond of the idea of treacherous squatters skulking around in the shrine pretending to be her ally.

Petrus turned the corner and walked through the stone doorway, surprise lighting his features as he came to a sudden halt.

"What-that was...are you in need of something?" He cleared his throat, softening his expression to match his startled but curious tone.

If only it were genuine. Azur narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"I overheard much of your conversation just now." Will you explain it away, or prove me correct? She began walking towards Petrus, who couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to flee or defend himself.

"That bald man, who is he?"

Something seemed to click in Petrus's mind, because suddenly he stopped fidgeting and his face darkened.

Now the wolf reveals himself, Azur watched him keenly, taking note of his every move.

"You heard, did you? How very unfortunate."

Petrus swiftly lunged forward, his cruel morning star swinging diagonally toward Azur's unarmored head. He didn't seem to expect her to close in on him in the same moment, her left hand angling inside of his attacking limb and gripping his plated forearm, holding the mace away from her. Azur gripped the back of his neck with her other hand and used his momentum to spin him into the wall with a metallic crash as steel met worn stone.

She crashed her forehead into his nose, breaking it and dazing him, before gliding her left hand to just below the spiked ball of the mace, twisting it easily from his grip with superior leverage and strength. As she tossed his weapon across the room, Petrus raised his left arm and struck Azur's side heavily with the edge of his shield, and she grunted painfully as she released him.

Desperately, Petrus stumbled away from her and into a jar before gripping the sides and shoving the thing roughly toward his assailant. Before it could strike her, Azur smashed a forearm through it and charged Petrus, tackling him through several other jars and bringing him to the ground.

She positioned her knees on top of his arms, finally drawing a dagger and pressing the edge across Petrus's throat. I wonder if it would matter at all if I were to slash it right now… He growled angrily through the blood running from his nose, but it went ignored.

"Are you Undead?" Azur leaned in, her expression stoney and eyes cold as she pushed the sharp blade harder into Petrus's flesh.

"Because if you do not share your plan with me, this will be very difficult to come back from."

AN: Lyrics are from Gojira's "Where Dragons Dwell". Cover art belongs to onestepart on Deviantart.

Obviously liberties were taken as far as anything unknown about the Eastern Lands (which is a lot), and I created a province or two that isn't actually canon. Most people in the fandom seem to think the entire east is made only of cultures based on Japan/China/Korea/etc., but I tend to think it's full of other cultures as well. Azur's is supposed to sort of loosely be "Middle-Eastern" in a broad-ish, mixed, fantasy way (if I write something particularly offensive, I'd thank you to let me know).

Feedback is greatly appreciated. Enjoy.