IRON SOULS
IRON ARC
PROLOGUE: The Embers Alight

In an age long ago, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. Great archtrees and immortal Everlasting Dragons ruled that world, unchallenged. That is, until they came. The Hollows rose and found the Souls of Lords amongst the First Flame, rising to challenge and devastate the Everlasting Dragons. Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, tore apart their scales with mighty bolts of lightning. The Witch of Izalith and her many daughters weaved massive firestorms to devastate the archtrees after the Gravelord, Nito, ripped through them with a miasma of death and disease. Even one of the Everlasting Dragons, Seath, turned on his own kind, betraying them, marking the fall of the unformed, fog-shrouded world, and the rise of the Age of Fire. Yet, the Ancients still lived.

The Ancients had kept watch over the unformed world, maintaining order to keep Chaos and Disparity from rising. In the end, their efforts proved fruitless, so their king, the deity known as Allpower Drath'Val, ordered Thil Akran, the City of the Gods, sealed away so that none of those possessing the Souls of Lords could enter, effectively rendering the powers of those who would use them to build mighty kingdoms, including the Lord of Sunlight himself, useless against the gates of Thil Akran. However, Drath'Val failed to eliminate the power of the Dark Soul, which the furtive pygmy had taken up and begun to use to create humanity. As thus, even when the Ancient were sealing themselves away in their great city, humanity rose and began to thrive. Little did Drath'Val know that a human could easily slip inside with the power of the Dark Soul...

Some time after that, the first human kingdoms rose. Thse included the mysterious island kingdom of Rast in the Five-Finger Delta, the wide, sweeping kingdom of Larandal that would later split into the lands of Astora, Balder, and Oolacile, the strange, isolated mountain kingdom of Naur, and, of course, the strange, jubilant land of Catarina, home to the unusual onion-garbed knights. The City of Lords, Anor Londo, began to make its presence known throughout the northern continent, displaying its power with the strength of lords, even though it stood high above most places on the northern continent, being situated atop a large mountain in the middle of Larandal. However, most places were uninhabited, for they had proved too testy for those who dared to try to venture in, with the Far East desert being a harsh, prominent example. The southern continent proved no better, with great beasts swallowing up those who dared to venture deep within.

Our tale begins in a burned-out city in the now-fallen kingdom of Rast. The First Flame still burns, though it has begun to weaken, and rumors are spreading even in Rast that the Lords plan on trying to find a way to bolster the First Flame. A man awakens inside of a destroyed hovel, and thus, it begins...

Ashes floated through the air on a stale, weak breeze. The occasional ember could be seen peaking into a small, momentary flame, the flicker of orange being snuffed out after just a few moments. Many buildings were no more than blackened shells of what they used to be ever since a massive fire spread through this city, destroying much of it and killing many. Those who survived dubbed this nameless city the City of Ashes, for that is almost all that remains.

A figure stirred in the ashes of one of these buildings; a rather small hovel with almost nothing left of it. Its wooden rafters had been struck down by flame, its planks half-incinerated. Various soot-stained trinkets laid scattered about, forgotten in a panic. What were once beds, now only ashes remained, and the figure realized he lay in one of these piles of ashes that had once been these beds, and didn't know why.

The man sat up, and ash fell from his body as he did so. He looked around, drinking in the burnt-out hovel's sights. Or, at least, what was left of them. He remembered nothing, and it confounded him greatly. No matter how much he tried to remember how he could have gotten here, to this pile of ashes, he just couldn't dredge up any sort of memory. He quietly sighed and stood, dusting himself off as he did so. The ashes that had quite almost caked on his leggings fell away with relative ease.

He was garbed in a low-ranking knight's armor; his helmet was bright steel, his hard leather armor was well cared for, and his leggings and gauntlets were made with fine iron. He was unarmed, and he knew it, for he felt weak. If anything were to accost him at that exact moment, he would most likely fall in battle. Upon thinking of his prospective death, he felt the back of his neck burn, and he groaned in pain as he reached around to feel the back of his neck. He drew his hand away to see dripping blood. He moaned as he realized that he was afflicted with the Darksign, marking the undead curse.

When he finally spoke, it was to himself, and it was in a deep, sotto voice. "No wonder I couldn't remember how I got here. That damned Darksign is branded into my neck." He began to walk away from the ashes that he stood in, and the pile of ashes trailed after him momentarily before cutting off. His steps thumped moderately loudly on the slightly rotted wooden floors of the burnt hovel. Ashes floated by his face as he moved through the place he could only dimly recall asking to the stay the night, only to find himself in this charred ruin.

Soon, the man crossed through the entranceway, and he looked about to find an entire city almost burned to cinders. The embers about the city were yet still alight, though their light was dim at best. He raked his gaze across buildings whose destroyed walls jutted like hands reaching towards the sky in their last desperate moment, across a landscape covered in ash from everything that burned. He saw bodies everywhere, some of which were incinerated skeletons, and others who were relatively intact, albeit somewhat decayed. He quickly shifted his eyes away from the bodies that weren't skeletal; he didn't need the sight of dessicated forms be his only remembrance of this forsaken city.

He heard a groan, and some shuffling of feet as he turned his head to observe a sword-holding Hollow advance on him. Its armor was charred black, and its skin seemed taut and tightly drawn as though it were the skin of a drum. Wrinkles marred the otherwise smooth skin, and the very sight of it chilled the newly-awakened man to the core. He looked around him for something, anything, to use as a weapon to combat the approaching creature. He quickly noticed a body (one of which he would rather not have looked at in the first place) that had what appeared to be a broken sword lying next to it. He scrambled towards it as quickly as he could, grasping for the blade that lay next to the corpse. He grabbed it and whirled around, broken weapon at the ready, knowing that he would have next-to-no chance of defeating the Hollow.

The Hollow jogged towards him with a throaty groan, and it raised the sword above its head. The man rolled out of the way as the blade descended towards him, striking the ground where he had just been standing moments before. A flash of sparks emitted from the spot where the sword had struck, and the Hollow realized then that its blade was stuck fast. The creature seemed to have trouble removing its shortsword from the spot where it had lodged it with its swing, so the man took advantage of this and plunged his weapon into the back of the Hollow's neck. The creature seemed to scream in an animalistic manner, and began to writhe in pain. The man began to stab into the back of the Hollow's neck over and over in an attempt to kill it. It eventually removed its blade from the ground and turned to face the man with the broken weapon.

He charged at the Hollow foolishly, not realizing his mistake. Fortunately, the Hollow didn't have the sense to capitalize on this, and instead craned its neck to follow the man's movement. This was a bad mistake on its part, and as luck would have it, the blade had not yet dulled despite its state as the figure plunged his blade into the Hollow's eye, bringing about its end. The creature slumped onto the man, and he pushed it off of him, leaving the broken weapon stuck in its eye socket. It fell forward, losing its death grasp on the shortsword which it had held. He took notice of the sword, and reached out for it. It felt...more satisfying to wield than the broken blade that he had used moments earlier to combat the Hollow that had attempted to kill him. Then again, a desperate situation had called for a desperate measure, so the end had surely justified the means.

The man tested the blade by hefting it, and he swung it around, almost falling over in the process of doing so. He had a chuckle at his would-be mistake, and swung the blade some more. He began to enjoy using it, even though he began to feel himself tiring out a bit from practicing with it. He felt as though the blade in his hand would be able to save his life, and it would prove to be true, as another Hollow laid eyes on him and began to shamble towards him. This Hollow was armed with a shortsword as well, and lacked a shield, for senselessness stems from insanity. It groaned as it raised its blade...

The man dodged out of the way, and plunged his own sword into the creature's back. He felt the hilt of the weapon ram up against the small of the Hollow's back, and then he firmly planted his foot on the Hollow and kicked it off of the sword, leaving a rather small hole where it had been run through. The beast groaned and attempted to stand, only to have a foot planted into its backside. The shortsword pierced through its neck without warning, finishing off the downed monster. The man felt the Hollow shudder in its death throes under his foot, and he stepped away from the dead creature. "Are...these creatures insane? They look like men, but they certainly don't fight like they are. Besides, they look...wrong. They don't look like they should even be alive. What drives them?"

Out of nowhere, a revelation came before him. His had moved up to his left temple out of what seemed to be it's own volition. "I never...bothered trying to remember my name. My name is Caithas. Caithas of Rast." His eyes widened slightly. "But...where is Rast? Is this it? There's no way...Then again, I wouldn't be able to remember how it may have looked, thanks to that damned Darksign." The brand on his neck burned slightly as if responding on cue to Caithas having mentioned it. He grimaced at the sensation, and chose to begin moving on. He wouldn't be able to get away from these beasts if he stood stock-still.

He wandered under a burnt-out arch, its left side leaning over as if it could break away from its supports and fall onto the charred streets below. Caithas was quick to hurry, for he knew that if it fell with him under it, that'd spell the end for him. As he looked up at it, he saw that the skies above were smoky and gray, as if cementing in the fact that this city was long since gone. That was when he made his decision: He had to get out of this place. But how? Caithas mused to himself, "I reckon I'll get out of here somehow, I'll just have to hope luck guides me on the right path."

A pair of Hollows laid eyes on Caithas and began to saunter towards him. He readied the sword he held in hand, and watched the two creatures as they made their way towards him. The one that approached from the left raised its blade, and he moved out of the way as he took the time to note the other Hollow had a shield as well as a sword. He'd need that shield! He quickly cut down the first Hollow as he prepared to figure out how to deal with the other one. It raised its shield, and he rolled toward the Hollow, confusing the creature. He struck the hilt of his sword against the shield, staggering the creature, and Caithas took the opportunity to slash his sword across the creature's throat, slashing its windpipe and leaving it dying, gasping for air. It dropped its shield and fell to its knees, and Caithas took the opportunity to raise his sword and slice down into the Hollow's skull, splitting its head in two. As the body fell forward to the ground, Caithas knelt and plucked the rather small shield from the ground.

The shield was somewhat circular, as its edges were somewhat jagged. He slipped his hand into the grip at the back of the shield, and he tested its weight by moving it into various defensive positions. He felt as through it would be rather comfortable to use the shield in tandem with the shortsword he held in his other hand. With that, he looked towards the cathedral that was surrounded by burnt out buildings. Its gothic spires were broken and charred, as was the stone that the building was crafted with. The stained-glass windows were shattered and dulled, and from the meager view he got through the windows, bodies seemed to litter the inside of the church, as if dozens of people had sought a last-minute redemption as fiery death bore down on them.

Caithas saw he had no other choice but to go in and face whatever lurked inside...

END OF PROLOGUE: THE EMBERS ALIGHT

THE NEXT CHAPTER:

I: CATHEDRAL AND DOCK