A man with strangely purple hair and eyes to match was going about his day in Oolacile. No ordinary day, mind you. An important one, that would change things, forever. A look towards the city of Anor Londo, and a quick prayer, before joining the others. The Serpent had shown them the way, and now it was up to those working and digging to unveil the rest. To upturn the grave of a primeval man, and feed off of his humanity. No longer would citizens live in fear of the undead curse, or even their own mortality. With this knowledge, and their daring excavation, they would transcend each and every one of their worries.
The citizens of Oolacile had no idea how right they were.
He awoke. His name was no longer important. He was alive, but He knew why. There was purpose to His being. Not like the laughing, bloated beings, who simply ambled madly all over the town. No, there was a deep darkness within Him. His humanity was not wild, but calm. A peace so deep, he understood the Father of the Abyss, and the spread of the Dark. Manus was truly his new Master, and he would see his will done.
Oolacile was gone, and New Londo was lost. The Abyss had claimed more than any Everlasting Dragon, and had struck deep wounds. Gwyn had trembled at the dark, and fled to find some way to beat it back. It did not matter.
The Darkwraith was content to wait. The Dark would always be there, waiting. The Abyss needed only spread once, and it won. There was no reclaiming lost lands. The Fire would always fade, eventually. it was only a matter of time.
He had many brothers, once. Most were dead, now. Drowned, killed, or trapped in the Dark forever more, deprived of a true leader. Manus was the original, the truest of the Dark Lords, but he was dead. Conquered by a mysterious traveler, and credited to Artorias. The Four Kings of New Londo were short-sighted fools, and were no more worthy to lead the dark than The Darkwraith was himself. The warriors decorated in bone only earned his ire. Could none see the true beauty of the Dark? Could noone have patience? Find a true leader?
Once more, the Darkwraith was content to wait. Even as the Child of Sun re-lit the kiln and staved off the Dark for years and years to come, he could wait. The Dark would always be there, just below the surface. All it needed was a leader with vision.
All The Darkwraith needed was to find a new Dark Lord, worthy of the title, and help them rule.
"What are you? Why did you come here?" The Scientist asked.
"How did you know of 'Shandra? What business do you have with my Queen?" The King asked.
"I was here first. I've been here, waiting. Not for either of you. You two are meals." The Darkwraith responded, chuckling.
Another lash of the whip. It was more for show at this point. The hot irons and the soul arts had done little, the rack found little in the way of bones to stretch or snap, and the whip did even less. The Darkwraith wasn't particularly inclined to play along. If he was not bound by chains, he would devour the brothers, and absorb their humanity. They were more fit to be jesters, than rulers.
"You can have him, Brother. He may prove useful, in your experiments. I must prepare for the coming war. Find out what he knows." The King commanded.
"I'll get free, and I'll eat you whole. Your Dark will serve me well." The Darkwraith said.
"Affix something to the beast's head to ensure he won't bite." The Scientist commanded, his loyal acolytes and slaves approaching the creature of dark.
"It won't help."
War came to Drangleic. Revenge. Bloody grudges, and endless rage. It suited The Darkwraith just fine. His original captor was no longer a concern. He was the first meal, of many. As promised, his dark would go on to serve a higher purpose. His raw humanity outlived the vessel. Now free, thanks to the chaos and madness, and back in his armor of bone, The Darkwraith had more searching to do. He left his helmet in the grass, it no longer fit. The iron cap bolted to his neck and shoulders kept him from his dark uniform, but he was never one to fret or fuss over simple clothing. It merely kept him together. His true frame was less than human, now.
Nashandra. That is what It called Itself. The Dark recognized it, however. It had the same scent as his former Master. His original Master. This 'Nashandra' had never been human. It only wore the disguise. It was something of pure dark, and want. Something of deception. Not fit to be a lord, but more than fit to contribute its power to another cause. If shards of the Pygmy had re-surfaced, there could be others. Many others. Clumps of humanity coming back together, and forming rulers.
The Darkwraith felt excitement, for the first time in hundreds of years. The wait was over. There was work to be done, now. Dark to gather. Perhaps an heir to Manus he could serve. It was all coming together.
But first, he decided he would check on this so-called war with the Giants. Dead soldiers always served as a good snack, and living ones were even more delicious.
Ah, he could taste them already.