In an age that has long since been largely forgotten, the world was unformed and shrouded by fog. Colossal, nigh-immortal archtrees and Everlasting Dragons, stalwart beasts of this bygone time, ruled this ancient world unchallenged. But, all things must come to their end, and the birth of the First Flame was the beginning of the end of this era. With this Flame came Light and Dark, life and death, order and disparity, and all things associated with these balances. And with the Flame was born humanity, the ancient ancestors of those who now inhabit the lands forged in the wake of destruction. These humans found the Souls of Lords within the primeval Flame, and with the power within these souls, they rose up to challenge the Everlasting Dragons and their reign.
Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, alongside his firstborn and his trusted knights, hurled lightning bolts with the force of a thousand thrown javelins, piercing the hides and scales of the great dragons. Nito, the First of the Dead and the Gravelord, unleashed a terrible miasma of death and disease that shredded the archtrees, weakening their roots and damaging them greatly. The death-blow of the archtrees was dealt by the Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos, who weaved great and terrible firestorms that burned up the ancient trees in a tumultuous and total annihilation. And even the Everlasting Dragons were not immune to treachery, as one of their own, the mortal dragon Seath the Scaleless, turned upon his own kind and set the stage for the near-extinction of the Everlasting Dragons.
And thus ended this fog-shrouded Age of Ancients, and thus began the rise of the prosperous Age of Fire, a time ruled by Lord Gwyn, his family, and the sun-bathed citadel of Anor Londo. But, of course, this age would never truly last forever, as Gwyn's firstborn betrayed his father by allying with the few remaining Everlasting Dragons, and for his treachery was stricken from history, his name reduced to less than nothing. When the First Flame began to sputter and die, the Witch of Izalith and her daughters sought to create a flame that would supplant the First Flame, and for her horrific sin became a birthing bed for demons of all kinds, every daughter but one transformed into terrible, ravenous monsters that barely held any traces of their humanity. In his research of the path to immortality, Seath the Scaleless lost his mind and went fully insane, capturing human maidens and turning them into horrible creatures known to him as Pisacas, tentacled beasts that were unrecognizable from what they had once been. The Four Kings of New Londo, to whom Gwyn had given a fragment of his Soul, were tempted by the Art of Lifedrain, and thus condemned New Londo to a watery grave that would prove to be senseless, as the Darkwraiths and the Kings survived despite the Sealers' best efforts.
The Age of Fire was coming to its close, and the world was falling apart, and so Gwyn departed for the Flame's kiln with a legion of his knights. And in doing so, he sacrificed himself to act as fuel for the First Flame, prolonging the end of the world by centuries as a sort of selfless sacrifice that would have earned him sympathy in the hearts of those who learned of him. It was not long after this that the first true human-ruled lands began to rise, with the island desert of Furias in the Five-Finger Delta, the great kingdom of Larandal that would eventually fracture into the lands of Astora, Balder, and Oolacile, the isolationist mountain duchy of Naur, and the bizarro kingdom of Catarina, famed for its knights who wore onion-esque armor.
Of course, not every land was habitable, as the intensely hot deserts of the Far East proved all but insurmountable for the most hardy of adventurers and settlers, and the southern continent proved no better, as those who dared to venture forth never returned, having been swallowed up and devoured by colossal monsters. Even for those lands that were inhabited by mankind, it was no easy feat to survive, as demons and curses struck in destructive swathes, leaving behind little.
And as the Age of Ancients began to draw to its close, so did the Age of Fire, as despite the sacrifice of Gwyn, the First Flame began to die down once again. Humanity began to dwindle as a result, former bastions of safety and civilization left empty and ruined, entire countrysides left to be dominated by the horrors that would rise. And if this were not enough, Gwyn's old sins would come to haunt many of the remaining humans in the form of the Darksign. In the battle against the Everlasting Dragons, ancient humanity had stood alongside Gwyn and his compatriots, but for their efforts were cursed with a seal of fire that restrained their innate darkness, and set the stage for their descendants to inherit this as the Undead curse. Hollows began to rise, decimating these already wounded kingdoms even further, causing many of them to truly fall into wrack and ruin.
Yet, not all was lost, as humanity strove to try to survive despite the horrific circumstances levied at them. They fought tooth and nail to ensure their survival, sending knights to the land of Lordran to try to find a successor to Lord Gwyn and prolong the Age of Fire. The machinations of the Kingseeker, Frampt, would ensure a successor would eventually step into the Kiln, strike down Gwyn, and give their life so that the First Flame would stay alight, if even for a moment longer. And even then, whispers were spoken of a fabled City of the Gods named Thil Akran that lay deep within the heart of Larandal, never seen by the eyes of man. Many adventurers went out to Larandal to seek out Thil Akran, but none returned, either having been claimed by the Undead curse, slain by the wandering monstrosities of Larandal, or destroyed by their own greed and pride.
The knight Caithas Ildhenn was among these adventurers, having sought passage from his island homeland of Arnbeld to the desert isle of Furias, and when he arrived in Furias, he was unaware that his actions would hold a far greater weight than he could have possibly imagined. Let now this tale of a world in ruin be told, this great and terrible tragedy come to form.
The sound of ocean waves washing up against a shoreline was the very first thing that struck the mind of Caithas Ildhenn, and the second was the sensation of the ice-cold seawater washing over his flesh. The knight briefly panicked, and scrambled out of the water in a flurry of limbs, spraying ocean water hither and thither as he plowed through coarse sands, hands and feet digging in an attempt to get him some distance in-land. After a moment of this panic, Caithas fell onto his side, panting wildly in an attempt to catch his breath, eyes darting back and forth as if he had just awoken. In a sense, he seemed to have just awoken, as he held no memory of even washing ashore, or of even having come here in the first place. The knight turned himself so that his face was parallel with the sand below him, and pushed himself up, hoisting himself off of the ground as he did so. He rose first to his knees, then to his feet, looking down at his armor as he did so, armored hands idly brushing away wet sand.
As Caithas looked down at his silvery steel-plated gauntlets, he felt a sharp, intense pain flare up on the back of his neck, and he groaned as he reached up to feel at it, shuddering a bit at the touch of cold metal. He brought his left hand, which he had risen to touch at this particular spot on his neck, back into view, and blanched as he noticed blood staining the palm and fingers of his gauntlet. "The Darksign," he muttered to himself in a voice that sounded hoarse and worn ragged, as if he hadn't spoken in a very long time. "I've been afflicted with the curse of the Undead, by the look and feel of it. No wonder that I can't remember how I ended up here in this strange place, laying in seawater..." He quickly dispelled this thought as he cast his gaze around this unfamiliar shoreline, raising his helmet's visor in order to give himself a clearer view. His skin was pale, incredibly so, and a pair of emerald-green eyes scanned around, trying to find a clue as to how he may have ended up here.
His eyes soon took notice of some flotsam on the shore, and as he turned to get a better look, he groaned aloud as he saw what appeared to be a destroyed ship bearing the crest of Arnbeld. "Aww, no..." He fell to his knees, simply staring at the remains of what had presumably been his means of arriving on this accursed shore. "The damned passenger ship that I was on must have been beached by a storm, by the way the ship appears to be damaged. Looks like I've got little choice but to keep pushing forward, here, because I don't think anyone else is around." Caithas began to move towards the ship, hoping to salvage something to make use of as a weapon in this strange and unfamiliar land. "I'm hoping at least someone left a sword in here or something, as if I don't get a weapon to defend myself with, I'm dead meat."
After a moment of walking, Caithas completed his short journey across the sands to the beached ship, and he kicked aside some loose planks as he stepped in what had once been the cargo hold. A lot of the barrels and crates inside looked as if they had been severely damaged by the water, as mold had taken hold on most of the wood, which in turn gave off a smell that caused Caithas to grit his teeth in disgust. He pushed forward despite this, stepping over boards that stuck up almost vertically, the creaking of rotted wood seemingly roaring in the near-silence of the cargo hold.
Caithas soon found a crate with its top ajar, and he reached down for it, pushing the top of the crate to the side as he made to peer into it. Within was a sheathed shortsword, the crest of a knight of Arnbeld decorating the leather of the sheath. Caithas grinned wickedly as he reached into the crate and retrieved the sword from within, and after he did so, he reached up to the hilt and began to pull it from the sheath. His expression of satisfaction fell to slight dismay as he noticed the sword was somewhat rusted, no doubt due to the passage of time and the fact that seawater had likely washed over it. As he looked more closely at his newfound weapon, he noticed that the sheath itself was badly damaged, being torn and barely held together by the sword that had rested within. It was better than nothing, though, and Caithas swiftly sheathed the sword and attached it to his belt, hooking it on after a moment of fumbling.
He made his way out of the ship's hold, and emerged from the moldy interior to see a man hunched over a large pile of wood, groaning and moaning rather loudly. Caithas was rather unnerved by this, so he brought down his right hand to rest upon the hilt of his blade as a preparation for a potential fight. The knight slowly moved forward, speaking slowly and calmly, "Hello there, are you alright? Do you need any sort of help?"
The man turned almost instantly to Caithas, a sickening snap filling the air as a twisted visage locked eyes with the knight's own. The man's skin looked taut and incredibly stretched, as if he had been nearly starved to death, his eyes a pair of terrifying black voids. There was no doubt in Caithas's mind that this man was a Hollow, someone who had succumbed to a lack of purpose and had gone mad due to the influence of the very same curse he was afflicted with, that so many others had been afflicted with. Caithas quickly took note of the broken blade that the Hollow held in its hands, and drew his shortsword in response. He lowered his visor, aiming to protect his face in the battle that would very shortly commence.
The Hollow charged down Caithas, groaning in a strange, gurgling tone, and it eagerly swiped its weapon at Caithas's chest. The knight jumped backwards to evade the blow, and rushed forward as a response, swinging at the Hollow's sword arm. Caithas's blade dug into the Hollow's upper arm, and the beast screamed out as its arm went limp, its hand convulsing as it let go of the broken weapon that it had held. As the knight attempted to draw his sword out from the creature's arm, it grabbed onto his shoulder with its still-working arm, and headbutted him as hard as it could, sending the knight staggering backwards and consequently breaking the Hollow's nose. Both combatants staggered backwards, Caithas from the force of the headbutt, and the Hollow from the fact that it had just hurt itself quite a bit in attacking Caithas.
Fortunately for Caithas, this Hollow wasn't particularly intelligent, as it charged him again, its good hand outstretched in an attempt to grab him again. The knight did not let this come to pass again, as he stepped out of the Hollow's way and yanked his sword from the creature's shoulder, rewarded with the Hollow stopping in its tracks and grabbing onto its wounded flesh. Caithas took the opportunity to lunge forward and dig his sword point-first into the Hollow's chest, impaling it and running it through in one swift movement. The Hollow went rigid, gurgling out a death-rattle as it began to sink to its knees, almost dragging the knight down with it in the process. Caithas quickly planted a foot on the Hollow's chest as leverage, and yanked his sword from the creature's body as it fell back to the sand below, blood trickling out and staining it red.
Caithas looked down at his sword, a sense of calm flowing through him as he knelt and wiped the blade off on the Hollow's flesh. He had been trained to fight in such situations, and while he hadn't been specifically trained to combat the victims of the Undead curse, he had known to fight hard and fast, aiming to kill swiftly. He stood up straight and sheathed his blade, turning away from his kill to observe where he was, raising his visor once again. He saw the ruins of what appeared to be a gladiatorial coliseum in the distance, and he lowered his visor. "So that must be where I need to go if I wish to get off of this island," he murmured as he began to move towards the ruined building. Caithas took note of the fact that it looked as if it had crumbled due to the influence of time, and this brought up a troublesome predicament for the knight. "How long was I unconscious like that...?" He brought a hand up to the bottom of his helmet, as if miming scratching his chin.
Before he got much further, he was interrupted out of his reverie by what seemed to be the sands exploding in front of him, causing him to stagger backwards as he began to look around frenetically, attempting to find what had just caused this sudden movement. As the sand that had been blasted into the bright blue sky began to settle, Caithas found himself gazing upon a monstrosity that coiled itself like a snake, with the upper torso of a man, and a yellow-scaled, serpentine lower body wrapped tightly beneath. The torso of this creature had elongated claws on its hands, and they were stained with blood, as if it had just made a kill not long before it had discovered the knight.
"That's..." Caithas stammered to himself, "That's a man-wurm!" The man-wurm screeched in an ear-splitting tone as it lunged towards the knight, claws arcing towards his armor. Caithas was barely able to roll out of the way as the forty-foot-long man-wurm rushed past in a flurry of claws, having failed to strike a blow on the knight. As quickly as it had attacked, it whipped around to face Caithas again, and began to slither through the sand at high speed, aiming its claws to slice upwards and wound the knight. Caithas quickly drew his sword and jumped towards the man-wurm's face, managing to stomp on it and distract it from its attack. It screeched again and smashed the knight's chestplate with a back-hand, sending him flying backwards and rolling through the sand. Caithas coughed and gasped for air from the force of the attack, which barely gave him time to react to what came next.
The man-wurm burrowed underneath the ground for a moment before exploding out again, its claws outstretched as it fell from the air towards Caithas. Its form was framed by the sun, giving it a sinister, shadowy look as it descended. The knight swiped his sword vertically at the monster's face as he jumped back to evade the claws, and he felt his sword quite nearly get jerked out of his hands from the blow. The man-wurm crashed upon the ground, screaming as it grasped at its face, blood running down a clawed hand. Caithas moved quickly, and stabbed his sword into the man-wurm's hand, causing it to focus its attention on its hand, its other hand swiping feebly at the knight
Caithas withdrew his blade and smashed the hilt of the sword into the man-wurm's nose, shattering it and causing the beast to reel backwards in pain. The knight slashed the creature across the face twice before he buried the sword deep into its eye. The man-wurm let out one last pained howl before it collapsed, dragging Caithas down to the ground with it. It squirmed a few times as Caithas removed his blade from its face, its arm weakly reaching out as the knight rose from the sand. After a moment of it breathing heavily, the beast went still, its life seemingly snuffed out by the knight. Caithas frowned a bit as he made to sheath his blade, thoughts of uncertainty flooding into his head. I can't have just slain something that fearsome so easily, right?
As if to prove his point, the man-wurm lunged up from the sand and raged towards Caithas, screaming as loud as it possibly could. Caithas calmly removed his sword from his sheath and readied it, and as the man-wurm drew close, he loosed a single stroke at the beast's neck. It charged forward for a moment longer, and then fell onto the sand for good, twitching and gurgling as its life came to a close. Caithas sheathed his sword once more, and looked over at the terrifying mix of man and sandwurm as it died. He quickly turned his mind from the monster he had just struck down, and looked towards the ruined coliseum that he had laid eyes on before the creature had ambushed him.
"If I'm going to get off this island," Caithas mused, "it looks like I'll have to head there. I just hope I don't end up running into any more of those man-wurms, one of them was troublesome enough..." And with that, the knight began to stride towards the coliseum, unaware of the danger that lurked within...