Hey everyone, nice to meet you all! I've always read different stories here, so I decided to write one of my own. Feel free to give me whatever reviews you believe my story needs. I'll take it all as constructive criticism. Thank you, and enjoy. :)
Kneeling before the cold stone grave, Ciaran placed the plume of Artorias, her dear friend and companion, on the altar before it. She began to think of all their missions together, and of the feelings for him that grew over time. In the midst of her thoughts, she failed to notice the presence of another creature within the Oolacile Coliseum. It was only when she heard the footsteps approaching slowly and deliberate, as if to sneak up right behind her.
"Fool." Ciaran muttered to herself, "You can't sneak up on an assassin." With that, she turned to face the approaching entity, ready to strike with her legendary gold and dark silver tracers should it be hostile to her or the grave. What met her eyes instead, however, was an undead warrior, dressed in the garb of elite knights from the destroyed kingdom of Astora. A large claymore was strapped across his back, though he did not appear to be agitated by any means. Though what drew Ciaran's attention most was a mass of deep purple held in the hand of the undead. He was simply staring at it, as if contemplating something while immersed in the shadowy glow.
Turning to face the undead fully, Ciaran spoke aloud; "You, is that not… the soul of the man who fell on this spot?" The undead, shaken from his hazy purple reverie, looked to Ciaran and nodded. Gathering her courage, Ciaran spoke to the undead once again, "He was a dear friend. I wish to pay proper respect, with that soul. Would you be willing to part with it?"
Instead of making an action with the soul, he instead spoke back to Ciaran, his voice aged and coarse, as if he hadn't needed to use it in many years. "You are the Lord's Blade Ciaran, are you not? Fellow knight of Gwyn to the good Sir Artorias?" Ciaran, albeit surprised that her legend had even reached the ears of some forgotten undead warrior, simply nodded a response. At this, the undead moved, laying the purple mass of Artorias' soul into her hands before speaking once more. "Artorias is a legend in my time, and someone I respect greatly. I was going to use that soul to forge his greatsword, and wield it to pay homage to him, though I can find nothing more honorable than allowing his comrade pay their respects to him as well."
Moved by this undead's words, Ciaran felt tears prick at the edges of her eyes, albeit her emotion was hidden behind the porcelain mask covering her face. "Thank you. You are very kind." Ciaran moved to place her twin tracers on the ground in front of her. "Please take these. I no longer need them."
The undead picked up her weapons, then surprisingly handed them back to her. "I need no reward for a good deed, and I certainly can't allow someone to go unarmed in these times. All I ask is that you allow me to stay here with you for a time and honor the memory of a great man, and a great knight." Ciaran did not flinch as the undead removed his sword, shield, and sat down cross-legged beside her in front of the small headstone. Instead, she smiled under her mask, grateful that there was at least one other who would remember the legend of Artorias as long as they lived.
End
Alright, a nice little Dark Souls one-shot to start me off. Please leave your reactions, comments, and criticisms for me to read. I thank everyone for reading this, and I hope that I can continue to improve as a writer as I progress forward. See you! :)