Oscar, Knight of Astora
Oscar's boots pounded a steady rhythm on the old beaten trail; his limbs throbbing from months on the road. Without a horse he had been forced to make his pilgrimage on foot, his fatigue increased by the heavy set of armour he wore. It was the armour of an elite knight of Astora, shown by the blue surcoat embroidered with gold he wore atop it. His blue shield lay strapped to his back and was also elaborately crested in gold. His sword further showed his high ranking, a simple yet elegant blade belted at his waist. These weren't exactly the best things to be wearing when setting out on a long journey, but they were the only possessions he had of his old life. A life that was taken by the curse of the undead.
As he made his way up the ever steepening incline his thoughts turned to his homeland, Astora. It was a beautiful land, rich in agriculture and even richer in gold. It was a land of knights and nobles, handsome men and fair maidens. Oscar himself was part of a distinguished noble house; his elite knight status was attained quickly and surely would have been the least of his honours. But, alas, his undeath had changed everything.
The almost imperceptible Darksign was found behind his ear, a small dark circle, the brand of the undead. The curse killed him and gave him new life as an undead. But the world of humans is no place for them. It is a cruel fate, for they are pariahs to the humans and cast out of civilised society. And so, Oscar was cast out, to find a way into Lordran, the land of ancient lords. The tomes of his family spoke of an old legend, an undead mission to ring the bells of awakening and find the truth behind the curse. Easier said than done, for Lordran was cut off from the world and ravaged by the Darksign, leaving only madmen and demons in its wake.
These thoughts whirled in Oscar's head, giving him no solace in his seemingly impossible task. But as he came upon the crest of the incline, he looked out over the hill and his breath was taken away. High over the expanse of trees and mountains the sun shone, its bright white rays punching through the dense canopy of heavy grey clouds. The countless shafts of light persevered and penetrated the dark clouds, bathing the valley before him in the sun's radiance. Amazing, he thought, even in these grim times, there is still beauty in the world. He sat upon an outcrop of rock and rested a while, enjoying the magnificent display of daylight. He saw again that the rays of light struggled against the clouds but in the end managed to pierce them. Was it a sign? Maybe there is still hope.
With that thought emboldening his soul, he stood and prepared to make his way down. Giving the valley one last glance, he saw a building that stood atop a cliff below him and to his right. From this height it would be hard to tell its purpose if Oscar did not already know it. That building was his destination and his dread, the Northern Undead Asylum, where the undead were corralled and imprisoned to await the end of the world. The undead were the prisoners and the demons were the jailers, what cruel God would mock the sign of hope Oscar had seen by placing this building of misery here.
There was nothing for it, according to his family's legends the Asylum was where one could find their way into Lordran. So he collected his courage and walked on, following the winding path down, hoping he could find his way there.
Although seemingly cut off from the world, there was indeed a path leading to the asylum. After all, there had to be some way of moving so many prisoners into the Asylum from neighbouring countries.
Oscar ploughed on through the steep mountain passes until he came upon a narrow trail flanked by tall walls of unforgiving rock. This looked like the path he was looking for, judging by the direction it took. It was certainly claustrophobic, the sheer faces of stone on either side seeming to close in on him. There was only enough room for one person and barely at that, his elbows scraped along the sides and he had to unbelt his sword, carrying it in front of him. Surely this was meant to unsettle the undead prisoners as they were herded through it like cattle to their place of eternal rest. Oscar imagined the path teeming with scared men and women, the cold stone facades at their sides a chilling taste of their impending imprisonment.
On he struggled, having to step over the odd skeleton of an unfortunate soul that was too weak to carry on. The walls became higher the further he ventured and the light of day diminished slowly until it was but a small strip above him, a serpentine slash of light mocking him from above. He was beginning to sweat, not just from exhaustion but from anxiety as well. The more he pushed the closer the walls became. Closing in on him, closer and closer.
Just as he thought he would join the ranks of those skeletons forever, he saw light in front of him. He was nearly out. Invigorated by the prospect of escaping this vile pass, he moved as fast as the walls would allow until he squeezed out into the open air.
He dropped to his knees and savoured the light as it poured into his body. He pushed up the visor of his helmet, revealing his undead face, his skin dark and sallow as a corpse, but he did not care. He filled his lungs with air and smelled the glorious smell of nature. He sat there for a time, gathering his energy; the pass had vexed him more than he thought it would. He would need to steel himself though, because from now his mission became much harder, for looming over him was the Undead Asylum.
It was in an alarming state of disrepair, ironic for a building meant to imprison, though if someone ever got out they would soon be caught by the demons, and Oscar had a feeling that they didn't just put you back in your cell. Piles of rubble spilled from its sides, falling from the cliff top it sat on. It was made up of various square shaped stone buildings set end on end along the precipice, all of them showed signs of degradation, more so the largest building who's roof was completely missing. Though slightly ramshackle, Oscar held no delusions that it would be an easy task finding the way into Lordran. Nothing in this world was ever easy anymore.
He stood, snapped shut his visor, belted his sword on and drew it, swinging his shield around from his back onto his left arm. Keeping his shield up, he walked through the archway into the Asylum, the wooden door it usually accommodated lying useless inside.
No one was there to greet him; he couldn't even hear anything, a fact which only added to his discomfort. He cautiously advanced through the halls of the asylum, the odd hole in the ceiling or wall spilling sunlight into its dark corridors. Sometimes he would see a corpse strewn unceremoniously in his path, or propped up against a wall, failed escapes? He wondered, making his way cautiously down a stairwell. As he descended he started to hear faint moans and groans coming from below him.
He had found the prisoners. The stairs had led him to a hallway flanked with a multitude of cells, their iron bars shutting the poor inhabitants away.
He continued on, the stench of the prison attacking his nostrils. The sickening aroma of unkempt latrines was thick in the air and another smell went with it. Blood. Mirroring the somewhat ruinous appearance it had outside, these chambers also showed signs of deterioration. Small piles of rubble littered the floor and some of the bars were even destroyed, bent outward from their cells. Because of this some of the inmates wandered out in the gangway between their dungeons aimlessly.
Oscar saw one such prisoner standing with his back to him, staring at the wall and hugging himself. He was clothed in tatters that looked to be older than Oscar himself. He approached the prisoner and slung his shield across his back, but kept his sword drawn and down by his side.
"Greetings friend, are you ok?" said Oscar, hoping the Asylum had not destroyed the man's mind. The man showed no sign of hearing his words or indeed that he even sensed Oscar's presence. "My name is Oscar," he tried again, placing a hand on the man's shoulder, "how long have you been here?"
No sooner had the words escaped Oscar's mouth than the man turned, rounding on him violently, screeching like a banshee. He scrabbled at Oscar's visor trying to wrench it off and such was his shock at the man's sudden outbreak of madness that he found himself being bettered by him. They wrestled until Oscar lost his balance and came crashing to the floor his shield pushed against his back uncomfortably but not more than the madman constantly trying to rip his head off and screaming wildly. Gathering his wits, Oscar roughly grabbed the man's hair, pulled up hard and drove the point of his sword straight through the madman's throat.
An explosion of red fountained from his neck, showering Oscar's helm in crimson. The man twitched pathetically on the end of his sword until his body gave in to death. He slumped, his weight driving his throat further down the blade, until Oscar pushed him away releasing him from his impalement.
He took off his helmet wiping the blood on the dead man's clothes, his hands shaking from adrenaline. He looked at the face of the man, above his ruined throat. Dark skin and gaunt corpse like features, much like his own appearance. This man, though undead, had fallen to the fate all the cursed shared. He had gone Hollow. He had lost his mind and humanity, becoming nothing more than a shell of a person only suited for mindless violence.
Was Oscar looking at himself? Would some hopeful fool end up killing him when he succumbed and went hollow? No, I will beat this curse, he put his helm back on and wiped his sword clean, pressing ever on.
The prisoners had not even looked up at the commotion he had just caused; they were all hollow madmen, they were all monsters. He avoided all free prisoners now, watching them intently for a sign of imminent attack. A few tried their luck, but he dispatched them quickly, not letting his guard down for a second.
He found more steps and he climbed and climbed until it looked like he was on the roof of an expanse of cells. He marched onward and came upon a hollow standing next to a square hole in the floor. This one was as unremarkable as the others, its clothes ripped and its' dead eyes looking at nothing. But Oscar saw that in its hand it clutched two keys, curious, he thought, maybe he procured them for an escape attempt but went Hollow before he could use them.
He didn't expect that he could just ask nicely for them, so he approached the undead slowly trying to lure it into an attack. It worked. The Hollow swiped at him fiercely but met Oscar's shield bashing his hand away and his sword slashing down his chest. A ribbon of blood appeared and the Hollow fell backwards, its' arms flailing and heading directly for the hole in the floor. Oscar cursed, throwing down his shield and sword and making a lunge for the thing's hand. He managed to wrench one of the keys away just before he fell through the hole, but the other sailed down with him, bouncing off the floor of a prison cell until it came to rest next to the dead Hollow.
Oscar looked through the hole and saw an undead prisoner looking up at him. He looked like a fairly new arrival, his clothes not in the dishevelled state of most he had seen, but caked with the mud of travelling and the dust of his cell. Oscar lamented the loss of that key, but did not jump down after it. He didn't know whether this undead was hollow or not and he was loath to try and fight him off after making the sizeable drop to his cell. He would have to hope that the one he possessed could take him where he needed to be.
He stood from the opening and retrieved his sword and shield; he doubled back down the stairs to the roof and went through another passage he hadn't explored yet. Soon he came to yet another stairway, at the top was a brick wall and to his right and behind him more stairs continued upwards above where he had entered. Sitting propped against the wall was a solitary corpse. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about it, apart from a strange glow of gold that Oscar could see through the material of his filthy coat.
A quick perusal of the cadaver and Oscar held the dead man's mysterious golden treasure. It was an Estus Flask, a dull green glass bottle filled with glowing golden liquid. Undead coveted these bottles, Oscar knew, for when an Undead drank from them their wounds would be miraculously healed. Oscar suspected it had its limits of course, he doubted that it could heal really serious injuries but it was a marvel all the same. He looked into its' honeyed depths in wonder, the liquid flowed and twisted in a constant yet gentle display, showing a plethora of different yellows, as if someone had melted down all the gold in the world and bottled it.
It was because of his awe that he heard the heavy rolling sound too late, turning round he was face to face with a huge iron ball for a second before it crashed into him. The unbelievable force the sphere had gathered was such that it sent him careening through the brick barrier he was standing in front of, pinning him tightly against the wall of the chamber they had broken into. Having claimed its target the ball lost its momentum and rolled slowly away from him, allowing his pummelled body to fall limply to the floor.
He didn't know how long he lay there. All he knew was the pain. Such pain he had never felt before, his ribs were undoubtedly broken and he felt as though they had been set ablaze within him. More fire burned his back and neck, the undousable fire of pain, it arced through his entire body and he coughed spraying blood inside his visor. What a thing, to die here like this, it seems I have failed already.
Through torturous agony he crawled to the wall, resting his broken body against it, presented with the gaping hole lined with bricks he had inadvertently created along with the ball. Sitting like this dulled the pain slightly, though he still felt as though he had been in a thousand battles.
As he sat there in his torment, he was taken aback to see the mysterious stranger he had accidentally provided with a key. He saw Oscar, walked through the makeshift doorway and stood over him. He was only armed with a rusty old sword whose blade had been cut off halfway from the tip.
"Oh, you," Oscar said weakly, looking the man up and down, he looked sane enough. Oscar knew it was only a matter of time until he himself succumbed, but maybe this man could keep hope alive. "You're no Hollow, eh? Thank goodness, I'm done for, I'm afraid. I'll die soon, then lose my sanity." He shuddered at the thought.
"I wish to ask something of you. You and I, we're both undead, hear me out, will you?" The stranger said nothing, but nodded. Oscar smiled, a man of few words but it wasn't words the world needed. The stranger could be the one.
"Regrettably, I have failed in my mission, but perhaps you can keep the flame alive. There is an old legend passed down the generations of my family. 'Thou who art undead, art chosen, in thine exodus from the Undead Asylum maketh pilgrimage to the land of the Ancient Lords. When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the undead thou shalt know'". Oscar coughed again, plastering the inside of his visor with yet more blood. The strain of talking was agonising, but he had to pass on his mission, he had to keep hope alive.
"Well, now you know, and I can die with hope in my heart. Oh, one more thing," he held the Estus Flask out toward the stranger; he didn't think it could help him now. Besides, it was his time.
He could only raise his arm half of the way, so the stranger leaned down and took it from him. "An Estus Flask, an undead favourite. Oh and this," he said, giving him the key he had never been able to use. "Now, I must bid you farewell, I would hate to harm you after death. So, go now and thank you."
The stranger bowed his head and left him. Alone Oscar sat, waiting for his death. From the barred window set high in the chamber, he saw a glimpse of the dark sky. But as he looked, thin shafts of light started to break through and some even managed to permeate the barred window. Raising a hand towards the sun's brave display he smiled and closed his eyes. Yes, maybe there is still hope.
END