Prologue
In the Age of Ancients,The world was unformed, shrouded by fog.A land of grey crags, archtrees, and everlasting dragons
But then there was with Fire came and cold, life and death, and of course... Light and Dark.
Then, from the Dark, They came,and found the Souls of Lords within the flame.
Nito, the First of the Witch of Izalith, and her daughters of , the Lord of Sunlight, and his faithful the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten.
With the Strength of Lords,they challenged the dragons.
Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stone witches weaved great unleashed a miasma of death and disease.
And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own, and the dragons were no began the Age of Fire. . .But soon, the flames will fade, and only Dark will now, there are only embers, and man sees not light, but only endless nights.
And amongst the living are seen, carriers of the accursed Darksign.
Never before, not even in the farthest and most barren recess' of my mind, would I have gathered that it would come to this. They know of their sins. They refuse to bear the consequence of their foolishness...no, their selfishness! And yet, here I am...weighing the chains of isolation as I bide my time. Caressing the fond memories of those who once stood beside me...the ones who had now betrayed me. My dearest friend. My sworn enemy. My loyal allies. All of which, was lost to me.
I am the hero. I have sworn to these deeds for the greater good...why is it I that must suffer? I was revered, praised for my power. I slayed the greatest of foes, all in his name. To protect the ruse in which he has enveloped the likes of the entire kingdom. I am right...I am just...but if nothing else, I am innocent!
Chapter 1: My Rock. My Redeemer.
"Havel, my friend...tell me something...what is the fire that ignites your intense hatred for the arts of sorcery?", the blacksmith had asked as he slammed his hammer against the steaming curved sword placed upon the anvil. As the question leeched into my ears, I sighed and wiped a palm across my face, leaning forward and resting my arms upon my legs. The stool I had been sitting in was becoming quite uncomfortable. Equally as uncomfortable and tiring as this question was. He had been asked it no less than a thousand times, and it only became more and more dull the more he had heard it.
"I have told you upon countless occassions. Are you either hard of hearing or short of memory?", I had jokingly asked, watching as he crafted. The blacksmith chuckled, lifting the sword into the air and checking his craftsmanship.
"I grow old, Havel. You of all people should know that my memory is nowhere near as superb as my skills in craftsmanship". He spoke as he turned the blade side to side, checking for irregularities or mishapeness before promptly standing to place the weapon within a pit of water. Steam hissed and rose from the pot, and as I watched I could only but wonder just who he was making the weapon for. As always, his design was exquisite, superb, flawless and effective. Never before had I seen a curved sword more graceful than this. The sides had been etched with dire streaks of gold, contrasting the darkness enveloping the rest of it's design. This had to have been a weapon for someone of great importance.
"May I?", I had asked holding my hand out to him.
"Of course", he replied, pulling the blade out of the water and walking over to hold it in front of me. I clasped the hilt, amazed at how perfectly designed it had been. Yet, the handle was a tad small within my grasp.
"Tell me, who will receive the honor of wielding this fine piece of weaponry?", I asked.
The smith had walked over to a table, wiping his face with a cloth as he spoke.
"Ciaran. Upon request of Lord Gwyn".
This, had quite surprised me.
"If memory serves...have you not already crafted her a weapon similar to this? Why is she in need of another?", I said quite curious.
"I haven't the slightest. Lord Gywn had merely commanded me to craft her a similar blade to the last. Equal in calibur, yet different in combat mannerisms. I gather that she has possibly taken up somewhat of a dual-wielding type combat?"
"Your own assumptions are as good as mine", I responded, still examining the weapon within my grasp. His designs never ceased to amaze me. He had always seemed to outdo himself with every craft that left his hands. Consistently perfect in their design, and always effective. Yet, nothing surpassed the weapon in which he had crafted for me. The Dragon Tooth. Unlike anything he had ever created before; to this day he continues to tell of how it was the most difficult weapon he had ever crafted. The expression upon his countenance when I had asked him to forge a weapon from the very tooth of an everlasting dragon...nonetheless, his amazement in the fact that I had been able to bring him one. Yet, I digress in my thoughts...that is a tale for another time. I had traveled this deep into the Darkroot for a reason. Now was the time to reveal this reason.
"Smith...it is about time that we speak of our arrangements, for Lord Gwyn."
The blacksmith, with his back to me, leaned over to place his palms upon the table. He sighed, then chuckled as he turned to me to reveal his long grey beard, dirty countenance and hardened eyes.
"Ah, yes...I knew you had not traveled all this way from Anor Londo simply for a quick exchange of words and joyful remembrances", he said as he walked over to a wall closer to me, and leaned against it with his back, crossing his arms. He looked up for a moment, and then back down at the ground.
"I know all too well of what you plan, and you know that I harbor no objections should it succeed. But tell me, what is it exactly that you require of a lowly smith such as myself?"
I paused for a moment to stand up. My armor shackled and clunked around as I shifted to reach for my shield; a shield in which he had created as well, along with the rest of my armor. I held it out in front of him.
"Only once have I stooped so low as to use the magic of this shield. Magic in which, you, embedded into it."
"Magic in which, you yourself had requested I implemented into its creation, Havel", he had almost interrupted me in speaking.
"Yes, I know. Let me finish.", I spoke.
He grunted, raising an eyebrow slightly and waiting for me to continue.
"Do not mistake that comment for criticism. I am here, for that very same reason. You are the most skilled craftsmen I know, especially in the art of binding the magics to weaponry. It is why I came to you for the shield", I said as I hooked the shield unto my back. The smith huffed, and I could tell that he had begun to grow suspicious.
"What are you asking of me?", he inquired.
"It is quite simple, really", I responded. "I require a weapon, with this same powerful magic. Magic powerful enough to end the reign of Lord Gywn. An assault by the Darkwraiths would be utter suicide. This needs to be done from within, when and where least expected. Considering my position as bishop, it is the perfect plan, and it avoids the bloodshed in which would result from a direct assault. Gwyn and his 4 Knights are far too powerful an adversary to battle headfirst."
The smith had remained silent for a moment, obviously deep within his own thoughts. He closed his eyes as he sighed yet again, before looking up and into my eyes with a hardened expression upon his face.
"And is Kaathe aware of this plan?", he had asked. I nodded in response, and he proceeded to turn his gaze at the ground before him again.
"I see...then I haven't any time to waste. I will begin forging the weapon as soon as I have finished this blade for Ciaran", he said, holding his hand out to me. I had forgotten that the blade was still in my hands, and handed it to him.
"Right, my apologies", I spoke. Taking the blade from me, he placed it on the anvil, and then placed a hand upon my shoulder, his blue orbs directly locked with mine as a very serious expression still remained upon his face.
"I want you to take care, Havel. You may be feared as The Rock , but Gywn is no dragon, nor is he like any enemy you've ever faced before. He holds the power of the greatest lord soul".
What started in me as a feeling of gratitude, slowly faded to anger as I brushed his hand off of my shoulder.
"Do not insult my intelligence, smith. No one knows this better than I. I am the one that sits right beside him with every day that passes; I need not a lecture from someone who has barely even tread the grounds of Anor Londo in his entire life!".
Reaching for my helm, I placed it over my head and headed for the exit, turning my back to him.
"If you will...have the weapon prepared within twenty moons. I will return, and by then my other preparations will have been completed", I said, reaching for the dragon tooth leaning against the wall, and placing it upon my shoulder with a loud clank. There would surely be more adversity waiting for me within the Darkroot Basin, yet I was more than prepared. For the smith as well as the vermin of the forest had but one thing in common.
Both, make the mistake of underestimating Havel, The Rock.