Andre
A bastard son of Gwynevere
Was born under a shrouded veil
Fathered by Astoran heir
None were told his dawning tale
Was named Andre by an uncle
Whom held him dear as sun
Grew to be a skilled blacksmith
Crafting weapons of his kith
In Anor Londo he resided
Forging weapons along a giant
But when his uncle's name expelled
He left his home without a tell
He found a new home in a church
Crafting kit for passers by
He met all manner of undead
Though one stood out, he knew not why
He offered them his greatest council
And forged their gear each time they came
When news came of his granddad's death
He knew which undead was to blame
He bore witness to many lifetimes after that
Saw kingdoms rise and fall with time
Met countless undead set to link the flame
Or let it fade and become tame
Until he found self at a shrine
Where outside worlds converged and twisted
Another undead caught his eye
This one of ash was truly gifted
Reminded him of brave of yore
Who feigned comradery and slayed his kin
But 'twas many lifetimes before
Those memories all but long forgotten
And though this one's set on same path
This time to slay the Lords of Cinder
A humble blacksmith Andre remains
Will duly serve until his last