Hey, all - this is actually a reupload from earlier today;
I got some weird, janky html-looking text, and I couldn't
fix the problem at work, so I simply deleted and reuploaded
it!
Btw, I'm no historian, but I'll try to stick as close to the
lore as narratively possible! Thanks, guys.
Yes, indeed.
It is called Lothric,
where the transitory lands of the
Lords of Cinder converge.
In truth, these Lords will abandon their thrones...
… and the Unkindled will rise.
I. Cemetery of Ash
Among the weather-beaten ruins of Old Lothric lay the Cemetery of Ash, recently disturbed by the tolling of a great bell some distance beyond its walls, sending a murder of crows scattering into the winds. Deeper into the place was a pile of stone coffins and sarcophagi, discarded in a mass grave at the furthest end of the graveyard.
Four of the coffins shuddered momentarily, kicking dust from their surfaces. One of the lids moved, sliding off its base to the ground below, after which the same occurred with the other coffins. From within, four souls stirred.
The first to stand was a man, clad in faded Faraam armor, proud but clearly beaten down. His face carried an altruistic warmth, but was juxtaposed with a sternness illustrated with a scar that ran across his cheek, ending at his ash-colored goatee. He picked up his helmet, which he had found at his feet, and pulled it over his head, his sharp, hazel eyes peering through. In his hands he held a long spear and a shield, the latter adorned with the crest of a dragon. As he stood and adjusted his helmet, his attention was soon turned to the other coffins.
The second to stand was a woman, pale-skinned and golden-haired, exuding innocence and curiosity. A faint glow of wonder seemed to dwell in her blue eyes. The holy chime she clutched spoke to her faith and gentleness, yet the elegant mail of a sunless realm that she wore perhaps spoke to a firmer aspect of her personality. She had seen a wealth of troubles, but something had kept her resolute. The woman turned to the knight to speak.
The third to stand startled the duo, groaning and coughing as he pulled his aged, brittle body up from the coffin, still clutching his murky longstaff and aquamarine dagger. He wore the long robes of an Irithyllian court sorcerer, but from his head fell a comically wide-brimmed hat, one associated with the Crystal Sages of the Grand Archives. Clearly, he had many allegiances within the converged lands – curious, seeing as he was now clawing his way out of a coffin.
The three eyed each other cautiously, unsure of when to speak or what to say, when the last figure stood. She was lithe, draped in Lothric robes of prayer, which descended to both her elbows and knees. Her arms were covered in wrappings, and her trousers were cinched in and ended with the pointed shoes of a witch. Her face was unusual – haunting, but exotic in its beauty. Her skin was a light olive, and from both of her piercing, white eyes extended black lines in either direction, reminiscent of abyss-colored tears running both up and down, but never leaving. She winced at the sunlight above, and pulled her sorcerer hood up, hiding her visage. Her hand then went straight to the peculiar Eastern blade sheathed at her hip.
"Peace, all." The knight urged, moving his shield and spear to his back, "Stay thy weapons, please." He silently looked at each person, sizing them up in his mind. The holy woman and her visible concern, the old man and the large hat that blocked his visage, the mysterious swordswoman and the fire that faintly licked at her fingertips. After a quiet moment, the knight spoke again, "There must be a reason that we are dead no longer."
"Dead, you say?" The old sage remarked, stroking his wiry, silver beard. "Intriguing… I was unaware I had even died!" This elicited a stifled gasp from the praying woman, who responded gently, almost as a whisper: "Are… a-are we undead? By the sun – I've become a walking blasphemy… I…" her words fading into a murmur as she looked to the other woman for support, though she said nothing.
"U-Unless, perhaps… we've a divine calling?"
The knight nodded absentmindedly, before straightening his back and addressing the strangers, "Perhaps. But we will never know a thing if we remain here. I think a solution has presented itself – surely, we are all capable individuals. If we combine our strength and wits, we might all be able to escape this… graveyard."
This seemed to set the holy woman at ease, and the old man nodded with increasing intensity, as if he had retreaded the logical steps himself. The swordswoman did not respond, but she displaced her hand from her weapon.
They proceeded through the Cemetery of Ash, coming across a Hollow, who mindlessly shambled around until noticing them, when it immediately charged the group. The knight procured his spear and deftly sent it through the undead's torso, bringing it to the ground. A faint, white light emerged from the corpse, splitting into fourths and entering each member of the group. The holy woman gasped, but the sage chuckled. "Ah-hah, yes indeed! We have just absorbed the soul of a fallen creature." He explained, garnering the disbelieving looks of his newfound comrades.
"Y-You see, this confirms my previous theory. I daresay the old pilgrims were right, the sorry bastards… th-that is, we are Unkindled. We are cursed with undeath, yes of course, but through the absorption and channeling of souls, you see, we can transcend this!"
The knight gripped his spear, and spoke sternly, "You had better explain yourself, old man." The sage simply chuckled in response, "All in good time, my friend. I suspect that we shall uncover some answers rather soon, if this plays out the way I think it will." He continued forward, passing the knight and approaching a small gathering of mindless Hollows. "All you need to concern yourself with is staying alive – the rest shall work itself out."
Hollowed corpses hit the ground, and the faint howling of wind that had come to characterize this graveyard was now interrupted with the clattering of steel and soul arrows. The group had emerged from the cemetery proper, and had begun to ascend up a narrow path on the face of a cliff. The knight looked back a moment, and above him saw the sprawling expanse of the High Wall of Lothric. "I'll be…" he began, but never finished. They finished their ascension, and reached a small outcropping, adorned with a lone sight – a coiled sword, buried in a small mound of ash and bones. The party, particularly the knight and the holy woman, eyed it with suspicion. Most of the party, that is, as the swordswoman pushed her way up from the back, and extended her hand to the ashes.
Immediately, a controlled flame emerged from the ashes, and with great effort she turned to the group and spoke: "It's a bonfire." The old sage grinned and followed after her, as the two continued down the path toward a bell tower, still some distance away. The knight and holy woman looked at each other a moment, then quickly caught up with the others.
After felling more Hollows, the party came upon an archway, shrouded in a strangely thick wall of white fog. The sage eyed it curiously, likely wanting to experiment with it, or perhaps simply cast soul arrows at it. The swordswoman repeated her motion from before, but this time extended her hand toward the fog. The white wall hummed and howled as her hand entered it, and she soon found herself compelled to pass through completely, so she did so. The sage shrugged to the knight and woman, and beckoned them to follow him in. And so, the party passed through the wall of fog.
There was a shallow pool of water surrounding what appeared to be a shrine – a statue of some armored champion, impaled with a coiled sword, similar to the one at this 'bonfire' that the swordswoman had conjured. The party approached the shrine, and upon closer inspection, it became clear to the party that this was, indeed, not a statue at all. "That sword… it's the same as the one in that… bonfire. I think we can all intuit what would happen if I were to remove it from this champion's chest." The others nodded, and the sage replied, "Yes, yes. It will come to life and attack us, most assuredly. However, I don't think there's any other way forward, you see – that great door up ahead is locked." The knight looked beyond the statue and saw the large gate. This world he now inhabited was much unlike the one he left, and without the context of the society he once understood, he somehow knew the cause-and-effect of this encounter with the opening of that large door.
He breathed in, and pulled on the sword. With sickening resistance, the blade spiraled out of the figure's chest and landed on the ground. The statuesque champion lurched, as dust and stone fell from stasis, and placed a hand on the large halberd embedded in the ground next to it. It stood, dislodging the halberd entirely, and stood straight, almost as if reliving its proud origins. All was silent a moment.
The champion lunged forward, hefting its glaive straight toward the knight. A swift raising of his shield protected him from the worst of the blow, but sent him flying onto his back. The sage backed away a moment, expectant but still surprised at the sudden turn of events. He conjured a wave of soul arrows, which soared from his longstaff in all directions, before they all honed in on the champion, who was now flailing about with its great halberd. The arrows connected, sending the beast to its knees. At this point, the swordswoman abandoned her defensive posture, and charged the champion, piercing her blade through its chest, carrying out a devastating riposte.
The priestly woman knew what was coming next, and bent her knee in prayer, holding the chime close. Whispering an excerpt from a sacred text, she held the chime upwards, unleashing a brilliant aura around her – an aura that similarly touched the swordswoman, who now found the grip on her sword substantially stronger. With all her might, she pulled her blade back out of the champion's torso, a motion that now launched the sentinel onto its back.
After this display, the sage noticed the curious blade that the swordswoman wielded. It was an Eastern blade, a katana, if he recalled the name correctly. However, each stroke of this blade seemed to injure the wielder, too. Not directly, of course, as the woman was not covered in lacerations – but it seemed to steal a piece of her own lifeforce each time she used it, like the product of some unholy pact. The sage noted this, but kept quiet for the moment, as the champion quickly returned to its feet.
The knight returned to the fray alongside the swordswoman, each dodging the wild swings of the sentinel's glaive, and lunging in for their own counterattacks. The long spear pierced the champion's side, then the katana sliced down its thigh, and then the spear returned again for a jab at its helmet, to which the katana responded with a flurried slash at its arm. Their combined assault forced the champion to its knees once more, at which point the party backed away. At this moment, they all noticed, in unison, the peculiar black ooze on the sentinel's back – ooze which now suddenly erupted into a massive, amorphous creature that latched onto the champion like a parasite, beckoning it to its feet once more. The colossal creature had a single, gnarled arm that it used to knock the knight and swordswoman back, sending them across the shallow waters. The champion charged the old sage, who conjured a heavy soul arrow at it – the arrow clearly damaged the beast, but it was too little, too late. The priest gasped as she saw the champion pin down the sage, raising its halberd to pierce through the elderly man. She quietly recited another prayer, this one much shorter than the previous, and stood, summoning a ring of light that she cast to the sentinel. A white ray of force knocked it from atop the sage, who crawled backwards to safety.
The champion regained its balance, clearly rearing back for another charge, when it suddenly collapsed to the ground in flames. The black ooze on its back retreated into its previous, benign form, and the champion vanished in a flash of light. Behind it, the swordswoman stood, hand extended – a hand that harbored a flame of pyromancy. She had dispatched the foe.
No sooner than they had defeated this colossus, the ground rumbled. The party braced itself for another assault, when they saw the gate ahead of them tremble and kick dust from its creases and corners. The priest retrieved the coiled sword from the ground as the party moved forward. They approached the gate, and the knight stepped forward, using his might to push the great doors open. Just beyond them, up a small mountain path, was a great bell tower. The sage chuckled to himself.
"Ah, indeed… Firelink Shrine.
