FOREWORD:
This a non-canon, reinterpretation of the Dark Souls over arching story. Artistic liberties have been taken.
Enjoy.
Requiem: A Dark Souls Story
The pool shimmered under the light of the fake sun, a soft tick-tock of a clock echoed throughout the horizonless chamber, a lone youthful woman sat next to the pool, slouched and leaning on one hand. She was robed in a black cloak, raven-feathered and loose on her shoulders. Her unamused expression plain on her face, she watched as the pool shimmered with a fierce orange glow. It steamed with an intense heat, and then it cooled as rapidly as it steamed. The woman gave an audible groan. "Ugh, another one is it…" She waved a hand over the bowl, and the image changed. This time, the bowl turned to ice as the image darkened, cold air flowed over the edges. Another wave of the hand. "Next!"
This rhythm continued for quite some time, each groan louder and angrier each time, the robed woman muttering to herself all the while. Soft wingbeats interrupted her tantrum. "You seem a little flustered, my Lady."
"I am, Corvus. This stupid bowl has nothing worthwhile to watch. All the same, every day." She huffed, continuing to scroll. "Even looking at what bizarre clothes the Chosen wears has grown wear- What on earth is that? Is that a yellow turb- A loincloth with gart- Good grief, the fashion sense of these mortals. How does he even fit through the doorways?"
"My Lady?" Corvus croaked as he hopped onto the edge of the bowl.
"Ah, don't mind me, sweet." The woman sighed as she picked the raven from the perch. "At least I have you to keep me company." A soft kiss was gifted to the raven, a little shudder of gratitude in reply.
"You're looking a little down, if I do say so myself. Has boredom clouded your mind?" Corvus chirped.
"It is. I'm bored, sweet." She admitted. "Ohhhhh, why can't I just go in one of these things and tell these stupid mortals on how to- "
"Absolutely not!" Corvus screeched, flying about her head frantically. "Do you remember what happened the last time?" The lady blinked, as if she was trying to remember.
"Oh, right… I maybe… jump started the apocalypse by telling them the future… a couple of times- Look I'll be gentler this time! I'll just… I'll just tell them… about how they should probably not create the Dark…" Corvus beat his wings. "FINE! Fine. I'll leave the band of idiots to it, I suppose. Have you got anything interesting to show me today?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!" Corvus squawked, "Here, looked at what I found earlier!" The raven being moving the images with his black beak, each image showing various heroes and villains. Battle hardened warriors, noble knights, fallen wizards, some…naked man with a stick.
"How on earth do they do it?" The woman scoffed as the raven continued his search. "What are we looking for exactly?"
"A new start." The bird replied. "A different start. This one!" The bird pecked the puddle, a grey image bloomed. Stones and crags littered the image, and great winged beasts flew through the cloudy skies. The woman slapped her long-nailed hand onto the pool.
"Corvus, we know how this bloody story goes, it's the only thing that plays on this cursed thing, let's just skip to the end- Ow!"
"No!" Corvus pecked the hand away, before hiding under his wing. "Forgive me, my Lady, but you really must see this through! I promise you it's different…"
The woman suckled her thumb "And if it's not?"
"You get to…" The raven turned away. "You can pluck all my feathers out." The woman scoffed and picked up the bird gently.
"Don't be ridiculous, I'm bored, not cruel." She said, placed a finger on his ruffled head. "Fine, we'll watch this one through, and it better be good."
"If it's not, we'll just change the play, as always." The bird replied, getting himself comfy.
"Hmph, you really think this will be the one?"
"I do, Lady Velka. I do."
"Well," Velka replied with a smile. "I'll hold you to that."
Velka and Corvus peaked into the bowl, as the familiar setting of the grey crags, arch trees, and everlasting dragons. The image shifted and turned before falling upon a humble city, tucked away beneath the crags of the land. The images shifted, flying right past the modest cathedrals and crumbling houses, past the haggard and weary townsfolk, and finally came into focus. A humble oak tree stood alone on a hill, nary a leaf on it, swaying in the dusty wind. A lone figure sat underneath the skeletal branches.
A young man, black haired that was swept back and unkempt, a loose strand here and there, with piercing, deep blue eyes, sat on his own, wearing humble armour and a worn sword at his side. He was lean and well-toned, tall even as he sat down. He had a youthful face speckled with small scars, and his stone gaze swept over the town.
The young man stood and began to walk towards the town centre, the bell of the town crier calling him over to the large queue in front of him. Lined up in front of him where humble soldiers and weathered warriors, no doubt a call to arms. The queue moved on command. "Next." A voice ordered. The young man looked around, but a short-tempered thug interrupted his train of thought.
"Move it, lanky!" he blurted. The man turned around, hand on hilt.
"You wanna try that again?" He grunted. Another guard cut in.
"OI! Move up, runts!" The men eased up before continuing.
"Next." The captain ordered. The black-haired man walked forward. "You got a name, grunt?"
The man nodded. "Artorias."