From the Ashes I

What does one do, when everything that could be done has been accomplished?

Where does anyone go, where any place is as meaningless as the next?

I had known hope, what seemed a long time ago. But then again, what was time? Reality was thin in Drangleic, and time, in particular, followed a very curious set of rules. Stretches and pieces of me broke in my home city, and like thousands and more like me, I attempted to walk the Path put before me by Fate and Chance.

I had remembered my name at the beginning of my journey, and a few other things. Truly, in the beginning, silence had been almost a blessing, it helped me trying to remember, but it wasn't long after my first steps in the unknown realm of Drangleic that I had understood that silence was just another facet of the curse. Loneliness, which I had suffered for a long part of my first life was nothing new, but it grew me weary, stealing slowly but surely anything that made me myself.

In the beginning, it had taken me a long time to recognize that exchanging words with others felt... something. Not a bonfire's warmth, nothing like that. And yet, it made me feel... it helped, somehow. Knowing that there were others attempting to fight back the Dark, knowing that some wielded it with purpose and not meaningless hate for anything bright, knowing... feeling.

The first time I had died had left me with sharper memories than most, trapped, eaten alive, suffocated. It wasn't pleasant, it had, in fact, shattered me. But it was solid, something sharp and exact in my mind that not easily was forgotten. And even if I had been tempted to surrender it to the Dark, along with myself, circumstances had changed...

Slowly, almost unaware, I had started staving off the Dark, if only because of a sense of stubborn determination. Something in me hadn't wished to just... stop. And even more slowly, fighting off the dark translated into fighting anything that I found on my path. I had been unable to talk back most of the time, the meaning and the purpose of words escaping my mind, but the interactions, carried on with nothing but gestures of the head, hadn't been... bad.

Some people helped me, some people I helped, some people I summoned, out of pragmatism if nothing else. Camaraderie wasn't something that I would have recognized at the time, empty as I had been, but it was there nonetheless. Outrage against the invasions had too been outside of my mind, but the natural reaction of fighting back when challenged had allowed me sharp moments in which I felt.

And that had been enough.

I had fought, I had scraped and battled and haggled and died. And after each death ...eaten squashed, burned, beheaded, exploded, pierced, cut apart, torn to shreds, tossed from the tallest peaks, poisoned, stabbed, slaughtered... I had managed just enough to keep going, to slowly find my own strength at the expense of the dying realm of Drangleic.

And even more slowly, my mind started to piece together the pieces. Who was who, why this or that one would help me, and by extension, I slowly came to realize my own role. Almost too late I found out about Vendrick's scheme to deny his cunning and lying queen her prize.

Shadow is not cast, but born of fire, and the brighter the flame, the deeper the shadow. So, in desperation Vendrick, with his brother Aldia, had sought another way to break the cycle of the Curse that had eroded and destroyed so many kingdoms before him. To do this Vendrick peered straight into the essence of the soul. Both the siblings sought a way to overcome the Curse and pursued any means of attaining it. And at the end of the day, the choice had fallen into my own hands.

To Burn, and Nurture the Flame, or to Lead the Age of Dark.

Was it any wonder, that after all the pain and fatigue, after the sacrifices, after fighting for my life and against the Dark, I refused to surrender to either fate? What was the meaning of protecting the weak, the only action that allowed me to keep my sanity, if any of my choices would have destroyed them?

Seeking through the Flame for a bonfire not only unlit, but also beyond the reach of the Cycle was foolishness, and yet, with Aldia's soul, the scholar of the First Sin, I had found a way: to simply cast an ember beyond the reach of Dark. Letting it light a bonfire on its own, and Hope. And what was the meaning of the Age of the Dying Flame, if not to hope in the face of the hopelessness?

Again, the meaninglessness of Time in Drangleic had allowed me to succeed where Eons should have consumed me long before, and I had found that the Ember was ready.

I knew that this bonfire was the furthest from Drangleic, if the presence of an actual sun instead of a sunset over my head, and the quick turning of the day into night instead of never-ending dusk. More than that, it made some sort of cruel sense, for me to return to what was once my home, now that my home was the few people that I managed to save from the Dark, or the few that kept it off on their own.

What did it mean for me, to be here? Here, where there was not only a Sun, but also Stars? Here, where Time was almost a linear thing, and Reality seemed to be written in the same stone of Vendrick's golems? Unyielding and still?

The souls here felt... dim. Almost meaningless, truly. Transient, lacking direction, unknowing and hopeless to the inevitable turning of the Wheel.

Once I had settled to wait, and think, and hoping to see in the Flame a direction that could save Drangleic without condemning me or others, a traveler had stumbled upon the bonfire. Lit from the bones of a father that died in my long (or brief?) absence, it was no different than any other, calming and reassuring with its warmth, a pause from the infinite struggle.

He was of no consequence. While he was weak as any other, he wasn't on the verge of becoming hollow. And that was a promising sign as any other. Would there be hope here? Hope for me to find a way to save Drangleic? Hope for an escape for the others, even if they were no Monarch? My decision could only be one.

To wait for new developments.

I was no longer a young and lost undead, but Vendrick's counsel was sound: Seek Strenght. The rest will follow.

After some time, or no time at all, a rumble at the edge of my senses made me glance away from the Flame, my attention finally brought back to this city, which should have been so familiar, and was yet so alien to anything I felt I knew.

It was faint, and yet... warm. There was hope there, something had changed, an opportunity had presented itself, and I wouldn't let it slip.

I reached into the Flame, my hand shifting among my belongings with precision and determination, until I found my heaviest blade, if not because of the weight, also because it reminded me of the price of Trickery, and the Chime I received once I had defeated the Darklurker, back when I was lost and didn't truly understand what was going on around me.

I started moving in the direction where I perceived something... important, when the traveler offered his pitiful challenge.

Hilarity had little place in the world, but it was a moment so unexpected, and so meaningless, that I almost laughed: "It wouldn't be a fight."

The traveller was lucky, was I not a defender of the weak, he would be a smear on the ground.

The strange city, made with materials that were extremely frail, echoing the lack of souls that went into their creation, almost blurred around me, and I almost paused in surprise: I could run for a long time, requiring very little to recover thanks to the magic of my own shield, but this kind of speed was...

Of course. I laughed hollowly inside of my helmet: in a reality so rigidly defined, where distance was just as meaningful as the challenges I could find on the Path in Drangleic, my strength wasn't imposed on the world only when matched against another, but stood starkly against the unbending yet frail world around me.

All too soon, I found the origin of the disturbance, and I blinked in surprise, for he wielded flame effortlessly. Mad Pyromancer? No.

Under my gaze, I saw the man-like figure in the middle of the ongoing conflict growing steadily taller while a trio of demons appeared to gang up to tear him apart, with little to no success.

I blinked in surprise seeing the demon hounds apparently follow the commands of a single woman that didn't sport any particular characteristic worthy of note, even as another in the group that was allied against the rapidly growing... monster... in the middle of the small plaza.

From time to time, a cloud of pitch-black smoke seemed to provide temporary support, allowing the others to retreat more and more, but the steadily growing enemy was unrelenting, and while his fire didn't feel like the Flame of Chaos, and appeared too superficial for it to be the fabled Flame of Sorcery that the Witch had used before... I scoffed, reprimanding myself for letting my thoughts wander.

"It matters not." I spoke quietly to myself, my thumb gently caressing a ring that I had chosen to carry a long time before. It was engraved with the crest of the Way of Blue, symbolizing the dignified oath to defend the weak. Sure, these people were no candidates to be Monarch, and the man slowly morphing into a silvery lizardlike being was no dark invader, and yet...

I secured my Blossom Shield to my back, feeling it resting tightly against my worn cloak, and briefly touched the chime resting on my belt, before discarding the option. Better to spare my strength for healing, the people attempting to subduing the monster in the center of the small plaza would need healing eventually.

Holding my blade with two hands, I noticed a blonde woman dragging another, defeated companion towards, me, despair written clearly on their faces.

With a nod in her direction, I jumped in.

I sprinted almost as fast as my legs could carry me, still somewhat surprised by my own speed, and spun on my left in order to deliver a powerful blow with the flat of my weapon against the strange enemy I was going to face. I was surprised when my opponent was simply swatted away, very much like I would have been from a much larger opponent, instead of simply tanking my blow.

Somewhat confused, I pointed towards safety for the two weak souls that were about to be burned away, it wouldn't do for them to die when my intention was to save them.

Besides, I think that death would be permanent for them.

My strange opponent returned to the fray at least three meters tall, with sharp claws instead of fingers, and a shroud of flames over the steadily growing steely scales. Unimpressed, but curious to know how far he could go, I took a step back, avoiding a feral swipe, quickly pivoting on my left foot once more to skirt by a fireball, and an instant later I slammed the stony pommel of my blade on my opponent's head.

He fell like a tree with rotten roots. I kept my distance, shielding myself with the flat of my blade from the sudden wave of flames that all pyromancers resorted to when they wished to buy some space. I jumped up and forward as soon as I felt the pressure lighten.

I swished down, letting my opponent rolling to one side, and I felt myself smile under my helm, how far could he go? The warmth had grown considerably, there was no denying it. Would it translate to a bright soul? If so, how powerful could it grow? I had to admit, finding such a ready solution to stave off the Age of Dark sounded almost too good to be true. Could I manage to trick him into sitting on the Throne of Want if he proved himself strong enough? Or would I need to subsume his soul and giving up a part of me?

I studied my opponent, whose neck was starting to grow longer while a tail sprouted from his tailbone. I ignored his taunting or menacing words in order to try and figure out what exactly he was becoming. Might it be? A drake?

I somersaulted over a swipe of his tail, rolled in position, and kicked him in the chest while he was unbalanced, noticing with interest that a blow that would have broken him in two at the beginning of our fight now simply made him stagger. How much can he heal?

A swing later, a scaled arm fell to the ground, followed by a small fountain of blood and a wave of flames that I shielded from with my sword. Immediately, he roared in outrage and tried to strike, but to no avail, as I kept myself on the side that I crippled him on, making it much easier to avoid his blows.

I lifted my weapon, holding it oblique in order to let the first strike slid off, only to roll under a second swipe and hopped back in order to not get stamped on. I felt the drake wannabe strength even as I deflected his blows, and I could tell that it was building up. But he was predictable, as all mindless beasts were, and not as fast as he thought himself to be.

He roared, to which I simply replied with a swing strong enough to cause a deep trench on his chest, which immediately began to steam and sizzle as it closed.

I rolled backwards, avoiding the snap of teeth that rested now on a draconic jaw, and kicked his face when he attempted to bite me again, using the momentum I gained to return to my feet.

I took a step forward and swung down my weapon, which the dragon-man avoided with a serpentine movement that brought a grin on my face. He's faster.

I left the blade embedded in the frail ground and rolled on one side of it, freeing my shield from my back and swinging it against an incoming swipe from the beasts, which cause him to stagger momentarily, long enough for my right hand to close on the handle of my weapon, which I swung once more, turning the momentum of my swing in an anticlockwise turn.

I smiled when I felt my blow bit through my opponent, the blood falling like a small river over Vraengarl's boots while I kept spinning, this time using the edge of my shield as a cutting tool, that the drake-wannabe avoided narrowly, just in time to try and oppose my follow upswing with his tail, which was cut off with ease.

I jumped back and dodged another swipe, my enemy seemingly ignoring the loss of his tail while he once more breathed fire at me. I dug my blade in the far too frail ground, opting to hold my shield with two hands and sprint from behind my cover too fast for the beast to follow. My first kick landed on his forefront leg, making him fall a bit forward as he realized that I was no longer behind my weapon, and he turned his head to me, his jaw starting to take the form of an unholy, open X, revealing row upon row of teeth.

I smashed him with my shield, forcing him back and jumping over his spiked back, using the edge of my shield to slash open what seemed to be a budding wing sprouting right next to my feet.

I kept moving around the budding drake, enjoy the steadily growing warmth that he was giving off, and my curiosity was more than picked: How far can he go?
Hope is such a frail thing, but I found myself eager to see what kind of soul would I hold at his death.

The foolish creature laid his paw-like hand over the hilt of my blade, still embedded into the ground, and attempted to hit me with it, more to mock me than because he had any idea about how to use it, I was sure. Keyword being 'attempted', because he didn't manage to even lift it.

I sprinted and rolled, slashing against his arm once I was near enough to my objective.

Titanite is sturdier than his scales? I asked myself in surprise while the lower side of my shield went more than halfway through his arm, forcing him to give up on his attempt to take possession of my weapon. Before I had hit him in a weak spot, the wings are always frail, but that his scales would part so easily even on his arms... that was a surprise.

I retrieved my weapon and hopped back, keeping my distance from what was clearly becoming a drake of sorts: his scales were extremely frail, each held a metallic sheen, but there was very little of their promised strength when I struck. I poked the drake, I slashed only to jump back, I feinted, I rolled, and generally made a nuisance of myself, still unwilling to put an end to this fight.

Without any telling movement, just as I spun out of the way of the drake-wannabe's last swipe, the creature whirled on itself, its tail coming to me at speeds my position left me at odds to avoid. With a grimace, I lifted my shield, and tried to brace myself.

The beast struck with extreme strength, and as my feet slid immediately off the ground, I was flung away.

The world spun almost too fast for me to understand what was going on, and once I rolled to a stop, I lifted my eyes to see the fool that challenged me fighting the beast. I have to act quickly, hoping that he can survive for a few seconds.

I pulled the dragon-chime free from my belt, falling in the familiar mindset necessary to Heal myself, and cast the Miracle. I sighed in relief as I felt the broken arm return healthy, and I smiled serenely at the warmth that coursed through me.

Once I rose from my kneeling position, which wasn't all that necessary but made things easier, just in time to see the drake's strangely X-shaped mouth close on the fool that had challenged me right outside of my bonfire's influence.

Without thinking, I raised the dragon-chime high up in the air, and brought forth lightning. The Fragmented Lightning Spear rained down on my opponent before he had a chance to react, wounding him deeply and earning me back his attention.

Bolder because of his success, the drake lunged at me once I came close enough, his mouth attempting to repeat what he had done to the hopeful fool he had just killed.

I was no fool.

Sidestepping was an obvious motion, and swinging down my blade the only conclusion possible.

I cut, and the Drake lost its head, dead.

I walked briefly around, trying to find something of worth in the surroundings.

A minute or two after the death of my enemy, I turned with a defeated sigh: I had hoped that letting the pretender grow enough would make his soul something more, but there was nothing more than a broken husk in my hands once I was done searching for anything of worth. I frowned in surprise when the enemy didn't disperse in a cloud of ash, reclaimed by the cycle, only to almost slap myself in the head for my mistake.

The cycle here has little to no weight.

"Well hello there!" a blonde woman hopped up to me almost out of breath, clad in a skintight garment that surely provided little as an armor. Maybe it is enchanted.

Then the tiny soul smiled, and for an instant, I was reminded of Shalquoir, the annoyingly unnerving but helpful and knowledgeable cat in Majula.

AN

Explanation about the rambling at the start:

It's a fucking hassle to write from the perspective of an undead, even one with so much humanity as Taylor.

For those not lore-savvy: in dark souls, your character is basically a zombie. In the lore, said zombie retains some part of a will, and the more conscious the zombie is, the more 'humanity' he has left, the more conscious he is of the surroundings.

With each death, the character loses some humanity, recovering it through victory over other souls and through the use of 'human effigies' to reestablish the appearance of humanity. When someone loses too much humanity, or loses it all, he becomes 'hollow'. Basically, a mindless beast trying to kill everything it can get away with.

Taylor as I write here is the biggest soul around Drangleic (the realm where DS2 is located), so she has a very strong sense of self compared to the other undead, but, as time is meaningless in DSII, she tends to get lost in her thoughts whenever there isn't a clear objective.

Explanation about the Bonfire:

As for the chat about the Fire... ugh... how to explain it briefly? In game, there is a check-point system that is made of bonfires, which heal you, restore your equipment, and allow you to travel from one to another. Said bonfires, lore-wise, are a small manifestation of the First Flame, which is the thing that the character has to burn himself (literally) for.

Not just anyone can do so, it isn't a normal flame, you can't simply toss random meat on it. You need, in order to stave off the Age of Dark, to immolate a true Monarch, otherwise known as a big-ass soul.

The process of kindling a bonfire outside of where the Cycle is taking place is magic bullshittery that Taylor has been capable of (only this time) because she kind of used the soul of a certain Aldia. Who is someone on the calibre of a Monarch, that spent who knows how long looking for a solution that wasn't burning himself alive nor giving up and letting the Age of Dark come forth.

Really, these summaries of the lore are so brief they're almost wrong. It's fucking annoying to write.

Why is she a brute?

Again, difficult to explain briefly to those that don't know the lore, but I'll try:

In DS, as I've written, reality is thin. That isn't a slang. The greatest buildings were built from the souls of their rulers (three crowns plus vendrick), and the land istelf was part of a cycle in which the strenght of the souls defined the characteristic of the 'people'. Drangleic (the map in DS), is divided in areas defined by those that inhabit (rule) them, and the character has to move around, following the 'characteristics' of these areas.

Brockton Bay, and Earth Bet at large, has no 'Ruler' as it is meant in Dark Souls, there is no 'path' through the map. And if Taylor wishes to go wherever, the characteristics of her soul (stats if I was considering this a gamer!fic) translate over everything, not only the conflict with others.

Having a strength of 60 (reasonably high in game) doesn't translate only to strong blows: her legs are strong too take it like that.

I hope I managed to make sense.

How did the fight go (I thought it would be more impressive from Tattletale's POV)? Did my brief explanations make sense? Hopes for the immediate future?