How To Git Gud, Well… Not Really
Chapter 1 – Asylum Demons
Grimsby was the Chosen Undead. That revelation had made him soil himself after his good friend of less than five minutes had freed him, crashed into a flooded jail cell, gave him every possession of his besides his damn gear, and croaked. Right in front of him. As soon as the blast of one thousand puny souls had flooded his system via his Darksign, one would think that that right there would drive the final nail in the coffin for him to get the point. That 'one' would be correct in that assumption, but as to what had driven home was a completely different matter, because after the nameless knight had poofed out existence before him, Grimsby had run. Straight for his cell door.
Some would probably ask the Chosen Undead why he had chosen to flee instead of braving the world with all the pride being undead could afford him. The answer was simple: Grimsby was a pansy. He could barely even swing that weird sword that was no longer than his now shrivelled up and wrinkled d-
Oh, that was called a dagger? He had no idea. Wait, who had told him that? Was he going senile in his undead years?!
Even though the new Chosen Undead – he didn't like the sound of that title… made him think of too many scenarios with his ass being handed to him on a silver blade – was once a scholar in Vinheim's esteemed academy, Grimsby had, unfortunately, been less intellectual than the janitor during his decade and a half living there.
He had done his best to live up to his deceased parent's expectations, he really had. However, all those tomes he had been forced to read had made his head hurt and his rear numb from all that sitting. He had been offered to train in his swordsmanship by his dormmates and he had perked up at the opportunity… until he had clumsily stabbed his instructor in the eye with a buttering knife because he was too busy trying to look cool in front of the visiting maidens of his fellow scholars at the breakfast table. Needless to say, he had never received training with any sharp weapon ever again… and the only cutlery he had been permitted to use thereafter had been wooden.
In truth, the only thing Grimsby had found enjoyable at Vinheim was the food and the cosy bed. Now, if being the Chosen Undead – the name still didn't feel like it belonged on him – meant that he had to outdo his foes in a contest of feasting or sleeping lethargically under the cool shade of a cedar tree, he would be all for it. He would have been the undead-est Chosen Undead that had ever died!
But… being the Chosen Undead was not about eating and sleeping. It was about fighting and hacking shit to death. Grimsby couldn't do either of those two. In fact, after turning undead, he was unable to even sleep or eat – two of his favourite things to do (and quite frankly his only skills).
Being the Chosen Undead wasn't in the cards for him, that much was obvious. He couldn't swing a sword or shoot an arrow, hell, who who was he kidding, he could barely tie the laces on his boots properly. That knight with the sick threads would be turning in his- uh, well… ashes, when he saw the idiot he had just made the new Chosen Undead – which reminded him, was that dude even the first Chosen Undead or was he just assuming it?
Grimsby snorted as he closed the gate of his cell, reclining comfortably next to the brown roaches walking in two parallel lines. Shame about how the world would end because of him, but he couldn't do much. If the Age of Fark – or whatever knight guy had called it – was almost upon them, then there wouldn't be time to train him properly or prepare him for this 'Land of Ancient Lords'. Grimsby wondered what knight guy had meant when he had said that.
Ooh, was he perhaps referring to Atlantis? He had read in a book many… wait, how many years had he spent in this cell? Eh, didn't matter, anyways; about Atlantis-
Wait a damned minute!
Grimsby shot up in his cell and thought for a moment. Being the Chosen Undead meant that he would have to do scary shit to save the world. That meant he would get some awesome rewards for actually doing nothing but announcing himself as the 'saviour of the world' or something like that, right? And a lost kingdom also had some hot damsels in distress to save. Sure, he wasn't a fighter, but he was sure there were others like him in this place he was headed who were proficient in it. All he needed to do was get them to fight with him and he'd 'heroically' score the finishing blow.
Hmm…
Grimsby cupped his chin as he weighed his answer critically. If he chose to sit in the cell the world would end and people would forever curse his unknown name until the end of time, if people were even alive when the end of the world arrived. If he chose to suck it up and be the Chosen Undead of prophecy, he would be known as a Hero, a King- a freaking God! People would sing his praises and instructors would train their students to fight in the valiant ways of the recent Chosen Undead, Sir Grimsby.
Ooh, he liked the ring that word had to his name.
He stared blankly at the mad hollow bashing its head against the wall as he made his final decision. Besides being someone the world would spit at if he decided to stay in the cell, was it really worth it spending an eternity watching this dumbass?
And so, the Chosen Unde- okay, he changed his mind, he didn't like being called that name.
And so, Grimsby – much better – galloped up the winding passages of the Undead Asylum and in front of the tall doors of the main hall, a pervy smile on his wrinkled face. With gusto he placed both of his arms – which were more like used toothpicks right now – against the dusty stone and pushed with all his might, determined to fulfil his destiny as the slayer of skirts- ah, he meant the Undead of Chosen, whatever the title was.
He struggled to push open the doors at first, straining his body to make the rusty stone budge at least and inch. Yes, he knew stone couldn't rust, it was a figure of speech.
Just before his cowardly nature forced him to give up, Grimsby heard the shifting of gears and the doors swung open wide enough to allow a body through. On his way in, he missed the jutting out piece of stone tile and his face met the floor with a loud smack.
Grimsby groaned in pain as he lifted his body up from the ground. He had meant to do that, ask anyone- oh, wait… there was no one else here. Well that was a good thing, it would have been the worst if he had made a fool of himself in front of some scantily clad warrior chick.
He dusted his hands as he looked around the room and huffed, walking over the sloped tiles. There was literally no one here. From the hollows positioned on the balcony upstairs, he would have thought there was like, some small army waiting for him to fight off here or something. Wasn't that how he made his grand entrance as the Chosen Undead? But the only thing here was an oddly formed floor with ups and downs, a big ass door and a hell of a lot of vases. Seriously, where had everyone gone?
With a shrug, the undead walked forward, scratching his lack of a stomach when his eyeless gaze caught something glowing on the floor. With a frown, he walked up to it and discovered it to be a message. He had seen many of these when he was coming to the bonfire and passing the balcony were some shmuck had tried to flatten him with a boulder. They had warned him about a lot of things, even detailing how to swing a proper sword in as little as a few words.
Grimsby thought it was left by knight guy like a failsafe, you know, in case he were to meet his foul end and stuff? He was a smart man.
The undead stood over the message and pressed his foot into it. Almost immediately the ancient runes shifted into the common tongue to spell out one word for him:
"Run."
Grimsby frowned again. The hell did it mean run? Run where? This was the only place he could effectively run to.
As if some higher power decided to intervene – and it had been a higher power – Grimsby was thrown backwards as the force of something gigantic crashed into the warped tiles just in front of the door he was supposed to leave through.
"Argh." Grimsby groaned as he stood back up. That had freaking hurt. He was just skin and bones now, he didn't have any fat to cushion his fall. That reminded him, was there a way to make him his handsome human self again? Because there was no way the ladies were going to want a piece of him if he was this fugly. Besides that, he didn't know if his junk worked right. He had been trying for years now but for some reason the damn thing didn't even greet him in the morning. Was it because he was undead or did the curse also kill his libido? It better not be the case; he wasn't going to risk his life and not be able to munch on some apple pie as a reward!
His thoughts were broken when he heard something growl at him. Something big. Grimsby fumbled for his dagger and buckler, pointing it out in front of him as if I would have scared whatever had made that sound. Instead, he had nearly soiled himself for the second time when he gazed at the thing that had fallen from the sky.
If big, huge, fat, ugly, wrinkled, horned and phallic troll was what this thing was, then he had called it. The thing stared down at him with dispassionate red eyes as it dragged some giant-sized butt-plug around. And don't even ask him what his obsession with pricks was, he was dude, he just compared to everything to the one sword he could use that dangled between his legs.
Still, even if the face of such a danger, Grimsby put on a smirk as he wore his cockiness on his sleeve. He was Chosen Undead for Gwyn's sake; some big toad's turd wasn't gonna stop him.
With some swagger in his step, he acknowledged the demon with a casual nod. "Sup you walking milf's stepchild?"
The monster uttered another guttural roar, sending Grimsby's short hair flying back. The undead kept his smirk as he drew his catalyst and began chanting the only spell he knew – well… not perfectly but it was something.
Some dickless turd ain't gonna scare me. Let me give 'em my first load for the day, hot and steamy as usual!
As Grimsby finished the incantation his wrinkled face turned to a toothless grin. His foe was about to become ash after he was done here. His catalyst shone with an ethereal blue light as the soul arrow formed at the end. Just before it was prepped for take-off, Grimsby shook the staff for good measure, putting on a show for his underpowered foe.
"Feel my girth you sack of horse crap!" he shouted and let the bolt of energy fly with a smug grin.
That grin soon turned into a mortified look of shock when the arrow lazily swooshed around the room like a limp member during after sex before hitting the ground in front of the Asylum Demon with a pathetic plonk.
The demon stared down at the failed soul arrow before looking back at Grimsby, who smiled back nervously. Now he knew what the message meant by "Run".
"Aha… truce?" the undead asked before he saw the Asylum Demon beat its small wings, lifting off the ground as it leapt into the sky, its club raised to smite him into a bloody pancake.
Grimsby's leathery brown skin paled as the shadow of the fat demon obscured his vision of the sun, his weaponry long forgotten the moment he saw the beast lift from the floor with those twigs for wings.
"Well shit." He said and gulped as the Asylum Demon slammed its butt-plug into him with enough force to shatter the tiles below them. He guessed he wasn't meant to be the Chosen Undead after all.
Woo, I apologise for the crass language before I say anything else, that was just to suit the character.
So, I've started this new fic, which you are all reading, called: "How To Git Gud, Well… Not Really". It's a bunch of funny one-shots focussed on the aesthetic of how to literally Git Gud at Dark Souls, made into epic fails.
I know that the first chapter probably wasn't as the title suggested – unless you include my little jab about Oscar's armour. This was just to whet your appetite. Now, I'm not the funniest author, but I'll do my best to come up with funny and enjoyable scenes of Chosen Undead getting one-shoted by the games enemies and mechanics whilst attempting to Git Gud.
I hope you enjoyed this one, thank you for reading and please leave a review.