Well, I'm gratified at the response to the first chapter of this story. Just keep in mind that there's no guarantee of it being published as a full story. However, I am up to writing the eighth chapter, and once I get a few more chapters in, I'll consider posting it.

This seems to be the most promising of my Dark Souls crossover ideas so far. Admittedly, there's a difficulty to doing it with the Potterverse. If I'm doing a story set in the Potterverse, then I have robust storylines to modify, but Harry's age can be a problem when it comes to pairings, and while having Harry be a reincarnation of a character from Dark Souls would mitigate that, as would a WBWL fic, there's only so much I can do with such tropes, and I need story ideas that are interesting and get the creative momentum going.

On the other hand, doing a post-Hogwarts Harry ending up in the Dark Souls world opens up pairing possibilities considerably, and there's a lot of rich if vague lore open to many interpretations. But there's no real story structure to fall back on unless you have Harry being the Chosen Undead, and given how royally sodomised by prophecy Harry was during his time at Hogwarts, he'd probably flip the bird to Frampt. In addition, the main pairing I wanted, that of Priscilla, is in an optional and somewhat out of the way area late in the game.

This story, thankfully, kind of wrote itself, with Harry on a quest to discover his heritage, and uncovering the dark secrets of Lordran in the process, and I abandoned it initially only because I was worried about both the pacing and the lack of development of Harry/Priscilla. A new scene in the third chapter, plus a bit of shuffling, helped mitigate this, and I'm more confident about the story. Will it be published? I honestly can't say. I actually wrote, as an example, about 17 chapters of my High School DxD crossover Azrael Rising, before I lost confidence in it.

But hopefully, it will. There's a serious dearth of good Dark Souls crossovers with the Potterverse. Aside from my oneshot Worth a Thousand Words and More, I reckon the only other good one is another oneshot, Dreams of a cold place by spart1339. Plus, it'll give me a chance to expand upon the characters in the game. For this chapter, there are two cases in point, namely Gwyndolin and Velka.

Honestly, the Gwyndolin we see in the first game, I despise. He basically acts like a slightly more moral version of Draco Malfoy and/or Joffrey Baratheon, a nasty autocrat who doesn't care that he is manipulating Undead to a fate that not only is worse than Undeath, but, as we saw in the third game, fucks up the world. I decided to introduce him to the business end of my Drake Sword during my playthrough. The best interpretation of him in the first game is that he was royally screwed up by the need for affirmation from Gwyn, who treated him like shit, and that Gwyndolin genuinely wishes to prolong a golden age for all people of the world.

For this story, I am going with a more positive portrayal of Gwyndolin, albeit one who is heavily flawed. This is the lonely boy still struggling out from beneath his father's shadow, the one who would eventually free Yorshka from her prison, and who would be praised by her. A small but significant part of the story is his character development, from one of Gwyn's puppets into a worthy Lord who has the world's best interests at heart, along with that of the people he stewards.

Velka, on the other hand, is often portrayed in an antagonistic role. Gensh's OC-centric Why can't I just take the ring after I fight Artorias? is one of the most famous examples. For this, I wanted to portray her as morally ambiguous. An ally, but not one you could rely on. I felt that she despised Gwyn for his actions, some of which directly affected her, and others offended her, but she was beholden to him because of his and/or Frampt's trickery in binding her to a compact. So, basically, a handy deus ex machina for exposition and/or transportation.

Anyway, that's enough wittering on for now. On with the chapter...

YOU'RE THE SON OF LEGENDS, HARRY!

CHAPTER 2:

GWYNDOLIN

"I am never letting you say that ever again."

"Oh come on, it's a classic line."

"Take me to your leader is a cliché, not a classic."

"They can be both."

"Be silent," said the robed man escorting them. He had been one of about a dozen in white robes and wielding daggers who had been present in the large, church-like building they had emerged into from the Painted World after leaving Priscilla a communications mirror. Harry and Luna had hurriedly held their hands up to show they didn't intend to fight them, and after a brief interrogation, Luna had uttered the infamous clichéd line. Eventually, one of them opted to take them, with Harry clarifying that they sought an audience with the Dark Sun Gwyndolin.

"Look, I talk to stave off stress, Luna talks because it's her reason for being," Harry said wearily. "Honestly, I'm grateful that you're taking us to Gwyndolin with little fuss."

"Our job is to protect the Painted World from any who may intrude. However, those who emerge from the painting, and who are not known to our reckoning, are to be questioned. The Dark Sun does not always grant an audience with those not of the Darkmoon Blades, but unknown intruders in this city are of concern. As you have made a request without resorting to force of arms, I will humour you at least, but do not think that the Dark Sun will do so."

"Well, at least you're being reasonable. I half-expected you to bury your dagger in my guts," Harry snarked.

"Be grateful that we listened, and you had wit enough to lay down your arms. Others have been less fortunate."

Harry nodded. Normally, he would have been more combative, but he wanted confirmation of what Priscilla had said. The news of his parents' deaths and the time since said deaths had left him numb, so he focused on trying to get answers.

They crossed a bridge to a central column, which was linked to a number of walkways. Harry took a moment to look across at the city. It was, admittedly, magnificent, filled with towering spires and church-like buildings. All of it was bathed in what seemed like an afternoon sun, painting the area in hues of orange and gold. Pride of place, to their left as they crossed the bridge, was a massive, cathedral-like building.

However, the man led them down a spiral staircase in the middle of this vast column, and eventually, they came to a chamber where a statue was present, of an imposing man with a vast shock of hair, a thick, long beard, and a crown, holding a sword. On a gesture from their escort, the statue faded, revealing a staircase, which ran down to an archway that seemed filled with foggy light. Their escort led them down, until they reached the archway.

Then, a high, androgynous voice reached them from behind the archway. "Captain of the Painting Guardians…why hast thou brought these into mine presence?"

Their escort knelt. "Most High Dark Sun…my apologies, but these two emerged from the Painted World of Ariamis. They were not witnessed entering the painting in the first place. The girl asked to be taken to our leader. They laid down their arms upon seeing us, so I do not believe them to be belligerents."

After a moment, the voice said, "…While this may yet be the case, I shalt determine this. I thank thee for thy actions, Captain. Return to thine duties for now."

"By your leave," the Captain said, before leaving.

Then, the voice returned. "Strangers, art thou infiltrators, or mere visitors, curious about the City of the Lords? From whither did thou come from? How did thou emerge from the Painted World?"

"Umm…look, it's a very long story. But…can you come out from there, please? I feel a bit weird talking to this door," Harry said. "I presume that going through this door is a big no-no, right?"

"Thou doth assume correctly, but thy demand that I speak to thee is dangerously impertinent."

Harry tamped down a flare of irritation at the imperious tone, too much like a Malfoy. "Look…I've come a long way. I'm trying to find out about my family, and I've heard you may have some answers. I'm not going to go through the door or anything. I'm not stupid."

After a moment, Gwyndolin's voice said, "…Thine impertinence seems born of ignorance, and at the very least, thou doth not wish to trespass on my father's tomb. Very well."

The foggy archway rippled, before disgorging a strange figure, dressed in feminine robes. From beneath the robes, snakes seemed to emerge, supporting the figure like the tentacles of an octopus. A golden sun-like mask obscured most of their features, though the nose and lips showed vaguely androgynous ones, framed by snow white hair.

"I am the Dark Sun Gwyndolin, last born of his sons," the figure declared. "Now, name thyself."

"Hi!" Luna said. "I'm Luna Lovegood, and this is Harry Potter. We both come from another world. Well, I was born there, but Harry, well…he has roots here."

Gwyndolin seemed to frown, considering this. "And what link dost thou hath to Anor Londo?" he (Harry assumed, from Priscilla's words, that Gwyndolin was male, and just a very convincing crossdresser) asked.

"…This is going to sound hard to believe. Honestly, I didn't know this until a few years ago. When we were in the Painted World, we came across Priscilla." He was trying hard not to get angry at Gwyndolin, at least overtly. Gwyndolin seemed to be in charge here, after all. It didn't help that Gwyndolin acted quite a bit like a Malfoy, albeit with just enough of a polite edge to his voice. "She told me that my parents were famous."

"And what lineage dost thou claim?"

Harry took out a piece of paper, the one showing his Inheritance Test at Gringotts, and handed it over silently. Gwyndolin took it, and read it. He then scoffed. "What folly is this? This paper claims thee to be the child of Sir Artorias and Lady Ciaran!"

"Look, it was as much a surprise for me. Back home, Artorias was the name of a famous king, true, but I learned I was adopted, not long after, I should add, I beat a warlock who wanted me dead, and who murdered my adoptive parents. I'm not after an inheritance or something, I'm just after answers."

"And yet, Artorias hath been dead for centuries, as hath Ciaran. And yet, if this paper is any indication, thou art but eighteen years old!"

"Twenty-two, actually, I got this done four years ago. And I'm confused too. That's why I'm looking for answers," Harry said.

Gwyndolin lowered himself, peering at Harry from behind his mask. Distantly, Harry noted that, if Gwyndolin was actually male, then he either somehow had a noticeable bust, or padded his outfit to give that effect. Eventually, he said, "Thou dost not lie, at least that is not thy intent. Thou truly art confused, seeking scraps of truth. However, thou must consider that thy story is hard to countenance. And thou seem human."

"…So do you, snakes aside," Luna said blithely. "Actually, you're quite the dish."

"Quite the…what art thou babbling about?" Gwyndolin asked in shock.

"…Luna doesn't talk like other people. She says things other people normally wouldn't. She's not malicious, not normally. She's giving you a compliment, actually. She thinks you're attractive."

"I see. While thine words were meant as a compliment, keep them to thine own self, lest I see them as insolent. It doth not brook well to be overly familiar with a god without leave," Gwyndolin said. "Still…if thou conversed with the Crossbreed Priscilla, then thou know something of Artorias and Ciaran already. I know not what else I can tell thee about their legacy." A thought seemed to occur to Gwyndolin, and he straightened. "But mayhap there is a means of testing thine claims."

"And what is that?" Harry asked, dreading the answer.

"Sir Artorias' grave resides within the Darkroot Garden, guarded by the Forest Hunters. It is said that both his Greatsword and the Covenant Ring he used to traverse the Abyss remain at his grave. Therefore, I propose the following as a test of thy claims. Thou shalt be escorted to Darkroot Garden. There, thou shalt make thy way through, and claim the Greatsword and the Covenant Ring from Sir Artorias' grave. Should thou fail in this test, and come back alive, then thou shall both be ejected from Anor Londo. But should thou succeed, thou shalt hath the liberty of Anor Londo within reason, and I can grant thee any boon within my power to grant thee."

Harry was all but ready to reject this test out of hand, until he realised what Gwyndolin was offering him. So, he said, "If I do agree to do this, and if I do succeed, there is one boon I want."

"Then name it."

"…I want Priscilla freed from the Painted World, and allowed to be at liberty, as long as she does no harm to others."

Gwyndolin froze, and then inhaled sharply. "Thou dost overstep thy bounds, Harry Potter. Crossbreed Priscilla was confined to the Painted World to protect others from her curse!"

"She said she can control it!" Harry snapped back. "And she said something about a Lady Velka visiting her."

"Indeed, that is the case. I am one of the few who art allowed to enter the Painted World with impunity."

The sultry voice came from behind them, and Harry and Luna whirled to find a woman there, dressed in dark robes. Her thin, aquiline features had a haughty, cold beauty. And yet, her dark eyes seemed oddly warm and understanding. "Lady Velka…what brings thee here?" Gwyndolin said, his voice tight.

"Tidings of intruders to the Painted World, naturally," the woman said. "I hath wards that notify me. I can bring the man to Darkroot Garden, and bring him back. And I think the release of thine niece is a pittance of a boon to pay."

As Harry turned to Gwyndolin in shock, not realising that Priscilla was his niece, Gwyndolin snapped, "My father, Lord Gwyn, expressly ordered that…"

"Thy sire is long departed, Gwyndolin," Velka interrupted. "And such proclamations can be overturned on the fulfilment of such an important errand as retrieving the trinkets of Sir Artorias. If what these two claim is the truth, then the child of thy father's most famed Knights returning to Anor Londo is cause for celebration indeed. In addition, Priscilla hath control over her Lifehunt curse. If she does nothing to harm thee or thy kingdom of light and shadow, then the rescinding of her exile should be a most trivial task."

Gwyndolin, after a moment of trying to marshal his thoughts, eventually nodded, although the gesture and his tone was begrudging. "…Very well. But this is wholly contingent on him retrieving the Greatsword and the Covenant Ring. He shalt hath to satisfy Alvina and, if the rumours are true, Sif to do so. Take him thither immediately, Lady Velka. I will entertain his companion in the meantime."

His temper rising again, Harry started, "Now, just wait a minute…"

"It's okay, Harry. I'll be fine," Luna said with a smile. She then whispered, "I know you'll be fine. We'll find another way if need be."

"Thou hast my word, Harry Potter, that thy companion will be treated with hospitality and respect," Gwyndolin said, his tone a little more calm. "And should thou come here a failure, death shalt not be the penalty. Thou may leave Anor Londo without punitive measures being taken…unless thine actions warrant them."

"Well…I'll hold you to that. Luna is a dear friend, and I don't want her being harmed."

"I hath given my word," Gwyndolin said, his tone a little sharper. "I do not give it lightly. Now, thou should take thy leave with Lady Velka. The sooner thou complete thy task, the better…"

Harry followed Velka through the sun-drenched walkways of Anor Londo. As they did so, Velka said, "Worry not. Gwyndolin will not harm thy companion, unless she does something to warrant it. Gwyndolin is harsh, but his father's upbringing made him so. That fool Gwyn forced Gwyndolin to live as a girl, as Gwyndolin was born under the Moon, and thus, in Gwyn's mind, had feminine properties."

"…So he is a guy? And so…he pads his robes around his chest?"

"Crudely put, but yes. To those who have earned his favour, Gwyndolin is, if distant, then shows what goodwill he can muster. But thou art fortunate that I saw fit to intervene. Asking for Priscilla's release was overly bold of thee, even if I can understand the sentiment. If I thought I could do so, I would hath done so long ago. Priscilla did not deserve her confinement, and it is one of the many sins that can be laid at Lord Gwyn's door."

"And he called you a Goddess of Sin. Should I be worried?"

"Not at all, assuming thou hast not sinned…in this world, anyway," Velka said, shooting him a smirk over her shoulder. "Pardoning and punishing sin is my remit, not committing them. I confess that I did overhear much of thy conversation with Gwyndolin. Thy companion is a most unusual one. I daresay her presence may be most salutary for Gwyndolin, assuming she doth not offend him."

"She's one of my best friends. She was also one of the ones who helped me get into this world. But…I have to ask…how difficult is it going to be for me to get what he wants?"

"That is contingent on how skilled thou art," Velka said. "Thou doth not seem as skilled with the blade as either of those whose blood thou claim to possess, but I can tell thou art a mage, and of a peculiar kind not normally seen in this world. In addition, thy interactions with Gwyndolin show some intelligence and diplomacy, despite a temper. However, it is certainly dangerous, and I believe Gwyndolin believes that thou shalt perish during thy errand. And yet, he hopes, with a small corner of his hardened heart, that thou speak truly, and thou shalt return triumphant. Gwyndolin is lonely, with his father gone, and his family either banished or fled Anor Londo. The son of Sir Artorias and Lady Ciaran returning to us would be cause for celebration."

Harry nodded, digesting this. It rankled him that Gwyndolin believed he would die on this errand, and yet sent him out anyway. But Velka's words mollified him. "Gwyn must've been an arsehole."

Velka chuckled as they stepped onto a lift that brought them to a plaza. "While that would be considered blasphemy, it is far from inaccurate. Lord Gwyn's actions left much to be desired. In any case, we will be heading to Darkroot Garden ere long, via one of my heralds."

"Heralds?" Harry asked, knowing he'd probably regret asking.

And he was right. A loud caw was all the warning he got before a massive raven swooped down in front of him, and carried him off in its talons. And as he soared into the sky with a yelp of fright, he heard Velka's cackling, and wondered whether he could pay her back for what had to be a prank on her part…

CHAPTER 2 ANNOTATIONS:

Dream on, Harry. You'll never get the drop on the Goddess of Sin.

No numbered annotations this time.