Author's notes: Out of all the chapters I wrote for this fic, the original chapter 2 was inarguably the one I was the least satisfied with. This was my very first attempt at writing someone else's OC, something I'd go on to do for just about every other fic. Since the entire purpose of this chapter is to give some background for Ilia, it kinda sticks out as the black sheep in a sense. For one thing, it takes place entirely outside of Drangleic. Around the time I was writing this, there was still quite the uncomfortable rift between Dark Souls and TES fans. Crossing them over, even as briefly as I am here, might've stirred a bit of controversy. I can only hope that the toxicity has died down in more recent years. As I mentioned before, the first three chapters were originally all one big prologue, so it's all too likely that even after this revision, this will remain my shortest chapter. Here goes.

Chapter 2
A Protector's Resolve

With the impromptu arrival of a mysterious woman calling herself Ilia, our unwitting hero's journey had now seen a wrench thrown into the wheel of fate! This left the wayward knight with a myriad of questions, a lingering curiosity... exactly what reason would one with with her wits about her have for traveling to this forsaken kingdom of their own volition? To answer these questions, we must shift our gaze toward a far-flung realm, and take a look into the not so distant past, mere moments before Knight LoveGame would depart for the kingdom of Drangleic...

Province of Black Marsh
Kahn Wei District

Indeed, we find ourselves in a land that exists outside of the cycle of flame's influence, the undead curse, and all the horrors that it brings in tow. In most known tongues, it was called Tamriel. Only the most learned of each realm's scholars knew of the others existence. Their nature was a subject of heated debate, though the most accepted theory came to be that these lands were in fact two separate planes of reality. At the very least, they were thought to be entirely different planets. Only one thing was for certain, these two planes were never to intersect, as was foretold.

This idea created something of a rift between the scholars who devoted their time to studying the nature of these foreign lands. Those within the cycle of flame looked down on those outside of it, citing their world as engendering a milquetoast lifestyle devoid of any real danger, too afraid to temper their wills against the undead. Conversely, the opposing side would decry the efforts of those who sought to challenge the curse head-on, citing it as a fool's errand and a waste of time and energy. Predictably, it didn't take long for intelligent debate to devolve into juvenile bickering, and the once-renowned scholars were now seen as little more than deluded fools. To this very day, even they often wondered why they were so toxic.

Thankfully, the subject of this tale chose wisely to spend his time with more enriching endeavors.

Tucked away in the southeast corner of Tamriel was the great swamplands of Black Marsh. Miles upon miles of dark, lush bogs abundant with plant life of every shape, size, and color one could perceive shaped the landscape into nature's own work of art, painted in deep verdant hues that bled into inky obsidian shadows. This made the land rather cumbersome for the average human to traverse, though its natives made their way around with no more toil than it would take to cross the street. Indeed, Black Marsh was home to the Argonians, a fully sentient species of lizardmen who found themselves well-suited to the climate and unusual geography around them.

Opinions on the reptilian race varied wildly depending on who was asked, but as per the sickening nature of humanity, they were often ostracized; victims of fanatical racism as far as recorded history told. Black Marsh's secluded nature was the perfect solution as far as other races were concerned; they could remain in their land and go about their lives without worry of being discriminated against. In the early years, even this wasn't enough to save them, as slavers would often pillage Black Marsh and capture its people to do their bidding, until slavery had been outlawed many cycles ago. In the following years, however, they'd find their fortune on the upturn.

Among the myriad of unusual plant life within the Marsh were the Hist, a long-lived species of towering, sentient trees that divulged their centuries of knowledge to the Argonians who communed with them, forming a spiritual connection between them. Threatened with an invasion from beyond their realm of reality, the all-knowing Hist lured every remaining Argonian back to the homeland, granting the lizardmen a blessing of their divine sap. When the gates of Oblivion tore open at last, the teeming horde of abominations were met with the full strength of the Argonian race. Fortified with Hist sap and armed with the steel and incantations of their ancestors, they handily crushed the Daedric forces with nary a casualty of their own. Once again, they'd recuse themselves to their quiet lives among the marshlands...

Among those who defended Black Marsh that day was the venerable Xoxar, a battlemage who often combined techniques of the spell and sword. Now, even in his advanced age, he'd prove a capable fighter, courtesy of the Hist sap that evidently slowed his natural aging. Something of a scholar himself, he would often spend his days learning about the world around him, with the aspiration to document all of his findings for future generations. Ever a perfectionist, Xoxar would continue to hone his craft as a warrior daily, feeling he'd yet to master the artform for which he held such a fervent passion.

With a friendly, social disposition and a reputation for being charitable to those in need, Xoxar had become something of a figurehead in many circles. Those fascinated by his techniques would often request live demonstrations, to which he happily obliged. Excited onlookers would even offer donations, giving the old lizard a steady income for side ventures. On one especially stormy evening, he'd gather his eager cohorts to his favorite tavern in the heart of Kahn Wei, and put on a dazzling show of flames that danced from his fingertips and elegantly floated about the halls, lighting each candle they passed.

Of course, the old lizard and his cohorts couldn't help but enjoy a drink or two. So long as they sought shelter from the storm, they might as well enjoy the festive night with a few of the local brews. Everyone was much too entranced by the lightshow and the drinks to notice a pair of hooded figures quietly scuttle in and out of the tavern, leaving behind a small package draped in black cloth. They disappeared into the raging storm, leaving no trace but their gift. As the night went on and the rain cascaded down the dark windows, 'a few' became 'a few more', many discarded tankards and glasses now littering the tables. Old Xoxar had gotten a bit too deep into the good stuff, and all it took was a momentary slip of his focus to turn a jovial night into a terrible disaster.

First to catch aflame were the hanging tapestries within the inn, then the embers spread wildly around its wooden structure. Naturally, panic ensued among the crowd, all rushing to escape with their lives intact as thick, black smoke choked the air, billowing about. Horrified and sobered by his irresponsible actions, Xoxar took it upon himself to try and shuffle everyone out in an orderly fashion, and by some miracle had managed to avoid any casualties. He'd even offer to use his own magic to heal those injured in the fire. He'd go on to feel a deep sense of shame for this tragedy, even though many forgave the accident, feeling it had not undone all the good he had done for the community.

Sadly, even the torrential downpour had taken too long to quench the flames; the old tavern was reduced to heaps of ash. Losing the historic place, which had stood strong for well over a hundred years with minimal refurbishing, certainly felt a bit somber. Once the fires had subsided and everyone had returned home, Xoxar sifted through the ashen remains to ensure nothing had been left behind, when he stumbled upon a heap of black cloth, untouched by the embers. Curious, he'd pull the blanket away, his draconic jaw falling agape at what he saw within. Nestled in peaceful slumber was a baby... a human baby, no less! While it was not entirely uncommon for humans to live here – Xoxar was friends with a few himself – but a find such as this was unprecedented!

Still wracked with guilt over what had transpired, and committing to his ideals, Xoxar took it upon himself to raise the child as his own daughter. Having never bore children of his own, he saw this as a sign from the Hist themselves, a chance to start over. He'd bestow upon her the name of Ilia, named for the curved bone of a female's pelvis. Thus began Xoxar's journey into fatherhood, passing down his wisdom onto another for the security of their future. Showing interest in swordsmanship at an early age, Ilia would also undergo daily training with Xoxar, shaping her into a hero in her own right. Though she dabbled in magic too, she didn't possess the same aptitude as her master, but her honed skill with a blade more than made up for it. Considered something of a prodigy in her teens, Ilia would earn considerable favor among the Argonians, some even changing their tune in regards to their misgivings toward her race.

The identities of the two hooded figures who had brought Ilia here remain unknown to this day. No historical record of the pair was found, and the thought that they were her real parents was generally agreed to be unlikely.

Even in the earliest years of her adulthood, Ilia would often travel to the far-reaching corners of the world at the behest of her master, facing a myriad of dangers head-on and returning to tell the tale unscathed. Outside of Tamriel itself, she undertook a lengthy excursion of the continent of Gielinor, where she learned of the many plights of its people and even paid a visit to a nearby moon, courtesy of the land's teleportation network. It was there that she would begin her storied career not only as a warrior, but as a chronicler of every event worth etching into history. She kept her notes as closely as her blade. She'd learn of the political tension between the Gnome kingdom and the reclusive apes, and the attempts of a woman named Melleau Keanuenue to bring peace between the two species, and even visit the island of apes herself to purchase her favored blade – a curved sword wrought of the elusive red dragon metal. After assisting the kingdom of Misthalin with the slaying of many a dragon, she'd forge her draconic shield to pair with the blade, both of which Ilia held near and dear to her heart.

Twenty-five years have passed since the day Xoxar took it upon himself to raise his loving daughter. After her return to Black Marsh, Ilia would present her new finds as proof of her victory. Now that she had many accolades under her belt, Xoxar felt he had nothing left to teach Ilia, and only a week after her return, he'd call her to the old barracks that served as her training ground, to tell her the good news.

"...you for real? This ain't another one of your tests, is it? I mean, if you say so..." she'd tell him, unsure of exactly how to take the news. Her voice had the rough edges of an adventurer, shades of her snippy attitude seeping through her words. "Bittersweet, ain't it? S'pose we did have a lot of fun..."

Ilia took several long looks over the old barracks, already geared head-to-toe in her form-fitting armor. The well-worn training grounds had seen better days, never much more than a ragged shack built of collected wood shavings and metal scraps. A row of training dummies built of straw and sandbags cast vaguely human shadows, riddled with deep cuts over the thousands of times they'd been struck by Ilia in her younger days. A smile decorated her sharp visage as the memories came flooding back.

Under the old lizard's guidance, she'd grown to be a striking image of a knightess. Slender and lithe, she cut the silhouette of a renowned heroine, blade holstered at her hip the moment she entered. Straight locks of platinum blonde framed her face and fell down her back. It was likely she assumed she was about to embark on a new adventure... though she wasn't entirely wrong, as she'd soon learn. "Ya had to go and tell me that, huh? Man, I got all dressed up for nothing..." she'd quip with an air of sarcasm. "At least give me something to do... I'm bored outta my mind, between you and me..."

Ilia was never easy to keep entertained, her mind craving to experience more of the mysterious world around her, and her body wrestled with the insatiable need for something to test itself against. Xoxar knew this all too well, which was exactly why he knew that this meeting would be unlike any other before it. "Ah, but it was not for nothing, dear Ilia! Though I've divulged all of my wisdom upon to you, it is now your turn to enlighten me." said the old lizard, his scaled lips curling over his rows of jagged teeth as he spoke.

The knightess gave a confused look, shrugging at his words. "I... dunno about all that. I was never much of a teacher. Can't you just gimme somethin' to fight?" she asked, eager to stave off her encroaching boredom.

Xoxar would chuckle at her protest and say, "I very well may be able to do just that, young Ilia. You are wrong, however – there is a wealth of knowledge you could yet bestow upon me. As a chronicler, you have been to many a land I had merely read of in my texts... and you appear to have a knack for taking notes, no? Perhaps you could... say, gather a few pieces of untold history, so that this old lizard might have a read?" he'd suggest.

These words, ever familiar in their nature and tone, lit up the lady's verdant eyes. "Oho! Now you're talking, pops. Name the place, point me in the right direction, and you've got yourself a deal." she'd say with a clinched fist.

"Very well, Ilia. Observe..." said Xoxar, rummaging from under his old wooden desk until he presented something to her. Roughly a foot long, it was an intricately carved length of Hist tree, inlaid with a large, cloudy crystal of hazy blues. "My latest, and likely final work. I realize that it is yet incomplete, but this catalyst... will allow for travel between the various planes of reality adjacent to our own. Truly fascinating, is it not?" he'd say, giving her daughter a closer look at its unique design.

Ilia's face bore the same grin as it did when she'd receive presents on her birthday as a child. "I don't know what to- that's amazing, pops! Hand it over, I'll-!" she'd excitedly stammer, grabbing for the catalyst only for the Argonian to snatch it away and wag his clawed fingertip.

"Don't be too hasty, now. This is one of my life's works, after all." he'd say, holding it to his chest as he elaborated, "As I said, there is one last request you must complete for me. One that came to me in a prophetic dream, only a night ago! As we speak, a great kingdom has fallen under a terrible curse of the undead. Moments from now, a brave hero will embark on a journey without rest, seeking to rid the world of this pestilence. However, inexperienced as he is, this man will surely require a guardian... a lord protector." he said, putting his fist over his heart with great conviction. "Ilia... this man's fate rests on your shoulders. Never could I put my faith in anyone else to carry out this task."

The blonde knight would replay her father's words back to herself several times in her head. She'd recognize that tone anywhere – old Xoxar only spoke in such a manner when he was deadly sure of himself, and this was no exception. After a long, deep breath, she'd bear the same grin at him as before and reiterate. "...it's like I said, name the time and place, old man."

With a nod of deep respect, Xoxar complied to her words. "You must use this as a conduit to reach the kingdom of Drangleic, ruled by the sovereign King Vendrick. Seek out a man by the name of Knight LoveGame of Wes'Sv'Urginiah. This man bears the accursed Darksign, and for better or worse, he's the best hope this desperate kingdom has for any hope of salvation." he'd tell her. "Should you ensure his journey is not cut short, and return to me with enriching anecdotes of the kingdom, I will grant you this artifact to use as you please. On this, you have my solemn promise."

"Ain't it just like you to drop somethin' like this on me... alright, alright. I know that look in those eyes of yours." she'd say, undaunted by the task bestowed upon her. "Lemme just... grab my stuff real quick. Who knows, this might just be the miracle cure for my ceaseless boredom... the hell kind of name is 'LoveGame', anyway...?" with that, she'd retire to her old quarters for a moment or two, gathering an array of supplies and cleaning the place out, knowing she'd have no further use for the training grounds.

When she returned, Xoxar would hand her the wooden catalyst and offer a fatherly grin. "Now... go, and make this old lizard proud. You, more than anything else I have poured my life into, are my greatest accomplishment. I would hate to see all of my efforts go to waste." he'd say, giving her one final hug.

Warmly accepting the embrace, Ilia would pull back and shake his scaled hand firmly. "Take that thought and put it to death, father. I'd never dream of letting you down. I'll be back before you know it." said the blonde warrior from the bottom of her heart. Following Xoxar's instruction to grasp the catalyst firmly and focus her mind until it entered a peaceful, dreamlike trance, she'd shut her eyes tight and let her master's magic go to work... it took only a few moments before she was whisked away to that very same murky, forgotten kingdom...

Things Betwixt

How long did it take, she wondered, to travel between the very planes of existence? Deep into her trance, Ilia lost all sense of time. Luckily for our hero, the old lizard's plan had gone off without a hitch. The slender knightess found herself against a great, twisted hollow tree growing within an impossibly tall cavern, the darkness above her shattered in two. Taking but a brief moment to come to her senses, she'd make haste to scope the new world out for the man she'd just taken it upon herself to protect.

Luckily for our heroine, this man did not exactly have stealth in his repertoire.

The conspicuous rustling of grass lead Ilia's eyes to a shadow of something crouched in the tall, dark foliage. Someone was posed to strike a group of hungry hollows... about four of them, as she counted. Though mostly obscured, the flesh visible through his hood had yet to rot... this was him, all right. "Lovely, I'm not too late..." she'd mutter to herself before taking a deep breath and assuming a combat stance, drawing her crimson scimitar. "Now, I hope you're watching... first impressions are everything."

With these words, the lithe swordstress would kick off at a blinding speed, becoming a blur of brilliant silver as she dashed forth to cut down each hollow in an elegant, fluid series of slashes! The undead were put back to rest, their dulled senses easily blindsided!

She'd find the hooded man understandably bewildered and speechless, still reeling from the impressive show of speed. With a flourish of her blade as she sheathed it and a bow of honor, she'd introduce herself in kind. "So, it really is you... Knight LoveGame of Wes'Sv'Urginiah... So I'm not too late, then... Nice to meet ya, LoveGame." her deep contralto voice spoke. "Ahem... by order of Master Xoxar, I'm here to make sure you see your undead journey through to the end... in essence, I'm here to keep ya alive."

"I'm Ilia. Ilia the Lord Protector."