03-19-2015, 04:29 PM
The armored figure sipped his ale again, his helmet set down right next to his chair as he contemplated how to start this...and well, he might as well just tell it like it is. A bit of background on his world, and watching to see just what there thoughts were on some of the things he had to say. He did not exactly want to reveal that he was an undead, if such would go over poorly in such a crowd..and so he began to speak. “I come from a world that is….not exactly safe. Gilnor touched on it, but not in great detail. There are multiple nations in my world, and I hailed from one called, Astora. A proud nation of devotion to the gods, to the Lords, and strong knighthood and combat.” He remembered that much at least. “Our world was...is...full of monstrosities, great demons and twisted abominations, and mad, feral tribes of beasts that would pull us all down and break us at the slightest opportunity. Threats were numerous and varied….but one of the worst threats came...from within, with the curse of the Undead...and the Dark Sign.” He stopped to take a drink...and listen as dwarves traded disgruntled mutters, not at him...but at ‘cursed necromancers.’ It seemed they didn’t quite understand what he meant. “This Dark Sign...did not seem to be manufactured by anyone in particular. Rather, it just...appeared on people’s bodies...anyone who was so marked, was destined to repeat life. When someone marked with the Dark Sign dies...they come back, reappearing at their home, or at the last Bonfire they visited. This process continues indefinitely...until eventually, the unfortunate undead loses their mind, and goes hollow. A hollow has no sanity, no thought, they just became desperate to devour the souls of anyone who comes near them. As such, those marked by the Dark Sign, from the poorest baker, to the noblest of knights, were reviled the moment the mark appeared on them. It was treated like a plague...and it might as well have been.”
Another pause for another drink, and he heard a dwarf mutter some curse. They did not seem angry at the afflicted...but more at the thought of what was being done to people. “Those afflicted were herded off, where depended on just where you were when you were found out. Members of the church who were afflicted were sent on ‘holy missions’ to redeem themselves...or die and go hollow where none could see.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his right hand. “I...was one of those afflicted, and was herded north, to a place called the Undead Asylum.” He looked around nervously...but the dwarves were still looking, none were attacking, no one was running out of the tavern, no one was drawing forth weapons to slay the monster. It was...not a bad sign at least, and so he continued. “I do not know how much time I spent, locked away in a cell, my armor still with me because...no one wanted armor touched by a cursed undead. I felt like I would surely go hollow, for purpose is the only thing proven to keep an undead’s sanity for any length of time...but then, purpose was granted to me.” He took another swig of ale. “A man, a knight of Astora, perhaps a fellow knight, the curse ate away at some of my memories, dropped a key into my cell from the roof, giving me a chance to leave and seek...I’m not even sure. After maneuvering my way through the halls of hollows, and avoiding the great, terrible demon that served as the warden of this place..I found Oscar near death.”
He found his mug empty as he remembered, remembered the man who had given him purpose, who had given him hope! “He gave me, an Estus flask, a key...and a purpose. He spoke of a legend from Astora, perhaps I’d known it before, but had forgotten it in undeath. He told me that the undead were cursed...but chosen, that in the land of the gods there was something that only an undead could do, something that an undead must do...and sent me on my way. I can only hope he got out of that place when he revived...but I could not waste time with the warden prowling the asylum.” He set his mug aside, and focused on the tale. “I managed to slay the demon, and made my way out. I was able to find and arrive in Lordran, home of the Old Lords...the old gods.” In the grip of a raven, but that he did not mention. “It was as full of monsters and terrible creatures as everywhere else, but perhaps even moreso than others, for here, in the great magma filled chambers beneath Lordran, was the Bed of Chaos, the source of all demons, and so much more.” He sighed, as he looked up. “I was informed by another undead who had made their way here that my task was hopeless. That I was to ring two bells, that I might enter Anor Londo, city of Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight himself, but that I would perish many times with never a chance at success.” That poor man...he had gone hollow...in the end. “I went forward anyways, and met friend and foe...I found my way to the top of the first belltower, and rang it...and wound my way to the depths of a poison filled swamp, and there found and rang the second.”
He was moving quicker now, not giving details...for details were painful. Siegmeyer, Solaire, Tarkus, people who had helped him, people who he hadn’t been able to save. “I met Gwyn’s daughter, Gwynevere, one of the few Lords still inhabiting this ancient city.” He had killed any others...with the exception of Gwyndolin. “She told me, that I needed to fetch the lord souls, the soul of Nito, first of the dead, the soul of the twisted Witch of Izalith, trapped in the Bed of Chaos. Seath the Scaleless up in his castle, and the fragment Gwyn gave to the Four Kings, corrupted by the Abyss.” The Abyss...something he did not want to think about. “I tracked them all down, all had gone mad.” Nito hadn’t, the Chosen had even managed to find his way to him in a non-hostile environment while hiding in an open coffin...but he had slain the lord anyways. “I brought their souls and placed them in the Lord Vessel, and it opened the way...to the Kiln, the Kiln of the First flame. This flame, was the source of everything, if it went out, sun and moon would vanish, darkness would sweep over the land and corrupt and destroy everything humanity had. With the power of the lord souls infusing me with strength to rival Gwyn, I could give myself to the fire, use myself as fuel to keep our world going...and so I went in.” Gwyn had been there, reduced to a hollow lord of Cinders, gone mad, and at but a fragment of his former strength. “That...right as the fire began to consume me for the continuation of my world...that is when Omni plucked me forth, and tossed me into this Omniverse.”
He sighed as he finished, “And that...is my tale. A summary of it at least.” The tavern was quiet, as dwarves stared at him. Gilnor finally broke the silence, moving up to him.
“Ye left out quite a bit of detail there Chosen...but hey, it wasn’ bad for a first time! Now c’mon, let’s go get ya yer task.” The Chosen just nodded, picking up his helmet. He had a feeling Gilnor was just getting him moving, it might not have been a secret that the things the Chosen glossed over were anything but pleasant. Ah well, it was done with...and speaking had not been half so hard as he’d thought...not compared to the memories.
“Yes...yes let’s do that Gilnor. Your people are interesting, and worthy of help. I will enjoy doing what I can.” He said, following him outside. Soon he would be back to what he was good at, hopefully. That was a thought to cheer any soul!
Another pause for another drink, and he heard a dwarf mutter some curse. They did not seem angry at the afflicted...but more at the thought of what was being done to people. “Those afflicted were herded off, where depended on just where you were when you were found out. Members of the church who were afflicted were sent on ‘holy missions’ to redeem themselves...or die and go hollow where none could see.” He paused for a moment, looking down at his right hand. “I...was one of those afflicted, and was herded north, to a place called the Undead Asylum.” He looked around nervously...but the dwarves were still looking, none were attacking, no one was running out of the tavern, no one was drawing forth weapons to slay the monster. It was...not a bad sign at least, and so he continued. “I do not know how much time I spent, locked away in a cell, my armor still with me because...no one wanted armor touched by a cursed undead. I felt like I would surely go hollow, for purpose is the only thing proven to keep an undead’s sanity for any length of time...but then, purpose was granted to me.” He took another swig of ale. “A man, a knight of Astora, perhaps a fellow knight, the curse ate away at some of my memories, dropped a key into my cell from the roof, giving me a chance to leave and seek...I’m not even sure. After maneuvering my way through the halls of hollows, and avoiding the great, terrible demon that served as the warden of this place..I found Oscar near death.”
He found his mug empty as he remembered, remembered the man who had given him purpose, who had given him hope! “He gave me, an Estus flask, a key...and a purpose. He spoke of a legend from Astora, perhaps I’d known it before, but had forgotten it in undeath. He told me that the undead were cursed...but chosen, that in the land of the gods there was something that only an undead could do, something that an undead must do...and sent me on my way. I can only hope he got out of that place when he revived...but I could not waste time with the warden prowling the asylum.” He set his mug aside, and focused on the tale. “I managed to slay the demon, and made my way out. I was able to find and arrive in Lordran, home of the Old Lords...the old gods.” In the grip of a raven, but that he did not mention. “It was as full of monsters and terrible creatures as everywhere else, but perhaps even moreso than others, for here, in the great magma filled chambers beneath Lordran, was the Bed of Chaos, the source of all demons, and so much more.” He sighed, as he looked up. “I was informed by another undead who had made their way here that my task was hopeless. That I was to ring two bells, that I might enter Anor Londo, city of Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight himself, but that I would perish many times with never a chance at success.” That poor man...he had gone hollow...in the end. “I went forward anyways, and met friend and foe...I found my way to the top of the first belltower, and rang it...and wound my way to the depths of a poison filled swamp, and there found and rang the second.”
He was moving quicker now, not giving details...for details were painful. Siegmeyer, Solaire, Tarkus, people who had helped him, people who he hadn’t been able to save. “I met Gwyn’s daughter, Gwynevere, one of the few Lords still inhabiting this ancient city.” He had killed any others...with the exception of Gwyndolin. “She told me, that I needed to fetch the lord souls, the soul of Nito, first of the dead, the soul of the twisted Witch of Izalith, trapped in the Bed of Chaos. Seath the Scaleless up in his castle, and the fragment Gwyn gave to the Four Kings, corrupted by the Abyss.” The Abyss...something he did not want to think about. “I tracked them all down, all had gone mad.” Nito hadn’t, the Chosen had even managed to find his way to him in a non-hostile environment while hiding in an open coffin...but he had slain the lord anyways. “I brought their souls and placed them in the Lord Vessel, and it opened the way...to the Kiln, the Kiln of the First flame. This flame, was the source of everything, if it went out, sun and moon would vanish, darkness would sweep over the land and corrupt and destroy everything humanity had. With the power of the lord souls infusing me with strength to rival Gwyn, I could give myself to the fire, use myself as fuel to keep our world going...and so I went in.” Gwyn had been there, reduced to a hollow lord of Cinders, gone mad, and at but a fragment of his former strength. “That...right as the fire began to consume me for the continuation of my world...that is when Omni plucked me forth, and tossed me into this Omniverse.”
He sighed as he finished, “And that...is my tale. A summary of it at least.” The tavern was quiet, as dwarves stared at him. Gilnor finally broke the silence, moving up to him.
“Ye left out quite a bit of detail there Chosen...but hey, it wasn’ bad for a first time! Now c’mon, let’s go get ya yer task.” The Chosen just nodded, picking up his helmet. He had a feeling Gilnor was just getting him moving, it might not have been a secret that the things the Chosen glossed over were anything but pleasant. Ah well, it was done with...and speaking had not been half so hard as he’d thought...not compared to the memories.
“Yes...yes let’s do that Gilnor. Your people are interesting, and worthy of help. I will enjoy doing what I can.” He said, following him outside. Soon he would be back to what he was good at, hopefully. That was a thought to cheer any soul!