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We March On
#7
"After dying? Arara..." Ornstein knew that what he'd just said sounded patently mad, but he could think of no other way to describe what had befallen him. His last memory, after all, was falling in battle against the two undead intruders in the Anor Londo cathedral. He hadn't just fallen unconscious; injury had rendered him such a few times before, but the sensation that took his body in that moment felt nothing like it. He hadn't simply slipped into unconsciousness then - he'd slipped into the grasp of death, only to be plucked from it and taken to this incomprehensible place beyond Lordran.

"Me? I'm... eh... Kuzan. Retired Navy Admiral." A military man, it turned out, and one of highly elevated rank, though he didn't look like any naval officer Ornstein had encountered. For what little the remark was worth, his unusual garb didn't much look like a uniform. Ornstein noted how this Kuzan had appeared briefly taken aback by his formality. A confusing response, to say the least, from a man who ought to be well accustomed to the protocol and organisation of military life.

"Well met, Admiral," Ornstein replied. He looked past Kuzan to the landmark beyond him, and indicated such by leaning a little to his right so that the unmoving face of his helm peered over the Admiral's shoulder. "It appeared to me as if you came from that structure yonder. What exactly is it?"


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