#carim speaks

[reblog-house]

Watching Grian's exaggerated hand movements as he makes a point feels so cursed gsajahajahah. Kinda uncanny valley. Yes, everybody would've animated him doing those hand movements, but seeing the blockman itself do it?? With those soulless eyes??? Uncanny. I want more.

#trafficblr #real life smp #grian #carime rambles #thought of this while watching imp's vid at 10:29. when g is speaking about NOT Leaving At Night.

[automatonknight]

id: a digital painting of lautrec from dark souls. he’s shown from his head to about his knees, facing the viewer, posed with one shotel low, in front of himself, and the other raised high behind his head. his armor is colored using yellow and oragne/brown, the shotels are light blue and white. the background is dark blue. end id

#art #fanart #dark souls #lautrec of carim #lautrec dark souls #dark souls lautrec #i know he's bad and sucks but his name's so cute to me.. #it has the same ending as the like. affectionate kind of nickname you have for the name Piotr which is PioTREK. you see where i'm going with #this. so whenever i say his name i feel like i'm speaking to a friend. like here's my friend lautrec :] #i know it's probably like a really cool knight name unfortunately i'm polish #also. didn't know big ass sickle is an actual weapon the world in beautiful

[bluraaven]

can you tell us more about Oscar from Dark souls please? :}

With pleasure!  This is something that I wanted to dip into ever since I first played DS probably over a decade ago.  However, I've never gotten around to being motivated enough to immerse myself into all the hopelessness of that dying world.  The outline of the plot goes thus:

Oscar returns from rounding up Undead and is deeply troubled by it.  Berenikke and Balder are falling to the curse and Astora is worried, though doesn't bear the brunt of it yet.  Oscar remembers his family history and the line "thou who art undead art chosen".  That line also is spoken by Sunbros.  The political situation is becoming precarious and church's Way of the White is gaining power and popularity.  They want Undead burned or sent off to a faraway Asylum that's being built.  The crown faces uprising, fear and disorder and Carim is always threatening to invade.  The king calls all Houses to a meeting to discuss how to deal with the situation and to assure himself of Houses' loyalty.  Representing the Sunbros at that meeting is Solaire, a long-time friend of Oscar's. 

Oscar's family wants to present unity and supports deportation, but Oscar speaks out against.  He also wants to find another way (community, remembering the prophecy of the Flame and the Chosen Undead).  The king faces pressure from clergy and Thorolund.  It's the clerics who organize Undead hunts and sacrifice them to keep the flame burning. 

Oscar has support from the Sunbro faction but ultimately loses and king allies himself with church.  Oscar's actions cause strife with his family. 

And to add to everything, Oscar carries the Dark Mark (as do some other members of his family in secrecy) and gets betrayed so he gets sent off to the Asylum but gets rescued by Solaire who 'dies' in battle when they are attacked by Carim knights.  Oscar returns home to get his armour and sword and sets out to fulfill the prophecy. 

"Oscar." 

He looks up when his mother calls out his name from the hallway just outside the study.  To this day her voice, like the fall of a silver hammer upon a dulcimer, is the most beautiful sound he has ever known.  It can be the most terrifying one too, if she wills it thus.  Today 'tis but an enquiry for his presence, one he remembers well from his childhood days. 

Oscar carefully smooths out a piece of woven cloth before he places it between the pages of the book he had been reading.   Then, he closes it and sets it on the bedside table.  He doesn't have to raise his voice in answer.  "I'm here." 

The silhouette of the lady Ides of House Admont appears in the doorway, dark against the ever-murky twilight of the corridor.  By contrast, the room is bright, bathed in mottled sunlight that shines through the arched crown glass windows that have looked upon their hold since a time when his father's grandfather had been the Lord of this home. 

"There you are." 

Oscar stretches and winces when several vertebrae protest the sudden movement.  Still, he smiles as he rises to kiss his mother's cheek.  "Hello, Ana."

#blu's corner #blu's tag: fanfiction #dark souls #oscar of astora #solaire of astora

[spinzzy]

guys I might be going insane but I have a headcanon/crackpot theory, hear me out. Dark Souls series spoilers ahead.

So; Seath, Priscilla, Gwyndolin, Yorshka, and Velka.

I believe these characters are all connected, and here's how:

Let's start with Velka. To my knowledge, we know very little about the mysterious goddess of sin. What little information we have comes mostly from Oswald of Carim, Purple Miracles, and the Painted World of Ariamis. For the sake of this theory, the only thing that's really important is Velka's domain: sin. Let's put her off to the side for now though.

Do you know who else has a connection to sin? Gwyndolin. Already an interesting connection, but something even more interesting is that the Crow Demons that you encounter in the painted world have a chance to drop Souvenirs of Reprisal, aka the covenant time tied to the Darkmoon Blades: Gwyndolin's covenant. Speaking of the Darkmoon Blades, the entire point of the covenant is dealing with sinners.

Now, setting Gwyndolin aside for now as well, let's talk about Priscilla. Priscilla is a crossbreed and "bastard." Additionally, the Peculiar Doll states that she's an "abomination." So this tells us a few things. Firstly, she's very likely half dragon, equally likely to be Seath's child. Second, she was born out of wedlock. And finally, she was viewed unfavorably by broader society, thus her place in the painted world. Also of note is the description of the Lifehunt Scythe. The Lifehunt Scythe causes bleed, and uniquely it causes build up in its user as well because "in the hands of a mortal, its power will turn upon its wielder." This tells us that Priscilla was likely not entirely mortal, thus she's half dragon, half god. This is all some pretty well accepted stuff, and we're gonna set it aside for a sec.

Now, Yorshka. Yorshka is interesting, for a few reasons. Mainly because she claims to be Gwyndolin's sister, when its stated in Dark Souls 1 that Gwyndolin is Gwyn's youngest child. Additionally, to my knowledge, Yorshka never claims to Gwyn's child. So, working with this, i believe that she is Gwyndolin's sister— but not Gwyn's daughter. Visually she's eerily similar to Priscilla, so it can be speculated that they're related, somehow.

Now, with all the main pieces all laid out, we get really into the speculation/headcanony bits. Just bear with me here for a sec.

I believe that Velka was Gwyn's wife, as well as the mother of Gwyndolin, Priscilla, and Yorshka. This explains Gwyndolin's covenant items being found in the painted world, as well as Gwyndolin's general connection to sin. Velka being Priscilla's mother also explains her chilling with all the Crow Demons.

Now, the final bullet point: Seath.

The crux of the theory is that Velka, wife of Gwyn, has some sort of affair with Seath, leading to the births of at least Priscilla and Yorshka, and maybe Gwyndolin as well, though I feel like that is a bit less likely.

anyway, thats all, I'm tired, and it is six am.

#dark souls #dark souls 3 #crossbreed priscilla #company captain yorshka #dark sun gwyndolin #seath the scaleless #gwyn lord of cinder #velka goddess of sin #dark souls theory #dark souls speculation #dark souls spoilers

[girlvinland]

I was talking about my pardoner OC Samson today and how he’d have to decompress sometimes after taking confessions that are particularly dark, how he’d not give too many specifics but either kind of speak to Perci about them in a roundabout way or ask if they could do something pleasant like go out of the city for a bit to take his mind off things (my rp partner and I kind of HC that Carim has a capital city where the Catherdral of Morne is located and so I use that idea for my chars who are from there).

On the other side, I think it’d be funny if he sometimes took confessions from kids and it was always really silly stuff (as someone who was raised Catholic I’d always just say the first thing that came to mind like I didn’t eat all my veggies or something), and he tells Perci those and they just laugh about it. Like “kind of weird but not a sin” vibes lol.

#by bug #my ocs #pardoner samson #i think part of the reason i gravitate towards OCs that have some kind of relation to a church like that #is it helps me sort through a lot of my own feelings about my own experiences #im not religious in any sense at all any longer lol but it’s nice to put some of that stuff to use somehow #and it’s been interesting having OCs who remain devoted to what they were taught vs the ones who shed it eventually for whatever reason #Carim religion stuff in general fascinates me with all the ties to Velka and then it’s transition to something else #like I HC that it kind of overtook Thorolund and that’s when the shift away from Velka happened #but you still have the odd person who remains devoted to her or the idea of her #ok bye sorry for OC and hyperfixation rambling lol #be warned I want to try and do it more lol

[cyntax-err0r]

Touch (placeholder name)

A fic involving our favourite knight and nun duo.

Preview!

“Swiftly,” he said. “Grab your things. We must go.”

“Before we leave-!” Irina quickly spoke over Eygon, “Might I ask that you entertain a rather silly request of mine?”

“Go on.”

Irina was silent for a moment, no doubt finding the courage to speak. In this time, Eygon couldn’t help but quietly chuckle at the sight of her ever reddening face.

“I… I’ve memorized every crevice and every ridge of your gauntlets, but your flesh is one I cannot remember. If you would be willing, might you remove your gauntlets and touch me, skin to skin?”

Now it was Eygon’s turn to fall silent. They had only touched once before when he was first assigned to her. It was during those frivolous ceremonies held in Carim, to honour and celebrate the eternal union of knight and maiden. That was so long ago, and he struggled to remember what she felt like.

At the prospect of feeling her warmth, a small flame that refused to die bolstered inside of Eygon.

Wordlessly, Eygon pulled his hand from Irina’s and set to work unbuckling his gauntlets. He placed them down on the dry stone next to the nun and, just as an added measure, removed his helmet and hood beneath. He held out his hand for Irina to take.

The moment they made contact, Irina let out a quiet yelp and jerked her arm away.

“Irina-“

“It’s alright.” She cradled her hand to her chest, and quietly said, “It was so sudden. I hadn’t expected you to feel so warm. Your touch is positively electrifying.”

Eygon reached for his helmet and gauntlets, certain that that had been enough, but was stopped by Irina. “May we try again?”

#eygon x irina #dark souls 3 #ds3 #fanfiction #eygon of carim #irina of carim #ao3 #Cyntax_Error

[headcanontheshitoutofsoulsborne]

Lautrec Chain

Original Prompt: How Lautrec landed in that cell in the Undead Parish. We did it! Another chain is complete! A big thanks goes to all the amazing artists and writers who participated in this chain. Please check out their content and blogs.

@acebladespades

“A knight of Carim is nothing without his lady.”

He looked at the man behind the metal bars.

“You knew well what was expected from you.”

He took one step closer to the cell’s door.

“So why are you still alive?”

‐---‐-----------------------------

“I love you.”

His entire world came to a stop. 

Fina’s voice echoed softly in his ear. 

At first, Lautrec believed it was only a trick of his wishful mind. It wasn’t until he felt Fina’s arms resting on his chest, pulling him closer in a tender embrace, that he realized everything was true.

He closed his eyes and gently put his hands on top the golden arms of his cuirass. 

“I love you too, my lady.”

“Then, when the time comes, you won’t hesitate?”

Lautrec couldn’t answer. He knew his silence angered his goddess, but the question had caught him off guard. 

“I see.” Fina lifted her ethereal arms, leaving Lautrec alone with the metallic replicas of his armor. “Your ridiculous honor still means more to you than I, doesn’t it? How foolish I was to think that your love and devotion for me were real.”

“They are real.” Lautrec replied. “You know well you are my everything.”

“Lies. Your claims are nothing but honeyed and vacuous words. They are so typical of you mortals. If you truly loved me, you would have answered me instantly, without any trace of doubt in your voice; yet, all you gave me was silence. That’s not the way a knight should treat his lady, is it?”

“Of course not.” Lautrec smiled in a faint attempt to appease Fina’s temper.

Fina answered by resting her hands on his belly. At first, he mistook the gesture as a sign of forgiveness. His naïve perception changed when Fina dug her nails deep into his flesh and began clawing her way up to his shoulders.

The pain left Lautrec breathless. He fell to his knees, swallowing his screams and forcing himself to endure the punishment in silence. 

Even if Fina’s nails did not make him bleed nor they left visible injuries on his skin, the agony they caused him was real. 

Lautrec only dared to breathe again once Fina was done. The skin where she had touched him felt burning and tender, as if her ethereal nails had been covered in fire.

“If you wouldn’t treat a vulgar wench so rudely, what makes you can act with so much disdain toward your goddess?”

Lautrec didn’t answer. Fina didn’t gave him the chance, for as soon as she was done speaking, she embraced him again from behind.

The melted together, trapped in a blissful moment that Lautrec wished would never end.

“I love you.” 

Lautrec could feel the brush of her breath against his ear even through his helmet. 

“It pains me to hurt you like this, but you left me no choice. Please, my knight, do not make me do this ever again. All I ask from you is an answer.”

Guilt and regret kept Lautrec glued to the floor.

“So, I’ll ask you again.”

The ring on his finger throbbed with an invigorating energy that swiftly got Lautrec back on his feet. He remained still, with only the weight of his armor and the voice of his goddess keeping him grounded in reality.

“When the time comes, will you hesitate?”

“I won’t.” His answer came so promptly that his voice clashed with Fina’s. “Never forget that I am yours.”

“Oh, my knight.” Fina whispered so lowly that Lautrec could barely hear her. “My Lautrec.”

Though she couldn’t see her, Lautrec knew she was smiling.

 Underneath his golden helmet, he smiled too. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“I must say I expected a more courageous performance from you.”

“My lady, it is one thing to fight a horde of Hollows.” Lautrec said once he was done rubbing of the filth off his helmet. “But to confront a ferocious drake, with nothing but a narrow bridge as our battlefield, wouldn’t have been brave, it would have been suicidal.”

“I suppose you are right. At the very least, I’m satisfied you didn’t end up becoming that beast’s dinner. You should be glad that its fire only brushed the surface of your helmet. Had it touched your skin, you’d be cursed with a burn that would never heal nor stop hurting.”

Lautrec had never believed such claims. He had always dismissed them as the exaggerated and baseless statements of antique books and scrolls. 

But he believed Fina.

The memory of the drake and the closeness of its fire formed a hole in his stomach.  

If there hadn’t been a secret passage underneath the bridge, the drake’s fire would have engulfed him whole, either reducing his body to ashes or leaving him covered in agonizing blisters. 

It was seldom that Lautrec felt fear, but there was something dreadful in imagining himself at the absolute mercy of a beast.

Forcedly, he dismissed his panic from his mind. The least he wanted was for Fina to notice how scared he was.

His lady, while gracious and merciful, did not take kindly to displays of weakness of any sort, and she took great pleasure in mocking Lautrec every time he failed to keep his mental barriers up and left his most hidden insecurities exposed.

Though her derision was always heartless and poignant, Lautrec did not resent his goddess for it. He knew Fina didn’t do it out of malice, and had he been in her place, Lautrec would have done the same thing. 

After all, he was a knight of Carim. To be always strong and resilient, especially when in the presence of his lady, was both his duty and his pride. If a lady mocked his knight, it was not to discourage or humiliate him, it was simply to remind him to keep the weakness of his heart in check.

Indomitable, stoic, dutiful, strong and steadfast.

Those were the true qualities of knighthood.

How Lautrec pitied the sentimental Astorans and the savage Catarinians for their deplorable and bastardized perceptions of what a knight was. They were pathetic, weak-minded and pretentious fools without a purpose.

None of them could ever understand what an honor it was for a knight to dedicate his entire existence to a lady. They couldn’t fathom the satisfaction a knight gained from being the eternal protector and the pillar of strength for his fated woman.

And if said woman was none other than Fina—

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s nothing.” Lautrec said. “I was just thinking of how blessed I am to have you as my lady.”

Fina remained quiet. 

After a small moment, she chuckled.

“You are adorable.”  

She sounded amused. 

Lautrec waited for her to continue. 

When she did, it was only to order him to proceed with his journey. Far from being disappointed, Lautrec was pleased. Though his confession hadn’t given him the answer he’d wanted, he had succeeded in making Fina laugh. 

He had made her happy.

He couldn’t ask for anything more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

After getting rid of some meddlesome Hollows and infected rats, Lautrec managed to infiltrate the parish the drake had guarded so fiercely. He felt tempted to rest for a moment in a nearby bonfire, but Fina did not approve.

“I know you are tired.” She told him, so tenderly and motherly that Lautrec felt ashamed for having even thought about taking a rest at all. “But you cannot stop now. We are close to our destination. Once we are in Firelink Shrine, you will rest there for as long as you need. I want you strong and refreshed when your time comes to fulfill your duty.”

The reminder shattered all sense of peace and comfort Lautrec harbored. He raised his mental walls before Fina could sense his distress. This time, his weakness passed unnoticed by his goddess, but Lautrec still felt a boiling hatred for himself and his own feebleness.

Even if he could fool Fina, he couldn’t fool himself.

His rage and frustration fueled his attacks. 

Every Hollow and any other abomination that crossed his way met their ends at the touch of his swords. 

Lautrec fought his way through the chapel, but his streak of invincible prowess was cut short when the armored boar proved to be an enemy he couldn’t defeat.

The beast charged at him and sent him flying towards a wall of stone.  If it hadn’t been for his armor, the violent crash would have broken his spine in half.

“Don’t even think about dying now.” Fina told him as he struggled to get back on his feet. “If you die, do you know how long it would take you to arrive to this place again? Seriously, if I had known you were so frail and easily defeated, I would have allowed you to rest at the bonfire. No wonder that harlot you used to look after is long dead. She was cursed to an early demise the moment you were made her guardian.”

Lautrec couldn’t move. 

He felt as if Fina had dug a dagger into his chest and had ripped out his still beating heart.  He would have remained there, rotting in his own bafflement for all time, if the loud trotting of the boar hadn’t snapped him out of his trance.

This time, Lautrec avoided the charging attack of the armored animal. He lunged himself forwards and landed on his chest.

Then, his instincts took over. His former bloodlust was replaced by an urgent need to survive. 

He ran. 

He did not look back at the enemies he left behind. He continued running, making use of his blades only if he had no other choice. Many of the Hollows he was escaping from tried to follow him, but they were slow and clumsy creatures.

The few that managed to keep up with Lautrec had their heads severed from their shoulders.

To him, his escape was little more than a blurry vision. It was as if his mind had become disconnected from his body and dull to its surroundings. At first, Lautrec tried to convince himself that his numbness was the result of his exhaustion and stress. 

Like always, he failed to believe his own lies. 

He couldn’t think of anything else. He continued pondering on his weakness long after he was safe again, inside the confines of an abandoned church. 

How he had gotten there was only a hazy memory, as was his fight with the Hollow knights that lay dead at his feet.

His ring finger itched as if maggots were devouring it whole.

“See, my knight?” Fina told him. She caressed his chin, tracing a soft line along the bone of his jaw. “See how effective and lethal you are when properly motivated? Be thankful, Lautrec... for it is I who gave you the strength you needed to overcome your weakness. Go on, say it. Say that you are grateful to me for unleashing your best self.”

Fina rested her other hand on his chest, right above his heart.

“Say that you are grateful to me for being the only reason you are still alive.”

Lautrec’s mouth was bitter and parched. For the first time since he had become his loyal knight, he wished Fina would keep quiet and go away, if only for a moment.

All that Lautrec wanted was to be alone with his thoughts, but he was a knight of Carim. His time was not his to employ as he wished, it belonged only to his lady. 

“I’m grateful.” 

“Grateful for what?”

Lautrec clenched his jaw; he almost committed the offense of pulling away from Fina’s touch.

“I’m grateful to you for unleashing my best self.” 

Then, he felt it. He felt how Fina tried to pierce through the barriers of his mind. 

Lautrec strengthened his walls and hugged the arms of his cuirass.

“I’m grateful to you for being the only reason I’m still alive.”

“Oh, my Lautrec.” Fina kissed him in the cheek. The softness of her ethereal lips was followed by the sharpness of her voice. “If only I could believe you.”

Beads of cold sweat formed in Lautrec’s forehead. He didn’t know what scared him most, Fina’s anger or how easily she had seen through his façade. 

He remained trapped together with his goddess in a cold uncertainty that felt eternal.

“You’ve got nothing to fear, my knight.” Fina said, “As long as do as I tell you, you won’t be giving me reasons to forsake you. As long as you forget about that ridiculous knightly pride of yours, killing that fire keeper will feel as natural as the beating of your heart. The act will be quick, peaceful and pleasant. She will be grateful to you for freeing her from her cursed fate. She will enjoy it, and so will you, if you just let go of your past and embrace your present.”

Lautrec’s lips quivered.

“You are Undead.” Fina continued, brushing away the only tear that escaped from his eyes. “You’ve got no lady to satisfy other than me. The teachings of your homeland have no meaning in Lordran. I am your everything; you are my knight.”

“I am.” Lautrec muttered. He was overwhelmed. Not even the darkest piece of Humanity could have granted him as much peace and comfort as Fina did.

“Then prove it to me now.” Fina’s tone changed. It remained gentle, but now her words sounded like orders. “Over there, at the altar. Do you see it?”

He did.

There it was, at the other side of the church, carved in stone and untouched by time. Behind it, he could see the statue of a woman.

“Not just any woman.” Fina corrected him with a scoff. “It’s me. Approach it, my knight.”

Lautrec obeyed. He felt like almost like a child. 

The silly excitement he felt slowly vanished the closer the got to the altar, and it disappeared completely the moment his eyes understood what the strange figure laying on the altar’s surface really was.

Lautrec was used to the sight of corpses. He had been familiar with death since the time when he had been too young to become a page.

However, as unfazed as he remained by the decrepit state of the corpse before him, Lautrec trembled at the sight of the glowing orb floating just above the body’s chest.

“What a shame.” Fina said, “I would have preferred her to be alive so you could kill her, but it seems someone else already did the deed for you. You must be rather disappointed.”

“But I thought,” Lautrec swallowed before he could continue, “I thought the fire keeper would be at Firelink Shrine, locked for all eternity inside a cave, just like you told me.”

“Don’t be stupid, my knight. This fire keeper is not the same you will murder. This must be the tribute some deluded fool left here for me in a desperate attempt to earn my favor. Whoever he may be, the only thing he’s gained is my disdain. Does he honestly believe I would accept the offerings and advances of every man that comes by, as if I were a common strumpet?  The gall! Does he not know that Fina handpicks her knights and followers? Does he note care? Such offense will not go unpunished! If he ever dares to come back, you will fight him, and you will kill him.”

“I will.” Lautrec promised, wishing that the offender would return and give him an excuse to step away from the altar, but no one came.

“Regardless,” Fina continued once the worst of her flaring temper had passed, “it would be a waste to refuse this soul. I will not accept the offering of a stranger, but if my knight was to offer it to me instead, everything would be different.”

There was no need for Fina to instruct him further. 

Somehow, Lautrec managed to lift his arms. They felt heavy, as if they were made of stone. It took as much effort to get them closer to the corpse as keeping the barriers of his mind up did.

Yet, he could Fina trying to tear down his defenses and reach the deepest part of his mind. She wanted to see it.

She wanted to make sure that his heart was free of all regret and doubt.

Why shouldn’t it be?

Lautrec was staggered by the question as he asked it to himself.

To kill a fire keeper was the greatest sin a Carim knight could ever commit. It was an unforgiveable offense, a taint on his soul not even death could remove.

But he was not responsible for the death of this fire keeper. He had not taken her life; he had only found her rotting corpse on his goddess’ altar. 

He had done nothing wrong. 

He was following his lady’s commands.

So truly, he was fulfilling his duty as her knight. 

He was just—

“Take it.” Fina said in his ear. It wasn’t until then that Lautrec realized his hands had remained stuck in the same position for a while. His armored fingers were so close to the fire keeper’s soul that its gentle warmth could be felt through his gauntlets. “Do it.”

“I will.” Lautrec smiled. His pulse throbbed intensely in his temples. “I am yours, remember? I love you, Fina.”

“Shut up and take it!”

That he would. 

His rebellious hands had just started to listen to his commands when the blade of a rapier emerged from his chest. His blood covered the weapon, concealing the silver of the metal underneath a crimson layer.

Lautrec let out a soft gasp. It was the only sound his pierced lung could muster. 

Fina did scream on his mind; more than a mournful lament, her cry resembled a roar. She cursed the stranger for spilling the blood of her servant.

She damned him for damaging that which belonged to her.

The stranger, if he could hear her, ignored the goddess with sinful indifference. Instead, he focused all his attention on Lautrec. 

The stranger warped an arm around Lautrec’s neck and pulled him closer to him, further impaling him with the blade of the rapier. The weapon cut through the plates of Lautrec’s armor as easily as it cut through his flesh and bones.

“I witnessed your sin.”  The stranger said as he rested his chin on Lautrec’s shoulder.  “And it shall not go unpunished.”

“Kill him! Don’t you dare die without putting up a fight!” Fina exclaimed. Her voice resonated so loudly in his ears that Lautrec was surprised they didn’t start to bleed. “Kill this bastard, you useless coward! What kind of man are you? Are you even a real knight? Don’t you dare die, Lautrec. I will never forgive you if you fail me this way. If you die, I will forsake you and leave you to rot in this cursed land. I have no need nor use for weak men.”

The stranger removed the rapier from Lautrec’s body. His movements were quick, but they were not gentle.

Lautrec swallowed his pain and blood and tried to turn around. He would do as Fina said. He would not die in such a shameful way.

If a knight of Carim was meant to die, he had to meet death in the heat of battle. To perish under any other circumstances was the greatest humiliation imaginable. 

“My lady,” Lautrec stuttered as he tightened his grip on his swords.

Just when he was turning on his heels, the stranger grabbed him by his helmet and violently pulled him down to the floor.

He then grabbed Lautrec’s arm and pulled it behind his back until he let go the sword. The stranger kept pulling, almost snapping Lautrec’s arm from his shoulder.

“Useless.” Fina spat at Lautrec. Her voice was venom, and it spread across his soul like a blight. “Absolutely useless. What a pitiable excuse for a man, what a mockery of a knight you turned out to be.”

The stranger said something. His voice overlapped with Fina’s.

Lautrec tried to reach out for his goddess, but he had already sunk too deep into the darkness of death. His life was leaking away from him, taking with it all of his thoughts and his strength.

Soon, all that remained inside him was exhaustion and the phantom of his own despair.

Lautrec heard a distant, chilling laughter.

It was the last thing he perceived before death claimed him.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He got no response from the knight.

Oswald waited, but it was in vain.

He knew the knight was awake and could hear him. Oswald had defeated him; then, he had healed his injuries by forcingly feeding him Estus. 

Sinners like the knight did not deserve to be granted the peacefulness of death so easily. Death, contrary to what most people believed, was not a punishment or a sentence. To those with a clean conscience and an unburdened heart, death was a well-deserved rest. 

Yet, even if the knight had not sinned, to let him die would be an unnecessary waste of time. He was Undead, and for all Undead, death no longer had the same meaning than for those who remained free from the curse.

“You should have taken your own life the moment you lost your lady. That’s what was expected from you, or are you not a true knight of Carim?” 

Oswald said. The knight refused to acknowledge him, but Oswald did not care. 

“That fact you still exist when you’ve got no lady to protect is a sin in itself. How unfortunate that the Undead curse prevents you from fulfilling this last duty... or perhaps luck has nothing to do with this matter, and you sought a way to curse yourself in a pathetic attempt to preserve your life?”

Oswald listened as the echo of his own laughter spread across the church. The knight of the golden armor, however, remained quiet and indifferent. 

He had his chin glued to his chest. His hands were caressing the golden arms of his cuirass.

So, he was one of them.

Oswald’s smile almost hesitated, but he had long learned that to pour any amount of pity into those lost, deluded men was useless.

It was seldom that they broke free from their delusions, and most of them never tried at all. They became drunk on the promises of eternal love of the vainest of goddesses. 

They willingly fell for her empty words. 

Fina’s power over them was only as strong as the power of their own wills. 

It was no wonder she always picked the most broken and feeble of knights.

“Your failure to keep your former lady alive, whoever she was, is an unforgivable sin.” Oswald said. He took a step back from the cell. He joined his hands behind his back. “But that’s not the reason I am punishing you. Whatever sins and mistakes your committed back in Carim are none of my concern, but those you commit her in Lordran are my domain. And I saw what you did, so don’t even try to deny it. At this point, accepting your fault is the least you could do to salvage what little honor remains in your rotten heart.”

The knight did react to this. He lifted his head and looked at Oswald.

Oswald couldn’t see his eyes, hidden behind his golden helmet as they were, but he could almost feel the ice-cold glare of the knight.

“I did not kill her.”  He said. 

There was anger in his voice, but also a deep emptiness. He would go Hollow soon.

Oswald smiled.

“Perhaps you didn’t.” He conceded. “I have no proof, so I cannot thrust the weight of this sin upon you; but I saw what you did. I saw how you tried to take her soul for yourself.”

Oswald expected the knight to say something in return. He was prepared to counter his excuses and tear apart his arguments, but the knight said nothing.

His silence was all Oswald needed to know he had condemned a guilty, dangerous man.

“If you were willing to commit such a vile act, what will stop you from killing a fire keeper yourself the next chance you get?  Certainly not your conscience, even less your pride as a knight. That’s why you shall never leave this cell. You will remain here until you go Hollow.”

Oswald gave one last look to the disgraced knight before turning his back on him. 

“And then I will kill you. But remember this, knight, your death is not your punishment.”

He told him as he walked toward the stairs that led to the church’s roof.

“It is merely the fate you chose for yourself.”

Oswald laughed again. 

He didn’t so out of mockery or cruelty, but out of amusement.

Oh, Fina’s so-called devoted followers.

They would have been pitiable if they weren’t so pathetic in the first place.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fina had forsaken him.

The bitter solitude of her absence had almost driven Lautrec to his Hollowing, just like the death of his first lady had come close to sink him into madness.

But he had endured, though not because he was strong. 

If he had been allowed to keep his sanity after losing everything, it was because he had never lost his faith.

Faith that he could make amends and regain the love of his goddess.

A faith that became invigorated after some poor idiot freed him for his cell.

A faith that was about to be cemented now that the second bell had tolled. 

It was time.

He had delayed the act long enough.

It will be quick.

Lautrec thought as he grabbed the fire keeper by the neck through the barriers of her cell. She showed no emotion in her blue Astoran eyes.

It is peaceful.

Her stoic semblance not once faltered, not even as Lautrec slit her belly with a long slash of his curved sword.

It was pleasant.

Lautrec did not trust this last thought, but when his eyes meet with the agonizing and defying stare of the moribund fire keeper, he could see a glimmer of happiness in her.

It was then Lautrec knew that Fina had been right all along.

The gaze the fire keeper was giving him was not one of hatred or resentment, but of gratefulness. In the last moments of her miserable life, she was thanking him in silence. 

She was grateful to him for freeing her from her everlasting torment.

She was enjoying the moment just as much as Lautrec was.

“You are welcome.”

Lautrec told the fire keeper before letting go of her fading corpse. He forgot about her as soon as her neck left his hand.

In his other hand, floating above his blood-soaked palm, there was her soul.

I did it, Fina. Can you see me? 

Lautrec held the essence close to his chest. His mind, devoid of all barriers now that he had freed himself from his past fears and insecurities, was touched by the soft whisper of a goddess only he could hear.

“I do.”

Fina answered. For the first time since his defeat at the hands of the pardoner, Lautrec felt safe in the tender embrace of his one and only lady.

“My knight.”

Lautrec smiled. 

He felt whole.

@pan-de-torao

@dbzespio

Lautrec leaned heavily on his knees, gazing deeply into the bonfire and its dancing flames. He sighed softly as his wounds began to heal up, and the strength returned to his body.

Yes, this bonfire had served him well. But now, he felt it was time to move on.

His posture still stooped forward, he turned his eyes upward to behold the firekeeper. 

Much like his, her helm hid her face from view, and so he could not tell where exactly her gaze was directed. She was rested against the wall, her body still with a certain poise, one that indicated she was not one to be trifled with. She could hop out of that position and into a battle stance at once, and all with the ease of a well-trained warrior; he could tell. 

He rose to his feet with a slight grunt of effort. 

No, it would not be worth the trouble. He already had one prize; he didn’t need more.

~~ 

Those damned archers…

Lautrec nearly collapsed in relief at the sight of a new bonfire. He practically dragged himself to sit before it, finally allowing his gaping wounds to heal once again. 

“Oh! There you are!”

Lautrec startled, snapping his head towards the voice. 

But it was only a fellow knight, seated there on the floor nearby, just far enough to still be warmed by the flames. The crest on his chest held no significance; the fool had likely painted it on himself in a fit of self-grandeur, or perhaps, sheer lunacy. He also appeared to be adorned with a feather or two and... was that grass? A lunatic indeed.

Lautrec faintly recognized him; he had likely summoned the fool to assist him in battle at one point or another. He merely grunted a sort of half-acknowledgement of the knight’s words and returned his gaze to the bonfire.

The knight politely waited a few moments before speaking again. He leaned forward slightly, his voice friendly. “You’ve been awfully quiet lately. Smooth summoning out there?”  

Lautrec slowly turned to face him again, wishing that his glower could melt through his helm. 

“Anytime you see my brilliantly shining signature, do not hesitate to call upon me,” the knight continued. “I must say: you’ve left me with quite an impression. I would relish a chance to assist you.”

Was that fondness in his voice? Truly a fool, this man was. 

Despite this, a modicum of camaraderie swelled a little within Lautrec’s chest. Fool though he was, this man was still an undead knight, trapped within this godsforsaken realm, no doubt charged with a quest similar to his own. He felt he owed the knight a warning, at the very least.

“Our futures are murky,” he finally told him, turning back to the fire. “Let’s not be too friendly now.”

“Nonsense,” the man proclaimed, the feather atop his helm swaying in place as he fervently shook his head. “You and I are bound together in not one, but two bouts of jolly cooperation!

“Whatever your quest, my good knight,” he continued, his fist held up in a firm resolve, “I feel certain you will see it through.”

“I already have.” Lautrec rose and readied himself to leave. “Now it is nothing more than a simple matter of delivery.”

~~

Breathing heavily, Lautrec willed himself forward before collapsing before the fire. 

That was too close. 

His eyes darted around wildly before settling upon the summon signs around him. 

So there it was. His answer to the ever-constant invasions…

~~

Lautrec and his posse had just cleared the hall when yet another invader formed before them. She was but a simple cleric, but her eyes smoldered with barely suppressed rage as she rose from the haze upon ground. 

“Oh, look! Another one,” Lautrec sneered, waving the others to attention. “How many times must these lambs rush to slaughter? Ah well… Let’s get it over with!”

Lautrec charged forward, his summoned warrior following in his wake. Just behind them, his sage readied his wand. 

The cleric immediately raised her shield, a flimsy thing, really, and certainly no match for his blades. It managed to reduce the impact of the sage’s magic bolts, but now, Lautrec was right before her. He reared back before striking her a solid blow, his curved shotel easily reaching around her paltry shield. The shield blocked his comrade’s spear, but the woman now looked rather breathless. 

“‘Tis a terrible pity,” Lautrec mused, trading his left shotel for a knife as he watched the invading cleric scramble to return her shield to her back. “Like a... moth, flittering towards a flame.

“You fellows… No? Don’t you agree?” He turned back towards his sage and briefly extended his arm towards his warrior, allowing the cleric a moment to ready herself for an attack of her own. 

As if she’d stand a chance. 

He chuckled darkly, watching as she lifted her talisman. She cast Force, which sent the spearman to the ground and the sage’s next magical projectile soaring back to strike him in the face. 

Lautrec himself stumbled before recklessly charging her again. If his companions weren’t able to strike her, it appeared he’d have to finish the job himself. 

She rolled away when he slashed at her with his shotel before charging at him with a knife that he hadn’t noticed she had been holding. He caught it with his own, slashing at her again with his free arm. 

Vulnerable as she was, and with no armor to boot, the cleric staggered from the devastating blow. Lautrec kicked her away, laughing callously yet again. The sage’s magical bolts peppered her several times as she struggled to recover. In the meantime, Lautrec traded his parrying knife for his second shotel, all the while watching her intently. 

Finally she knelt with talisman in hand. He recognized the gesture immediately as one of self-healing. “Oh no, you don’t…” 

With that said, he lashed out with dual strikes and chuckled as her form disintegrated into smoky mists. He helped himself to the humanities and souls she left behind before turning back to his entourage. “Well, well. I thought you were wiser… but I thought wrong.”

His summoned warrior lunged at her now formless remains with his spear. Poor fellow was a bit slow to grasp the reality of the situation. Finally he recognized she was gone and returned to Lautrec’s side. 

“Well, that was rather simple,” he scoffed and scanned the area. He beheld a glowing summon sign near the stairwell and went to examine it further. 

Ah, if it wasn’t the fool himself. 

Lautrec recalled the spearman, and summoned the warrior of sunlight. He arose with his arms in the air in a sun salute before facing Lautrec with a nod. Thankfully, he didn’t talk as much while in a summoned state.

Lautrec led them down the hall and pushed open the giant, double doors. He would have thought the room beyond empty, until he finally took note of a giant, stocky figure at the other end of the area. For a moment, they were so still Lautrec wasn’t quite certain whether they were human or statue. Either way, they wielded a hammer, nearly as large as themself.

Before Lautrec or the others could move in to have a closer look, another figure slowly and gracefully made their way to one of the balconies above. A single hand rested gently upon the railing as the knight, clad in incredibly intricate armor, gazed down at all of them. Within moments, the knight leapt down to stand before them, poised for battle. 

The one wielding a hammer hefted it upon his shoulder, moving the giant weapon with such an ease that it looked as if it were made of feathers. So then apparently this ‘statue’ could move after all.  

Lautrec faintly recognized the pair of warriors; felt certain that he had found their likenesses etched in marble somewhere within the city of Anor Londo. But it hardly mattered; if they stood in his path, they would be eliminated, all for the glory of the goddess.

The knight charged forward, his spear at the ready. Lautrec raced to meet him, easily moving off to the side to avoid the incoming spear. However gifted he may be, this spearman was no different from all others; he favored his right. All Lautrec needed to do was be careful to avoid that side and attack from the left, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Meanwhile, Solaire focused his efforts on the giant. He would avoid the swing of his hammer with well-timed rolls and slash away with his sword while the giant struggled to reorient himself. He’d have to sprint away whenever his opponent decided to charge him, his hammer practically transformed into a whirlwind. And once his back was turned, Solaire would toss over a few lightning bolts in response.    

Meanwhile, Lautrec’s summoned sage would hurl magic bolts at the giant. He was a large, and therefore, easy target, after all. And with both Lautrec and Solaire keeping their opponents busy, the sage didn’t have much to worry about, so long as he kept himself far from the fray.

Before long, the giant man crumpled to the ground and took his last breath. Ornstein leaped away from Lautrec to stand at his side. He rested a hand against his fallen comrade’s body with a clearly remorseful weight to the action, despite how simple it was. 

But that simple gesture granted the knight a sudden surge in power. His very size surged until he grew to twice his height and weight. His spear sizzled with electricity as he held it aloft, reinvigorated to fight anew. 

“By the goddess!” Lautrec exclaimed as the spearman lunged at him. He rushed away; this time, it was much more difficult to avoid the weapon, given it too had increased in size. 

Solaire took the moment to lob a spear of lightning at the dragonslayer. However, it hardly had any effect.

The sage had prepared a more powerful spell, and this time, several magical bolts struck Ornstein at once. He momentarily flinched before rushing forward to attack the sage.

Lautrec and Solaire used the opportunity to move in close, slashing away at Ornstein’s legs. In response, the knight readied a lighting strike, charging up his spear with crackling electricity. Lautrec just barely managed to avoid being impaled, but his body shuddered as the remnants of lightning burned at his skin. He rolled away and yanked up his helm to chug a flask of Estus.

Meanwhile, Ornstein leapt high into the air, his body practically shining with excess electricity. Both Solaire and Lautrec were knocked off their feet as the dragonslayer crashed back down to the ground, sparks flying nearly everywhere. Even the sage, far from the action, staggered from the impact. 

Lautrec frantically rolled until he was far away, ripping back his helm to down not one, but two flasks of Estus. This wasn’t going to be an easy battle.  

But once he had his fill of Estus, he clenched his fists tightly around his shotels. He would not falter. For, after all, he had the favor of the goddess.

In the meantime, Solaire hurried to his feet and rushed in to attack Ornstein’s legs once again, determined to give Lautrec the time he needed to recover. He narrowly avoided another lunge; his body involuntarily shuddering from the excess electricity. How he longed to drink but a drop of Estus… But he had no time for that.

Meanwhile the sage had quickly gathered his wits and hurled magical bolts at the dragonslayer. He was too distracted with Solaire to fight back, so the mage continued his assault without interruption. 

Reinvigorated, Lautrec moved in to assist Solaire. Together the two kept slashing away at Ornstein’s feet, all while avoiding his near-constant barrage of lightning laden lunges. Ornstein was just about to recharge his spear when the sage dealt him one blow too many, and the mighty dragonslayer finally fell. 

Muscles buzzing with excess energy and skin burning from electrical buildup, Lautrec heaved hungry breaths of air as he watched the knight succumb to darkness. A glittering light was left behind, along with several other treasures.   

But before he could go to retrieve them, the foolish knight hurried to stand before him. He jovially clapped Lautrec’s shoulder until he finally lifted his helm to look him in the face. 

“A truly excellent bout of jolly cooperation, my good friend!” Solaire declared, no doubt a hearty grin beneath that helm. “Here; please take this!”

Lautrec already knew what the man was about to give him, and he didn’t want it. 

Regardless, Solaire found his hand and pressed a warm medal into it. Lautrec could feel the warmth even though the thickness of his armor; the object was indeed strange. But he refused to close his fingers, so the medal eventually fell to the ground once the golden sunlight warrior finally vanished into thin air. Lautrec didn’t bother to give the thing even the slightest of second glances. He simply didn’t need it.

Instead he moved in to receive his prizes. A gluttony of souls, along with Ornstein’s own, and a ring, a lion engraved upon it. He doubted he would find much use for it. Regardless, he tucked it away along with the rest. 

He wandered about the area for a while before coming upon a moving platform. He took it to find access to the balconies above, and to his great relief, a bonfire laid in wait. He took a rest there, allowing his wounds and aching body to heal.

Soon enough, he rose to his feet and made his way to the double doors before him. What laid behind them took his breath away.

There, her beautiful body draped across a plush chaise, laid the goddess Fina. The room was warm; soft light that emanated from the goddess herself wrapped the area in a gentle glow.

“Fina…” Lautrec breathed, immediately dropping down to one knee. 

Fina smiled and extended a gentle hand towards him. “Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, chosen Undead. Come hither, child…”

Lautrec blinked. ‘Chosen undead?’ ‘Child?’ 

Did she not see him?

He cleared his throat. “Fina, my beloved… It is I, Lautrec the Embraced. And I have for you a gift...” He procured the firekeeper’s soul and held it aloft.

She beckoned to him again. “Come hither…”

“As you wish…” Lautrec humbly rose, moved to stand just before her, and knelt down, all while holding out his treasure for her to take.

“O chosen Undead,” she continued, her voice soft. “I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight…”

 She had more to say, but Lautrec immediately stopped listening. Rage boiled up within his gut and spread throughout his body as he clenched his teeth.

The blasphemous wench! How dare she pose as the everlasting goddess!

Snarling, Lautrec ripped his shotel from its sheath and slashed the imposter, causing the unsuspecting woman to scream out. But his steel did not taste flesh; rather, he tore through naught but haze. 

The woman was but a mirage. A trick of his mind. 

Just as suddenly as the woman disappeared, the room went dark. It was cold here. 

Lautrec looked about wildly, but he was alone, left with nothing but a soft, almost fading light from the firekeeper’s soul. He dropped his shotel, and it clattered to the ground, louder than ever now. 

Was Fina… testing him?

He clenched his fist. No, it was that woman’s fault. She was a charlatan, a fake. Nothing was worse than impersonating a goddess. And it wasn’t as if he had ever seen a being as wondrous as the goddess herself in person before. How could he have known? 

Yes... yes. He was not to blame here. No, not at all.

In that moment, the silence was broken. 

I witnessed your sin, and it shall not go unpunished. 

Lautrec froze. Too afraid to turn and face the voice. 

Thou shalt perish in the twilight of Anor Londo.

No, this wasn’t happening. Everything he had done… it was all for Fina. 

He couldn’t have…

Slight footsteps from behind compelled him to whirl around. A blue phantom stood within the doorway; she was dressed in light armor, not unlike the painting guardians he had encountered shortly after he had entered Anor Londo. And just like those warriors, she was wielding two short blades. 

He would have bent to retrieve his shotel, but his limbs felt heavy, worn. And before his mind could have the opportunity to overpower his fading will, the warrior rushed forward, her blade plunging into his abdomen. She twisted the weapon, and he shuddered, the pain overtaking all of his senses. She kicked him to remove her blade, and his body easily crumpled to the ground. 

He laid there in agony, coughing up blood and wondering why she hadn’t yet finished him off. Once he finally opened his eyes, he saw her, tenderly holding the firekeeper’s soul. He must have dropped it at some point, or maybe she had taken it from his hand; he could hardly tell, much less remember, at this point. All he knew was that it was ill-gotten. That he had soiled Fina’s good name in taking it.

Before long, his helm was roughly ripped off of him. “This is for Anastacia of Astora,” the warrior stated, her voice cold. 

With that said, she lopped off his ear. “The Dark Sun will be pleased.” Her voice was soft now, devoid of the malice with which she spoke earlier. 

He watched her ready a black separation crystal. “You will not kill me?” he finally managed to ask.

“Killing you would only end your suffering.” She stepped on the wound in his gut and pressed down, forcing him to cry out yet again. “And my wish for you is to wallow in it.”

She finally backed away and activated her crystal, returning to her realm awash in shining light.

Lautrec, bloodied and broken, finally mustered the strength to drag himself out of the room and towards the bonfire beyond. 

But it was not lit.

He coughed again, blood spattering across the marbled floor. His vision blurred; the blood loss certainly wasn’t helping matters.

He crawled onwards, knowing full well he was too far gone to reach another bonfire. But he knew he must try. For Fina’s sake.

Fina…

He had failed her. 

No…! He would never…!

His fingers trembled as he continued to drag himself forward. Onwards.

Everything, yes, everything he had done, all of it was for Fina. For her glory. For his honor. For their love.

But…

Lautrec faltered and hissed. The pain was too great.

Fina was a magnificent, benevolent goddess. Death in her name would only serve to sully her beauty, her magnanimity. She would never allow it.

But the prize.

The endless souls… They would preserve her beauty forever; grant her with eternal youth.

Lautrec’s fingers hit into a wall. He could barely see straight; his body felt cold. He wasn’t certain how much longer he would last.

He pulled himself into a seated position, his back against the wall. He breathed deeply, as best as his tired lungs would allow. 

The ends do not justify the means.

He had failed his goddess, his love, by dishonoring her name. She would never accept any gifts, any love from a man drenched in sin. He knew this now.

He would perish within the twilight of Anor Londo.

As his goddess ordained. 

@lefrustemangaka

@taroris​

Silence always followed death. It was mandatory, as only death could rip things from this world with such coldness and leave a grieving void where the poor soul exhaled its last breath. Once the Shrine’s fire faded, not even the breeze dared to break the deathly quietness.

It took a while for Anastacia’s grasp around the metal rod to vanish; her delicate face contracted in a somewhat painful expression yet with relief under her lifeless blue eyes. Blue eyes which also stared at Lautrec with reproach; reproach because it wasn’t yet her time to leave, because she was supposed to die after fulfilling her role as Firekeeper, not in the hands of a knight who kept her company day after day until turning his blade against her.

With a swift measured move of hand, Lautrec cleaned the blood from his shotel. It was splattered on the floor in front of the rusty cell, which seemed to have been built in a rush by non-expert hands. Her frame paled in the light, not even a murmur was produced by the vanishment process. Then, the delicate soul of Anastacia jingled where her place has been for, perhaps, an eternity; tiny humanities dancing around the pure white light, happy, unbothered by the grim turn of events.

Lautrec picked them up and gave a look at the light and the darkness. Both antagonists floated pleasantly in his hand; darkness around light, light around darkness. The tendrils of Anastacia’s soul seemed to caress the humanities, as a mother would do to their kids. The humanities seemed to love the attention as they appeared to jump and shake their small bodies pleased. The somewhat peace these poor vestiges of a past life enjoyed was finally disrupted, for the image of the very safety and home meant nothing to Lautrec, whose real home was in the arms of a Goddess and the safety was only reached after the brief moments of offering the humanities he separated from Anastacia and placed inside his travel bag.

The Firekeepers' soul seemed to shiver when the mourning was over and the wind blew in the shrine, caressing its tendrils and letting it know of the newfound loneliness.

Truth be told, the reaction of the white soul was rather peculiar. With a tilt of his head, Lautrec observed how it reacted to its surroundings. How it seemed to know somehow that something was off. Maybe the pureness of the Firekeepers’ souls was the one to blame; souls remaining safe of the hunger that leads most Undeads, unbothered by the filthiness of the world that has no room for these same souls unless entrusted with the task to tend fire.

Lautrec scoffed. He was no innocent human, that was as true as the sky was blue. On top of that, he was hungry; hungry to please her Lady, hungry to give her everything she wished for. Staring at the soul wouldn’t do him any good. Then, almost in a whisper, a kind voice spoke to him. It spoke to him about time, about love, about forgiveness. For Lautrec, there was only one thing more absolute than death, and that was her Goddess’s words. He knew what he had to do next: complete his duty in the so-called city of Gods, but which was no home for his Lady. At least, not anymore.

The knight left the Shire, wherein the few beings remaining there barely noticed his leave. He, then, resumed his travel; going through the cathedral, through the burg, through the fortress made to break one’s soul but merely scratched his for the loving voice gave him the strength needed to prevail and move forward. It was such the faith in his Lady’s words that he even travelled through air (carried by nasty ugly demons) to arrive at his destination.

With utmost care, Lautrec inspectioned the place until finding the bonfire and, with the bonfire, the Firekeeper. He felt the arms around his torso hug him even in a more affectionate way, and the joy which washed over his body was almost overwhelming. Yet, he shouldn’t be carried away by those feelings, or he could end up imprisoned again, when the end of his task was within the reach of his fingertips.

When the Firekepeer spoke, Anastacia’s Soul shaked faintly in his travel bag.

“Mmh… You are a rare visitor,” she said once he walked down the stairs. In her voice, there was a hit of something Lautrec couldn’t place right away. “Welcome to the lost city of Anor Londo. If you seek Lord Gwyn’s old keep, exit here and head straight yonder. If you-”

“I will, for now, allow myself to take a rest,” Lautrec interrupted her.

It had been quite a while since he had been around a talkative Firekeeper. Instead, he had grown so comfortable with the silence around Anastacia that he had forgotten how annoying these women can be sometimes; with their gibberish and duties.

“Very well. After all, that is what the bonfire is for,” she muttered, with annoyance and that something which was still difficult to place in her voice.

Lautrec sat down near the fire. His tired legs sighed with the brief break they were given while his hands quickling unfastened the travel bag around his waist.

The moment to observe her came when he pretended to take care of his equipment, of his shotels and armour. It stood out that Firekeeper was nothing like the previous ones he had encountered before; all delicate ladies, sometimes blinded, sometimes too oblivious of the world around her. This woman, instead, looked like a warrior, and it was not because of the pretentious armour befitting of an even more pretentious place like Anor Londo. No. It was because of the aura around her, of the way she folded her arms, the posture she kept against the wall, the way tried to appear like she was self-absorbed but her eyes felt like daggers poking his skin.

It finally clicked. That something hard to place in her voice: mistrust. This woman was, by all means, different from the previous Firekeepers who always thought he was a well-meaning knight searching for their help and fire. This woman was dangerous, because mistrust made you be aware of dangers, of betrayal, and made offering harder. Lautred needed to find help, and by help it meant cannon fodder. For that reason he got up and announced it was time to continue his journey. The knight, then, adventured himself even further in the city, further into the high building.

His shotel cut through multiple enemies dressed in white clothes and who threw daggers. He got no reward from it and the voice whispering kind words suddenly started to rush him to go back to the Firekeeper’s place. Oh, how much he wished to speak with his Lady at that moment, to hold her delicate hands and promise her that she would have the world if only she gave him a moment to do what had to be done to cut the Firekeeper’s throat.

His steps lead him to a cathedral, wide, open, and filled with multiple enemies. Even if it cost him some estus, Lautrec prevailed and the colossals figures and Silver Knights ended up falling to his blade. When inside there was no more than silence (a silence aware of the knight’s intentions and which followed him as it followed death), Lautrec started to search for marks. For marks of unwaries who would have no other choice but to help him fulfill his role; perhaps serving as bait.

It didn’t take him long to come across a well-known yellow sign. Holding back a scoff turned out to be impossible for a solid second, as there was no point in summoning that crazy fool. Lautrec kept searching, avoiding the signs of Warriors of Sunlight as if they were infected with the plague. Then, finally, after walking up and down the hallway, he located it: two white summoning signs. A sorcerer and a spearman. That would serve him well. Lautrec touched the first white light, with black letters signaling a name that he couldn’t care less, before touching the second one. Two men appeared in front of him and spoke words of greeting, too cheerfully for his liking. He barely muttered some words to content them for there were more pressing matters to attend.

After the pointless greeting was over, the three of them walked to the entry, to the closed massive doors. With a sigh, Lautrec started to look for the mechanism to open them, locating a giant lever attached to some big gears.

Upon touching the handle, though, he felt it. The soft rumbling of worlds clashing together. His furrow deepened under his helmet and walked back to his comrades who were looking at their surroundings. Lautrec didn’t feel like playing the mouse and cat game at that moment, so, when the other two men looked at him wondering about his plan, he simply ordered them to wait until the dark phantom appeared.

And the phantom did so. After a closer look at the armour, an amused hum left his lips. The Chosen Undead straightened their back and when their gaze fell on the knight and his cannon fodder, they stormed towards them, sword raised in wrath. The same wrath that filled their voice when they spoke.

“Lautred, you bastard! How dare you kill her?! How dare you kill Anastacia?!”

The knight waited (hearing reassuring words of his Lady that ensured him the victory) for the Chosen Undead to run towards them and for his summonings to defend him, as it was a mandatory rule between the fool Undeads.

“Well, look at you,” he began, dragging out his shotel. “I thought you were wiser, but I thought wrong!”

@thefatladysang​

#dark souls #lautrec of carim #fanart #fanfiction #soulsborne chain game #dark souls chain 2 #lautrec chain

[choralcomposition]

Choral Composition is one year old! This is so weird :’D I unfortunately don’t have an update ready but here’s a sketch of the boys I drew for today.

There’s a spoiler/excerpt from chapter 25 (chapter 24 is an interlude) under the cut as an apology for the hiatus.

Once again, spoilers for Choral up to the start of chapter 25 below. Don’t click if you’re not okay with spoilers! ... there are too many A names in this goddamn scene, by the way :)

---

Anastas couldn’t help it. He burst into tears.

Ascelin startled a little at the noise, though he didn’t seem to have the energy to do much besides. Which was a good thing — Anastas threw himself across the man’s lap and clung to his shoulders.

“What—hey? Ki—Anastas, hey, come on, what’s with you?” Ascelin’s voice was rough from disuse, and horribly welcome after so long without it. Anastas buried his face in the man’s shoulder and tried to stave off his shaking.

Ascelin wasn’t always kind, it was true, but he was there, and Anastas needed him. And he’d already lost so much this year, he couldn’t—

Don’t think about her like she’s gone.

He made himself stop the thought. But the tears wouldn’t quit, now that they’d welled up, and he felt a little sick with himself for crying on Ascelin’s shoulder.

Ascelin didn’t speak again. He made a soft noise, and something touched Anastas’s back. It hesitated a moment, then pressed between his shoulder blades — Ascelin’s hand, like the man meant to hug him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ascelin murmured, near his temple. Anastas was mortified. He kept his face hidden. “Whatever happened, it’s over. What’s got you acting like this?”

Anastas tried to force ‘I don’t know what happened’ and ‘you weren’t responding’ and ‘we’ve been down here ages’ out at once and didn’t manage anything more coherent than a sob. He hated it, but what else could he do?

“Anastas?” Amelia mumbled, sounding half-asleep. Anastas twitched; he must have woken her. “What’s going on?”

“The kid’s crying,” Ascelin said, puzzled sounding.

Amelia yelped. “Sir Carim?!”

Anastas heard her scramble to a sit, and Ascelin made a soft noise. “What’s with the both of you? Stop acting like I died. Oh—wait, did I die?”

“Yes!” Amelia threw herself against them, and Ascelin huffed like she’d startled him, while Anastas wheezed and then tried to get back the air Amelia had forced out of him. “You came from the Cathedral lamp looking half-dead and grabbed us!”

“I did?” Ascelin couldn’t have sounded more surprised about it than they had felt, but he came damn close. Anastas kept his face buried, ashamed of his red eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks, and the ugly relief coursing through him. Ascelin was alright. He was.

“Yes!” Amelia must have smacked the Choir Hunter on the chest; Ascelin grunted.

“Sorry? I don’t think I intended to—oh.” Ascelin took in a sharp breath, and Anastas drew back to see if Amelia had hit him somewhere sensitive, but she looked as shocked as Anastas. Ascelin, wide-eyed, said, “No,” Very quietly, then again, barely above a whisper. “No. I… I meant to.”

“Why would you mean to die?” Amelia asked, brows furrowing. “And—Carim?”

Ascelin was shaking. He tried to form a word, but no sound left his lips. He shook his head, and Amelia seemed to decide — a little late — that discretion was best. She stopped asking, and laid her hand on Ascelin’s wrist in what she probably meant as mute support. 

Anastas felt uneasy all over. He shifted a little closer to Ascelin and held out his hand. Ascelin looked startled by it.

His fingers closed around Anastas’s a moment later. He breathed and breathed, shaking, and said, “Don’t worry about it.”

But he didn’t sound sure himself, and Anastas was unsettled by the idea of something that scared a Hunter, and worse because Ascelin was hiding it.

#choral composition #spoilers #choral composition art #rococospade art #ascelin of carim #Anastas Volkov

[mrslittletall]

Whump prompt: "I am fine"

With Oscar and Solaire.

More than a wound or an injury, how about it being about psychological angst :D?

Title: Guilt Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Oscar of Astora & Solaire of Astora Word Count: 1.854 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30487920

Summary: Solaire and Oscar reflect on the death of the fire keeper after they returned from Blighttown.

(Author's note: The moment I saw the prompt, I knew that I had to use the Amor Fati versions, a fantastic, but angsty Oscar and Solaire centric fic. It is my own interpretation of a certain scene and clearly not canon to it. Please enjoy.)

Oscar sat in Fire Link Shrine, staring at the bonfire, or what remained from it. The truth was, nothing remained. It had been snuffed out. It was different from the destroyed bonfire in the Asylum however, because nobody had removed the coiled sword of it.

Instead, the reason for the absence of the bonfire laid in a cell below the stairs. Oscar's eyes briefly wandered to the place where the Crestfallen Warrior had once sat. He probably would have a snarky comment for the whole situation, asshole as he was.

Oscar got up and approached the stairs. Solaire still hadn't come back. As soon as the both of them had discovered the dead body of the fire keeper, they had found their culprit right away. Who else could it have been, but Lautrec? The knight of Carim had been a thorn in their side for far too long, spewing his poison wherever he could. Oscar had tolerated him far too long and he barely understood how Solaire had been able to stand being around him in the time Oscar had been stuck in a dark and very empty place, unable to be reborn by the bonfire.

They couldn't hunt Lautrec down however. They had returned from Blighttown and the journey left their bodies beaten and their Estus Flasks empty. With no bonfire to refill them, they first had to track down another and none of them was in the physical or mental state to brave the dangers of Lordran once more. So for the time being, they were stuck at Fire Link Shrine.

As Oscar reached the end of the stairs, he remembered that Lautrec had often sat down here. His eyes on the fire keeper. In hindsight, it had been obvious. How they hadn't seen it coming... they maybe had thought that not even someone as vile as Lautrec would commit the sin and kill a fire keeper. Especially because he was a knight of Carim, who would protect his maiden his whole life.

Thinking about Lautrec only made Oscar's wounds sting and give him a bad taste on his mouth, so he rather approached Solaire, who sat in front of the cell with a vacant stare. He must have sat there for hours now. They were undead and didn't need food or sleep, but Oscar himself knew how damaging it was to just be left alone with his thoughts. He knew it very well.

Deep inside he feared that Solaire might have gone hollow.

“Solaire?”, Oscar said, slowly approaching his friend. “You have sat here for hours, my friend.” Oscar paused for a bit, his worry deepening when Solaire didn't answer right away. “...Are you feeling alright?”

“I am fine.”

Solaire's answer came much more immediate than Oscar had anticipated. Too immediate. Oscar had the feeling that Solaire very much was... not fine. It was normal for Solaire. He always would downplay how he felt. He would always put others over himself. As long as he could help people, he felt fine. Oscar knew that he did it mainly to hide his own deep insecurities.

Insecurities I have been a part of causing.

Oscar was an elite knight, Solaire never had been a part of his group. Oscar had gotten his title mostly from social status and family name, but he hadn't been able to do anything when all his brethren had fallen in battle. He had never participated in their cruel jests with Solaire, but he had been indifferent about him as well. If only he could have been Solaire's friend sooner. He hated that he had lost most of his memories, but he hated the man he once was much more.

Who does say that you changed in the meantime?

Oscar shook his head at himself. He needed to stop these hurtful thoughts. This wasn't about him. Solaire needed him right now. Both of them were far closer to hollowing than they wanted, with Oscar even being stuck in a state of half hollowing, so that he never removed his helmet and preferred not to speak to others.

“You don't seem to be fine.”, Oscar said, sitting down next to Solaire.

“I am fine.”, Solaire just repeated, barely acknowledging Oscar's presence.

Oscar thought about his next words. What would be the sensible thing to say? What would Solaire feel at the moment? Guilt maybe? It felt like Solaire might blame himself for having let Lautrec go away, for not killing him, so that he would have hollowed down in the swamp.

“It wasn't your fault.”, Oscar said. “Neither of us could know that he would do it.”

“I did.”

Oscar's eyes widened at the response. Was there something he didn't knew? Should he poke about the issue a bit farther?

“Solaire?”, he asked, deciding to let the other knight take the initiative.

“Oscar...”, Solaire said. “There are things I haven't told you about.”

Oscar held his breath, waiting for Solaire to continue. Solaire surely was talking about the time in which Oscar had been “dead”, to him at least.

“It would warp your perspective of me.”, Solaire finally spoke, after Oscar finally released his breath.

Oscar used his next breath to reply: “Nothing you did could ever make me think lesser of you.”

Solaire had done so much for him, without him, Oscar had long gone hollow. Solaire had been nothing but a joy in his sorry existence as an Undead, he had been his precious friend. As far as Oscar knew, Solaire probably did blame himself for Oscar's death still, because he had insisted on helpin the woman that had lured both of them into the trap that had cost Oscar's life.

Solaire finally looked at Oscar, his blue eyes seemingly staring right through him. “Are you sure about this?”, he said dryly, as if he already had made up his mind about how Oscar would react.

“Yes, I am sure.”, Oscar replied. “Whatever happened down there, Solaire, you can tell me. I promise I won't think less of you.”

A deep sigh escaped Solaire's lips and he started to tell the story. Once he had left Lautrec to die in the swamp (Oscar felt that he still regretted not having killed Lautrec back then), he had found a cave in which a woman with a giant spider for a body had resided. She had attacked him and Solaire had come out victorious from this battle. Then, he found a sunlight medal on a wall. Upon trying to take it, a secret corridor had appeared and..

“The knight of thorns was there.”, Solaire said, nothing but tiredness in his voice, “I saw him and... I saw red. I could only think about, that he was responsible for your death, Oscar. That was all... all I could think about. I didn't simply fight him, I made sure to inflict as much pain as possible on him...”

“Solaire...”, Oscar didn't manage to say more than his friend's name before Solaire continued.

“There was this... woman there... blind, sick, broken. She spoke to me and thought that I was her sister. She was... very important to the knight of thorns...”

Oscar felt like he wanted to hold his breath again, having a bad feeling about where this story was going.

“He took away what was most precious for me right in front of my eyes, so I... I was raising my sword and was about to do the same to him... I... I only snapped out of it, because... because she told me... or more her sister that she thought was me, that she would happily die for her. I.. I couldn't go through with it. This had all been so wrong and then...”

Solaire took another deep breath and then the rest of the words just poured out of him.

“It was Lautrec who killed her, but it could have been me. I almost did it. All because I wanted to inflict pain on the knight of thorns. All because I wanted vengeance for you, Oscar.”

Solaire was actively sobbing now, burying his face in his hands. Oscar could only imagine the pain Solaire had been in. He asked himself how he had reacted would it have been Solaire that had died and not him. How he would have reacted if Solaired had never been reborn from the bonfire.

At the same time, Oscar felt a deep and dark shame bubble up in himself.

“I turned into nothing but a monster!”, Solaire cried out. “And the moment I should have been one, the moment I decided to let Lautrec live, I took the life of two innocent women. That makes me into an even worse monster!”

Oscar flinched upon hearing Solaire talk so ill of himself. He knew that Solaire wasn't... like this. Solaire was compassionate, far too compassionate. It was his compassion that had made him hesitate to kill Lautrec. Lautrec's actions weren't Solaire's fault. If anyone was at fault, it was..

“No, you are not at fault, Solaire.”, Oscar said, grabbing the hands of the sunlight warrior and removing them from his face, staring into his swollen and teary eyes. “When anyone was at fault, it was me. I was trapped in the darkness, that is why I couldn't be reborn, but I didn't make an effort. It was nice, warm, calm and someone was there to keep me company.”

A friend? Did he see the Chosen Undead as a friend? Probably not anymore after the shit they had pulled, but it couldn't be denied they had a history with each other.

“They showed me a world of... peace and serenity. A world in which I didn't had to care about anything in the world. I was so close to just... give in and stay there forever. It was the thought about you, my friend, that made me snap out of it. I knew that you were waiting for me, Solaire, that is why I could return.”

Oscar started into Solaire's face, saw his trembling lip and the unspoken words between them. Instead of saying anything, Oscar simply gave Solaire a tight hug.

“I am sorry, Oscar...”, Solaire sniffled after a while. “I appear to be... not fine after all.”

“I think... neither of us is.”, Oscar said. Or ever has been., he thought. “It's alright, we can figure this out. We have each other after all... we can always figure something out.”

“You don't think less of me?”, Solaire said, his voice hoarse and broken.

“How could I?”, Oscar asked. “You are not responsible for Lautrec's crimes and I promise to you, once we find him, we will make him accountable.”

Solaire finally stopped sniffing and reciprocated the hug. “Thank you... my brother.” (Author's note: This probably won't make too much sense when you haven't followed Amor Fati, which I very much recommend. If you like Oscar and Solaire and like angsty stories, go and read it.

It was fun writing versions of Oscar and Solaire that are not mine and I hope I did them justice. I look forward to the next chapter of Amor Fati.)

#dark souls #fanfiction #oscar of astora #solaire of astora #march of the whumps #request fill #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #acebladespades

[reblog-house]

Every time a character has a weird way of speaking, I absorb it and all that weird stuff becomes part of my vocabulary

#me with skizz and bdubs rn I'm obsessed with how they speak #i constantly call impulse dippledop and pearl pearlypop and cleo clebert #and I can't even describe what bdubs has changed within me but trust me. he's CHANGED me. I constantly find bdubs inspiration in my texts #that creature man has taken over me BRAIN YOUU!!! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS. CANT YOU OBSESS OVER HOW NORMAL PEOPLE TALK! #but nooooo it's got to be BDUBS and SKIZZLE. the two guys who speak the WEIRDEST. sheesh #if you've paid attention that was my inner bdubs coming out #carime rambles #oh that does Not mean I don't steal others' way of speaking though not at all. i constantly say 'cute' the way scott says it #but bdubs and skizzle man... (hehe get it. skizzle man. skizzleman) #anyway #even the way i say 'yes' is DIRECTLY inspired by bdubs I'll have you know! DIRECTLY!! it sounds nonsensical I know but Trust me. #i wouldn't normally just say 'yes' at a request. I say sure or yeah or go ahead. and when i say yes before smth else... yes. bdubs insp. 💯% #lmao didnt even notice i did it here too. the yes thing. whatever. bdubs you have GAINED CONTROL OF MY VOCABULARY YOU

[writer-and-artist27]

Hug Over Coffee

Note: Inspired by this story by @partialdignity. Carim, before you say anything, hear me out. The writing muse grabbed me pretty hard and I’ve been feeling a bit more rested, so no need to worry. I’ll just let this bit of fluff speak for itself. :)

Takes place in an AU where Rem and Vy coexisted together as fellow Masters of Chaldea. I was listening to Pray from Nana Mizuki when writing this.

--------------------------------------

Waking up in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly fun. Vy hated those moments, because her brain already had a mental clock that didn’t allow her to oversleep. Waking up when it was still dark, though? It was one of those few moments that left her frustrated.

Thus, Vy ended up grabbing a pillow to hug to herself while slowly making her way to the Novum Chaldea Dining Hall for a glass of water, in a nightgown and slippers and all. Inwardly, she could already imagine the dismayed reactions of the other Servants at her actions, because unintentionally overworking was enough of a personal trend-setter as is. Wandering through the halls at night in an attempt to fall back asleep would probably give some folk a heart attack. Or earn her a lecture.

Vy could already imagine Archer EMIYA and Ruler Martha in particular being hard on her about it, just because they were her first Gold Archer and Ruler Servants respectfully. It was sweet they worried about her, but there was only so much she could take before she just wanted to hide in a corner from the internal shame.

It didn’t stop Vy from blinking when noticing the light being on the Dining Hall, and peeking in made her heart drop to the bottom of her stomach.

“…Rem-san?”

Rem didn’t look up from her steaming cup of coffee, only sipping at it before nodding towards Vy with a raised eyebrow. With the lights on, Vy could easily see the dark eyebags on Rem’s features. “Hey,” she said after a moment, cup still in her hands as Vy slowly approached. “What are you doing up, Vy?”

“I-I woke up for some reason and couldn’t go back to sleep, so I came here for a glass of water,” Vy admitted, letting go of her pillow with one hand to play with her hair. Maybe she should’ve brushed it before visiting the Dining Hall, because if Rem’s sparkle in her eyes was any indication, Rem had definitely noticed how tussled it was. “What about you? What are you doing up, Rem-san?”

Are you okay, lingered on Vy’s mind, but she knew she couldn’t voice it just yet.

Rem still returned her worried stare with a subdued shrug, a wry smile on her lips as she brought her coffee mug close to her face. “It’s just past midnight, Vy,” she said after a moment, taking a small sip from the steaming brew. A glance at the cup’s contents was enough to make Vy flinch, because it looked like plain bitter black coffee. It was hard enough for Vy to have coffee without hazelnut coffee creamer or condensed milk, simply because Vietnamese iced coffee, cà phê đá, used those two condiments too much to where she couldn’t drink anything else. Mom and Di Thuy’s brews were the best for Vy.

For Rem to have plain black coffee, this late at night, though—

Can I do something?

“I’ll be okay, Vy,” Rem said before Vy could open her mouth. She raised her head past her coffee cup’s rims to smile. “Go get your water and go back to sleep. It’s another day farming tomorrow.”

“I-I know that, but…” Vy took a small breath. “R-Rem-san, could I do something really quick?”

Rem blinked slowly at her. “Sure…?”

Vy felt a small smile of her own start to form on her lips. “You have every right to push me away if you don’t like it.”

“What do you—”

Vy put her pillow aside on a nearby table before dropping to her knees to reach Rem’s sitting height, wrapping her arms around her fellow Master’s neck in a hug. Rem tensed almost immediately, a silent gasp of sorts echoing into Vy’s ear, before a hand gently pressed against the top of her head. “…Vy?”

I should’ve done this sooner.

“Y-You looked like you needed a hug, Rem-san,” Vy whispered, shaking her head and squeezing her friend a bit tighter. “A-And I know when I had trouble sleeping, I’d hug someone I care about.”

“…”

Vy waited a few seconds before pulling away, feeling a shy giggle leave her lips. “Sorry if I did something that made you uncomfy, but if you need anything at all, Rem-san, just let me know. We’re friends first, Masters second. Okay?”

Rem stared at her for what felt like a long time.

Vy blinked back at her before adding in a smaller voice, “I won’t leave if you want me to stay up with you instead.”

Finally, Rem shook her head, and a hand reached out to rest on top of Vy’s head instead. “…Go to sleep, Vy,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

A truer smile formed on Vy’s lips as she nodded, standing back up to grab her pillow. “That’s a promise, Rem-san.”

Rem’s lips quirked upwards in a mix of a frown and a wry smile. “As long as you don’t push yourself.”

“The same to you, Rem-san.”

#fate grand order #mastersona vy #mastersona rem #passing days #short story #gift for a friend #i hope you like this partial #felt like writing it #fluff #friend things #partialdignity

[rococospade]

MissMonie, betareading Choral chapter 21 on the phone with me, and hits a section where Ascelin is speaking Carimic from Anastas’ perspective.

And she fucking comes out with: Anastas only assumes it’s Carimic because he knows Ascelin is ‘Ascelin of Carim’.

Anastas is like “I don’t know what he’s saying it’s just boogedy boogedy noises”

—

I-I can’t I’m in tears

#choral composition #my friends are the best #missmonie talks

[firelinksketches]

Dark Souls OC

Vex of Carim (Not his Real Name)

Thief Class

Age: 19

Purple Eyes Silver Hair

Uses Daggers or a shotel

He’s from Carim I’m tweaking his story around here and there so it might change when I draw his proper ref later on. He’s from Carim. He’s pretty laid back, impatient, and analytical. He’s insanely curious and comes up with a lot of theories and this caused him to question his faith. Vex was born into a well known and prestigious family, his father a Pardoner of Velka (like Oswald) his mother (whatever the medieval version of a socialite is), and his two brothers, one a servant to Fina and the other to Caitha. (names will be revealed later).

Early in his life he was raised to serve one of the goddesses (Velka, Fina or Caitha). When he came of age , he choose neither and was disowned by his family and was seen as an outcast and shunned by people in Carim, people refused to speak with him. Living far away from Carim near the borders of Thourland and Astora, he looted off wagons and traders passing through the routes to the Astoran capital. He wasn’t that angry with being rejected from his family, he knew one way or the other he’ll be on his own. He did have to slit a few throats to get by. He did become an outlaw in Astora, he decided to make it to Thourland and start living a normal life after selling the goods he stole. He bought a small house in the Thourland capital, he also got a job as a calligrapher. On his time off due to his interest, he frequented the Way of the White temples his people hated, he was still interested in what other people believed.

At the temple he met a girl, she seemed kind and both took an interest in each other. She was from a prominent family, was a few years older than him, and very pious. Vex’s lack of faith and her religious beliefs didn’t cause any problems as one would imagine. She was quite tolerant of him and fell for his personality not his faith. Their relationship became intimate. Her becoming pregnant, Vex has overjoyed (kind of hard to imagine XD) However not everyone has a happy ending in the Dark Souls world. The Undead curse swept through one day, he caught the curse. Not wanting his lover or the baby to get the curse he left Thourald. While living off the land in the Great Swamp, he had a vision of Velka in his dream. She told him to go to Lordran, though he was extremely skeptical he left.

He later meets Artoria in the Undead Parish.

___________________

How was that? Excuse my spelling errors XD

#darksouls #dark souls #ocs #soulsborne #my ocs #doodle #art #drawing #fanart #Vex of Carim

[demons-fanatic]

Firekeepers: Cycle of Blind Optimism

Spoilers for Dark Souls I, II and III for the entire post:

Fire Keepers have always been prevalent in the Dark Souls Series. In Dark Souls 1 they seem to be somewhat common and serve a different purpose than in Dark Souls 3. Fire Keepers are always Women, it is unknown why this is but some things in Dark Souls can only be done by Women. They all seemingly have a disability; Anastacia is mute, Quelaag’s Sister is blind and ill, Darkmoon Knightess has a lot of humanity swarming out of her soul(presumably) under her Armor. The Old Women are all blind as well. Irina is blind, as are all Fire Keepers in DS3 Firelink Shrine. It is unknown why most of them are blind, even the uncursed ones, but that’s just how it seems to be.

In Dark Souls 1, Fire Keepers seem to have individual names and identities and are key-part in keeping the local Bonfire lit. However, not every Bonfire in DS1 has a Fire Keeper, usually places of importance, like Firelink Shrine or the entirety of Anor Londo; Which are important places. It can be inferred only important places need Fire Keepers, and maybe Anastacia’s power can provide enough power to have all Bonfires lit. But, when she, Anastacia is dead, only Firelink Shrine’s Bonfire is unkindled.  For Anor Londo, the Darkmoon Knightess’ death shuts down all Anor Londo Bonfires, so consistency is very strange and not one for deciphering. The third and final Fire Keeper in DS1 is Quelaag’s Sister, who barely does anything at all; It can be assumed she was always a Fire Keeper and in her transformed state she’s still trying to keep up her duty and her Bonfire. It’s better to say they’re important for specific Bonfires. Fire Keepers also have notable Souls that are charged by infinite Humanity, this soul is also what connects to the power of the Bonfire; In Dark Souls 1, Humanity is what can keep kindling a Bonfire, making it brighter. So, it just shows that a soul of infinite Humanity is what keeps a Bonfire going. So it can be assessed that Fire Keepers are the world's solution to just keeping a Bonfire forever going, since it is unknown when the first Fire Keeper was created. It is possible the world itself is giving these Women the ability. But, this is really all that can be said about Dark Souls 1 Fire Keepers.

In Dark Souls 2, there are only three Fire Keepers. They are the Old Handmaidens in red Clothes in Things’ Betwixt. They serve no purpose only to reassess players’ points, they drop Human Effigies, but that is no surprise since it is essentially Humanity. They don’t even seem to be keeping any Bonfires alight. But, to get meta, it’s definitely just an oversight by the Writers who chose not to really expand on the lore of Fire Keepers at all, and no issue with that, honestly. It is also possible Shanalotte is a Fire Keeper, however, it is explicitly said she is not by another character; But, that does not mean it’s true.

In Dark Souls 3, Fire Keepers are extremely important and seem to have completely changed. It’s still possible for Women with names to become Fire Keepers if they want. It is seemingly connected to Miracles, at least for Irina it is. She must teach every non-dark Miracle and she will be able to transform Souls into power; The correlation of these aspects are very unknown and seems to be confusing. It seems it is also possible to fail to become a Fire Keeper, as Irina also does but later succeeds. She and Eygon come from Carim and have headed to Lothric for it seems to be the land to become a Fire Keeper, for what reason is unknown despite Carim being a religious and place of Miracles. However, it could be possible because a Firelink Shrine is needed to become one and they are only found in the area of Lothric and Lordran. Speaking of such, there seems to be a special shrine in Lothric. In this shrine, there are 5 thrones that are custom built for each Lord of Cinder, previous people who linked the fire and most likely had their own Fire Keeper. This shrine also seems to be cursed; Certain denizens of the shrine cannot die. These being the Ashen One, Andre, Shrine Handmaiden and the Fire Keeper. But, we’ll focus on the Fire Keeper; She is a young Woman with mid length Silver Hair, Pale Skin and a Blindfold Tiara. This Tiara, as seen from the intro CGI of Dark Souls 3 seemingly has a glimpse into the Age of Dark. But, Fire Keepers have no eyes in Dark Souls 3. They are seemingly purposefully left ignorant, but they also do not care what the Ashen One does with the Fire. She is just subservient to her Ashen One. This is the first obvious change, Fire Keepers are seemingly ordered to serve somebody, not multiple people but one person who will link the fire. Whether they do or not doesn’t matter, they are just there to assist them and transform souls into power. She chants something while transforming these souls, it is unknown why: “Let these souls, withdrawn from their vessels, Manifestations of disparity, Elucidated by fire, Burrow deep within me. Retreating to a darkness beyond the reach of flame, Let them assume a new master, Inhabiting ash, casting themselves upon new forms.” It essentially explains the process of Souls and how they transform and are rebirthed into the body and the Soul of their “New Master”. It’s nothing anybody couldn’t figure out themselves, but is an interesting addition. Now, Dark Souls 3 has a very noticeable apocalyptic vibe and by the end, it is very obvious the Universe is trying to collapse in on itself. The fire keeps getting linked, but the fire cannot sustain itself much longer. However, in the regular world aside from Firelink Shrine; The linking of the fire and the act of a Fire Keeper and her wish for a Champion is mocked to the point that plays are put on like comedies. The world knows of the struggles of keeping the world alight by these Champions, but they do not treat it with respect as they should. And what they also seemingly don’t know is how many times the fire truly has been linked. If the Tower Key is purchased and is explored, for one, a Fire Keeper Soul can be found. The Soul of a Fire Keeper who returned from the Abyss and was tainted by the Dark Sigil. Secondly, going down the tower next to the shrine’s main building will prove a horrific scene: Hundreds of corpses of Fire Keepers, all Silver Haired with the same Black Dress. They are carelessly piled up on the floor, discarded after their Champion links the flame. It’s possible they are killed or are “programmed” to die after the linking of the fire. This also begs a question of how are there so many identical Women? It’s possible they are quite literally spawned right after one dies. She walks into the shrine and picks up the Tiara and dons it, in the intro CGI this is exactly what our Fire Keeper does. This almost maddening scene should truly be terrifying for anyone in the Dark Souls world. So many times the world has been kept alive in this singular place, just to prevent an age that has to come one day anyways. Fire Keepers by now are treated like tools to complete something rather than real people. But, it’s not like this comes out of nowhere, Fire Keepers treat themselves as such. It’s like brainwashed slavery, the slave has been conditioned, probably since birth, their Slavehood is good and they are only worth their work. Of course, Fire Keepers aren’t really like slaves but they are there only to serve others. The whole cycle is something that reflects real life as well. We, as humans and human society have had something presumably our whole lives to keep a system going; Say bankers that keep our money in check. There’s not many things that are common that could ruin this, right? Well, having this system our whole lives gives leeway for most people to take it for granted and never expecting it to completely fail. This is how it is for Fire Keepers and keeping the fire lit for the world of Dark Souls. They most likely do not expect anything to go wrong, despite the mechanics of the world(Hollowing, Dragons/Drakes, etc...). Therefore, Fire Keepers don’t really need to be treated as people if their only purpose is known as that one thing society expects to be taken care of. To move on, Fire Keepers have evolved in this world. It’s still seemingly admired to become a Fire Keeper in the modern world, yet, it seems people like Irina do not exactly become the same kind of Fire Keeper as the Silver Haired ones. All Irina says is let the souls be the strength of the Ashen One, while the Silver Haired Fire Keeper is always asking to bring the Ashes of the Lords and strive to bring them. However, as previously stated; She just does not care how the fire is kept as long as she fulfills her duty which is just to serve her Champion. This Fire Keeper can also be given the Eyes of a Fire Keeper, which are the eyes of the first Fire Keeper who has seen a World without fire. She is intrigued by it, and almost wants it to happen. She says she sees tiny flames, alluding that even in the Dark and possible future age of the Deep Sea due to the many times the flame has been lit; There will always be a Flame in this world even if it is the Age of Dark. Giving hope that the world may start again as it did for the Fire Keeper who saw the Age of Dark and the tiny flames. 

Even in the ending where the flame goes out, the Fire Keeper explicitly states there will be tiny flames that will appear in the world again due to the lords who linked it before. However, this time the world will not be reborn as it is usually; This time, it will be the Age of the Deep Sea. Fire and Water mostly never coexist for they both dissipate each other. Refraining from turning into a Deep Analysis, just know this is the Age the Fire Keeper sees in her vision. It is not known why the Fire Keeper is able to see into the future with eyes from the past, but she can, suggesting Fire Keepers have more to them than they may even realize, almost like an Oracle. 

So, what can be said about Fire Keepers and their connection to the seemingly alive planet? Now, it could be that Gwyn himself created Fire Keepers; But, all Gwyn really seems to do is cast Lightning. He’s never shown to be able to create Humans, in fact Gwyn really hates Humans and Humanity and Gwyn’s only stated to just destroy Dragons, put the Pygmies in the Ringed City and have Children. It could have been the Primordial Serpents, their powers are seemingly unknown, but it could be they were tasked with creating a Fire Keeper Soul and planting them into shrines, at least our shrine in Dark Souls 3, since it seems to have had the most successful links. Though, Primordial Serpents serve no purpose other than to teeter the current linkers of the fire to one side or the other. As said before, it’s most likely Fire Keepers are just the World’s solution to keeping the Bonfire going, but after sometime they just became servants for people who are destined to link the fire. This isn’t the first time the world has seemingly created something to fit a purpose; The Undead themselves are created due to the fact Gwyn refused to let the Age of Dark come about. The World uses its own curse just to resurrect someone to link the fire, despite the odds of the entire Universe(seemingly, keep in mind). So, it’s not entirely out of the question the same Woman is created over and over again just for the same purpose. It’s fair to say that the world itself has taken what it has created and slowly evolved and shaped it into something. But, given by the first Fire Keeper, she was most definitely the same one as our current Fire Keeper. For some reason, probably after the first Fire Keeper, every proceeding Fire Keeper after her was born without eyes so she cannot see a World in the Age of Dark, or possibly the future. Where Fire Keepers are born are never alluded to, it is entirely possible they are plopped into the shrine or are born from the Ash; Which is possible and likely. This is just a copy and paste of a theory I wrote in August! I hope you enjoy.

#Dark Souls III #Dark Souls 3 #Soulsborne #Dark Souls III Theory #Dark Souls 3 Theory #Dark Souls Lore #Dark Souls III Lore #Dark Souls 3 Lore #DS3 Lore #Sorry for all these tags lore

[girlvinland]

Also, speaking of Carim, I currently wear my bloodbite ring like everywhere I go lol

#by bug

[cyntax-err0r]

Weight of the World (1 & 2)

Patches interacts with the NPCs of Firelink Shrine, while an abusive Ashen One is away.

Every now and again the familiar sound of armour clunking up the worn stone stairs of the shrine would stir Patches from thought. They would approach him with a silent glare and voicelessly inquire about his inventory and would either purchase something, much to Patches’ delight, or would abruptly walk away, followed by his belittling words.

There was a period of time the Ashen One didn’t return for an unusually long time, and in that time Patches watched the drifters from his perch, high above in the shrine. It was amusing to watch the blind bird with snowy white hair and long ash-stained robes stumble around the shrine and stub her toes on the steps and walls. She would let out a breathy squeak each time she gently collided with something, feel around with her arms and finally take her place somewhere. No one spoke with her directly, all except the Ashen One, but there was one time Patches did descend from his perch to interact with her.

The Fire Keeper sat along the steps of the inner circular shrine, fiddling with a loose strand of thread from her robes and quietly hummed to herself. Upon hearing the shuffling of greaves, she lifted her head and called out, “Welcome home, Ashen One.”

But her small smile faltered. “Ah, thine footfalls art lighter than mine Ashen One.”

Her observation took Patches by surprise, considering he was taller and no doubt heavier than the Ashen One. He looked down at his outfit and realized it was the iron greaves and boots he wore that gave him that clunky armour sound, but the fabric shirt he wore on his torso and nothing else helped his footsteps sound lighter.

Patches let out a chuckle. “Huh. Not very blind for a blind girl, are we?”

The Fire Keeper visibly recoiled. “Thoust a wicked one; begone.”

“Aw, now, now,” he crouched low before her, levelling his eyes to where hers used to be. “what has that horrid Ashen Tart been telling you?”

“They told’th me of thy trickster ways, and how thee would betray thy own compatriots.”

“Trickster?” Patches couldn’t help the manic grin growing on his face. “Oh, absolutely. Spot on, in fact. Now, what’s all this about betraying my friends?” He mimicked a hurt tone. “I would never do such a thing, bird.”

“I don’t believe thee. I am told’th thee did cast mine Ashen One’s true friend down a well, and that yond thee donn’d his armour and pretended to be him.”

Patches playfully shrugged, not that the Fire Keeper could see it. “Alright, I admit, I did that. And how remarkably easy it was to get him to strip that laughable armour off - but I digress. Old boy and I made up. We’re all friends now!”

She didn’t fully believe that he made amends with the poor, jolly knight, but his truthful admittance is what caused the Fire Keeper to ease her suspicions of him… for now.

She craned her head to look up at him. Patches whistled and gave a little wave, and her head followed the sound to look straight ahead. She jumped slightly in surprise.

“Thou art a solitary being. What mad’eth thee come down hither?”

“Oh,” Patches rubbed the back of his bald head. “I had enough of being a fly on the wall to the goings on here. Thought I’d come down,” the Fire Keeper could hear the grin on the face in his tone. “stir up some trouble.”

The Fire Keeper’s lips contorted to a grimace of disgust. “Is’t within thy nature to disturb the delicate balance of those who seek’th solace hither?”

“Hear me now, bird,” he said. “I ain’t the one to meddle where his nose don’t belong. You’re better off giving that question to your beloved Ashen Tart.”

“Just as thee has’t nay business stripping yond po’r knight of his armour, and disturbing our contenders.”

The toothy, almost malicious, grin fell from Patches’ face for a moment, before awkwardly chuckling, “Not one to pick up on sarcasm, are you? I didn’t actually mean I’d cause trouble-“

From her seat on the semi-eroded stone steps, the Fire Keeper stood to her full height. Not as tall as Patches, her figure and aura possessed a cursed air around her, and managed to send a fright through the tall pale man. “Thou shan’t spread any mischief whilst thou take’th shelter in the shrine, lest thou wishes to face wrath.”

Patches held up his hands in defense. “Alright, alright! I read you - loud and clear!”

Satisfied with his answer, the Fire Keeper took her seat once more on the eroded steps. “Then thou art most welcomed.”

But Patches remained to stare down at the Fire Keeper. After several, silent moments passed, the Fire Keeper’s idle humming halted. “Oh, does’t the vagrant have more to say?”

“Yeah.” His light and spirited tone evaporated to a dour mood. “I see a lot that goes on here.”

“Oh?” The Fire Keeper entertained him.

“And I see how that Tart treats you.” He said with a vindictive tone. “The way they slap you around with every new shiny toy they find. You don’t have to take that.”

At his confrontational language, the Fire Keeper recoiled slightly. “I am surprised thee care enow to approach’th me, but it doest not matter, for I cannot die so easily.”

Patches huffed at her complacent attitude of remaining nothing more but a servant to the next Lord, and a training dummy. “Death doesn’t matter much, but you’ve still got feelings. How’d that last beheading feel? Not great, eh?”

The Fire Keeper pursed her lips, and remained silent for a moment, before speaking in a quieter voice, “I… Mine own feelings matter not. I understand’th mine place in the ordinary; what mine fate hast becometh.”

Patches went to speak, but the soft, shaky voice of the Fire Keeper kept his words at bay. She clutched at the worn fabric of her ash-stained sleeves. “Wicked One,” she sounded pained. “prithee, grant me solitude.”

He hesitated, staring as she drew herself inward, but he knew when it was time to leave well enough alone. Wordlessly he stepped away, interested in the dark figure in armour that resembled a gargoyle peeking from the archway to spy down below, further into the shrine.

But the Fire Keeper called quietly after Patches. “Thy concern is appreciated, O Wicked One.”

-

Eygon of Carim - a knight dressed in armour that resembled some sort of horrific creature - watched a pale maiden, wrapped up in creams and whites, from above. Irina, the one Eygon was so devoted to, sat upon what seemed to be the only dry patch of stone in the moist darkness of the shrine’s lowest floor.

Patches had seen him before. He entered the shrine to visit her from afar a few times, merely to silently observe and see if she was alright in the care of the Ashen One. Once satisfied, he would sulk around the outside of the shrine before taking off somewhere else.

This visit didn’t seem to be like his others, Patches noticed from where he spoke with the Fire Keeper. Eygon moved slow and carefully, as not to disturb the joints in his armour too much. He didn’t call out to her, didn’t engage or make himself known. He stood in the shadows, spying on the poor blonde girl. Patches had no issue playing along with Eygon’s silent act.

It was after a few more moments of peering down at the nun, who slowly swayed her head and hummed, that Eygon stepped away from the arch and crossed his arms.

“What business have you to bother me?” His deep, rumbling voice flowed from the open mouth of the gargoyle helmet he wore. “Go kiss someone else’s ass. I’m not in the mood for your foolery.”

Patches tilted his head and smirked at the Carim knight. He knew exactly what that tone meant; he was defensive. Like he was caught in the act of doing something he’s ashamed of. “Know of me,” Patches kept his voice quiet, much like the knight’s own voice. “wittol?”

A low growl resounded from within Eygon. “You’ve made a number of enemies. Seems like you’re in the market for another one.” Eygon reached behind him, never moving his head from gazing at Patches, for his atrociously large hammer that leaned into the corner he stood in.

But there was something about Carim knights that Patches was intimately familiar with. Rude, crass and as prickly as they were, not often did they enact wrath upon others who caused petty offense.

Patches crossed his arms and shrugged. “All you knights with your maidens you’re all so devoted to - how’s a bloke not to think you don’t slave over her feet? But not you, eh?”

Patches stepped quietly, closer to the archway to gaze down at the nun, Irina. He pulled himself back to face Eygon. “Not with an evil creature like that.”

“Obvious, isn’t it?” Eygon whispered. “A pitiful failure. Nothing but an attraction to perverse darkness, but even a woman cursed as her deserves her dignity. Begone.”

Unbothered, Patches complied. “Alright, then. No sense in talking to you. Your lady down there,” Patches had begun to make his way towards the stairs that descended lower into the shrine. “seems more apt for conversation. Maybe I’ll-“

Eygon slammed his impossibly large hammer down dangerously close to Patches, kicking up clouds of ash and debris. His hammer shook the ground, and sent an ear-shattering bang echoing throughout the shrine.

“You won’t touch her.” Eygon seethed, lifting his head to stare directly into Patches’ eyes. “Not without a fight.”

“Ashen One?”

A soft voice called out, just loud enough for both men to hear. “Ashen One,” she called again. “is that you?”

Eygon hoisted the hammer back up the rest against his shoulder. “No, my lady. It’s only me.” He spoke louder towards the archway.

“Oh, Eygon,” her voice lifted in tone and sounded much happier than the dreary inquiry she had before. “it’s been so long since you came to visit me. Won’t you come here, please?”

Patches noticed the subtle way Eygon’s form turned frigid. A grin formed across his face, turning upwards in a most evil way. “What’s wrong? Don’t all you Carim knights dream of ravishing your lady? Or, is it that you’re right scared of her?” Patches purposefully forced out a laugh that dripped with venom. “Oh mate, you should’ve stopped being scared of the dark when you were a kid.”

“Say what you wish,” Eygon threatened in a low tone. “but I will kill you. Not now, but upon our next meeting I’ll separate the flesh from your oversized head. You’ll have wished you’d eaten your words.”

Eygon pushed past Patches, making sure to collide his armoured shoulder with his, and descended the stairs to where Irina spent her days.

Patches watched, silently above, in the shadow of the stone archway. The dark knight firmly planted the top of his hammer onto the ground, before kneeling before the pale nun. “What is it you needed, Irina?”

“Touch me, please.” Irina held up her hand in the blank space in front of her. “I- I have tremendous news.”

Eygon stared at the warm, soft palm Irina offered to him. She appeared simply angelic; the lit candles beside her created a heavenly glow around her in the dark, but all Eygon saw was the amplified darkness that plagued her eternally. He didn’t move, and was silent for too long.

Patches noticed his hesitation had turned into an uncertain withdrawal. It was clear to Patches now: this knight wasn’t just scared, he was terrified of her.

“Eygon? Where have you gone?” Irina’s outstretched arm faltered, but at his name, Eygon answered.

“I am here.” He pressed the palm of his gauntlet against her’s, and Irina’s fingers closed around his hand, feeling the intricacies of the design.

“It is you.” Irina whispered. “I am… I am glad it’s you. This Ashen One, he gave me a tome that felt most terrible against my fingers.”

Eygon stiffened. “Tell me you did not read it.”

Irina shook her head, and gave her knight a demure smile. “I did not. A woman - a witch - stopped me before I could. She guided my hand to a tome that tickled me with its radiance.” She gave a quiet, gleeful chuckle. “It’s bountiful light seems to have staved off the darkness that nibbles upon me. Perhaps my path towards becoming a Fire Keeper is not lost.”

A Fire Keeper. This information surprised Patches. He had assumed she was nothing more but a broken nun - a dirty cleric, but she was nothing of the sort.

“Eygon,” she started. “I know my curse wards you away from me, but the darkness is not in my presence. May I touch your skin?”

“...Are you so certain you feel the absence of the dark? Remember my oath to you.”

“I remember clearly. No, it seems gone. I feel positively elated.”

It was true that her smile turned up more than usual, and a healthy flush was present in her cheeks. Eygon pulled his hand away from hers to unclip the clasps of his gauntlet, and pulled it off to reveal his bare flesh. Experimentally, he placed only the pads of his fingertips against hers, then slowly enveloped her hand in his.

Irina let out a breathy gasp. “Oh, oh Eygon, you are so warm. I never could have imagined you felt this way. I can only wonder what you may look like.”

Patches grimaced at the sickly sweet scene unfold before him, and stepped away before he became a witness to the lovelorn fools’ potential union. Lovers were items that already made his stomach twist in knots, but secret lovers? He nearly vomited at the thought. There was one thing that stuck with him through all of that snooping; the corruption the new Fire Keeper nearly fell to by way of the Ashen One.

Perhaps the world could have done well with the loss of one more holy person, but the loss of a fire attendee? No, Patches knew where his hatred began and ended, and this betrayal was another strike against the Ashen One for him.

#Dark Souls #Dark Souls 3 #Unbreakable Patches #Firekeeper #Eygon of Carim #Irina of Carim #Ashen One #Eygon x Irina #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #Liver Writes #Cyntax_Error