|Dark Hearts, Darker Souls
Author: The Silent Comedian PM
Ones appearance is but a minor piece of who they may be, it is the content of their soul and their actions that represent them. This is the story of an accursed Undead Knight's travels in Lordran as the Chosen Undead.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure - Knight - Words: 1,289 - Published: 06-01-12 - id: 8173351
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author note: My first attempt at writing a Fanfic, hopefully I didn't do too shabby since it's obviously far from perfect. More so since I lack a program capable of correcting any errors I may have made, so I apologize if my grammar or punctuation get on the bad side of those that take it seriously.
Please give me constructive criticism, I really need it and greatly appreciate it.
It was so long ago, how many months had it been since that accursed day where the cleric knights drove the hordes of the undead to the North? No, not months, years was a more accurate word to use in this occurrence, it had been years before where the corralling of the undead had begun, yet it had only been three years since the chosen undead had been brought to the North. Though at one point the undead had been a great knight fighting for the beliefs belonging to those of the Way of the White, yet upon death having been branded with the Darksign automatically caused those who had revered him in life to despise him in the afterlife. Once a great knight, now he is nothing less than a piece of dried flesh attempting to hold onto what small shred of sanity remains before the hollowing that happens to every undead at one point or another.
Lars, once a man now a deceased creature bound to lose his mind on a wim, the curse of never dying is a brutal one that will forever plague the ones affected by it. Sitting alone in his cramped cell the knight stared at the ground, huddled in his corner fearing the inevitable end of his days as the howls of the insane filled the halls outside the wrought iron gate keeping him penned in. His only means of passing time was to espend time thinking or tinkering with a chain which had once connected him to the wall, all the while the knight's mind was being muddled by the effects of decay. All hope had automatically been abandoned as soon as the gates of the Asylum opened before Lars, yet now he understood the true futility behind attempting to escape-having attempted on multiple occasions- all that remained was that small shred of faith that the knight had in his gods, though even that was beginning to wain.
The sound of a grate opening disturbed the disturbing peace usually experienced in the lonely cell driving the still sane undead from his ever-wandering mind, glancing at the iron gate door to his left brought the realization that it was still locked. Perhaps this was just another trick of the mind, the reality that he was finally beginning to go hollow? There the sound went again followed by a flash of bright light from the ceiling, perhaps the gods finally decided it was time to collect the soul of a forgotten warrior that had fallen in battle? Lars realized that this was not the case as an Elite Knight that usually guarded the asylum tossed a corpse down into the cell before shutting the grate yet again. The undead's first guess was that this was the new food that he would be expecting, no more rotting rat flesh, now he was being forced to eat the flesh of his own, he would be damned to the endless Abyss for this without a doubt. Until a small object caught the faintest rays of light from within the dim cobblestone cell.
Standing from his usual spot in the corner Lars traversed the short distance to the corpse before kneeling next to the deceased, patting at the object hope filled the undead knight's mind yet once more as he realized that this was no normal object, but a key. This single object may mean the difference between life on the outside or death within the Asylum walls. Staring intently at the rusted door Lars felt a glimmer of hope arise in him, taking a step towards the gate he readied the key in his left hand but also focused on steadying his shaking right hand which held his only means of self-defense, a sword-hilt that had reminded him of his days as a knight.
Setting the key into the slot set bellow the knob, the key seemed to fit. Taking a deep breath the undead turned the key-click- the door that had barricaded him from the outside was unlocked, the path to freedom was now in the grasp of this single undead soldier. Pulling down and back the cell door opened with a loud squeek which indicates that it had not been cared for in years.
Taking a few cautious steps from the cell Lars held the hilt he'd found in both hands, steadying the weapon before himself the knight headed forward his shadow being cast against the mossy cobblestone as his footsteps echoed off the walls. On his journey forward he passed three undead, though not completely hollow from the look of it the once living men were nearing the end of their process holding on to what little shred of sanity they had left. In a way he pitied these lost creatures, it was only too obvious that he would eventually begin to follow in their footsteps and that had haunted his dreams for a long time now.
Reaching a rust covered ladder the Knight took hold of a rung, set his foot on the bottom rung and then tested to see if the vintage ladder would be able to hold his weight without cracking or shattering. Luckily for him it did just that, slowly pulling his heavy weight upwards it was a blessing when solid ground found its way beneath Lars' feet yet again. Heading forward yet again a courtyard welcomed the Undead, stepping onto the gray grass he looked up at the rays of the sun which gleamed off his metal armor, the flesh of the undeads skin was wrinkled, devoid of any water, and most of all it was rotting. He would have to take care of this eventually, hopefully Lars would be able to find a human soul or else his hollowing would advance upon him far too quickly.
As he examined the courtyard an object caught his attention, a pile of what could only be described as powder with a metal rod sticking out of it. If he remembered correctly this was the remains of the undead brought to one place, a bonfire where he may rest to close any wounds he may have sustained. These bonfires had always had an odd effect when it came to the undead of this land. Placing a palm over the pile of powder Lars felt a small piece of himself leave his psychi and enter the bonfire, perhaps it was a small piece of his humanity, whatever it had been it managed to set the pile of dust alight.
Unsure of what to do next the knight took a seat and stared into the comforting glow of the feeble fire, he had felt tired moments before but now every trace of power he had excerted was returned. The feeling was beautiful. Closing his eyes Lars felt his mind begin to wander until eventually he nodded off into a strange peace he had not known for many years. A sleep without nightmares.
All rights to their respective owners, I don't own Dark Souls nor do I own the concept of hollows or the story for that matter since at the moment it's merely a retelling of the tutorial 'level'... I felt it was an important piece of the game's story.