Fall of the Abysswalker

This is not a tale of love and cheerfulness. Nor does it take place in a bright, colorful land filled with blooming flowers and singing trees. It is a tale of loss and sorrow. Taking place in a cursed realm where humanity is rare and fought to the death for. A land where the only thing you are promised is a cold and lonely end. A land filled with horrific creatures and perilous traps. It was the world called Lortran that this tale takes place.

Of the Great Lord Gwyn's Four Knights, he was the youngest. With his unbending will, he served the Great Lord Gwyn until he drew his last breath. He was the one graced with the title Abysswalker. His true name was Artorias. Lord Gwyn had blessed him with the wolf ring, making him as unflinching and stoic as his will.

Contrary to what many believe, Artorias was not a large extreme muscled man, rather he had a lithe body with lean muscle. He possessed incredible strength for one his size. This is evident in the fact that he wielded a great sword so heavy that it is said not even the Executioner could lift it with both hands. Coupled with his strength, he was also gifted with above average speed.

But alas, I digress for if you are reading this then you are hoping to learn of his demise, not his appearance.

Artorias had been wandering through the Darkroot Basin, tracking a group of Darkwraiths. He walked with his mighty blade resting on his left shoulder, held by his left hand. He had walked the path many times, usually accompanied by the Great Grey Wolf Sif, at his side. Such was not the case this night however and he walked through the cursed forest in solitude.

As he walked, he struck down anything in his way, leaving a trail of cursed foliage and stone golems in his wake. The way Aptorias wielded his massive weapon was with swift, downward swings, always one handed and it was never more than one slash before his enemy lay at his feet dead. These lesser creatures meant nothing to him they were just blocking his path and that was not acceptable.

He was nearing his destination, a clearing in the very center of the Basin. Artorias stepped out into the treeless area, putting his left side forward, holding his blade in a readied stance. The Darkwraiths immediately charged at him from all sides, weapons raised to strike. The Abysswalker merely pivoted on his heel the moment they got into range of his sword. Spinning, slashing at and killing the dark warriors before they could even see his eyes. As they fell to the ground, Artorias again lifted his sword to rest upon his shoulder, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly to still his pounding heart.

This was only one of his great feats for he lives a rather short life compared to his brethian. As amazing a moment in his life this was however, it was not how he fell. No, that took place in the very depths of the New Londo Ruins, where the four Kings are now sealed away.

New Londo was once a great city, led by four Kings and filled with people. The city rested over a great body of water, much like another famous city in a different world. It was when Four Kings succombed to the darkness that they called upon the Abysswalker for help.

Artorias descended further and further into the bowels of the slowly dying New Londo. As he neared the Chamber one of his rings began to emit an eerie glow causing him to smile. The ring granted him his name sake ability. The ability to traverse the black Abyss that was slowly consuming the great city. Artorias held up his left hand, the ring shining even brighter than before the blace void of the King's former throne room. Once he stepped inside, he was enveloped in the blackness.

It happened quickly, so quickly in fact that the wolf knight barely had time to lift his great shield to stop a black sword from running him through. Artorias pushed the sword away and went to thrust his great sword at his attacker but before it connected it was slammed to the ground by another sword. The Abysswalker quickly jumped back and brought his shield up, holding his sword with the tip aimed at one of his opponents. His eyes trained on them both. They moved in again, one bringing his sword down from the right, the other from the left in an attempt to cleave him from shoulder to waist. Artorias blocked them both, raising his shield against the right and his sword against the left, barely stopping the blades.

A sword suddenly burst through his chest, piercing his armor like scissors to paper. Even with the weapon through him he did not move. The swords he was holding back rose before slamming down against his guards and almost putting him on one knee. The sword in him was suddenly torn from his back before he felt it slash across his shoulder blades. This was the first time he had ever had his guard broken and as the two blades came down again they sent him to his knees. He swung his right arm out, tossing his shield away as he stood slowly and lifted his sword up to grasp it in both hands.

Artorias knew he would not leave this place, that he would die in this forsaken void. Three of the Kings stood around him, two in front and one behind him. He now sa and one behind him. He now saw the fourth King standing away from the others, his sword pointed at Artorias as he swung the blade in a wide sideways arc and began to charge at him. The two directly in front of him moved to flank him on either side while the one behind lifted his sword high into the aie, preparing the kill strike.

The next few moments can only be described as a blur. The Four Kings all moved in at once, swords being brought downwards at the Wolf Knight. With a thunderous roar, Artorias spun, his sword being carried by momentum and sheer force as the four closed in. The blade was struck, sending it to the ground in silence. Artorias closed his eyes, knowing this was his end, and slowly exhaled to still his pounding heart. He felt the four blades tear into him and shred armor and flesh alike. As he began to fall to the ground he said the words, "O great grey one keep me, watch over my soul whilst I make my final walk across the Abyss. Taketh my blade and wield it against the trespassers of my name. Fare thee well, Sif, my oldest and closest friend."

And with that, Artorias the Abysswalker fell.

Now his soul resides in his grave. The Sacred Sword's Tomb, which lies deep in the Darkroot Garden, guarded by the Great Grey Wolf Sif.

He was not mourned. No ceremony given. No prayer said. Proving what a harsh and absolutely cruel world Lordran is. I write this account to chronicle the descent into insanity and hatred this world has fallen into since the Age of Fire began all those centuries ago. I shall continue to do so for as long as I am able.

Your forever and eternally sincere,

The Eternal Wanderer