Abysswalker: A Dark Souls Story

Yes, indeed. In the Age of Ancients, before light, dark-- or even time itself-- there existed the everlasting dragons. The mighty creatures ruled the Lands Between from towering archtrees scattered throughout the foggy oblivion. That is, until the discovery of the first flame by Gwyn. Gwyn shared the first flame’s warmth three other individuals: Nito, the Lord of Pestilence and Death; The Witch of Izalith, master of pyromancy; and finally the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten. The pygmy’s dark soul was distributed amongst all humanity alike, fostering a profound underlying association through every individual. A shared resolution that drew the wary attention of many, especially Gwyn, now the Lord of Sunlight.

Gwyn went to war against the everlasting dragons, seeking to conquer and tame the vast wasteland alongside his army of silver knights and his fellow Lords. Battles raged on fiercely for centuries following, a grueling war that deteriorated men’s minds and bodies. As the fighting continued, little progress had been made on finding how to rid the dragons of their impenetrable armor, much to the chagrin of Gwyn and his men. Morale was scarce in the silver knight’s camps; a sober silence resting reticent in the air as the men lethargically completed tedious daily responsibilities.

Until, the dreary lull was suddenly lifted away one evening. As soldiers once again carried out their monotonous chores, the rattling of dozens of axles pierced through the customary stillness. Every knight began to turn their attention to the camp’s front gate; some eagerly anticipated much needed supplies as others warily observed the unfolding situation from a distance in case a fight were to ensue. The wagons were filled with fellow brothers in arms, clad in the unique shining silver armor of Gwyn’s elite army. As the carts entered the camp, fresh silver knights unloaded and formed ranks dutifully before the one who was evidently their leader. This silver knight exuded an aura of authority and power, despite outwardly looking no different than his fellow knights. His lustrous silver armor caught the setting sun perfectly; which remained unblemished not from the knight’s cowardice or inactivity, but rather from uncanny precision in combat combined with a talent for self preservation. Standing before the other knights, armed with an elegant spear, the knight called for silence and began to make his decree.

“I, Captain Ornstein, come bearing the words of Lord Gwyn himself.” As he makes his declaration, Ornstein extracts a sheet of parchment from a pouch hanging on his belt. “My valiant silver knights, I commend all of you for many battles well-won. This is why it brings me great joy to deliver vital new information which has recently come to light. It is now known that the glorious power of sunlight is capable of finally peeling back their infernal stone scales. Our numbers have been bolstered significantly by the recruitment of the giants and other foot-soldiers from remaining villages within the Lands Between, and the time has come to end this holy war. For those lacking skill in miracles, stores of gold pine resin have been sent with each cart. The final battle will take place in a fortnight, at the base of the Great Hollow. Familiarize yourselves with the novel methods of combat discussed, and I eagerly await our inevitable victory. Ira in mortem lucis”

Cheers erupted from the ephemeral silence that followed Ornstein’s declaration. Men cast weapons down, embraced comrades, and echoed the Lord of Sunlight’s mantra, “Ira in mortem lucis”. Some knights completely collapsed upon hearing the news, astonished that at long last, this immutable war could be coming to an end. A few seemed to have little reaction at all, among them being a knight of particularly impressive stature, the one called by others as the “Wild Wolf” or Knight Artorias. He stood isolated from the larger masses of celebrating troops, observing their jubilance from a distance. Artorias was one of few in the entire army capable of wielding a large greatsword: a weapon he utilized with ruthless efficiency. His fighting style was what earned him his “Wild Wolf” moniker: a vicious, aggressive combat style incorporating a high level of dexterity and speed, in spite of his impractically-sized weapon of choice; combined with a low, thrashing, bestial stance that brutally cleaved through scores of opponents ill-prepared for his unbridled ferocity.

Outside of battle, those lucky few able to engage Artorias in conversation saw a strikingly different side to the brutish knight: a more quiet, reserved side. All that was known about Artorias’s younger years was that he hailed from a no-name village, one of many within the fog that became consumed by the Abyss after the creation of the First Flame. Conversations were always brief with Artorias, if there was even any conversation to be had at all.

That night was yet another one of these stoic, silent nights for Artorias. He partook in the festivities in a way that suited him: relishing in the fact that he and his comrades would live to see the sun rise another day. He observed as knights cast aside their bulky armor and engaged in uproarious bacchanalia. Men throughout the camp sang drinking songs while dancing, and once tired of dance, jumped straight into jovial fraternal combat. A small group of knights even got into the supply of gold pine resin that had just been delivered, smiting various unfortunate stumps and shrubs in the surrounding the encampment, to the knights’ great delight.

As he gazed over his jolly comrades, Artorias thought of the upcoming battle. While the information provided by Lord Gwyn indicated that the fight would be heavily in their favor, something about the brazen declarations of victory pestered Artorias’s thoughts. Artorias had never met Gwyn face to face, (since he had only just recently enlisted in one of the most recent waves of recruitments) but all who lived within Lordran knew of the powerful deity that brought light and order to their world. Tales of Gwyn’s achievements were considered sacred stories, and had many faiths created out of their ideologies.

Despite all this, Artorias still doubted. He was new to this army, but he was no stranger to the unspeakable horrors that roam in the fog. Creatures consumed by the deadly embrace of the abyss terrorized any village that managed to stay standing amidst the ongoing war between Gwyn and the dragons.

Artorias himself had once come upon one of these dragons in his aimless trek of survival. Weary after a long day’s travel, Artorias ducked into a large cave to escape the elements. Unfortunately, it was already too late when Artorias realized his mistake. Laying not a stone’s throw away from Artorias was an enormous ancient dragon, who awoke when disturbed by Artorias’s presence. Laying his eyes upon the majestic, terrifying creature, Artorias knew that despite all his strength, he was no match for an opponent of this caliber. As Artorias slowly raised his hefty blade, the very air around him boiling and crackling with energy as the dragon prepared to turn him to ash.

Before he could be incinerated, a resounding battlecry bellowed out from a short distance away within the fog. “IRA IN MORTEM LUCIS!” Suddenly, an entire squadron of silver knights emerged from the fog, ignoring Artorias where he stood as they took their positions just outside the mouth of the cave. In the middle of the group, one soldier stood above the rest, armed with an ornate silver spear. The soldier had an unwavering resolution and stoic, gripping his spear with a graceful yet assertive strength, reflecting his years of experience. Following a brief moment of intense silence, the soldier calmly raised his spear, shouting, “Archers! Draw! Fire!“.

The rapid, consecutive snaps of bowstrings echoed through the fog, hurling massive projectiles half of Artorias’s height at the dragon. As expected, the arrows did very little to actually hurt the dragon, ricocheting uselessly off the dragon’s stiff, stony exterior.

“SHIELDS AT THE READY! ASSUME FORMATION!” The captain cried, the unit moving quickly and cohesively into position, endure the dragon fire head on. They had hardly finished forming up when the dragon unleashed its blazing barrage. Immediately, the entire squadron was consumed by raging flames, held back only by the incredible strength of the front line, their shields ejecting the breath outwards in all directions. The blast of wind and heat blew Artorias off his feet, scorching greenery in the vicinity. The indomitable knights continued fending off the relentless attack until the dragon grew tired and ceased its barrage. Finally able to see the aftermath, Artorias watched in amazement as the glistening squadron of silver knights rose from where they stood, untouched. Their shields glowed red and billowed steam, while all of the earth around them had burnt to ash.

The captain emerged from the compact group, raising his spear with zeal, “THIS IS IT MEN. WE FINISH THIS NOW!” At his declaration, the other knights cried out replies of vehement approval as they commenced their final attack. Artorias had risen from where he had fallen by now, unable to sit idly by while a fight of this caliber transpired before his very eyes. The dragon was also far from done, and they were going to need all the help they could get. The soldiers began their aggressive approach on the great dragon, their archers laying down a suppressing fire from far behind them. The dragon roared with animosity as they grew closer, beginning to ready its own counterattack.

Artorias joined the charge as well; not as an armor-clad, honor-bound knight like the rest of the soldiers, but simply as a man who desired nothing more than to survive in a world that thought nothing of him. Several knights’ charges were cut short, being quickly crushed or swept away by the dragon’s enormous, flailing limbs. Amongst all of the other soldiers, only the captain that Artorias had taken notice of appeared to have any success with the dragon. He deftly dodged with ease as impossibly fast attacks were hurled his way, further infuriating the dragon.

He reached the dragon just before Artorias, wasting no time to gracefully leap onto the beast’s left arm, accelerating as he swiftly made his way up the dragon’s body with grace and precision. Artorias was confident enough in his own agility, having to traverse unforgiving terrains in a timely manner to ensure his own survival. But the way the spearman moved was like an art, or a dance, completely unlike the rough-hewn movements Artorias had honed throughout his life. Artorias began to ascend the dragon not far behind the captain, doing his best to close the distance between them.

Artorias’s slower approach eventually resulted in the dragon becoming aware of Artorias on his right arm. The dragon snarled with irritation, reacting quickly to Artorias’s presence with its other arm.

“Damn.” The ground below Artorias was too far and too dangerous to resort to now, his only option was to block the blow. Artorias raised his sword and braced for the incoming attack, fueled by his own burning rage against his cruel fate. The merciless claw of the dragon slammed into Artorias with a massive boom. It felt as though an entire kingdom had been thrust down upon Artorias’s chest, nearly crushing every bone in his body. But nevertheless, he remained where he stood, holding the colossal fist against his impenetrable defense.

“If I can remove one limb, this fight will be all but won for everyone else...” Artorias thought to himself as he continued to struggle against the overwhelming might of the dragon.

Out of the corner of his eye, Artorias noticed a flicker of motion. Turning his head slightly revealed the incoming tail of the dragon, swinging in rapidly to finish off the job.“I can’t block both of these... dammit.” Moments before the tail could crush Artorias underneath its weight, a flash of light and the rumble of thunder erupted through the air, sending a static energy throughout the entire area. A bolt of lightning ripped through the dragon’s tail, causing it to recoil and shriek in pain. Where the bolt struck, stood the captain Artorias noticed before, already readying his spear for another blinding drive. Falling off of the dragon from where he had been standing, Artorias heard another thunderclap, far louder this time, and noticed the captain was no longer where he had been standing. A perfectly neat hole had been created in the dragon’s long exposed neck. Relief and exhaustion washed over Artorias’s body, stone scales crashing to the ground around him as his consciousness slowly faded, unable to move his body after his incredible feat of strength.

He awoke some time later in a medical tent. Empty, except for a steely looking blond man sitting to Artorias’s right, who lifted his head when Artorias awoke.

“How are you feeling?” The man asked in an indifferent tone, his brilliant blue eyes piercing straight through Artorias.

Artorias groaned as he slowly sat up, a dull pain pulsing throughout his body, emanating from the middle of his back. “I’ll be fine.” He replied after adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. “Where have you brought me?”

The blond man scoffed, “What’s important is that you’re alive. You would’ve been a blood smear on stone if I hadn’t saved your life.”

Artorias recalled the valiant captain who had appeared to wield lightning itself, and who dealt the killing blow on the dragon. “Be that as it may, but I still don’t know you, or trust you.” Artorias replied, irritated by the soldier’s attitude.

“As you should. My name is Ornstein, though- most call me Dragonslayer.” replied Ornstein, making no attempt to hide his vanity. “But who I am is not what’s important here, who are you?”

“Artorias.”

“No family name?” Ornstein prodded.

“No, I have no family.” Artorias responded. This was true, Artorias’s village had fallen many years ago, he scarcely remembered the faces of the people who had raised him.

“I see. And this...” Ornstein gestured disdainfully at the massive, chipped, and worn blade Artorias had been carrying at his side, “...is your weapon of choice?”

“Yes. I find it satisfactory in most battles.” said Artorias, slowly growing more irritated with Ornstein.

Ornstein muttered something under his breath before looking back up at Artorias in bed, closely examining his face. He thought for a moment before speaking again.

“Well... Artorias.” As he spoke, Ornstein rose from his seat, “Seeing as you do owe me some degree of debt, I have decided to make you an offer.”

“I don’t care.” said Artorias tersely, wary now of anything that came out of this talented, but painfully arrogant captain’s mouth.

“Oh but you will, the illustrious silver knights of Lord Gwyn himself are recruiting en masse at this very moment. There are places for warriors even like you; your raw potential will be honed to its maximum efficiency in the name of the great Lord of Sunlight himself.”

Artorias huffed indignantly, “I have no interest in serving self righteous gods.”

Ornstein continued, unfazed by Artorias’s outright denial, “Very well, fight for whatever cause you like. It makes no different to me, so long as you do it with the strength that I saw in that fight earlier. No ordinary man, talented or not, bears the weight of an enraged, mature dragon’s strike and is able to wake up let alone sit up and talk the next day. I can assure you that with your talent, you will have a high-ranking role in Gwyn’s army, a position that will only become more coveted once Gwyn wins this war once and for good. The outcome has all but been decided already, give it some thought.” With his final words Ornstein rose to leave Artorias, stopping briefly right in front of the tent’s entrance, “Or be a fool and don’t, it will make no difference in the end.”

Artorias was pulled away from his rumination by the sounds of the final fires going out in the camp as the soldiers finally began to turn in for the night. He remembered the reluctance he initially felt taking Ornstein’s offer, a feeling he couldn’t shake even to this day. Still, Ornstein and Artorias’s situations were one in the same. They became comrades by need, not by choice. Artorias watched as Ornstein walked close by him, ignoring his presence as he headed towards the senior officer’s tent. Once all the lights went out, Artorias stared up into the starry sky, at the bright moon that cast a pale, gentle light over his battered armor. After saying a silent prayer to the night sky, Artorias returned to his tent as well, to rest and prepare for a climatic finale.