In a time long ago, the Age of Dark was pierced by brilliant flames that brought life and disparity to the world. These flames were kindled by the souls of those who loved the world, first by Lord Gwyn, and then many others after him.
Unfortunately, the Bearer of the Curse, when given the opportunity – walked away.
Untouched now by the Curse, the Age of Dark bothered them none, though as the flames died, the Age of Dark spread far beyond Lordran, to cover the whole world. Kingdoms fell, and none arose in the dark. Time itself seemed to cease with nothing to mark its passage, no growth, no decay.
Dragons rose again, bones found scales, and the beasts reigned in the skies as if they’d never left. Archtrees broke through the surface and shot into the sky. Those creatures that belong to the dark – hollows, darkwraithes, and other abominations of the abyss – flourished, numbers growing, as those which were servants of the flame began to dwindle.
And yet, the flames returned.
No one can say how, no one can say why.
Perhaps a gust of dragon wings gave life to sparks. Perhaps embers crushed underfoot moved to kindling. Whatever the case may be, life returned, and with it came death.
The Everlasting Dragons are not unfamiliar with what this means, nor those few remnants of ages before. Some will seek to destroy this fledgling flame, while others will seek to kindle its flames so it may push back the dark once more.
All of them know this: there will be new Lords in this time, created by that first lick of flame that speared the sky and announced itself on the horizon.
Unfortunately, the Bearer of the Curse, when given the opportunity – walked away.
Untouched now by the Curse, the Age of Dark bothered them none, though as the flames died, the Age of Dark spread far beyond Lordran, to cover the whole world. Kingdoms fell, and none arose in the dark. Time itself seemed to cease with nothing to mark its passage, no growth, no decay.
Dragons rose again, bones found scales, and the beasts reigned in the skies as if they’d never left. Archtrees broke through the surface and shot into the sky. Those creatures that belong to the dark – hollows, darkwraithes, and other abominations of the abyss – flourished, numbers growing, as those which were servants of the flame began to dwindle.
And yet, the flames returned.
No one can say how, no one can say why.
Perhaps a gust of dragon wings gave life to sparks. Perhaps embers crushed underfoot moved to kindling. Whatever the case may be, life returned, and with it came death.
The Everlasting Dragons are not unfamiliar with what this means, nor those few remnants of ages before. Some will seek to destroy this fledgling flame, while others will seek to kindle its flames so it may push back the dark once more.
All of them know this: there will be new Lords in this time, created by that first lick of flame that speared the sky and announced itself on the horizon.
~***~
Aldrin, The Living
“Go to the light, she said,” the Blade of the Darkmoon grumbled as he set his hands on the broad archtree, taking in a shaky, deep breath. A shrieking noise pierced the otherwise quiet environment, and the young man attempted not to flinch as the sound seemed to move down his spine, “Go find the new Lord Souls and bring one back for me, she said,” another bit of grumbling, before the knight peered around the archtree, “She didn’t tell me there would be abyssal dragons on the way.”
The only fortune that Aldrin had was that the dragon that was stumbling forward was not entirely coated in scales. He considered it a miracle of the golden soul he could see within the creature, pulsing like a heart through the translucent skin, as scales seemed to slide along its body, and off, as if only attached by a glue that has not been given time to dry.
Whether it was the corruption of the dark, or the curse of taking a Lord Soul into something that didn’t live, Aldrin could not say. He knew the stories of the Pale Drake, and knew that he had become powerful in time; he did not plan to allow this dragon to become so powerful, not when he had promised Gwyndolin a soul so she could bring everything to order.
‘You should have sent someone better with miracles.’
He watched as the dragon stumbled over its own muck, and he darted to another archtree to the left, steps making no sound as he came to a stop behind it. His twinblades were also impossible to see, though they were at his hips, hidden by an earlier spell. He only wished he knew how to cast that over himself entirely; it’d be a lot easier to kill a dragon if it couldn’t see you. Although, he suspected it could still smell him, as it adjusted its lumbering gait forward a bit his way.
At least amongst the trees, it couldn’t fly so easily. He’d done well to lead it out this way and hinder its movement. Flying up with the boughs in its way was difficult.
It still had a breath attack, though.
And it opted to stop its walk to spew forth a breath of heatless fire, freezing Aldrin to the spot in terror as the flames blocked his path both right and left. ‘Yeah, it can definitely smell me.’ Thankfully, the archtrees gave no fucks about dragonfire, and didn’t burn up. His only reprieve. He tried to take in a steadying breath as he heard the outrage from the dragon, and he gathered himself, aware it was going to charge.
He reached for his weapons and tried to center himself. ‘You’ve done plenty of harm to it, now you just have to finish it off.’
The dragon came rushing forward.
It came around the archtree to the right, and Aldrin rolled under its swipe and pushed his two blades up, both surprised and delighted when he realized his aim was off and instead of piercing the abdomen, he cut right through one of the wings at the start. The wing fell off, and the dragon’s balance shifted as it lost the weight there. It stumbled and fell onto its side a moment, and Aldrin was quick to jump up onto the side that was now sans wing and plunge his blades into it to tear open a bigger hole, and loose more of the scales in the process.
He could feel his blades weakening a bit with their contact to the scales, but he ignored it for the moment.
The dragon let out another one of those ear-piercing shrieks, and lifted his head, preparing another breath.
“NO!”
The Knight pushed both blades out in front of himself, and a large, blue spear came out from the joined tips, shooting into the dragon’s mouth as it was opened, and coming out the other side. Its head swayed for a moment, before it hit the ground. Aldrin held position a moment, still expecting the breath to hit him, but relaxed at the sound of that thud. “Huh…?” The flesh beneath him burbled, and he fell through as it began to disintegrate, the flames of the Lord Soul licking away at it.
Those white wisps of the dragon’s soul seemed to be sucked into the Lord’s Soul as well, an oddity, but nothing Aldrin was inclined to question. Lord Souls were powerful, after all. The golden soul remained as it was, for Aldrin to reach out to and take up with a sigh of relief. The heat of it was pleasant, soothing like sun, and he’d almost swear it had a smell about it, not what one would expect. It was crisp, sharp, a smell like cold and clean places, despite the warmth that emanated from it.
~***~
Mirasol, the Unkindled
The song was soothing.
Luring.
Promising.
The area through which the Unkindled One walked was beautiful, albeit in ruins. White stones acted as bridges across the clear water, glowing blue flowers rose from those depths and cast their light around the area, which was needed. The light was dim, but that was to be expected. There was no real sun, just an endless sunrise on the horizon from the new flame that tried to brighten the world.
Mirasol had understood when she woke that she had to help that flame before it was put out by the dark, and she had stumbled from the ashes of the old flame here, drawn not by that alluring song but a far more promising presence.
It was able to keep her from falling under the sway of that song, and sitting down, content to die, like some of the fiends she saw in the water. Golden light flickered around them, but they never moved for her.
Their peace was enviable.
And Mirasol would get her answers about it as she stepped into one of the few structures still standing, only to be startled by the sight of a beautiful blonde woman, hardly prepared for this area in a dress and naught else. “Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
The stranger in the house looked upon her as if she were a wonder, “You are the second now We have seen in a long while.”
Mirasol took pause for that. “I’m Mirasol,” she offered, “Who are you? Who else have you seen?”
“We are Milfanito.” Mirasol gave a look around, but saw no one else, “You are unlike the others. You do not belong here.”
“I’m sorry – I’m just passing through, I’m looking for…for a Soul.” A very particular Soul, and not one this woman had.
Her gaze softened. “Yes. We sense it, too. We know the presence of the Great Dead One. The other who came through here not long before you bears that soul.” She sounded almost sad, “We know nothing of the outside, but We know there has been a long period without death. We wondered what had happened.”
“The First Flame died,” she said, “I’ve come to fix it.” She sounded completely confident and assured in that, despite her failures before. The flame brought her back – she would not let it down, this time. “Did you know where they were going?”
“They are still here.”
Her gray eyes lit up, “Are they? Thank you!” Perhaps she should have asked for directions, but she did not, rushing out again and hurrying along the white path, doing her best to keep her skirts out of the water, but it was a fruitless endeavor – although the skirt never did get wet.
Flames danced around her, trailing at the hems of her clothing, marking her as one who did not belong to the dark any longer – thus, did not belong in a place meant for those who were destined for Death and the Dark.
The Astoran woman eventually stumbled on the sight of someone who didn’t belong, dressed in heavy armor and hooded. More than that, there was a glow that seemed to be coming from within that armor, casting a light on her face that should have otherwise been obscured by that hood. Now the question – were they foe who had finished off one of the Milfanito’s song, or were they sane of mind?
There was usually only one way to find out, and though she recalled plenty of times where calling out had landed her on the wrong side of a weapon, she still lifted both arms in the air as she shifted onto tiptoes, “Heeeey!” She frantically waved her arms in the air above her head, “Are you hollow?”
Obviously, a hollow wasn’t going to answer that kind of question.
They couldn’t.
But an Undead, with sane mind, still could.
She was lucky the song of the Milfanito was still keeping many things in the area tamed, so her shouts didn’t seem to disturb anything around. Not that there seemed much besides those creatures in the water.