Chapter Text
In the Age of Ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of gray crags, Archtrees and Everlasting Dragons. But then there was Fire and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course, light and dark. Then from the dark, They came, and found the Souls of Lords within the flame. Nito, the First of the Dead, The Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos, Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, and his faithful knights. And the Furtive Pygmy, so easily forgotten.
With the strength of Lords, they challenged the Dragons. Gwyn's mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales. The Witches weaved great firestorms. Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease. And Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own, and the Dragons were no more.
Thus began the Age of Fire. But soon the flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Even now there are only embers, and man sees not light, but only endless nights. And amongst the living are seen, carriers of the accursed Darksign.
Yes, indeed. The Darksign brands the Undead. And in this land, the Undead are corralled and led to the north, where they are locked away, to await the end of the world... This is your fate.
Only, in the ancient legends it is stated, that one day an undead shall be chosen to leave the undead asylum, in pilgrimage, to the land of ancient lords, Lordran.
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To the nameless undead, time was the only thing he had left. Left abandoned in the deepest cell of the undead asylum he found it nothing more than a curse. His body laid emotionless propped up against a moss covered wall, stripped of everything he found that even his name felt like it was taken away as all that was left was fleeting memories and fragments of his life too distant for him to even put into focus anymore.
The man who rather what was left of him was an undead, A fate worse than death if he hadn’t been captured he would be forced to wander the land awaiting a death that will only come once he became a hollow.
The word hollow sparked something in his mind recalling a vague memory that slowly came in to focus the more he concentrated… that’s right he actually met one once…
He recalled staring at a man walking, everything around him was too foggy to focus but he remembered the man, a elderly beggar walking aimlessly, he remembered his eyes lifeless and gray as if the soul had already left the body but it just didn’t know it yet. Did he feel pity for the man or fear? The undead’s couldn’t remember or bother to guess as the hollow beggar walked straight through a blade of a fuzzy figure. It took the beggar a moment to register what happened before simply falling back onto the ground as a white shimmering aura encompassed his corpse before the whole thing vanished as the memory ended.
That was his fate now there was no denying it, shifting ever so slightly he gazed upon his own body. It was rotten and a sickening pink with several toes as well as the ends of all of his fingers missing, his head was bald with his eyes sunken and slightly as even his own nose chipped away long ago. The only thing in his cell what’s the broken hilt of some sword which barely had any edge left to it as well as a rotting piece of cloth that more or less acted as a loincloth for the undead.
Reluctantly the undead turned towards the iron door of his cell, despite it’s rusty appearance it still held strong against the sword hilt as he had long abandon any attempt at breaking it down. Closing his eyes the undead attempted once more to simply wait out the end of the world as with his mind going blank he once again felt the darkness deep within his very being nipple way everything inside is mine.
Was this what going Hollow feels like? If so it wasn’t so bad, it was nothing, just pure nothing, it was as if he was slowly sinking into tar and though it clung tightly she’s being he didn’t bother struggling as it continue to pull him in faster and stronger.
The undead’s felt more than content letting oblivion take him that was however until something finally happened
A low heavy thud caused his eyes to shoot open as laying on the ground before him there was now a corpse with the leather cord wrapped around its neck and the end of it held a rust covered key. Pulling his shocked eyes away from that, The undead looked up and song in the iron grates above their stood a knight, his armor shining in gleaming as he looked back at him The force slowly getting up and moving out of sight.
Hesitantly the undead slowly peeled himself off of the stone wall and crapped towards the corpse picking up the leather cord as if it was some priceless necklace?
It… it just couldn’t be… could it?
Hesitantly the undead shaking Lee slips the key into the rusted iron door before slowly twisting followed by a slight clicking noise. Shaking with anticipation the undead places of withering hand on the door slowly pushing it open and for the first time in a very, very long time the undead took his first steps to freedom.