Dark Souls: Tale of Lordran: The Beginning

Alright hello once again. I’ve been gone for a few days now and that is up to imagination, what i may have been doing. But either way, I am here with a kind of game-related story. But this time, it’s more, I don’t want to say that it’s pure just my imagination, I mean some of it is don’t get me wrong, but many of the information giving, is indeed directly from the game, or even from other people’s speculations. In short, Dark Souls (The game from which this story series is based off of) is a game that tells its narrative, not from the spoken word like most games, but rather off of vague item descriptions and small dialogue sessions. In other words, it’s all up to players to figure out what the hell is going on. That’s why the Souls community is so vibrant and great, and I’m going to mix not only my experiences with Dark Souls, but also try and add the Lore elements where I see fit. This series is basically a play through of the game, with my own add-ons and removals, so even if you have played, it might still seem different in some parts, and maybe you’ll even like my different elements. I tried to make this story as accessible to anyone as possible, and I really think that’s what the Souls games are all about, being accessible to anyone. Yes, it may seem confusing at first, but that’s how everyone is going to feel. You make the story as you go, and although I’m giving you story yes, you can still interpret some of the finer details yourself. You’ll see what I mean. Either way, there’s going to be some obvious (hopefully) ques of when I break immersion for example, when I give you an item description (straight from the game) that is going to look a bit weird, and that’s partly because of the weird formatting conversions I have to deal with. Trust me, it looks a lot better on what I’m using then when I post it here but, nothing to bad mouth WordPress. Anyway, here you go, “The Beginning”

In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A Land of grey crags, arch-trees and everlasting dragons. Then, there was Fire, and with Fire, came Disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course, Light and Dark.

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, with 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. 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 night. Amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksign.

Here in Lordran, there are those with which are afflicted with the Darksign. The Darksign bears no  resent, rather, it is a symbol of everlasting love. Those with the Darksign are cursed to live forever, until one day, they will no longer remain; their minds will go hollow. Those with the Darksign will be destined to lose their humanity and soul over and over until they themselves have nothing to hold onto. Until the very essence of their soul is dreaded in dark; the Darksign will eat at them.

Those afflicted with the Darksign will find themselves  in the Undead Asylum, rallied by Gwyn as he tries to subdue the dark. But little does he know, that the dark has already swept his country, and without hope, he has no way to restore the Age of Fire. Perhaps, just by chance, if he were to throw himself into the flames, will that restore his glory? Perhaps not. As if to keep a dying race from ever breaking out, the undead slowly became isolated. Some roam within the Undead Burg, a central bustling town, only this town is unwelcoming to those on the outside. Some roam in many other places as well, perhaps, even great cleric’s are also concealing a secret. But, despite who you are, if you are afflicted with the Darksign, your fate will be the same as everybody else. You will find yourself an empty husk, a Hollow, within due time. Such is the fate, of the children of the Furtive Pygmy.

And with one such fate, we find ourselves in the Undead Asylum. The perish of all that is which unneeded. But in a stroke of luck, or perhaps a stroke of misfortune, those who are in the Undead Asylum, will be lost in time. Forever doomed to wander their cells, for they are undead. Lost within the Darksign, beings not themselves.

“Thou who art Undead, art chosen… In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords… when thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know…” With this in mind, with the prophecy of the Undead foretold through his heritage, he had one mission.  He who is known as Oscar of Astora, of a land filled with brilliant knights has travelled far and wide to reach Lordran, in hopes of seeking the Asylum. For he himself has found that the Darksign has been branded within him. But Oscar has not lost all hope, he still has a mission to fulfill, it is his dying mission. Oscar travels to the Asylum, and travels among its rafters to finally see the prisons in which the Undead are held. Upon getting on top, he had killed a previous prison guard, the same guard that contains the Dungeon Cell key that will help the Chosen Undead out. Oscar breaks open a ceiling panel and drops the dead body in front of the Chosen Undead. The Chosen Undead peers up at the rattle, and notices the dead body in front of him.

As the Chosen Undead looks up, he sees Oscar for a split second, but Oscar retracts, his mission is not yet over. The Chosen Undead rummages the body.  He finds the Dungeon Cell Key, a set of Hollow Soldier Armor, a Longsword and a Hollow Soldier Shield.

*Dungeon Cell Key*

Key to the dungeon of the Undead Asylum to the North.

A mysterious knight, without saying a word, shoved a corpse down into the cell, and on its person was this key. Who was this knight? And what was his purpose? There may be no answers, but one must still forge ahead.

*Hollow Soldier Armor*
Apparel worn by Hollow soldiers. It may be old and battered, but it’s iron construction makes it quite sturdy.

*Hollow Soldier Helm*

It is wise to wear a sturdy form of head protection against arrows and other physical threats.

*Hollow soldier Waistcloth*

Waistcloth worn by Hollow soldiers. It is so tattered that it barely serves its purpose anymore.

*Hollow Soldier Shield*

Metal shield wielded by Hollow soldiers. Heavily rusted but sturdy, providing a strong defense.


Widely-used standard straight sword, only matched in ubiquity by the shortsword.

The Chosen Undead puts on the armor, sporting a look similar to those he imagine await him on the opposite end of his cell. With one hand he grasped the Longsword and the other held the shield.  It was sufficient he thought. Not very exquisite, but it would do. He opened the door with the cell key and found himself in a narrow corridor. He walked out. Bodies of undead spilled on the ground beneath him. Bricks and tattered walls surrounded him. He truly was at the brink of the world. A place only fitting for those branded with the Darksign. As he made his way down the corridor, his sights were caught by bars protruding from the wall. The Chosen Undead turned to see a large creature pacing back and forth. It’s broken wings hung on its back like broken parts. And it’s horns signified demonic presence. The Chosen Undead sighed in delight that this creature and him were separated by bars. Even more so as he noticed that a strung body stuck out from a protrusion in the bars. A body was impaled fiercely by the broken bars. The Chosen Undead continued walking, until finally finding a ladder. If this was the underground, then the above ground will be his way out, he thought.  He climbed it instinctively. At the top, he was greeted by a torch sticking out on the wall, illuminating a small arched pathway. He walked through, until he found himself to what had seemed to be dirt. In front of him stood a large metal door, and the outlines of a building, the one he knew as the Asylum all around him. It was a towering fortress. Bricks and columns supported this prison.

The Chosen Undead saw a rusted sword protruding from the ground. It looked as if it had been stuck there a long time ago. Stuck within a mound of ash and bones. He placed his hand around it, and felt it’s warmth. Then, like a light flickering; the ashes reborn, a fire started. The Chosen Undead proceeded to call this a Bonfire. But he had no time to rest. He sought on, and went to the metal door.  With both his hands, he pushed it open.  A creak resounded as the two rusted metal doors slid open. In front of the Chosen Undead was another door. Perhaps, this was the way out? He thought.  But as he walked forward to reach that door, unaware of what was above him, he finally realized it. A large creature suddenly smashed into the ground in front of him, waiting above for any that would so dare escape their prison. This creature shared similar attributes to the one he had saw previous. With horns protruding from its head, and it’s large body enough to withstand anything. It held with its demonic hands a large hammer, enough to crush him he presumed.

Without further warning, the Asylum Demon pressed forward and smashed the ground in front of the Chosen Undead. The Chosen Undead had no choice, he had to fight. He let his shield hang on his back as he thought it had no value here. With the next swing from the Asylum Demon, the Undead rolled to his side, effectively dodging death. He then swung his sword into the body of the Demon, but to his dismay, the sword had been long rusted. It broke without warning, turning into a useless hilt. The Demon swung again, this time nicking the Undead and sending him flying into the Asylum walls. The Undead saw a torch and another arched pathway to the side. He picked himself up and ran as fast as he could. He entered the arched pathway and without turning, simply ran.

The Chosen Undead wasn’t aware how far he ran, but he knew for certain that he was now safe. He saw another Bonfire, and lit it. He took a short rest before leaving. He saw another narrow corridor before him, but this time, he had guests. At the end of the corridor was a Hollow Soldier. It shot arrows at the Undead, but with his shield out, he was able to deflect each one. The Undead then charged up the corridor with his shield up and when he was within range, cut into the Soldier with his broken sword. It wasn’t much, but he then took his shield and bashed the Soldier. The Soldier fell to the ground. The Undead pressed on.

Upon climbing a flight of stairs, he found himself on  a second level. Bars separated his view, but he was certain that the sight he saw was that of the first Bonfire. He continued travelling the second floor, until he reached another flight of stairs. But this one was more devious. Upon climbing, he looked up and noticed a large round metal ball. Then, without warning, it began sliding down.  Just in time, the Undead rolled to the side, off the stairs, but away from danger. He then looked to the top, where a sneaky Soldier lay. He rushed up and readied himself. The Soldier swung at the Chosen Undead, but with a swift motion of his arm, he parried the sword. Then, the Undead used his foot to trip the Soldier. With the broken sword in his hand, the Undead thrust it into the Soldier’s neck, effectively taking him out.

The Chosen Undead turned to see where the metal ball had crashed into, and noticed a large opening in the brick wall. The Undead approached it, and to his surprise, Oscar, the knight who had helped him out was on the brink of death in a pile of rubble behind the wall.  The Undead looked up to see a hole, presumably where Oscar had fallen through. The Undead approached the dying knight. Perhaps, such a fall might not have caused all the rubble he lay in, but an impact caused by a hammer. Just by chance, Oscar may have tried to fight the Demon. Just like the Chosen Undead.

“Oh, you. You’re no Hollow, eh? Thank goodness… I’m done for, I’m afraid…. I’ll die soon, then lose my sanity…. I wish to ask something of you. You and I, we’re both undead. Hear me out? Will you?” The Chosen Undead figured there was no risk in accepting, that, and the fact that this man had helped him out. What more to do when he’s dying? The Chosen Undead accepted.

“Regrettably, I have failed in my mission. But perhaps you can keep the torch lit. There is an old saying in my family.” Oscar recited the Undead Prophecy.

“Well, now you know. And I can die with hope in my heart. Oh, one more thing. Here, take this. An Estus Flask, an undead favorite. Oh and this.” The Chosen Undead took the Estus Flask and the sword and shield that Oscar had provided.

“Now I must bid farewell. I would hate to harm you after death. So go now….. And thank you.” The Undead left, regrettably.  Oscar was fated to tell the Chosen Undead of his duties, and with his mission now complete, he can rest in peace. Or perhaps, should the Chosen Undead choose to kill Oscar in his hollowed state, he can save him the trouble. But such a duty is not fit for the Chosen Undead. Perhaps not now. All undead are fated to lose their mind, without purpose, without a way to cling to their humanity, and become Hollow. That is something the Chosen Undead has come to understand. The Chosen Undead took his new armaments and equipped them.

*Astora’s Straight Sword*

Straight sword of an unknown knight, likely one of Astora’s superiors.

High-Quality sword imbued with a powerful blessing.

*Crest Shield*

Shield of a nameless knight, likely a high-ranked knight of Astora.

One of the enchanted blue shields. The Crest Shield greatly reduces magic damage.

*Estus Flask*

An emerald flash, from the Keeper’s soul. She lives to protect the flame, and dies to protect it further.

The Undead proceeds his way up the stairs and upon turning a corner against a ledged walkway, he sees himself staring into the courtyard in which he fought the Asylum Demon. With his new Straight Sword, he is able to deal divine damage, perhaps something that will aid him in slaying the Demon.  The Undead looks down onto the courtyard, the Asylum Demon lay underneath him, awaiting him. The Undead took a deep breath and then lunged forward. He stuck his sword out and as he fell to the Demons head, his sword plunged through its skull, the Demon shook him off quickly, but it was clear that it had taken a major hit. It roared at the Undead, it’s razor teeth lining it’s gums and it’s red eyes glaring at the Undead. It swung it’s hammer down, but the Undead rolled to the side and sliced the Demon’s body. The cut had went clean through, then the Undead followed up with another series of attacks. The Demon then used it’s broken wings to take flight, catching the Undead off guard. However, it wasn’t long until the Demon flopped back down onto the ground, causing a minor earthquake. The Undead was clear of its landing, and thus, unharmed, continued his assault.  The Demon roared once again and with the tip of his hammer, swung down at the Undead.  The Undead used this to his advantage as he rolled into the Demon and made a final cut to its body, spilling blood over the courtyard. As the Demon fell, the air sighed. The Undead took a sip of the Estus and walked towards the large metal doors. He opened them with two hands and saw a field of grass. There was a singular tiled walkway that led the Undead.

He was unsure of how to reach the lands in which he needed to go, but as the walkway ended, and as the Undead peered off a cliff leading to an inevitable rocky demise, a large dark feathered beast flew over and grabbed the Undead with its two talons. Before he knew it, the Undead was flown across the lands and landed in Lordran; in the desolate Firelink Shrine.

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