Login

Dark Souls?

by Ruby Rose

Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Meanwhile, Undead Asylum. (Oscar and Chosen Undead) - Part 1

Previous Chapter
Chapter 3 - Meanwhile, Undead Asylum. (Oscar and Chosen Undead) - Part 1

Author's Note:

And in this chapter we have two of the three main characters of this story! I'm going with the canon of Dark Souls before it was scrapped and changed. You will know what I'm talking about if you're neck-deep in Dark Souls lore.

Only the Chosen Undead OC belongs to me.

Up next: I dunno, what I feel like writing, might be Patches and Lautrec's adventure part 2, but we'll probably go to the surface to the Firelink Shrine.

Disclaimer:

Dark Souls and the entire Souls franchise belongs to From Software and Kadokawa

My Little Pony belongs to Hasbro

All characters belong to their companies.

It was cold. Unusually cold for this damn Asylum.

Is this what going hollow is like? I should be hollow, after all, fifteen years with no humanity... most undead go hollow after three months without humanity. Am I unable to go hollow? Do I have some specific virtue which makes me not go hollow?

One thing is sure. I am not hollow.

And this knight definitely knows this. Above my cell, in a hole in the roof, there he is standing, holding a body which he threw down to me. The body had a glowing item above it.

I stood up and stretched my legs and arms, and walked over to the corpse. I wasn't walking for... what? Three years? I could hear only a demon or two, as opposed to the usual twenty or-so demons of the asylum, and where are the guards?

There always was a black knight and a few silver knights patrolling this part of the asylum.

I picked up the item. It was a key.

Impossible. If I ever meet this person again I am going to hug him.

I got the key into my cell's doors, and opened the cell. Amazing, it opened! This could've gone wrong in many ways.

The key not fitting, the cell door being broken, the door too rusty to open, the mechanisms broken. Everything was fine.

The one, last god left must be smiling upon my wretched soul today.

I walked out into the corridor, it being much warmer than my cell. Well, I suppose the is because of the lack of the holes in the roof and the torches.

Torches? Who lit them?

So there may still be knights in here, I never bothered to look for them. I walked over to a puddle and saw my reflection.

I looked just like any undead, a lack of eyes, pretty much a walking corpse, I still have short, brown hair left upon my head.

My name is... what was my name? Hmm, am I finally going hollow?

Oh, my name is Saera, of...

I'm thinking of a dangerous place, where great and powerful weapons and artifacts are made...

Carim! Yes! Thank Velka!

I was an... assassin, I think? I was killed in action. Then people noticed the darksign appearing on my stomach.

Next I remember, I'm at the damn asylum.

In my possesion were...

What did I have? I am having great trouble recalling... oh! I remember having a family heirloom. A very powerful ring...

Oh! I remember in detail now! I had THE Hornet's Ring! I come from a proud family of assassins, my very great great grandmother, Ciaran passed down her weapons and ring down the family!

I have received the Dark Silver Tracer and the ring, and my sister got the Gold Tracer.

I still remember, that is good, amazing even.

All around me are hollows that broken out of their cells, wandering aimlessly or sitting there. Some were quiet, others were crying.

I must find my equipment... But first, something relaxing.

I ran over to a random hollow, and propelled by the force of me running, smashed my hand into it's spine, killing it.

Yeah... amazing, souls! I had no souls for so many years! That's a win win situation, me putting a hollow out of it's misery and me getting souls!

You see, souls are the currency of either the wild part of the world, or the part of the world where undead are welcome.

Despite the fact that I just hit someone so hard I cracked his spine, I felt no pain in my fist, that is because I am in my... Darksign state?

I don't what it's called, when you're not in your undead state, most people are three month in this state before they go hollow, so no one bothered calling them anything else except for hollow.

And for some ignorant peasants there are only hollows, no undead! Can you understand that?

I was walking through the corridor, and entered a room with a ladder, and the water of sewers flowing around my feet.

Let me explain, I'm from the northern part of the asylum, where the cells are in the sewers.

While on the topic of the hollows and the asylum, let me explain how this asylum works.

Or worked, at the very least.

Undead are found, for example, on the street, with a darksign, died somehow, nobody cares.

Guards come, sweep up the body, and to the cage you go! When there are enough undead collected, they are shipped off to the Undead Asylum, where guards, after half a year killed off the hollow undead.

Then the Demons came. Before they caused too many damage, professional pyromancers managed to halt their destructive progress and make them show off their anger and nature on the hollows, when one tried to escape they destroyed it.

The only guards left were the black and silver knights, walking armors with not a single shard of humanity left, only walking souls.

After a while, I found myself in the courtyard of the Northern Undead Asylum. And then I noticed the knight sitting at the bonfire and staring at the flames.

I sat near him and looked at him.

I was really saved by a knight from a fairy tale. He wore a closed helmet, a chainmail which was enveloped in blue cloth on which was his crest, and on his left shoulder was a big shoulder pad, he wore a metal glove on his left hand, and a leather one on his right hand.

He was either from a rich family, a blacksmith or was a royal knight. That kind of armor... it was made for elite knights, the left hand being his shield hand which had more protection, and the right hand was lighter to allow him faster swings.

Very smart indeed.

On his legs were long, metal boots and greaves going up to almost his armor.

One thing that made him different to the few elite knights I saw? (I did see a few elite knights, they accompany the royals or go out on dangerous missions)

His shield... it was something. It was a crest shield.

Those shields were only made in Astora under the king's permission. Each one was a special one, one which boosted you endurane, one which enhanced your strength, some made you take no damage from fires, some were even known to make you hard as stone, not being able to be toppled over.

I think I know who it is.

I think he knows who I am.

"Saera of Carim..." he said, his voice soft and young, he didn't even look at me, and this wasn't a question, it was a statement, a sad statement.

I know who this is.

"Oscar of Astora?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Let me explain...

My very last task was to murder the oldest prince of Astora, who was a grave danger to Carim, it was a task which real spies got. Hired by the royal family itself, and when captured, no one would admit that they hired the assassin. The assassin's records erased completely from the kingdom's files.

I didn't exist anymore, simple as that, no files on me, no one knows, nor remembers me. Except for him, and I know why.

The prince had a personal knight to protect him at all times, while the prince was in his chambers, I slit his throat, and a knight lunged at me, trying to stab me, I jumped at him and slashed him with my Tracer, poisoning him, while he stabbed me through the gut.

The toxic quickly finished him off, quick before I died, it took about three seconds to kill him, while I was rolling about for twenty-four seconds with a blade in my gut. Yes, I counted.

The knight was Oscar of Astora.

Return to Story Description

Login

Facebook
Login with
Facebook:
FiMFetch