https://youtu.be/i5nx6r--2u0

It’s time to unite again as one sunbros! Gamer tag “wychicago” soon to be “momphtastic”, i created a “Sunbro Army” club on xbone if anyone wants help in the dark souls, whether that be PvE or honing your skills in PvP! I have 5,000+ hrs logged into the series including meta ds1 and both variations of ds2! Anyone can join or ask for help with the game! Solaire... your way of praising the sun shall never be forgotten! Long live the Sunbros!

Enur’s robbed hand shot forwards from his position on the ground, blocking the ever present sun from casting it’s judgmental gaze onto him. It was always watching him, it knew all he had done, it knew all those he had killed and all the mistakes he’d made. It wasn’t fair ... why would it be able to exist forever when others deserved that more?

Feeling cold tears falling from his eyes the seemingly young hexer lazily let his arm fall in front of his face, the warmth of the bonfire constantly trying to worm it’s way into his body, but failing with every passing second. For the third time that day decept whispered into his ears as he woke at the encampment bonfire, or the hollowed husk which it was now. Emptied of its occupants, emptied of its life, emptied of all that it had been, a beacon of hope. Sitting up memories from the distant past began to emerge from the raging ocean of thought.

He had failed, he hadn’t made it in time, and now all those dead beings, all those burned villages, all those merciless tourtings came crashing down upon him. Dread filled his body as the captured souls of the damned swirled around his body, each one crying out with words have hatred, words of broken promises, and tears of anger. He wasn’t able to save Charles in time, so he had wasted countless lives for nothing.

He knew why everyone hated Hexers, it was because they were vicious killers who would do whatever to achieve their goal. They distorted the souls of those who died never letting them rest in piece. Their screams still haunted him at night, but he would always put on the same plastic smile because it would be worth it in the end, he’d have Charles back. How naive he had been.

Standing on shaky feet he blankly stared off into the forest before starting his trudge onward, "I will save you" he whispered, the words hollowed, yet filled with disbelief.

Stuck in my own mind, unable to resist the sickness that provoked my every action. I watched helplessly as Enur dropped his sword to the ground and held his arms wide, tears streaming down his face as he begged me to come back. Crying out in my cramped, small, unbearably restrictive cage where the only thing I could do was watch my arms move on their own and feel the scratching sensation of my feet against the jagged rocks, I bore down onto my friend. The abyss had simply dug its roots to far in, for me to do anything.

Why? Why does he continue to do this to himself? I don’t want to hurt him anymore, but I can’t control it … He’s a good man, taking care of me through all these decades, It's been quite the adventure. He’s a good man, but that’s why I’m worried.

I know he’ll keep coming back to save me, I know because I’m the only one in his life who ever stayed with him. He used to tell me stories from this book, about how a mother died, about how a father left, about how a brother sacrificed, and how a friend betrayed, and every time he would tell those stories tears would stream down his face onto the pages. These stories, weren’t the ones in the book. He never flipped the pages or even bothered to look down when he read, these were the stories of himself, stories that he passed down to me.

I want to have faith, I want to have hope that there is a cure, so I can continue to accompany him, so I can be the one who never left, died, sacrificed, or betrayed, but I know that’s not possible. In all our travels to all those kingdoms and temples there hasn’t even been a hint about curing the abyss. Interrupting my thoughts my body dashed forwards, aiming at my friend's throat as his sword hung limp at his side.

I don’t want to hurt him … I don’t want to die.

The abyss was far stronger now than any other time he fought me. It had bidded it’s time, slowly growing stronger with each passing day. Enur hadn’t found a cure in time, and now one of us would have to pay.

A sword pierced my chest as I launched myself forwards. Blood trickled from my mouth as I fell to my knees to stare up at the crying Enur. I could feel the abyss begin to leave me, but it wasn’t leaving alone, my consciousness was going with it. My mind begins to blank and only one thought and one memory remain. The memory of the 12 year old me holding hands with Enur as we walked down the castle corridors, bright smile written on my protectors face, and the thought of seeing that same smile again. Fighting the abyss I try to push a smile from my lips, the abyss leaves, and I do not know if my message reached him.

“C-charles?”

The sun was at its zenith, casting its light over the land and making it seem tranquil, as if there had never been a Plague, a Darksign. If one were to have had a looking-glass at that moment and were to have watched a hill a few leagues away from the Encampment at Lothric, one would have seen two figures walking up it, away from the castle. One of the figures was tall, but the other was taller, very much so.

One would have seen the two crest the rise side by side, and pause to turn around.

"What a shame," murmured the smaller figure.

"What a shame indeed," the larger shape said, its voice a rumble.

On the larger figure's back was the necessary equipment to set up a small smithy, and the smaller shape carried the equipment needed to pitch a small camp.

"Don't you miss them already?" the larger figure asked.

"Somewhat," the smaller replied. "But I have faith that we will see them all again one day." It looked up to the sky. "The Sun will make it so."

"I see," the larger figure said. The smaller figure clapped the larger on the arm, causing a clang to sound, and turned back around.

"Shall we go then, Smith, my dear friend?" it asked.

"We shall go, Wraine," the larger figure replied with a chuckle.

"Praise the Sun!" cried the smaller figure, setting off down the other side of the hill.

"Praise the Sun," the larger replied, following.

And they went, off to find adventure and people to help. The Sun would make it so.

I'm just going to say something before I get to my short story. This will be my first and last actual post I put up. I've had a lot of fun during the small amount of time I've spent here and no matter whatever grudges any of you have on me I still love this place and the community. I felt at home with this Sub and I love this community and everyone in it (no homo). Thank you all for being so helpful and kind. Goodbye everyone.

Kalos stumbled through the murky swamp. Poison slowly made it's way through his respiratory system and pumped through his blood. He felt weak, coughing and falling over as he clumsily trudged through the swamp. Slimes moved towards him and began assimilating his arms. He stood up quickly looked at his now slimy gauntlets, they would be of no use to him like this. He rubbed his hands on the tunic that was draped over his armour. It was futile, he began to slowly and shakily take of his gloves to reveal jerky-like hands. He knew this would be his last fight, he wasn't prepared to go hollow however. He saw the broken down tower and moved toward it. He saw his target almost immediately, a tall darkwraith looked at him with emotionless eyes. Kalos pulled himself over to the dry land and drew his blade; he had already been attacked on the way by crabs and Ghru so he was exhausted. He reached down to his pouch to find it empty. "Heh, looks like this won't be fun for me." He looked down to see a blade already lodged in his gut. The battle ended so quickly and in the small amount of solace he had he accepted his weakness and his naivety. "I'll go hollow the same way I died in the first place." He grunted through gritted teeth. He pulled himself off the blade and rose his sword. "I.. Will... Kill-" A dark and bloodied blade came rocketing towards his neck. For a few seconds he could see body still stuck in a swinging pose. I was so, so weak. Too weak for this place.

Jesus my writing is shit.

It's not a secret that this sub is basically dead, but I wanted to just say thanks. This is what actual got me into writing in the first place and I've really enjoyed our adventures together. It's been fun all!

I'll post the deaths of my characters soon.

• Just before the first team, Cromulent, had won their battle. The Second Arena.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" A voice bellowed from the sandy arena up to the announcer, "YOU CALL THIS A BATTLE? THIS IS NOTHING BUT A RESPECTFUL DUEL".

Slightly startled by his lord's outburst the announcer spoke hesitantly "My lord please calm down, the battle of stoicism has changed much since you linked the fire, it's been 100 years after all." the announcer sighed lightly, "This is the best way to decide who you get to fight."

Clenching his fist the LoC started calmy walking up the stairs leading to the announcer's perch, "This is not way to fight." he started solemnly, sweeping his arm across the arena he continued, "This used to be a place for te best of the best to battle it out and win in whichever way they could, by strength, intelligence, or trickery, putting their very life on the line for the greatest of honors, BUT WHAT HAVE YOU DONE IN MY ABSENCE." he roared, before taking a deep breath, "You turned this place into a trash heap where honor reigns higher than all. For fucks sake not only have you made the arena into a piece of boring sand." The LoC paused for a moment before turning his back on the man and walking away, calling over his shoulder quietly as he went "I wish the flame hadn't brought me back David, that way I could still think I made the right decision in trusting this place to you".

"Damn it" David choked on his words. A few minutes passed of staring at the floor before the announcer stood up and called for someone to prepare the cave. Grabbing his staff with both hands he began to slowly spin it in a circle while letting out a rhythmic chant

• After the last team, Valiant, claimed their rewards. The Second Arena.

The next zone was almost identical to the first, the lazy blue bonfire waved lightly, painting the room in a solem light, the rusted metal doors were locked shut, and the arena was filled with the same, boring, loose sand of the first round. Truly the only difference from the first arena was the fact that there were three doors instead of two. The exact same arena, and most likley the exact same fight as before.

The voice of the announcer, drained and tired, spoke from his perch. "For our semi final battle we have three new comer teams. Team Cromulet, Team Valiant, and Team Ardent." letting out a weak laugh he continued, "The battle starts as soon as they walk out their respective gates."

As soon as one person from each team took their first step onto the arena they found themselves frozen and unable to move. A faint ringing sound resounded through all corners of the underground meat grinder, accompanied by a swirling black and white vortex under their feet, slowly swallowing them up.

For a moment they all faced utter darkness before they were spat back out into a dimly lit rectangular cavern. Each team found themselves up against the wall and at the bottom of a long, 30 degree, rocky slope that continued upwards for at least 150m. At the top and middle of the slope sat a large wooden ballista already loaded, several bolts sat in a box a few feet off to the side. If one inspected the contraption closely they wouldn't be able to find any mechanism to easily reload such a thing, it would require pure brute force to reload such a machine. Getting to the thing wouldn't exactly be easy either 8 large hollows, either carrying an axe or a halberd, walked all along the upper slope, and 10 groups of wooden barrels lay randomly along the slope.

The teams were evenly spread out at the bottom of the hill with 30m in between each other, Cromulet sat on one end, Valiant on the other while Ardent was stuck in the center. Everyone still had their coward's crystal in their pocket.

A joyful voice echoed through the cavern which was only lit by the man torches along the sides, "Let the battle begin".

Post order, Cromulet, Ardent, Valiant.

The High Road had been fixed. For a long time it had been famous for the gash in its length that separated the Lothric plateau from the rest of the world. The corpses of great drakes had littered it like garbage flaking off in the twilight for decades, slain one after another by a half-mad demon firesage, who had been guarding the bridge for so long he'd lost his flaming splendor. But now their carcasses have been cleared, the demon slain, the road repaired, and the denizens of the plateau unsure of who to blame or thank for all this repair work.

The road's reparation now meant that a thing is now possible that hasn't been for a long time; one can walk from the plateau and castle proper to the Boreal Valley without passing through the Farron swampland or the nightmarish catacomb undercity of Carthus. It was in the tundra Valley the tournament would be held, and some unseen force had taken massive care to make sure the path form Lothric to Irithyll was traversable. Why would be anyone's guess, since it wasn't as if there was any feasible commercial audience for the Battle of Stoicism to be pitched to in Lothric.

With Lothric left behind, the air grows stolidly cold as one nears the mountains that cradle Irithyll. The city glitters like a jewel in the moonlight as dusk turns to darkness along the horizon. Gothic spires dot the skyline, and opaque frost paints the windows of the distant buildings, through which cool light shines from inexplicable sources. The streets are lit by weakly flickering lanterns hung on crumpling iron lamp posts, hunchbacked from ages of weathering the elements with no maintenance to speak of. Ghostly figures in shimmering silky clothing weave in and out of the fog, observing passers-by along the bridge. The further one travels along the road into the city, the icier it becomes and the thicker the snow falls, the city providing only moderate inner warmth. On the outskirt of the city there is an enormous shining white cathedral, too large to have been built for human use, and seeming regal and unearthly because of it.

All this is familiar to anyone who has ever been to the Boreal Valley or even glanced it through a pair of binoculars. However, there is one feat of architecture atypical of the Boreal Valleys profile. Distantly, a monolithic blue domed basilica sits promptly in the middle of the town.

The road ends in a civil square marked by a fountain. In stark contrast to the rest of the city, a pristine newly laid brick road leads through to the basilica. Nearing it, there are hanging fire pits lining columned aisles ringing the entire building, providing no warmth from their high vantages.

The pristine new road ends at an old, old set of stone doors that are already open waiting for the comers to the Battle of Stoicism. They are intricately carved with glyphs depicting battles between humble knights in two dimensions and monsters and beasts of huge proportions.

A warm radiant light shines from inside.,,

oor: So I guess a byproduct of this is Irithyll is open for now. I'm stuck at those three bastard Pontiff Knights at the second bonfire right now, so don't expect Irithyll to have a life of its own from my writing :3

THE BATTLE WAITS WITHIN MOTHERFUCKERS. Walk the road with your teammates or whoever, tour Irithyll if you want, and then walk inside the thunder dome.

Context

HEROES OF LOTHRIC:

Seek'st thou HONOR? FAME? RICHES?

Belay thy search! The BATTLE of STOICISM holds what thee longs for!

TRADE STEEL with INTREPID CAVALIERS, STALWART CHAMPIONS, TORRID BEASTS, and SINFUL SORCERERS.

PROVE THYSELF for a ONCE IN A LIFETIME chance to face a LORD of CINDER - the mightiest combatants known to man!

Find enclosed directions to the 9981st Battle of Stoicism tournament, this year graciously hosted by his lordship Count Eurling of the Boreal Valley.

Below in the comments there'll be rosters for player teams, w/ 2-4 players per team.

Minutes after the bell toll that marked the beginning of the new 'day' over Lothric, a knight strode into the encampment sitting pretty as you please on the back of a real, live horse.

This was strange to say the least. Horses were uncommon and few beside a few of the Mirrans and the Drangleics could be said to have really seen them in the flesh. Much more than passing strange however was the rider on top. He was a knight in full steel, but his armor was festooned with tassels and and cuttings of colorful striped cloth, and most prominently were yellow and blue. He carried a pretty standard if vividly colorful knight's shield and a winged spear. Completing the look was a striped hat topped by a withered ostrich feather plume stretching easily two feet above his head and flapping back and forth against the wind. All of this made him stand out and catch the light of the ever-present lounging sunset that hung over the camp, making him perhaps the most colorful knight in camp as of that precise moment.

He rode about camp and passed by Father Feldman, returning from his ablutions. Feldman saw him coming from the distance and assumed he was another undead drawn to town by the bells, until the horse pulled up short and the rider stared down at him.

"You there, old man" the rider began, reaching down, drawing a dagger from his hip, and cutting off a cloth bag, "distribute these about camp, and you will have my thanks." He tossed the sack to Feldman. The old holy man, clothed only in a robe from his bathing, only just managed to catch them. He turned around trying for an explanation but found the knight was already well into the distance, leaving puff leaving nothing but puffs of dust from the horse's footfalls. He undid the cord on the bag, opened it, and found it to be full of scraps of folded paper.

Each one read as followed:

##HEROES OF LOTHRIC:

Seek'st thou HONOR? FAME? RICHES?

Belay your search! The BATTLE of STOICISM holds what you long for!

Find enclosed directions to the 9981st Battle of Stoicism tournament, this year graciously hosted by his lordship Count Eurling of the Boreal Valley.

Below, a simple sketch of a colosseum and a stylized crown floating over it.

Feldman read the leaflet and began massaging his forehead. To no one in particular he sighed, and said. "Another meat grinder for the poor buggers to pit themselves against," before hefting the bag over his shoulder and returning to camp.

oor: Below, comment to get into the Battle of Stoicism, a team pvp event with some sweet ass boss fights, maybe. If you're good.

http://strongvon.com/main/documents/bracketsheets/single_elim_16person_butterfly.gif

I'm going to be using something like this to keep track of this. Everything's formative for now, and I'll start formal work on bosses/events/loot when I get some doods volunteering.

As the first flame began to dwindle, land, and time began to twist in ways never seen before. The flame seemed to call to all lands that had ties to the fire, and one such land, Hakesh found its way to Lothric.

The ever present sun rained down light onto the consensus of sandstone, and hard clay buildings which made up the majority of Hakesh. Having a variety of buildings was practically non existent, with the city containing three different types, residence, bell tower, and warehouse with even fewer differences in each of those groups

Each residence building expanded upwards towards the sky, rather than outwards towards each other. Each building held three stories with each story able to comfortably fit a family of two, but each normally held families of four. Jagged stairs led up each floor eventually reaching a flat room plated with carpet, allowing one to pray without touching their bodies to dirt. Each residence was close enough to each other where even a child could hop to a neighbor's roof with ease, but that wasn’t necessary due to the wooden platforms connecting all the buildings. Truly the only difference between each building were the almost hieroglyphic carvings laid across its normally bare surface.

There were exactly five bell towers sprawled out through the massive city, a little smaller than Lothric itself. They stood far higher than all, but one building, standing at eight stories tall, only holding a bell, and a circular set of stairs leading to it. All the bell towers were connected together by a thick rope which allowed all bells to ring at once.

Large roads, big enough to fit three caravans side by side, led to massive warehouses. Some held precious metals, and tools while others held foodstuffs, and scholarly scrolls. No matter what the warehouses held they all had lines of metal shelves which held their contents.’

Three large parks stood there colorful tranquility contrasting with the colorless city. In the center of each park a fountain stood with its animal of no evil at its head.

The whole city seemed to be perfectly unaffected by the events of the fire dying, if not for the south part of the city which was almost completely destroyed. Very few buildings were still standing, and those which were held innumerable cracks, threatening to break under the slightest of pressures. Golems roamed around the destroyed part of the city slowly making there way into the undamaged places, and turning those to rubble. They could never kill anyone that’s not what they were commanded to do, they would simply drag them towards the southern edge to the city, where a giant Aztec temple sat.

Golems were not the only enemy to worry about, countless hollows filled the streets, all of them damaged in some way, either having their eyes missing, their eardrums busted, or their tongues removed. Gargoyles sat in the park waiting for unsuspecting victims to pass so they could start their gruesome work. And if one looked skywards they would see massive winged animals which circled around the city.

Multiple threads can exist at the same time

Alright ya little shits, so I'm going to try something old. Basically I've given you guys enough information so you guys can RP here without a GM (except the temple, just PM me when you get there), so explore, and stuff. DON'T be afraid to take some liberties, you want to add a library? ADD A FUCKING LIBRARY THEN. This is just the base for yoou guys to work off of. I also hold the right to come in, and GM a post if someone is cheesing something (or you know add something important about the bosses in the temple). If you want to use this location, but not post on this thread you can start a different post, you do not have to post in this thread to use this location

Thunk...for the third time that day the old mesquite had beaten him an duel to the death. This time he had wedged his blade into the bark and had a big fragment of wood bite back and smack him square in the face, knocking him backwards into the dirt with a groan. The little puppy, now a few inches taller than it had been when he found it, licked his face and his pudgy fingers as he laid there huffing and puffing, the tongue tickling his face, prompting some wheezy chuckles between strained breaths. He reached out and ran his fingers along the puppy’s head, scratching its ears, a few happy barks squeaked out from the little furball as he nuzzled against Marinko’s hand. Castellan. Where in the world had he come up with that name? He supposed the dog had become the keeper of castle Marinko, but this was no stone keep or iron fortress. Marinko hoped to change that, however.

It wasn’t going well, the tree on the outskirts of Lothric encampment didn’t serve as a particularly great training partner. Yes he could work with all manner of strikes and jabs but he wasn’t getting the physical feedback nor the proper striking area of a human target. He wondered about using the training facility the onions had constructed in the camp but his body quickly shivered as the spikes of embarrassment he feared earlier dug deep into his spine. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of a bunch of other warriors. His pride had been damaged enough before now, he wasn’t ready to go back to his childhood state of constant ridicule. His mother’s slates echoed in his mind, every curse and critique she gave another scar on his self confidence. He shook off the memories, they weren’t important anymore.

He slowly picked himself up with a grunt, his movements rigid and shaky. He had never pushed himself so hard in..well..his entire life. It had been hours today, the sun beating down on his head, face completely slick with sweat that ran off his chin in rivers. His face was red as a tomato. His long bangs were glued to his forehead with sweat and grime. He had repeated this rigorous training for several bell rings. The day before he had practiced reloading and drawing his blade. The day before that, he had practiced movement and footwork. Then there was of course his target practice with the giant...boy had that been a disaster.

”NO” The great giant beast bellowed, stomping a foot that shook the marble tower they stood atop, Marinko yelled loudly as he staggered about, terrified that the giant beast would take down the entire structure, his eyes threatening to burst out of his skull. He looked up and sputtered an apology. “I-I-I’m sorry! Couldn’t we, you know, pick some closer targets?” He asked meekly, squinting down at the 20 or so missed bolts that sprouted up all around the base of the tree he was supposed to be shooting, a garden bed of failures.

“No quit...just shooting!” The giant grumbled slowly, pointing at his target once more with his tree trunk arms.

“Too much thinking, just pointing and shooting. No thinking too much!” It instructed clumsily, the creature barely beyond the coherence of a young child. Nevertheless he was a crack shot, and Marinko would do his best to try and follow his advice.

He took a deep breath in, grabbed a bolt, knocked it as fast as he could. He quickly raised the stock of the crossbow to his shoulder. He closed an eye and pointed the bow at the treetrunk below, as soon as it was lined up with the shaft of the bow he squeezed the trigger, the bolt sailed through the air like a missile, striking the tree dead in the center, the bolt now jutting out of the bark like a branch.

”VERY GOOD!” The giant roared, clapping with explosive force that caused Marinko to flinch instinctively, ducking away from the towering titan who stood behind him. He smiled after the fear passed, realizing he had finally hit his target. He readied another shot and repeated the maneuver, his aim snapping to the tree trunk, immediately squeezing the trigger as one fluid motion, and again the bolt embedded itself in the heart of the tree. He shouted with glee and raised a fist into the air, he felt as if he had finally sprouted his wings and learned to fly, the flutter of feathers in his chest. He continued practicing like this until he was out of bolts, and his accuracy had improved throughout the day, to the point he was hitting three out of every four shots he took, a vast improvement over his original average. He graciously thanked the giant, bowing at the waist to show utmost respect to his new teacher. The giant tapped his shoulder with one of his gargantuan fingers lightly, the force still so strong it caused Marinko to stumble back. The giant let out a great rumbling chuckle that boomed like thunder. The giant crouched down and brought it’s face to Marinko’s height and said simply:

“I help anytime.”

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he recalled his previous training sessions. Few of them had been anywhere close to successful, but he was definitely improving. It would be a slow process for him to get anywhere near the level of Chance, or, Faraam forbid, that monstrous girl with the greatsword. He slumped against the tree he had cut a hundred chunks out of and rested his head against the bark, Castellan wandered over and curled up in his lap. He tried to imagine home...he couldn’t really recall what Forossa even looked like anymore. He remembered the river, and his family, but the faces that surrounded them were blurry and unclear. He focused on his father, a smile creeping across his cheeks as he remembered his silvery hair and bushy beard, his leathery hide and his brilliant blue eyes, those eyes that they shared. He felt a pang of guilt as he remembered every time he had to look into those eyes lying in the dirt or drowning in a sea of laughter and mockery. He had always been there to defend Marinko, no matter how many times he failed or embarrassed the reputation of his prestigious Northwarder father, he always picked him back up and told him he was great just the way he was. Marinko looked up to the sky, staring at the streaks of gold that ran across the clouds.

“I’m sorry you never got to see me become the man I know you needed me to be. I promise that I’ll get there. I’ll make you proud father...I’ll prove them all wrong. Every last one. I will become a lion knight. I will become a Northwarder! I’ll be the next Three-eyed Lion!” He shouted into the sky, words brimming with emotion as he fought to say them. He looked back down to the pair of swords that rested beside him, their blades crossed over one another.

“I will become my father’s son.”

It had been nearly a week since Bristle had shown himself around the camp. Rose had spent hours late in the day searching for him, traipsing through the forest, calling for him. She was always met with silence and the dull hum of crickets and insects singing in the forests. Today, she tried again, hiking her long robes up to her knees and exposing her slender legs as she awkwardly clambered her way through the forest thicket. She had been the one to send him away, she recalled what she had told him. She had told him to stop being himself. She cursed herself under her breath, tugging at her long pinkish hair with her finger, face twisted into a wicked expression of grief, anger and sorrow.

‘You idiot. You shouldn’t have cursed him. You shouldn’t have cast him away. He was only trying to help you, and you did naught but spit in his face and call him a monster.’

The thoughts cut deep, her self contempt a vice wrapped around her slender neck, choking her. She trudged on, growling as her gown caught on a snaggly branch, her fingers clutching at the fabric and yanking it free. She felt herself struck by an arrow of fear.

‘What if I never find him?’

She tightly wrapped herself in her own arms as she continued to wander between the trees, her fingers digging into her biceps as she clutched onto her resolve.

A second arrow pierced her chest, her knees trembling under the weight of guilt and fear that rested upon her shoulders. Her fingers dug deeper, to the point she had torn the cloth, exposing her bear and now claw raked skin.

’what if he doesn’t want me to find him?’

Her pupils were pinpricks, her body quivering about like branches in a storm, salty fjords ran down the faults in her face and dripped off her chin. She bit her lip and pressed her chin to her chest, scared to face her thoughts anymore. She was the one at fault. It was never Bristle. How could she blame her poor brother for his lack of sociability after what they had gone through? Naive, stupid, too hospitable. He had called her these things before but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized her brother had always been right. She screamed into the abyssal silence that swarmed her, her internal tirade tearing her bosom apart from within, as though blades bubbled up in her blood, stabbing at the core of her heart. Silence was a catalyst for thought, and that silence threatened to drown her.

She trudged on deeper into the wood, the trees around her taunting her with their swaying branches, as though they concealed some unseen glimmer of her brother. She heard twigs snap behind her and this shook her from her stupor. She felt the eyes of some unseen beast slithering their gaze up and down her form, watching her, stalking her. She murmured to herself, fearful of what was lurking. She again grabbed at her robes and began to bound through the forest like a fawn fleeing from the scene, fleeing from her feelings, fleeing from the truth. The horrible truth. The truth she knew so well but was too afraid to confront.

‘He isn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. It’s not possible.’ She lied to herself, her fabrication one meek voice in a crowd of screaming voices that shouted so loud they threatened to shatter her skull.

“He’s not dead. He’s not dead!” She now shouted allowed, voice shrill and guttural, her words screeching like scraping metal.

She was trying to convince world itself that this was not the case. She tried to swindle it into accepting her desire as truth. She wanted to lie in the face of death and trick him into wandering off back into the depths of the deep. Most of all, she wanted to convince herself.

She continued to shout this line in her squawking crow’s call, the little cleric had become a banshee as she sprinted through the woods, clambering over rock and kicking at fallen treebranches that grabbed at her ankles. She continued to trip and tumble over her own clothing. She clambered towards a great overhang, a tree the size of a giant rooted into the rock outcropping. She leant her back up against the sturdy stump, pulling her knees tight to her chest as her body folded up, becoming naught but a white speck in the dark shade of the forest canopy. She sobbed relentlessly, a sticky mess of tears and snot smeared across her tomato red cheeks, her hair strung out to ragged strands of crimson thread which she pulled at as they wrapped around her fingers.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry brother...I’m sorry...I’m so sorry!” She wailed, her head falling back against the tree as she screamed for him, body limp and twisted as though the pain of her accepted fault had shattered every bone in her frail body.

She continued to cry, inconsolably, out into the forest that surrounded her.

‘Why am I so weak? Why did I ever get so emotional over what he did? He was doing his best! He was doing his best and I killed him. What kind of sister? What kind of maiden? What kind of priestess? What kind of person tells their one and only brother to shut up and leave her alone? How could I have been so horrible to him?’

her mind raced as the thoughts boiled over and scalded her soul. She keeled over, forehead against the ground in prostration. Her body was still racked by unrelenting sobs and choppy breaths, that vice still choking her.

‘His last memory of me...the last memory we’ll ever have together is that fight. That was what I gave as a final moment to my brother. Nothing but pain and an empty sense of alienation.’ She thought as her mind began to slow down, her body calming, her hands reflexively clasping together. She slowly closed her eyes, and turned her gaze to the sky above the treetops.

“Heavenly father, please, I beg of you, forgive me for my abhorrent behaviour. Forgive my brother for his sins, and let him walk along the path of light with you, hand in hand, that he may never again be cast back into the empty darkness that I forced him into. He hath not but love for me and his only wishes were that mine were fulfilled. Please, please don’t let him suffer a minute longer. I was blinded by my desire, and for that I must atone. I can hope only that he and the Allfather can both forgive me, for I will never be able to forgive myself.” She choked out with a shaky whisper, interrupted but sputtering breaths and sobs.

Again she heard the snapping of twigs, the beast from earlier was looming over her now, but she simply closed her eyes, her muscles tense. She hoped it would slay her here. She wanted to share in the pain of her brother, she wanted to absolve for making that which was two pieces one broken, incomplete, fragment. That’s all she was now: A puzzle piece with no match.

‘Forgive me, Bristle.’

(Eyy /u/revaeyn bby you wanna jump in on this I gotchu)

Let the festivities begin!

A cool breeze swept across the sands of Lothric shore, carrying the tantalizing scent of cooking from the tents that had been erected on the beachfront. The air was refreshing and light, not bogged down with the usual salty stench and humidity that often plagued it. The waves of the ocean lapped and licked at the dunes, a gentle crashing whisper caressed the ears of passers by, the tides beating rhythmically with the heartbeat of the ocean.

Spears of sun struck through the woolen clouds, coating the scarred dark oak dining tables: Two slates of aged wood that stretched 40 feet across the coast. Three dozen padded chairs with floral embroidery were tucked neatly under the table, the slim legs of the seats creaking and screeching under the weight of jubilant Catarnians who all sat and sang and chuckled, the clink of toasting glasses and silverware on platters and plates a sharp symphony of indulgence. Beyond the main banquet table smaller circular tables had been set up, seating groups of eight, six, four, and even a few couplet tables with just two chairs, each chair presented a sleek ceramic plate and a pair of silvery cutlery. To this song of satisfaction danced a dozen servers and chefs who all buzzed about like bees to refill and clear empty platters, restock plates, and manage the food. Among the most busy seemed to be a redhaired maiden in clerics robes and a messy apron, who bounced about between tables with a smile as wide as the horizon.

Delectable fragrances filled the air, dragging the inhabitants of bonfire hill by their nostrils to the stage of the feast. The table was adorned with a steamy feast of foods both simple and decadent. The main attraction was a mountain of crabcakes crisped brown dashed with amber herb and coated in a golden lemon-estus sauce that dripped and slid from the sides of the mound like glacial runoff. A forest of crab legs sat next to the main dish, the bright pink shell shimmering in the sun, the meat billowing a soft steam where they had been cut from the chitin of the crab’s body, the platter swimming in a buttery liquid. Further down the table bowls of steamed vegetables sizzled in large bowls, broccoli coated in a creamy cheese, a stack of golden cobs of corn, the earthy aroma of carrots and mashed potatoes enticing onlookers swirling above their pots. Two bubbling black pots of soup churned and popped, the first a viscous stew of estus and herbs prepared specially by Kalos, the unique recipe for the common stew a refreshing take for those familiar with the food. The other was a creamy white soup with diced onion, garlic, chives and thyme whose flavor was so forceful it kicked at the throats of those who sat near it.

From there on, an elegant basket of honey-cinammon cookies was set, their glaze seemed to sparkle and shine, as though they had been coated in gold, though the strange, eldritch shapes the cookies had been cut into may have put people off of eating them. To the baker however, their form was abundantly clear. Other baskets of sliced breads, rolls, and garlic toasts had been strewn about, all freshly baked in kitchen that same day. Near the end of the table Enur’s big bowl of pasta and fried Elizabethan mushrooms sat, the noodles a perfect dull white and their texture so gooey and soft they melted on the tongue. This was only the beginning of the foods on offer, the feast had a bountiful excess of variety, food of every make and model was surely on the serving plate somewhere around the makeshift dining hall.

For those seated for their meals there was merry entertainment, the songs and strings of minstrels and bards twanging and singing tickled the ears and hearts of those who listened, accompanied by the bass of laughter, clapping, and the few drunks who found it fun to sing along with the song, much to the chagrin of those who hoped to hear the performance proper. It wasn’t long before there emerged table side duels and jousts, the Catarinans getting more and more rowdy as the evening went on, hundreds of bumbling onions revelling in festivity and feast, alongside their undead compatriots.

It was a day to forget the woes of the world for a moment, in this instance, for all that they had done and everything that they were, the valleys and faults that separated them, they were all at once united under the banner of the most basic human pleasures: food, drink, jokes, and music.

As the party neared the bridge the two members that had previously engaged the Wyvern could see the arena hand changed significantly. Where there was once pillars of rock jutting out from the floor there was now only small stubs, the previous straight bars of the cage were now dented to the point of hanging over the abyss, save for one place where the bars had been ripped off entirely; the previously exposed bodies of adventurers past seemed to of completely disappeared under the displaced stone.

The only thing that seemed to be unchanged was the Wyvern, who sat like a cat on the edge of the bridge, silently staring towards the prison, its head perking up slightly at the sight of the sprites peculiar movement patterns that it could never completely understand. A small cloud of gas fell from it's mouth, landing at its feet, and spreading to cover the area around it; the gas seemed slightly thinner this time, less concentrated.

The Wyvern held vauge resemblance to those who flew around Lothric. It's even, dark gray skin stood out like the sun in the pitch black cavern, only lit up by the parties torches. It's arms were abnormally large being larger in width than its legs, it's hard scales tried to stretch to cover the large space, but failed at several intervals along the arms. It's wings seemed to missing entirely with only a small lining of leather running across its oversized arms. The most abnormal thing however, would be its tail, it looked like it had been compressed resulting in a flat, pointed spear head with its edges just as sharp as the point.

Alright I'm just gonna post this, and save it for later, players in this for sure are: Theo/ Eiens , Bee/ Jericho , Rana/ a fucking viking, Katana/Onishei... (four people are currently in the thread, and four is alrady a high number). Highly recommend reading the previous fight, here, so you know what to expect (me insta killing Theo was something he asked me to do)

The parties surroundings suddenly twisted, and morphed into a swirl of motion before stabilizing in a dark room lined with heavy stone bricks. Pipes snaked across the walls coming from either a container filled with water, or from the boiler in the center of the room. The boiler room was very thinly lit with the only light coming from the rooms bonfire, and the final embers of the boiler, at its foot the corpse of a crabman could be seen drenched in its own blood, but no signs of a struggle could be seen.

A door could be seen at the opposite of the room, opened side for all to see where Vigil massacred the disfigured serpents in the bath house, and at the end of the bath house another larger metal door could be seen.

Vigil strode out the door into the dark bath house, his steps unwavering.

#For those looking to be GMs or RP as Bosses, please refer over to this post!

Hey there! Welcome to the character creation thread, please be sure to use the Dark Souls Wiki as you write this post, to cross-check references and make sure things stay nice and consistent. At the end of it all, we'll get you hooked up with an image sheet like above for your character to use freely, as a signature or visual reference for others players.

Please follow the following template for a character:

#1) Name. Birth name, title, pseudonym, or nickname, doesn't matter!

#2) Gender, Height, Weight: Metric or Imperial, doesn't matter really.

#3) Backstory + Home (Carim, Astora, Catarina, etc).

Your story is the most important part of character creation. It informs your characters motivations, interests, fears, hopes, insecurities, and most importantly how you interact with the world and people in it.

Feel free to get as lengthy as you want. One of us will proof it and give you feedback, and we'll work one-on-one to make it work. These requirements aren't especially rigorous, we only want you to give it your all.

And as usual, I will always, always, ALWAYS advocate the Game of 20 Questions. It is bar none one of the greatest resources to have on hand when designing a character or even developing an already existing character. Its a way to quiz yourself about what you know and don't know about this person that you're trying to impersonate, and it can tear massive holes through your assumptions about the character and force you to think deeper and smarter. PLAY IT.

WARNING: If you're making a character from Catarina, Carim, or Mirrah there's already been some history/plot/setting for each country. If you opt for these three, please look at the apocrypha page

Sidenote: We have plenty of Astoran nobles, merchants, and wizards. Feel free to get crazy with your concept.

An important notice: Its detrimental to wholesale repurpose a concept from another Dks game or franchise from any medium. Please, invent something original for your own sake. Taking light inspiration is wonderful, and as anyone who consumes fiction knows, there's no such thing as a new story. We've been retreading cave paintings for 40,000 years. BUT re-purposing some other writer's concept for your own sake is disrespectful to say the least! EX: "Luke Sunwalker, Cleric of White." Just... no...

#4) Covenant, If any.

Be sure you elaborate as to why or how you're in this Covenant, since it often defines the character. All the covenants from the games make a return, as well as some new ones.

#5) Equipment, any armor, swords or rings. Try not to claim super specific objects (for instance, don't walk into town with Smough's hammer please), but have as many Tiny Being's Rings, sorceries, or Drang Sets as you want.

#6) Undead, Unkindled, or Man? (or mushroom, or ghost, or cat, or...)

Humans without the brand are very rare (outside of Catarina, in our setting), have only but one life to live unless branded, and are often hunted by Invaders for the fresh supply of humanity. Undead are the most common forms of life. Unkindled are also really rare but feel free to apply one.

#7) Picture!

We have a few cool resources on hand for you.

Chance's Workshop

PsychoFlamingo on Imgur

I personally suggest googling "Pathfinder" assets, as they often have plenty of nice art that's already cropped. Guild Wars also has some excellent concept art. Google's your BFF, use it!

There are basic limitations on what we can use. This guy is fine, since cropping him won't be a problem. Contrast this which would be harder to clean up. On top of that please consider the resolution and framing of your picture. Something wallpaper sized looks terrible scaled down to about 145x145.

You can also sidestep us mods and follow this tutorial detailing flair making. When you have a finished flair send it to us and you'll have your flair up in a giffy!

For examples go here.

#8) Three traits you'd like to have on your flair.

They can be anything, really. You should have two positive and one negative trait, it makes your character richer. Your character's title/occupation is acceptable but not ideal, ie:

Brave Narcissistic Wizard

Wizard doesn't inform me much about your character, right? Try

Brave Narcissistic Scholarly

Now that's how a wizard do.

#9) TIMEZONE! This is for coordination purposes.

Roleplay with players all over the world is complicated! We use Discord to coordinate (no mics necessary) 24/7. Our quick and dirty solution is to put timezones (and maybe nationality if you're feeling it) on your flair. This prevents you posting threads and twiddling your thumbs/mashing f5, since when someone posts - they will let you know.

After filling out the aforementioned, you'll be good to go! A moderator will come by and look at your character, and then you should be good to go! Happy Hunting! If you're not getting a response feel free to message a mod on Reddit or Discord.

##https://discord.gg/sBqw4Yw

Chopping had echoed for quite a while from the woods just outside of the Lothric Encampment, the occasional loud crashing following soon after. Catarians had filed in every now and the as well, grunting and the sounds of hammering following from their trips into the forest.

Soon an Inn rose where once trees had been, a sweaty knight at the center of it all, looking over that which she and those she contracted had built. A small fence set a ring around the area outside of the main building, the owner of the whole area watching it all with a hawk-like gaze.

All were welcome into the small area coined The Garden, as denoted by the sign above a small archway into the enclosed area, but sadly few flowers grew around the green grass. What did grow was a small patch of vegetables that were located outside the back of the inn, near a small doorway that led into the kitchen for easy access.

The inside of the inn proper had three levels, one on the bottom next to a warm and inviting hearth, the next up housing a small bar built into the wall along with a dining area near it. The final level, and Elayne's personal favorite, was one that had three large windows with furniture spread about the sprawling room for undead to sit and relax.

There were few places such as this where one could come and lay down there woes, fewer still that had functioning rooms through a hallway on the top level where one could sleep. Such a service did not come free, however, and all that came in and stayed for any long amount of time, or ordered any food were expected to pay up. Most were welcome, but a stern glance and the knowledge of the woman behind it was enough to keep most in check, violence in the inn was prohibited.

Should one remain calm and relax, however, they were more than welcome in The Garden. Food, warmth, and a feeling of motherly safety was what awaited those that entered.

Enur laid spread eagle on the edge of a lake, his feet dipped into the water, and his arm wrapped around his eyes to block out the sun. The shadow of Lothric castle stretched out covering part of the lake, granting him some refuge from the ever present sun; dull half barren trees, and patches of wilted grass swayed in the gentle breeze; and light refracted off the ever watchful water of the lake.

All of those things, ever present, gentle, and watchful, those were things he had promised he would be when he became Charles, but what had he been? He had been *unobservant, failing to realize how his spell would affect Charles abyss status; he had beenwrathful, threatening a sorcerer who had offered her assistance; and he had been neglectful, locking Charles up in a cave completely out of his sights. Everything that he had promised to do he had failed at.

Slamming his fist onto the dull, colorless grass he viciously tore out a tuft of grass, all he had been was a displacer, twisting everything he had ever come across to help Charles. Slowly sitting up Enur reached his hand into the water, searching for a stone to skip across the lake. Still searching a voice sounded behind him ...

OOR: Informal side-quest, self-gm'd and whatnot. Chill thread. Go go. \o/ Vigil -> Katana -> Dirk -> Moi

As per Siegmund's directions, reconnaissance teams had been dispatched to Farron Keep, the marshland swamp that stemmed past the Road of Sacrifices. The air was putrid and nearly toxic to breathe, covering the marshland with a light haze. Stone hills adorned the land, asking as brief sites of refuge away from the toxic tar that covered the swamp. Colossal trees protruded from the tar with rotting barks and dying leaves. In this massive open space, a team of Undead scouts drew near, looking to take their steps in this unexplored marshland.

For how long had he been wandering through the ever thickening deep brush and wood of the forest, how long had he been stuck out here? He'd wandered and wandered, far away from Rose with all the confusion that the girl had. All the confusion that he had towards his sister, most that was left there for him was pain. Naught but confusion and more screams, sidelong glances, confused eyes, hurt soul. The two of them hadn't been whole for quite a while, or had they even been close in the first place?

Surely it was his duty to care for his sister, to put her above all, but every time he did he was shot down further and further into a never ending madness. Days and months of frustration, unexplained feelings and little grasps every day, the bitch that she'd decided to stay with. They touched, hugged, who knows what else they wanted to do? If it was the way that Rose wanted then he would forever respect her wishes, as was his holy duty. As was the last promise that he made to her, and he would fulfill it to the letter.

It was at the first sight of dawn's sun when Grayphlox arrived at the hollow infested Undead Settlement. The powerful stench of embalming fluids still clung to his clothing, but did little to overwhelm the smell of filth amidst the township.

The streets were empty, with most of the town's sane folk locked away in their homes, fighting their own battles against becoming hollow themselves. It wasn't until Grayphlox made his way to the town square when he found a gathering of hollows formed around a fire pit, idly standing by with a look of pure vacancy in their eyes.

With a grim calmness in his step, the Gravedigger approached the mass, tightening the grip on his scythe. As the hollows became ever aware of the nearing figure, they all stood and began their approach as well, brandishing saws and cleavers.

The very moment one of hollows came within his reach, Grayphlox drew back his reaper, and with a swish through the air, sliced cleanly through his target, which let out a horrid, pain-filled wail that shattered the silence of the settlement.

The reaping had begun.

Just along the outskirts of the Undead Settlement, atop a lonely hill, sits a small, wooden shack surrounded by marked graves and empty coffins. The place reeks of death, and an air of eeriness looms over the graveyard, filling those who come near it with a perpetual sense of dread. Should one stand still in the cemetery long enough, one could even swear it feels as though something is lurking beneath the soil. Something horrid and wicked.

Just outside the shack, a cart can be found. Sometimes it's empty, sometimes its filled to the brim with the bodies of hollows. Inside, however, one can always find the bloodstained table that sits in the middle of the room, with numerous tools being mounted along the walls, and countless vials of strange colored liquids lining the shelves.

This macabre abode is the home of Gravedigger Grayphlox, and his door is always open to those that aren't hollow, and should his guests show proper manners, he may even be willing to part with some of the trinkets he's acquired from the hollows he's reaped. That is, for the right price. While the nature of his stock is constantly changing, he's rarely ever in short supply of purple and bloodred moss clumps, which many travelers may find useful should their path lead to the treacherous Road of Sacrifice.

So come in, stay for a while, and enjoy the wonderful scent of formaldehyde.

You guys might be noticing some wonky stuff happening with the subs CSS code, and that's because we've once again hit Reddit's memory cap on stylesheets!

There's an easy fix though: We're going to cut the code for user name tags, and that will save a lot of space.

The compromise is that we can't support players using more than one Reddit account any longer because each alternate account needs its own line of user flair code. The days of one alt per character are over.

As such, I gotta hound everybody to post with your preferred Reddit account in the comments below with a list of alternate characters you write with, and then choose a single alias.

Example: 'I'm Theo and I write as

Theolanius

Eisenfaust

Cato

Siegmund

Father Feldman

Malik

This includes bosses.

For a full list of character flairs go here

Obviously its huge inconvenience, but we're doing it so that we can make the code on our stylesheet accommodate as many player characters as possible!

Thank you! - Theo

Half a hundred thoughts ran through the shopkeep's mind instantaneously as he stormed through the house, ransacking it for any signs of what might have happened. There wasn't any blood, there wasn't any ash, nothing had been stolen, nothing had been broken or turned over. All of his stock was still in storage. Even the Lightning Gem...

WHERE WAS SHE?!

She left me, the realization sunk in even as he searched for any sign of that being true. Not a note, her wedding band wasn't sitting on a night stand or anything. She was just gone, like she'd never lived there. She left me.

Why? Tears began to form in the shopkeep's eyes, and suddenly he was enraged. He kicked over a display case filled with odds and ends for sale, scattering useless junk over his shop. He had no customers anyway.

"WHY?!" he screamed aloud before thinking to himself, It was finally over. I fucking did it. Alayne and I purged the Evangelists from the Settlement, MY Settlement, she was finally SAFE... "What the fuck?!" He unsheathed his Fire Longsword and smashed another nearby display, breaking it into two rough slabs of cindery wood and a million shards of glass.

(OOR): /u/gamble_gamble it might be time you hear a raucus

It had been a week since the invasion on Lothric, and the camp had began winding down to it's original peaceful state of contentment, but not all was well in the encampment. Two days prior the Catarina's livestock, mostly various species of boar, and cattle, had managed to escape their pens, and were now roaming around Lothric.

As it turned out this was both a stroke of luck, and misfortune. It was good because the Catarina knights hadn't been able to produce enough food for the animals growing populations, and with the growing amount of soldiers being marked by the curse keeping the animals became more of a liability than anything else. It was bad because all of the animals had managed to escape, and they hadn't been able to turn them into food products.

So bonfire hill decided to issue a request to all of the undead by flyers, and word of mouth. The request asked for them to find, kill, and bring the animals back to bonfire hill, so they could prepare them for the feast. The request also stated that if anyone found any appealing wildlife around Lothric bonfire hill would welcome the additon to the feast.

OOR: Okay so this is how it's going to work. You people can split up however you want, but the main objective is to find wildlife. I recommend you split up by area that you guys look. There will also be a cooking thread. ARE YOU FUCKING READY FOR A FEAST!!!!!

The rumors had been validated. The Catarinians had done it. After a few days of binging Siegbrau, woodworking, and taking breaks to play in the ocean, an enormous shack had sprung up overlooking a bluff over the fog sea, to stand in remembrance eternal of the wreckage of the Sunset Treader.

Most of the wood had come from said ship, and it was a fair assumption that teams of Catarinians had stripped off their bulbous armors and unsheathed their keen musculatures in tandem to squat-carry broken off pieces of the boats, or at least those still dry enough to be used.

Now they had an oddly boat shaped beach side establishment that was being marketed as a sort of meeting hall for the mission, but in reality was really just a bar catering to the undead, and moreso simply a hangout spot for bored onion knights.

The composition of Siegbrau was an eldritch secret fit only for memorization in the heads of Catarinian sages (for what, besides death, could sustain the dead?), but enough people were generally fond of it that they would overlook the rumors of what it was made from (carrion, human souls, the tears of the innocent, speculation ran wild) and pay mint to guzzle it down.

Beside that, a much more easily verifiable recipe for a type of Estus stew had become popular with the men in camp, but supplies were in ever short supply (who was growing squash in Lothric?), but again supply remained proportionally equivalent to demand and the stout knights made do.

Who the eponymous Zibel was would never quite be explained to most of the bars patrons, but the Catarinians tended to toast his name raucously when the subject was brought up.

So there it was. A drinking den built from a shipwreck, precariously perched on a cliff, within the careful purview of the watchful Captain Siegmund. What son of Catarina would feel complete without such an establishment to frequent, even at the point of convergence for dark forces and eschatological prophecies here in Lothric?

Zibel's Rest would be open for business until people stopped showing up or the world really did end this time.

You arrive, through the rubble of a city long-destroyed, to find a lively ramshackle township, mostly centered around a single bonfire...

The Bonfire Encampment had grown, and of late there had been dozens upon dozens of comers and goers, like tourists come to see the end of civilized existence. Knights, pyromancers, scholars, sellswords, rogues, champions, all walked the camp in droves, all called by the bell.

The camp had changed a lot since Firekeeper Jeanne had started tending it. There had been a smattering of cheaply built shacks and re-appropriated ruins before the Fleet of Day had arrived. The ensuing hydra's attack had done a number on the hill, but the Fleet of Day and the increasing size of the camp had hastened the recovery.

Now the encampment was probably the largest civilized settlement in all of Lothric. Anarchic and disorganized as it tended to be most times, the people were mostly united under one banner, the banner of the human race. The standard of the flickering flame. The marching drum of the bell that tolled every day.

A town composed primarily of would-be heroes meant an economy based mostly on adventuring gear and creature comforts. Within a kilometer of the bonfire could be found the following: a stand that repaired and would enchant masks on commission, an old man who sold secrets, a bounty hunting gang headed by a mushroom, general store, a guerilla CIC tent, a fraternal mission, and a strange tree, just to name a few. And more tradesmen were setting up shop all the time, word around camp even had it that some of the rowdier Catarinians planned to set up a pub on the coast.

For all that, the village that had sprung into existence around this most central of bonfires was not without danger. The leaders of the Fleet of Day had put out burn notices on Dark Wraiths, Mound Makers and the like, and infiltration by even creatures as unlikely as lycanthropes was an ever present danger. Worsening matters was that much of the surrounding area still hadn't been properly surveyed and every shallow shoreline cove had the potential to be a deathtrap filled to the brim with hollows and abominable beasties beyond imagining.

Lothric was not a bad contender for the position of the single most dangerous place in the most dangerous time in recorded history, and the Lords of Cinder would sooner or later take notice of the upstart encampment if they deigned to look beyond their hiding places. The camp lived in the shadow of Castle Lothric itself, and there were unverified rumors of a god-like dark rider living there.

Life was good in the camp, granting a sense of community that most of the rest of the world had done without for hundreds of years. Not without peril, even existentially so with the possibility that some 'thing' even greater than a hydra might decide to wipe the camp out, but even so, it was worth it. Worth it for the services, worth it to have a mission, worth it to be among friends.

Like so many other kingdoms before it, when the undead curse once again resurfaced, Lothric fell into a panic. Not knowing the cause of the curse or how it spread they locked up anyone who was thought to have the undead curse inside an underground prison.

As the curse began to spread quicker the prison was quickly running out of space. Trying to preserve Lothric for as long as they could the nobles tried to come up with a plan to protect it’s citizens. After days of arguing they begrudgingly accepted one of the proposals... execution of anyone who bore the undead curse.

However it didn’t take long to find out that the undead could only be killed when they became hollow. With the help of the kingdoms inquisitors they were able to make enough room in the prison after killing many undead.

As all of the resentful souls of the undead gathered around the prison the abyss became drawn to them. The abyss began to slowly corrupt the prison along with the souls of those still inside. As the souls began to be corrupted they were twisted and infused into the very walls of the prison making it an almost living being.

The entrance to the Hallowing Prison lies just outside of the Undead Settlement through a large sinkhole in the ground. The sides of the sink hole are reminiscent of an over sized well, large enough for a Wyvern to fall down.

The only way to descend into the Hallowing Prison is by way of rope or ladder and the only other exit is reached by traversing the prison.

The prison itself is inhabited by hollows, rats, and souls of those corrupted by the abyss ans infused into the walls of the prison. The paths of the prison resemble that of a decaying labyrinth with many splitting paths, dead ends, and overpasses that threaten to collapse.

Be wary of entering, the rewards are great, but are risks worth it?

As the group sprinted forward they were greeted by a large, stone footbridge. At the end on the bridge was a heavy iron door which lead into a massive courtyard with nothing, but broken stalls. Three doors could be seen from the gate, each leading into an identical building.