The Great and Terrible (Dark Souls/Multi)

Grab the greatsword and continue onwards.
-Grunt expressively about the whimsicalities of existence, then inquire about available armorers.

A moment passes, lengthy if only in the strength of the possibilities extending from it like spiderweb. Obscured face peering through glinting helm at a wounded helm concealing an unearthly presence. A gauntlet flexes, the owner wondering if a move for their weapon would be timely or if a simple punch would serve. A shoulder rotates, the owner wondering if- just this once- a human would be worth more alive than as an organic decoration.

A moment passes and is gone.

Unsteadily, the Knight releases the 'Arinn' to grasp the awkwardly sized hilt of the fallen golem's greatsword. That it was being used as a walking stick in no way hindered the coiled lethality within the newly equipped figure; the slowly rising knight of Astora showed every sign of being aware of this fact. Both back on their feet, the armored individuals- one nearly pristine and whole, the other charred and crippled- sized one another up, the tension between them forcing a stillness to contrast perfectly with the now roaring wildfire steadily crawling towards their location. With a weakened leg, a missing arm, and a battered body, one would be severely mistaken if they didn't bet on the Black Knight's inherent desire to destroy everything that could threaten their Lord, even when the bet was against their own well-being. The Arinn didn't move a muscle as the Knight tamped down on centuries-old instincts and forced themselves to recognize a potential ally, if only for the moment.

The stillness helped.

What didn't help was the loud bell that sounded off near their head, causing them to look around wildly, breaking the tense tableau.

[Quest Completed: The Iron Fist]
Reward: [Mediocre Stone Greatsword] + 75 xp
XP: 75/500

The Knight honestly could admit to bafflement and no small amount of annoyance at the words that appeared in midair. Again. But it was eased, slightly, at the realization that simply willing it away worked this time. With peace restored, the Knight turned to observe the Astoran slowly retrieving their sword and sheathing it in a posture clearly indicating hesitancy and submission. As it should be. Now, the Black Knight hadn't interacted with anything beyond the simple back and forth of hunt-and-kill in a long time, but it was eyeing the well-crafted armor the human wore with something approaching longing, so it wasn't too late to try... diplomacy.

As the wraith stood up as straight as possible, facing the clearly uncomfortable Arinn, they found the steel helm turning to meet their own. It appeared they were curious about the upcoming interaction as well, even though they were cautious enough to not speak more than necessary. A worthy trait of any Black Knight, that was. But sometimes speaking was necessary. Like now.

"*hnrg*"

The reaction that was not expected was the Astoran falling backwards in shock. Or awe. Or fear?

Annoyance rising again, the Knight decided to try again. Humans were rather... slow to learn sometimes. He'd killed the same ones enough times to figure that out long ago.


Attempting to outrun a wildfire was infinitely preferable to the long minutes of grunting and charades to get the human to understand an extremely simple concept. After all, one would assume that drawing attention to missing limbs or angry gashes where there should be none would be enough. Fortunately the Arinn made up for their lack of mental speed with relative physical quickness, even outpacing the wounded servant of Gwyn several times throughout their breakneck charge. The Knight didn't fear the flames, not anymore, being largely immune to them after the Izalith War, however they were cautious about what might be attracted to the ashes while they weren't completely capable of defending themselves. Drake-kin could die but only a fool would face one with anything less than their best.

Tongues of flame tasted the two warriors as they ran. Grasping, clutching claws almost seemed disappointed when they finally emerged on the far side of the inferno. Gentle handprints of soot-stains left as a promise of passions yet unfulfilled.

After that excitement, the walk through the forest was dull in comparison. The Knight followed their guide at a steady pace, cut down a few carnivorous plants, eyed a strange door in the middle of nowhere, and otherwise just focused on not straining their leg so much that they'd break it too. As they passed a narrow pathway leading into the depths of the forest, the Knight felt something call to them at the core, but elected to ignore it because nothing ever called to them other than violence.

Eventually, the journey seemed to come to an end, as the duo found themselves approaching a stone structure built into a wall, which was connected to a dead end for this portion of the forest. The Arinn slowed down and a few meters away from one of the pillars holding up the entrance they turned around to face the Knight for the first time.

"Sir Knight, within these walls resides one of the best blacksmiths I've ever known. If anyone could restore your noble bearing, it would be he!"

Which was good news, for if the Knight had their time wasted, they'd already mapped out several ways to make the impending slaughter as painful as possible.

"However, there is a foul and great demon barring the path. I was able to simply run around it the first time, but I... am unsure if that would be feasible for us now." The Astoran gave a meaningful glance at their companion's leg. "I may have a plan tha- Sir Knight what are you-!"

Demon.

Not merely a word, not for the Knight.

When one of the oldest and most cherished friends of your Lord turned into a monstrosity, how could it be anything other than a symbol of pain? When their fall from grace caused the complete obliteration of a massive, thriving city, only to see it repopulated by slavering abominations, how could it be anything other than a festering wound? When those abominations spread, rampaging disgustingly throughout the ordered streets of the Great Lord's people, until he personally led a chosen few to put them down, how could it be anything other than a reminder of duty?

The Arinn merely said "demon". The Knight heard "destroy".

Without so much as an indication of intent, the veteran of the demonic purge strode past the ramblings of the lesser knight. What was once a makeshift walking aid returned to its normal, deadly form as the stone greatsword was hefted onto the Knight's shoulder. Shuffling forward carefully, yet full of determination, the contents of the stone room were observed all at once.

Pillars which formerly stood proudly now lay broken and shattered around a long, sinuous form. Charcoal gray and taller than the stone golem's by far, with a tail trailing on the floor nearly as long as that. A single deformed leg dragged the headless beast across the ground, aided by a massive staff that served in the same capacity as the Knight's greatsword. It was indeed a demon, although not the kind that the wraith was prepared for.

Long ago, the reclusive blacksmith for the Lords died. Not long afterwards, the great slabs of enchanted steel that the gods used to create and repair their weapons started to mutate into monstrous beings. Titanite Demons, named after the substance that birthed them. That was the story, at least, not that the Knight had encountered one personally.

Not that the Knight cared.

[] Kill the Titanite Demon (3.0x)
[] Write In