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Dark Souls: The Anthology Series


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   Long ago, there were two worlds, the Above and the Below...but you know already this fragmented story. Of how the Gods came to be, the fate of the ancient dragons, the birth of the Dark Soul and progenitor of man...

   But what of the story of the one who truly matters, the wayward Hollow. Whether the Chosen Undead, Bearer of the Curse, the Champion of Ash or a random pawn of fate...who has told their story?


   Dark Souls: The Anthology Series


(This anthology series will feature a new short story with new characters with each installment)

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Episode 1: The Crestfallen




Slowly dragging his feet from physical and mental exhaustion, Mayfur pushed himself to what he believed was the next bonfire. The knight has signs of hollowing in him and begins to feel the weight of his armor and weapon. Behind him in the dirt the tip of his longsword carved a small trench due to his unenthusiastic stance as he too dragged it with him. At an interval he would stop to gaze about and question his sanity before again rationalizing it all in his head. Just a little further, he thought, back to where he was prior. Once at the fire, he can rest his wary, tired bones. But there was one problem and a dire one indeed: between him and his brief respite was a graveyard he has not been able to cross. What made matters worse was the addition of fiendish Hollows peppered throughout.


It could have been three or four. Mayfur did not count them, he was too busy attempting to fight them off. Didn't matter much anyway, there might as well have been a hundred of them to line up to his slaughter for maybe the 1,000th time. What could he do different that would work in his favor? He lost his souls in the last attempt, so there was zero chance of getting stronger. That old firekeeper who mocked his existence would had laughed at him and labeled him a Crestfallen. Crestfallen...such a dirty word among Undead that implied failure. Would he be counted as one like that Holy Knight? He would be in company, though his conversations are far from pleasant , depressing even.




... No ... No, not today or any day.


Mayfur straightened and readied his sword. The time would come when his will would break, but it was in this moment. This was the day he crossed the Grave of the Forgotten. He inhaled sharply and plunged deep into the necropolis of tombstones.

As he ran passed the larger markers, the fleshless skeletons appears with swords and axes in hand filled with a bloodlust for the still sane Hollow making his way to further freedom. The knight pressed on this time not even bothering with a fight while avoiding pitfalls and deadends along the stacked grave markers that collected over the passage of time. Quickly he zigged and zagged remembering the way before but soon found himself in unfamiliar territory. This is as far as he's ever gone before, doubt and even looking back to view his pursuers will prove deadly; he was operating solely on instinct now and chose a right turn at a mysterious fork in his path.


His choice was lethal. Before him was a steep ledge and skidded to an abrupt stop. This was bad and his pursuers where close behind. Ahead was a downed rope bridge and double back to get a running jump to find a hundred or so shrieking skeletons with weapons raised. Mayfur turned about and booked to the ledge for a leap of faith...









... The knight lifted his head, the bonfire right in front of him...

Mayfur let out a heavy sigh and rose to his feet, only to discover he didn't recognize this place. He turned and looked to see the massive graveyard behind him. He let out a surprised shout of joy followed by a laugh. To what else added to his respite were a couple soapstones signs by the coiled sword and the Flame. Other undead just like him and willing to help. Suddenly his fears subsided and was that much closer to linking the fire in his era.

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Mmmmmm Dark Souls.

Dark Souls mmmmmm good.

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Episode 2: The Invader




Waiting. That was the hard part. The rest was determination and dedication. In one of the mazing hallways of the ruined cathedral the Dark spirit plotted knowing his prey was nearby and climbed the stairs to the second level to better observe how best to dispatch the master of this world. In his high lofty place of ambush, he passively peered down.


In strolled the master, armed with a rapier and parrying shield. The invader thought nothing of it until he saw the three phantoms in close formation. This wasn't just another run of the mill invasion. No, finally he found a challenge. The female world master cautiously and was one of the few who gave damn about her phantoms. She stopped and activated her chime to heal them before pressing on. The invader scoffed at her kindness, there was no way he intentions were pure. If they were she would have gone alone and not have wasted their time. To the invader they were nothing by fodder in the way of the real prize.


Leaping from his place of seclusion he plummeted with Great Cleaver in hand onto the first phantom, sending him back to his world instantly. Quickly he engage others, only two between him and the master now. But they not without a plan, atleast the master had one. In a flash she darted away from fight catching the last white phantom off guard. He clearly looked disheartened, did he also feel betrayed? Whatever the case he felt the bite of the invaders weapon and fell into smoky mist. Damn, no challenge at all... Now it was between him and sun whore, his golden outline only served to irritate him. Hunting undead and their blood was the only salvation, he reasoned, while readying his sword as the cleric of the sunlight did the same with his mace.




In haste she climbed the stairs to the higher levels, the bonfire must be nearby. In her travels she had failed to find any. But this was a chance to continue her journey to the Kiln. It was all she thought about, restoring the Flame and ridding mankind the Curse...atleast for now. But there was the next bonfire plan as day! Zealously she ran towards it and extended her hand.




As the Apostle of Sunlight fought the invader, he couldn't help but notice something was off...very off. The invader was didn't even seem like he was trying at this point. Perhaps his strength was half spent or something else. His answer came in blood curdling scream of the World Master being devoured by what would later be revealed as this areas Bonfire Mimic. The Apostle of Sunlight lowered his weapon feeling his connection to this world fading as the Invader taunted him with a 'praise the sun' gesture as they both disappeared leaving this world for theirs.


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  • 2 weeks later...

Episode  3: the Sellsword




Aside from the fighting, there's not much to tell. Politics was never his forte and the battlefield was all the chaos he desired. With his band of fellow unsavory characters, he leapt into the fray. This wondrous feeling as if flying with wings of eagles, staring down upon those below with miserable prejudice who dared mock the king before being bloodied in the most dishonorable of cruelty. This is war not a sparing match or friendly contest, but the true article where decorum had no place. This is where the common man settled his differences without duelbows and gestures of good will. This is war.

No time for prisoners, no time for refugees, no time for rest or the sword. You both have work to do, there's more blood to be spilled and more skulls to be split. No pay until it is done. Another comes, his defenses wide open. Deep you thrust the sword with tight grip upon the hilt. He falls but you run, onto the next you clash as you bellow a warcry. The smell of blood, sweat, mud and fire in the air. Chaos all around. You feel it, you need it. It is everywhere and you cannot escape or deny it. This is where you belong. Killer of your own kinds at the decree and Kings, Queens, Bishops and Gods. This is where you belong, filthy human. This is war.

There's no going back, there's too much hate. You can't remember why, but why stop now? Here comes another and another and another. Their story is the same, they come you kill they die. Faceless, masked enemy, down you fall and die like the rest. No time for remorse, no time for last rights, no time for pity. The Gods frown upon them, they are scum of the earth that is not fit to be walked upon. Down they go, ashes they burn, forgotten forever. Just like the villages and the villagers harboring traitors. They're all traitors, burned them all to ash, the wind carries the rest. The houses, the farms, the pastures, the farmer...they all burn...

This is war. This is where I belong. Burning the fire so the fire still burns.


Another comes, he is different. You wake up inside, for his skill is far from ordinary. A veteran, warrior, a sellsword is he. 'Finally', says you, 'something worth this ashen field.'

Your swords clash, his curved to your straight. A man of the East, a foreigner with a discipline rarely seen. Your blood quickens, your excitement rallied. You both have never met and yet this meeting be it as if planned. You memorize his swordplay, he matches yours. The fight is no longer a battle, but a dance. A dance you both become entranced in, lost in as the surrounding fade away. His stepwork and singing steel is all you hear, there is nothing else. You found beauty in the strangest of place and left in awe. In this moment nothing else matters. This is where you belong. This is war. Burning the fire so the fire still burns. Nothing else matters.


Suddenly a stab in the chest, through the heart but from the back. Your opponent stops in a disappointed stagger with sword still raised. But you knew it was coming somehow, someday. You fall to the earth as you feel life leaving you. A smile paints your face for you are not bothered.

This is war

This is where you belong.

Burn the fire so the fire still burns.

Nothing else matters.


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  • 1 month later...

Episode 4: Dishonorable




The messages on cobblestoned street littered the path of a wayward knight. They stretched on through the passage that snaked in among an abandoned village. Ahead was the market square that had once been bustling with traffic. But no more, the Curse...the Purge and the deafening silence but the wind that carried the foul stench still present after the ages.

The knight knelt down to read what other undead had left.

'Treasure ahead, in short weapon'

It seemed helpful enough, but there was another that said otherwise.

'Liar! Darkspirit, pull back!'

Not good, invaders this far in and away from any safezone. He read another.

'Use tongue, horse butt'

... Clearly a sign of severe Hollowing. The knight pressed on through the ruined avenue.


The messages had ceased. The wind had died down a bit and the knight could now hear the growling of snarling Hollows. These had been here since the ruins were fairly new and grew laughingly harmless. The knight did not not laugh however, for they may be an echo of what is to come should this Knight fail. Still it would be folly to allow them quarter and the knight drew the mace girded upon the hip to hold it ready. Again those messages rang in the mind.

...darkspirit...treasure... ... ...horse butt...?


The knight let out a sigh and stopped for some rest. A quick check of items in inventory. Poison Moss, monastery charms with a count of seven, half a flask of estus, five throwing knives, white soapstone... The temptation to go back was too great. If there was a fight ahead, this Knight was ill equipped to combat it. Quickly the knight took a homeward bone...

...nothing happens. Gods... An invasion?

The pull of a invader shakes the knight. The fear had been realized. Quickly, the knight used a silver talisman as blend in.




The glow of a red darkspirit filled the narrow road. Armed with a parma and lance, testing the surrounding and all conceivable hiding places. There was only one that was visible. A mocking spirit indeed taking the sweetest time moving through the street and stops abruptly.

"Come out, come out," the red spirit toyed in a musical tone. Twirled the lance in a display of boredom and spun away unknowingly from the knight hiding in plain sight, nestled as a barrel among rubbish gather in a corner.

"You're not making this fun at all," the darkspirit said, "all I want is some fun and humanity...your humanity. Is that all too much to ask?"


"Fine, I'll just sit right here." Pulls up a bucket and turns it upside down.

This was bad, very bad. If the knight made a noise, shifted in some way... Just wait, time will elapse and the invasion will end. The knight knew that much, there were other invasions. But this Knight wasn't much of s fighter and often chose to run over a fight. Usually would hide in a good place and wait. But this wasn't one of them and now in a state of vulnerability where the predator and prey now so close was unnerving.

"I'm waiting," the invader said. "Just give it up. I promise it won't hurt too much. We're undead, so this is nothing. Please?"


"COME ON ALREADY!!!" Violently the red spirit erupted from the seated position. Did this one expect it to be easy? The struggle of undead is not without its challenges and to resort to this implies desperation.



"No, you are the prey..."

A voice came from behind. The sound of feet with pairs of boots and clanking armor. The red invader turned to find three barrels morph back into their original forms as phantoms armed to the hilt. They all swung their weapons and gave chase to the fleeing invader who wondered who laid this trap before succumbing to defeat. The knight emerged as not a barrel but as the world master. "Good show chaps, let's set up the trap again for more darkspirits."

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