#Protests in Londo

[aci25]

At the present time in London, something profound is taking place

This is the voice of the people who have woken up and want peace and to stop genocide.

[heraldofcrow]

reviving ciaranblr 🗡️🗡️🗡️ What are a few of your favorite headcanons for Lord's Blade Ciaran or the other Knights of Gwyn?

LET’S DO IT!!! 🗡️🗡️🗡️

I’m gonna do the cop-out thing with you and just drop my old backstory plan for her in headcanon/outline form because Ciaran deserves the attention 🖤🖤 (Some of our ideas are extremely similar, it’s hilarious!) (Also, sorry for how long this gets 💀).

Here, have this gif of her VA with the right hair too!!

—

🗡️ Ciaran was half-human, half-god. Her mother was of Gwyn’s race and her father was one of the early pygmies. This is why she was so small and aged differently.

🗡️ Ciaran was born mid-dragon war (I share the hc) and grew up in the depths of Anor Londo, back when it was more of a walled fort instead of a peaceful city.

🗡️ She never knew her parents as a child. Her earliest memories were of destruction, war, and the threat of dragon firestorms. 

🗡️ She grew up thieving and roaming the slum streets with other lost children, always trying to survive the miserable days. 

🗡️The people she stayed with were Declan, an older, dark-haired boy that had befriended her, and Aedan, her sickly, younger brother that she fought to protect.

🗡️Aedan was her only family, and her “little fire” of hope that kept her going through hard times.

🗡️Declan was a loyal friend and very street-savvy. He taught Ciaran how to pick locks, use knives, and con merchants.

🗡️Ciaran was Declan’s stealthy scout as well. She was very acrobatic and lithe from a young age, good at scaling buildings and slipping through windows.

🗡️They thieved to save up money. Declan wanted to escape the slums and fight in the war. Ciaran just wanted to ensure Aiden’s survival. Their environment was poor for his health.

🗡️One day these three were offered a chance to escape the city depths by a smuggler who demanded pay from anyone accepting his services.

🗡️Ciaran, Declan, and Aiden went along with a group of other youths with this smuggler, near to the outer walls of the city.

🗡️He betrayed them, and left through the wall with their money. They all panicked and tried to leave. The walls were dangerous because of looming dragon attacks. 

🗡️A dragon did attack, showering the group in flame. Declan and Aiden perished, but Ciaran survived, albeit with horrible burn scars along her arms and neck. She was the only one to make it out because of her smaller size. The larger bodies shielded her.

🗡️A broken and bitter Ciaran swore revenge on the smuggler and planned to hunt him down. She became a killer then.

🗡️After years she could not find him, but her skills as both a mercenary and a thief brought her among the criminal networks.

🗡️She became a hired killer, helping rival gangs take each other down. She also became known as the Hornet after coating her knives in poison. 

🗡️More years passed, and finally her reputation became expansive enough to earn her attention from political figures.

🗡️Certain protesters of the dragon-war around Anor Londo wanted Gwyn dead. One of these found Ciaran and offered to pay her an exquisite sum if she crossed over the walls to find him and drive a blade into his throat.

🗡️She accepted and began her hunt. Her journey over the walls was tumultuous, but soon she found the silver knight barracks where the armies slept. 

🗡️Gwyn was among them. Ciaran meant to kill him in his sleep, and nearly did, but a mysterious figure stopped her.

🗡️A blue-robed assassin in a porcelain mask disarmed her. A Lord’s Blade. 

🗡️Ciaran was captured and was going to be executed, but the Blade that had stopped her put up a protest. 

🗡️The woman explained that Ciaran’s skill and reputation was not something to be taken lightly. Her skills could be useful.

🗡️Gwyn agreed, and demanded that Ciaran be made to become a Lord’s Blade under close supervision. Betrayal would mean instant death. 

🗡️This is where Ciaran’s new arc began

🗡️She was forced into the group, and trained rigorously, initially against her will. 

🗡️Her leader, Keira, was a strict disciplinarian and trained the women assassins to be ruthless warriors, obeying Gwyn’s every order. 

🗡️Ciaran was better than all of her peers and excelled, earning a place at Keira’s side. 

🗡️Along this time she met Ornstein, who encouraged her to feel loyal to Gwyn’s cause, as it would save the people of the slums in Anor Londo if the war ended.

🗡️One day, the barracks were attacked by an especially volatile dragon. Many of the knights were killed and the Lord’s Blades were caught in the middle, wounded and dying.

🗡️Keira was seriously injured, but told Ciaran to help Gwyn, who was outside the camp and in a dangerous position. 

🗡️Ciaran obeyed and managed to save Gwyn’s life, along with another knight that had been with him. 

🗡️She distracted the dragon, risking her own neck to draw him away. This gave Gwyn’s firstborn time to arrive and kill the beast.

🗡️After this Keira died of her wounds, and Ciaran’s act of heroism earned her Gwyn’s undying favor. He knighted her and named her the head of the Lord’s Blades.

🗡️ The knight that had been with Gwyn, Artorias, was first introduced to Ciaran through this event, and was smitten with the beautiful, fearless assassin that had risked everything to save her lord.

🗡️ This knighting by Gwyn changed Ciaran’s life, and afterwards she was given a secret document by Ornstein that revealed the history of Gwyn’s blades.

🗡️ Ciaran learned that the Blades were Gwyn’s faithful, cloaked assassins that worked for him in the shadows and snuffed out his enemies without hesitation, whether those enemies were dragons, traitors, or political rivals.

🗡️ Finally, Ciaran learned that Keira, the former leader, had been her biological mother, and there had been a statement placed in the document from Keira herself explaining that her role as a leader had been compromised.

🗡️ Biases, breaches of emotion, and attachments were forbidden among the Lord’s Blades, but Keira had fought for Ciaran’s life upon realizing the latter was her lost daughter. Keira had believed her entire family had perished, but had been given new hope upon seeing her daughter alive.

🗡️ Ciaran then understood that her mother had saved her life and given her the chance to redeem herself as a knight of Gwyn. She owed Keira everything, and afterwards her ambitions became set in stone. She would be Gwyn’s most deadly and trustworthy knight.

—

And that’s when the dragon-war ended, and the political drama began. Anor Londo was rebuilt in the Age of Fire, and Ciaran spent centuries hunting down Gwyn’s enemies with the mindset that nobody was as loyal as she—even the other knights.

She was cold and detached from the other three, usually spouting out the same reminders about how their relationship was only professional, and how if any of them betrayed Gwyn, she would kill them.

But was she really so detached? As a Lord’s Blade, she was notorious for keeping her emotions in check, but the little details, like accidentally calling Ornstein “Aedan” once or twice, or begrudgingly listening to Goughs ramblings were what revealed the subtle nature of her care.

The only one she could not understand was Artorias. At first she strongly disliked him because of his idealistic, overly-positive outlook on everything, and to make things worse, he was the only one that could see through her mask, her facade of nonchalance. This felt like a weakness to Ciaran, and so she did everything she could to push him away.

Yet it was Artorias in the end that Ciaran opened her heart to. Another story though, for another time mayhaps.

—

A few small things here:

I agree that she loved flowers and gardens too!

Her favorite food was hot broth with herbs and vegetables in it.

She was a cat person that had learned to tolerate Sif.

Her favorite color was green, like her lost brother’s eyes.

Artorias reminded her of a more innocent Declan, and Ornstein was very much a brother-figure. She often thought of Gough as some kind of docile uncle.

She preferred the rainy grey days of spring to any other time.

She never knew she was half human, and thought of humans as very cynical, dark beings.

Her former reputation in Anor Londo’s slums often came back to haunt her during missions.

Ciaran did not believe in supernatural occurrences or superstitions. She was very cold and rational.

She never divulged her past or her hidden traumas, but it was difficult to hide her reactions to these things at times.

The porcelain mask was Keira’s, but Ciaran altered her own unique headpiece and robe to be more “hornet-like.”

—

Ok, I’ll stop for now because I too have jumped right into fanfic territory, but as I said, Ciaran needs more focus, so I’m not ashamed 😔🥂

I want to go into her complicated relationship with Ornstein, her funny dynamic with Gough, and her deep bond with Artorias, but I’ll save that for another post, I think. I really love these four. I think they were a weird, misfit family.

Ornstein the stressed out, very tired lion-captain, Artorias the overly-excited, sunshine wolf-knight, Ciaran the cynical, very serious assassin, and Gough the chill archer-dad of the group.

Of course, this is just my interpretation, but it’s so fun to imagine all the possible dynamics 🥺

Anyway, thank you so much for letting me ramble like an insane person about my girl!! I have an old fanfiction for her outlined and ready to go in my docs that I really would like to work on again someday. That’s where I came up with all this stuff, so I appreciate you letting me talk about it again <3

Cheers!!

[matrixdragon]

Obviously there are personal stakes to Illia and ghira in regards to bale being missing, but it’s just further evidence of how the white fang plot is being sidelined for the sake of Blake’s personal plot, and as for the atlas racists, they already have no power to oppress the Faunus anymore, is ghirah gonna protest the refugees? He has a militia at his command he could conquer what’s left of atlas and force them to follow his commands if he wanted to

...

Seriously Dappercat? Seriously?

(Okay I don't KNOW it's Dappercat, but if it's not there's two of them and I feel like I'm in that episode of B5 with Londo and the bug.)

[rjalker]

I think everyone involved in the Centauri government should get blown up. Including Vir. He's just as capable of killing a man/protesting as Londo.

If I saw someone torturing someone else I would simply do literally everything in my power to kill the torturer. I might not succeed, but at least I'd try.

[nightcoremoon]

there are four living blacksmiths in lordran

andre

vamos

the giant

rickert

and also there were four lords

gwyn, lord of sunlight

nito, first of the dead

the witch of izalith

the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten

we can easily tie vamos to the witch of izalith as both can work with the chaos flame, but we cannot easily tie andre to gwyn. andre is from astora, land of the normal humans who have nothing to do with the gods, and he is the smith for divinity… but also occult. we can ultimately infer that divine damage is actually damage towards the undead and servants of velka, and I’d like to suppose that since occult is just divine ascended arguably in its purest form and that since they’re both the same thing and occult is dark and dark is humanity, then humanity and demonkind and sin are all together protesting the rule of the gods. that’s so fucking heavy metal if true. but regardless, since andre works with the undead at the base of the entrance to anor londo itself and is friends with the giant in anor londo, andre chooses to help the undead. he is clearly the blacksmith tied to nito. plus it only makes sense that the giant blacksmith of anor londo would be tied to lord gwyn, especially because he works with demon titanite and lightning.

anyway rickert is a human and the furtive pygmy is the first human and everybody forgets that rickert exists because he’s really out of the way and insignificant but shows that there is always hope as long as you persevere and you cannot be softlocked in any way because he exists. from rickert all amounts of souls and levels are possible. rickert retains his humanity and rejects the undead curse and remains unhollowed. he is the blacksmith tied to the furtive pygmy and I’m fairly certain that even at the end of the universe when the ashen one and gael face off over the last scrap of the dark soul, patches and rickert were chumming it up the whole time too.

[catchymemes]

[mrslittletall]

Number 17 with Ornstein and Nameless King, for the whumps prompt list, please ^^

Title: Thaw Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein/Nameless King Word Count: 4.859 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30799619

Summary: Unable to sleep, Ornstein takes a walk on Arch Dragon Peak, completely underestimating just how cold it can get up there.

(Author's note: Drowning/Hypothermia

Arghl, of course Ornstein would prompt me to write a massive amount of words, so here you go, enjoy your prompt ^^ I went with Hypothermia, because I already used Drowning for another fic.)

It was the dead of the night and Ornstein was wide awake.

He tried to fall back asleep a few more times. He closed his eyes, buried himself under the blankets and tried to completely empty his mind, but it was of no use. Eventually, he gave up. He needed to get up and go outside.

Back in the cathedral, he always had donned his armour and went on patrol through the dark streets of abandoned Anor Londo, but he wasn't at the cathedral anymore. Regardless, he knew that he couldn't stay here, lying wide awake in bed with no prospect of rest.

Ornstein got up and shivered. It was a cold night. He had come to Arch Dragon Peak only a few months prior, and he hadn't known how cold it could get up here. There surely would be snow outside. Ornstein searched for some warm boots and a thick sweater. Once he was dressed, he was putting his hair into a ponytail. Finally, he put a pair of gloves on. As he was sitting there, considering if he truly was fitted for the cold, Ornstein went back to his luggage and got a scarf out. It was old and ragged, but it still held him warm. A dragon was knitted into the scarf, it had been a gift from a dear friend. Ornstein enlaced his neck with the scarf and went to the door.

The only thing that Ornstein took with him was his spear. He had discarded his armour shortly after arriving and he planned to never don his armour again. He only took his spear with him in case he needed to defend himself. His dragon slaying days were long over.

On the way outside Ornstein stopped to peek into the room of the Master. It still felt unreal for him, that he had found him. That he had been so close all the time, on a mountain that could be seen from Lordran. Ornstein never had suspect for him to be so close, and so he had searched the world before finally taking a look at this mountain.

The Master was fast asleep, cuddled in his blankets and looking peaceful and content, his long white hair all over the pillow. A smile washed over Ornstein's face before he frowned. The Master wanted to rekindle his relationship with Ornstein right away, but Ornstein had been... reluctant. Too much had happened. The Master never knew about the hardships of Ornstein in the cathedral, about his relationship with Smough and how hard the journey to find him had been. He had just lived freely without a worry in the world. Ornstein wasn't ready yet. Even though his heart screamed at him to just forgive his old love, his brain said no. He also couldn't deny this tiny sting in his heart every time he thought about how the Master had turned traitor.

It were these thoughts that kept Ornstein awake. A walk in the fresh night air would do him good, so Ornstein finally turned around and went outside.

The fluffy snow on the ground told him right away that it was cold. It seemed fresh, as if it had just fallen. It was crispy cold and Ornstein felt how his lips got dry. It wouldn't surprise him if he would have a few cuts from the cold on his exposed skin later. He wouldn't mind about it though. He only wanted to take a walk for ten to fifteen minutes and come back right away. He would hardly freeze to death in this short time, especially not with the warm clothes he had put on.

Ornstein picked a direction and started to walk. He wasn't too familiar with the monastery grounds, but he had a general idea where everything was. For now, he was searching for some alone time, so he went away from the monastery, down the mountain path. The snow crunched under his feet. Ornstein thought back at the time that Artorias had challenged him to a snowball duel. It had ended with a bleeding nose for Ornstein and lots of apologies from Artorias. In the end, they had gone inside to have a warm drink. That had been much better times.

Artorias had died in the meantime. It had been such a long time ago, that almost nobody recognized his name anymore. Ornstein had heard of a group that honoured his memory though, a group that fought the dangers of the Abyss. He asked himself if they would just end like his late friend, corrupted and being forced to put down by some nobody. He wished this fate on nobody. At the same time, he had wanted to get put down by that nobody, but it never happened.

Ornstein looked at the ground and at the footsteps he produced. Having died back in the cathedral would have made everything so much easier. Then he wouldn't have to walk through the snow and try to avoid thinking about how he felt about his Master or missing his dead friend dearly once again.

He often asked himself if the other Knights of Gwyn waited for him or if they already moved on. If there was something like an afterlife and Ornstein would enter it somewhen, he probably would get his ass beaten for having taken so long. Ornstein never wanted to live that long. It still had happened. Deep inside of him, Ornstein secretly only wished for it all to finally end.

His thoughts wandered back to his Master. He, as well, hadn't died. He had stayed alive. He spent all these years, decades, centuries, millenia... how did he spend them? He didn't look unhappy, but... lonely. He looked incredibly lonely whenever Ornstein refused to get hugged by him or he cut their conversation short and went elsewhere because he felt unable to think straight in his presence.

Ornstein didn't even know why he was so stubborn.

Ornstein raised his head and looked in the sky when he felt something cold on his face. It had started to snow again. He probably should head back before he couldn't see anything anymore. Ornstein turned around and froze in place. He wasn't on the path anymore. He had been so lost in thought that he must have left it without noticing.

That was bad. He better found the path soon, or he could turn into an icicle very soon.

Ornstein kept his eyes on the ground and started to walk in the opposite direction he had come from, hoping that he would find the path back to the monastery by following his footsteps. This worked well until he had to notice that the snow, which had picked up in intensity over the time, had filled in his footsteps.

With not being able to see the path and not knowing where he was, Ornstein felt a slight panic creep up into him. The master had warned him to not get lost out in the mountain when it snowed. When the snow picked up, he would lose all orientation, not knowing where he was or in which direction he could walk. Ornstein felt it right at this moment, the snow was flurrying so wild that every direction he looked into seemed to be a pure white.

It didn't help that Ornstein started to feel his fingers and toes. Even with the gloves and the warm boots he was wearing, he felt the cold seeping into his body. His fingers and toes were going numb and soon he wouldn't be able to feel them anymore.

Still, Ornstein picked a direction and started to walk. He just needed to find something, anything, he could orientate himself on. Ornstein was in luck when the direction he picked ended on a wall. It also provided some shelter from the blizzard, so Ornstein leaned against the wall and tried to find out where he was. He couldn't be too far from the monastery. Of course this only applied when he hadn't gotten lost even more on his quest trying to find a way back.

A particularly cold and strong wind gust hit Ornstein and he hugged himself in an attempt to conserve some warmth, when he got buried under a sudden, very cold pile of snow. Ornstein yelped when it hit him, the snow came crashing down with enough force to even knock a man of his size down on the ground. As he was still in a slight panicked state about the possibility of being caught in an avalanche, Ornstein noticed that the snow around him didn't move.

It was his luck that he took his spear with him, because Ornstein was able to melt the snow around him and free himself from the pile. Only that now his clothes were completely soaked! It didn't matter how warm they originally were, when melted snow dripped off them. The harsh winds and still ongoing Blizzard did nothing to warm Ornstein up and he knew that he had to find a warm place soon if he didn't want to freeze to death.

Ornstein decided to follow the wall and hoped that it led up. The monastery was pretty much on the peak of the mountain, he should find his way back like this. Even though his toes protested, his body was violently shivering and he could hear his teeth chatter from the cold, Ornstein started to move.

The shivering didn't stop. How could it, when his clothes were so soaked? While Ornstein had the brief idea to use the powers of his spear to dry them, he probably would set them on fire on accident and he preferred wet clothes over no clothes in this heavy weather. While moving felt easy enough at the beginning, he soon started to feel sluggish and even putting one foot in front of the other was becoming a chore. He raised his head when he heard a voice, but quickly had to notice that he must have mistaken the wind... he just didn't know why the voice had sounded so much like Artorias.

Ornstein didn't know how long he already had wandered, when he felt the tiredness he had craved earlier, washing over his body. As much as he wanted to sleep back then, he knew that if he fell asleep in this cold and in this weather, he wouldn't wake up again. He had to find a warm place if he didn't want to freeze to death. Though, as Ornstein put one tired foot in front of the other again and again, feeling how his strength more and more left him, he asked himself why he resisted. Hadn't he thought about wanting to die just earlier? He just needed to give in and let his body rest. The cold would do the rest... he had been alive for so long already, maybe after his death he would finally see Smough and Artorias and Ciaran and Gough again...

Ornstein hadn't even noticed that he had stopped walking and sat down on the ground. The snow barely felt cold around him anymore. In fact, he felt hot. He felt like he wanted to get rid of his clothes... Ornstein was just in the progress of removing his scarf when something big... and warm... picked him up.

“Ornstein, I am so glad, I've found you!”

Ornstein opened his mouth to say “Master?”, but nothing came out. Instead, a rattling cough happened and Ornstein felt his body convulse under it. That cough wasn't because of the cold, this cough had plagued him for some while now.

“It's alright, Ornstein. I am here now. We'll get you into the warmth right away.”

As soon as Ornstein felt the master's warmth, he recognized how cold he actually was. How strange... just a few minutes earlier he wanted to get rid of his clothes.... but now he just relaxed in the Master's arm. What had he thought about earlier? That it was fine for him to freeze to death...? What had he been thinking? He didn't want to become a frozen dragon slayer in the middle of nowhere... as his thoughts engulfed Ornstein, he felt how his heavy eyes started to close. Sleep, he just wanted to sleep.

“No, Ornstein, you can't fall asleep!”, Ornstein jerked awake as he felt a sharp pain on his face. He was wondering a brief bit how he could feel it, his whole skin felt so numb, but it was definitely there.

“Please, you have to stay awake a little while longer. I will talk to you, Ornstein, concentrate on my voice. Just don't fall asleep.”

Ornstein raised a weak arm and gave the Master's shoulder a squeeze, telling him that he understood. The Master held his words and started to narrate all kinds of tales, especially tales of their time together in the cathedral. Ornstein would have been impressed about how much he remembered, if he wouldn't have been so tired. Once in a while his eyes fluttered shut, but he opened them right away when he felt pain in his face. It was hard to resist though, the Master's chest was so warm...

Finally, after what felt like hours , Ornstein was out of the wind and the snow. The moment his body was back in a warmer place, it started to protest about having been out in the cold for so long and he started to violently shiver.

“We need to get you warmed up right away.”, the Master said and bellowed some orders to the snake people in that strange hissing tongue. Ornstein was too out of it to keep much thoughts about it, he just wanted to warm up.

The Master brought Ornstein to his bedroom... the bedroom of the master, not Ornstein's, and put him down, then removing his wet, no in the meantime, they had frozen, clothes. Ornstein, still shivering, didn't protest when the Master rubbed him dry with a big towel, frowning as he looked at his toes.

“You got yourself some frostbite.”, he said. “This will hurt for a while. But first, we need to heat you up. Your lips are all blue, your body temperature surely is too low.”

Ornstein simply stared when the Master got undressed and laid into bed with him, putting the blankets over them both. He then felt himself engulfed by the strong arms of the Master and being pulled closer to his chest. Now that they both were naked, Ornstein felt the warmth of the Master even more than earlier, when he had been fully clothed. He had been the prince of the sun, the firstborn of the sun, a god of light, and even though he didn't have any of his titles anymore, his body still radiated the same heat Ornstein had loved so much back in Anor Londo.

He curled himself up in the Master's embrace and finally allowed for his body to get the rest he so desperately had craved earlier.

Ornstein awoke again before it was dawn. The Master still held him in his arms and looked at him with his amber eyes.

“Are you feeling warmer, Ornstein?”

Ornstein nodded and then tested if his mouth and tongue would move, before he spoke: “Why did you come looking for me? You were fast asleep when I set off.”

“I went to check on you when I had to get up anyway to take a leak.”, the Master replied. “I saw you missing and knowing you and your habit of taking a stroll when you can't sleep, and knowing that you weren't on the privy, because I just came from it, I had to go look for you after I saw the blizzard outside.”

The Master's gaze darkened. “Ornstein, you should know better than to go outside in this kind of weather.”

“It... it hadn't snowed once I set off...”, Ornstein tried to defend himself, it was a weak attempt, he knew it.

“Still, the snow was fresh and you ran straight out into a whiteout.”

Ah, that was the word for it. Fitting, because Ornstein surely hadn't been able to see anything other than white when he got caught in the blizzard. He felt how the Master's embrace around him tightened.

“Don't scare me like that, Ornstein. I just found you again. I can't lose you so soon again.”

Ornstein was about to retort that he had been the one to search out the Master and not the other way round, but he assumed the Master probably had searched for him through other methods. Through the eyes of the sunlight warriors for example... He also felt too weak to argue.

“I am sorry.”, he simply said.

“I am just glad I found you in time.”

“Master... how did you find me?”, Ornstein didn't have a clue how he had done it. Either he had been very close to the monastery, or the Master had some kind of special radar to locate him before he froze to death.

“That's easy.”, the Master chuckled. “You never stopped being one.”

“Never stopped being what?”, Ornstein was clearly confused. What was the Master talking about?

“A warrior of sunlight.”, the Master replied. “I just have to follow the golden signature all of you carry around with you. Even though you have been an excellent dragon slayer on your own, you have always preferred to work together with others. This signature has never left you. I just needed to walk in the direction towards the nearest sunlight warrior.”

Ornstein felt himself blush a little, however it was possible with his blood still feeling like it had frozen in his veins. It was true, he had never left his Master's covenant. He had stayed true to the end with it even in Anor Londo, always having fought at Smough's side.

“You feel a little warmer, but you still haven't your original body temperature back.”, the Master said as his forehead touched Ornstein's, who suddenly felt a lot hotter than before. “I have told the serpent man to bring some warm soup and prepare a bath. We need to warm you up from the inside and the outside.”

“Hmmm...”, Ornstein only said. He felt safe and secure in his Master's embrace... he didn't want to get up. His muttering turned into a whine when the Master moved to stand up and Ornstein felt all the cold at once in his body, violently shivering once the body warmth of him had left.

“Oh no, Ornstein, I am sorry.”, the Master said and wrapped Ornstein into a second blanket. “I won't be gone for long, I just need to see what takes the serpent men so long. It has been over two hours now.”

“I.. How long have I been asleep?”, Ornstein asked, his teeth chattering, making the words come out stuttered.

“Not long, actually. A little longer than an hour.”, the Master answered. “I will come back in a minute, don't worry.”

“Yes... thank you...”, Ornstein said and wrapped the blankets around him. His eyes felt heavy again, but he didn't feel like he could fall asleep with his body shivering so much. He truly had underestimated the mountain. Or maybe deep inside of him he had wanted to not come back. I can't lose you so soon again. The Master's word still hang over him.

The Master came back only two minutes later. Ornstein hadn't even noticed that he had put a loose robe on, but of course the Master wouldn't run around naked around the serpent men (though it felt a bit like a pity, his body surely deserved to be seen). He let the robe fall on the ground and crawled back into bed, taking Ornstein in his arms again. Ornstein cuddled himself against the Master's chest and his shivering slowly halted.

“The soup will be here soon.”, the Master said. “As long as we wait, I will keep you warm.”

“Thank you, Master...”, Ornstein said, closing his eyes as he rested his head on his Master's chest.

“I am not your Master anymore...”, the Master said. “You can call me by my name.”

His name... Gwynfor, no, Faraam. He had left his old name behind when he got banished. Ornstein opened his mouth to say it, but nothing came out. He probably would never be able to call his Master by his name.

Luckily, the Master didn't take it as offense and simply as Ornstein being too exhausted, shown by him rubbing circles in Ornstein's back and whispering soothing words to him. Words that didn't reach Ornstein's ears, but it was nice to hear his Master's voice.

After a while, or at least it felt like a good while, someone entered the chamber. Ornstein slowly opened his eyes as he heard his Master say some words in the tongue of the serpent men. A bowl was placed on the nightstand and the Master took it, dousing a spoon in it.

“Ornstein, say aaaah.”, the Master prompted Ornstein and the knight wrinkled his forehead.

“Master, I can eat myself.”, he said, not wanting to be treated like a little child.

“I am just teasing you, Ornstein.”, the Master said, but there was a certain disappointment in his voice to be heard, as he gave the spoon over. He continued to balance the bowl of soup on his lap however, all while Ornstein slowly ate. As it turned out, the soup had needed a while because they needed to let it cool down. It wouldn't have been good for him to eat something very hot while his body was still low in temperature itself. The warmth of the soup was exactly right however and Ornstein could feel some of his strength returning after he had finished the bowl.

“How are you feeling?”, the Master asked, embracing Ornstein once again once the empty bowl was put on the nightstand.

“Better, I think...”, Ornstein answered.

“Your skin still feels very cold.”, the Master said. “It's time for your bath.”

“Oh, alright...”, Ornstein said and put the blankets away, only to remember that he was, in fact, stark naked. He quickly put the blankets over himself again, even though the Master was the only one to see him. The thought of anyone coming in and seeing him like that was too much.

“I am getting you some warm robes.”, the Master said, as Ornstein wrapped himself completely with the blankets. He didn't like his naked body very much, all the scars on it... it made him feel self conscious. Neither the Master nor Smough had ever minded them, but each scar only reminded Ornstein of his losses. The one on his chest, caused by the Chosen Undead, was a special painful reminder. The wound that should have killed him, but hadn't. Not even Smough had succeeded, to caught up with his feelings for Ornstein to go through with it, only having taken a tiny part of his soul for himself.

The Master returned and handed Ornstein a thick robe, which he quickly put on. He then pulled the blankets back and got up, only to realize that his legs felt like pudding. He fell back on the bed and quickly hugged himself when his shivering came back, now that he was away from the comfort of the bed.

“Let me help you, Ornstein.”, the Master said and Ornstein felt himself being picked up. He also felt his face flush, however it was possible with his body temperature so low.

“Master, let me down...”, he said, his voice strained and weak, “If anyone sees us like this...”

“The only ones here are the serpent men and they don't mind.”, the Master said. “Now let's get you into that bath. I will come in with you as well.”

“Alright...”, Ornstein said, feeling too weak to struggle much.

On the way to the bath Ornstein asked himself why he even bothered. The Master had carried him back into the monastery and he surely had been seen by the serpent men, Ornstein had just been too out of it to register. It also wasn't like anyone would be there to judge them. It wasn't as if Ornstein was still a knight. He relaxed in the Master's arms and only flinched when he felt the robe covering him being removed. He then was gently set into a basin of warm water. It wasn't hot, it was just pleasantly warm. Ornstein laid his head on the edge of it and closed his eyes, hearing some splashing noises as the Master entered behind him.

“The water had to cool down a bit to not shock you.”, the Master explained. “With your body temperature so low, we need to gradually warm you up.”

Ornstein managed to raise his head to look at the Master, tiredly blinking.

“Do I have to move?”, he asked.

The Master chuckled and shook his head. “No, you can just stay in the bath and let me handle everything. Just don't be surprised if you get a bad cold the next few days, but we will make sure that you get healthy again soon.”

Ornstein could feel how the Master stroked over his hair and closed his eyes again, leaning into his embrace, resting his head on his chest. He was still so warm, not even because of the water, the Master always had been naturally warm. Ornstein always had craved this warmth, had felt safe and secure in his godly influence, but now the Master wasn't a god anymore. He had never lost his warmth though... which made Ornstein think that maybe it never had been the godhood that he had craved.

The Master gently moistened Ornstein's hair with the warm water. “Why have you gone wandering outside anyway?”

Ornstein opened his eyes again, waiting a few seconds before he replied.

“I couldn't sleep. I normally manage to fall asleep when I go wandering around for a bit, so I did. I... lost my way and before I knew it, it had started snowing.”

The Master hummed as his calloused fingers went through Ornstein's curls and massaged his scalp. The Ornstein from the past would have purred at this treatment, but the present Ornstein just felt so very tired.

“You know you can always come and sleep in my bed.”, the Master said. “Like when I warmed you up earlier. I gladly hold you, so that you can sleep better.”

Ornstein wasn't opposed to the offer, but... there was a certain knot in his throat. He just couldn't rekindle their relationship as easily as the Master wanted.

“Master...”, he said and he felt mortified when the next words came out sobbed: “I can't... not yet. So much... happened. I found someone... someone who never left me alone. Someone I wanted to die with. But I didn't die. For some cruel reason fate left me alive, left me with the knowledge that he died and I didn't. I couldn't stay there anymore, I had to go. Somewhere. Anywhere. I just...” I just needed a goal. Ornstein didn't finish the last sentence, his face feeling hot and flushed, the salty taste of his tears on his lips.

“When I was out there I thought it would be better for me to freeze to death.”, Ornstein instead finished his rant, unaware that the Master had pressed him against his chest and rubbed soothing circles in his back.

“I don't know everything that happened to you.”, the Master said. “And I want for you to share it at your own pace. I won't force you to rekindle our relationship, as much as it would joy me.”

The Master cupped Ornstein's face in his hands and gently forced him to look into his eyes, clear amber eyes, that were equally sharp as they were gentle. “I was overjoyed when you found me here, Ornstein. I thought I would never see you again. I knew you were still alive, but I never thought you would come back to me. I had already let you go, for you had moved on. I won't force you to do anything that you don't want, but please, Ornstein...”, the Master gently lifted Ornstein's chin and now Ornstein could see some tears in his eyes. “Please never say again that you should have died.”

While Ornstein could still feel a tear or two running down his face, no new ones fell out of his eyes after the Master's words. Ornstein hadn't even considered the Master's feelings in all of this, having been purely too self-absorbed in his own thoughts, in his own negativity, in his thoughts about how he just wanted to stop existing.

“I am sorry.”, he choked out, hating how broken and weak his voice sounded and he felt like bursting into tears right again when the Master replied with.

“You don't have to.” (Author's note: Wow, I got carried away! Ornstein is just too fun to write for me. I know there is heavy stuff in there... I have this headcanon that Ornstein was lowkey suicidal since a long time, but he never wanted to actively do it, it was more like a “If I die here, that would be fine.” kind of way. He is just so tired and he has lived for so long, that he asks himself why he even is still alive. If you yourself have some thoughts, please get some professional help ASAP however, Ornstein's mindset is not healthy and NK was right to call him out on Ornstein saying that he wanted to die. There are a lot of issues between NK and Ornstein when they find each other again on Arch Dragon Peak. Feel free to ask about my headcanons about it or maybe one day I turn it into a story, if you guys are interested in my take about NKstein take. Anyway, this got even more angstier than intended, but I hope you enjoyed. Also, props for Death Stranding to letting me experience a whiteout. I tell you, they are scary. You can't see shit and you don't even know where up and down is anymore and that was in a video game!)

[fulgurantfirstborn]

👻📲

👻 - For something that scares or disturbs them, but they refuse to tell anyone

When he heard the news about Bishop Havel and his betrayal, he almost vomited. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe it. 

Though a human, the man had been one of his father’s best generals and closest friends, basically a godfather to Gwynfor as well. Yet the Lord of Sunlight had granted no mercy. His furious voice thundered across Anor Londo, accusing the bishop of treason for plotting against Gwyn’s ally Seath the Scaleless. Havel had protested the accusations, warning against the dragon’s magic and machinations. Before he could even finish, though, he was cut down and dragged away as if he were nothing more than a petty thief.

Anguish consumed Gwynfor as did fear. Though now as tall as his father, he felt helpless in the face of this confrontation’s injustice. He prayed that he and his siblings never invoke his father’s wrath.

📲 - Talk about someone/something you dislike, but only pretend to like

In the distance, Gwynfor could see Seath the Scaleless fly back to his archives, no doubt to continue researching whatever he was researching. 

Honestly, he couldn’t comprehend why his father had allied with the Paledrake. Lord Gwyn had even granted him the title of Duke as well. But polite as the dragon was, he still made the prince suspicious of his motivations. Once a traitor, always a traitor after all. At least not having scales would render Seath an easy kill should he ever turn against the gods.

[tormvnd]

Londo pushing back with words but not with actions because at this point he’s fundamentally a coward when push comes to shove is driving me mad. This IS his fault no matter how much he protests or feels bad about it

[jenniferstolzer]

Comfort

 G’Kar burst into HQ. “Where is he!?”

Garibaldi indicated the back door and G’Kar ran, impacting it with his shoulder. It burst open and Londo and Franklin jumped. G’Kar expected to see a body bag, but Londo sat halfway off the table, reviewing test restuls over the doctor’s shoulder.

Londo straightened. “What’s wrong?”

Without speaking, G’Kar took his dearest friend in both arms, holding as tight as he could. His racing heart slowed as ‘safety’ sank in.

Londo measured G’Kar’s breaths against his chest, withheld protest, and returned the hug. Words helped, but sometimes the best response was holding on.  

[soulsfromfire-blog]

An ill tenor pervades the City of the Gods. Gwyn’s own blood, consigned to oblivion, has left the upper echelons of Anor Londo’s government in dour spirits. Now the sire of three daughters, not a male heir among them, his own humour is despoilt. There is much to be said, but the delicate nature of politics is far removed from the favour of a Warrior-King, and so under the fabrication of sport in good cheer, Gwyn intends to garner counsel from his trusted Dragonslayer. The rule is but a skeleton, with threadbare systems and primeval ranks of mighty devouring their lessers. It is a barbaric era, where there ought be majesty instead.

“Dragonslayer,” Lord Gwyn beckons, his measure powerful, guttural as the rind of arch-trees. Sinuous fingers writhe and clench into a fist, loosely woven by small, intricate Lightning festoons. Plunging his legendary bolts into the throats of those decrepit pests has become such soothing and habitual past-time that, when those wretches are driven to extinction, one wonders to what ends the Lord of Sunlight will deviate his age-long passions. The courtyard before the Cathedral’s immense gates, gazing out across the legions of homes and shelters below immersed in the Sun, is to where Gwyn’s opposite hand gestures his company.

“Thy spear grows frail, and my walls scarce; thus shall we hunt, and take I no protest.” Thrones are grand, lavish and a testament to deserved reign, but Gwyn will frequently abscond from its stifling throes, lest he mortify to quagmire in sloth. He loathes tables and councils, the restraint of sedentary, civilised life without sanguinary purpose. In this respect, he will spare his God-kin the wrath of a father spurned and betrayed by vulnerability.

@goldenornstein

[writingwithryder]

A Tomb of Past Mistakes

Dark Souls AU

The grey and silver parapets seemed endless against the navy skies and dying stars as the Blade of the Darkmoon wandered aimlessly, letting his feet lead him down paths he’s taken thousands of times. Aged slate cracking and crunching beneath his feet as the wind stirred, howling along the rooftops, swaying him, tempting him. Closing his eyes the Blade of the Darkmoon sighed -- he knew the result, embracing the wind that swayed him would change nothing of his fate. Still. He tried. Letting himself slip, shingles sliding off with him, cracking in protest as he fell.

Lifetimes passed, and yet, days seemed like months and years turned into days. Time was no longer linear, but instead always in flux, and often, he felt as if he was reliving the same day over and over again. Only the darksign wrapped around his left side a tattooed and cursed reminder that even as the world around him turned to ash, he was destined to remain -- regardless of time.

It burned and his body was returned to the bonfire far below, The Darkmoon Tomb, his eternal resting place. Even in this cycle of death and return it seemed a fitting end for a Chosen Undead.

The ring on his hand warmed, vibrating. A warning. Someone approached who had killed Gwynevere, killed being the tentative word -- she wasn’t dead, but instead, the person who did it had the veil of Anor Londo lifted, and viewed the same eternal twilight as he and so many others did. The Blade of the Darkmoon heaved a deep sigh as he stood. It was foolish, to maintain such a façade, and yet, here he was, maintaining a dying world for a dying god.

Footsteps echoed behind his back and the fire in front of him faded down into dying embers. “You ever sit here and wonder, will the next five hundred years be any different?” The Blade of the Darkmoon recognized that voice, and he turned, a flash of blonde peeking out from a hood and the mocking tone she took as she looked at him, “Or are you content, killing, dying for the very people who abandoned us to our fate?”

“If we’re being honest here, none of our options are really all that positive, Cristiana.” He chose not to stand, instead, motioned her over to the fire, now, reigniting as he noticed a smaller woman behind The Bandit Queen, nodding over to her, the two older undead shared a silent look, “A new apprentice of yours?”

The woman snorted, kicking her feet out in front of her as she sat beside him, “A thief, I found her wandering the Woods, tempting those in the Forest.” A dangerous proposition, Alvina would allow her men even the cruelest of advantages, the smaller woman was lucky for Cristiana’s intervention, regardless of if she knew it or not, “She’d’ve been killed if I hadn’t showed up.” The smaller woman rolled her eyes and jabbed an elbow into the Bandit’s back, making her smile, something he sees so rarely these days, “That isn’t to say she’s without merit or tenacity. She acquired quite the loot, but they were Shiva’s men, and he isn’t one to turn a blind eye.”

The Blade of the Darkmoon hummed in agreement, the smaller woman continued to eye the two of them suspiciously. It’s easy to see why his… friend had picked her up. There was a lot of herself, of all of those who watched the world fall to pieces in her eyes. “Is she from Lordran?”

“The Undead Asylum.” It was the first time the woman spoke, and the Blade of the Darkmoon couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at the sharpness in her voice. “Before that I…” The woman’s voice faded, had he been younger, less hard, less callused to death, there may have been pity in his eyes. Now however, he just saw a woman, bitter and angry, locked away and left to rot until the end of the world, and he can’t help but think it’s no wonder the woman was so quick to push the limits of her newly acquired freedom.

“We thought we’d make our way here, see what’s left of the abandoned city.” The Bandit Queen smiled although it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “Imagine my surprise when we arrive to find you.”

The Blade of the Darkmoon laughs, “Yes, well, the silver knights are still here as well.”

“We noticed.” Her companion’s words were dry, the two had obviously been surprised to find them lurking in the crumbling buildings. “Also a bunch more of your buddies came to greet us.”

“That one is Cristiana’s fault. Had she just left well enough alone, the two of you wouldn’t have that problem.” He smiled, impetuousness and idealism of youth still haunting her more than a few centuries later. The Blade of the Darkmoon couldn’t help but wonder if everyone as old of the two of them loathed what they had become.

“Gwyndolin needed to be stopped.” Gloved fists slammed the ground, because now, the two of them knew that something that small, as insignificant as the two of them, could ever have changed the fate of the undead, “The endless parade of undead to the First Flame needed to end.”

Flames crackled, and the Blade of the Darkmoon looked deeper into the dying embers, “And yet here we are.” “And yet here we are.” She echoed, anger now coating her words with venom. The words bounced around the tomb as silence overtook them in their seats around the bonfire, watching, waiting, the expectation of more Blades of the Darkmoon appearing keeping both women on edge.

Here they were, haunted by past mistakes and a bleak future, hoping and praying to gods that no longer listened for something to save them all from the darkness that was certain to come. Watching the flames continue to flicker, the Blade of the Darkmoon couldn’t help but wonder -- was this really all his infinite lifetimes had to offer.

But the silence held no answer.

[c-e-c-e-r-o]

On Love's Tail 19

A mighty fwoosh rings throughout the courtyard, and Priscilla and Sær are formed from the smoke of the nearby bonfire, propelled forward by Priscilla's power. She clings to him as they roll along the ground, skidding to a stop at the foot of roughly hewn stone stairs.

 The two look up, only to witness the startled faces of Vengarl and the tattered woman holding him.

"Hullo," Sær chirps.

"Are you well, mister Vin-gral?" Priscilla asks. Vengarl never had the heart to correct her.

"I am faring well enough, lady Priscilla, though I lack favorable company."

"Hey!" The ragged woman says.

"This poorly dressed girl is known as Rosabeth of Melfia. I unwittingly freed her from a curse of stone, and she is now indebted to me. I would have her pay with her body, but seeing as neither of us have one...

Rosabeth smacks his helm against the stairs, setting his ears to ringing. "Of course I would get stuck with this lout," she complains. "I had expected someone like you to rescue me," she says to Sær, blushing. Priscilla growls, her tail curling protectively around Sær and yanking him to her chest. Rosabeth's eyes widen, frightened by this massive woman intent on protecting her mate.

Priscilla turns around, clutching Sær and sulking. "Damn you for being so handsome," she mutters. The both of the turn beet red, not meeting each other's gaze. Sær hugs her tail reassuringly, stroking it. Despite how close they are, anything related to sexual desire sets their faces aflame.

Now, Sær is no maiden, or the whatever the male equivalent of a maiden is, but there's something about his bride-to-be that sets his heart racing like no other. The thought of laying with her had an allure far beyond mere physical pleasure. In the theater of his mind, when he is inside of her, the whole world is warm and pleasant, and the past and future cease to exist. He wants for nothing, and all of existance disappears with the first thrust. Priscilla's sighs of pleasure fill him with ecstasy, and her tail writhes and squeezes him as they reach their peak.

He snaps out of his fantasy, turning to look up at Priscilla. He loves her with all his heart, and when she holds him against her chest the both of them grow warmer than bed of chaos. The cool breeze coming off of the Majula coast disappears as she hugs him tighter, enveloping him between her breasts. Sær sighs happily. He truly has the most beautiful, comfortable wife- er, wife-to-be, in all of Lordran, and she would be all the more so once her fur grows back.

"A-hem," Vengarl interrupts. "There will be time enough for that and more once you are married. Do we not have a quest to complete?"

"Mister Vin-gral is right, Sær," Priscilla agrees. It has been at least a decade since we set out, judging by how long your hair was when you saved me from darkroot garden. Poor aunt- um, uncle Gwyndolin, must be suffering greatly."

"We should hurry, then," Sær says, gently untangling himself from Priscilla's tail and falling to the ground from between her breasts. "But while we're here, we should get Priscilla more... Suitable attire."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Majula, despite looking like a ruin, teems with shops to provide various undead with whatever they may need. Swords, armor, female company, and skin cream (for the humanity-starved walking pieces of bacon.)

Priscilla walks out from behind a large building, the only place large enough for her to change. The sight of her drew a loud wolf whistle from Sær, while the rest of the town's occupants looked on in amazement.

Her top is a black gown of shining silk, swooping along her form, accentuating it.

The skirt portion parts to either side, forming an A shape, allowing freedom of movement, even more than her fur. The rims are trimmed with gold. Her sleeves are long, as well as wide at the cuff, with a slit along the forearm for her fluffy "wings." Draped around her shoulders is a short cape of dark, thick cloth whitch comes around to her front in another A shape, leaving her scales and the area between her neck and chest bare, save fore the diamond ribbon Sær gave her. Gold trim rings the cloak as well. She wears a pair of flat, black, flexible shoes that leave the top of her feet bare.

Sær melts. Paying for the custom-made garb may have left his soul vessel empty, but the sight of his fiance in her magnificent garb makes his

heart- among other things- feel full.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Rarely does Sær ever dislike Priscilla's size. That is one of his favorite things about her appearance, after all. It allowed them to overcome many obstacles thus far. It also means that she is much stonger than him, and a much better warrior, a boon at almost all times.

This is not one of those times.

Sær splutters and coughs as Priscilla dunks him in a vat of soapy water, scrubbing him raw with a large brush. It couldn't be helped; he had tried to run the moment Priscilla suggested he clean up to be fitted for new clothes.

He hisses as she scrubs his neck and upper back. "You vile vixen," he huffs.

"Whatever do you mean?" Priscilla coos sweetly, knowing full well that his neck and back are the second most sensitive places on his body. He only grits his teeth in response, grunting as she caresses the area with her large fingers. Sær fights back a groan, and he loses when Priscilla rubs his shoulders and back with her thumbs, pressing deep into the weary muscle. Her hands are warm from the hot water they are in, a small pool fed by a nearby hot spring.

She adds her tail to the fray, wrapping it around his torso. Sær jumps and gasps loudly as Priscilla leans forward, nuzzling the back of his neck. She hums a random tune, and Sær joins in after listening for a minute. The two soak in the steaming water, humming as they press together.

Priscilla nudges him with her nose. "Sær?"

Sær's ears perk up. She rarely calls him by his name, instead usually opting for 'Darling.' This is pleasant in it's own way, though...

"What shall we... Well, do? Once we're wed, I mean." The idea of officially being Sær's wife sets her heart aflutter, and she blushes.

"I'm not sure. The world is a big place, even for you."

"How big is it, really?"

"Who knows? I'm sure we will, eventually. Time doesn't exist for us, being immortal."

"Do you really want to see the whole world?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. We've only been at this quest for a short while, and we've already made so many friends, and we still have yet to find a single person who curses your existence. Either Gwyn was lying, or you are truly something special, Priscilla Filia Gwynevere."

The two are silent for a time, before Priscilla speaks up again.

"You know, one must be wed to claim the throne... Mother has no plans to marry, and uncle Gwyndolin prefers the company of his many male consor- Ahem, Darkmoon Knights. So, if you should wish it..."

"We could be Queen Priscilla and King Sær?

As temping as that is, Anor Londo would need quite a bit of work to be a true city again, and neither of us have any experience in politics."

"I suppose so. We are already King and Queen of Darkroot Garden in our own right, thanks to your efforts, darling."

The two silently soak, only leaving once Priscilla sneezes and accidentally freezes the hot springs.

"Darling, you're taking an awfully long time to change. Perhaps you need assistance?"

Behind the curtain, Sær grins. "I would be delighted," he says, his heartbeat quickening. Suddenly, a large red wolf's head is flung over the curtain, rolling to a stop at Sær's bare feet.

"AAAGH!" Vengarl cries in mental anguish. "COVER THINE SCRAWNY FORM, THOU NAKED BUFFOON!"

"I'm not scrawny! I'm wiry!" Sær protests, tripping as he hastily tries to cover himself.

"BY THE GODS!"

The changing room becomes a hotbed of clanging, cursing, and thumping until finally Sær pulls down the cutain, ripping it from it's place and falling face first onto the ground. Vengarl hits the ground with a thud, slowly rolling and coming to a stop at Rosabeth's feet. Sær stands, cursing and brushing himself off.

Priscilla gasps.

He wears black trousers made of breathable fabric, the knees reinforced with boiled black leather pads, fastened with gold thread. He wears a short black sleeveless surcoat, his upper back, shoulders, and upper chest covered by a short black leather cloak trimmed with gold, much like Priscilla's. The cloak's collar is high, coming halfway up his neck and framing it loosely.

Priscilla begins to feel an odd heat in the pit of her stomach.

Sær tugs at the cloth, unused to being so covered. "Mnnnrgh," he whines. "Priscilla, do I have to wear thi-"

"YES!" Priscilla interrupts. "Don't you dare take it off." She stares at Sær predatorily, drooling. He steps back, worried.

"Well, if we are all finished with our errands, I believe we have a wolf to slay," Vengarl reminds them.

The group encircles the bonfire. The undead holding the dragon crossbreed princess, who holds the hand of a centuries old stoned woman, who holds the severed head of a man who was once one of the most dangerous mercenaries in existence. Sær pities the sorry sods whose party merely consists of a warrior, mage, theif and cleric.

With a deep breath, they all touch the hilt of the coiled sword, Priscilla's power dragging the two non-undead along with them through the void.

[fafa14526384]

Face up to reality'

Ministers plan to enact tougher powers to tackle their direct action which has seen blockages to key arteries around London, including on the M25 and M4.Last month, the government won a High Court injunction, warning climate change protesters they could be jailed if they continued their campaign of blocking the M25.   เทคนิคบาคาร่า

[mrslittletall]

Title: Keeping it together (Chapter 17) Fandom: Dark Souls Characters: Dragon Slayer Ornstein, Dark Sun Gwyndolin, Silver Knights Word Count: 2.841 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328084/chapters/42025085 Previous chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/182760646054/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-16

Summary: Back in Anor Londo, Ornstein needs to get an overview.

(Author's note: Difficult chapter was difficult. Hope you like. I have to admit, this is the part of the story that hasn't sit in my head for several months now, so I have to make up stuff while I write it. Hope it is enjoyable ^^)

When Ornstein awoke, the morning sun already shone through his window. He released his comfort pillow, stretched and made his way out of bed, relieved that no nightmare had come to him this time. He made himself ready for the day, sure that a long one was in front of him, when his stomach loudly reminded him that it demanded some food.

“Oh right, I better get some breakfast.”, Ornstein murmured to himself, wondering if he could meet up with Ciaran for it, when he remembered. Oh, right, she hadn't come back with him. With a deep sigh, Ornstein finished dressing with putting on his helmet and made his way to the mess hall.

When Ornstein sat down at the table of the four knights, he felt several eyes stare into his direction. He knew the silver knights were dying for some answers, in fact, he could hear them whispering with each other. Another part of him however felt, they were staring because he was sitting alone at that table now. Granted, he had sat alone at this table for a while now, but back then everyone had assumed that Artorias and Ciaran would have come back. And then their captain had vanished too for a few days, leaving them completely in the dark. Still, he started to feel uncomfortable under their stares and whispering, it felt weird enough for him already to have returned alone, having to sit on the special table for the knights of Gwyn on his own. He tried to concentrate on his food instead, but gobbled it down too quickly in an attempt to escape this onerous atmosphere, feeling his stomach slightly cramp in protest.

The next step was the roll call for the silver knights. When Ornstein arrived, most of them had already gathered, the clanking of armour and weapons as well as their whisperings were filling the room. Ornstein walked up to his usual position, turned around and raised his voice.

“Silver knights, assemble!”, he shouted, waiting a bit for them to turn their attention to him and for the late-comers to take in their places. As he was sure that each and every silver knight was listening, he started to talk:

“It surely has already been brought to your attention, that I was called to Oolacile by Ciaran because of a grave problem that happened. And hereby I have to inform you, that sadly Artorias has fallen in battle.”

Ornstein stopped, giving the silver knights some time to process this information. He heard them gasp, whispering with each other, he had the impression he could hear some of them sobbing.

After a short while, one of the silver knights raised their voice: “Captain, how did it happen?” Ornstein could hear affirmative mumbling from some of the others.

“So, while Artorias was able to slay the beast that tormented Oolacile and save the town out of the clutches of the abyss, sadly, he also lost his life, succumbing to his injuries shortly after he succeeded his mission.”

Ornstein felt a pang in his stomach, the cramps in it feeling a bit worse. He knew he couldn't tell his silver knights the truth, they needed to look up to Artorias as a hero, not a failure. He could hear the silver knights hastily discussing with each other.

“Silence.”, Ornstein shouted, slightly annoyed and the silver knights stopped their talking at once, a bunch of winged helmets turned into his direction.

“The reason for my absence this past days has been, that I needed to attend the burial ceremony. Artorias has been gifted a grave by Oolacile and now rests in the royal garden. We have to make sure that he can rest in piece and I would like for you all to partake in a moment of silence, praying for his soul.”

Ornstein took in the prayer stance and watched from the corner of his visor that the silver knights were doing the same. A short while later, a collective “May the flames guide this soul.” sounded and the silver knights once again stared at Ornstein.

“So, because of my absence I need an overview about what happened.”, Ornstein continued. “I have put Amira and Terrick in charge, so I expect you two to give me your report before you start your duties. For the rest of you, your new orders will be given out at the evening call. You are dismissed.”

The two silver knights Ornstein had mentioned parted from the group and waited for the other silver knights to spread out. As soon as he had dismissed them, their whispering and murmuring to each other resumed. Ornstein couldn't blame them for it, it had been a lot to take in. Ornstein strolled into the direction of Amira and Terrick.

“Let's go to the conference room.”, he said to them and led the way.

“Captain.”, Amira suddenly said, “This must have been a harsh shock for you. We understand if you need some time to work through this.”

Ornstein stopped dead in his tracks, making the two almost bump into him. “I did had enough time for it already, it is time to properly get back to my duties.”, he said, but the cramps in his stomach said otherwise.

“We perfectly know how close you and Artorias were, captain.”, Terrick added. “We are just worried, that is all.”

“I am fine.”, Ornstein said, knowing what a blatant lie this was, but he banned it into the back of his head and opened the door to the conference room, taking his usual seat, while the two silver knight just stood there, looking around, unsure of what to do.

“Please, sit down.”, Ornstein said and gestured to the stools. Amira and Terrick reluctantly came forward and sat down each, her in the place of Ciaran and him in the place of Artorias. Another pang crawled into Ornstein's stomach and he started to regret that he had breakfast.

“So, I bumped into Herman yesterday and he already told me that there is quite some trouble.”, Ornstein started. “Please give me your reports.”

“Of course, captain.”, Amira said and took a bunch of papers out of her armour, Ornstein briefly wondered if she had been carrying them around this whole time, “The most trouble we have lately are the increased numbers of Undead in the human population. The curse of the dark sign has gotten more and more common, it seems. Only a small part of the undead population admit it and are going to the asylum on their own free will. The larger part hides it, often protected by their relatives and then cause havoc when they go hollow, making it very troublesome to ship them off to the asylum.”

“This is indeed a huge problem, if people don't follow the rules.”, Ornstein said. “Form teams to hunt down any hollow you can find. And I shall speak to Gwyndolin about it, so that we can ensure rules, that the human population gets checked for the dark sign.”

He sighed, continuing: “The humans probably won't like this, but we can't keep hollows letting damage our reputation and our citizens. What happened with the people who were protecting the cursed ones?”

“They faced trial and got found to be guilty and shall be executed to death. They are in the dungeons now, the executioner Smough is ready to do his job, but a authoritarian figure was missing for it, cause our Lord Gwyndolin refused to attend them. So it would be good if you could talk to the executioner as soon as possible, the dungeon has gotten quite full lately.”

Ornstein sighed again, it wasn't a secret that he and the executioner didn't like each other a lot. And how would he react now, that Ornstein came back alone, after been denied the ranks of the four knights of Gwyn for so long? Ornstein knew he was strong enough and he must possess a special soul, cause the executioner was living as long as Ornstein was now. Still, with his cannibalistic behaviour, Ornstein just couldn't let him join the ranks of the four knights. Even though they were down to only him now.

“At least that means Smough won't go hungry.”, Ornstein said with a grim face, noticing the two silver knights staring at each other for a second. “I have been noted that demon's have wandered into the Burg from Lost Izalith. What are the black knights doing?”

Terrick and Amira share another look and this time Terrick began to speak: “Like you know, most of the remaining black knights have taken it to themselves to fight the demon threat directly in Izalith. However, lately we didn't had any reports from them, so we can only assume the worst... The remaining black knights have gone searching for their missing comrades, but none of them has returned yet. Thus is why the demon threat in the Burg hasn't been taken care off yet.”

“This is really troublesome.”, Ornstein murmured. “Demon's may not be very intelligent, but they are fearsome foes. I should take care of this one personally. And if there hasn't been a report in a week, we have to make sure to find out what happened to the remaining black knights.”

“So you are going to fight the demon on your own, captain? I will give you the exact location of its sighting later then.”, Terrick said.

“Yes, I am used to fight huge foes anyway, it is easier going on my own than lead a troop of silver knights against it.”, Ornstein said. “Anything else to report?”

“Yes, we have trouble with the dark wraithes in New Londo, terrorizing the citizens there.”, Amira took up the word again. “We were hoping for Sir Artorias to take care off this problem once he returned, but...”, she trailed off.

Ornstein felt his stomach cramp up once again and now a bout of nausea washed over him too. It had only been a few days and this much trouble had occurred. At least he couldn't complain that it would get boring for him.

“Normally Artorias would take care of this threat, you are right.”, he murmured more to himself before raising his voice. “We need some scouting work in New Londo, find out where and when the dark wraithes normally strike. Make sure to get relief supplies to New Londo and every citizen who searches shelter shall be welcome here, but search them for the dark sign first.”, Ornstein ordered. “Oh, I just remembered, we need relief supplies for Oolacile too. Can you make sure that some are getting send there?”

“Noted, captain. We shall make sure to fill out your orders.”, Amira said. “That should have been all. Apart of the paperwork of course. Shall I get it to your room?”

“Yes, please.”, Ornstein nodded, internally groaning at the paperwork. Usually Artorias would help him out with it, cause of his handwriting. But Artorias wasn't there anymore... “And... find the silver knight with the nicest handwriting and give me their name.”, he added.

“As you wish.”, Amira and Terrick both stood up and bowed to him. “Can we go back to our duties now?”

“Yes, you are dismissed.”, Ornstein said absentminded while watching the two silver knights leaving a room. He had a lot on his mind right now. He probably should go talk to Gwyndolin first, they surely were worried about him and he should inform them about the talk he had with his silver knights. Ornstein left the room, but was stopped on his way when he he felt a presence in the hallway.

“No need to hide yourself, come out.”, he shouted and the lord's blade revealed herself.

“Sir Ornstein, you surely happen to know about Lady Ciaran's whereabouts.”, she said.

Ornstein swallowed. A thing he nearly forgot. He had to tell the lord's blades the truth about Ciaran's decision. He braced himself when he opened his mouth: “Ciaran told me that she is not coming back. The lord's blade are hereby disbanded. You are all free to go where you want.”

The woman just stared at him, he could feel it even through her mask, the sense of disbelief, but she recovered quickly: “If that is the wish of our Lady Ciaran, then I will tell the other lord's blades. Farewell, dragon slayer.”

“Maybe I can ask Gwyndolin if you can serve as their dark moon blades.”, Ornstein said but the lord's blade had already been gone. Ornstein's stomach ache tightened and his nausea intensified in a way that he had to stop and take a few deep breathes.

“Keep it together.”, he murmured to himself, slowly trotting to the Dark Moon Tomb where he was let in by Gwyndolin, who awaited him at the end of the hallway sitting in a chair.

“Ornstein, since when are you back? You should have send a message.”, they said.

“...Sorry, I... forgot.”, Ornstein averted his gaze and stared at the floor, trying to concentrate on a pattern in it. Why hadn't he thought about sending a bird to inform Gwyndolin about everything? He blamed the whole burial ceremony stress for it.

“How was the burial ceremony?” Gwyndolin raised their catalyst and conjured a second chair next to them, gesturing at Ornstein to sit down on it, which he did.

“Everything was going exactly as planned. It was a wonderful ceremony and Artorias has gotten a wonderful grave. Princess Dusk and I have hold a speech for him both. His soul surely is on the way to Nito now. Sif stayed at his grave. And so... did Ciaran.”

Even though Gwyndolin's eyes were covered by a mask, Ornstein could see their surprise. He knew them long enough now. It was the way they shifted, the tiny gasp he heard and the way their snakes withdrew.

“I want to say that I am not surprised.”, they started. “But that would be a lie.”

“I know.”, Ornstein said. “I was convinced she would return with me to the cathedral.”

“What about the lord's blades?”

“She said to me to disband them. Before I came here I met one of them and delivered her message. I wanted to ask if they would be able to serve as your dark moon blades, of course only if they want to.”

Gwyndolin seemed to consider it. “Yes, they could serve as my dark moon blades. After all, since my father and my sister left, there haven't been many political enemies we had to take care off. And for every sinner I have the dark moon blades ready. I guess Anor Londo doesn't has a need for assassin's anymore. I will submit my offer to them.”

Both of them fell into silence after this. Both of them knew that Anor Londo wasn't anymore what it once had been. That since Lord Gwyn left, it had lost a lot of its glory. Gwyndolin was doing their best, Ornstein knew it, but he also knew, that there was another reason for Ciaran not coming back. She had given up on Anor Londo, while he still hold onto some faint hope.

“So, any reports?”, Gwyndolin asked.

“Yes.”, Ornstein said. “I have ordered the silver knights to send relief supplies to Oolacile and New Londo, apparently the latter is under attack from the dark wraiths. I have also told that we would take in any refugees, but...”, Ornstein swallowed, “with the curse of the dark sign and the trouble it brought, we can't let the human population go unsupervised anymore. We have to check every human who comes in for the dark sign.”

“Once Anor Londo was home to many deities and divines, but a lot of them left sadly, so that we have to rely on the human population to fill out the gaps... with the curse we surely can't let them go unsupervised anymore.”, Gwyndolin said. “But which forces should we use to control the borders? The silver knights are struggling with their tasks, a lot of them left with my sister. Maybe you should think about recruiting some more?”

“If anyone still wants to be a silver knight. I will make sure to get some recruit posters plastered over town.”, Ornstein sighed. “Well, I better go now, there have been demon sightings in the burg and I wanted to take care of it personally.” Ornstein stood up from the chair which promptly vanished. “I will come back to visit once I have time.”

As Ornstein was on his way out of the tomb, he heard Gwyndolin's voice behind him: “Ornstein, are you alright?”

He turned around, looked at them, his stomach cramping with pain, forced a smile, forgetting that he was wearing his helmet and just said: “Don't worry, I am fine.” (Author's note: “Stomach aches? Nausea? Nightmares? I don't know what you are talking about, I am completely fine.” - Dragon Slayer Ornstein) Next chapter: https://mrslittletall.tumblr.com/post/183025659429/title-keeping-it-together-chapter-18