The members of the chain game server wanted to do something a little different, so they decided to make a "quick chain" with a set word count for the fics and speed paints for the art. Please enjoy!
The prompt was: "Artorias arriving in Oolacile."
@dbzespio
A soft whine caused Artorias to turn back, seeking Sif, finding her several paces behind him, ears lowered and with faltering steps. He called back to her, crouching down to pat his knee, encouraging her. “What are you doing all the way back there, Sif? I’m right here!”
His excitement soon has her bounding around him, tail wagging and barking with delight.
“Now that’s more like it…!” Artorias laughed congenially. “What’s there to be afraid of when we’re both here together?”
With that said, the two resumed their march. They were headed to Oolacile... against everyone’s wishes. From the Knight Captain Ornstein to an unexpected talking mushroom they had encountered along the path, all had advised them not to pursue the encroaching darkness any further.
But Artorias knew there wasn’t time to waste on caution nor debates. He had learned from experience that disaster, when it decided to ravage lands, often struck quickly, without regard to politics nor strategy. He would rather move quickly than not at all. Oolacile was a small place, generally known as a rather peaceful land, though with plenty of practitioners of strange magics... which few trusted. Regardless of their skills with magic, he doubted the people here knew anything of true battle, let alone war. They were too secluded to know of the horrors he had already seen, and Knight Artorias wasn’t one to live his life with regrets. He would move forward now, before it could become too late.
So onward the pair trekked, the creatures of the forest chattering incessantly but always well out of sight. Such was expected of forest travel; no doubt the clank of his armor and occasional bark from Sif scared them off. However, when things were quieter… Artorias could swear he could hear something… strange. Something far off into the distance.
When the duo left the forest’s edge, that was when it became apparent.
A quiet dread filled the air. A silence which didn’t quite feel right, especially so near a forest so noisy.
Sif whimpered quietly. And this time, Artorias didn’t need to question why.
A low, resonant hum filled the air. An unnatural sound. Nothing to do with magic either. At least as far as he knew of it. Standing here before an old arena, gently crumbled with age and overgrown with plant life.
It wasn't far. Another settlement, another place where the abyss was leaking into the world. Another threat to everything Lord Gwyn had fought and sacrificed himself for.
Anor Londo… it had been contained. Flooded without warning, souls becoming ghosts according to the scouts and Artorias's own observations, watching the city he'd failed to save.
Oolacile would be different. It had to be different. Failing at the same task, equipped as he was already, the most capable of Gwyn's knights for challenging the abyss, he could not fail at this task twice.
Artorias paused, looking over the city. Nothing moving except plant life, swaying in the gentle breeze. The abyss wouldn't have reached here, not yet, not as recent an outbreak as this was. It would be deep, deep below. There was a path, that way, he could just see the way below.
Sif butted his knee, and Artorias leaned down to scratch Sif's ears without looking away from the task. They'd fought they abyss together once, and this time, they would win. No flooding, no tricks.
Sif began following the path down; Artorias took a final look at the quiet buildings he was here to protect, and followed.
@redsixwing
@irnbruforthetrue
Ser Artorias, the wolf knight, strode through the abandoned marble streets of Aaramere, capital of Oolacile and found… nought but silence. The Gwyniverean Gate, the most well reinforced and busy gate to the city, stood open and unmanned. The street of merchants leading to the main square had been disturbingly reposed. Carts were not overturned, stores were securely locked, even produce was still neatly stacked in their crates and displays… it was as if the city had closed down, packed up, and simply left.
…
So.
Why then, did the sentries along the high wall of Anor Londo report nothing but ceaseless screams of despair and a tenebral wall flooding the streets? Why did they speak of that same screaming turning to maddened cackles of euphoric joy? And why, a tenday previous, did they report a silence more grave than Nito’s inner sanctum falling over the greatest city of man outside the Ring of the Pygmies?
“Stay close, Little Wolf,” Artorias whispered, his voice whistling somewhat through the grating of his helm, ”This quiet… it unsettles me… no place so grand should exist in such solemnity.”
The wolf pup, Sif, her shoulder barely to the knight’s ribs, yips and stays close. The saddle bag slung over her hind-quarters clinking with every soft step. As they make it to the open square of the Four Kings, the she-wolf hunches closer to the ground as if she sensed danger that escaped Artorias.
“At ease, girl,” Artorias stops by the main fountain, still pouring quietly from the mouths of the relief at its centre. His shield, the bulwark of his trade, clattered as he laid it against a hitching post. The knight reached into his bag, fingers blindly probing, and withdrew a slither of dried boar meat, “Eat,” He took a prompting bite before holding it out to the beast. Sif, beholden to little but her stomach, nearly took his hand off to claim her treat, “Demon-spew, someone’s missing the royal chef, aren’t they?” He chuckled and scratched the pup between the ears while shaking his hand.
Something clattered just out of his periphery.
Artorias rose and turned, perhaps a burgher or vagrant had escaped whatever abyss borne evils had befallen this abandoned city. The knight stood to his full size, reclaiming his shield in his left hand and hefting his greatsword in his right. He sighed and turned.
“Hail, friend,” He started, casting his helmeted gaze around, “I am Ser Artorias, sworn blade of the royal fam-”
The creature that stood before him, barely a handful of steps from him, was like no maledictive creature of dragon, man, or god he had seen before. Its head was an inflamed sore, scabbed and oozing thick rivers of black goo. 12 vile orbs of crimson light stared into his eyes, unerringly focused on him despite the way it twitched. The creature’s torso was a turgid bruise of taut muscle and sinew. Its arms extended out wide and impossibly long, once soft fingers now curled into jagged bone spurs dripping that same dark ichor. Every new step it took made the knight’s stomach curl as the destruction of the city came into startlingly morbid clarity. He dispatched the beast in one strike, Sif growling menacingly at his heels… more came, dozens… scores even.
“May lord Gwyn forgive me,” Ser Artorias whispered as he flicked blackened blood from his blade, “Very well… let there be fire.”
Sooooo James glitched big time at the citadel dlc party. I invited him to hang out at the apartment and it triggered the party starting. So he got stuck dancing by the punching bag all night.
i know this is an extremely basic baby’s first feminism observation but it does genuinely drive me crazy how for the most part stories about men are presumed to be universal and stories about women are About Women
izzy806
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
gummygunk
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
