Author Topic: Original weird fiction writing based on Dark Souls 2 (spoilers)  (Read 342 times)


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Just messing around with some Scholar (dark souls 2) based writing. I'm into fiction like Lovecraft writing wise so that's a big influence. Also tried to write in a way that it can be understood outside of Dark Souls, just a little more vague (which is what weird fiction does anyways). Let me know what you think!

The King sat solemnly upon his heavy throne, his graying hair and graven face hanging between his trembling hands, the last of his brother’s words echoing in his tortured mind:

“The Abyss… The Dark…”

“Fantasy,” the King assured himself, over and over again, “like the magical stories he spun when we were children.” Long had his brother’s eccentric behavior increasingly concerned the King, his eyes growing dark, “and with it, his Soul,” the King remarked to himself. He had always been a strange and unique man, taken to fanciful thought and abstract musings beyond the wildest of most dreams. Often their parents had been concerned at his brother’s dark humor and his taboo interests, but for the steadfast King nothing at the time could turn him against his loved ones. But this, this was too far, even for his elder brother: to suggest his Queen had descended from those malicious black gulfs which have existed since before time itself… His beautiful wife – a writhing creature born from the primordial horrors known only to the earliest of primeval Man. “What childish foolishness, jealousy or madness it must surely have been.” His brother’s already unstable mind had finally and fatefully become lost in the shadow of his monstrous experiments and studies.

The King sighed deeply with the weight of the eons upon his shoulders, the sigh of a strong and happy young man grown tired and dark with the crushing and endless waves of time. He could not deny his brother’s concern that his countenance appeared to grow darker every day, or that in older age, much of the spark that had defined the King’s personality was wholly faded. “Dark…” the word rang in the King’s mind yet again.

The decision to exile his elder brother had not come lightly, for the two shared a burden that bonded their very souls, one far surpassing that of typical brotherhood. They had built a kingdom side by side from the dirt, watched it grow and flourish throughout the ages along with its people, only for it to be ravaged by the barbaric Giants, and decimated by The Curse. It was the very love they shared for their kingdom, and that very bond, which had driven his brother to madness, desperately seeking to preserve what they had given their entire lives to build. But it was of no use, as it had never been of use to any of the Kingdoms which had come before.

The King’s thoughts paused, closing his eyes more tightly than before, trying to banish from inner sight all that he had come to see and know. After all, had his brother not been correct about all else? He had learned of the first Gods, of how they brought Flame to man and gave him life, had learned of the innumerable Nameless Kingdoms that previously stood where they had now built their own, and their own struggles against The Curse and the fading of the flame – it had all happened just as his brother had predicted. The Flame was fading, The Curse had come to man, and The Dark…

The damned Word, “may it and my elder brother be Cursed in their misery.” But then again, should he not himself be Cursed? It was he, after all, who descended upon the Giants and clasped them in chains, not his brother. It was he who peered into the essence of the soul and created life from it, not his bother. It was he who ordered the torture of their Giant prisoners to find a way to overcome The Curse, not his brother. And all at the behest of his dear Queen…

The King sighed once more, deeper than the first time, allowing the stale air of his throne room to fill his lungs. He glanced up briefly at the empty throne beside him, the throne of his beloved Queen, and shuddered for a moment though he knew not why. Or perhaps he knew exactly why, and for this reason he shuddered again.

The King rose to his feet, his long cape dusting the floor beneath him, footsteps echoing through the abandoned hall. The war raged outside, but no one was allowed to visit the castle these days, for since the exile of his brother, the King had not been in the mood for company. He had loved his people dearly, and tried to do anything and everything which he believed was right for them. Yet in the end it had become clear that he had failed them, each and every step of the way. His soldiers died bravely for him, honoring the King they believed him to be, while it had dawned upon him that their doom was no fault of anyone’s but his own. He slammed the door behind him as he strode through.

The King paused at the bottom of the grand stairway, as if his feet would not carry him to his love and their bed. He looked towards the upper landing, his conscious will striving to climb, but his body pulling against him as if it was aware of some hideous event his mind was yet to endure. His brother’s words had gotten to him, having always been one to spin reasonable arguments even out of utter madness. For was it not only at the instance of his darling Queen that he had descended upon the Giants, her warnings of their impeding violence against his people driving him to fear and rage? He had believed his land and his subjects to be in danger, and would do anything to quell that danger and spare them harm. But had the Giants been planning an invasion after all?

The King slowly began to ascend the stairway, his boots sounding off against the cold stone floor, bouncing between the towering pillars and stain-glass windows. The Giants had only attacked his land after the King had journeyed to theirs, and they only attacked seeking the comrades which the King had taken from them. It was the King who had brought the horror of war upon his own people – or perhaps, as his brother had suggested, it was the fault of the Queen. Was he simply trying to assuage his guilt by passing it onto his beloved, or was there more sense in the words of his elder brother than the King had originally believed?

The King entered his washroom and drew water from the bucket to run through his hair and across his face. As he peered into his mirror, the King hardly recognized the withering man before him. Wrinkled, greying, the glint in his own eyes long since faded. “What could have possibly caused such degradation?” the King quietly asked to his ghastly reflection. Yet even as the question was asked, the King came to realize he had already been given the answer. Once he had been a kind King, just and fair, ruling over a peaceful and prospering land. His people had not known war or hardship in all the centuries of his rule. Not until the arrival of his deeply adored Queen.

He turned on his heel towards the door, no sound following but the quiet wisp of his cape. As he entered the hall it was all becoming so clear in the King’s mind. “It was she who had me seeking the Giants, warning me of an impending invasion. It was she who encouraged me to look into the nature of the soul. It was she who had me build this castle above that ancient and eldritch throne. And it was only after her arrival that my kingdom began to notice the fading of the flame.” The King stood still, leaning against the wall of the desolate corridor, staring at the ground beneath his feet. “Could I possibly have been so foolish?”

The King’s mind once more returned to that accursed final conversation with his brother: “The Abyss… The Dark…” The King felt It in his soul. He could see Its outline throughout his life as if It were stalking him, taunting him quietly from the shadows, guiding him on the path to utter ruin. The King drew another deep breath, “perhaps I am more fit to be a jester…” It was quickly becoming clear, but as fast as his intuition came on it vanished again as he came upon a portrait of the Queen. A stunning beauty, flowing blonde hair, her long white gown and shining tiara, a stone-neutral look on her face as she stared out far beyond the painter and his canvas. She was his great love, their souls entwining throughout space and time, as if she had been with him all of his life…

Now he was thinking in circles, caught up in the paranoia of his disowned brother. The King continued on once again leaving the portrait as the only sign of life in the empty hall. There was no stopping the thought, no escaping it any further. For a moment, the King found himself faced with a very real and terrifying question: what if his elder brother was correct? Surely if the Queen was a beast of the Abyss then the game was already lost. She had access to it all: the research of his brother’s mansion, access to True Throne beneath the castle, and the King’s own soul whenever she was ready to claim it. He paused in the hall once more, peering out the window at the ruins of his once great land. His armor, sword, and crown felt as if they were weighing him down, dragging him beneath the castle to be crushed by the pitch black stone.

“The Dark…” could it really be that obvious to all but him?

The King turned from the window and entered into his chamber. His exalted Queen was already asleep, eyes moving in dream, the same stone look as the portrait in the hall. It slowly dawned upon the weakened King that, blinded by his eternal love, he had never peered into the soul of his Queen. He knew well the mysteries of the cosmos, the true nature of mankind and the lies of the Old Gods. And yet never once had he stared into that most beloved soul. The King hesitated, his breath trembling, his legs weakened, his very soul shuddering as if eclipsed by shadow. Such a simple task for him, and yet the most difficult and daring of his life. What would he see when he peered into the flame within? Taking one final breath, the King lay a hand upon his cherished Queen. But what the King saw was not the light of flame, not even shadow cast by the dullest ember. What the King witnessed was pure, chaotic, limitless darkness, filled with the subtle wriggling and screeching of eternal nightmares, void of all light and desperately reaching out for his soul.

The King withdrew his hand. He did not recoil, he did not panic. The King had failed his people, led them to wrack and ruin by way of his own blindness. He had lost the last true support of his life in favor of an abysmal monster, but it was not regret or anger he felt. Instead what the noble King saw was one final chance to help his people, and it was clear to him what he must do.
« Last Edit: August 12, 2018, 05:40:11 pm by Xepera maSet »