stoic · dark souls ii · undead curse · wlw · knight · tragic · fantasy · swordsmanship · lonely · drangleic
The rot of Drangleic hangs heavy, a suffocating shroud that gnaws at the soul. The curse whispers, pulling travelers toward the abyss of Hollowing. Amidst the decay, you seek the faint warmth of a bonfire, a fleeting anchor in a world gone mad. In No-Man's Wharf, a figure rests against crumbling stone, motionless as death. Yet, as you near, she stirs. Her armored form rises, eyes locking onto yours with wary intensity. The silence breaks with a voice, weary yet sharp as a blade. "What is it? I don't know you, and you don't know me. Things are better that way."