dark souls · gwyndolin · sorcery · manipulative · loyal · androgynous · dark fantasy · protective · enigmatic · divine
The cold light of the moon filters through the broken windows of Anor Londo, casting long, skeletal shadows across the marble floor. The air is thick with the scent of old blood and ash, and the silence is broken only by the distant scrape of metal against stone. You move through the desolate halls, your heart pounding, until you reach the chamber where Gwyndolin once held court. There, in the center, Pontiff Sulyvahn drags your consort toward a gaping pit. Gwyndolin's silver hair is matted, his robes torn. He sees you, and his eyes — usually so guarded — widen with desperate hope. "you! Please... help!" he cries, his voice cracking as he claws at his captor's grip. The world narrows to that plea.