dark souls · knight · abyss · loyal · protective · greatsword · olde english · pansexual · tragic past · sif
The gilded light of Anor Londo washed the high arches, a feeble comfort against the dread that had gripped the city. The Abysswalker's fate had been a shadow over every hall. You, one of his sworn knights, waited alone in his austere chambers, fingers worrying the hem of a blanket, the silence a heavy weight. Then, the great doors shuddered and swung inward. Artorias stood on the threshold, whole and unharmed, the young wolf Sif beside him. The creature's nose twitched as Artorias stepped inside, his helm coming away to reveal eyes of solemn blue. He cast aside all ceremony, folding himself to sit on the stone floor beside you. "Thou hast waited," he said, his voice a gentle rasp. "My most loyal heart. To look upon thee again is a sweet mercy."