In the Age of Ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, Archtrees and Everlasting Dragons. But then there was fire and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course light and dark. Then from the dark they came and found the souls of Lords within the flame. Nito, the first of the Dead, the Witch of Izalith and her Daughters of Chaos, Gwyn, the Lord of sunlight, and his faithful knights. And the furtive pygmy, so easily forgotten. With the strength of lords, they challenged the Dragons. Gwyn’s mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales. The Witches weaved great firestorms. Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease. and Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own, and the Dragons were no more. Thus began the Age of Fire. Though eventually, the First Flame flickered and waned, and so too did the power of the Lords, who feared the coming Age of Dark. If Dak Souls is too hardcore for you, try this games: https://casinoslots-ie.com/online-casino-bonuses
Desperate, the Witch of Izalith attempted to recreate a new Flame using her Soul of Life, but instead, chaos emerged, corrupting the Witch and her daughters and spreading across the land, giving birth to wicked demons. Left with no other choice, Gwyn divided his soul of light amongst his disciples and sacrificed himself to the Flame, prolonging the Age of Fire another thousand years. But soon the flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Even now there are only embers, and man sees not light, but only endless nights. And amongst the living are seen carriers of the Darksign that brands the undead, those who are cursed to be reborn after death, but eventually degenerates into insanity. And in this land, the undead are corralled and led to the North, where they are locked away, to await the end of the world… This was to be the fate of one particular, lowly undead. Or so he thought.
He awoke, cold and frail, to a heavy thud in his cell. A body… And a key. A knight peered down from the skylight above. After unlocking his cell, the undead found his savior slouched on the ground and near death. Finally, after an eternity of rotting away day after day, there was hope. His purpose having lifted his withered heart, the now Chosen Undead was swept away to Lordran. The kingdom was teeming with undead, lost souls waiting to go hollow, and those who already had. Some were overcome with the nihilism of the age. Only few still were emboldened with faith. Or perhaps they were just fools. The task was simple, ring the bells and discover the true fate of the undead. Getting there was proving more difficult. After countless struggles and clashing of steel, after climbing the tallest castle and traversing the deepest depths, both bells were rung, and a serpentine creature arose from the darkness. Collecting the great Lord Souls would be no easy feat, but with each fallen fiend the chosen undead grew stronger. The vessel would need to be retrieved, but was guarded by powerful servants of the King. Proving his strength, the chosen undead was granted audience with the beautiful Gwynevere, daughter of Lord Gwyn and Princess of Sunlight.
The vessel would now need to be filled with the powerful Lord Souls, and it was time to pay their owners of visit. Nito, keeper of the Soul of Death, who slumbered motionless in his crypt, got a rather rude awakening. Seath the Scaleless, gone mad in his pursuit of sorcery, locked up the feisty undead. But iron bars could hold him no longer. The Witch of Izalith, deformed and confined to her bed of chaos, thrashed with all her might. The landscape was treacherous indeed, but with a leap of faith, the monstrosity was felled. The final soul hid in the blackness of the abyss. The Chosen Undead journeyed deeper and deeper into shadow. The dark was thick and heavy, but the ring of a fallen knight would keep him safe from the encroaching corruption. The Four Kings emerged from the vacant abyss, surrounding the undead. But, one by one, with a flash of his sword, the kings were no more. Undead warrior, conquerer of the Four Kings… A familiar, devilish, toothy grin crept into view. And now… a dilemma. Which primordial serpent was to be trusted?
Either way, the Lord of Cinder himself needed to be conquered. With the Lord vessel engorged and placed upon the altar the great door guarding Gwyn was opened, the smell of ash and dying ember on the stale air. Still nursing the First Flame, Gwyn turned on the intruder and challenged him to a final duel. The Chosen Undead, embodying the souls of great knights, beasts, and even demons, and burning with their collective power, dealt the final blow to the ancient Lord. With Gwyn defeated, the undead had one final task. The fate of all Chosen Undead. Reignite the flame and perpetuates the Age of Fire. Or… allow the flame to dwindle… and bring about the age of man. Which path was chosen? Only the gods know. her service