The bridge swayed under my cautious steps, its icy ropes groaning in the wind’s bitter grip. Beyond it lay the church, a cold and foreboding silhouette against the gray horizon. My breath misted in the frigid air as I approached, my steps deliberate. The ground before the church was littered with the grotesque figures of those who had once been human—now little more than rotting husks clawing at the snow, their lives long extinguished by this wretched place.
They lunged at me with pitiful ferocity, their decaying bodies barely holding together. I dispatched them quickly, letting their misery end in silence. Yet as I neared the doors, a figure emerged—a woman cloaked in black, her hands already weaving spells of ice. Before a word passed between us, shards of frozen death flew toward me. Her intent was clear.
I met her fury with my own. My Hexsword sang through the frigid air, its glowing edge deflecting her icy strikes. Dark curses spilled from my lips, and shadowy tendrils coiled around her feet, rooting her in place. She fought with elegance, her frost crackling and biting, but her precision faltered under my relentless assault. A final sweep of my blade silenced her, her frozen form collapsing into the snow.
Inside the church, the air was heavy with an eerie stillness. Sister Friede sat waiting, her form poised and calm on her chair. Her voice was soft, almost soothing, as she gestured toward the Bonfire. Her intent, however, was clear: she wanted me gone. She pressed a ring into my hand, its enchantment promising protection from the cold. But her attempt to usher me out was wasted. I am not so easily deterred.
The church was mine to explore. I ascended the creaking stairs to the rafters, where a peculiar dagger caught my eye. Its edge shimmered faintly, and I could feel its magic—a tool for fleeting invisibility. A useful find. With every corner searched and every secret unveiled, I returned to the entrance.
Before I could retreat across the bridge, the ancient ropes snapped with a thunderous crack. The bridge fell, but I remained unshaken. I descended its ruins like a ladder, the biting wind howling in my ears. Below, the frozen cliffs awaited, and so did their guardians.
The Millwood Warriors were a challenge, their axes massive and their movements deliberate. Yet they too fell to the shadows, their wandering souls finding rest in the icy depths. Deeper still, I encountered the Champion of the Depths. His clawed hands struck with precision, his ice magic forcing me to dance between spells and strikes. Just as I began to gain the upper hand, the wolf returned—a massive, spectral beast, its movements swift and brutal.
Together, they were relentless, allowing no time to breathe. I played the long game, weaving curses and evading their blows. Patience was my ally, and slowly, methodically, I wore them down. When the wolf finally fell beside its master, the silence was deafening, the snow stained with the remnants of their defeat.
Climbing the cliffs, I returned to my camp, but rest did not come easily. The shadows of this world pressed against my thoughts, their weight unbearable. I decided to press on, descending into the decrepit village below.
There, despair clung to the air like frost. The inhabitants were cursed, their bodies twisted into crow-like forms, their skin rotting as if they were decaying alive. They shambled through the streets, feverish and broken, their voices hoarse with pleas for release. Their suffering was unbearable, even for one such as me. I granted them mercy, dispatching them swiftly, without games or torment. To prolong their misery would have been monstrous.
The village led me to a graveyard, where I crossed crumbling tombstones and snow-covered crypts. A narrow staircase brought me to a small abbey atop the cliffs. There, in the dim firelight, sat the painter of this world. Ariandel. She was delicate, her voice carrying the weight of hopelessness. She spoke of a new painting, a new world to replace the decaying one we now inhabited. Her hope seemed fragile, her existence tied to the ashes of this realm.
I lingered in her presence, tossing forgotten tomes into the fire, their pages curling and blackening as the flames consumed them. The air was warmer here, almost bearable, and I decided to rest. A protective spell would wake me if danger approached, though I doubted the safety of any haven in this world.
As the firelight flickered against the icy stone walls, I stared into its depths. This painted world was as tragic as it was haunting, filled with questions and few answers. I had walked through many such places, each more wretched than the last. But perhaps this place, in its quiet despair, was the truest reflection of existence itself. Beautiful, in its way. And utterly broken.
Come to the dark side: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQRPy70pDgKWZPzdPFo3NP6Zbh7EI__pb
#DarkSouls3 #PaintedWorldofAriandel #Ariandel #Convergence #RavennaNoir
