After gathering her strength in the quiet solace of the abbey, I stepped back into the frozen expanse of Ariandel. The air was sharp, laden with the promise of new trials, and before me lay a forest of frostbitten trees and snow-laden hills. The terrain was treacherous, but no less so than the foes hidden within it.
Wolves howled in the distance, their silhouettes darting between the gnarled trees. They came in packs, their claws raking the snow as they charged. But I was ready. Mind Corruption turned them against one another, their frenzied bites echoing through the frosty stillness. Between their chaos and my blade, they fell swiftly.
Deeper in the forest, the battle grew fiercer. The Farron Followers struck with ruthless precision, their spears cutting through the air like deadly whispers. Among the snow-covered hills loomed the Millwood Knights and their Chieftain, towering figures clad in weathered armor, wielding weapons of devastating power. The Chieftain’s axe swung with the force of an avalanche, but my agility and magic wore him down until the great warrior collapsed into the snow.
At the peak of the hills, I found the entrance to the church once more. This time, I entered from behind, through a hidden passage that led into the heart of decay. The scene was revolting. The ground squelched underfoot, littered with bloated fly eggs and writhing larvae. Giant Flies, grotesque abominations with glinting red eyes, hovered above the filth, tending to their macabre spawn. The stench of death clung to everything.
I dispatched the flies with dark magic and my Hexsword, their bodies collapsing into the pestilent muck. The swarms were relentless, but my fury was greater. I found a mechanism hidden among the filth, and with a pull of the lever, I heard the grinding of stone. A path had opened above, revealing the sanctum of despair—the grand prayer hall of the church.
Inside, a haunting sight awaited. A massive, crow-like creature loomed at the center, its talons clutching a great chalice as it tried to ignite a flame within. Its every movement seemed steeped in sorrow, its struggle a desperate plea for salvation. As I approached, Sister Friede emerged from the shadows, her cold voice addressing the creature as “Father.”
The battle that followed was nothing short of cataclysmic. Friede’s mastery of ice was as elegant as it was lethal, her scythe cutting through the air like the chill of death itself. When she fell, I thought the fight over—but Father Ariandel’s anguished roar told me otherwise. Fueled by rage, he resurrected her, and together they descended upon me in a storm of fire and frost.
The hall became a battleground of chaos. Father’s fiery chalice spewed molten destruction, while Friede’s icy scythe sought my life. I wove through their attacks, countering with spells and blade, but the fight was relentless. When they finally fell, I thought myself victorious—but the shadows of this world had more to offer.
In the final phase, Friede rose again, her form consumed by dark and ice magic. Her attacks were precise, unyielding, and her resistance to my own black magic tested every ounce of my resolve. The battle stretched on, every strike and spell bringing me closer to exhaustion. But I would not falter. With a final, desperate effort, I struck her down, her form collapsing into silence.
As the echoes of battle faded, I stood alone in the desecrated hall, my breath ragged, my body weary. Sister Friede had been a foe unlike any other—a guardian of despair, yet a reflection of my own determination. I left the hall, ascending a ladder I had noticed earlier.
At the top, in the quiet rafters of the church, I found the painter once more. She sat by her canvas, serene and focused, her brush poised to create a new world. She spoke softly, thanking me for what had been done. “More darkness, more cold, more solitude,” she said. Her vision was bleak, yet purposeful.
As I watched her work, I realized that this world, for all its horrors, was but a reflection of existence—a canvas of suffering, yet also of creation. And perhaps, in its own way, that was beautiful. For what is art, if not the shadows of the soul made visible?
Come to the dark side: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQRPy70pDgKWZPzdPFo3NP6Zbh7EI__pb
#DarkSouls3 #PaintedWorldofAriandel # SisterFriede #Ariandel #Convergence #RavennaNoir
