by ViralEnsign_ Mon Jun 18, 2012 11:07 amI just wrote a great lore fragment and the f'ing internet timed out.....!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
+14
nsane32
SunlightCrusader
NordNorth
JoeBroski09
dancash1808
TehInfamousAmos
Spurgun
ViralEnsign_
Forum Pirate
billy_bayonet
cloudyeki
DoughGuy
Serious_Much
Shkar
18 posters
The Lore of the Covenants
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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Damn man.. :/
Forum Pirate- Chosen Undead
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I have a bunch of stories, I just haven't written them down because I haven't had a reason. I'm not good enough to be an author, so things like this are the only writing I do.
That sucks Viral
That sucks Viral
cloudyeki- Compulsory Poster
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"Etraiu" Laplace spoke as he seemed to step out from the air. "You may already know who I am, but I am here of my own volition. I came to pay respect to your queen. She has taken in quite a few from the brigade, which I am grateful for."
Holding a small satchel, the former soldier if the east waited for the guard to allow him entrance. "I am sorry our covenant's paths had to cross in such a way, but sometimes fate is cruel."
Holding a small satchel, the former soldier if the east waited for the guard to allow him entrance. "I am sorry our covenant's paths had to cross in such a way, but sometimes fate is cruel."
JoeBroski09- Chosen Undead
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Ill have to wait for shkar to put this all in the op... then ill join. I got a bit behind. Hw and all.
Spurgun- Chosen Undead
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Same, i am almost ten pages behind 
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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Failure
“ Estylla could feel their eyes on her as she strode through the piles of corpses that lined the ruined corridors of New Londo. She couldn’t see them, she didn’t have to though, they had been ever present from the moment she entered through the massive flood gates, sitting just out of sight in the darkness.
All about her were the tangled bodies of those who had joined the hastily formed alliance, their features twisted in a soundless agony and once bright armours now covered in a sheen of muck and gore, and their shields now covered with dirges written in a dried crimson ink.
“Can’t the Lifehunters do anything right?” She muttered to herself, her voice a tired rasp.
She glanced about the carnage and began to pick through the dozens of bodies searching for any sign of the Darkstalkers. She began to pick through the remains carefully at first but more hurriedly as time went by, they were becoming bolder now, and some were just meters off hidden in the twilight gloom. Even after all of her efforts she could find little trace of the shadowy assailants save for a few fragments of bone like armour and shattered shield. She cursed inwardly at her folly. The wounded Lifehunter she had caught earlier had insisted that the dead and wounded Stalkers had vanished mysteriously and without as sound, that was until she thrust a metre of steel through his neck.
She kicked out at the nearest body in her frustration with a steel shod toe feeling its dead flesh pulp beneath her armoured boot. Only then did she glance down to see what it was. He was clearly a Lifehunter, no knight would accept the creature that lay before her into their sworn circles, for the blight had claimed most of his face with a green pus ridden bloat that stunk of filth and corruption. The hunter had only been a whelp, barely into his teens. She spat over his corpse and left him grinning back at her with his twin mouths, one twisted and bloody where something had shattered his teeth, the other carved deeply into his neck.
She hurried on wards now, she had tarried to long in the ruined city and would play for it if she did not leave. Her lithe form slipped between two shattered columns reaching up to the sky as if trying to claw out of the dense darkness that engulfed everything.
A futile attempt, she considered glumly.
Through a door, up a narrow, winding staircase, down a corpse filled corridor she went her heavy steal greaves sung out to the shadows, a section of rubble clattering in the dark, the scrape of steel on steel, the thump of his boot on a rotting door. And still she went on.
Finally she stepped from the narrow hall she had been walking down in a wide inner yard. She glanced up at the balconies high above and shuddered. The eyes were still on her. The sounds of footsteps echoed back to her out of the abandoned passageways, the high pitched wail of Darkforged iron being dragged across crooked cobblestones.
Estylla turned about, her sky blue cloak billowing as she went, and made of the high curve of a large arch, its oaken doors having been ripped off or worn away by the waters that had sealed New Londo for so long. As she passed she could not help but marvel at the scale of the city. The civic engineers who had envisioned this city of men had achieved so much before the Sealers had claimed the right of Closing and flooded the city.
Behind her she felt the air stir.
Her vision changed, sharpened, and even clouded some.
Was it Fear? Bloodlust? Excitement? She did not know, in any case now was not the time to consider it.
A quick as anything she had drawn the sturdy rapier at her hip and swung the pointed blade in an arc feeling the tip bounce off the iron skull mask of her foe before it deflected away.
Instinctively she danced away from the shadowy being that had appeared behind her, just in time to see the wraith’s hand glow and strange white colour, narrowly avoiding its grip which had been aimed at her neck.
She drew back into her fencer’s stance, sword point held at the ready to fend off the Darkwraith’s steady advance. Her blade lashed out, low this time, at the creatures exposed legs, but was parried by its dark blade, again, and again she struck, her third blow slipping through its embossed steel ribcage.
She heard a satisfying grunt of pain as she withdrew that narrow sword.
However as she pulled away she saw the Darkwraith was barely wounded, already lumbering towards her. It slammed into her in a full body tackle with the strength of ten men, bearing her off her feet and to the ground, its armoured bulk crashing down atop her.
She screamed in pain feeling pain lance throughout she shield arm, the buckler shattering, while her ears were assaulted by the cruel snapping of her own ribs as the broke. She struggled helplessly, near blind with pain, as the wraith began to pin her arms and legs. Finally it reared back, its arm once again illuminated by an unwholesome glow, before it thrust down.
The Darkstalker was insider her.
Its arm buried up to its elbow in her chest. She tried to scream but one of the shattered ribs had pierced her lung. Light began to surge in around her.
All she could see was white, the world tasted like white, the sound of white filled her ears, and the pungent smell of white and death met her nose.
Suddenly she became aware of herself, the pain, and certain reaching deep within her. It was not entirely unpleasant, in fact, she decided, it felt good. That was until whatever it was seized whatever it was looking for.
Her eyes snapped open, only to be swallowed up the wraiths massive dark eyes, it pupils dilated, steaming breath through a lipless mouth.
Unbidden she felt some strange strength suffuse her tired muscles, and she clawed at the dark soldiers face, to no avail. She squirmed, and was relieved when she succeeded in freeing her right leg from beneath its steel shod greaves. Showing an unnatural degree of flexibility she wormed her leg under its chest, so that her heel was pressed firmly against its chest. She heaved with all her might, at first nothing happened, then slowly it began to give way as she struggled to shift it.
With a guttural scream she kicked the Darkwraith off of her and sent it crashing back into the wall where it sat stunned.
She did not know how the Darksword got into her hands but she didn’t care.
She only stopped when the blade’s metre and a half length was thrust completely through its chest plate, and its death rattle had spluttered through its skeletal iron teeth.
She had what she came for.
She stared down at the sword cradled gently in her arms. Its straight darksteel form was longer than any blade she had ever used and along its ebony finish ran elaborate carved scrollwork in a strange occult design she had never seen before. Its hilt was double forged and the cross guard was spiked through at strange angles. Only then did she realise her hands were bleeding.
A thick stream of black blood poured from her wound, steaming, onto the blade, and running though the carved designs and down onto the crossguard.
She was holding power.
She cast out her magic, tentatively, towards the blade, hearing it resonate gleefully as it absorbed the ethereal energies.
The scent of death began to fade and her vision returned to normal.
Carefully she cleaned its length and unbuckled the wraiths sheathe and substituted it for her own. She waved the blade about, above her head, and felt the other stalkers retreat a little.
She smiled, the thin line of her lips took on a more luscious and full appearance.
“Mayhap the Lifehunters did something right after all...”
Satisfied she turned about and vanished into the dark.”
“ Estylla could feel their eyes on her as she strode through the piles of corpses that lined the ruined corridors of New Londo. She couldn’t see them, she didn’t have to though, they had been ever present from the moment she entered through the massive flood gates, sitting just out of sight in the darkness.
All about her were the tangled bodies of those who had joined the hastily formed alliance, their features twisted in a soundless agony and once bright armours now covered in a sheen of muck and gore, and their shields now covered with dirges written in a dried crimson ink.
“Can’t the Lifehunters do anything right?” She muttered to herself, her voice a tired rasp.
She glanced about the carnage and began to pick through the dozens of bodies searching for any sign of the Darkstalkers. She began to pick through the remains carefully at first but more hurriedly as time went by, they were becoming bolder now, and some were just meters off hidden in the twilight gloom. Even after all of her efforts she could find little trace of the shadowy assailants save for a few fragments of bone like armour and shattered shield. She cursed inwardly at her folly. The wounded Lifehunter she had caught earlier had insisted that the dead and wounded Stalkers had vanished mysteriously and without as sound, that was until she thrust a metre of steel through his neck.
She kicked out at the nearest body in her frustration with a steel shod toe feeling its dead flesh pulp beneath her armoured boot. Only then did she glance down to see what it was. He was clearly a Lifehunter, no knight would accept the creature that lay before her into their sworn circles, for the blight had claimed most of his face with a green pus ridden bloat that stunk of filth and corruption. The hunter had only been a whelp, barely into his teens. She spat over his corpse and left him grinning back at her with his twin mouths, one twisted and bloody where something had shattered his teeth, the other carved deeply into his neck.
She hurried on wards now, she had tarried to long in the ruined city and would play for it if she did not leave. Her lithe form slipped between two shattered columns reaching up to the sky as if trying to claw out of the dense darkness that engulfed everything.
A futile attempt, she considered glumly.
Through a door, up a narrow, winding staircase, down a corpse filled corridor she went her heavy steal greaves sung out to the shadows, a section of rubble clattering in the dark, the scrape of steel on steel, the thump of his boot on a rotting door. And still she went on.
Finally she stepped from the narrow hall she had been walking down in a wide inner yard. She glanced up at the balconies high above and shuddered. The eyes were still on her. The sounds of footsteps echoed back to her out of the abandoned passageways, the high pitched wail of Darkforged iron being dragged across crooked cobblestones.
Estylla turned about, her sky blue cloak billowing as she went, and made of the high curve of a large arch, its oaken doors having been ripped off or worn away by the waters that had sealed New Londo for so long. As she passed she could not help but marvel at the scale of the city. The civic engineers who had envisioned this city of men had achieved so much before the Sealers had claimed the right of Closing and flooded the city.
Behind her she felt the air stir.
Her vision changed, sharpened, and even clouded some.
Was it Fear? Bloodlust? Excitement? She did not know, in any case now was not the time to consider it.
A quick as anything she had drawn the sturdy rapier at her hip and swung the pointed blade in an arc feeling the tip bounce off the iron skull mask of her foe before it deflected away.
Instinctively she danced away from the shadowy being that had appeared behind her, just in time to see the wraith’s hand glow and strange white colour, narrowly avoiding its grip which had been aimed at her neck.
She drew back into her fencer’s stance, sword point held at the ready to fend off the Darkwraith’s steady advance. Her blade lashed out, low this time, at the creatures exposed legs, but was parried by its dark blade, again, and again she struck, her third blow slipping through its embossed steel ribcage.
She heard a satisfying grunt of pain as she withdrew that narrow sword.
However as she pulled away she saw the Darkwraith was barely wounded, already lumbering towards her. It slammed into her in a full body tackle with the strength of ten men, bearing her off her feet and to the ground, its armoured bulk crashing down atop her.
She screamed in pain feeling pain lance throughout she shield arm, the buckler shattering, while her ears were assaulted by the cruel snapping of her own ribs as the broke. She struggled helplessly, near blind with pain, as the wraith began to pin her arms and legs. Finally it reared back, its arm once again illuminated by an unwholesome glow, before it thrust down.
The Darkstalker was insider her.
Its arm buried up to its elbow in her chest. She tried to scream but one of the shattered ribs had pierced her lung. Light began to surge in around her.
All she could see was white, the world tasted like white, the sound of white filled her ears, and the pungent smell of white and death met her nose.
Suddenly she became aware of herself, the pain, and certain reaching deep within her. It was not entirely unpleasant, in fact, she decided, it felt good. That was until whatever it was seized whatever it was looking for.
Her eyes snapped open, only to be swallowed up the wraiths massive dark eyes, it pupils dilated, steaming breath through a lipless mouth.
Unbidden she felt some strange strength suffuse her tired muscles, and she clawed at the dark soldiers face, to no avail. She squirmed, and was relieved when she succeeded in freeing her right leg from beneath its steel shod greaves. Showing an unnatural degree of flexibility she wormed her leg under its chest, so that her heel was pressed firmly against its chest. She heaved with all her might, at first nothing happened, then slowly it began to give way as she struggled to shift it.
With a guttural scream she kicked the Darkwraith off of her and sent it crashing back into the wall where it sat stunned.
She did not know how the Darksword got into her hands but she didn’t care.
She only stopped when the blade’s metre and a half length was thrust completely through its chest plate, and its death rattle had spluttered through its skeletal iron teeth.
She had what she came for.
She stared down at the sword cradled gently in her arms. Its straight darksteel form was longer than any blade she had ever used and along its ebony finish ran elaborate carved scrollwork in a strange occult design she had never seen before. Its hilt was double forged and the cross guard was spiked through at strange angles. Only then did she realise her hands were bleeding.
A thick stream of black blood poured from her wound, steaming, onto the blade, and running though the carved designs and down onto the crossguard.
She was holding power.
She cast out her magic, tentatively, towards the blade, hearing it resonate gleefully as it absorbed the ethereal energies.
The scent of death began to fade and her vision returned to normal.
Carefully she cleaned its length and unbuckled the wraiths sheathe and substituted it for her own. She waved the blade about, above her head, and felt the other stalkers retreat a little.
She smiled, the thin line of her lips took on a more luscious and full appearance.
“Mayhap the Lifehunters did something right after all...”
Satisfied she turned about and vanished into the dark.”
Shkar- Revived
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Dang Viral, I like how you did that. If you based the draining on what it seemed like, it seemed very appropriate.
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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we like our hands inside you :O
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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billy_bayonet wrote:we like our hands inside you :O
I knew someone would do that......
:evil:
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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i was just beating AMOS to it
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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I expected it of him but you.... you disappoint me..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
Kidding..............................................................................................................................................
Kidding..............................................................................................................................................
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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turth be told that could be taken in any context a pure mind would never thought my comment rude 
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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Lol nobody is pure of mind when the talk with the Darkstalkers you corrupt everything.
Shkar- Revived
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ViralEnsign_ wrote:Lol nobody is pure of mind when the talk with the Darkstalkers you corrupt everything.
Hey! Give a little credit to me.
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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ViralEnsign_ wrote:Lol nobody is pure of mind when the talk with the Darkstalkers you corrupt everything.
No matter how honourable you think you are, we all have a dark side,
Shkar- Revived
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billy_bayonet wrote:ViralEnsign_ wrote:Lol nobody is pure of mind when the talk with the Darkstalkers you corrupt everything.
No matter how honourable you think you are, we all have a dark side,
It's true, even Plagius has a little darkside in him. This is of course in addition to the rest of him.
SunlightCrusader- Hollowed
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dancash1808 wrote:Someone who only adheres to such a rigid dogma risks becoming a monster themselves sunlight.
Says the humanity draining monster. Anyways my Darkmoon adheres to the concept of justice and that it must be distributed equally to all sinners. My DM is no fool, he knows that the world isn't always black and white like that but he will treat it as so until given reason not to such as a temporary alliance against a greater threat. In my lore if you were to argue with him you would find that he is quite logical beneath all of that strict sense of justice; he just normally chooses not to apply logic sinners as they are usually pretty simple.
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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"Bah! have you ever actually seen me drain someone of humanity? not that I have not done so but generally I would have to either be incredibly desperate or incredibly angry to use such a brutal method of killing, my joy in battle and determination to attain freedom keep me free from hollowing not some parasitic relationship with those too foolish to run"
and as for applying justice equally I thought it was determined by the magnitude of the sin. or at least thats how the orb works...
But then thats mixing mechanics and story which is always dicey...
and as for applying justice equally I thought it was determined by the magnitude of the sin. or at least thats how the orb works...
But then thats mixing mechanics and story which is always dicey...
SunlightCrusader- Hollowed
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Lets not mix lore and mechanics; the lore concept is "the guilty pay the price" meaning all guilty and the price is death no matter what so it's about as equal as we can get it.
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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Then why does your lord gwyndolin tolerate the dragon? let alone some of those in his own ranks who have not always and are not always now so dedicated to "Justice"
SunlightCrusader- Hollowed
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You fool our order was formed to pick only those truly dedicated to justice from among the ranks of the Blades and bring true Deliverance to Lordran. What dragon do you speak of? Gwyndolin does not tolerate sinners nor traitors; He is aware that his Blades are imperfect which is why we were formed. Know us before you attack us sinner.
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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"I speak of seath, for if a more wretched creature exists at the sufferance of your gods I know not of it. I was not aware that there was another Elite order within the darkmoon, I thought they were supposed to be elite in the first place. Still I say, purge your own ranks of the blades as a whole before you presume your moral concepts on others."
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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"And who gets to punish the gods for the sins they have commited against mankind?"
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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"nobody of course. seemingly the only current justice in this world is might makes right. A warrior kills and is in turn killed by another more powerful they may feel they have reasons for what they do but the core truth is the more powerful prevail. and as long as the gods are more powerful mankind will forever be suppressed and divided against itself"
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