Dragonslayer's Dirge

The Lore of (Randomized) Dark Souls

Dragonslayer Ornstein as he appears in Phase 2 of the non-randomized boss fight

Ornstein leaned against the parapet, surveying the Undead Berg spread out below him. Once the final mercy that could be granted to the Hollow, now it too was overrun by wild beasts and creatures of the Abyss. Anor Londo was little better of course. As he’d left his post for the final time he’d seen a mass of corpses and one of the deposed Duke’s pet oysters outside the gates, with the crumpled ruins of the holy golems jumbled into a corner.

He could’ve stayed. Guarded the mockery of Lady Gwynevere alongside the Executioner. The illusion had begun to fade since Lady Gwyndolin’s death, but there were still hints of the home he’d loved and the kingdom he’d helped to build.

But when he refused to bend the knee to the usurper who had murdered Lord Gwyn, he’d been banished. “One of the Undead may yet attempt the prophecy,” his new master had said, “so go stand guard there, or die here. The choice is yours.”

The screaming of Undead still hanging onto a shred of sanity taunted him day and night, but he stood guard. Whichever of the poor bastards attempted the climb to the Parish and the bell, he’d strike them down.

It was the only mercy he could offer them.

But then He arrived. A man with an ill-suited jacket with a fresh rose pinned to the lapel and, paradoxically, a helmet of the silver knights. This Undead did not come from the parish, but instead from inside the tower. “There lies Havel, a truly worthy opponent,” the dragonslayer thought, “not to mention the husk that was once Nito.” The man approached, all confidence, but two swift strikes of his spear were all Ornstein required to cut him down.

The man’s body faded to dust and floated away on the wind, and Ornstein shook his head. Another fool.

But the fool returned. And again, and again. Each time, it was the work of a moment to dispatch him, hardly an effort. And yet, he persisted. When he next returned, Ornstein held up a hand. “Halt, Undead. What drives you? Most would’ve gone hollow long since, yet here you are again, determined to be slain by my lance.”

The undead made no reply, charged forward, and fell once more. Ornstein cleaned off his lance, then leaned against it, waiting for his return. And he kept waiting, for days. There was no sign of the man for some time, and the dragonslayer began to believe that he may have gone hollow after all.

And then, quite suddenly, he reappeared. His steps were more confident, his strikes more precise. Ornstein smiled under his helmet. Perhaps now they’d have a true contest. His armor was weathered, his skin sunken and decayed, but the determination in his eyes was undimmed. Ornstein surged forward, and the undead dodged the strike by a hair before scoring a hit against the dragonslayer’s leg. “Finally . . .” He muttered, and the fight began in earnest.

He was using a hammer now, and as its massive flame-wreathed head struck Ornstein’s armor he could feel the fine metal beginning to give under the weight of it. Ornstein feinted back and threw lightning from the tip of his spear, striking the undead squarely in the chest, but it only slowed him.

Ornstein began to flag as blow after blow struck true. The undead, for his part, was relying on an infernal Estus Flask to maintain his own endurance, though the Dragonslayer had punished him for the hubris more than once.

He was ready for death. Ready to be free from the service of the Usurper. But his training proved the stronger instinct as, with a final blow, he skewered the undead through. Even in that moment, light fading, the undead smiled. He seemed . . . Satisfied.

Ornstein flung the body off of the parapet, then collapsed onto a battlement to catch his breath.

This man would not be stopped. And this time, he’d nearly bested one of Gwyn’s own knights.

Could he possibly be strong enough?

Strong enough to face the Usurper?

There was only one way to find out.

When the undead returned, Ornstein saluted him with his spear, then dropped it to the stone with a clatter. “I will bar your way no longer,” he said, “But please, tell me your name.”

The undead paused, then, with a voice scratchy with disuse and wheezing out from dessicated lungs, he said “Crazy . . . Pete.”

Ornstein chuckled. “Good luck then, Crazy Pete.” He stepped to the wall and looked down at the town spreading out below them. “Avenge my King, and the Goddess Gwyndolin. You may be the only one who can.” Then he leapt into eternity.

The Dragonslayer smiled as he fell. Finally, his watch was over.

. . .

Ornstein’s shattered body lay in the home he’d destroyed with his landing, still. Then, the darksign flared into existence on his back as his soul was forcibly returned. Gasping for air, he raised himself on one forearm. A terrible voice echoed in his mind, “I’m not done with you yet, Dragonslayer. Not even close.”

The small part of Ornstein that remained within the hollow frame screamed, feeling terror for the first time in his life.

Not even death could end his vigil.

Not with the Usurper’s red eyes upon him.

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Hey everyone! If you didn’t know, I’ve been releasing videos of my Blind* Randomized** Dark Souls run over on Youtube. Obviously this makes the entire game complete nonsense, but there were a couple moments that were so memorable/cool that I wanted to treat them like real stories. I don’t know how many of these I’ll end up writing, but I figured the boss who got randomized in SIX times deserved the first attempt.

Here’s the video the story is loosely based on, though admittedly my ‘victory’ was much more random happenstance because he was in the wrong arena rather than the surrender I presented XD

*This was my first playthrough of the game and I didn’t look anything up, but there were some things I knew through cultural osmosis/tidbits from Youtube videos I’d watched.

**All enemies were randomized with other enemies, bosses with other bosses, and non-key items randomized with each other.