by billy_bayonet Sun Jun 17, 2012 6:30 pmreserved for lore
+5
Forum Pirate
DoughGuy
dancash1808
cloudyeki
billy_bayonet
9 posters
New londo crisis
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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- Spoiler:
- Ezra battled through the ruins striking down all those he came across. He was alarmed how few of those he fought seemed prepared and confident. Pity and rage battled for dominance as a maiden attempted to slay him with a blade too short to reach him. (Has the reputation of the dark fallen so far that they would venture here lightly! well not after today.)
Many of those he hunted began to go to ground in the ruins hiding from him and his brothers,
he swept through the streets at home in the darkened ruins. until near the end of night on the surface, gradually driving back the invaders and foolish to the upper levels of the city.
Suddenly he feels a burning pain lance through him and collapses to the ground he stands up and confronts this fighter who had managed to catch him off guard. Dressed in bright bronzed armour and holding a a rapier aflame he stood confidently in the dark. seemingly oblivious to the tide of battle, Erza smiled grimly beneath his mask and rushed at him blade aflame with chaos.”
Last edited by billy_bayonet on Mon Jun 18, 2012 6:06 pm; edited 1 time in total
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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- Spoiler:
- "The hand of priscilla and the dark lord clashed in a battle of steel and fire, The hand knew his forces had been completely decimated and he could not lose now it would be the end of him, with unrelenting force he plunged The Scythe straight through the back of his enemy and the Dark lord fell to the floor, it was done he had been vanquished, he wiped the sweat from his brow and turned around only to hear the Dark lord laughing he looked over his shoulder and he was horrified to see the dark hand coming towards him draining him all nearly all his humanity he recoiled and swung his Scythe at the Demon but the Dark lord grabbed the handle and ripped it from his grasp, and pierced his chest with the blade with such force it impaled him to wall, The dark lord then unsheathed his sword and thrust it forward, the hand closed his eyes knowing he had met his end, the blade was buried deep in the wall, He opened his eyes to see the blade was next to him , the dark lord then removed the scythe from the hands chest and cast it into the water, The hand dropping to his knees looked at at empty lifeless eyes of his enemy and slowly drifted into unconscieness, he awoke in the painted world surronded by his Warriors and The cross breed, Forum pirate handed him a note, He scanned the parchment and the fear in his eyes grew"
Last edited by billy_bayonet on Mon Jun 18, 2012 6:07 pm; edited 2 times in total
cloudyeki- Compulsory Poster
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What, no one has any lore ready?
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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I put a first draft up in the darkstalker thread, you could destructively critiscise xD
DoughGuy- Duke's Archivist
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Billy you still want me to do some? If so I need individual scores pmed to me
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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I think they were posted in the winter thread, although some were missing (I only know this because I wasn't on the list 
)
)
DoughGuy- Duke's Archivist
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Ok I got most of them. Just so you know I'll be writing the overall lore i.e. not much of individuals but more how the whole war went. Just dont expect you guys to have such a clean victory. You'll win confortably but it wont really be a thrashing.
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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Oh stop cushioning their fall from grace!
Forum Pirate- Chosen Undead
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We never were in grace to fall from it.
dancash1808- Chosen Undead
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What turn of phrase would you prefer ?
Federally- Chosen Undead
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I deem this best thread ever. The first few posts are epic lol
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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lols ive made it, and i shall be adding the Lore when it is pm'd to me,
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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OH Ill do some. Favouring the Darkstalkers of course.
Forum Pirate- Chosen Undead
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I wasn't involved or I totally would.
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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maybe you could right a bit of lore saying why you didnt take part
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.”
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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interesting
ViralEnsign_- Lordvessel
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MMMMMMmmm is it good I struggled at the end for certain synonyms if you catch my meaning.....
but hey this is my toon that will go one way of the other based on the DLC
but hey this is my toon that will go one way of the other based on the DLC
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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updated the 3rd post with the End war lore still waiting for other peoples lore
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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Yeah ill add it to the second post< once i have all the lore i shall add them into there owen spoliers so the first 3 posts are massive
TehInfamousAmos- Chosen Undead
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Okay, new toon in the lore for me is a woman named Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter. I will write the lore for her later, I have to write the lore for the war now. 5 minute draft.
There were echoes of betrayal around the ruins of New Londo, this mysterious cult known as the darkstalkers have risen from the abyss - the corpses of Ariamis' Lifehunters were scattered over the floor.
Paksenarrion strode through the corpses, aware of the poltergeists and demons in the darkness thirsting for what they would call her humanity. One of the corpses brought her attention, it was a ghastly abomination, perhaps one of Liarts minions.
She decided to cast a light around herself as she explored further into the ruins, the poltergeists opened a path for her - fearing the power of Gird. She saw a church, it was desecrated with the corpses of the damned and Liarts priests.
'Perhaps these Darkstalkers do have a sense of good and evil'
She began striding towards the open wooden gate when she was intervened by what looked like to be a shadow of death. She could feel the evil aura emanating from it.
Unsheathing her sword she swiftly muttered a prayer to Gird. The energy of the sun imbued her sword, now she could actually see her foe, he was wearing an armor with the bones of corpses embedded inside, what material was this...
She drew into her fighting stance as the darkwraith suddenly made an attempt to grab her, she took a note that both his throat and behind the knee were exposed. He took a thrust at her whilst she whirled around and whipped her sword behind him leg - she felt it bite into flesh, but her blade was stuck in the barbs of the armor...
With a guttural roar the darkwraith grappled her and pushed her onto the floor he wrapped his two spiked gloves around her throat and began throttling her. She could feel the life draining from her, it couldn't end like this! Glancing down she saw his blade nearby on the floor - too late! The Darkwraith kicked it away, she recalled fighting techniques she had learnt back in Phelan's company when she was 18. She formed her fist into a bear claw and continuously hammered at the supernatural beings throat, before long the grip on her throat began to release and the tension fell. This malevolent being was dead, but he was stronger than any of Liarts other minions, she must prepare and train more.
Collecting her blade she swiftly left the ruins.
There were echoes of betrayal around the ruins of New Londo, this mysterious cult known as the darkstalkers have risen from the abyss - the corpses of Ariamis' Lifehunters were scattered over the floor.
Paksenarrion strode through the corpses, aware of the poltergeists and demons in the darkness thirsting for what they would call her humanity. One of the corpses brought her attention, it was a ghastly abomination, perhaps one of Liarts minions.
She decided to cast a light around herself as she explored further into the ruins, the poltergeists opened a path for her - fearing the power of Gird. She saw a church, it was desecrated with the corpses of the damned and Liarts priests.
'Perhaps these Darkstalkers do have a sense of good and evil'
She began striding towards the open wooden gate when she was intervened by what looked like to be a shadow of death. She could feel the evil aura emanating from it.
Unsheathing her sword she swiftly muttered a prayer to Gird. The energy of the sun imbued her sword, now she could actually see her foe, he was wearing an armor with the bones of corpses embedded inside, what material was this...
She drew into her fighting stance as the darkwraith suddenly made an attempt to grab her, she took a note that both his throat and behind the knee were exposed. He took a thrust at her whilst she whirled around and whipped her sword behind him leg - she felt it bite into flesh, but her blade was stuck in the barbs of the armor...
With a guttural roar the darkwraith grappled her and pushed her onto the floor he wrapped his two spiked gloves around her throat and began throttling her. She could feel the life draining from her, it couldn't end like this! Glancing down she saw his blade nearby on the floor - too late! The Darkwraith kicked it away, she recalled fighting techniques she had learnt back in Phelan's company when she was 18. She formed her fist into a bear claw and continuously hammered at the supernatural beings throat, before long the grip on her throat began to release and the tension fell. This malevolent being was dead, but he was stronger than any of Liarts other minions, she must prepare and train more.
Collecting her blade she swiftly left the ruins.
DoughGuy- Duke's Archivist
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Sorry, times gotten away from me and I havent been able to write a lot yet. Hopefully will get it done today.
DoughGuy- Duke's Archivist
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- Spoiler:
The attack on the darkstalkers was a disaster for the
lifehunters. Spurred into action by the
worry of this dark force growing too big the hand gathered his allies and
attacked them as soon as possibe. His
gathering was great, and it looked like the destruction of the darkstalkers was
at hand. Yet it seemed these heretical
fiends had the luck of the gods.
The followers of izalith, so eager to join the battle were
struck down by a plague. Barely a
quarter of their number were able to walk and fight, yet these few healthy
bodies were needed to care for the sick, lest they lose them. Thus they were forced to abandon the battle,
robbing the hand of his main magic force.
While this loss was great the hand still had the forces for
battle. Despite Avrik’s betrayal and his
absence from the gathering the gravesworn had still come to their aid and would
be potent fighters on the field of battle.
The newly emergence Deliverance of Lordran had also emerged to help hunt
down these sinners. Yet they stood aloof
from the main group, unwillingly to socialise with the gathered force, whom they
considered only better than the stalkers due to their willingness to attack
them.
The stalkers, fearing this force sent out dozens of
emissaries, to the gathered leaders, and even the Noble Knights, a force they
had already declared their enemies, praying they could prevent or forestall their
coming downfall. While Oscar was
convinced to consider their offer rather than refuse outright by one of his
commanders Ser Allant, he made it very clear he would not fight with the
stalkers that day. None of the other
envoys had any further luck, except one.
Council member Etraiu, hero of the painted world war, hunter
of sin and auricle hoarder refused to fight.
He argued with the Wyrmhero for days on end, preventing him going to war
and giving the stalkers time to plan.
Etraiu argued their attacked was folly, and that they were acting little
better than the knights who they had so recently defeated. The Wyrmhero argued this attack was
justified, he knew the power of the dark, it must be stopped. The bitter feud eventually ran its course
when Etraiu gathered the men who believed as he did, around a third of their
hunters, and left the camp, making for the painted world.
Shocked and betrayed the hand refused to believe Etraiu was
right. Despite their force now having
lost around 40% of their original total force he decided to continue the
attack. He would lead the LH down the centre,
the gravesworn would cover the flanks with their black phantoms. The deliverance would guard their rear and
engage around the main force with any skirmishes the stalkers sent.
And so they marched to war.
billy_bayonet- Chosen Undead
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i like it dough its very good 
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