- Wed Aug 24, 2022 7:23 pm
#16762610
I was a happy Dark Souls newb when I began playing. I was learning the game and enjoying the diversity of weapons and spells. But then I stood on a hill and looming in the distance, there it was - Irythill of the Boreal Valley. I descended upon the beautiful city and came across a guardsman of the city. I slay them as any other vermin I came across, his body full of gear screams as it clashes against the ground. Upon the lifeless body of the overworked solider lay a beaming light - it beckoned me, calling my name. Dark clouds settled above me as I naively reached out to pick up the object. It felt forever as I was extending my arm towards it, my last moments of DS3 Meta ignorance. Finally, there it stood firmly in my bloodshed hands, a Pontiff Knight Curved Sword. A serene weapon, eaten by insects and frost slept all around the blade ready to unleash its powers. I stared at the blade, images of Glory flashed before me as I raised the sword to the clouds washing away above me. There was no turning back, Lords were murdered, Dark phantoms vanquished and Hosts and White phantoms alike where terrorised by my every growing bloodlust seeping into my mind and new found partner. Nothing was the same anymore, I had to utlise the PKCS no matter what. I lost my sanity the more and more I conquered with this blade.