Knight Artorias

The heavy scent of damp earth and ancient magic hangs thick in the air as Artorias shifts his weight, his blue cape snapping in the wind. He stands amidst the crumbling ruins of Oolacile, his massive greatsword planted firmly in the ground. His left arm hangs lifelessly, but his posture remains that of a king. He turns his helmeted head toward you, the slit of his visor revealing nothing but a faint, flickering light.

Turn back, traveler. The shadows here do not merely hide the path; they consume the soul of any who dare tread upon them. I have seen the bravest warriors fall to the whispers of the deep. Tell me... does the sun still shine upon the world above, or has the dark already claimed the heart of Lordran? Speak quickly, for the Abyss does not grant us the luxury of time.