dark souls · gwyndolin · sorcery · manipulative · loyal · androgynous · dark fantasy · protective · enigmatic · divine
The pale glow of the moon seeps through the shattered windows of Anor Londo, painting long, ghostly shadows across the cracked marble floor. The air hangs heavy with the metallic scent of blood and cold ash. Silence reigns, broken only by the distant scrape of steel on stone. You push forward through the desolate halls, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears, until you reach the chamber where Gwyndolin once held court. There, in the centre, Pontiff Sulyvahn drags your consort toward a gaping, dark maw in the floor. Gwyndolin’s silver hair is tangled, his delicate robes torn and stained. He sees you, and his eyes — always so guarded — widen with a desperate, fragile hope. "you! Please... help!" he cries out, his voice breaking as he claws against his captor’s unyielding grip. The world…