The Herald of the Bonfire

The Herald and The Crestfallen

She stands, tending to the flames. The empty vast land of Majula has been empty for a time too long. Much of the days spent looking forwards to the skies, the Age of Fire once again in risk of fading. The Darksign branding the Undead just as before. She'd seen many come, and many go. The word Monarch, each and every day becoming little less of a title to her and more of another sign to label the Hollows. For though they have gone, they never came back, at least without their sanity intact.

So she waits, the day where the next Monarch would arrive has yet to come, but till that day, here she will remain.

"Have you not grown tiresome? A normal man would've realize the futility of their task long ago."

She turned to the side, and as always a tall monumental structure, a small remembrance of a battle fought not long ago, was there to face her. And underneath it, walks a man. His silver, shining armor of a knight, show signs of dents and bruises, each with a story of their own of encounters he'd face from months and maybe years past. Despite his heavy armor, his head remains exposed, revealing the kind face of a lost soul, now shriveled and dim.

"If one were wise, they'd simply stop."

His boots treaded upon the dirt surrounding the Bonfire, encased by rough, jagged rocks of different size and shape. He took a look at her, standing ever so still, her long emerald robe blowing softly in the wind and sat down on of the few smooth surfaces of the rocks.

"It is only logical after all...."

When he received no answer, he turn his attention to the Bonfire. And together they stare into the flames.

A safe haven for the Undead. A sign of solace and comfort in a place so forsaken and treacherous, the Bonfire of Majula acts as a safe retreat for the Undead. A place where one could rest, be at ease, and to collect their thoughts before once again heading out to transverse the land of Drangleic. Many had rested here, and many had been reborn here. She had seen them come and go, and so has he.

The flames slowly sways and flows, rising high, as if dancing along with the wind. Occasionally, embers would detach from the fire, floating in the air, before slowly disappearing. The knight, noticing this, gave an amuse sigh.

"Sadly poetic, is it not?"

She at first, couldn't decipher the meaning of his words. Only after seeing a few more embers dissipate did she realize. And she too found it slightly amusing. Though she didn't show it.

"Embers of the fire, souls of men, the differences lay thin."

The knight remained staring at the fire.

"It's dying."

She gave a quick glance at his direction, his posture remains the same as ever, be it on the monument or here. She too, found that fact amusing.

"A small spark is all it needs, should it fade."