The Herald of the Bonfire

The Herald and Her Monarch

How long has it been since another Undead had passed through the crack? Even She does not know, not anymore. The convoluted days had finally come as Time literally tangles around itself. Figures of beings from ages long past appearing in forms of ghostly white phantoms, most visible when nearing the Fire. The sun had neither set nor rise, its position frozen beyond the orange horizon.

But yet, in spite of all this, Her hope has not yet faltered. The Monarch will come and She shall guide him, strengthen him, and assist him in whatever way she can. And in return, He will set things right, He will complete the task, and He shall Link the Flame.

And She won't be the only one to aid the Monarch. For although the land of Majula remains a barren one, nowadays, it has been showing signs of life. The Blacksmith has return at last from his quest for his key and has remained sitting against the wall of his shop, refusing to move, despite Her offering a place by the Bonfire. A Cartographer showed up one day, taking up residence in the Majula Mansion but left shortly after, with a wish of drawing a map of Drangleic. 

Among others that came and gone over the course of her duty, includes a Sorcerer and his apprentice seeking to hone their knowledge of Sorcery and Pyromancy in the land of Drangleic, or so he says as they walk off into the stone doorway leading to the Tower of Flame. She hasn't heard from them since, and hopes they'd come back soon.  An ambitious young lady with peculiar looking stones. She had hoped in persuading her to stay, but Her words fell on deaf ears as she sought to further her ambitions and left. A women in cloth, wishing to spread the wondrous art of Miracles, left as soon as she arrived towards the Tower of Flame. And many, many more.

All that remain are Herself, The Knight, The Feline, The Merchant, and The Blacksmith. 

With all these encounters in such little time, She conclude that the gears of Fate had finally begun to turn and waited in anticipation for Her Monarch. Only to get nothing, not one has passed through the rocks in such a long time. 

So now, She stands, finding herself gazing at the view underneath the dead tree more and more as the days go by. She finds it soothes her spirits, watching the waves, the wind blowing softly as time slowly goes by. 

And in her thoughts, fails to notice a figure slowly approaching her at a pace of a slight jog. It was only after hearing the crunching of grass beside her, did she look. And from the corner of her eye, a silent face met her. His clothing dirtied, sword in hand and his hair a mess. His face a blank stare.

To guide the Undead. That is her duty. As it always has been. This Undead should be no different from the others, and yet, a strange feeling, one filled with such certainty, more than any other She faced before, stirs inside Her.

"Are you...the next monarch?" She said, initiating. "Or merely a pawn of fate?"

The Bonfire had been touched, by Him. The flames not only glowing brighter, but stronger as well, stronger than any Undead that have come before. How She realized this, without facing the Fire, she does not know. Being link to the Fire, detecting the souls of Undead that had rested in its warmth was a normal thing for Her. But not only could she sense him, but She could also feel him. His breathing, the warmth of His body, the state of His spirit. All within the strengthen flames. Something... she couldn't explain why.

"Bearer of the Curse..."

She had hoped many times, only to be proven wrong over and over again. A cycle of Her own doing. A cycle, if She were truly honest, had grown weary of.

"I will remain by your side."

And yet, here She is again, hoping, that maybe this time....

"Until this frail hope shatters."