7 Works by voidesk
Listing Works
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“I need not the sun to know light."
Gwyndolin glances back at him, a pale gash against the city's dark body.
“I can only hope the rest of Anor Londo sees as thou dost.”
Artorias survives Oolacile, and all that comes after.
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No one has a greater understanding of the soul than an artist. Not because art holds the soul of its subject, as some might suggest, there is no magic in oil and brush, but because being made the subject of a painting bares one's nature to the artist. It is necessary, if one is to have a truly remarkable portrait painted.
5 pictures of Carlo, and 1 of the boy that carries his heart.
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"Will the others be hearing from you? I would covet another moment of your time, if not.”
Duchess cannot refuse her.
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preserved and dry pressed by voidesk
Fandoms: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Dark Souls III
12 Jun 2024
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To preserve something is to confine it to its original state, unchanging in the face of time. A knight is gifted immortality by the Lord so his unwavering loyalty may be preserved forevermore, but even those encased in amber will crumble if enough pressure is exerted. Dragon worship finds its way into Anor Londo at the behest of Lord Gwyn's firstborn and the first cracks begin to appear in his first knight's faith.
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Ciaran brings a gift for the Sun Princess. Gwynevere rewards her accordingly.
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Dryya turned, her eyes sharp as pins. She saw it now. The orange leaking from the eyes of a girl wrapped in the arms of her mother, who wept the same amber liquid. The golden pustules beneath the tightly folded wings of a man staring down into a pool of water as if he had seen a ghost. Thick globs of sickness dripping down the legs of a woman like egg yolks, her lover holding her close with such desperate fervor that his own fur was painted in brilliant filth. Moths gazed at one another with miserable marigold eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to clear away the blinding haze that built within their minds.
XXX
An exploration of the beginning of the Infection
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Summary
He could spin a tale of how her gentle demeanor was so unlike the cruel wastelands outside Hallownest, where he had tunneled through dirt and stone and thousands of years of piled up bug corpses. Bugs too weak to survive the vicious world. He could tell her that she was the first time he found something soft. Something that did not plot to rip out his entrails to feast upon. Something that did not attempt to challenge or steal his power. Something that saw him as he was, a creature designed to rip apart earth and bone, and decided to call him friend.
And perhaps, he longed for her to call him something greater than a friend.