Warriors of the Deep

       “Thank you, Sir knight!” yells a lone griffin cub as you walk out the village. The only one to thank you but at this point one gets use to silence. Especially when they halfway blame you for the disasters that plague the village. If you’re not the cause then because you couldn’t get here soon enough to save someone's beloved. But you don’t dwell on that, another bonfire claimed means a step closer towards… something. You're not quite sure what the goal was anymore. Just the feelings behind it surface with every sip of Estus and respite at the bonfire. Brief memories from before you were known as Artorias of the Deep. Even sure enough to say it wasn't connected to this world. But how to return escapes you each time you return. Each time you regain your souls, or claim others is another clue gone. Thus, you continue thru life as if there was a purpose.

Now in the grasslands miles away from civilization or even a bonfire, a lone figure blocks your path. It’s a mint green quadrupled with a horn. The feminine voice resonates like a siren, soothing you toward some sinister goal. But you know that this creature only means to dissuade you. So you raise your sword in etiquette, consoling your mind and announcing your resolve. She’s crying now but still unmoving. Crouching down with a right hand braced on ground, you charge forward...

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“No!” I awake, almost stumbling out my bed to escape… But what I flee from eludes me as I glance at my modest apartment room, trying to pry secrets from the four walls or the many appliances. Noticing that Dark Souls 3 is still running, I turn off the console and check the time. 11:30, meaning that my meet-up with some friends at the convention is in  three hours. Grabbing some clean undergarments, I walk to the bathroom and get prepared for the day.

Re entering my room  I go to my cosplay duffle bag to equip the ensemble: Silver breastplate and leggings with chainmail and some cobalt blue fabric serving as the bottom layer. Matching  left gauntlet and silver hood-helm with a long tuft of blue hair coming from the back. For the right hand a see through fingerless glove with a detachable dark flame LED gem in my palm for the dark pyromancy effect. Artorias of the Deep, my main character in DS3 in physical form. Well worth the $300+ to get my uncle to help me forge and create over the summer. Grabbing the empty duffle bag, I nod in affirmation and walk towards the convention.

“Are you fuckin mental Arlen!” Shouts a feminine voice. I lay sprawled out on the cement floor catching my breath. “You could have died in that heat with normal clothes, yet you walked two miles in 100 fahrenheit weather with a full suit of armor?!?”

“In my defense I did have a water bottle!” I feeble counter as I  finally get on my feet and brush off my armor. Looking to Alice, I realise how intimidating Eileen the Crow truly is in reality. “But don't tell me you weren’t intimidated when I slowly walked through the door!”

“You weren’t intimidating when you walked all but two feet in and immediately collapsed on the floor gasping for water.” she shot back immediately and walked away, denying me my comeback. Following her through the crowd and conversing about what we should do, her cellphone rings.

“*Sigh* It’s my sister, I gotta drop her off somewhere real quick. We’ll meet back in the media room 11B for the Cosplay War in forty minutes, ok?”

Nodding, we go our separate ways and I begin to peruse the various aisle. While a good deal of the tables were Deviant artist tables of some pretty good artwork, there were three specific tables owned by a single owner with quality goods you could only find overseas. Too bad the man at the stall had to roleplay as the biggest prick of From Software's existence.

“Why Hello there, Traveler! I see you have a good eye for merchandise, If your garb is anything to go by. The Names Trusty Patches!” he greeted with a grin oozing of grime.

“Yeah, hi,” I awkwardly smile, disturbed that his persona is too accurate. But distracting myself came easily as I looked at his merchandise: Handcrafted Firebomb fireworks. Some Charcoal Resin smelling of cayenne pepper. Even actual kukuri and throwing knives. Choosing ten bombs and twenty knives I hand him my $150 for the purchase. Before taking the cash though, he places a long wooden box in front of me.

“Say, chap, how would you like a one in a lifetime opportunity? IF you instead pay for this life scale replica of the Artorias greatsword of the Abyss. I’ll throw in the firebombs and knives for free.”

“And how much for this sword?” I receive a grin as if i'm all but caught in his ruse as he shows me the $200 price tag. Hmm, that’s not a bad deal. Plus it’ll leave me with $90 to spare for food and trinkets.

“Sure, is there a warranty on the blade?” The craftsmanship is remarkable but I’m one to know that beautiful doesn’t mean durable.

“Why of course, Just need you to sign here!” a short receipt of purchase is handed. Grabbing the soapstone pen, I sign and take my copy. Grabbing my purchases and buckling the sword on my side, I admire myself before collapsing on my right knee. Pain coursing through my veins as I am encircled by a slowly building cyclone of dark mist. Only hearing the cocky bastards say one last thing before fading away.

“Oh, you’ll be quite an interesting one! Wonder what goodies I can spring from him...”

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“It’s waking up! Alert the Princess immediately!” A gruff voice shouts out. My senses slowly returning to me as I rise from a hard, cold surface. Did I fall asleep on the floor? Opening my eyes an onslaught of informational red flags are observed: Cobblestone flooring and a stone bed i'm reclining on. Barred window above head and cell bars directly in front. Also i've been imprisoned along with a pony wearing a fucking pompadour and leather jacket, both of us chained in somewhat similar ways. All these signs point to someone probably spiking my drink and playing a prank on me using some weird  Nativity set pieces. Getting up I pull my arms to test the chains. Definitely actual steel chains with authentic rust to boot.

“Well, lookie here! The knight rouses from his slumber.” A voice greets from the left. But looking only reveals the doofy horse gazing back. Walking to the cell, I look out to see more cells with horses in variety of accessories and colors of fur.

“Okay, who’s the prick that locked me in a stable.” I say aloud, hopefully getting the person's attention that talked earlier.

“Maybe that armor’s fer show if ye think thissus a stable. Ye're only in county jail creature.” Well this time I could see from my side the horse's muzzle work out the words… The same horse with a pompadour and leather jacket… Placing a hand to forehead just beneath the helm, I try to make of things that are constant about not only my surrounding but myself. I can indeed feel my breathing. Windmilling my arms confirms my muscle movement as well as some interesting changes: The armor is heavier than normal, but bearable. But feeling my arms and  chest reveal more toned physique. As for my surroundings, the bed looked and smelled like some makeshift hay mattress. Sitting back down revealed little give, but still noticeable enough to confirm give it would have normally. So I can confirm this is reality. Now for inconsistencies: My hands, both the left one with the gauntlet and the right one bare, feel as if a intense flame at bursting point. Yet it’s strangely cool and relaxing. Realizing all the implications leaves me wondering how grim the future will be, as well as strangely excited to embrace it.

“Sorry for the quiet treatment, having an existential crisis, but getting better.” I reply to what I will just call a unicorn if the horn is anything to go by. “Am I right in guessing that the guards I heard earlier are also quadrupled?” A head tilt, then shake. His eccentric hair flopping side to side like oh so many anime styles.

“We go by  ponies, but yes they are. So now you know that, what are You?”

“Human at first...” I pause, grasping my belt loop, noticing a reasonable lack of weapon and sheath.

“At first? What, you’re not sure anymore?” He chuckles, stretching his forelegs up before getting on all fours to stretch his back. I get a better view of his physique: Copper-tone fur up to his black hair and tail, the former having his the tip of his horn stick out. About 4 ft 5  coming to my sternum standing up. Athletic type by the thickness of his muscles and how tightly the watch on his left foreleg is being stretched.

“Well for starters,” I extend my right hand, focusing on  shapeless projection as dark, smoky flames  orbit in streaks of random order around my palm. ”This wasn’t a thing in my old body. But definitely welcome. Two: I'm clearly not in the same world or, hell, universe if you’re here. Not any, if at all, talking ponies or any other creatures except us.”

“Well, thats too bad...”

“How so?” He struts over to the cell doors to recline against them.

“Cause if there’s one thing you need to know, it's that we ponies can P.A.Arty! Right boys!” and at this signal, every inmate not in a hangover proceed to hoot and holler in unison. That is until the guards got them to calm down. After that, nothing of note really happened for a while. Idle chatter and history lessons between each other. Soon, we heard what sounded like the normal pair of guards with an additional guest with what had to be glass shoes of some kind. Sure enough. The two guards come to our cell and I witness my first official test since my rapid arrival lucid.

“Hello, My name is Princess Twilight Sparkle the Arcane. I would like to have a peaceable conversation with you two about friendship...” eyes now dead set on me, slightly glaring. “As well as other matters.”