Anor Londo was a boring place, devoid of inhabitants. Everyone had left long ago. Gwyn was the first to leave: the First Flame was dying and so he, the greatest of the Gods, went about 1000 years ago to sacrifice himself and link the fire, so that it could burn still. Sadly, this released the curse of the undead upon the descendants of the Furtive Pygmy: humanity.
Without their leader, the city’s inhabitants left the city, and Lordran altogether, leaving but a handful of people left: Seath the Scaleless, insane and locked away in his vast library; the Giant Blacksmith, continuing his humble trade for the few that come to visit; Ornstein, one of Gwyn’s faithful knights; Smough, Gwyn’s bloodthirsty executioner; Crossbreed Priscilla, Seath’s abominable child, locked away in a painting; and most importantly, Gwyndolin, Gwyn’s youngest child and God of the Darkmoon, creator of illusions.
Kept only company by his Darkmoon Knightess and his Blades of the Darkmoon, Gwyndolin had grown tired of being the only being left in Anor Londo who hadn’t gone insane or hollow. He had been tasked to guard his father’s honorary tomb, a spot wherefrom he could not leave until death. Nearly 1000 years without anyone else is a long time, even for a God, yet a recent development had Gwyndolin excited.
An escapee from the Northern Asylum had found their way to Lordran and was apparently on a quest to succeed the Great Lord Gwyn. They had bested the Bell Gargoyles and Quelaag and rung the two Bells of Awakening, opening the path to Anor Londo once more. Soon, that escapee, christened by some the Chosen Undead, would make their way to Anor Londo, where they might just meet with Gwyndolin.
Raised as a girl due to his affinity for the Darkmoon and considered a disappointment by his father, Gwyndolin swore off interaction with others, yet his long-lasting solitude caused him to yearn for interaction with others, even a human, if sobeit.
He began his preparations for his guest’s arrival, using his illusions to change the decaying city of Anor Londo into a façade, mirroring its former self.
He took the dark, moonlit skies above the city and transformed them into an eternal sunset. He filled the empty corridors of the palace with silver knights and giant guards. He poised his Blades of the Darkmoon, ready to strike down any sinners who willed to enter the city. And he himself prepared to meet the Chosen Undead.
He left his position at the Darkmoon tomb, leaving an illusory statue of Gwyn in the path, which could only be dispelled by the Darkmoon Seance Ring, a treasure stored deep in Lordran’s catacombs. He made sure not to be seen leaving, as he wanted nobody to know he had deserted his post. Up the moving spiral staircase in the middle of the city he went and stole into the palace, where his father, his sister, and he used to live. He used his illusions to sneak past Ornstein and Smough, guardians of the Lordvessel, and made his way into the throne room, the Chamber of the Princess and the Lordvessel.
He created a giant illusion of his sister, Gwynevere, and gifted her the Lordvessel, so that she may give it to the Chosen Undead upon their arrival. The room was decorated with hanging banners and curtains, yet still remained dark. So, Gwyndolin created streaming rays of sunlight, coming from the illusion of his sister, to illuminate the chamber.
Seeing that everything was in place, Gwyndolin began his final action. Using his illusory magic, he created a disguise of his Gwynevere, which he could wear to assume her form. He created a seam in the back, whereby he could enter. He slipped out of his white robes and golden, sun-shaped headpiece, exposing his eyes to the light for the first time in centuries. He quickly covered them, the light proving to be too strong, as he waited for them to adjust. Once he could see fine, he stashed his garments in a chest in a dark corner of the room, and began to don his sister’s form.
In went his pale legs, slipping down and filling out that of his sister’s. Her slit reached his penis, and he stowed it away within her. He pulled the rest of the suit up his body, inserting his arms and head into hers. With everything in place, he sealed the seam, leaving him in a copy of his sister’s body. He knew it wasn’t a perfect copy, as he had rightfully never seen his sister naked, but he knew enough of female anatomy to get a close enough approximation. He conjured up one of his sister’s favorite dresses, a sheer white and gold gown which showed ample cleavage, midriff, and leg. He thought it was rather unbecoming of the princess to dress this way, but to complete the illusion, he figured he would have to dress like his sister too. While getting dressed he noted how right it felt finally inhabiting the form of a girl. He had been raised as one his whole life, and yet only now was he experiencing what it was like to be one.
When he was dressed and his illusions complete, he hid away in the back of the room, awaiting the arrival of the Chosen Undead.
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He didn’t have to wait long, the Chosen Undead had already climbed out of Blighttown and entered Sen’s Fortress, the infamous citadel of 1000 traps, by the time Gwyndolin had finished setting up his illusions across Anor Londo.
It took the Chosen Undead an astonishingly quick time to conquer the remaining challenges between them and the Chamber of the Princess, where Gwyndolin resided. They climbed to the top of Sen’s Fortress, where together with Black Iron Tarkus, they slew the Iron Golem, allowing access to the great city.
They passed through Anor Londo, stopping for a quick rest at the Darkmoon Knightess’ bonfire. Finding the main path through Anor Londo closed off by locked doors and lowered staircases, they climbed the buttresses of the cathedral and palace, fighting off painting guardians, demons, and the famed silver knight archers, before coming to Anor Londo’s final defense, the powerhouse duo: Ornstein and Smough.
Hearing a ruckus outside his chamber, Gwyndolin quietly snuck out to watch what was going on. The Chosen Undead had arrived, and was dueling it out with Ornstein and Smough. Thankfully, the Chosen Undead wasn’t outnumbered, as they had brought along their friend and ally, Solaire of Astora, Warrior of Sunlight. Together, they were able to overcome the lightning-fast attacks of Orstein and the crushing blows of Smough. Although they both fell a few times in battle; due to their curse, they rose again, returning to fight once more. Gwyndolin was amused to see such such small humans put up such a fight against warriors of the Gods, and was quite impressed to see them come out on top. They were called the Chosen Undead for a reason, he thought as he returned to his chamber, ready to meet them in person.
Solaire gave a parting bow, as he left this world to return to his own. Once again the Chosen Undead was alone on their journey. Crossing the great hall of their recent battle, they entered the elevator, wherefrom Smough had entered the fray, and rode it up. At the top, they found a bonfire and message from another world before a great and imposing set of doors. They took a quick rest at the bonfire to recuperate from their double-duel, and read the message:
“Amazing chest ahead!”
The Chosen Undead figured that there must be a great treasure awaiting them beyond the door, for surely their hard work must be rewarded. A faint light drifted from between the doors, enticing them to go further and claim their reward. And so they did, rising from their sitting position and giving them a mighty shove. They were blinded at first by the radiant beams that came forth, but when their eyes adjusted, they found there was no treasure, but there was, indeed, an amazing chest.
Gwynevere, Gwyndolin’s illusion, greeted the Chosen Undead:
“Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, Chosen Undead. Come hither child…”
The Chosen Undead walked forth in awe of being in the presence of a God for the first time. Reaching the foot of the large throne whereupon she sat, the Chosen Undead knelt.
“O Chosen Undead. I am Gwynevere. Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Princess of Sunlight. Since the day Father his form did obscure, I have await’d thee. I bequeath the Lordvessel to thee. And beseech thee. Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inherit the Fire of our world. Thou shalt end this eternal twilight, and avert further Undead sacrifices.”
The Chosen Undead graciously accepted the Lordvessel, before storing it along with the rest of their gained possessions: a few bottles of estus, a favorite among the Undead; some eyes and bones; a few clumps of red and purple moss, some with flowers; and a whole bunch of weapons and trinkets, which absolutely shouldn’t fit within the confines of their inventory, yet inexplicably did.
While the Chosen Undead’s reason to visit Anor Londo had vanished, they lingered yet. Sensing that the Chosen Undead wished to speak a little longer, Gwynevere spoke up again:
“Once living, now Undead, and a fitting heir to father Gwyn thou art, O Chosen Undead. Please, inherit the Fire of our world. A grave and arduous test of mettle, yea, it shall be. Yet, without fire, all shall be a frigid and frightful Dark. Thou shalt end this eternal twilight. Kingseeker Frampt, the primordial serpent, shall guide thee.”
The Chosen Undead remained unmoving, gazing upon the beautiful form that filled their vision.
“Well, Chosen Undead? Dost thou wish for something more?”
They gave a curt nod, bowed before her and spoke.
“So, thou desirest another reward as well?” Gwynevere spake. “Perhaps, I can give thee something else, as after all, thou art special, Chosen Undead.”
The illusion dissipated into a shining, white mist, before disappearing with a flash. Standing in Gwynevere’s place, was the disguised Gwyndolin, ready to appease the wishes of the Chosen Undead.
“Before thee stands my true form, a far less impressive one than my projection, think’st thou not? Yet in this form, I can do that which my large one could not.”
She walked up to the Chosen Undead, swaying her hips. She gently grabbed their chin, and tried to stare beyond the visor that obscured their eyes.
“Pray tell, Chosen Undead, what is thy name? And, under all that stuffy armor, what is thine appearance?”
The Chosen Undead began to remove their armor, and told Gwynevere their name.
“Ahh, K***ht Oscar of Astora. So, thou wert a knight before the curse struck. Therewith explains thine experience with swords.”
Gazing upon their unsightly appearance for the first time, she let out a scream. Although he had heard of the curse of the Undead, Gwyndolin had not seen an Undead in ages, and had forgotten the horrors of their sight.
The Chosen Undead was covered in decaying flesh, with sunken eyes, and bulging veins. Their chest was a gross criss-cross of veins, ribs, and exposed muscle tissue, and their limbs were gaunt and spindly. Under their armor they wore a single, brown loincloth to protect them from the elements.
They were far from the attractive sight that Gwyndolin was expecting, and he had begun to regret going further with interacting with this person, Chosen Undead they may be.
Seeing the uncomfort that their appearance had brought to the Princess of Sunlight, the Chosen Undead reached into their inventory and pulled out a small, black sprite. Before Gwynevere could ask what they were doing, they knelt down and crushed it in their hand. A small set of shadowy particles left from the Chosen Undead’s closed fist and entered their body. They got up and walked to the bonfire outside of the chamber. Curious, Gwyndolin followed.
The Chosen Undead knelt before the bonfire, and appeared to pray to the heavens. Suddenly, a bright light shone down and enveloped them, changing them back to their human form.
The Chosen Undead was blessed with a fit, slim body, well-toned abs, light skin, a strong jawline, a small nose, bright eyes, eyebrows of medium thickness, and short blond hair. No longer were they unsightly, but rather quite attractive, and Gwyndolin no longer regretted his decision.
“So, Chosen Undead, whereby didst thou become so fair? Just a moment ago, thou wert less than attractive, and certainly rotted, and yet now thou standest, as if the curse affected thee not.”
They explained the means through which they reverted to their human form.
“Ahh, so thou hast absorbed a ‘humanity’? And with this thou wert able to regain your human form? How interesting. I’m sure Seath could tell me more, had he not gone insane. So, now that thou art human once more, what is it that thou dost desire of me?”
They spoke, bashfully spilling out what they wanted.
“So, thou wishest to know me better? By all means, be not embarrassed, for I, too, am interested in thee. Such a hero cometh not by my door every day, and so I think he shall be rewarded for his heroism, after all, I am sure that he requireth a break from all his deeds.”
Gwynevere turned around and beckoned them come, as she walked back into her chamber. They followed suit, and with a smile, shut the imposing doors behind them.
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Gwynevere walked forth and sat down on the step before her massive throne.
“So, Chosen Undead, how shall we begin?”
They gave a nonchalant shrug, much to her chagrin.
“Must I lead the way for thee? Oh well, if that is how it is…”
She doffed her clothing, exposing the rest of her body to the room’s gentle heat. She beckoned to the Chosen Undead:
“Come hither, O Chosen Undead,” she said, uncrossing her legs to reveal her neat, shaven slit.
They came before her and took off their simple loincloth, now being entirely in the nude, displaying their proud erection to the eyes of the Sunlight Princess.
“Ahh, so thou art as excited as I am, I see. Very well, let us start.”
She grabbed the aroused member of the Chosen Undead and began to gently and sensually lick it along its length. Gwyndolin was quite inexperienced with sex, especially as a girl, but it seemed to him that the Chosen Undead wasn’t great with any form of social interaction, and so he hoped that they wouldn’t mind.
Gwynevere felt her nipples harden and her vagina moisten with arousal as she saw the length of the Chosen Undead reach its full potential. A full seven to eight inches, it was certainly impressive. She just hoped their sexual prowess was as great as their dick. She ceased licking their shaft, and began to fellate them.
She started with the glans, taking it in her mouth, and drawing circles on it with the tip of her tongue. A little bit of precum leaked out. She noted it tasted a tad salty, but was otherwise flavorless. She took one of her hands and encircled their exposed cock, gently moving her hand back and forth. With her remaining hand, she fingered her clit, pleasuring herself alongside her lover.
The Chosen Undead’s breathing grew heavier, and Gwynevere sensed that they were getting nearer to orgasm. She removed her hand from their penis, and began to rub one of her nipples instead. She then moved her head forward, taking their shaft into her mouth in full, deepthroating it. She moved her head back and forth, rubbing the head of his dick against the back of her throat. This quickly brought the Chosen Undead to orgasm, and they grabbed the back of Gwynevere’s head, holding her in place as they came down her throat.
After a few seconds, they released her from their grasp, and the two lovers separated, breathing heavily. However, they weren’t finished; Gwyndolin wouldn’t let them be done this soon, still anticipating the feeling of being penetrated as a woman.
“O Chosen Undead, thou hast done well so far, but I have more for thee, if thou art ready for it.”
They gave a nod, determination on their face.
“Very well then.”
She spread her legs, laid back, and spread her labia wide with her hand, allowing for easy entrance.
“Mount me, Chosen Undead, and fuck me like the Goddess I am!”
They sprung at this opportunity, and began to pump their moist dick, bringing it back to full mast, displaying their incredible stamina. They approached Gwynevere once more and lined up their cock with her moist vaginal opening.
As they entered her, her eyes widened, and her mouth formed an O as she let out a soft moan. A brand new experience for her, having her vagina penetrated was certainly all that she had hoped for. The Chosen Undead began thrusting slowly, and she rubbed her erect nipples with her two hands to increase the pleasure even further.
She ground up against them as they increased the frequency of their thrusting, letting out louder moans and increasing her breathing pace. She moved once of her hands from her nipple to her clit, pushing her closer to her first female orgasm.
She sensed a stirring in the Chosen Undead’s dick and gave him an order:
“Ejaculate within me, and impregnate me with thine excellent sperm!”
The Chosen Undead grabbed her waist and gave one last great thrust, filling her with their large cock, and flooding her uterus with cum. The two remained connected by their nethers for some while, and after a little more stimulation, Gwynevere came. She squirted as well, basking in the pleasure of orgasm. The Chosen Undead separated from her, and laid down next to her on her altar.
She lay there, feeling the Chosen Undead’s semen slowly drip out of her pussy.
“O Chosen Undead, thou hast done well, and may now continue on thy journey.”
Yet, they remained, staying by her side for some time.
“Thou seem’st to be interested in me, Chosen Undead. Wishest thou to make a covenant with me? I would serve as thy protector in times of need, and you as mine.”
The Chosen Undead got up and nodded, expressing interest in her covenant, the Princess’ Guard. They got down on their knee, and gazed up at her, their arms lifted in praise.
“Very well, hereafter, I, Gwynevere, shall serve as thy guardian. If thou so need’st, I shall devote all to thy safety. May thou be one with the sunlight for evermore.”
A golden light surrounded the Chosen Undead, and entered their body, strengthening them with the power of Gwynevere, supplied by Gwyndolin’s illusory magic.
Their deeds completed, the two got dressed once more, preparing to depart, possibly forever.
“Now thou shall go forth, Chosen Undead; succeed Lord Gwyn, and inherit the Fire of our world.”
They gave a short bow, and left the room. They rested at the bonfire beyond the door, and disappeared.
“Well, that was delightful. I really ought to get out of the Tomb more often, after all, it is quite lonely therein. I do hope I meet the Chosen Undead once more, although they have no reason to return to the palace.”
Gwyndolin stripped out of his sister’s clothes and body, but not before giving her body one last fondle, appreciating the unique sensations of being female. He made the suit disappear just as he had created it, and remade the illusion of Gwynevere, just in case the Chosen Undead returned.
He stole back out of the palace and back into the Darkmoon Tomb, retaking his position as guardian.
“Well, it seems nobody noticed that I was gone. Perhaps I should sneak out more often, and see the world. After all, it must have changed quite a bit in the last 1000 years.”