O Ashen soul, hark the dirge untold,
Of Artorias, the wolf-blood bold.
In deepest dark, his oath did bind,
To stem the Abyss that gnaws the mind.

Arm shattered, grace undone by blight,
Yet onward strode the fading knight.
Through coiled void and formless hate,
He met his doom, embraced his fate.

Seek not his rest, nor claim his pride,
For in that dark, all hope has died.
Yet still his shadow stalks the land,
A cursed sword in trembling hand.


Current Opinion of CS2