グレーTo be sure, each of the Four Knights did their duties with honor and pride. But among them was one who had an unbendable will of steel. He was Artorias the Wolf Knight, and they called him the Abysswalker.
Now, Artorias was not so beloved by the great lords of Anor Londo; nay, though they respected him and regarded his swordsmanship as without equal in the land, behind his back they despised him, for what little he said was coarse and uncouth, and rarely did he pay any heed to manners save in front of his liege lord. His armor, though it gleamed blue and silver the day the smiths crafted it, it was often scratched and tattered from battle--rarely did he deign to clean it save for when it would all but fall apart. Few knew him outside the Four; even then the only ones he counted as friends were a young great grey wolf and a talking cat. A curious choice of companions, no?
Yet, though Anor Londo's highborn scorned him, the commonfolk loved him, for he was without doubt the bravest knight of all, and he never once turned aside the cries of the weak and the innocent.
Once, there was a great beast that savaged the land. Such was its might that even the other Four trembled before it. With its horrendous claws it crushed two-score towns and brought whole castles crashing down; with its terrible jaws it swallowed whole a hundred of Lord Gwyn's faithful knights. But the Wolf, seeing the plight of fair Lordran, he took up his sword and without hesitation went forth to slay that beast.
They fought for seven days without rest, through drowning rains and bitter cold. On the eighth, not a palm's breath free of wounds on his body, Artorias summoned the last reserves of his strength, whereupon he split the fell beast in twain with a blow so mighty the very earth shook. In his honor, Lord Gwyn fashioned for him a new sword and a shield, and a magical ring, saying, "Look upon this knight and see how he masters his fear as he had mastered his sword; look upon him, and give him honor."
Where went this great knight? Alas, his is a tale of bitter victory. Years ago, the land of Oolacile fell prey to a horrific curse from the Abyss, their fair princess taken by a dark power. Artorias was sent to save this princess, and rescue her he did! But as his last stroke fell on the dark creature that had ravaged Oolacile, his wounds overtook him, and he fell, his body forever lost to be Abyss.
Oh, lest I forget, lad; listen not to the vile rumors that the great Artorias made pacts with the dark beings of the Abyss. If he walked the halls of that horrid place he did so because he knew no fear, not because he prostituted himself to those foul creatures. No loyal subject of Gwyn would ever make deals with the Abyss, mark my words.
