Yhorm the Giant :: DARK SOULS III

Lonely Yhorm, upon his throne. He who endured so much for so little. Woe to the giant who gave everything for his kingdom, only to return from the dead and see that it was all for naught. Descended from an ancient conqueror who once lorded over a great many lands, Yhorm was asked by the very people the conqueror once subjugated to lead them. With his mighty machete and his massive greatshield, the giant sought so dearly to prove himself to his people. For when they spoke of him as a leader, they were often insincere. So great was their shame to have to stoop so low as to ask for safety from the brood of the one who had subdued them. Not only that, but the humans were not keen to have a giant, of all things, for a king. For it is believed that giants as a whole are a race of witless dullards, fit only to serve as labor and pure muscle. It is for this reason that giants rarely have happy fates. Even in times so dark as these, theirs is often a special sort of tragedy. In this, Yhorm is no different. No matter how hard he fought or how well he protected, he never really did earn the trust or respect of the people of his kingdom. Which is a shame, for his sense of duty was unparalleled. To the point where he bequeathed unto his kingdom a blade with which to slay giants such as himself, in order to show that he could be trusted—and thus gave them the very tool they needed to dispatch him if he could not. Storm Ruler, also known as Giant Slayer. He risked all that he was and had ever been on the frontlines, fighting alone as a one-man army. There was no foe he would not go up against for the sake of his people, no trial he would not undertake. That loyalty went unnoticed by his kingdom, but it did not languish. Every effort he made was for them.

This did not change when Yhorm lost a dear friend he had always wished to protect. Grief can affect people in many different ways. Their death pushed Yhorm further into his tasks, and he abandoned his greatshield in favor of wielding only his oversized machete. No longer was he interested in self-preservation, nor did he feel capable of protecting others. He still fought for his kingdom, but his fighting style became even more ferocious than it had already been, and he notched his machete to allow for two-handed use. Even now, especially now, he fights like a berserker with nothing left to lose. For all that he is tragic, he is a terrifying foe. But not cruel, never cruel. While Yhorm may not have been the most social of creatures, he always had good intentions. Perhaps this is why he wound up befriending Siegward of Catarina? It could be said that Siegward was his only friend after the death of his other. Few humans are so willing to open their hearts to giants such as Yhorm.

Going back to good intentions...

What is one to do when their capital winds up cursed? A good ruler fights back, finds a way to save their people. Four women brought about the making of the Profaned Flame, for which the capital is now named. This story does not have a happy ending. The Profaned Flame is inextinguishable. It swallows the hearts of those it touches and sways them towards cruelty. The darkness of the Abyss can be seen within it. Super scary stuff. Faced with a problem he could not fight with brute strength, Yhorm came to a conclusion: he had to link the First Flame and become a Lord of Cinder. Before he did so, he gave another Storm Ruler to his bumbling and kindhearted friend, Siegward. With the gift, he made Siegward promise to come and slay him if ever he faltered in his duty. Yhorm had so many hopes when he linked the First Flame. Most prominently, he believed that linking the fire would quell the Profaned Flame.

Good intentions. Giants were not made to link the fire. The instant Yhorm linked the fire, he was engulfed in flames. This was not unexpected. But his kingdom? His people? The entirety of the capital was subsumed by a fire that rained down from the sky. It scorched only human flesh and left nothing but ash and smoldering bones. To top it off, it did not even harm those who had taken on the Profaned Flame, for they were far from human by then. Within the empty capital, the evil remained. At the very least, the Age of Fire was prolonged. But Yhorm's sacrifice had condemned his kingdom.

Years upon years passed, and so came the day when the fire needed to be linked once more. Yhorm rose from his grave at the toll of the bell, but he did not return to link the fire again. How could he, seeing what his act had wrought? He had not known what had happened until he opened his eyes and saw the desolation he had left behind. With a heavy heart, he fled to his throne room. There, the Lord of the Profaned Capital sits in his sorrow. Linking the flame caused the destruction of the people who had depended upon him just as much as they hated him. It is there that he awoke, and there that he stays. His grief is immeasurable.

Appearance wise, Yhorm is a massive figure that towers well over many. He's actually rather small for a giant, but most humans only come up to Yhorm's upper calf. That is how tall he is. The giant is long limbed and lumbering, his strength is overwhelming. Gone are the days where he used it to protect others. It is useless now. There is nothing left for him. His skin is pure black for it charred, some parts of it glow like fading embers. This is especially noticeable around bonier spots like his hands, knees, and elbows. But all of him is subject to the fire, to some extent. His eyes glow a bright red from within the shadow of his chainmail coif. Red, like the fire that consumed him. Red, like the fire that destroyed his kingdom. Having risen from the grave, Yhorm's armor is in absolute shambles. The chaimail he once wore is in tatters around his arms and legs, and the plate he wore on top of it is in worse condition, believe it or not. A twisted black crown rests upon his head like thorns. It is sharp and it digs into his flesh. He feels so unworthy of it, surrounded by the dead. His tabard is indistinguishable from the scarf around his shoulders, the fabric of both has been worn down to a fading grey. His crepida style shoes bare his toes.