In an era, long long ago, when the mighty had left their imprint upon the world, there was an order of slaves. Slaves, made knights. A red cloth draped around their shoulders and a peaked hood that wrapped taught around the eyes, a symbol of honor for these doomed warriors. An order of fodder, used in the most damned of battles and sent as shields to tire out the enemy - considering the fact they could not die. Their blood spilt on the battlefield and their bodies remained torn open, again and again and again. And yet, as the eras passed and their masters and their master's masters and so on and so forth grew old and died, the immortal slave knights too withered away. However, a single slave, one of the many, managed to outlive the rest. Gael.
He left the battlefield and sought out a new purpose. After all, years of working beneath a master seemed to have left something marked into him. An urge to kneel perhaps? Who would know? It would be hard to tell: a body, unable to die; a mind, able to crack. And so, he searched, seeking out the deepest reaches of this world he lived in. He saw tragedies and miracles, happiness and sadness, the coldest nights lying motionless in the snow and the warmest nights sleeping in the flowing stone.
And then, he found the Painted World of Ariandel, and deep within the depths of the painting was a young girl with pale skin. Loose and frayed hair tied into a single tail that hung and curled up on the ground beneath her stool. He was confused at first. Here he was, a remnant of the 'honourable' slave knights, yet a mere child didn't respect his hood. But as he strode behind her, he glimpsed at what had her so enraptured. And then he too, was ensnared the same. He had done it, he had found one to serve.
It was a painting of a picture of a cold, dark and very gentle place. It seemed it would make a goodly home to settle in. The world this girl had yet to make would become his own too, he could see it already.
So he told her. He asked her to create a world one like the painting she had made and she obliged. But as he kept on looking over the progress of the picture he noticed some discrepancies in the health of his future home. Even now, as he observed, the stench of rot seemed to seep into the corners of this world. This would not do. He couldn't allow this new world for him and the girl to reside in to crumble beneath pitiful rot. It must be removed. It must be removed and never allowed to come back. And when he told his lady his ambitions for the Painting, it turned out she thought the same, and she had already found her answer. She desired to see flame. At first, he didn't understand, but as she spoke he could see what she wished for. She wanted fire. Not any fire. A bright, warm flame, that could incinerate the rot and provide a new boundary for the depths and peaks of the light and dark for her world. The best flame this old, ancient world he came from could provide. And he knew just the flame to take.
He seeked out the ashen one. A warrior risen from the smouldering remains of thousands of others. If one was to have experience with flame, surely it would be best to receive it from one who was born from it. He tricked the man into the Painted World of Ariandel and let him do as he pleased in there. Ariandel was suffering from rot too, one that had reached the core. Friede. He watched as the ashen one struck and was struck, killed and was killed, over and over again. And when the ashen one reached the cathedral, Friede came. She told him to return from where he came. That this world had no need or desire for his aid, and if I were to be honest, I would think so too. Perhaps the ashen one was still a newborn. It would be best if he was let go to mature. To become strong enough to return and bring the flames with him. And so, as time strode forth, the girl with white hair spoke once more. She had found a way for the world to last as long as he would. He just had to gather The Dark Soul. He had already known it before, but this had set it in stone. A terrible fate awaited him.
He ventured beyond the canvas and came back into the old burning world of Lothric, determined to retrieve the pigment of the dark soul. At any cost.