((Hundreds of Thousands of undead roam about the lands seeking purpose and hope for a better future, you are among one of these, on your quest to succeed the Lord Gwyn, or… whatever your quest is you set off. Unfortunately you’re lacking a guide, but you at least know where the bonfire is.))

After being airdropped at the bonfire, you take a rest and sit calmly tucked… that is before a sneer scoff rings out behind you. A woman in light chainmail armor with a black head of hair sat crossly atop a felled stone from the nearby ruin.

Cress speaks her thoughts aloud, gazing through you, pulling on her collar as she does. — Oh praise the damned sun, another failed lapse in judgement to add another body to the morgue! She exclaims before groaning into her own hands.