[center][h2][color=Mediumslateblue]Arghast, Herald of the Abyss[/color][/h2]

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Standing before the church's altar of faded marble, Arghast stared deeply into the flame of a lit candle which sprouted from its placements. It rose shortly, wavering in the vague breeze which carried through the church and cast some small light upon the statue standing over him. Arghast had seen this icon before; the woman of mercy whom held aloft the sword-bearing child, the perceived nurturing quality of the gods juxtaposed with their might. It was perhaps one of the few objects that attested to their presence that did not incite malice inside of him. And although his sunken eyes were fixed to the altar, he was at once aware of another intrusion into the church.

The mossy bricks, etched columns and beckoning halls of the parish caused sound to carry far off and away, often deceiving their point of origin. The dragging of mail across the ground, fine, sharp and almost comparable to the sound made by coins frothing about in a pouch, echoed from the upper portions of the church. He thought first of those newly-arrived to Lordran, the exotic and destined undead whom he had encountered at Firelink Shrine. Arghast turned, staring across the candlelit breadth of the church only to spot a bizarre figure standing within an arch in the upper floor.

Even at its distance from him it was apparent that it stood somewhat taller than he. It emanated an obnoxious golden glow from where the light caught its gilded royal blue robes, only leaving the face of its helmet unadorned of jewelry; instead a row of six sinister eyes glared down at him. Held firmly in one hand was a curious weapon: long-hafted, gold and bound with a banner of faded yellow. At its peak the body of the weapon forked off into three individual teeth, taking the shape of a violent prong.

Arghast took several steps forward from the altar, his armored greaves scratching against the stone steps. At this, the mystic brought the trident to his chest and began to spout an unintelligible, guttural invocation that was muffled by its headpiece, yet resonated throughout the church. At once, a radiant blue light appeared from nothingness, its aura growing; a magic Arghast recognized immediately as the soul arts. Springing forward from the altar, Arghast narrowly avoided the singing blast of the soul arrow fired from the channeler, now planted firmly against a column within the church for cover. As he turned from the column to look back at his foe he saw naught but an empty space in the archway, wherein the pale blue particles of soul magic glittered in the air. Stepping from behind the column, he scanned the church for a sighting; the quiet rattle of treacherous golden mail was again heard - from directly behind him.

Whirling around to face the six-eyed warlock, he rose both his weapons in defense, only to be met with the towering mystic's golden trident plummeting towards him, its top spinning rapidly in a bizarre fashion. Arghast tumbled backwards, his sword caught in the twirling prongs and tossed some number of feet from him as the end of a trident's tooth bore shallowly into his shoulder. Beckoning in anger from beneath his sanguinated helmet, he flung his axe forward from the opposite hand. As the channeler stepped back and withdrew his weapon from Arghast's wretched flesh, the edge of the axe incised itself into the broad side of his enemy and forced a violent spurt of crimson to jet outwards. Standing from the slightly blood-dampened church floor, Arghast approached the reeling channeler, his right hand being consumed in an otherworldly dark aura. Flinging down his dark hand towards the enemy he unleashed, now only several feet from the wounded thing, a violent bolt of black magic that struck the channeler and seemed to cleave off and wholly disintegrate the upper portion of its mass. 

Left standing, hemorrhaging, before the mutilated golden mess that was the Six Eyed Channeler, Arghast looked again to the altar before him. Such unforeseen magics had nearly seen him slain by this mage, whom was so out of place in the church given its inclination towards the soul arts. The image of the goddess, who continued to hold aloft the mighty child of the flame, did not appear to him now with the same sense of impartiality.