You’re cursed. Undead, they call you. Whatever. You’re more alive than most of the damned ghouls roaming this place. They locked you away to rot, in that vile ruin they call an asylum. You fought your way out of there, stripped down to your underpants with a stick of wood as your only weapon. Made your way to Lordran. A shady character told you to ring a bell, and you did. And then some big snake showed up, said you were Chosen, and wanted you to fill a big jar or something. The whole thing gives you a headache.
Nonsense. Nobody ever chose you, or wanted you around, or tolerated you more than they had to. You’re no hero, and nobody’s champion. What you are is a killer, and damned good at it.
You left that damned grinning snake to bother somebody else, and wandered off to do what you do best. Fight, and kill, and survive. You traded the stick for a sword you took off an animated skeleton. You found pants, after a while. Then a nasty old suit of armor. You kept fighting, and killing. Demons, beasts, those shambling ghouls they call Hollows. You found better weapons, better armor. And a stack of little red orbs.
You like the orbs. Crack one, and it sends you screaming in on one of those luckless cursed fools who think they’re Chosen, trying to do whatever damn thing that snake wanted. You strike them all down, and what was theirs becomes yours. It’s enough to sustain yourself in this godforsaken place, and you’re as content as you ever have been.
Or you were, until you found the ring. You took it off the stiffening finger of yet another victim. A plain silver band, with a little symbol like a goat’s head on it. You slipped it on, and nothing happened. Or so you thought.
The next time you crack an orb, you find yourself in a dead-end alley, watching yet another Cursed idiot lock blades with a goat-headed demon, one of the ones they call Capras. This demon seems to be female, which is somewhat unusual. Her opponent is dressed in a gleaming set of knight’s armor, with a longsword and kite shield. He seems to be winning, deflecting the demon’s massive greatswords with ease, and counterattacking with well timed precision. But he isn’t counting on you, and you were never much for chivalry. You slam your own greatsword into his back, and he’s knocked sprawling. You leap forward, and bring your sword down again, cleaving him in half. You feel the familiar rush as humanity drains from his dying body into yours. You turn, and give the demon a mocking salute. She’ll live to kill more fools.
“Thank…you…” The demon says.
You stare in shock. You can understand her! The tall horned being shoulders her greatswords, and approaches you. She holds out a gnarled hand, palm open. “My name…is ${Capra Demon’s name?}. You…saved me. Why?”
Something makes you step forward, and grasp her hand in yours. You give the creature a crooked smile. “Maybe we aren’t so different. I’m ${character.name}.”