Why hello there, Mr. Ornstein.
No, there's no need to look confused. I'm sure you don't remember me. After all, why would you? I'm nothing special. No doubt I'm no different to the thousands of luckless undead on their way through Anor Londo that you and Executioner Smough have pounded into a bloody paste.
Over the years, all the great denizens of Lordran have been reduced to trivialities by my single mindedness. Lord Gwyn? Parry spammed to death. Bell Gargoyles? One slice of gold pine resin or two? Bed of Chaos? Do it in my sleep. Iron Golem? I'll just be over here sipping a mojito while Iron Tarkus jumps on your plums.
All of them reduced to mere footnotes in my muscle memory. Except you.
Well, not today.
For years I've dreamed of having three companions to hold you down while I use a spoon to do to you what was done to the warden in The Walking Dead. Think I'm joking? Let me introduce you to my new character, Darkspoon Gwyndolin. And his spoon. And his three new friends.
Praise the spoon, motherfucker. WHERE'S YOUR FAT BOYFRIEND NOW, BITCH?