Dark Keeper Key
Magnhild Mongolo
The Dark Keepers are elite named dark dwarves spawned by opening the Dark Keeper Nameplate in the Black Vault in Blackrock Depths. Upon opening the portrait, one of the six Dark Keepers will be randomly selected, and will spawn somewhere in the instance.
The Keeper is a tall, large-built humanoid clad in what looks to be a butcher or slaughterhouse worker's attire, complete with tall rubber boots, gloves, and an apron. He has a safe for a head, which is completely featureless on the inside save for a mass of pulsing flesh where a face would be. A metal basket is worn on his back, though he never seems to deposit or remove anything from it.
His primary weapon is an oversized meat tenderising hammer with a large spike on the side opposite the head, used to impale a victim through their head. In his other hand, he is most often seen holding a sack filled with the severed heads of his assumed victims; spikes and broken orbitoclasts (a surgical tool used for performing transorbital lobotomies) poke out of the fabric in various places.
While he may seem more mundane compared to Ruvik's other cronies, relying mainly on brute strength in his attacks, he has the ability to teleport to other safes by breaking his own neck. There are usually many spread throughout the area where he must be fought, allowing him to be virtually omnipresent and ensuring no place is safe. The visuals of repeated camera flickers and glitches along with pounding and scratching noises herald a Keeper's arrival.
A dark manifestation of the Keeper is fought as the final boss of The Executioner. He looks identical to his normal counterpart, although is wreathed in darkness, giving him a charcoal-purple coloration, and wields a large Sword in place of the hammer. In addition, he possesses the ability to summon Laura-like arms to pursue his adversaries, akin to those created by Ruvik's Doppelgangers.
The Keeper was born from a combination of Ruvik's memory of the safe where he kept his research, and his unbridled rage. The safe head represents the atrocities of Ruvik's past that he's trying to keep hidden, literally crushing anyone who comes near.
Sebastian will be facing off against the Keeper in a sealed chamber with toxic gas constantly pouring in. In order to progress and avoid death by suffocation, Sebastian must incapacitate the Keeper and close the 3 gas valves in the area. While not particularly tough himself, the Keeper can respawn from any of the safes littered about the area. After closing the three valves, the Keeper is seemingly destroyed after Sebastian threw his head safe into a spiked trap and crushed it.
Despite this, the Keeper makes a reappearance in Chapter 13 as Sebastian and Joseph Oda are making their way through an abandoned apartment building. While not directly fought, the Keeper resolves to hinder the duo's progress by setting numerous traps along their way before finally cornering them in a meat locker. Once again the Keeper can be fought or fled from, though killing him here won't prevent his later appearances.
As the Keeper is the avatar assumed by the protagonist of this DLC, he is not fought. The plot drops several hints that the controllable Keeper is one of many, however, and an empty chamber of what looks to be the previous Keeper can be found near the end of the DLC.
The Keeper briefly returns in The Evil Within 2 during the boss fight with Theodore Wallace, who uses Sebastian's memories of STEM to torment him. After Sebastian defeats The Sadist, he is pulled through the ceiling and dropped into The Keeper's domain, where three Keepers attack him. After the final one is defeated, its head lands on the floor with blood running out, only to have Laura crawl out of it.
Magic is a double-edged sword. While the gleaming side of the blade aids man - curing our illnesses, closing our wounds and easing our daily lives - it is its darker twin which holds the most temptation for weak souls, though it carries a steep price. Invariably, the shadowy side of the mighty sword extracts its payment from the lives of those who would entrust themselves to it, twisting and using them to further its goals. Sinistra, the school which teaches this treacherous magic, is understandably ostracized on civilized continents. It concerns itself with powers that should not be toyed with: the manipulation of one's innermost thoughts and life and death itself. As the saying goes: "What is dead should remain dead."
During my travels I have encountered cases of Sinistra use; not just once, and certainly not because I practice it myself - no, I would not dare take even a single step on that treacherous path and my experiences have only served to solidify that stance. But every continent has its secret retreats where such magic is practiced, dark gorges absent solid ground and hope.Since my duty as a wanderer compels me to frequently enter the worlds of eclipse and beyond, I can give account of a warrior with arcane talents who achieved mastery of the art of fighting with forbidden magic. Our encounter was more by chance than intent...
The sky cracked and thundered. Lightning cast the parlor in its garish, ghostly glare and made the candles and fireplace flicker. Rain pounded against the windows and on the roof. Outside, the wind shook the walls, howling and screaming between every clap of thunder. I had a steaming bowl of cabbage soup in front of me. Its sour stench tickled my nostrils while I took a spoonful, blew on it, and ate. The soup was awful, but it was the only fare on offer, aside from a particularly stale chunk of bread. All the same, I had eaten worse. The shabby inn had seen better days; it was beginning to come apart at the seams, one might say. It rained an awful lot in that region - almost every day in the period between winter's bite and summer's burn - and it did not do the wood any favors. The inn and the village it belonged to were nestled in the Dark Valley; the area couldn't have been more aptly named.
"How's it suit you?" the buxom hostess with red cheeks and patterned apron asked me. Her husband owned the tavern. She was cleaning the neighboring table, where an old swashbuckler snored away the evening.
"Because of my gray hair and wrinkles, you mean? Don't let yourself be fooled, my dear - there's more youth in me yet than you might think. I can taste his novice spell in the soup," I replied with a tired grin.
She nodded. "These rebels are criminals, the whole lot of them. They should all be hanged! They tore in here last spring, expecting we'd be willing to give up our land so they could hide from the authorities. "Oh yes," they thought, "let's draw the peasants into our schemes!" But there they were mistaken. I'm not about to be punished as some sneak-thief's accomplice! It's not been easy for us, that much is true, but instead of risking death I'd rather things stay the way they are. I just can't understand why so many southerners support them; they're causing nothing but trouble everywhere they go..."
I ignored the hostess while she chattered to herself and turned my attention outside. Something was happening there, though clearly no one else had noticed. But I heard it through the crack of the door: the heavy, iron-shod boots splashing in the puddles on the street, horses snorting in the wet cold. Someone was coming. Instinctively my hand clutched the hilt of the blade I carried concealed under my cloak.
The soldiers' cries of laughter were interrupted by thunder, but now the deafening sound was not caused by the storm. The front door burst open, nearly tearing off its hinges with the force. A flash of lightning illuminated the silhouette of a man in heavy, black armor towering in the door frame, a tapered helmet hiding his countenance. Everything about the mysterious figure seemed deadly and sharp, as if one could cut their eyes by simply gazing upon his armor. He bore an enormous sword on his belt, glistening dangerously in the storm. Most dangerous of all, though, was the crest painted on his shield: the red-on-black hammer which formed the sigil of Kilana Hammerschlag.
For a moment the inn collectively held its breath. Then the high-pitched shriek of a woman terrified out of her wits cut through the silence. The half-drunk Order soldiers clumsily stumbled to their feet as the terrible man ducked through the doorway. He was followed by two lackeys - less tall and not as well-armored - bearing the same rebel sigil.
"Get lost, you whoreson-" The soldier choked on the insult. With an ugly sound the large rebel's sword cleaved him in two. The remaining men of the Order raised their weapons, but none dared to attack the giant.
"No harm will come to you if you don't interfere," the rebel announced to the patrons, who cowered under the tables. A few immediately seized the offered opportunity and fled the establishment. "I'm afraid the same can't be said for you, however." He pointed to the soldiers.
An icy feeling of terror settled over the inn while the warrior murmured an incantation. I heard the words clearly - like an echo, they reverberated, although he made no noise. I rose, both my hands tightly clutched around my weapon.
I had never seen a mage of the forbidden arts in the rebels' ranks. Either dear Kilana had changed her recruitment criteria or something here was rotten. I suspected the latter. One of the soldier's eyes rolled upward, leaving only the white of the eyeballs visible. Suddenly he lurched as if out of his mind and wheeled around with his sword held high, away from foe to face friend.
Utter chaos ensued. More mumbled incantations from the rebel. When he finished one, a soldier collapsed, the next spell sent another man to attack his comrades. Jugs burst into pieces, tables got knocked over, panicked shrieks, explosions coming from who-knew-where, the soldiers' blood splattering on the wooden floorboards and walls, soldiers who were killing each other. They did not stand the ghost of a chance.
The warrior laughed madly while observing the massacre. Relaxed as if he was attending a theater play, he watched with relish how his puppets danced until no living foes remained. "Behold what happens to those sticking with the Order - ah!" He cut himself off with a surprised shout.
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