Havel the Wrecked
-Disclaimer: It would be a deed worthy of the abyss to attempt to steal credit for the creation of dark souls, even if the claim is implausible.
-Note: Shameless crackfic.
Gwyn didn't get to where he was by being caught flat-footed often, but every now and then, something would happen that was so beyond the realms of his foresight as to shock him stupid. Something beyond the mild interest he exhibited on seeing that Seath was willing to play the other side.
Something like the knowledge that one of his closest friends and best generals - a bishop to boot! - was an insane drunk and single-handedly invented and popularised the practice of the drunken hammer, a style renowned for its whirling dervish of devastating attacks and sheer unstoppable nature, over the course of a single night.
The event was covered up and the practice outlawed, but Gwyn needed to look out for future upsets, and so, sat in one of his many cabinets was a document that described every happening.
The knights of Gwyn made a tradition of attending get-togethers, and, with time, Havel came to be accepted as an honorary member.
It must also be said that Ornstein could be a merry sort of fellow, and oft challenged his companions while intoxicated. He was especially fond of giving impossible tasks in this manner. Often, they were waved off, but Havel was already an unconventional priest, and had something of a sense of honour (sorcery was seen as cheating reality, hence his evaluation of it as repugnant). Therefore, when Ornstein demanded that he down a shot of ale, he obliged.
One shot was all it took.
Immediately, he stood up and swayed, ultimately regaining a tenuous sense of balance.
"You okay, Havel?" Artorias asked.
"ROCK SMASH!" was the intelligent answer.
"Wait, Havel can use-" Ciaran queried, but she was cut short as Havel wielded his club to smash a small chasm into the floor of the tavern, through which rocks were ejected which then promptly battered the knights.
"MUST KILL SEATH!" Havel began to spin his dragon's tooth around, catching the air and summoning a tornado which popped him through the roof and into the sky, where he caught a jetstream that carried him to the archives. His flight over, Havel stopped spinning the dragon's tooth, and instead brought it down.
Seath looked out of a conveniently-placed window, watching the descent. He yelped as he witnessed Havel achieve landfall, creating a seismic event strong enough to knock all of the books in the archives off of their shelves.
"My collection!" he cursed. Havel crashed through the window. "You've ruined my careful cataloguing!" Seath accused. Havel did not look apologetic.
Now that Seath thought about it, though, Havel did look murderous (even if the effect was ruined by a hilarious drunken swagger). Seath sighed as he raised one of his feet. Clasping his claws together, he generated a mist of blue and purple that washed over Havel.
"That spell is sufficient to sober a bull elephant. The hangover will proceed shortly. In the meantime -" Seath did not get to finish his sentence, because Havel lunged forward with a jab to his stomach, sending the scaleless reeling. Seath pulled himself back to all fours and decided to try and use his crystal breath to entrap the raging lunatic. After a few minutes of goading and manoeuvring, he got Havel where he wanted him. Drawing in a magic-infused breath of air, Seath blew as hard as he could. Immediately, great mineral spires tore through the floor (mahogany, too - that would not be cheap to replace) and fused into a cone around the newly-made prisoner.
Seath sighed in relief. Havel banged against the crystal with fists and hammer, cracking it but not breaking it. Once again, Seath began to chant his sobriety spell. He should have known better. Double-handing his weapon, Havel clubbed through the crystal, which imploded under the force. The end result was an inexplicable burst of energy that levelled the surrounding area, taking out a massive chunk of the archives along with a few incidental channellers.
Havel took a look at his wrist and saw a trickle of crimson blood leak through, even despite his formidable defence. He sobered up almost immediately. Observing his environment, he deduced that he was never going to have a drink again, and sauntered out. Seath sputtered at the cheek of the gesture, too frustrated by this point to demand the departing bishop to help with the clean-up.