Chapter 1
The sound of stone grating against stone was the first thing Ricard heard when the darkness bid him farewell and a blinding light invaded his consciousness. The sounds of his heart beating and chest breathing quickly followed as he struggled to adjust his eyes to the new environment. Instinctively, he patted his side to find a weapon. A sword hilt of some sort greeted his hand, and he started to unsheathe the steel before he fully came to.
He was sitting upright when his view fully came back; he might have fallen in shock otherwise. His heart beat even faster and his hand eased the hilt as he gazed around him; headstones and dying trees littered the grey, muddy ground around him. As he braced his hands against the stone surrounding him, Ricard stood and noticed the object he had been lying in: a coffin.
Later, Ricard would frequently recall his training well. Panic could never be allowed to dominate the mind, or else dangers could spring forth unnoticed or miscalculations and mistakes could be made. In this moment, however, the only thing on his mind were frantic questions and an unnerving sense of dread.
Looking around, Ricard noticed there were two hooded figures moving away from him. He called to them, hoping they might have answers for him. They kept moving as if they hadn't, or couldn't, hear him at all. Ricard shuffled out of his coffin and jogged up to them. As he was moving he noticed the weight of a set of armor on him. He looked down briefly and noted that, including the sword at his side, he was fully fitted for battle.
He reached the figures and touched one on the blue cloak draped around its shoulder. They both briefly halted, looked back, and shrieked at Ricard. The shriek would have been the most startling part, were it not for the sunken, stretched out skin that covered both of their faces. He quickly recalled his hand as he stared at the eyeless people now continuing on their way.
Undead, came the thought. These must be undead. Ricard had recalled hearing stories of how the undead curse started to spread among the land, but never thought it would reach his home. Strange, though; he had heard they were highly aggressive and attacked anyone on sight.
A chill sparked down his spine, stiffening his back while his eyes shot open and his mouth tightened. He hastily glanced around until his eyes fell on a large puddle of water. Ricard rushed to it, hoping desperately it would be clear enough to show him what he wanted. He slid on his knees and gazed intently on his reflection in the daylight. He was met with a boyish face, complete with blue eyes, dirty blond hair, and a small yet deep scar across the nose. A long, red feather peeked over the back of his right shoulder.
Ricard exhaled deep and smiled in relief. He wasn't one of those things. While relieved, he was still confused. Why was he in that coffin? Where exactly was he? How long had he been in there?
Calm down, he convinced himself. Just think. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the last memories he could recall. More difficultly done than said. After a few moments, all he could remember were bits and pieces of people and events. An aging armored man, smiling. A brilliant, red poppy field. A statue, completely broken save the feet. He winced and opened his eyes with a particularly vivid scene of clashing steel and shouting soldiers. That's right, he had been… anxiously engaged in combat before this. He was a knight, surely. But this pallid graveyard was not where he fought.
Ricard's thoughts were interrupted by the profound clang of a bell. He looked in the direction of the loud toll and saw a large, cathedral-like building in the distance. As the vibrations echoed through his ears and into his bones, Ricard felt a profound desire to head toward the bell. More than a desire, actually. A need. The knight's feet began to shuffle toward the keep in the distance. As he walked, he reasoned he might find answers there.
On the trek, the bell tolled roughly every ten minutes. Ricard saw little else besides scattered graves and the occasional group of blue clothed undead wandering aimlessly. They never acknowledged him, and he kept a safe distance in turn. He did notice that a select few graves had been dug out, their coffins as empty as the he had left behind.
The path to the keep was fairly straightforward. Ricard realized that the elevation was increasing, and was careful around narrow sections near cliff edges. Falls from that height did not seem like they would end well for him. After almost an hour, he came upon an open, circular area with a stone-tiled floor filled with candles near the middle. To the left of the arena lay the largest coffin Ricard had ever seen. Disconcertingly, it was opened and empty as well. Turning back to the middle, the candles were surrounding a lit bonfire, it's warmth felt from a few dozen yards away. There was some sort of coiled sword in the fire, but it didn't glow white hot like a sword engulfed in flame would.
That means someone's nearby, thought Ricard hopefully. As he drew near the fire, he was filled suddenly with a light, familiar feeling. It felt a little like… coming home. Strange, he thought as he reached out to feel the fire's heat.
It wasn't until he stood near the bonfire and received it's warmth that he realized just how cold he had been since waking up. Near the fire he felt the temperature rise in his body so high compared to what he had been feeling, yet he didn't feel like he was going to melt. In fact, he felt like his body heat was… normalizing. He stood as close to the bonfire as he could without getting burned when the bell chimed again, quite loud in its close proximity.
Reluctantly, Ricard left the fire and head toward a great arched doorway leading to the bell's keep. He looked back toward the fire as the cold crept back into his body, but shook his head and continued forward. The steps leading up to the keep were surrounded by many headstones, more clustered together than before. Before entering the open doorway, he heard the voices of multiple people talking inside. Comforted, he quickly raced up the steps and into the structure.
The conversations immediately ceased when Ricard stepped into the populated lobby. At first glance, he saw several distinct characteristics of the grand room. In the back of the circular, multi tiered chamber were five large seats made of stone. Staircases led to these thrones and other levels in the area. There was another, larger bonfire fire in the middle of the bottom tier, currently surrounded by six sitting people who had stopped drinking and talking to look up at him. One of the individuals, an olive skinned man with unkempt hair and dark stubble, lifted his mug in Ricard's direction.
"Welcome to the land of the living, boy!" came the welcome from the man. Based on his armor, clothing, and accent, he didn't seem to be around from here. Wherever "here" was.
"Got another one for ya, Firekeeper," shouted another in a grizzled voice, this person standing in a group on the right side of the room. The man was dressed in ragged cloth, complete with a hood and exotic necklaces and bracelets. He sported a thick, red muttonstache, a striking difference to the huge, dark skinned man standing next to him.
Before anyone else could say something, a woman was walking up the stairs to greet him. She wore a long black dress and dark brown, leather arm wrappings going past her sleeves. Her gaze was indiscernible under a silver crown-like object covering her eyes and keeping her blonde, braided hair in place.
Upon reaching the young knight, she motioned with her hand to a room on the current floor. "Come, Ricard. There is much to discuss." Her voice was meek, but direct.
Ricard took one more glance at the groups of people scattered around the keep, now gone back to their previous activities and paying him no mind. All save one man near the fire with a shaved head, the bottom half of his face covered by coffee colored cloth. It did nothing to hide a stern, disdainful stare and furled brows directed toward Ricard. Only a large scar on the left side of face was fiercer than his gaze.
Ricard followed the woman into an open room containing only two wooden chairs. She took a seat on one and motioned for Ricard to sit. He complied and, before he could ask any of the dozens of questions swirling his mind, the woman began to speak.
"You have many questions, Ricard. I will do my best to answer them to the best of my ability," she said, hands folded on her lap. "This place you have been brought to is called Firelink Shrine. It is a very old, very important place. It will act as a refuge for you in the near future. A port in the midst of the storms you are to face." She held out a hand, palm face up. "Before I tell you more, it will be easier to show you why you are here than to explain it. Touch my palm."
Though it was a strange way to begin a conversation, Ricard judged that, by the way she carefully chose her words, it was not the first time she rehearsed this introduction. With a speculative expression, he decided it would be best to just see where this went. He reached out and slowly placed his fingers on the palm of the strange woman. He did not expect it to actually do anything, let alone what it did.
As his hand made contact, a whirlwind of images and sounds assaulted his mind. People, places, and events rushing through his memory like water from a broken dam. He saw it, his past, as if looking at the puddle's refection earlier. He saw a brigade of armed men and women marching through brightly colored fields. Glimpses of violence, Ricard himself putting down tattered men with rusted spears and broken shields. He saw a man dying in his arms, choking on his own blood. But what shone brightest in the memories was the sun; not the burning body in the sky, but the symbol plastered on all: banners, shields, armor.
He remembered he had a purpose. A quest, noble as any. The marching, the bloodshed, all for a singular purpose. He had to do it, had no choice. Rather, the other choice was to let his family succumb to angry mobs and resentful lords. He remembered the Flame. It became his whole life, his only focus. That's right… he had purpose before. Purpose now.
The visions broke, and Ricard found himself in a cold sweat staring back at the woman.
"I am a Fire Keeper, and my purpose here is to help you and your kin find the Lords of Cinder to rekindle the First Flame. I suspect you remember attempting to do something similar in your past life."
"The First Flame… yes, that's what I was doing. We had to fix it, to save it." After a brief pause, he shook his head and continued, "My… my past life? What do you mean?"
"Some time ago, I know not where or when, you were slain in your endeavor. You gave your life in pursuit of prolonging the Age of Fire, and the Flame remembered your sacrifice."
"Slain? I'm dead?" Ricard remembered his coffin. "I'm… undead?"
"Not quite. The Undead Curse has plagued mankind since the first Age of Fire, but your condition is different. You, and all those in this Shrine, are Unkindled. Ashen Ones, those who were chosen by the Flame to find the Lords of Cinder and return them to their thrones. Only they may reenact the Linking of the First Flame and renew the Age of Fire."
The Fire Keeper paused, letting Ricard process some of the information. He rubbed his temples, closed his eyes, and sighed heavily.
"Who are they? These Lords of Cinder?" asked Ricard, fingers still on his temples.
"They are those who have been successful in Linking the First Flame in their life and surviving. Five there are, strong enough to do so again in death. One of them, Ludleth of Courland, is already here."
Ricard's brows raised in surprise. "They Linked the Fire? All of them?" If it were true, then they must have been mighty indeed. The memories that flooded Ricard's mind were beginning to sort themselves out, and many of them included scenes of brutal combat. The band he was part of had many brave men and women who laid down their lives so their companions could take one step further to the First Flame. He remembered throngs of zealous madmen and ravenous beasts doing everything in their power to stop them, but they pushed through regardless. They had to.
Again, the symbol of the Sun came to his mind. The thought of it filled him with some sort of optimism, like everything would work itself out in the end. It had been the emblem of his brotherhood. He recalled seeing it held aloft when a conflict would reach its peak; he saw it flying when graves were dug for both friend and foe. The Sun followed him on long marches and stood above him on cold nights.
Whoever the Lords of Cinder were, they must have inspired such admiration for their bravery.
"What about the four who are not here?"
A short pause followed, the Fire Keeper anticipating the most important question Ricard would ask. "They were awoken with the toll of the Bell, same as you. However, instead of coming here to take to their thrones, they departed; each their separate way." She turned to look at the main chamber. "That is why all you were awoken, to find them and guide them back to their responsibility."
Ricard raised a brow. "Wait, they left?"
"Yes. For this purpose has the Flame gathered all you here. You are to separate into four parties and search for the Lords. Then you are to reason with them, to convince them to complete the pact they agreed upon beforehand. Your journey will be difficult, I will not lie. They need have their reasons, but they must be made to understand, or perhaps remember, the role they play in ensuring the continuation of this world."
Suddenly they didn't seem so admirable to Ricard. "Even though they had such an important duty and they just… left? They abandoned it?"
The Fire Keeper let Ricard mull over the information before answering. "I cannot answer for them, I can only tell you of your, and their, part in this plan. Make no mistake, Ricard, this world is dying. We are all doing our best to make sure that doesn't happen."
Unreal, thought Ricard. These "Lords of Cinder" had the chance to do what I died trying to do, and they deliberately chose not to.
"So we're errand boys. Field hands guiding back lost sheep," Ricard mused dejectedly.
The Fire Keeper looked down, then back to Ricard, choosing her words carefully. "You are part of something far larger than yourself. What you are going to do now is just as important as what you were doing in you your past. You have been given a second chance, Ricard. A chance to succeed where previously failed."
Ricard gave a weak smirk. His whole life he had worked to fulfill a glorious commitment, but that life had apparently ended in vain. Abrupt and pointless. No need to rub it in.
Still, he was no fool. In his time he had never heard of anyone Linking the Flame and surviving, and there were certainly never tales of Lords of Cinder passed around the fireplace. How much time, exactly, had passed since he died he did not know, but it was clear he was not recently buried. The world had changed, he could feel it.
Then it hit him, the thought he had been desperately trying to avoid. His gut tightened in anticipation of the response.
"My home, my family… they're gone, aren't they?"
"They have been gone for a very long time," stated the Fire Keeper matter-of-factly.
He thought of the Sun. Raising his brows, he forced a smile. "Then I guess I don't have much of a choice, huh?" He looked back at the four empty thrones. "Where do we begin?"