True Strength

Chapter 1

Had he died again?

As he lay flat on what felt like a flat piece of stone, he took stock of all of his faculties. His fingers moved, so he still had his arms. He moved his toes next, meaning that his spine wasn't broken. All good signs. He still laid there for a few minutes, listening for anything out of the ordinary. Aside from his own breathing and some distant rustling of brush, he heard nothing.

He slowly opened his eyes, wanting to see where whatever that thing had been had taken him. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but being in the center of a stone structure, surrounded by prairie, in the middle of a giant canyon definitely would not have been on his list. As he laid there, he saw something that could be considered amusing: the single firefly lay in his open palm, tickling the exposed skin that his glove did not cover. He slowly twisted his hand, watching with a small amount of fascination as the bug crawled now to the back of his hand, unconcerned with everything but it's very few necessary functions. Deciding it was time to end the game, he shook his hand and watched as the fluorescent bug flew away lazily, disappearing into the dark abyss of the canyon. He sat up slowly, feeling the ligaments in his spine stretch and hearing their angry pops, indicating that he had been lying on the stone for too long. Stretching, he pulled his hood back, revealing messy dark hair that had gone too long without either being combed or cut. He kept his mask on, covering his face from the nose down, not wanting to be rid of it just yet.

He pivoted and sat on his rear, sitting cross legged upon the flat rock as he gathered his bearings. He looked in front of him more, trying to develop some sort of plan. There was an opening in the rocks in front of him that would allow him to get a little higher up onto another grassy plateau. From there, he would have to find some way out of the canyon. It would take a while, but he could do it. It wasn't like he was short on time.

He then looked at his hands through some of the exposed fabric on his gloves. The skin was slightly more decayed, indicating that he had in fact died on his way down here. He cringed inwardly as he realized what a site he probably was. His skin was much darker and more saggy than a normal person's, looking like it was sliding off of his bones. At first, there hadn't been much difference. His eyes had become extremely bloodshot and his skin had become darker, not to mention the ring of the darksign appearing on his shoulder. Now, however, he had died a few times, and it was obviously beginning to show. For a moment, he was worried that his mind might be going as well, but discarded the idea soon after. His mind was fine, it was his body that was failing him.

He leaned back, setting his hands behind his back to hold him up, trying to relax a little bit. He was surprised, however, when his fingers came into contact with what felt like cloth. Turning slowly, he saw the crumpled form of the tall, lengthy undead that had jumped in with him. He immediately jumped behind a stone pillar, hidden from the thing's view. He was not proud of his reaction, but he had no weapons or armor, thus the need for such cowardice.

He peered out from behind the pillar, trying to see if the body was moving.

The body was still aside from the rising and falling of its chest, meaning that it was in fact alive and likely an undead. The obvious aside, he now had to figure out if it was still sane or not. He couldn't quite tell, as it was wearing a long hooded cloak, blocking all skin, and more importantly its head, from view. Looking around, he spotted a long stick a few feet away from him. He quickly retrieved it and aimed it at the crumpled form in front of him. Carefully, he jabbed the stick into the things' back a couple of times, trying to get a reaction. If it was hollow, he would have to kill it with his bare hands or run away. If it was sane, however, they might be able to work together.

He poked it a few more times, waiting for something to happen. Finally, the thing stirred and weakly wacked the stick away, mumbling. He held the stick like a spear, ready to smack the other undead and then beat him to death. Slowly, the lithe undead rose, looking around in front of it. It seemed to be sane, from what he could tell from its movements. Normally, all hollows that he had seen made very jagged, unnatural motions with their arms and legs, as if their brain was malfunctioning. Which, in retrospect, it was. This one's, however, were slow and easy, not forced.

When he really knew that it was not hollow was when it turned around and saw him. After a moment of shock, it had the same reaction as he did when he first saw it lying on the ground. It quickly jumped back, but at the last second slipped and fell onto the stone. It started to scoot back from him, holding its hands in front of him in a pleading gesture.

He threw the stick away and spoke for the first time in what seemed like ages. He almost didn't recognize the dry, withered voice that he heard as his own.

"Not going to hurt you." He half wheezed, half rasped. He was surprised by the pain speaking brought, and immediately stopped. Had it really been that long since he had talked to others? Or was this one of the side effects of becoming too hollow?

His words did seem to have the desired effect, however, as the other undead immediately stopped retreating. It sat there for a moment, confused, before shakily getting to its feet, regarding him with suspicion. He could understand why. After all, he hadn't met very many friendly people on his way to where ever this was, so he doubted that his new acquaintance had either.

It rose slowly, ready to bolt at any moment. When he made no move to attack, the figure seemed to stall, confused at the new and uncommon development.

He, however, already knew, and with a nod to the much taller undead, he turned and started walking through the dried, dead grass to the opening in the rocks. After a few moments, he heard the other one following him.

Once he reached the top of the opening, he immediately noticed the dilapidated bridge and the house beyond it, barely visible beyond the mist of a water fall to the bridge's left. He started walking towards the bridge, when he stopped cold. When he did, the other one followed suit, each barely letting out a breath. To their right, something was coming. The waist high grass hid it from their view, and the only thing that gave the creature away was the rustling of the grass as it crept closer to the two undead. Both undead assumed ready stances, prepared to fight or run to the bridge, but most likely the latter. No weapons limited the amount of things that they could kill by themselves to about zero.

Slowly, the thing crept closer, still hidden from view. Each undead caught glimpses of black, and both were starting to become even more afraid of what it might be. Each watched in rapt attention as the beast drew even closer, almost coming out of the grass onto a bare path. Slowly, red eyes were revealed, and each undead unconsciously stepped back. However, because they were so focused on the beast in front of them, neither had noticed the rustling that was coming behind them, even closer.

When they stepped back, there was an explosion of movement directly behind them, so close that one of them accidentally kicked the creature that had made the noise. If asked, neither would have admitted to jumping three feet off of the ground in shock and making a beeline for the bridge and house beyond, with angry dogs nipping at their heels. Instead, they simply would have said that it turned out to be a bird, or something that hadn't scared them out of their skins.

…..

Neither undead knocked as they burst through the door and immediately slammed it, the beasts banging repeatedly against it for a few minutes before finally giving up. They then leaned against the door for a moment, both exhausted from the sudden exertion.

They stood slowly, only then becoming aware that they were not alone in the room they stood in. As they turned around, they were greeted by the sight of three incredibly old hags, each of whom were staring at them with mocking interest and wearing red robes, and a homely woman, who regarded them with guarded kindness. For a moment, nobody said anything, the awkwardness of the situation setting in. Then, one of the old crones started to laugh mockingly before nearly hacking up a lung. Once she had recovered, she spoke.

"What seems to be the ruckus?" She wheezed before getting a good look at their faces. Once she had, a sardonic smile came to her lips as she said mockingly, "Oh my, look at your faces. You have the faces of the cursed."

Before either undead could respond, one of the other ladies beat them to it.

"They're undead." Said the one sitting in the rocking chair near the fire, before continuing, "The undead have come to play. They all end up here, all the ones like you. You both talked to a kindly old dear, didn't you?"

When neither of them responded right away, she took that as license to continue, which she did by giving an ominous warning.

"Your finished. You'll both go hollow." She weezed, seemingly unable to talk normally anymore. "Yes, you'll both become like them." Once she said this, she seemed to lose all interest in them, and looked deeply into the fire for something only she could see. As soon as she finished, however, the last old one began to speak.

"Hollows," She began, her voice deeper than the other two, "Prey upon men, feast on their souls. This is the fate of the cursed." At this, she cackled quietly, followed by her two compatriots.

Finally, the first one directed a very simple question to the two undead being openly mocked. "What are your names?"

The short one went first, speaking quickly and quietly. "My name is Jericho. Pleasure." He was able to speak slightly easier than last time, ready for the pain that was going to come. He didn't know why he was playing these hags' game, but he did none the less.

Once he finished, the tall one went next. It's voice was higher than Jericho was expecting, and he wondered for the first time if it might be a woman's voice.

"Christo, of Jugo." Christo's voice was even more raspy than Jericho's had been, and he began to wonder how much death Christo had suffered.

"At least you know your own names."The first one said in her sarcastic, uncaring tone. However, she then reached into her cloak and produced to strange looking bundles. She gave them to the two undead, saying "Here's your reward for sharing. They're human effigies."

Each undead peered at their respective bundles, wondering what they could be for. After a moment, the first crone spoke again, apparently bored waiting for something. "Take a closer look. Who do you think it's supposed to be?" Jericho did as he was told, staring hard into the bundle. It felt as if it was made of silk, but not quite. It was something he had never touched before. As he looked closer and closer, and image started to form from the tangled strands. It was familiar, though at first he could not place it.

"Think back, deep into your past." Suddenly, Jericho gasped, as images of his life flashed before his eyes, things that he had forgotten; both do to the curse and to his long life, which could be considered one and the same. He glanced at the old woman, who now had a smirk on her face. Before he could voice it, she said it.

"Yes, it's an effigy of you." He now saw it crystal clear. He saw his face from when he was human, the black hair, the beard, the scars on his cheeks and face. And then everything came back to him. He saw himself training with Sir Giligan, he saw himself at the battle of old Astora, and he saw himself at the slaughter of Delphi. Everything rushed back to him in a heartbeat. Duels, battle, wars, they all rushed through his mind, pieces of himself that he hadn't realized that he had lost. Once he recovered, he saw something astonishing. The effigy started to melt into the skin of his open hand, disappearing into his open palm. However, what happened next floored him. He saw his skin actually becoming fuller, as if it was being restored to life. He quickly unwrapped his bindings and saw that his arm was back to normal. Not only that, but he actually felt more alive, for lack of a better word. It was like he was 10 years younger, and he felt as if he could fight an army and win. He looked over, and saw that Christo was having similar effects, his (Jericho was going to go on the assumption that Christo was a "he" until proven otherwise) arms uncovered to reveal tan, taught skin covered in small scars.

"All people come here for the same reason." The first hag started again, bringing their attention back to her. "To break the curse. You're no different, I should think."

"Doesn't stand a chance." The second one piped up, still staring into the flames of the fire, rocking slowly.

"Well, you never know." The third one cackled, causing all three of them to go into a fit of harsh laughter.

The first one then gave them some actually useful advice, for which they were grateful. "Go through the door, and trot along to the kingdom. But remember, hold on to your souls. They're all that keep you from going hollow."

She then paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over, before issuing one more dark prophesy. "Oh, ill fool you no longer. You'll lose your souls, over and over again." She laughed at the end, causing both Jericho and Christo to flinch, taking her words to heart.

Jericho looked at his temporary companion, wondering what would happen next. Before they could leave, however, the maid beckoned them to her, out of earshot of the old women. When they reached her, she spoke quickly and quietly, not wanting to arouse the attention of the hags.

"Listen" She whispered, her voice barely audible, "there is a chest upstairs with a few more human effigies, along with some equipment. Outside, a cart sits, where a merchant left it before casting himself off of the bridge. Take what you need, and good luck."

Finished, she walked back to the fire, tending a soup with her ladle. Neither of them asked why she was helping them, instead they just accepted it and would think about it later. They walked up stairs and found the chest, opening to find a not only the effigies, but also a few strange crystals, some binoculars, some holy water, and a couple bags to hold everything in. In the bottom of the chest, Christo came up with two green flasks. Both immediately knew what they were, as they had been told about the miracles of the estus flasks. A small smile came to both of their faces as they realized their good fortune.

As they were going back down the stairs, Jericho saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something was behind the chest, glinting with the little bit of light from the fire below. He walked over and moved the chest, revealing what looked to be an old golden pendent on a silver chain. He had no doubt that it was worthless, but it called to him just the same. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he slipped it into his cloak and went to join the others.

The two undead stood there, unsure of what to do next. The old women, however, were done with their game, and were now promptly ignoring them. With no other recourse, they walked out of the door, hoping to be ready for whatever came next.