((Author's Note: This one won't have much to it, I'll admit. Basically a filler chapter before I have the adventures properly begin. Also, can't have Thomas be perfect at everything, without some good old fashioned bad luck to formally welcome him to Dark Souls. Casul.))
Chapter 2
Early Game Preparations
Thomas knew this much: He hated being flown by giant, winged birds. This fact was made most abundantly clear when the crows came, one for Oscar and Thomas each, and grabbed them, taking them to the land of the ancient Lords. His heart sunk, his stomach churned, and the fact that he was dead didn't mean that, should the crow drop him by accident, the landing would not hurt. Pain still functioned, he knew, as though some cruel joke. "Hey, you can't eat anymore, you can't take a relaxing shit. You can't even feel death anymore, because you're semi immortal, but damn you can enjoy getting the fuck crushed outta you by Smough's hammer, when the time comes! Aren't you lucky!" Yeah. Real fucking lucky. Just thinking about having to fight the Super Londo Brothers, REALLY fighting them, made him nervous. Shit would go badly, he was certain. Opening his eyes, Thomas made a mistake, and looked down.
They were still miles above ground. But damn if Thomas didn't suddenly want to write "Gorgeous View!" with an orange soapstone right now. It was incredible. "God..." Thomas took a moment to take a picture of this in his mind. Lordran was beautiful, in it's own way, ruined as it was. He admired the view for a moment, then the crow lurched downward, swooping him into Firelink Shrine, and dropping him, without a trace of grace to it.
PLOP
Thomas was reminded, again, that pain was a reality. It shot up his knees, in particular, as well as the small of his back. Straightening, Thomas surveyed the ruined shrine. Crestfallen was at his post, moping into the Bonfire. Petrus of Thorulund was outside of Thomas' immediate sight, but he could guess his location. The Firekeeper was in her little cage, as the lit bonfire attested. Thomas frowned. Anastacia really shouldn't have to be there. If he could figure out a way, one of the first things he'd do is break open her cell, and let her out. Off to the side was an alcove with a statue of a woman, holding a small child. The small child held an Astora Straight Sword in it's hands, which Thomas found strange for an infant to hold, but then, Dark Souls was not one to coddle. The statue overlooked a pool, which Thomas knew, underneath, a bottomless pit resided, in which dwelled Frampt, the primordial serpent. Thomas already knew what he was going to say to THAT manipulative worm. He was going to tell him exactly where he could stick his false "succeed Lord Gwyn/Become the next Great Lord" narrative that actually translated to "Set yourself on fire for eternity." Wait, do primordial serpents even have asses to stick stuff in? He shuddered. Let's not find that out just yet.
Clangle!
The sound of Oscar falling next to Thomas made the latter jump at the sudden arrival of the former. "Let's..." Oscar started, trying to find his breath. "Let's not do that again." Thomas shook his head. "I'm no fan either, but I'll have to go back to the Asylum later. Only way I can get to Priscilla. I am NOT not stroking that tail." Oscar gave an incredulous look to the sorcerer, an impressive trick considering his helmet still covered his face. "What in the name of the Lords are you referring to?" Thomas waved it aside once more. "Peace. Many things that are mysterious will be made clear in time." Yet another dodge on the "I'm not sure how to explain that I'm from another world" front. "Anyways, feel free to chat it up with the warrior over there. I'mma fetch us a couple toys." filling his empty flask with Estus, Thomas trudged off towards the elevator for the Undead Parish. He knew it wasn't working, but that's not why he was going for it. Following a fairly well known route, he looted the chests, getting a talisman, morning star, some cracked red eye orbs that Thomas didn't feel like using, and most importantly, a few Homeward Bones. These were what the sorcerer had come for. "All right, time to be a complete dumbass, and introduce myself to some spooky scary skeletons."
Sliding down the hill, Thomas came upon two skeletons, which began assembling almost immediately. Thomas darted past them, picking up a lost undead's soul as he went. He weaved around more rising bones, and reached a large tombstone, a giant skeleton already rising in front of one of Thomas' targets. The Destroyer of Hosts. The Ender Of Embers. The Phantom Menace (Okay, is it too soon for that pun?). The Bass Cannon. The Zweihander stood impaled upon a shriveled up body, handle sticking upwards. Thomas rolled underneath a swing, and grabbed the weapon. Lifting it, he immediately stuck it in his inventory, and dashed away, narrowly avoiding the skeleton giant's large machete slam. He then ran forward, and grabbed the winged spear. Glancing behind him, Thomas decided there were too many enemies up and about for him to risk going back, just for a pair of fucking binoculars. Not worth it. Reaching into his pouch, Thomas grabbed a Homeward Bone, and immediately snapped it. The world in his eyes seemed to shimmer and distort, and he was in Firelink Shrine once more. "Thomas!" Oscar asked. "Are you alright? People don't use homeward bones unless they're in distress! What happened?" Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. "I went poking about in a graveyard, and the skeletons were unhappy about that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to New Londo.
At this, the crestfallen warrior popped up. "Are you mad? That place is miserable. Filled with Hollows, and who knows what else?" Thomas chuckled darkly. "I know what else. The place is haunted, and tainted by the Dark of the Abyss, which once spread across the land like a creeping fog of poison. But, be that as it may, I need something from there. I'll be back." Oscar stepped forward. "Thomas, let me. If the place is as dangerous as you say, I should go instead." The sorcerer shook his head. "It's a simple fetch quest. I'll be there, and bone out in a jiffy. I know exactly where it is. After this, I'll begin the adventure properly. Trust me. This is best a solo mission." Oscar raised a finger, and then lowered it. "All right," Oscar conceded. "Try and come back in one piece." Thomas chuckled. "I plan to. What's the worst that can happen?" A chill ran through Thomas' body. "Shit," he muttered. "Jinxed, didn't I... Ah well." Thomas decended to the elevator, and proceeded to go down the lift to New Londo's ruins.
Stepping out, Thomas immediately had regrets. He was ready for the sight of New Londo, he had thought. He was wrong. The city was even worse looking than it was in-game. And no amount of preperation, no mental fortitude, and no kind of gag could have prevented, could have prepared him for the smell. A lake of countles cadavers left in standing water for a thousand thousand years, cloying the air with a sickly stench that absolutely left the caster gagging. "Oh god. OH GOD. It smells. It smells so bad. The stink can't possibly get worse." The scent was indescripable. It was... Tainted. Thomas began to seriously contemplate turning around. Forget the soul. It would still be here when he got the Thief Mask from the lower undead burg.
No. Thomas needed that soul, and he needed it quick. He was going to use it and the one in the parish to bargain with Lautrec, if he killed Anastacia. After all, why kill one firekeeper for one soul, when you can get two for less effort? A greedy man like Lautrec wouldn't hesitate, Thomas had no doubt. Suck it up, and take the damn soul. Thomas darted down, and started crossing the wooden walkway to the drowned city. He kept his gaze more or less forward, looking down just enough to watch his footing. He didn't want to look into the water, dreading what he may see. Forget Blighttown. This was easily the worst place in Lordran. The mood lighting. The Lore. The enemies. The fucking STENCH. It was so bad Thomas was having to stop, resting his hand on a wooden pole while he took his sorcerer's cap off his head, and used it to wipe his watering eyes with. "I needed to get something here. Something besides the soul..." The boy knew he forgot something important to this place. Whatever it was, the stench drove it out of his mind. He walked across the narrow platform to the Fire Keeper's Soul, somewhat curious on where the hell the ghosts were supposed to-
SSHLIKT!
Thomas looked at the jagged blade sticking out his chest "Oh, look at that," he said, joking through the pain. "I've been impaled." If he could laugh it off, he reasoned, it didn't hurt as bad.. He then looked behind him, at the throng of ghosts filing behind as the spectral dagger was pulled free from his body. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK! Thomas sprinted for the soul, reaching for the transient curse in his inventory... and came up empty. SHIT! I knew I forgot something! Okay. Grab the soul, bone out. Grab the soul, bone out. Grab the soul, Bone out. A good plan. It just needed to be executed quickly, or else HE would be executed quickly. Sliding like a baseball player to avoid the slicing blades, Thomas scooped up the Fire Keeper's Soul, and slipped it into his pocket, his other hand pulling out the homeward bone. But before he could break it, a blade lashed out, severing his hand at the wrist. "SHIT!" The pain was incredible, but that wasn't the worst part. Thomas scrabbled at the bone with his other hand, but both hand and bone fell into the water. "Fuck fuck fuck" Reaching his other hand into his pocket, he pulled out his last homeward bone. Another blade removed that hand as well, then, and his last hope of making it out alive. I still got the soul, though, Thomas reasoned, feeling like that accomplishment made the blunder worth it. What was a few souls compared to the prize he attained? It almost made the pain bearable, when two blades slipped into his sides, up into his ribcage, a ghost pulling towards him.
Thomas looked at the spectral fiend, and allowed himself a look of contempt. "Well," he asked the ghost, it's blade raising towards his throat "What is, it?". It was the last thing he managed before his throat was ripped from his body.
