Unca Bob
Kindle the bonfire indeed. I like what you're doing here and how you're doing it. I hope to see more soon because things so far promise quite the story ahead.
(and)
IlliterateLibrarian935
Genuinely really enjoying this story! Keep up the great work!
Well I hope you two stick around, as your reviews made me smile quite a bit. If this story is half as spectacular as I hope it's going to be, it will be worth the wait.
Of course, it is entirely possible that someone's guessed who the Seer is, and may spoil it beforehand, but them's the breaks. Consider this a plea to keep your guesses well hidden, till the truth comes out.
And aye, the truth will out. It always does.
Hollows needed more credit, they really did. Lying in wait rather than hunting alone, that hand which grabbed the Seer's ankle was only the first. The flat stone roof they were on apparently held a balcony below it, where the bastards had hidden themselves, flat up against the wall.
Three. No, four of them, gripped the edge of the roof and began to pull themselves up. Much like the Seer, they wore little- only rags, shredded remnants over their taut-drawn leathery, fatless skin. Unlike her, each one was armed.
Dealing with the one that had gripped her was a simple matter- a knight's boot upon the wrist forced it to release her whether it felt pain or no, the bastard dropping back to the balcony seconds before it could cut her tendon with a rusted dagger. The second-nearest, already upon the roof with an Undead's alacrity, caught the rim of his shield across the gaping mess where its nose used to be.
"Oscar! Above!"
The knight withdrew the rim of his shield where it had half-buried in the hollow's face- and rather than raise it as he should have, he raised his helm to look, instead. A bad instinct, as his face was immediately awash with burning pain. Yelling, the Knight stumbled back, only to find his tattered and bloodstained tabard gripped by the hand of what could only have been a Hollow-
"Firebombers. Unreachable. Run!"
Not a Hollow. The Seer, pulling him away from the ledge and leading him blind through a growing throng of the undead- "Swing right... Now!" -that were far too close to his liking. A haphazard swing of his sword bit, and deep, if the sound of his assailant were any judge. This... this was torment. Running through an unfamiliar city, fighting a horde he could not see, under fire from above, with only the Seer's guidance to tell him when and where to swing?
"On right! Now!" The solid 'thunk' of his shield battering away a hollow's seeking blade only told him he'd saved them for another scant few seconds. "Up!" Legs still churning underneath him, he hit stairs and stumbled- only to feel the entire path of these second-and-third-story rooftops quake and shudder with a gasp from the Seer. "Stay down!"
There was a roar, tremendous and unending- a wash of heat, across his back, and it was then that he swore, should he ever die for good, it would not be by fire.
The stones shook again with a massive rush of air, as Oscar laid on his side- but soon after, he heard no more Hollows. Heard no more roars, felt no more shakes. Only a pair of hands undoing the clasps of his helm, a bottle placed at his lips.
"Estus, Sir Oscar. Drink."
"What the hell was that, Seer? I could see nothing."
"I guessed as much."
No longer did they lie at the foot of a base of stairs, leading from one roof to another by a walkway built atop a wall. This was some time past- where they had discovered a bonfire, hidden within a building just to the side of where they'd been running. The Seer must have seen it in their retreat, but there'd been no time to stop.
Now though, their assailants were naught more than char. Black marks of soot, upon the gray stones.
The Seer was busying herself with the bottle of Estus- upending the flask over the Bonfire's flames, to refill it and capture some of those wondrous cinders. She sounded grim, when she did deign to answer through yellowed, grimacing teeth. It was wonders what the stuff did- naught but a mouthful, and Oscar had once again been able to see.
"A firebomb from the scaffolding above caught you in the face- melted it solid. With you out of action, there was naught to do but run."
"I appreciate you not leaving me behind." Oscar tossed down the cloth he'd been using to wipe soot and spent powder from his helm, turning it about to inspect the damage. ...It was still dented, but nothing he could do about that this second.
Her grunt was noncommittal. "We would even now be running- but apparently this place plays host now to worse than Hollows."
"The roaring thing."
"A wyvern." Her tone grew yet more grim- something Oscar hadn't thought was possible.
"You're joking. They are supposed to be mythical!"
"I am not. Thankfully, it did not see us, and left after cleansing the bridge- but it bodes ill that they now do as they please. ...Not as mythical as they sound. Most Dragons are gone, true, but Wyverns are those men who would follow the path of the Dragon- eventually, they are no longer men at all. Nor are they Dragons, more's the relief."
"How can something that huge once have been a man? And breathing flame, I assume, from how my back damn near scorched?" Leaning forward despite the complaints from his dented plates, Oscar set his elbows on his knees.
"Old magic and tomes. Yet more symptoms to an underlying cause." The Seer sighed, as the flask was once again uprighted- orange swirls of captured flame stirring gently, in the vessel's belly.
"The curse. It escapes the curse, doesn't it."
That answer actually drew the Seer's attention, and for a brief instant, Oscar felt proud of himself for having an idea the Seer did not- but it was dashed even as he saw the roll of her head.
"Short-sightedly, I suppose so. Only Man bears the darksign, and a wyvern's flesh is not its own. Stone scales of titanite, embedded in the body for armor and transmuted into scales for full cover. They are not easy opponents."
"You speak as if you've fought one. What of long-sightedly?" Slowly, Oscar began to rebuckle his helm about his shoulders and head. It was gracious they had no mirror- he must have looked quite a fright, beneath it.
"We'll be much further in our quest before I can tell you much, Sir Oscar. Stifle your curiosity for now, would you?"
Oscar harrumphed, rebuked yet again. Yes, 'harrumphed'. He'd never in his life known the meaning of the word or attempted one, but that was the only word he could put to the sound. "What in the blazes are you so frightened of me knowing, Seer? I swore an oath to you! Let a Knight serve, will yo-"
But he was stopped, by her pensive expression- seen from over her hand which proffered the flask, full once more.
"Not you. This place. Lordran. It cannot know I am here. Not yet."
In his helm, his hand around the flask's neck, his brow furrowed with even further difficulty. "But there is no one else around. We are alone, Seer."
"I guarantee you we are not."
With Oscar once more mended, his vision restored, the more-wary duo found the goings much easier. Every now and then they were accosted, by those Hollows who'd found crossbows and remembered how to work them, or those who did not and made do with rusted blades and worn armor, but all in all nothing remotely close to the ambush with artillery support.
The main obstacle remained the area- nothing made sense, here, in these pathways. Jostling for space, the buildings were crammed together one after another, and not once did the Knight find himself anywhere near 'ground level'. Paths took through through buildings, even, with nary a way to circumvent the tight rooms and corridors that made fencing with groups of undead swordsmen just that tad bit more hairy.
They did manage to find a ladder that led them to where firebombs had been thrown from, earlier. That was a moment of revenge to relish.
It seemed forever, until they managed to stumble on what looked to be a watchtower, connected to one of the great Walls that encircled this place. Not even the door was level with the roof they walked on, though a staircase wound down the side to obvious aid in that department.
"Nice of the Bonfires to allow us a path, even as they mess about with the landscape."
The joke fell flat, however, on the Seer's ears- Oscar supposing, once again, that she had no sense of humor. The milky glare she held was pointed, though, and her arm raised to endorse the direction- the top of the stairs, one Hollow at the top in ragged chain and plate, with a rusted heater shield. One like many they'd dispatched this hour, but even though it had turned to spot them, it did not give chase. Instead, it huddled at the doorway to the watchtower, lying in wait near a stockpile of stacked barrels. It was not very well-hidden, all things told.
"A trap, I think. That barrel, there. ...Oily, as if someone's dumped the contents of a lamp over it. It's tipped over, near the top of the stairs."
Through Oscar's helm, he strained to see more fully. A difficult task, with his visor so narrow in vision. "Can't say, Seer. I trust your judgment, though- any solutions spring to mind beyond tripping it?"
There was another pause, long and thoughtful, before he noted a grim smile cross her even-more-grim features, and felt a round urn be pressed into his gauntlet.
"Aye, that I do. No more games, with the sanity-bereft."
A firebomb, stolen from the Hollows that had attacked them only hours past. It only took a solid second for Oscar to understand her meaning, a swipe of flint across steel and an underarm toss to carry it out in entirety.
Honestly, it was a good thing the hiding Undead was Hollow- he would have almost felt guilty, if the thing had sanity left.
The explosion rocked the stones they stood on, and Oscar could see little except bright, searing light. Shrapnel and old, dried gore spattered across the rooftops, the smoke thick and noxious enough to deny wind's effects for several minutes as the pair held their arms in front of their faces protectively. When it cleared, though...
It was obvious that barrel had been full of oil. For what reason, they'd never know, but the Hollow who'd set it up was assuredly never going to tell. The entirety of the tower's side was blasted open, the stones peeled outwards heedless of mortar, and all was covered in thick black soot. A satisfying effect.
"Ha-ha! And that is why relying too much on fire is such a bad idea! Remind me to bring wax to plug my ears with, for next time." Oscar grinned in his helm, as the final piece of high-flying Hollow bones pinged off his helmet. It was still a little difficult to not shout, so badly were his ears ringing.
Her response might as well have been underwater, it was so muffled to him. "If the door was locked, at least it is no longer. ...Should still be safe to climb the tower, regardless. These walls were meant to hold back more than simple demolitions." Walking forward cautiously, the Seer began to make her way up the winding, scorched stairs.
"Again, not even a chuckle. Would it kill you to be less dour, Seer? We do them little harm by putting them do-"
The protest was cut short, as she turned her head to look at him on the stairs. For a second, he expected an admonishment, yet more explanations of what he did not know, but instead her head turned back around.
What could Oscar do but sigh in his helm, and follow after her?
The top of the tower was much higher than he'd supposed. Rather than the staircase reaching the whole way, it had crumbled before allowing access to the roof. Another of those strange walls of fog eclipsed the only exit from this thing above- a shimmering wall of vapor that obscured all but the light passing through it. The Seer had explained that this, as well as the one from the upper balcony in the Asylum, was where the areas dragged by the Bonfires met through time, space or both. An odd thought, to think that they might walk so blithely into different areas or times.
At least the day seemed similar enough up here, atop a wall that seemed entirely too gods-damned high and wide enough to comfortably hold a horse and carriage with no issue. The sun, high in the sky, allowed for a similar view to that seen from the claws of the crow.
Breathtaking, really.
"A wide open space- nice, after those cramped rooms and rooftops. Hold a second, Seer, I think I see a ladder- perhaps at the top, I can survey even better."
"As it suits you, though I doubt it will be much aid." The Seer, for her part, began striding her bedraggled form along the wall- aiming to walk it to the second tower, on its opposing end. "What the Bonfires do may not be visible from a distance."
"It is worth a try, no less." Reaching through thick-growing ivy, Oscar laid a hand on the rungs of a ladder almost worn through. If it weren't bolted to the wall every few steps or so, there was no way it would ever hold the knight- but nothing ventured, nothing gained. Grunting with every pull, it took him higher- towards their entrance's towertop, his efforts echoing oddly in his helm.
It was no small ladder, after all, but Oscar had learned his lesson about climbing in Lordran, and well. When at the top, never assume you are safe; it was this knowledge that let him see, out of the corner of his helm's slit, a crossbow raising in the direction of the Seer's back below...
"Not likely."
...Only for his blade to crash down, and sever the bolt in the Hollow's weapon, the crossbow's string sending naught but plinters showering out of the weapon with a disappointed twang. There were two of them- one already abandoning its crossbow and reaching for a sword at its hip, the other staring in the direction of its quarry as if it hadn't yet occurred that its weapon had failed.
His sword dispatched the second through the neck; clashed with the first in a continuation of the swing, as an Undead's indefatigable blade pressed against a Hollow's hungry edge. Pressure, his beautiful blade biting deep into rust and grinding along the worn and broken sword, red and orange dust scattering across the stone battlement.
"She will not be your prey-"
"Oscar!"
His attention faltered, to the sound of the voice. The Seer's, panicked, and had he not turned to look, he'd never have seen what she'd turned and run from. Turned and tripped, running from, sprawling and scratching along the ground to gain as much distance as possible. Atop the opposite tower was a monster- a massive furred thing neither man nor bull, with an axe the size of-
Sudden give, in his weapon. Sudden pain, as his helm rang like a bell. It had stepped aside, felled him to the ground with an unexpected blow.
Dazed, confused, he turned back- only to see the Hollow raise its cruelly-broken blade's tip, and stab downwards with an indescribable look of relish.
"Oscar!"