Returning to the Firelink shrine felt like coming home. Unlike the Lothric walls or the undead settlement, the Shrine had an air of peace to it. Even knowing it wasn't true, since there were still feral hollows outside and more beyond, it was comforting.
There were many tasks that needed his attention. He first stopped with the Firekeeper, using the lost souls he had collected to strengthen himself. She informed him of the others who he had been sent here. The thief, the pilgrim and the pyromancer. Caim thanked her and she moved to sit on the stairs that ringed the lower pit of the Shrine.
Andre was next. He checked in and exchanged the shards he had found along with some of the souls he had collected. The broadsword was improved, sharpened and cared for. He traded with the shrine maiden, expanded his estus flask, examined her wares and bought some more supplies. When he was finished, he checked in with Cornyx.
The pyromancer was as jovial as before. Chuckling and joking with Caim about the chance to serve as the teacher to a pupil. Sadly, Cornyx had access to few pyromancies he could teach. The greatest were the flash sweat and great combustion. The combustion was a simple spell but the flash sweat would be useful.
Leaving Cornyx with a stronger pyromancer flame and a few new spells he checked in with Greirat. The little thief had set up shop just beside where Andre hammered away. Caim didn't relish the conversation but nonetheless it had to happen. He approached, greeted the thief and presented him with the bone he had found, explaining how he had come to find it.
"Heavens, she was already dead. Thank you. I-I'm not surprised though. Almost a relief really." He spoke quietly, his voice distant. "You can keep the ring. As, well, as a trinket of thanks I suppose."
"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. The thief merely nodded his head and returned his attention to the bone in his hand. Caim left the small man and went outside the shrine. There was something else that needed his attention.
The air was stale with ash and decay. The sun burning dimly in the sky. He left the shrine and turned right, exploring the upper levels of the shrine and cutting down a few resting hollows there. Going behind the shrine he found the sword master waiting for him.
Andre had warned him about the man and the firekeeper had also confirmed the warning. He was a masterful undead. Even in madness, he retained his skill. With a proper weapon in his hand, he strode to meet the challenger.
The warrior moved to meet him when he closed and moments later they clashed. The swordsman was fast and fierce. His sword slashing with rapid motions and hitting with more force than his thin body should have allowed. His movements were flawless and his speed dangerous. He carried no shield but rolled away from every strike Caim laid towards him. Even evading a ball of fire.
The two danced across the steps, back and forth, up and down. Their swords met and Caim stumbled away, off balance. In a flash, the master sheathed his sword and drew it out in a fierce, lighting quick slash. The blow met the shield but staggered him. The fight was a battle of attrition. For every scraping blow the swordsman landed, Caim matched him. The swordsman, with no armor, took the full brunt of the blows.
Side stepping an overhead slash he drove his sword foreword in a furious lunge, driving the weapon to the hilt in the thin man's chest. The master swordsman trembled once, his arm lifting but falling limp to his side, his weapon clattering to the rocks before he slid free, dissolving to dust. Caim breathed in the souls left behind, embracing the power they imbued in him.
With the threat gone he returned to the shrine with his loot. The sword was finely made but not of the style that Caim was familiar with. The curved edge seemed too brittle. He tucked it away. Perhaps it would be worth practicing with later. Right now, he needed a sturdy sword he could depend on.
He explored the rest of the shrine and found a few things. The great tree outside that loomed over the raised ground. The locked tower beyond it. The abandoned souls of the lost. And Yoel of Londer, hiding in a dark corner
The pilgrim had nearly slipped from Caim's mind. The decrypt, frail thing nearly cowered from him. He spoke reverently, professing his thanks at seeing the bonfires flame and offering his knowledge of sorcery, which he admitted was lacking.
"But perhaps more importantly," he said, head bowed. "I believe I can help tease out your true strength."
That caught Caim's attention. He stopped and raised a brow to the pilgrim. "What do you mean?"
"We pilgrims of Londor are keenly aware. That those branded by the darksign possess something quite special." Yoel held out his hand, something gathering and shifting there. Caim turned his eyes, focused, and stared at the dark.
It was like what he felt from the Firekeeper. Only as similar as oil is to water. The same but different in vast ways. The dark within the Firekeeper was immense and powerful. But it was distant and amorphous. A great deep dark within a deep lake. Touched at a distance you could draw what you needed.
Yoel held a dark ocean in his chest. Smothering and vast. Hungry and violent. The darkness was part of the water. It crept at the shore and tried to creep onto land. Darkness great and terrible, devouring and dangerous. Swelling and fighting at its bounds.
It was also power. Great. Powerful. Useable.
He could see the outline of control. The tethers that would let him wield this power as his own. It was not twisted with sovereign-less souls but tied to a single soul. A single willing host.
Caim turned away sharply. His breath came in ragged gasps and he stormed away from Yoel, ignoring the man's pleas to return.
"Silence!" he screamed, the voice echoing the quiet chamber. "Keep that darkness in the pit where you belong. Or I will not suffer your existence any longer!" He stared at the pilgrim until he bowed his head. Caim spun away and stormed away walking the shrine until his burning anger quelled.
He returned to the Bonfire and sat, curling near the flames and watching them crackle and spark. He folded his legs and placed his flame in his lap breathing deeply. The meditation was one of the first things Gin taught him. He turned his mind to controlling the flame, stoking it and channeling it.
The meditation was familiar and comforting. Not the great support he needed but it helped quell the trembling in his hands and the cold sweat that had broken along his neck. Pyromancy was all about controlling the flame. Bonding to it and bending it to your will as well as bending with it.
When he felt more in control he stood and moved around the shrine. He inspected the thrones around the room. Four empty, one with a lone occupant.
He had spoken to Ludleth on his first venture around the shrine and had found the old man a refreshing, calm and honest voice. The old man spoke of willingly accepting his place on the throne as a lord of cinder. Caim felt it was at least partly due to his lack of legs that made him incapable of fleeing his duty as a lord.
He approached the old man. "Hello Ludleth."
"Hello unkindled. To what do I owe this visit?" The shriveled, crowned man asked.
Caim rested beside the man's throne. "I have simply had a disturbing insight. I was hoping to clear my mind of these disturbances."
"I watched you meditate. A fitting way to quell the dark in one's own mind."
"I worry it had done nothing to help." He held up the flame in his left hand, letting the fire grow. "Meditating only brings up old memories. Conflicting memories and devotions."
"Conflicting?"
He exhaled slowly. "I became a pyromancer because I wanted power. I wanted the power to turn away the dark and I dedicated myself to mastering it. That dedication, that drive and my own poor choices killed me. I wished back then and I wish now that I was stronger. That I had the power in my hands to drive back any enemy. To slay any foe. I've seen that kind of dedication, that desire for power, give birth to the greatest of monsters. I want power, but I'm worried that taking power from any source might be damning."
Ludleth made a small humming noise. "Power can be enticing and damning as often as it saves. This I know deeply." He held up a finger. "Listen, this might pique thine interest."
Caim turned back to the old man, and inclined his head.
"Before I was a lord of Cinder, I was a student of transposition. The process of extracting and coalescing the essence of a soul. A forbidden art that once left a foul stain on Courlands honor. Tis an art that grants powers once thought unattainable. Most transposing kilns were lost with Courland, but this place is a crossing for all manner of cursed objects. if thou happen'st pon a transposing kiln, bring it to me quick."
"You believe this kiln may be the path to power I would need?"
"It is a forbidden art. But it is power. Whether you seek it or not, is your choice."
Choice. The word almost seemed like a joke. He didn't have any real choice here. He had to advance and find the lords of cinder. That or rot away into nothing. Then again, maybe rotting away really was a choice.
He stood on the ledge of the throne. "I will watch for a kiln." With no other words, he stepped off and fell into the ash below. In his mind, deep in the pit of his brain that burned with primal life, a small voice whispered. Not clear to his waking mind, but subtle and desperate.
I need more power.
Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter. This respite was needed however and I didn't want to tack it on with another chapter. The trips to the Firelink shrine for anything other than a single act will likely be their own chapters in the future as well.
That said I am still writing longer chapters and enjoying it. Still a lot to work out and choices to be made. If you like or dislike how things are going be sure to leave a review and let me know.