X. Cathedral of the Deep
Stepping once more into the marshy canyons of the Crucifixion Woods brought a renewed sense of impending dread, though the party agreed it was a step above the poisonous swamps of Farron Keep. The threats they had faced since they were last here put these particular creatures to shame. The ashen ones had grown stronger, the Firekeeper channeling the souls they had collected into themselves. Rodric's strength had bolstered, as well as Ophelia's faith, Ephaim's intelligence, and Landstrider's dexterity, respectively.
The party strode through the bog, cutting down monsters left and right as they closed in on the structure at the far end of the woods. It was infested with undead sorcerers, and Ephaim was quick to route them with his superior magicks. Reaching an upper level, the party came across a lone man, curly-haired and garbed in black, inhabiting what appeared to be a study.
"Well, this is unexpected," he uttered, looking away from his scrolls to the ashen ones, "I don't often have visitors. What do you want?"
A rather straightforward question, though no one had a direct answer.
The old sage stepped forward, speaking, "Hail, young man. We seek the Cathedral of the Deep." The words fell flat, as the young scholar dryly looked behind him, at the great cathedral quite visibly looming over the woods behind him. He returned his gaze to Ephaim, sighing.
"If you haven't any business, I've reading to get back to."
"I say, are those sorceries you are studying?" The old sage inquired, to which the young scholar nodded. "Perhaps we can unravel them at Firelink Shrine – I daresay it is safer there than the middle of the Crucifixion Woods!"
"How intriguing." The man replied. "Very well. Although I believe you are not the sort of man who demands service without recompense."
"Recompense? What do you have in mind, scholar?"
"You will make me a promise – you will bring me knowledge, in the form of scrolls."
"I am a sage of the Grand Archives; there will be more scrolls than you can fathom!"
"Good. I trust you understand the weight of a promise."
"What shall we call you?"
"I am Orbeck of Vinheim… and I look forward to our arrangement."
It seemed that only mysterious individuals could make a living in this decaying world, though this encounter had been considerably more pleasant than their dealings with the Pale Shade.
With another ally to their cause, nevermind his hasty departure to Firelink Shrine, the Unkindled felt renewed in their cause. Proceeding forward through the dilapidated building, they came upon a clearing. It appeared to be a great hall, though nearly everything was reclaimed by the woods, save for some pillars and walls. Not even the ceiling existed anymore. As the party entered, a wall of white fog formed behind them.
"Gods, another fight." Rodric muttered, donning his helm.
From the far end of the clearing, a large, robed figure emerged, wearing a wide-brimmed hat identical to Ephaim's. This elicited concerned glances from the other Unkindled, who looked to their old companion.
"It's a Crystal Sage, one of the legendary scholars of the Grand Archives." He explained, though he appeared highly anxious of the encounter.
The Crystal Sage grunted, its gravelly voice a dissonant chorus of wails and cries. It sounded as if a dozen mouths were speaking through him, yelling and humming simultaneously. The figure lurched back, conjuring a sphere of soulmasses, a tactic that must have inspired the likes of Ephaim.
The soulmasses orbited the Crystal Sage, firing off one at a time as Rodric approached. His crest shield was ill-suited for arcane energies, and he was knocked off his feet. Ephaim and Landstrider's robes, however, fared much better. They approached the looming sorcerer, unleashing spells of soul and flame, whittling away at the great undead.
Before long, the whole party had encircled the Sage, carving and slicing and blasting it into oblivion. With an ear-ringing chime, however, the Sage wailed, sinking into the ground and vanishing.
All was quiet – the Unkindled looked amongst themselves, then back to the battlefield.
Without warning, great ethereal crystals erupted from the ground, forming an obstacle course of razor-sharp spikes. As they quickly formed into large, crystalline shapes, a dozen Crystal Sages spawned from the all corners of the hall, conjuring soul spears to throw at the party.
"Ah, this trick. Look for the purple magic!" Ephaim commanded, scanning about.
Blue-hued soul spears careened past as the ashen ones sprung forth, dodging between crystals and projectiles as they sought cover. Landstrider dove forward, crouching behind a great spike, before it shattered on impact with a soul spear, knocking her back. She hurled a fireball at the Sage attacking her, and as it struck, the Sage wailed and vanished into thin air. Imposters! She realized. This ought to make things easier.
Ophelia's wards negated the incoming soul spears, though no one was expecting the crystalline dragon breath conjured by one of the Crystal Sages. From the mist, a beam of arcane energy fired across the hall, striking Rodric and the gentle priestess, before a cascade of crystals followed suit, tossing them into the air.
Ephaim spotted the real Crystal Sage, firing soul arrows at it, dispelling the other illusory assailants.
Quickly joined by his comrades, the old sage made short work of the sorcerer. The sovereignless souls the party had channeled into themselves proved to greatly enhance their abilities. This quick success was a testament to this notion.
Beyond the Crystal Sage was a dense patch of forest, separating it from the Cathedral of the Deep. As they continued onward, Rodric pressed Ephaim for details regarding their recent encounter.
"So, who was this… Crystal Sage?"
"No one of consequence, I'm afraid."
"Ephaim…"
"There are two of them, twins, both prominent scholars of the Grand Archives."
"You harbor great anxiety for someone of no consequence."
"It isn't them, it's the memory of the place… and their favored pupil."
The old sage hurried forward, wishing the matter to be dropped. The proud knight quickly intuited this and obliged. Passing through the forest revealed an overgrown path, spiraling right up to the front gate of the sprawling cathedral. The way, however, had been blocked with piles of debris. Another path up to the church would have to be found.
That path was quickly identified. "This is the Cleansing Chapel." Ophelia explained, leading the party into the small chantry beneath the cathedral proper. Upon this second visit, the gentle priestess reconsidered her initial admiration for the place. A glowing soul emanated from the corner of the chapel. Ophelia picked it up, and the thing materialized into a barbed whip, which she examined before dropping to the floor.
"I confess, I had a rather naïve view of this place when I first traveled here with my knight." She exposited, looking around the room with her companions. "I assumed 'cleansing' had something to do with… hmm, spiritual purification, I suppose."
"Mhmm," mused Ephaim, lighting a bonfire at the altar of the chapel, "Aldrich's cleverness was matched only by his appetite. I doubt anyone outside of his following knew the true purpose of this cathedral. The question remains, though… what is The Deep?"
Landstrider inspected the statuettes that decorated the room – they depicted veiled women, all weeping into their hands. She scoffed, drawing a surprised, collective glance from her cohorts. Hesitating a moment, she looked back to them, before returning to her investigation. Eventually, the party rested at the bonfire, and Ophelia recalled more of her previous visit, sharing the details mainly with Rodric, and the sage when his attention was focused.
"I took part in a sermon, here, in this chapel."
"And you suspected nothing?"
"Nothing – they even allowed me to walk the main floor of the cathedral."
"But you never met Aldrich."
"I was barred from ever meeting him."
"To think… you were within breathing distance of that maneater…!"
"Oh, Rodric… do not fret, I still found a different way to die."
With that, she let out a defeated chuckle, and the proud knight eyed her worryingly. The party stood, departing the chapel to proceed along a separate pathway into the cathedral.
The detour proved arduous, as the ashen ones had to pass through a graveyard. As they traversed the hallowed grounds, pockets of dark energy would form along the ground, from which ghouls would emerge, setting upon the party with mindless fervor. Landstrider's flames and Rodric's torch quickly trivialized the issue, and before long, the party reached the outside of the cathedral.
Navigating rooftops and buttresses, connected only by rotting planks of wood, the party was ambushed by undead thralls and clergymen. At best, they were nuisances, but the real challenge came from the roving Grave Wardens, undead swordsmen that quickly carved up the Unkindled in a frenzy of slashes and stabs.
Upon their return, Rodric took greater care to shield his companions from the Grave Wardens, responding in kind with his mighty spear. Even Landstrider struggled to keep up with the dexterous undead; they even matched her in their pyromantic skill.
Ophelia, unfortunately, had been slain once more, pushed from a rooftop to her death.
On their second return trip, the Grave Wardens were dispatched, and the party reached the side entrance to the cathedral. Pushing the great doors open, the party was met by a foul odor, not dissimilar to a thousand rotting corpses. Ophelia and Ephaim gagged at the smell, the latter coughing and sputtering in disgust.
Continuing forward, the party emerged onto the upper floor of the great church, looking upon the entirety of the cathedral, both magnificent and dreadful. It was a glorious spectacle, tainted by the shallow lake of filth that subsided at the main floor. In the mire, however, were two slumbering giants, as well as a small horde of sentient slimes that slithered amidst the squalor.
"I admit, I'm not entirely sure what to make of all this." The proud knight confessed, perhaps feeling less proud and more revolted.
"Indeed." The sage muttered. "I suspect we shall find Aldrich there."
He pointed across the expanse of the great church, at the far end of the hall. A large statue, covered by a red cloth, just blocked the view of a white fog wall. Undoubtedly, that was the location of Aldrich's chambers.
The trek there was fraught with danger. Lumbering cathedral knights patrolled the halls with their colossal maces and greatswords. Ophelia found their presence unnerving, but their combination of sword-and-miracle rather inspiring. Ephaim, on the other hand, discovered the truth of The Deep. Passing by an outside balcony, the party observed an enclosed lake of pure darkness – not a mote of light penetrated the void.
"It seems The Deep is just some echo of the Abyss." The sage reasoned, dropping a rock into the darkness. Not a sound as the rock vanished into the ether.
At this, Landstrider perked up, giving Ephaim a concerned look. The Abyss, she repeated to herself. She found the term perfectly described the peculiar connection she felt with the dark. Regardless, after much tribulation, the party pushed forward, stealthing past the slumbering giants and reaching the great statue at the opposite end of the cathedral.
Dispatching more undead clergymen, the massive hall quickly fell into a deafening silence. The quiet was only pierced by the familiar wishing sound of a summon sign appearing.
Rounding the great statue, the party discovered two signs – Anri and Horace. Quickly summoning them, they were met with glowing, phantomic avatars of their Astoran companions. "Good to see you again, friends." Anri spoke, her voice reverberating with a haunting echo. Landstrider found it comforting, and quickly masked her smile when the Astoran knight looked to her. Horace simply grunted.
Approaching the fog wall, the six Unkindled passed beyond its threshold, entering Aldrich's chambers. Curiously, the maneater was not there, just his massive coffin in the center of the room; but in his stead was a congregation of undead deacons. They immediately casted a hail of fireballs upon the party, who quickly scattered to avoid the assault. Landstrider dropped to the ground, dodging the incoming flames, but unwisely providing a clear target for a second round of fire.
The second round never came. Rather, it never struck, as Anri was standing ahead of her, absorbing the entire bout of flames with her crest shield. Landstrider rose to her feet, enamored only for a moment before she and the Astoran knight charged forward, blades at the ready.
The deacons fell like flies, crumpling under the barrage of swords and magicks the party employed.
As the undead clergy thinned, their ranks were quickly replenished by more, spawning from the ground, much like the ghouls outside the cathedral. Their numbers had bolstered, and combined with a few tactical oversights, the party had now found themselves completely surrounded by deacons, preparing another volley of fireballs.
An ear-splitting howl rang through the room, drawing everyone's attention to the ground near Aldrich's coffin. Another pocket of darkness opened, and from it protruded a long, regal staff. As it rose from The Deep, it was followed by an ornately dressed undead archdeacon, clutching the bottom of the staff. Beside this undead were more deacons emerging from the darkness.
"Everyone – the undead with the papal hat!" Rodric commanded.
The six companions focused their assault upon the archdeacon, hacking and slashing until it was merely a pile of bone and ash on the ground. No sooner then it had arisen did the archdeacon return to death. With this, the congregation surrounding the party immediately died off in response, falling to the ground one after another.
The great room was still.
Anri, still in phantom form, raced over to Aldrich's great coffin, scaling the side of it and peering into the casket. Ophelia quickly joined her in the inspection.
"He isn't here!" The Astoran knight cried, looking to Horace.
Anri reached into the deep coffin, producing a small, silverwork doll from within. She and the priestess climbed back down, reuniting with the party. Ephaim immediately fell silent as he inspected the peculiar doll. Rodric recognized this look, and pressed him for information.
"Ephaim…?"
"Listen closely to the doll, Rodric."
The proud knight complied, receiving the thing from Anri, and holding it to his ear. A faint, hollow voice softly whispered to him: "Wherever you go, the moon still sets in Irithyll. Wherever you may be, Irithyll is still your home."
He returned the doll to Anri, and with that, it seemed her and Horace's connection to the world had severed, and they slowly faded into thin air.
Rodric turned to face his companions. "Let us rendezvous with them at Firelink Shrine. I suspect we may have a lead on where Aldrich went." Looking at Ephaim, he noticed that same anxiety from earlier. It seems there is a whole web of anguish the old sage is entangled in. He thought. Irithyll, the Grand Archives… it must all be connected, somehow.
Their task completed, the proud knight produced a homeward bone from his rucksack, warping the party away, whisking them back to Firelink Shrine.