The Shrine was a quiet place. The halls were filled with only the crackling of the flame, the steady tapping of Andre's hammer and the shuffling of feet. Caim stepped in the ash and breathed deeply, swinging the halberd in powerful, but slow, overhead arc. He followed, swinging low and cutting an inviable enemy in half.
He put away the long arm and drew the katana. He stepped through a few practice swings with it as well. He had several other weapons he was testing, feeling out to understand them. The Firekeeper watched silently from her corner of the room as he trained.
After talking with Andre he had held off putting his resources into his current weapons. The encounter with the corvians and his use of the scythe had made him reconsider only using his short sword. Having a variety of weapons to deal with different enemies would be worthwhile. So, he went through his own inventory and the wares of the shrine maiden, expanded with the addition of the ash he had found, and picked out what he found to be the best choices.
He practiced with each weapon, feeling its weight and how it moved. What he could do with it. Its advantages and its inherent traits. The scythe had a great amount of reach but lacked the weight to impact with great force. The broadsword was shorter and capable of more adaptable motions and stronger. Its lack of reach could create problems.
After sorting through all the weapons, he put them away, panting from the exertion of training with each one. He had taken the time to visit each of the residents except Ludleth who he needed to see most of all. He had even stopped in to see Greirat. The thief had made an interesting proposition.
He wanted to go and pillage the undead settlement for treasure. "Everyone's dead or hollowed away anyway, right? So, I might as well fetch some weapons or treasure for you. Well, what do you say?"
He didn't feel any problems with letting the thief be a thief. Moral qualms about such things had died ages ago. He accepted and allowed the thief to go. Greirat promised to return with treasure and left him to it. In truth, it didn't bother him what the thief chose to do. Or what become of him because of it.
He walked the stone stairs to Ludleth's throne and moved beside the old man. It struck him again how frail this supposed 'lord' was. He didn't seem the type to link the flame The other lords were a powerful cleric, who according to Hawkwood was a cannibal, a giant, the abyss watchers and a prince. Then there was Ludleth.
He was small, shorter than Caim even if he did have legs. Crippled. Frail and weak. Could someone like this have every held the power to link the flame? The fires of life that burned throughout the world were great and terrible The journey to link them a perilous deadly task. Ludleth seemed as if a stiff breeze would break him.
"Hello unkindled one," he said with a kindly nod. "How can this lord be of assistance?"
Caim reached to his pack and retrieved the strange scaled treasure from the pit of hollows. "I believe I have found something of interest." he said holding the kiln up.
Ludleth gasped. "Oh belike it is…" He reached a tiny hand to take the item. "A transposing kiln in thy possession. Seen better days but methinks it shall suffice."
"This is what you were looking for then." Caim said, giving the tiny man the kiln. "So, how does this give me the power I was after?"
"Now, you must bring me a twisted soul."
"A twisted soul?" he asked, crossing his arms. "Explain."
"Transposition is the art of extracting, and coalescing the essence of a soul. In transposing a twisted soul its true power transfereth to thee. Thy purpose is to seek lords and slay them. Whats to fear a little transposition?"
Cai watched the thin old lord. He caressed the kiln like a parent tending to their child. Gentle and loving. Almost obsessive. He took a long breath and pulled at the two souls that were held within him. The souls of the Greatwood, where he had found the kiln, and the soul belonging to the guard dog Vordt of the Borreal Valley.
"Are these adequate for twisted souls?" he asked, presenting them to Ludleth.
"Ah," The old man leaned forward. "Indeed. Yes. Let us be about it." He took the soul of Vordt and carefully placed it within the kiln. The scales of the side rippled and tremored as if suddenly given life. The inside began to churn and spin as Vordt's soul blended with the miasma within. "Let us seeth what we can create."
"Create? I thought I would be given their power?"
The lord raised a single finger. "Transposition is the taking of power into form. The souls changed into an instrument born of the slain's power. Behold." He held up the kiln and Caim stared within. The miasma twisted and churned. He could see the shadow of a great knight. A broken hunched form of metal and fury. Then the beast dissolved and in its place, were two items.
A single black ring engraved with a black piercing eye. The other a large, chilling mace. Sturdy and battle hardened.
"This is the form of Vordt's soul." He said aloud. "A ring he bore. And his Mace."
Ludleth nodded. "Souls are… malleable things. The kiln can craft them into many forms. They be limited by the soul, but all reflect the transposed."
Caim stared into the dark pool. A mace or a ring. The mace may yet prove useful. A heavy strong weapon. He preferred blades but a strong weapon couldn't be cast away. The ring promised more power. He could see it in the dark eye. Still it was also something sinister. The eye that stared back made his skin itch.
Power, however, was the reason he had sought out the kiln. Knowing what needed done he reached into the kiln, focusing on the ring and wrapped his fingers around it pulling the circle of metal from the kiln. Rather than wet of cold as he would have expected, his hand glowed with heat. Warm, almost burning.
"The choice made." Ludleth said with a nod.
"Seems easy." Caim said, examining the tiny dark ring in his grip.
Ludleth laughed, A dry cracking sound like crushing leaves. "The skills of a master craftsman are greatest when unseen." He whispered.
"Proverb from home?"
"Wise words from an wiser man." Ludleth nodded towards the unkindled. "Let us have of the other soul."
Caim grasped the curse rotted great wood soul and passed it to Ludleth. The miasma returned whirling in green and crackling in the non-liquid of the kiln. Smoke and fire twisted to reveal two new forms. A long sword, narrow and sharped. Great and strong. A weapon to turn aside the corrupted hollows of the world. The other was a spear. A cruel sharp cross guard in the center of the long weapon. The length wrapped in twisted petrified flesh.
"Two weapons." Ludleth whispered.
"Indeed." He looked between the two weapons. The sword looked well crafted. Strong but large. The spear caught his eye more. It was gnarled and reflected the twisted nature of the great wood. He remembered he scythe and how useful it could be. A long arm might be the better choice and give him more options. There was no telling what power the spear might hold.
Remembering Elaine, he reached into the kiln and wrapped his fingers around the twisted handle of the spear, pulling it tip first from the kiln.
"An odd choice." Ludleth spoke. "Choosing a spear of such cursed past."
"I'm more interested in the future." He examined the new weapon. The petrified flesh that coiled around the weapon gave it a disturbing presence living feel. It almost seemed to writhe under his hands but gripped it tightly feeling the dark metal beneath it. "This will do well."
Ludleth nodded and seemed to curl deeper into his chair. "Take care Unkindled one. Let me know if you happen upon any other twisted souls."
Caim stepped off the throne and falling to the ring below. He went back to the center of the shrine and began practicing with the spear. It felt odd but after a few minutes he began to have a better understanding of the weapon.
He tried to remember some of the things Elaine had tried to teach him. Using the length of the weapon to your advantage. Make the most of the reach granted by the weapon. Thrust but do not overextend. It was a comforting memory. A smile pulled at his lips as he set the spear aside.
A dry chuckle caught his attention to the crestfallen warrior sitting to the side of the shrine. "You haven't given up yet?" Hawkwood said dryly.
"No." Caim said, turning to face the warrior. "I have a task before me. Unlike you, I will see it through."
He chuckled again. Dry and humorless. "Then you're a brasher lad than I thought. You can make better use of this." With a flick of his hand he tossed a small stone that Caim snatched from the air. It was heavy. The texture crystalline but similar to the titanite shards he had used for his weapons.
"Wasent expecting kindness from you." He said tucking the stone away.
"I don't need it. Now that I've flown the coop." He chuckled.
"What does that mean?" Caim asked stepping towards Hawkwood. The soldier remained still and silent. "If you are feeling gracious, I'm going to the Farron woods soon. Hunting the abyss watchers. Anything you know?"
Hawkwood shifted and turned his head up at the mention of the warriors. "The undead legion of Farron is a caravan of undead. Sworn by the wolf's blood to contain the abyss. The legion will bury a kingdom at the first sign of exposure. Joyous bunch really."
"That why you left them?"
Hawk's head jerked to stare at the unkindled pyromancer standing cross armed before him.
"I've seen the legion march on kingdoms before. I've watched them lay waste to a kingdom to contain the abyss. I know their armor." He gestured to Hawkwood. "Armor just like yours."
Hawkwood made no move to stand from his position on the step. Nor did he make any defense. He stared at Caim before turning away laughing in a low humorless tone. "I am called Hawkwood the deserter for good reason."
"More than one it would seem." Caim whispered.
"hmm." The deserter took a long breath before turning back to Caim. "Gaining admission to the legion is a matter of some ceremony. Inside their keep, snuffing out the flames of three alters opens the door to wolf blood. Even accursed undead want to believe they are special. I pity the poor souls."
"Don't. You have no right to dispense pity." Caim tried to understand the broken warrior before him. There was more to this man. He was more than just a coward and a deserter. Still he couldn't see it. Hawkwood seemed to just be a man who had given up. He saw the vastness of the world around him and curled away from it. Frightened he would be crushed beneath it.
Caim strode away, towards the vastness the world offered him. He gripped the new key he had purchased from the handmaiden. Supposedly it led to a pass that was used to connect to the cathedral of the deep. If so it would hold him a new path.
He stopped with Andre and the handmaiden, ensuring he was outfitted before going to leave. The Fire keeper stood as he approached and he gave her a low bow she returned. She didn't speak unless he did. But she was always attentive. Strangely so, given her blindness. He felt no pity for her however. Pity was for creatures like Hawkwood., Creatures who could not stand their small place in a vast world.
Caim put his hand to the pommel of the coiled sword and drew in a deep breath. He focused on his goal and let the world dissolve away returning to his venture. His quest. His purpose.