Been a while :( I've been busy with college and school projects so everything's come to a crawl for the past few weeks. I'll do my best to do more consistent updates, but so far I haven't really found the time to do these things or focus on any of my stories in general. Hopefully this chapter satisfies anyone who's still bothering to read this stuff.
Raziel crouched down as he stared at the thin walkway, the heavy wind buffeting him from all sides. This was hardly the first time he'd been here, but every time he came it seemed as if he died just a little bit quicker than before. Whatever kept killing him had gotten better at ensuring that he would never make it out of here. And as if fate was mocking him the bonfire was a fair distance away, meaning every death was much more tedious than the last.
But what else could he do? For some reason the Gods of Anor Londo decided to make the pathways for their servants be thin walkways with absolutely no protection from the wind...or anything else, for that matter.
Taking a nervous gulp, he looked at the 'bridge' again before he took the first step towards his goal.
*Fwip*
Pain engulfed his stomach, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of weightlessness that surrounded him as he fell from his cover towards the abyss below. Through pained eyes he finally made out what killed him - An arrow, far larger than the ones he used, had been embedded into his stomach, the force sending back of the walkway's edge and ensuring that he fell. He could hear laughter, its owner mocking him for failing...was it the seventh time by now? He had lost count after the first few times he had gotten impaled and the one time a demon had followed him and shocked him off the edge.
He died when his head smashed against one of the many rocks at the bottom of the pit. He recovered quickly, annoyance already beginning to spread through him as he realized that he had, once again, failed to overcome the obstacle that was preventing him from reaching the throne room. A part of him worried that he would Hollow given how many times he had died this hour alone, but anger and perseverance kept him from thinking on it.
Besides, the chances of him Hollowing were rather low all things considered. If what Frampt told him was true, and he had no reason to doubt the Primordial Serpent, then he was the Undead chosen by the Gods in order to succeed Lord Gwyn and lead an age of prosperity. A smile found its way to his now rotted face; he was 'born' to do something great. After all, who else could have the determination needed to succeed the Lord of Sunlight himself? He couldn't think of anyone...well, maybe Solaire, but he was too busy looking for his own personal sun to worry about being the next ruler of the age.
With that thought in mind, he once again made his way to fight the trials ahead.
"If you require rest, now is the time..." The Darkmoon Knightess called out dully as she took note of the Undead Knight walking slowly to her bonfire, "That is, after all, what a bonfire is for," She continued, reciting the age old line she'd spoken to every Undead that passed on their so called 'quest'. The energetic Undead was just one of the many that had passed here, but she had to admit she found his continued presence surprising; most died long before reaching the archer sentries.
"Mmmpph," Raziel crashed down next to the bonfire and sighed in relief as its healing effects enveloped him. Ten more deaths, and each of them more embarrassing than the last. There were times where he tripped and fell without even being attacked, there were times where he had successfully blocked the arrow only for him to fall anyway since he was still pushed back despite successfully blocking the attack.
And then there were the truly humiliating deaths. Actually succeeding in getting past the bridge only to go the wrong way and falling off. Or making it to the one riddling him with arrows only to get kicked over the edge when he realized he was too exhausted from deflecting the arrows to actually fight back against his enemy. He'd realized just a bit too late that the archer was a rather tall knight and wasn't a pushover like most of the other archers he'd fought his way through to fight.
"Is something the matter?" The faceless knight deigned to ask. Normally she ignored all the Undead that passed through here, but he had lasted longer than many of the others that had attempted the journey for the Lordvessel. Even the legendary Black Iron Tarkus, strong as he was, fell prey to the Painted Guardians when his heavy armor proved to be his undoing and he fell from the high walkways. What they looked for was versatility, not mere strength alone.
"Yes..." Raziel groaned, hands grabbing for his helmet before he flung it away carelessly. He grabbed for the Estus in his pack before gulping it down messily. He had already been healed, but the Estus still refreshed him; one of the few pleasures the Undead could afford. The need to eat was no longer within him, but drinking the golden liquid still made him feel as if he was eating something. At times it even tasted sweet, though whether that was just his imagination or the Estus temporarily restoring his taste buds was unknown to him.
"Are the trials too difficult to surpass?" She asked, although she already knew the answer. Raziel nodded, "Then why not surrender before you Hollow? Many of your fellow Undead chose to give in and leave before they lost everything and there is nothing stopping you from choosing to depart. Leave now and no one will judge you..." She didn't like discouraging potential sacrifices, but they needed a strong soul in order to save Lord Gwyn and ensure that Lord Gwyndolin's rule would last for a long time. Persistence was a part of it, but without power it was useless.
"I don't want to give up," He replied, "Frampt told me that I'm the Chosen Undead and that I'm the one who's meant to save everyone from the approaching darkness. I refuse to surrender here..." He looked down and sighed, "But I don't know what to do. I've fought demons, monsters, other undead and many other monstrosities, but at least then I had a chance. Here one mistake and I'm sent hurtling over the edge and into the abyss below," He grit his teeth, "That archer has free reign to shoot me no matter how many times I deflect his arrows and his aim is near perfect. It feels more annoying than difficult."
She gave no reply as he finished. He smiled at here and closed his eyes, lying down on the cold floor and letting the bonfire's relaxing atmosphere lull him into a calming mood. Sleep was impossible for him, but that didn't mean he couldn't take a few minutes of his eternal unlife to just lie down and relax from time to time. Solaire had told him to appreciate the beauty of the world around him and he had taken the advice to heart.
"...Speed..." The Firekeeper suddenly uttered.
"What?" Raziel asked back confusedly.
"Speed is the key," She continued, "Tell me: On your attempts to bypass the sentry, you attempted to delect his arrows, did you not?" He nodded, still confused at what she was getting at, "Then I have found your mistake. While arrows can normally be blocked by a sturdy enough shield, the sentries use arrows fit for a dragonslayer; sharpened metal strong enough injure the dragons themselves. Even a demigod would find it difficult to defend against it."
"What should I do, then?"
"Keep running," She replied, "The aim of the sentries have been honed to near perfection in their long life, but no amount of experience can change the weight of the arrows they wield. Rather than attempt to defend against them simply run past them and avoid the arrows as much as you can. Power and brute force aren't the only ways to succeed a trial.
"...You're sure of this?" At her nod, a cheery grin made its way to his face, "Then I suppose I've found a way past this trial. I just hope whoever is keeping Princess Gwynevere hostage shan't prove too difficult to surpass. I wouldn't want to disappoint the Kingseeker," He also didn't want to disappoint the princess either. She was the Goddess of fertility and loved by all, so he didn't understand why anyone would take her hostage and deprive her subjects of the Goddess they idolized. He would kill whoever stood in the way of salvation.
She watched him go silently. She didn't know why she helped him; perhaps she had taken pity on him and decided that a little help wouldn't be too much to ask for. Another part of her hoped that he would be the one to finally succeed and ensure the dream of her humble lord. It was despicable, but the alternative - the corrupting darkness that had overtaken Oolacile - was much worse. The life of one person seemed so inconsequential in comparison.
He had no idea of the fate that awaited him.
"We're here."
Rubbing his eyes, Raziel blinked to stop the blurriness overtaking his vision and looked around him carefully. It was dark, the only light he could make out being the fire of the lamps that hung in the streets. The prince had landed the boat off to the side of the road, close to the forest that enveloped the edge of the town - Close enough that they could walk to the town and far enough that they could stay hidden.
"We stop here," Wales looked left and right past the trees before carrying Albert's unconscious form on his back, "I'll go ahead and make sure that we don't get caught by the patrolling guards," He pointed to a long strip of cloth on the boat's side, "Unfold that and use it to cover the boat. If luck favors us then the darkness will do the rest and ensure that no one will see our vessel."
He waited for the prince to reach the town's edge before he grabbed for the cloth. It was heavy and dark in color, meaning the wind wouldn't be able to dislodge it and no one would be able to see it unless they looked closely. But if what the prince had told him was true then no one should make their way here in the first place.
Rubbing his temple, he unfolded the cloth and draped it over the boat messily, pointedly ignoring the fact that the cloth wasn't large enough to cover it completely, "Ugh..." He closed his eyes and took a few unnecessary breaths. What possessed him to think that it would be a good idea to sleep given the dreams that usually plagued him whenever he let his mind wander? Shaking his head, he kicked the ground in a show of frustration before following the prince.
The memory he received sent bursts of annoyance through him. There was a time when he was naive and wholly incapable of seeing Frampt's lies and deluded himself into believing that he truly was meant for greatness. He looked down at his hand, noting with slight annoyance that in his memories it appeared far broader and more muscled. He hated being trapped in this form, appearing barely older than his master. It didn't matter to him at first, but fighting against larger opponents proved more difficult when they were heads and shoulders taller than he was, augmented strength or no.
"What took you so long?" Wales asked jokingly, Raziel giving him an annoyed glare in response, "Alright, I suppose you aren't in a joking mood right now," He adjusted Albert's place on his back, "Come then. The tavern we're going to is but a few minutes walk from here and we shouldn't stay too long here. I don't know how much longer Reconquista will have before they lay siege to the castle."
"It might have been better if we did not leave in the first place," Raziel deadpanned, "What will happen once we deliver this child to your acquaintance? Will they not question as to why you are carrying a child that is obviously not yours? Or do they believe you to be old enough to be his father?" He doubted the last part. If he remembered right the princess was his lover and Guiche had made a big deal that she was still 'pure' or some other nonsense.
He didn't know much about the mechanics of sexual intercourse and copulation, though that made sense given that arousal and sexual libido were nonexistent for all Undead, but the noble had made a big deal about the princess never having done it; something about remaining a virgin for the Emperor she was marrying. He didn't know why exactly Guiche made such a big deal out of it. Something about unicorns and her being the image of an untouched flower.
"I explained to them that he's a distant relative, but I have no doubt Albert will tell them the truth once he awakes; though by then the attack will already be taking place and Amaury wouldn't let him sacrifice his life just because 'honor' demanded it," A sad smile covered his lips before he forced himself to grin, "And he's not my acquaintance; he's my friend. Amaury, Abigail, Claudia and Marcus, all of them are my friends and I would trust them with my life."
But not his true identity, Raziel thought dryly, "Truly? Then I suppose in this land it is standard that you lie to your friends about who you truly are."
Wales stopped walking. The Undead wondered briefly if he had gone too far before the Prince turned back to him with a blank smile, "You do not hold back on your thoughts, Mr. Raziel," He saw the noble's fingers shake, "At times I wonder myself if they would accept me if they ever found out the truth. All of them make clear their dislike of the royal family and oftentimes I lie awake in my bed wondering if everything we've ever been through will be disregarded once they find out who I am. Everyone wishes to be remembered...I wonder how they will remember me?"
"...That is none of my concern..." Raziel walked past him and continued the trek into town, "If you are hoping platitudes or insincere comforting words, then I am afraid you will be disappointed: I have no interest in offering you false hope," He was aware that he sounded cold, but he honestly found little within him to care. Who was the prince to him? The lover of that princess and a man who would die in a few hours time. His death was in inevitability and he found little reason to care about his night demons. Whatever his friends thought of him was their prerogative, not his.
"I actually find your answer refreshing," The blank smile never left Wales' face, "Everyone at the castle feigns cheeriness, as if their life is ultimately nothing and the memory they leave behind will be enough," He laughed bitterly, "But we will be slaughtered like pigs come tomorrow morning and most of Albion will cheer. They may have deluded themselves into thinking they will be seen as heroes who gave up their life, but the truth of the matter is that the people look at the royalists with indifference at best and utter contempt at worst. Even now they see us as foolish traditionalists fighting for a tyrant."
"Is that not what they are?" Raziel asked back bluntly.
"...I suppose," Another small frown came and went, "Forgive me; I didn't mean to sour the already melancholy air around us," He apologized, "But I do have a question for you, Mr. Raziel. You act as if lying to my friends means they are no longer my trusted companions, but what about you? Have you never lied to anyone before? Were you always truthful about everything?"
"..." He didn't reply, although Wales didn't miss how he grit his teeth and growled softly at the question. He wanted to say that he was always truthful, to lie to the prince, but his lips wouldn't form the words. He was the same as Wales; he had never told Siesta of what he ultimately was, too afraid that she would push him away and look at him as if he was a monster. His master, Professor Colbert and The Headmaster had accepted him, but he counted them as being the exception rather than the norm. Oh, and there were those vampires too, he supposed, but he doubted he'd ever see them again for that to matter.
"Your silence does little to prove me wrong," Wales chuckled, walking past him with a light grin on his face, "Come on, we're about to reach the main street and we have to make sure to avoid any sentries that we can."
"...As you wish, my prince..." Raziel called back sarcastically.
Raziel looked at the bar, his eyes widening slightly as his mind processed the size of the interior and the large crowd that covered the entirety of it. When the prince had told him that they would be meeting at a tavern he expected it to be a small place like the one he and the rest of the traveling party stopped at before making their way to Albion. This place looked like a miniature castle.
"Surprised?" Wales chuckled at his muted reaction, "Most taverns here in Albion are usually smaller than this, but since we're at the capital the owner here took advantage of the larger amount of people that would need lodgings," He gestured around him, "Especially now that Reconquista and the remaining loyalists are fighting small wars all over the countryside. A lot of people are moving here temporarily in order to avoid the fighting that's spilling out into the small villages."
"Oi! Haytham! Over here!" A loud voice yelled. Raziel followed it to the source and found a large bear of a man with skin as dark as Kirche's and thick beard covering his lower face, "Hey, hurry before someone takes your spot!" He waved happily and gestured to the two empty seats next to him. Raziel took note of the fact that he was alone; was the prince overestimating his so-called friends devotion to him?
"Your friend, I trust?" Raziel asked, although the large grin Wales sported made the answer to that question rather obvious.
"Amaury! Glad you could make it!" Wales all but ran to the table his friend was waving from, although he made sure to keep Albert's place on his back balanced. He didn't want to drop him by accident, "You're alone now? I thought at least Abigail would be here. Are all of them too busy to say goodbye to a friend? I'm hurt." The cheer in Wales' voice was genuine, much to Raziel's surprise. Ever since they had met hours ago the happiness he expressed was fake and obviously forced.
"Ah, you know how they are!" Amaury waved a hand casually, "They'll be here in a bit; Mark's getting some of his rare Gallian wine and Abi's shopping with Claudia for a farewell present for you," He looked at past Wales and caught sight of the sleeping child resting on his back, "So that's the kid, right? The one whose parents died because of this stupid little civil war the royalists and rebels are fighting?"
"That's right," Wales set Albert down onto one of the vacant seats before turning back to the larger male, "Thanks again for agreeing to look after him. I'd do it myself but...well, I have an appointment to keep in Romalia. Speaking of which," He turned back to Raziel and gestured for him to come closer, "I told you I was meeting my cousin, right? Well he came here ahead of me since he was so excited. I know it wasn't planned, but he can join us tonight, can't he?"
"Of course he can! You're...Connor, right?" Amaury looked him up and down briefly before putting his hand out in a friendly gesture, "Hah, must be horrible having Haytham here for a cousin, huh? You have my sympathies," He clapped him in the shoulder, causing him to lose his balance somewhat, "Whoops, sorry about that. Anyway, the way Haytham tells it is you're his family over from Romalia."
"Um...yes, of course," He replied somewhat hesitantly. The prince had instructed him before he had fallen asleep that he was his cousin from the land called Romalia and that he was the son of Wales' father's brother, "Thank...thank you for looking after my cousin and doing this favor for him. Albert is too exhausted else I am sure that he would thank you himself."
"Hey, it's no problem at all!" He clapped him on the back again, "By the way, are you sure you're Haytham's cousin? You don't look much like him and you're much more polite than I thought you'd be. I thought you'd have thrown me against the wall for getting too close or making insults like Haytham did before." ...So the prince wasn't always the white knight he acted as. Although he supposed that even the most calm of individuals needed vent their frustration and release some steam.
"Hahaha, more lies again, Amaury?" Wales joked, "In either case we should order some wine and food before the others arrive," He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small pouch, "Tonight, everything will be my treat! Think of it as a farewell present from me, okay?"
"Don't the friends usually treat the person going away?" Amaury asked back, "Keep you money for yourself, alright? You're going to Romalia and from what I've heard the priests there take all the money they can leech out of you and spend it on golden robes or jeweled staves for themselves," He snorted, "I'll tell you: Albion's at civil war and I still like it better here than anywhere else."
"Why is that?" Raziel separated himself from him before asking back curiously.
"Haven't kept up with recent events, have you?" Amaury chuckled, "Tristain's in an uproar right now with the upcoming marriage of Princess Henrietta to Germania's Emperor Albrecht III and there are rumors about some kind of vigilante going around killing nobles ever since Count Mott and all of his guards were found dead in their estate," Raziel coughed awkwardly at the last bit, "Gallia's unstable right now, but its always been that way ever since King Joseph took over a few years ago. Right now a lot of the nobles are clamoring since some Lord or Duke or something got poisoned at a party."
"What about Germania?" Wales cut in.
"What about it? I know they make a big deal about how anyone can become a noble there, but it's all the same - Just replace 'Mages and Magic' with 'Merchants and Money'. At least here me and Abi have a farm and friends we can count on. We'll ride this war out and deal with whoever wins in the end," He shrugged, "Besides, this new priest can't be any worse than the tyrant we're under right now, right? King James 'The Just'? Hah, more like 'The Monster'!"
"Ahahahaha...of course," Wales looked away and did his best to suppress the frown that threatened to overtake him.
Raziel rolled his eye. This was going to be an interesting farewell party.
"What did you say?" Fouquet asked again.
"Somebody's following you and they're here right now," The hooded courier smiled at her pleasantly and offered another glass of wine, which she refused with a scowl, "I suggest you act as if you're not aware of their presence. The only thing stopping them from taking you head on is the fact that they don't know that you're aware of their presence here," He offered the wine again, "So I suggest you drink and act like nothing's wrong unless you want to incite a panic."
She accepted the wine and took a single sip, "It might be better to run now," The Mage thief suggested. While she was far from a coward and preferred to hide in plain sight, they had only an hour or two before they started this suicidal theft and they certainly didn't have any spare time
"You leave now and they'll attack," He whispered back, taking a sip of his own wine, "And with the amount of alcohol everyone here has drank it will turn into an all-out bar brawl for everyone involved. Everyone here is tense right now," He subtly pointed to various tables, "Disgruntled citizens, Reconquista soldiers, hired mercenaries and many others share this bar with us and not all of them get along. If somebody starts a fight the entire building will become a tangle of bodies trying to hurt one another. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
"Distraction?" Tabitha intoned, "Location?" She asked him.
"They're near the center of the bar," The priest answered. It was the perfect place, really; no one would be able to make them out among the mercenaries and other loud bar-goers. He had only managed to find them due to their subtle actions and the abilities his master had given him.
"She's right," Fouquet agreed, "If a fight starts here then anybody caught in the middle wouldn't be able to get out of the bar fast enough to catch us," She nibbled on her lower lip, "But on the other side of that we need to get out of here quickly since we'll be in the open streets and the attack will take place soon."
"Sylphid," Tabitha suggested.
"Right, almost forgot about that dragon of yours," She commented, "Alright, so we need to ignite a crowd here, make sure that the entire building turns into a battlefield."
"I'll do that part," The lone male offered with a smile, "When you stand up and make your way to the exit they'll try to chase after you. I'll do something to incite those Reconquista soldiers; they've been drinking the most out of everyone here and anything can set them off. Once that's done you two should take that chance to make your way to the exits and complete the task given to you."
"Understood."
"Sounds good to me."
"Then we should continue drinking, should we not?" He raised his glass in a mock toast, "I'll start the distraction in a bit, but for now we should act as if nothing is going on."
""Cheers.""
Raziel sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. All around the table he sat there were multiple figures, all drinking alcohol or buffeting down food as if their life depended on it. Frowning, he grabbed for one of the smaller mugs and drank its contents, some kind of vintage wine, in a single gulp. He couldn't get drunk and he couldn't taste what he had just ingested, but he had to at least appear that he was trying to have fun.
The rest of the prince's friends arrived not long after, one of them even buying a room for Albert to stay the night on till they finished their festivities. Raziel was tempted to stay in the room and just watch over him, but Wales had insisted that everything would be fine and that he should enjoy himself.
Abigail was the same as her older brother; slightly dark of skin, but less so compared to him. Given that they were apparently farmers of a sort he surmised that the tan must have come from days under the sun. Marcus came from Tristain and Claudia was Gallian, although their features were among the norm considering the places they came from.
They did have one thing in common, however: They were rather loud and annoying when they got to drinking.
"And then he unsheathes his sword and actually tries to threaten me into giving up every Ecu I have on me!" Amaury continued the story, though Raziel wasn't exactly sure what it was supposed to be about. Something about a mercenary or a stupid thief who tried to rob him. Thieves were evidently common in this land, especially around the less populated cities. Less guards meant less trouble overall.
"What did you do?" Marcus asked.
"What do you think happened? I snuck up behind him and knocked him out!" Abigail answered for her brother, "We took all of his things and left him naked out in the forest," She giggled, "He woke up a few hours later and ran screaming into town since a few wolves decided to try and snack on him. He got caught by the guards right at the entrance since a lot of people recognized him as the thief whose been robbing everyone. He got hanged a few hours later."
"That seems excessive," Claudia commented.
"Well he killed a family of four, so no one was really mourning his loss," Abigail answered neutrally, "But enough about my brother's stories. We're here to give Haytham a farewell party, right?"
""""Right!"""
"And with that in mind, we'd like you to have this!" The energetic young woman took hold of Wales' hand and placed something atop his palm, "I know this is normally given to girls and all, but we all agreed that we wanted for you to have something that you can keep with you at all times. So make sure that you don't lose it, alright? Or I'll come find you wherever you're staying and make sure you can't walk on two legs again."
Wales looked at the gift given to him: A pendant made out of dull silver. It was neither expensive nor terribly unique, but it was something that would, "Th...Thanks, everyone...I'll treasure it always, I promise," He hurriedly put it on before downing another gulp of wine. He was probably trying to suppress tears, Raziel thought to himself, although with the way his lips were quivering he wasn't doing a very good job at it.
"But let's forget about that now," Marcus interjected, "Let's talk about something a little more interesting: Haytham, you have to tell us more about that girl you keep mentioning."
Wales' grip on the glass loosened ever so slightly, though thankfully not enough for it to fall onto the table. Raziel's eyes narrowed worriedly and he gave a sideways glance at the disguised prince, "Girl? I...I don't know what you're talking about, Marcus," He coughed, trying to keep his breathing level, "Must-Must be your imagination, right? Had too much to drink last time?"
"You mention her at times when you drink," Clauda supplemented, "Most of it is mumbling, but we could make out some apologies and some other things about a lake and a promise. I think you called her...Ann, if I remember correctly," She nodded, "Yes, that was the name you called her. The way you talk about her is the same way some of the other patrons here talk about their wives. Is she your lover by any chance?"
"Ann...she's..." Wales drank more of his wine, but the others continued to stare at him. They weren't going to let it go, "Ann...well, she's my...you could say that..." Raziel closed his eyes and shook his head. The prince wasn't as good at disguising himself as he thought he was, "Why...Why don't I let Connor explain? You've met Ann before, haven't you?"
All eyes immediately went from the prince to the Undead. Raziel threw a scowl at the noble, but he just smiled and clapped his hands in a pleading gesture and mouthed an apology, "Haytham's lover is..." He closed his remaining eye and frowned. How was he supposed to know what to say? It wasn't his fault the prince decided to cry about his forbidden romance, "I...do not believe it is my place to talk about my dear cousin's lover. From what I understand he seems to truly love her."
"Oh, now you really have to tell us!" Abigail smashed her hands against the table and leaned forward excitedly, "Haytham never tells us anything when we ask about his family. Come on, tell us! Please~"
Raziel glanced at the prince again and received only more mumbled apologies and desperate glances. He let out an annoyed breath before turning back to face them, "Ann...is the princess of Tristain and Haytham is her secret lover," Wales' eyes widened and he stamped on his foot harshly, but Raziel continued, "Haytham is also not his true name. He is really Prince Wales, the son of the King who rules this land. He disguises himself as a simple villager, though his reasons for doing so I cannot truly fathom. The child he has given you to take care was taken against his mother's consent, although he assures me that it is for the right reasons."
A silence followed the explanation. Wales breathing quickened, his hands shaking in nervousness as his mind processed what had just happened. He had been betrayed. All those months of keeping secrets and ensuring that no one at the castle
"Hahahaahaha!" Amaury let out a bellowing laugh, which was followed by the others cheerful guffaws, "I was wrong about you: You really are Haytham's cousin!" He raised his mug of beer, "Only someone related to Haytham could make up something as contrived as that," He drank down the beer in one gulp and grinned, "So, any more stories? Next you're gonna tell me you're some kind of king from a faraway land, right?"
"...I am an Undead and I feed on the Humanity of others..." Raziel deadpanned back, earning another round of laughter. Either he was a good liar or they were so drunk off the alcohol that they couldn't even make out what exactly he said - He personally thought it was the latter, if their reddened faces and swaying were any indication. At least they didn't turn violent and petty like his master did.
"Ehehehehe, yes, Connor was always one for tall tales," Wales forced a laugh and wiped his forehead off the sweat, "Lets...lets change the topic, shall we? Such as..." He racked his head briefly before he remembered a conversation one of the soldiers at the castle talked about, "Ignoring specific lovers for a minute, why doesn't everyone confess on the age of the lover they prefer."
"Age?" Raziel asked.
"Of course," Wales showed an open-toothed smile, already feeling relieved that the topic shifted to something else, "Soldiers often talk about how they wish to return to their young lovers and often compare them to pure flowers, still waiting to bloom into a beautiful roses. Raziel rolled his eyes; he'd heard that line from Guiche one too many times. What was with this land and roses? It reminded him of how everyone in Lordran was addicted to either the bonfires and flames or Humanity and darkness.
""Older,"" The two females recited in unison.
"Younger," Amaury followed.
"Same. They're right about that," Marcus agreed, a sloppy grin ever-present on his face, "Haytham, you already knew the answer to that question: Me and Amaury prefer younger women and Little Abi and Claudia here prefer older men," He pointed at him, "What about you? You don't wanna tell us about your lover that's fine, but at least tell us about your preferences. You already know ours."
"I'd have to agree with you two," Wales said. It was the norm for their culture, after all: Commoners wanted younger wives since they wanted someone to stay in the house and take care of their children and help them when they became too wizened to tend to their careers. In the same vein nobles wanted younger brides both as a show of influence and in order to ensure that an heir would be born quickly. Older women had the chance of being barren, which of course meant that they had to deal with their family line ending or acknowledging one of their bastards.
"What about you, Connor?" Abigail cut in, "You're probably the same as these three, right?"
"...Not exactly," He wanted to say that he had no interest in it, but given their behavior so far when he spoke the truth he didn't exactly think that they would believe him. Better to make up a lie and hope they didn't question it, "I...prefer older females...I suppose..." He answered slowly. It wasn't exactly accurate, but given his now regressed body and the hundred years he spent in the kiln it might have seemed odd if he was attracted to the same age group as the new body his soul resided in. If he ever did find himself attracted to someone it would probably be to someone who was mature, in mentality if nothing else. Dealing with Solaire and Siegmeyer had been fun, but he certainly felt no desire to keep at it for long periods of time.
"Hoh, you're a rare one, aren't ya, Connor?" Amaury patted the top of his head and ruffled it clumsily, "Ah, but I suppose it's because you're still young. Trust me, lad, when you grow older your tastes in women will change. Speaking of which," He turned back to Wales, "We gotta speak to you about something private, so if it's not too much to ask..." He gestured at Raziel.
He caught the hint, "...I will come back later," Raziel stood up quickly and made his way to the center of the bar. Maybe he could lose himself in the crowd and the prince would lose sight of him and they wouldn't see one another until they were ready to go back. He looked back at them one last time and rolled his eye as he saw them guffawing again. Why did everyone in this place love drinking so much? If his master was any indication all it got them in the end is a massive headache and the urge to vomit out the contents of their stomach.
He didn't really know why he wanted to avoid the prince so much. While he didn't exactly relish in his choice to come here he was open to the prince's idea of spending one last night with his friends. But ever since they had arrived into town he felt his patience wear thin and the urge to just...go and hurt something increase. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. He was just imagining things-
"Agh!" A burst of pain in his left hand caught him by surprise. Breath quickening, he looked down at and found his entire hand covered in a dark shell, "The Dark Hand..." He grit his teeth and clenched his fists. Everybody was too busy with their own affairs to notice him, but he didn't want to risk it. He shoved his hand into his pants pocket and tried to keep the parasite in check. What was happening? Why did he suddenly feel the urge to gorge on Humanity?
The Dark Hand wasn't sentient or alive in the way Derflinger was, but it also wasn't a standard glove that anyone could fit into their hand like any old piece of armor. It was...primal, running on instinct. Many of the Darkwraiths who had been gifted with it had their minds warped, they were changed into unfeeling monsters whose sole purpose for the rest of their days was to attack others and take the humanity they needed to keep themselves from Hollowing. Even the Four Kings, strong and wise as they were, became nothing more than monstrous husks that continued to hunger for Humanity.
The individuals who could suppress the urge were rare. Kirk, Knight of Thorns was one of the few who had successfully manipulated Kaathe into giving him a Dark Hand and managed to resist the urge to keep the Humanity for himself, instead giving it to the Fair Lady. Raziel thought his goals to be noble, but it didn't excuse the fact that he was stealing the one thing other Undead so desperately needed to survive. The life of the Fair Lady was sad, but ultimately she wasn't worth the Hollowing of so many Undead, all of whom may have had families and lives of their own.
He pointedly ignored the voice at the back of his head reminding him of his actions at the Count's Estate. Hypocrisy was human nature, after all.
"There you are!"
He was jogged out of his internal thoughts by his arm being forcibly yanked and being pushed into a chair, "What-"
"Please be quiet," He recognized that voice,"I don't know what you're doing here, but your presence is appreciated," A glass of wine was pressed onto his palm roughly, "Please just sit down, drink some wine and act like nothing's wrong. We can't afford to be found here and I fear one of the thief's companions may have caught onto our presence."
"Daphne..." He raised the wine and took a gulp as instructed, although his eyes didn't miss her sister's presence across the table, "...How did you arrive at this place?" The last time he had seen them they were fighting off those mercenaries at the inn. They had at least changed their revealing dresses for a pair of worn brown commoner servant-wear, so they didn't stand out as compared to before
"It's a bit of a long story," Amethyst answered for her sister, "But the short of the matter is the mercenary captain told us of who hired him and she fits the description of this 'Ms. Longueville' you and Sir. Guiche told us about," She frowned, "We managed to track them here to this bar, but our objectives still haven't changed: We were told to capture them alive and ensure that they're brought back to the capital so that they may be interrogated on who hired them to steal the from Newcastle's Vault. Starting a fight here would ensure failure."
"They are here now?"
"Yes," Daphne replied, "But please don't look around. You need to appear like a random patron who's sharing a table with us because there's nowhere else to stay," She sat back down and forced a laugh, "Once they leave we'll follow them from the opposite exit and try to capture them when they're the least aware. If all goes well then we can leave Albion before daybreak tomorrow," And hopefully the ship had enough shade or they would burn up in the sunlight.
"Why not ask of the other bar patrons? If it is drinking alcohol then I doubt any of them would mind sharing a table," He set the wine glass down and sighed. Where was an Estus when he needed it? It was one of the few pleasures he had and even that had been taken from him somehow.
"They're too affected by the 'Charm' magic," Daphne frowned, "If we ask one of the other patrons there's a likely chance they'll attempt to follow us due to the 'Charm's' hold on them," She giggled softly, "But as we've found out from our previous encounter, you seem to be immune to the magic, so I implore that you help us at least until they leave. We'll not bother you after this, I promise."
"...Fine then," He sucked on his teeth and barely suppressed the urge to frown. He'd been giving in to way too many tedious requests.
"Is something wrong?" Fouquet asked. The messenger across from her suddenly dropped his drink, his right hand twitching as if he was in pain. Tabitha looked up from her book and raised an eyebrow at his odd actions. The ever-present smile and sense of smug control were gone, now replaced with a pained frown and ragged breaths.
"Yes...it's-it's nothing..." He closed his eyes and quickened his breath, "Just a bit too much to drink," His right hand spasmed again, contorting into an unhealthy shape before he hid it under the table, "I was supposed to meet someone, but it's either they're early or there's somebody else here who shares their qualities," The thief had no idea what he was talking about.
"Problems?" Tabitha asked.
"None, my lady," He forced himself to smile, although he was already beginning to feel the familiar bout of irritation spreading through him. It affected him far less, his master assured him of this, and he had prepared himself to for the meeting come a few hours time. The sudden presence here took him by surprise, and it wasn't pleasant. It was as if a ravenous beast was baiting him.
"We should leave soon," Fouquet suggested.
"Agreed," He took one last breath before standing up from his seat, "I will rile up the soldiers in a few minutes time," He turned to Tabitha, "I suggest you put on your cloak, miss, you will run out first and call your dragon and I surmise that the Reconquista sentries might feel threatened, so you must do so quickly."
"..." She gave a silent nod.
"Miss. Thief, I suggest you keep your wand close at hand in case either of them manage to slip past the chaos," He pushed the map at her, "Remember which tunnel to use and that you don't have much time before the attackers reach the vault. Remember: They will not recognize you and for all intents and purposes you're as much a victim as anybody else in that castle."
"I know that already," Fouquet scoffed.
"Then may the Founder bless you and keep you safe."
When Two Vampires and an Undead sit together in one table one would expect it might at least lead to interesting conversations. Maybe a discussion on immortality or asking one another how one dealt with the fact that they had to take something from other people in order to survive. The Vampires preferred method was thinking of humans as cattle in order to assuage any guilt they might have felt. For the Undead it was kill or be killed so guilt never really factored into it. When you were hunted down like a rabid dog
But alas, this kind of talk was not meant to be. Raziel kept quiet, looking down at his wine and resisting the urge to look for where the thief may have been located. Amethyst kept watch - she insisted on it since her sister was injured - and Amethyst was forced to sit still and try to look as inconspicuous as possible. All in all it was a very awkward atmosphere considering they were supposed to pretend to be happy tavern-goes drinking together.
"This reminds me of what happened many years ago," Daphne suddenly started.
"And what would that be?" Raziel rubbed his forehead and did his best to focus. The headaches and irritation were getting worse and the Dark Hand was acting up even more than before. His skin wasn't dark and corroding anymore, but the urge to feed on Humanity kept increasing the longer he stayed here. He needed to feed or..or hit something to vent his frustration. A part of him wondered if he was finally beginning to Hollow. He'd lasted longer than he thought he would, in all honesty.
"It was...over thirty years ago, but I still remember it clearly," She started, "I'll never forget it. We were held captive by that cruel man Eustace. He kept Amethyst locked up in a cage and used her to make sure I would do whatever he asked," She put on a sad smile, "Vampires are feared throughout this land, but there are many more so that covet their power. The power to gain aid from spirits."
"I remember as well," Amethyst added, "We weren't the only ones he kept caged like animals. There were other races there as well, sister: The Winged People, Orcs, Ogres and even some Elves were captured. He kept using them for experiments, trying to find ways to control them for use once he killed King Philipp III to ensure that no one would be able to oppose him."
"The nobility in this land seem to take to slavery quite easily," Raziel commented dryly. Talking with them kept him distracted, at least, "But I do not understand how your enslavement is connected to sitting at a tavern and trying to capture a thief."
"I met her at a tavern," Daphne answered, much to Raziel's confusion. Who was 'her'? "Eustace told me that a knight had been investigating him and that he wanted me to turn her into a ghoul in order for her to kill her friends," She saw Raziel's clueless stare, "Oh, I'm sorry: A ghoul is a thrall that a Vampire is capable of making when they take all of a person's blood. They don't live for long afterwards, but each ghoul is completely loyal to the Vampire who sired them and even a single one is capable of destroying a single village with no help whatsoever.
"Like making Hollows, I suppose."
She didn't know what that meant, but she continued regardless, "The person I was asked to enthrall was a knight called Karin. I met her at the tavern and she was already intoxicated; she was an easy target. So I took her to her room and..."
"You enthralled her, then?" He asked. He wasn't going to judge: He of all people knew that sometimes one needed to do reprehensible things in order to survive. The Dark Hand obviously wasn't unused given the strength it still contained even after the years he spent in the kiln. He just wished he remembered who exactly he ravaged. He hoped it was Lautrec, Patches or Petrus - He wouldn't feel any guilt then.
"No, I didn't..." She didn't? That was a bit of a surprise, "I never actually made a ghoul before and I panicked. I was also shocked when I tasted her blood. She disguised herself as a male, but her blood was obviously that of a female," Blood tasted differently as well? "She woke up and when she saw what I was doing she attacked me. I begged her for her aid and, even when she had every reason to distrust and kill me, she chose to trust me ," She smiled, "She told me that I could have killed her and I didn't, so that was proof that I was a good person.
"A bit naive..." He commented bluntly. Forgiving an attacker after they tried to kill you was foolish and served no purpose. If he could go back and change a few things then he would have kicked Patches into his own pit and shoved a crossbow bolt down Chester's throat. He was a fool back then.
"You remind me of her, actually," Daphne said, the smile never leaving her face.
"How so? Do I appear to wear clothes meant for the opposite gender?" He tried to ignore the fact that he had done that at one point. It wasn't his fault the dress of the Princess of Oolacile was better than most other armors. As expected from a land that was the pinnacle of peaceful and defensive sorcery.
"No, it's just that...both of you hid something," Raziel's eye twitched, "I thought she was the same as me: Both of us hid something from others because we didn't want to change their perceptions of us," She looked down at the table, "...But more than that, I can tell that both of you are hiding how you really feel, keeping your emotions and thoughts suppressed. She started doing it ever since King Phillip III died and Princess Marianne was forced to marry early in order to stop the kingdom from collapsing. She said it was because the princess needed a shield to protect her."
"I am not hiding anything," The slightly strained tone he held did little to discourage the Vampire.
"She said the same thing, a long time ago," She frowned, "Even now she keeps everything behind a mask and refuses to let anyone see what lies beneath. Centurion was worried for her once, but he had accepted that it was her choice and let it go. But even now her children worry about her. Eleanor never says anything, but she and Cattleya worry for her health and want to help her. I imagine that your situation is similar."
"...You do not know me. Please do not pretend that you do," His eyes narrowed into a glare and a barely audible growl escaped his throat. Gods above his feeling of restlessness was getting worse.
"I apologize then. I didn't meant to cause offense-"
"They're moving," Amethyst interrupted, "The younger one is putting on her cloak and the male they were conversing with just stood up," She pointed at the masked priest, "He's...going to the soldiers. Are they connected with Reconquista?"
"We'll find out when we question them later. Come," She turned to Raziel and bowed, "Once again, I give my humble apologies and we thank you for the assistance you've given us. Please protect Louise," She clapped her hands in a gesture of gratitude before she began to make her way to the farther exit.
"...Good luck," He closed his eyes briefly before he stood up and began his own trek back to the prince's table. Enough time had passed and they needed to get back to the castle before it was too late.
"You look really familiar," Wales flinched as the smell of rancid alcohol assaulted his nostrils. He had just bid farewell to his friends and was coming to get his rather irate companion before the leader of a group of soldiers pushed him against the wall. The others at the bar paused, looking at the situation and curious at what would happen next. One lit fire and the entire keg would blow.
"I assure, you must have me mistaken for someone else," The prince placated, donning a smile in an attempt to diffuse the situation. He needed to avoid getting into a fight here, especially given the battle that would take place in a few hours time, "I'm just a simple courier from out of town who came to have some drinks with some friends. Nobody special."
"No, no. I know you from somewhere," Wales was dragged closer to the man's bloodshot eyes. That hooded bloke told them that this guy was suspicious and they all felt compelled to follow him; he was mighty convincing considering they couldn't see his face, "Hang on..." He grabbed for the disguised prince's bandana and tore it off clumsily, "You look just like-"
"...Let go," Raziel grabbed the large soldier's arm and pulled him back roughly, causing the larger male to fall bodily through one of the tables. Immediately the soldiers around him tensed, their hands balling into fists and some even reaching for their swords. The people around them watched. many reaching for plates or bottles; whatever was closest at hand.
"That may have been unnecessary," Wales cleared his throat and stood next to him. The captain was beginning to regain his senses and, judging by his rapidly reddening face, he didn't take the perceived attack lightly, "I was going to calm them down."
"A fight here is not impossible," The prince would fight soon, so starting against his enemies early wouldn't hurt too much. That and he really needed to hit something or he would lost control, "The exit is to the front of the tavern," He reached for Derflinger on his back before Wales stopped.
"Don't: You pull out your sword now and we're going to have a bloodbath,"He warned him, "Let me try and placate them, see if we can get out of here without it descending into chaos. And if it does lead to a fight then use your fists and nothing else. A few bruises are much preferable to a limb being torn off."
Raziel glared at the noble before lowering his hands, "Understood-:
"We're not done!" The captain stood up and, before either of them could react, smashed a bottle of wine against Raziel's head, shattering the bottle on impact. A normal person would have lost consciousness.
The Undead's reaction was quick. Before the older male could get another shot in Raziel balled his hand into a fist and smashed it across his face, sending the bear of a man down onto the floor, "...I followed your orders," He turned to Wales and shrugged. He breathed an internal sigh of relief. That felt really cathartic.
"Captain!" One of the soldiers hurried to the fallen man's side "His...his jaw's broken!" He called out to the rest of his friends. Many in the crowd looked down at him and flinched as they saw that the man's words ringed true: His mouth was hanging open loosely and blood spilled forth in messy dribbles from his lips onto the floor below.
"Get him!" One of the soldiers tried to tackle Raziel, but Wales responded first and pushed him before he could reach his target. Unfortunately he had hit something else: Namely, a table filled to the brim with drunk mercenaries.
"Hey!" One of the occupants at the table stood up and glared at the solder that had fallen on his table before throwing him to another table, eliciting more yells of anger. Just perfect, Wales thought, things were escalating already.
"Duck!" Wales yelled out.
Raziel followed the Prince's advice and barely missed the broken bottle aimed at his face, "Thank you for the warning," He grabbed the assailant's arm and smashed him against the wall before kicking him hard on the stomach.
"We're not done with you either!" Wales crouched and watched as a wooden chair flew over his head and shattered over the wall, "...So much for the peaceful way!" He grabbed one of the chair's legs and smashed it over his opponents head. He could see Raziel smile slightly at the prince's actions. He certainly didn't expect the monarch to be capable of fighting like that.
As if on signal, the entire tavern descended into a chaos. There was no goal in mind, no specific opponent that needed to be defeated; everyone fought against everyone else. Off to the side, in one of the few corners safe from the pandemonium, the messenger smiled from underneath his hood. Manipulating the soldiers was easy and the prince's disguise left much to be desired.
"...So that's him," He caught sight of someone in the crowd throwing one of the soldiers out the window. Much more young than he imagined, but Familiars were reflections of their masters and he supposed he couldn't choose being summoned. Still, the strain it put on him was far greater than he thought. They all received shards, that was what his master told him, so if any of the others proved too dangerous eliminating them wouldn't become impossible.
Still, something felt...off about him. His gifts allowed him to intimately understand all living beings, and yet there was a lingering confusion that haunted him. He could tell that he was human, but something seemed distorted about him. He needed to keep an eye on both him and his master. There was no doubt that he would need to contact them regardless of how his mission here went.
Bah, there was no use worrying about it now. He had another meeting to deal with in a few hours. With a chuckle, he watched the fight continue.
"That was certainly exciting," Were the first words out of Wales' mouth as they arrived at the castle, "I expected a simple trip: Dropping off Albert into the town and sharing a few drinks with friends, not...well, what just happened right now," He sucked in a tired breath and rubbed his cheek. He could feel a bruise, "Although I suppose getting outed as the prince of Albion would be even worse. I appreciate your assistance."
"I had no choice in the matter. You were the only one who knew how to use the boat," The soft smile on the Undead's face made it clear he was joking. Ever since they had left town he felt his irritation and anger clear, "Your friends have taken the child and you have said your goodbyes. I trust that there is nothing else you need? Do you require anything else?" He asked half-sarcastically.
"Of course. You did it purely for your own gain," Wales chuckled and shook his head in amusement, "Regardless of your reasons, I thank you for accompanying me tonight. And don't worry - I've made peace with my death and..." He looked down briefly, "...Actually, since you offered, would it be possible for you to grant me one final request? I apologize once again for imposing, but trust me that I would do it myself if I could. Think of it as fulfilling a dying man's request."
"I have done many of those," He half-joked. Technically his friend's requests counted considering their undeath, "What is it that you require."
"I want you to give this to Henrietta," He searched his pocket briefly before producing a ring with an exquisite ruby adorning it, "This is the Ruby of Wind, an artifact precious to my family and all those who believe in Founder Brimir," He pressed it into Raziel's palm, "Reconquista pretends to be loyal to the Founder and his cause, but in truth they're just using it as a rallying cry to trick the most devout to their cause."
"Why do you wish for me to take it?" He ignored the fact that he was being asked to give it to the princess of all people. It was his last request and he could stomach handing it off to her, "Why trust me with this? Have I given you reason to believe that you will receive the resolution you desire."
"I do not know what Reconquista will do to this precious heirloom of mine, but I would rather see it in the stall of a peddler than in the hands of that power-hungry priest," Wales replied, "I do not know what you will do with it or whether you will fulfill my request, but so long as it does not fall into that heretic's hands then my soul will rest easy."
Raziel looked down at the ring. There was something Wales wasn't telling him - his lie was rather easy to see - and if he had to hazard a guess it must have had something to do with the princess considering his desire for her and her alone to receive the ring. A hidden meaning in the act of giving the heirloom? He shook his head. It didn't concern him, "I will do as you ask and deliver it to this...princess..." He could act as a messenger if it pleased him.
"...Thank you..." Wales breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, "I can tell you dislike Henrietta. Don't deny it; I could hear it with the way you said princess," He wasn't going to deny it, "If it's not too much to ask, why do you dislike her so? Is it because she sent you and your master here? It must have hurt her so to send Miss. Valliere considering the close friendship they shared. Ann told me all about her and confided that she was the only reason we were able to meet so frequently. I owe her a debt as well."
"...She is a princess," Was his only answer. Memories of Gwynevere and Gwyndolin trickled into his mind. As much as he hated Gwyndolin and his puppetmaster Frampt and wanted nothing more than stuff them into the Kiln, he had to admire his perseverance. The Gods had all abandoned Anor Londo, abandoned the people they swore to protect. Gywndolin did his best in their stead and, though his motivations and methods made him think of the effeminate God as a monster, he at least stayed behind and made efforts to protect the people using the Darkmoon Blades. There had to be a reason for the Darkmoon Knightess to be so fanatically loyal to him.
But Gwyenevere...she'd left behind her brother and her people, letting Seath experiment on her Handmaidens and doing nothing even as they suffered. She left with that foreign Flame God, Flan, and drove Gwyndolin even more into desperation and despair once his remaining sibling and only family left abandoned him. The firstborn was nowhere to be found, although he doubted he cared much for his father's death given his shaming. It was tragic, in a way, how the snak-legged brat never understood how he was being manipulated by the toothy serpents.
"That...is certainly not the answer I expected, I must admit," Wales still found it in him to laugh, "I've heard the nobles talk of her. They call her cheeky, disrespectful, too easy to flaunt traditions and much too willing to break etiquette and conduct for the sake of her personal feelings. And even here the commoners talk about her, worried that placing someone as young as her on the throne and being married to Germania's king will lead to her being nothing but a puppet queen who Albrecht III will use as a way to gain Tristain as an ally in his warmongering."
"...It is hard to explain," Raziel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. The best way to say it was...he didn't hate her personally, per se, but rather he disliked her because she was a princess. Was that correct? This was confusing. Would he hate her if she wasn't a princess? She'd sent them on this suicidal mission, but considering his former acquaintances he found it genuinely hard to hate her for that alone. Unless she asked them to be sacrifices for some kind of world-ending threat she didn't exactly qualify for being completely hated.
"Just curb your hatred, if possible," Wales put a friendly hand on his shoulder, "She barely has anyone she can trust and I suspect she will have much to deal with when me and my father fall. No doubt Reconquista will offer a truce and she will have to make the choice to accept it or not. Whatever she chooses she will be hated by at least one person. The life of a monarch is far from the fairy tales the commoners make it out to be."
"...I will try..." He answered half-heartedly. He still wouldn't put it past her to turn into a tyrant, but...acting as if she was a monster...maybe it wasn't fair...even if she was a princess who had a good chance of abandoning her subjects. She would have to deal with the death of her lover soon and compounding her grief would be pointlessly cruel and serve no purpose.
"That's all I can ask."
They were silent as they changed back to their clothes. The prince's movements were slightly sluggish, though whether that was due to the alcohol he ingested or due to the fight they had at the bar he didn't know. He looked down at his hand - The Dark hand had stopped acting up, but the fact that he didn't know the reason for its activation left him worried.
"I...apologize for my behavior in town," Raziel started awkwardly, "When we arrived I was hit with irritation...anger, and I didn't know what the cause of it was," He removed his shirt and sighed in relief at the tightness disappeared, "I do not know what came over me."
"It's alright," Wales grinned back at him, "I must have bothered you, asking you to accompany me to town when a battle will take place in just a few hours time. Just one question: When you told them about mine and Henrietta's true identities, did you know that they would brush it off and take it as a joke? I thought for a while there that all of my efforts in disguising myself would go to naught."
"...Of course I did," Wales could tell that he was lying.
"My turn to ask a question then: Why did you not use the chance to run away?" He grabbed for his white tunic and put it on clumsily, "You were disguised and no one in the castle is aware of your disappearance. You could have run."
"And who would captain the boat?" Wales asked back cheekily, "Still, you have a point in your inquiry," He grabbed for the dispelling liquid for the magical dye and tossed one of the bottles to him, "Well, I suppose I would run if I could, but I have a duty to my people and to my family. Running away now would shame me, my family and everything we stand for. I have no desire for death, trust me-"
"You're lying," Wales flinched at the blunt accusation. His acquaintance had a knack for telling liars, it seemed, "You are not doing this solely for your duty. You-"
"Want to die? Yes, I suppose a part of me desires that," Wales interrupted, his voice taking on a harsher tone, "Mr. Raziel, I've told you time and again that I have no desire to delude myself. My father is a...cruel man," He closed his eyes and balled his fists, "Taxation of the commoners in order to build his new ships, torturing and killing anyone he perceives to be a traitor...he even killed his own brother, my Uncle, because of a rumor that he was keeping an Elven Mistress. He slaughtered him and all his vassals because he knew they would not support him."
"He did not do it because he thought himself justified?"
"Justified!?" He was shocked by the prince's yell, "He didn't even know if the rumor was true or not: He ordered my uncle and all of his vassals killed, even those who weren't aware of the rumors to start with. Every man, woman and child down to the smallest babe was killed, their entire family line purged for no reason other than to ensure that no one would ever think of rising against him. Frankly, Mr. Raziel, I doubt he even cared that he had an Elven Mistress. My uncle was in charge of the treasury and refused his order's to use the money for building warships and making the fleet stronger."
"How does this relate to you wishing to die?" Raziel inquired, ignoring the list of atrocities Wales had just listed. Cruelty was just as much human nature as kindness was and he couldn't judge without knowing the full extent of the events.
"Can't you see it?" He asked back harshly, "Even if I survive, then what? The people won't support me; they think me no better than my father due to my inaction. Many of the people about to die here smile and cheer, but they are as much motivated by fear and fanaticism as they are loyalty. I love my father, but I won't pretend that he's a saint like everyone else in this castle."
"You do not have to fight. Run and never look back," Raziel urged.
"And what would that accomplish?" Wales scoffed, "Unless Reconquista sees my body then they will assume I escaped to Tristain and that the royal family is protecting me due to our familial ties. They will invade and Tristain will be brought to heel; they will not not be able to fight back until Ann marries Germania's Emperor and solidifies the alliance. If I run now then I am dooming Tristain," He took a deep breath, "I have no other choice here, Mr. Raziel. My death will accomplish much more than my continued life will."
"Is this truly what you wish?"
"What I wish?" He laughed, though there was no happiness in it, "No. What I wish is to go back to Henrietta, to tell her the words I refused to speak three years ago. I wish to be free of this, to let the dying bodies of the nobility in this land rot and leave it all behind to stay with her. But Founder Brimir chose this destiny for me and I will see it through. This is the fate that has been chosen for me and I can't fight against it, try as hard as I might."
"...I do not believe in fate," Raziel frowned as he finished changing back to his attire, "Fate does not define us."
"Then you are either innocent or a fool," Wales answered, "...I'm sorry, I've...said too much," He apologized, "You're the only person I've told this and I just met you a few hours ago," He smiled, "Mr. Raziel, I'm only human and I have my fair share of regrets. But my death and the death of everyone in this castle will spare Tristain from Reconquista's wrath, at least for a little while. They have a chance to fight back and that is something both I and everyone else in this castle would willingly give up our lives for. Thank you for listening to me, it is good to know I said my goodbyes and managed to make a friend before I go to my doom."
"We are friends?" He asked back, genuinely curious.
The prince shrugged good-naturedly, "I've told you my deepest fears and you're doing my last request: I dare say you've done more to call yourself a friend than those snakes at court."
"Back in town...I didn't lie," His instincts told him to stop speaking, but he crushed it down. The prince would be dead in a few hours anyway and he saw no harm in it, "When I told them that I was an Undead...it was no fantastical story or made-up lie," He took a deep, unnecessary breath, "My appearance now is nothing but a mask, an illusion used to trick others into not seeing who...what I really am."
"What are you saying? That you're a corpse brought back to life?" Wales asked back jokingly, only to be struck silent at Raziel's solemn nod, "Hmm...well you are just full of surprises today," He commented blankly before he smiled again, "I suppose I should be more surprised, but the looming of my approaching death does changes the things we care about," He held out his hand, "Whether you're alive or not, you have accompanied me on my final moments of selfishness and agreed to fulfill my last request. May Founder Brimir watch over you and keep you safe, Raziel."
"...I was happy to accompany you in your last moments, Wales," He shook the prince's offered hand, "If the fate you believe in so much is kind maybe you shall come back, same as I once did. Although I do not know how much of a blessing Undeath truly is."
"Me? Rise from the dead? I see little chance of that happening." He chuckled, "Even if I am given a chance at a new life, I would not take it. There is a certain peace in knowing your death and, though I have regrets, I have come to accept the inevitability of it. If you see my body animate after tonight then there's a good chance I've been turned into a thrall for a perverse necromancer. You must make sure to kill me if that should ever happen.
Necromancy was a taboo art, but there were rare nobles who practiced it. He thought briefly that Louise might have animated Raziel, but he cut off the thought. Thralls were mere pawns and unable to act independent of their master's orders. Had he been a thrall he would have told him to ask his master for permission with regards to accompanying him to town. Undead or not, he had free will and sentience.
"It is a promise."
They separated after that. Wales wanted to pray in the small chapel for last rites and Raziel opted to leave him alone, choosing instead to go back to the room he shared with Guiche. When he arrived the room was dark and he found Guiche snoring away at one of the beds. Sighing, he made his way to his own bed and lied down; he wasn't going to be able to sleep now.
"Death is an inevitability for all..." He closed his eyes and whispered out the words. He welcomed death for when it would finally take him, so why did he feel a pang of anger and regret at the idea of the prince dying? Wales had accepted his death, and yet he found the idea of his recently made friend passing from this world to be...painful.
"...I do not understand," He turned and stared at the darkness that enveloped the room. It was an inevitability and he had to accept it.
And yet, his mind stirred, he hated it.
Wooh, finished! Alright, now the next chapter is going to be the end of the Albion arc :) To all the ZNT fans you know what happens next. Although I'll see what I can do about adding a few unexpected moments :P
Answer time:
.5 - There are four Void Familiars in canon and there are four here as well.
Masala Quaker - Fixed :D Thanks for the heads up.
Bob - Raziel and Wales changing in the same room with the latter cupping his face and telling him he'd look good in a dress - No reaction. Cheeky grin from Guiche - OMG Yaoi! In all seriousness, romance won't take effect until later. And that's if romance happens at all.
madlink007 - You mean Agnes? If it's from Dark Souls then the only female knights are Sieglinde and, by title, Ciaran. Sieglinde's the daughter of one of his best friends, so that's right out. And Ciaran hates his guts and vice-versa.
NoGutsNoGlory - Jack of all trades, although he leans to Pyromancy and physicals more than Miracles and Sorcery. Also, Raziel is based on the typical first player, so he's level 100 borderline by the end of his journey and level 15-20 or so now after his leveling up at Mott's estate. Not that game-breaking yet. His main weakness is that he doesn't have the 'Die and respawn at the nearest bonfire' trick anymore, so it's much more dangerous all-around for him regardless of his stats and levels.
That and he's not in the top percentile, at least in my opinion. We have people like Kratos, Cole McGrath, Raiden, Ghost Rider, Master Chief, Samus Aran, Accelerator, Dante/Vergil, Bayonetta, Asura and many many others for that. Raziel is strong, but without his main shtick of constant revival he's massively gimped.