"Incredible," Vendrick said, looking around. "This was ruins when you arrived?"
"A simple task for the bored and tireless," Nashandra huffed.
Velstadt had regretfully returned to his new duties at the Cathedral of Blue, while Raime returned to Brume Tower to report to his mistress. The Throne Watcher and Defender had resumed their duties, though without the constant threat of the Queen, they found rest at long last. Nashandra and Vendrick had accompanied the Chaos Lords to Majula. While Vendrick's time in the Crypt and closeness to hollowing had given him some insight into his prior life, questions about the diminished state of the world would require further analysis. Such analysis, of course, could only be performed by the greatest minds in the world – who conveniently all already worked for Lex.
That said, the construction which had been going on throughout Majula had taken on an entirely different direction. With limited space to spread out on the cliffside, and the rats claiming all territory beneath the ground, there was nowhere to go but up. The Undead must have knocked down half the Forest of Fallen Giants and quarried deep into Harvest Valley in pursuit of raw materials. The ruined village had sprung up into a single elaborate complex several storeys high – and still under construction.
"You know what, I want to blame Raime for this, but since I don't think he's even been here, it was probably Mytha. Does this even resemble anything in Berserk? Does this mean I'm Griffith? I don't think I'm pretty enough to be Griffith."
Once they had left the privacy of the Throneroom, Nashandra had assumed her human guise once more. Still, the deception was obvious in her being the size of a Lord but neither warrior nor sorcerer. Worse was that the newly-constructed township was too small for either of the rulers. Doors were human-sized, and while the ceilings within were high enough for Safiya to stand, Vendrick and Nashandra would have to crouch.
The tower-city had a single iron gate. Arrow slits provided a means for the inhabitants to safely look out at any who approached, as if an invading army would survive the journey to Drangleic. Several paces away, the gate rose suddenly, and a mustachioed fop in a monocle stepped out.
"Hey there! You must be the Prophet and company! Why, it's a pleasure to- Is that King Vendrick?"
"I am King no longer," he said, "but I am Vendrick."
"A pleasure. I am Magerold of Lanafir. It's a pleasure to meet you all. As you can see, I've been set to lookout duty, but I was told to watch for an Undead who talks too much and travels with a Lord wearing tatters. Oh, and that must be Queen Nashandra. You look lovely as the paintings."
"Charmed."
"How'd you end up here, Magerold?" Lex asked, cocking his head. "I thought you were content trying to sell nicknacks in the sinking castle."
"There was still plunder to be had there… Queen Mytha found me while she was performing some scavenging of her own. I won't say she ordered me here… but it felt like it. Still, it's nice to have a more reliable place to sell my finds. Oh, but look at me talk. Please, after you."
He ushered them in, though it was a tight squeeze for the royal couple. The interior was rough and unfinished, but that also meant there weren't any hanging decorations to catch on them. The entry hall was wide, and passages extended in all three other directions. The smokeless Far Fire sat in an alcove of its own. Shanalotte reclined on a collection of wooden chairs stolen from across Drangleic, kicking her feet idly.
"Bearer of the Curse," she started.
She saw the group that had entered. There was a long, awkward moment where no one said anything. Nashandra glared at her with a condescending venom.
"Is there anything I could help you with?" Magerold interrupted obliviously.
"Yes, that. Also, where are the wizards? Where's the cabal of casters; the society of sorcerers; the workshop of warlocks?"
"Ah, they did call it a workshop, I believe. This way."
Magerold led them to what had once been Shalquoir's home but had somehow evolved into a two-storey laboratory. Equipment from Tseldora, Alken, and Venn littered the facility while inscrutable magic formulae covered the walls. Rosabeth glanced toward the newcomers but was trapped in a discussion with her master. Aside from her, only sensitive Felkin glanced away from his work.
"Fee-Fee-ble-ble cur-cur-sed-sed one-one!"
The echo was downright painful. Lex looked up to the catwalk to see a pair of Straids.
"Oh god, they're multiplying."
"Consider yourself lucky," one said. "This level of sophistication took years to develop."
"Fortunately, my future self decided to share his vast wealth of knowledge."
"Can we have you guys grow different beards or something so we can tell you apart? Like how in Superior Iron Man, Good Tony had his stupid mustache from the 90s because he was a recording of Tony from the 90s. Future Straid, you need to grow a more evil beard."
"Heh heh heh. I will consider it," one identical Straid said. "Now, to address the matter of my arrival here. We all applied different techniques to the task. A few of us died or went missing, but I doubt that information is useful, since I have no memory of meeting my future self."
"So the Self-Consistency Principle goes out the window, and we're dealing with crazy multiverse shit. Got it."
"Well, not quite," Future Straid said, rubbing his beard. "I have tried going backward and forward, but each time, I arrive at the same offset. If I were to return to my own time, wait five minutes, then travel here again, five minutes would have passed for you as well. We have not been able to set a particular time – only relative ones, like 'before I discovered this technique' or 'the disappearance of King Vendrick.' It is good to finally meet you, wayward King. Your treatise on the joining of souls between rider and mount was quite entertaining."
"Ah," Vendrick said, frowning. "That was a mistake I would have hoped was long forgotten."
"What discovery does not require sacrifice? We have killed that Saulden fellow a great number of times."
"Wait, what?"
"It is simple," the Present Straid said. "Whenever there is a great danger in these experiments, we abduct a Saulden from the past. He has been in Majula for quite some time. The original seems in no danger, so we have simply kept quiet about that."
"That is really interesting ethics-wise, but wow, you guys are dicks."
Safiya gave Lex a judging glare.
"Anyway, that's probably not going to fly once we officially start having laws and stuff. We'll probably do something else that's questionable, like having you abduct Licia instead. Anyway, show me what you've got."
"Of course! Results are all that matters in the end. Behold, the greatest development in history!"
The Straids gestured to the center of the room. While the other sorcerers were frantically trying to complete their own developments, Grandahl seemed to be performing some sort of diagnostic on the structure indicated. It was like both the altars which opened the Dark Chasm of Old and those which led to the lands of the former Kings. There were a number of concentric rings etched into the floor and three columns shaped like three intertwined serpents. At the center was a large, engraved basin, to which Grandahl seemed to be making adjustments.
As they neared, Lex recognized it.
"This is… a Lordvessel. How did you-?"
"You had mentioned one was here, long ago. Imagine our surprise to have found it above the ceiling in the mansion's basement."
"I'm so meta even this acronym. But sure. How did this work out? And how did you two end up working together?"
"Young hollow," Grandahl wheezed. "It is no more difficult for sorcerers to work together than for warriors. Just as you have accumulated followers because they respect your will, we have joined our efforts because we respect one another's minds. If the others are too blinded by pride to see the benefit, then that is their burden to bear."
He rolled his chair around to face the newcomers.
"Ah, Your Highness, Queen Nashandra. It is a pleasure to meet you again. I hope that in the coming society of Undead, wearing such a false form will not be necessary."
"Pilgrim. I had wondered why you had gone for so long. It seems even you are not immune to this braggart's wiles."
"He promised to introduce me to your sisters. I had hoped they might be more forthcoming in speaking of your nature as children of the Abyss."
The Queen gave Lex a sharp look but said nothing.
"Queen Nashandra," Grandahl continued. "This is a matter which should interest you greatly. No longer must we cope with mere echoes of the Abyss. We can return to a time when it was whole."
"Foolish Pilgrim, you lack the proper fear of my Father."
"He's killed me before," Lex interrupted, "but it's not like he's super-dangerous like a real dragon or Ludwig or anything. So how does the Stargate work, here?"
"Just as the Dark has given us life, you must sacrifice your life to it. Or use a suitable proxy," Grandahl said with a stern look.
"It requires a human effigy – or blood in a pinch, like when I had to escape that far future overrun by beasts," Future Straid clarified.
Lex gave him a deadpan stare.
"I literally just told Aldia not to stir up the Deep. God, fine. Anything else? Usually, you need a key item to open these sorts of things."
"You are correct," Present Straid said. "The reason why we hold only vague control over the destination time is because the ritual requires a material focus corresponding to the era."
"Right. The pendant. So on that note, I have my sword and my wedding band and, like, the guitar, I guess? We wouldn't want to use the first two, because that'd take us to a time before Velka was sealed. Sure, we'd have an easier time dealing with her, but if she doesn't already know about time travel being a thing, I don't want to give her any ideas. It'd be too easy for her to fake her death, disappear, and steal a bunch of different hers from other times to become some sort of invincible Mega-Velka. Before we try the guitar, though, I have something else we can try."
He glanced around the workshop. After a moment, he caught sight of McDuff, carving away at a long, bent frame of ivory. It was shaped like a lopsided boomerang and was studded with numerous crystals.
"Is that a Webway portal? I should have guessed it, with the crystal fetish and everything. McSeath, yo! We might need you on this one!"
"Flame…" the possessed smith hissed as turned about and clumsily strutted over. "Prophet, I see you have brought some illustrious company. The latest in a long line of cowardly Kings."
"Yeah, funny story about that, I actually need you two to work together on something. But first, you've been around forever, basically. Why can't people see humanity anymore? And why do human effigies restore human form without having to be thrown into a bonfire?"
"Oh, and I had almost forgotten about those detestable sprites. The workings of Dark are hardly my concern. Why not ask the Darkdiver? I am sure he would give you a more suitable explanation."
"Grandahl?"
"You speak of the free-willed fragments of the Dark Soul, do you not, young Undead? There is no clear answer, but I believe it must surely be because the Flame has long been weak."
Now, even Grandahl was giving Vendrick a dirty look.
"The human effigies are an easier topic. They are like men in miniature and serve as surrogates for the so-called Curse, just as purging stones do. Only, they are far easier to acquire."
"Well, that's one mystery solved. Doesn't really help us with the needing lots of humanity thing, but now we know. I guess it doesn't matter since we can just abuse time travel freely, it looks like. Back on track, I think I have a solution to the issue of aiming the portal, if Vendrick and Seath can figure out how to rig it up as the focus."
"The Heart," Vendrick said, his lip just barely curling into a grin. "Ordinarily, it is only capable of transmitting its bearer into dying memories. With an external power source, there is no telling how far it could reach. Undead die many times."
"Well, I've, uh, not died recently at all. I was kind of hoping we could just go to arbitrary portions of my memory since I'm alive and still have all of them and everything."
"I am afraid not. The Heart's magic relies pathways worn by the Cycle."
"Ugh. Of course it wouldn't be that convenient."
"Shortsighted prophet! What happens when you sleep?" one of the Straids said suddenly.
"Uh? Does anybody know? Everything just kind of goes black, and sometimes you dream?"
"What do you suppose those would be?"
"I dunno. Subconscious processes- oh! Is it a Bloodborne thing? Are we just doing that now?"
"Focus, boy! You enter mutable memories in a state akin to death."
Vendrick shook his head.
"That won't work. Mere dreams have no bearing on the Cycles of the world."
"Ahh, but your thinking is limited to one world," Seath said, catching on. "Dreams border on worlds beyond this one. Dreaming could truly be considered a form of death. Allow me see this artifact you intend to use. Perhaps it can be perverted to follow different pathways."