Things were a little tense as the groups looked at each other awkwardly. The Knights didn't want to preempt their master, but Gwyndolin was too embarrassed about being forced out of his city to say anything to a Chosen Undead who had already mocked him. Lex, of course, was used to NPCs lore-dumping before any new content, so he was more patient than usual. Sif was curled up, sleeping with one eye open, and the giant blacksmith was gathering his tools.
At last, Alvina spoke, hissing, "Enough! My Hunters dideth not perish for you to idle like frightened children! Chosen Undead, Anor Londo hath fallen into Dark, and soon even this Sanctuary will offereth no protection!"
Gwyndolin winced and started to speak, but he was too slow. The one-armed, silver-haired demigod approached the humans, respectfully falling to one knee.
"Thank you two. For saving me when I should have been truly lost. Ciaran toldeth me everything thou said, prophet. I wasn't able to save New Londo, as thou didst predict, but I did get that ring thou needest."
He held the simple purple band between his thumb and forefinger, placing it in Lex's hand.
"I wondered…" Oscar said. "It was you in Anor Londo. Knight Artorias, if I might ask, what happened to that monster, Lautrec?"
Artorias sniffled.
"I don't agree with his actions, but he was ever a faithful servant of the gods as we all. He hath gone to deliver a message to his goddess, Fina. With luck, she willeth join us in our last stand."
He sniffed again. He suddenly got very close to Lex, causing him to lean backward uncomfortably.
"Thou smellest like demon," he growled.
"You bet I do! High five!"
After a moment, the Knight remembered what Ciaran had said about the prophet. He slapped the human's hand, then drew it down into a vigorous handshake.
"Truly? With that Quelaag? A feat worthy of legend!"
Ornstein approached in his new Old Dragonslayer armor before things got out of hand. He put a firm hand on Artorias' shoulder.
"If thy business is concluded, our lady needeth speak."
"Thou'rt just jealous because thine order is sworn to chastity."
The Dragonslayer kept his calm, but there was an edge to his voice.
"Thine wast as well. We all were."
Artorias shrugged and rose. He quickly took a place beside Ciaran, putting his arm around her. She pushed it away, but he just found a new position. She sighed.
"If this tomfoolery is over," Ornstein steamed, "Princess…"
Gwyndolin nodded.
"The city of Gwyn hast fallen to her enemies. Even here, we are pursued, and without thine assistance, this last Sanctuary wouldst have fallen. We underestimated the persistence of our pursuers. Chosen Undead and second prince of Izalith, I know not the squalor over which thou rulest, but my royal personage would be safer hidden in the demon wastes than trapped here. According to the ancient pact, the Princess of Dark Sun requesteth asylum of Izalith."
Lex shrugged.
"Yeah, sure. I'm not going to leave you hanging just because you're a terrible person. But, uh, what exactly happened? Who would even want Anor Londo? What's the point in conquering an empty city?"
"It is a symbol of the traitor's power," Gwyndolin said coldly. "To where will my people look when they findeth the Flame alight and their power restored? They will seeth not the image of the Princess of Sunlight but the Darkmoon."
"I see," Lex said, nodding smugly. "Well, good thing Izalith's going to usurp your position as world leader anyway."
"Doth thy tongue betray you? What madness grippeth thee?"
"Look, okay. Each time the Fire fades, you lose more people. Eventually, it reaches the point where no one's really sure if there are still gods or if it's just a bunch of dead humans that people are worshiping. And the other way around: your brother is still vaguely remembered but assumed to have been a human hero. Countless kingdoms rise and fall over the ashes of Lordran.
Now, King Vendrick of Drangleic will become the greatest and wisest of the human monarchs. Only, he'll realize the truth too late to save himself or his kingdom. 'Inherit fire and harness the Dark,' he said. 'Such is the calling of a true leader.' I wonder: what does that sound like?"
"I do not follow thy meaning," Gwyndolin said, frustrated. "Why should I care for the words of human monarch? Only a human wouldeth be so arrogant as to speak of harnessing the Dark."
"No, no no, Uncle Dolan. Someone not human already did. A Flame that uses Dark as a source of power rather than destroying it. The only Flame that, time after time, has to be sealed away because it can't be extinguished. Am I coming through clear, or am I going to have to start quoting Jeff Goldblum?"
"Thou canst not be serious!" the deity spat. "Thou wouldst order the world with demons?!"
"If it works! It's not like the whole 'Way of White' thing produced the Chosen Undead. Now, I'm going to assume that while Chaos can drive one mad, it's only as bad as any of the other things that do that. It's a matter of having a strong soul. The only reason the Ivory King failed is because he was overwhelmed.
My wife and her sisters were changed but not driven mad because they were strong enough to resist the newly-created Bed. Nothing changes on my end, then. I must collect strong souls. Not to sacrifice to the Kiln, but to keep myself sane. Thus begins the Age of Chaos."
"Sane? Thou art already mad!" Gwyndolin hissed, horrified.
"Ha!" Oscar interrupted. "You're finally going 'mad with power' like you said you would."
Ornstein stepped forward defensively, but Lex held up both hands to show he meant no harm.
"Look, this is pretty much the only option that doesn't involve convincing psychopaths to kill a bunch of people and then themselves. Maybe one day, we'll understand the soul like Vendrick did, but for now, let's settle for world domination on the backs of an army of immortals. There's already proof that Chaos can be connected to a bonfire. I just wonder what will happen to all the Undead if I connect it to the Kiln."
"Thou wouldst not dare defile that place!" Ornstein snarled.
"I wouldn't call it 'defiling,'" Lex said, shrugging. "I mean, ignoring the horrible side effects, the Witch's plan worked. Gwyn's sacrifice bought us time, but then everyone squandered it on stupid crap. I mean, you guys were obviously all occupied, but what about everyone else? What about the real Gwynevere?
I mean, did anyone even try anything? Because from an outsider's perspective, it looks like only the fratricidal lizard did anything remotely useful. Apparently, no one even knows about the last stone dragon, who I dearly hope is voiced by Sean Connery."
Ornstein's hand quivered as he gripped his spear with enough force to shatter stone.
"I will set aside thine insults to the gods for now. Where is the beast?" he growled.
Gough rose, chuckling quietly at first, but he was soon unable to control his laughter.
"One last hunt!" the giant thundered.
Artorias' hand went to his sword, and even Ciaran had visibly tensed.
"Is there really a need to kill it? I mean, it doesn't talk or anything, but it doesn't seem hostile. Heck, dragonbr- uh, covenanters tend to have a little better duel etiquette."
"Undead haveth formed a covenant even with a dragon?!" Ornstein roared. "Quickly! We must slay it at once!"
"Quelaag didn't seem to think-"
"Of course not! The Witches foughteth always at a safe distance! They knoweth not the true terror of the dragons!"
"Are we talking about the same Quelaag?"
"Listen, thee-!"
Artorias relaxed and quickly put his hand on Ornstein's shoulder. The Lion's head snapped to glare at him. After a moment, he it dawned on him how shameful his behavior had been. Clenching his fist, he took a knee.
"This Knight of Gwyn beggeth forgiveness for his transgression."
"Suuuuuure…" Lex said awkwardly, not certain how to react.
Ornstein nodded deeply and rose again while Artorias stepped forward to speak.
"Some of the Witch sisters did fight dragons when the need was dire. I can only imagine what that Quelaag is like off her mother's leash, but in those days, that family hunted as a pack. Rare was the occasion where they were separate and rarer still when they were forced to abandon their fire-weaving to fight. It may not be that she is not concerned with the dragon but that she dareth not provoke it."
He looked over his shoulder at Ornstein.
"Captain, if thou dost not mind, perhaps we should confer with the Witches before hunting the beast. We are traveling to Izalith first, are we not?"
The Dragonslayer grumbled in the back of his throat.
"So be it."
"Hold!" Gwyndolin said indignantly. "Are we to simply accept the Chosen Undead's madness? Is he not already hollowed or fallen to Chaos?"
"More like fallen for Chaos!"
Oscar groaned. Ornstein spoke again, starting to calm down.
"It is troubling, Chosen Undead. Thou speakest of wielding a warped power which even a Lord couldeth not control – and worse, linking it to all your maddened kind. Even if it has not already begun eating away at thy mind, this plan of yours risketh the whole of what the Great Lord built. Truly undying hollows, Chaos gods as mad as they are powerful: wilt thou risk these and worse?"
Lex bobbed his head to either side thoughtfully.
"Well, it's better than civilization collapsing like this at least five more times, right?"
Ornstein looked him in the eyes, hoping to find some sign of lying. At last, he sighed and turned to Gwyndolin.
"It is thy choice, Princess. We may continue to Izalith as planned, try to mount a defense here… or seek aid from the mad Duke or the Gravelord."
The god pursed his lips and played with the hem of his sleeve.
"Very well," he said, sighing. "We will seek refuge in Izalith. My loyal servants, preparest to move out! We shall make for the demon wastes with all haste once the way is cleared! Chosen Undead, I implore thee, make clear our path of the Raven's eyes!"
