Thanks for reading and to Dud-chan for the review!
To all clerics,
We have never been strangers to foreign spies and their malevolent plots to get their hands on our most safeguarded secrets.
I know most of you imagine Carim snakes infiltrated among us, waiting for the right moment to strike and plunder.
If you do, then I highly praise your good judgment, for no kingdom, not the backwater Catarina nor our allied Astora, is free from Carim's treacherous machinations.
They are foul people, wicked to the core.
One just needs to look at Arstor, their deranged ruler, with his fascination for impalement and the inhumane experiments he carries out on captives and even on his own people when his madness is at its peak.
And his pardoners, so mistakenly regarded as heralds of redemption, when in reality they are nothing but keepers and traders of the most dangerous of secrets.
Do I really need to talk of their knights? Back-stabbing savages, always lusting for blood. Glorified mercenaries, the lot of them. The maidens they guard like rabid dogs are no different; manipulative and seductive harlots, demons capable of twisting a man's mind with forbidden black magic.
Beware also their children. No Carim child is free of sin, for their blood is tainted from birth by the poison of their fraudulent deities.
Pity them not.
Such is the punishment that befalls on heretics and their kin.
Death to Velka, the fraudulent goddess!
Long live Allfather Lloyd, uncle of Lord Gwyn!
Forgive my digression, but it is always pertinent to remember the lessons and teachings of our Allfather, he who guides us on the rightful path and sheds light on the way of the white.
With that said, allow me to address the subject of this message.
This last transgression we suffered was not Carim's doing. The work was too clean, swift and meditated to be product of the minds of those animals.
Carim may be our greatest enemy, but the rest of the nations and kingdoms are no better. Indeed, even our dear ally Astora has been tempted to infiltrate their men among us to spy and gather valuable information in the past, and they still do to this day.
The constant presence of their elite knights in our cities is not a gesture of their good faith, but a subtle way to keep us well observed.
It is a harsh truth to accept, but Thorolund has no true friends.
And this time, Vinheim has proven how much of a threat they could pose if allowed to remain ignored and underestimated by the world. Their self-imposed reclusion and feign peaceful ways are a mask that hides a potential enemy, perhaps one more powerful than Carim could ever be.
The assassin that poisoned dozens of our guards and casted the spell to make us blind to his deed was, without a doubt, a Vinheimer.
His magic influence still lingers in the air, and some of our own have been rendered insane by that bloody spell. They are beyond help, and will no longer be able to carry out their duties as clerics.
Luckily, the spell has started to lose its strength.
I will be leading a unit of highly skilled clerics in the morning to clear the air from this invisible plague.
I beseech you to keep our beloved lady Reah inside the safety of the palace walls in the meanwhile; we all know how prone she is to wander around the city against her father's wishes.
As for what secrets and artifacts were stolen by the Vinheimer spy, I'm afraid I can share little information about the matter with you; however, be assured that Allfather Lloyd and I are already working together to lessen any possible consequences.
Please be more cautious than ever in your interactions with foreigners living in our land. Here I present you how to deal with them from now on:
Any Vinheimer is to be exiled immediately, regardless of their age, gender or occupation. If they resist, the use of lethal force is hereby approved by me.
Catarinians, Zenians and those hailing from the Great Swamp are to be carefully observed. They are all strange people, and therefore unpredictable and unreliable. They are allowed to continue living among us, but they are to be exiled at their first infraction, no matter how little it is. If they resist, the use of lethal force if hereby approved by me.
Carim knights, maidens and travelers are not allowed to approach our land, no matter their reason. Threatening them is no longer enough; the use of lethal forced is mandatory.
As for Astorans, they are to be treated as they always have, with hospitality and respect, especially their elite knights. We all know how problematic they can become if their ego is not properly pandered. Still, keep as much distance from them as possible.
These are times of fear and intrigue, my brothers and sisters. Thorolund stands more alone than ever.
Be strong, be vigilant, be smart, and entrust your lives to our Allfather Lloyd, for he shall keep us safe from the envy of our enemies and the injustices of the world.
-Petrus of Thorolund, high-cleric of the Royal House.
Oscar aimed and threw the rope.
The rusty hook tied at its end clinked as it hit a bar of the metal stairs, but it failed to get a firm grip and fell limply to the floor.
He hissed a curse.
He had lost count of how many attempts he had made to drag down the stairs resting high on the wall.
According to Lautrec, they were a shortcut that would lead them to the entrance of the lower parts of the Undead burg in no time, and more importantly, without the need to pass through the bridge guarded by the Hellkite dragon.
When Oscar asked him how he knew all this, Lautrec had shrugged, a mocking smile surely painting his face behind his golden helmet.
"We knights of Carim may share information, but we do not share our methods to obtain it."
Oscar had almost hated him for his annoying mysteriousness; he had only refrained himself from openly confronting Lautrec for Solaire's sake.
Despite their opposite personalities, they had managed to get along well. Lautrec had proven to be Solaire's only source of conversation now that Oscar had decided to remain as silent as possible.
He was aware that the least Solaire wanted was to hear his voice.
The less they interacted, the sooner their friendship could start to heal.
Oscar knew he had acted correctly, but he had not expected Lautrec to follow them around on their journey and complicate things further with his presence and endless taunting.
All jest he made was at Oscar's expense. Solaire was no free of his acidic wit, but the taunts he threw at him were considerably less barbed than the ones he directed at Oscar.
He was relentless, and his last effort had succeeded in widening the drift between Oscar and Solaire.
It had happened right after they had reached the first bonfire of the Undead burg.
Lautrec had informed them of the stairs and the shortcut they had never taken, and Oscar had quickly invested his attention on crafting an improvised grappling hook with a rotten rope and some scrap metal he'd found lying around in the room.
It had taken him some time to get it ready.
Enough time for Lautrec to get bored and start throwing his poison again.
"It's not that watching you build little trinkets like a blacksmith's apprentice isn't amusing, Oscar," he had said after stretching his arms, "but I'm sure there's something else Solaire and I could do to kill time."
Oscar had expected Solaire to say something, but he had remained quiet.
"If you are so easily bored, then whet your swords and check your provisions. If there's anything you need, go to the merchant nearby and refill your supplies. Otherwise, be quiet."
"The merchant? Oh, you mean that good old fellow that is as Hollow and ugly as you." Lautrec had said after pretending to refresh his memory. "Would you not accompany me, Oscar? He's bound to give a discount to a fellow Hollow. You may remind him of his lost love, another Undead merchant, just as decrypt as him. We may be Undead, but even among us, love must be allowed to flourish."
"Lautrec."
"Relax, Solaire. Oscar knows I'm just kidding around." He had said, giving Solaire a small hit with his elbow. "Right, Oscar?"
"I don't know what makes you think I'll dignify that stupid question with an answer."
"See? He already trusts me enough to counter my taunts. If that's not the sign of a blooming friendship, I don't know what is."
He had laughed again, and to Oscar's shock, so had Solaire.
Though he knew his friend had only done so because of the fake sense of amiability Lautrec had created among them, it still had stung.
"Enough. If you can't be useful, then go be idle elsewhere. I thought I was in the company of knights, not a couple of children."
It had come as harsh as Oscar had intended, and he had not regretted it. But neither he had dared to look at Solaire's reaction.
He had ceased laughing as soon as Oscar had talked. Lautrec on the other hand, was not so easily hushed.
"Nice personality you've got there, Oscar. No doubt you were loved by your fellow elite knights and the Astoran commoners. Did you know him before he became Undead, Solaire? Tell me, was he always like this, or did the Darksign inspired him to become an ass?"
Oscar had flinched, tensing his grip on the rope to the point of almost tearing it apart. The potential chaos that would have followed had only been averted thanks to Solaire.
"There's a Black knight still roaming around this place." He had said, ignoring Lautrec's questions. "I would like to fight him. He would prove a good challenge to keep our skills sharp, and he may drop useful materials or equipment."
"A Black knight? Huh, I must have missed him when I passed through here." Lautrec had replied. "Sounds interesting enough. My mind would welcome the diversion, and my swords are always hungry for a good fight; guide the way then, my sunny friend."
"No." Oscar had intervened out of impulse, his handmade grappling hook starting to take shape in his hands. "I forbid it."
"By the lords, you're annoying." Lautrec had sighed. "I don't understand you, Oscar. I thought you wanted us gone."
"I want you gone." Oscar had looked at them fiercely from behind the visor of his helmet. Looking at Solaire, he had added, "I don't want you dead."
"We already are. We are not called Undead just for the laughs of it. Besides, who do you think you are to forbid us anything and ordering us around? We are not your subordinates; we are your fellow knights, inferior to you in no manner."
"That I know." Oscar had quickly added, soothing the authoritative tone of his voice. "I'm not trying to impose my will; I just want to keep you from taking unnecessary risks. There's no need for you to fight that Black knight. Going to the merchant would be a much more sensible choice. In fact, I am in need of some repair powder, and I'm sure a few firebombs would prove useful."
"So we are your errand boys now?" Lautrec had not lost his chance to interrupt him. "My, my, you claim you see us as your equals, yet you show so little faith in our skills. Are elite knights always so condescending, or is it just you, my half-Hollow friend?"
It had happened quickly.
Oscar had dropped the rope and gotten back on his feet in a heartbeat. He lunged himself towards Lautrec and pushed him against the cold stone wall. The impact of his armor echoed through the building.
They had remained locked in that position, with Oscar's forearm pressing Lautrec's neck as the Carim knight continued to chuckle at his expense with the little breath that could pass through his throat.
Eventually, it had been Solaire who had separated them.
Then, he had stood between them and stared at Oscar, his eyes barely visible through the slit of his heaume.
"I'm going to the merchant."
Oscar had felt a warm feeling of appreciation for his friend, but it had gone cold instantly when Solaire added, "And then I'm going to face the Black knight."
Oscar had remained silent, with only Lautrec breaking the quietude with his wheezing breathing as he recovered from Oscar's attack.
"Do as you wish." Oscar had finally said, turning his back on Solaire and Lautrec and returning to his former place by the bonfire. He had picked up the rope and resumed his work.
Solaire had left, with Lautrec following him close behind.
Oscar had not worried about them ever since, and he had put all his attention on finishing the grappling hook and dragging down the stairs on the wall.
He picked the hook after his most recent failed attempt and dedicated one fleeting look outside.
No trace of Solaire and Lautrec yet.
Good.
He didn't need distractions, and his moment of solitude was more enjoyable than he had foreseen.
Still, what was taking them so long?
Oscar buffed and chided himself.
He had no time to worry about them, especially not about Lautrec.
He set the two knights out of his thoughts and prepared another throw. The rope flew as straight as an arrow, and this time, the hook managed to tightly get a hold of the elusive stairs.
"Perfect." Oscar said with pride at his small success.
He grabbed the rope with both hands and pulled down. It took some effort before the stairs gave in and came sliding down, hitting the floor with a loud chime.
Oscar inspected their stability by climbing them once.
After returning to the floor, he waited for Solaire and Lautrec to return.
With nothing else to do, he took out his Estus flask and drank from it through the lifted visor of his helmet.
He kept on waiting and looked outside again.
Nothing.
Oscar folded his arms and sat down next to the bonfire. The solitude that had felt so delightful a moment ago now seemed heavy and bothersome.
He kept on thinking of Solaire, but his thoughts eventually drifted away from his present and sought shelter in the broken memories of his past.
He took one more sip of Estus.
For a glorious second, it tasted not like the ethereal drink taken from the bonfire, but like the warm and spiced cider of Astora.
It was a simple and trivial delight, but powerful enough to drag Oscar closer to happier old times.
Back to the times where he could enjoy a hearty meal in the company of his fellow elite knights.
Back when he was a respected elite knight, full of vigor and confidence.
The phantom feeling of his memories was as sweet as it was ephemeral, and it faded away before he could dwell on it for long.
Disappointment followed, and it sunk Oscar into a pit of grief that felt bottomless.
The present that welcomed him, the only reality he had left, had never felt as vacuous and meaningless as it did then.
Why had he come back at all?
He wondered, and the more he did, the more he longed to remain lost in the shards of his past.
If his reality was nothing but constant defeats and failures, did he not deserve at least this small indulgence?
With clumsy and fast movements, Oscar put down the flask. His hand bolted to the safeguarded ring inside his bag.
He removed the gauntlet from his corrupted hand and proceeded to put it on.
He hesitated just before the trinket touched his skin. He peeked over his shoulder, like a thief nervous of nearby guards.
Hating himself for his weakness, but also desperate to clear his memories, Oscar slid the ring on his wrinkled index finger. The transformation of his flesh and voice were only the prologue of the effects that followed.
When he had fist worn the ring, Oscar had believed he had imagined the whole thing, but after his encounter with Reah and her bodyguards and the dream he'd had of Solaire and his fellow elite knights , he'd known it was true.
The ring not only changed his appearance back to normal, it also helped him see his memories with greater lucidity and coherence. Many of them remained shrouded in darkness and lost to the Hollowing, but those that lingered were vivid and tangible, like broken pieces of a mirror.
Oscar tried to resist the temptation, but it was a feeble effort, and soon he became completely lost in the same memory that had only teased him with a soft caress before.
There he was, surrounded by a group of elite knights. They were reunited at an empty tavern, or perhaps at the private kitchens exclusive to Astora's best.
Their faces were free of helmets. They made a toast to celebrate their most recent accomplishment. Then they shared a meal together. They talked, they laughed and mocked each other. And Oscar was there, pretending to be unamused by their rowdy behavior, but still overcome with subtle joy and comfort.
A comfort he had taken for granted and had never truly experienced again since the Darksign had branded his flesh.
No, don't think of that.
He jumped to another memory before his nostalgia turned it bitter.
This one transported him to a battlefield.
His sword was soaked with the blood of countless enemies.
Carim knights and soldiers.
Oscar had never enjoyed the bloodlust that took over his body and mind during battle, but he had been infatuated with his duty as an elite knight.
When he killed, he killed with pride and honor.
Every creature, every invading knight that dared to threaten Astora met their ends at the touch of his sword.
There was no mercy, no second thoughts, just a dance of swords and a rain of blood.
And yet, no matter how many victories he obtained, his accomplishments would always remain unsung, for elite knights could never claim any glory to their own names. They were sacrifices, admired and respected as a whole, but unknown and insignificant on their own, like the threads of a carpet.
Oscar had once believed his duty was enough, that the love his people gave him as an elite knight was the perfect substitute for the legendary glory he had wished for himself since childhood.
He had thought wrong, and so he had become growingly obsessed with the Undead prophecy with every passing day.
It had reached the point where he had felt almost euphoric when the Darksign—
No, don't think of that either.
He fled and found another memory.
He was in the company of his fellow elite knights again.
They were a generous number.
They formed a circle.
Together, they witnessed a rowdy show happening at the center.
Bear-baiting perhaps?
Oscar looked closer.
He saw Solaire, covered in blood, with his sunlight sword in hand, surrounded by corpses of Undead dogs as three of those beasts growled and snarled at him. His injuries were serious and he trembled with exhaustion, but he continued to fight.
The elite knights laughed and cheered at him.
Oscar was silent.
He had turned his back on the whole thing and then—
No.
A new memory.
He stood alone, surrounded by the shredded corpses of many of his fellow elite knights. An Undead abomination that had successfully infiltrated Astora. It jumped towards him and managed to land a hit on his shoulder. The stab had pierced Oscar's chainmail, flesh and bone alike.
I couldn't save them. Not even one of them.
He fled from that memory as if it was a starved dragon ready to engulf him with its maws agape.
But there was no true escape from the darkness ofhis past.
He had been a fool to believe his past was any less painful than his present.
And yet, every pain it caused him was compensated by a flow of warmth and satisfaction born from the happiness he'd once known.
He'd suffered, he'd known loss, death and pain.
But he'd also known camaraderie, pride, bravery and fulfillment.
They were not things he could allow himself to forget.
They were not something he could give up.
Slowly, he calmed down.
He focused, determined to be more careful this time while traveling the currents of his broken memories.
He was about to search for one worthy of his time when a distant roar shattered his trance.
He returned to his senses and found himself lying down on the floor, with his face touching cold stone and his forehead soaked in sweat. He remained still, numbed and confused of his surroundings until the distant echo of a clash of swords urged him to react.
Another scream, full of anger and despair.
"Solaire."
Oscar was back on his feet before Solaire's voice faded into the air.
The silence that followed sunk his heart to the floor.
"Solaire!"
He picked up his Estus flask, put it away on one of his bags and unsheathed his sword. The cold air of the burg crashed against his face as he ran to where Solaire was.
Injured, agonizing.
Dead.
Either by the sword of the Black knight, or at Lautrec's treacherous hands.
Oscar's grief and anger became a single sentiment.
He would kill them.
He would make them pay for what they had done.
Lautrec had bought ten throwing knives and five firebombs for himself.
He had also bought some strange items the merchant had claimed were 'from his secret and most exclusive stash, just recently acquired and traded to him by a magician from a distant land'.
Solaire had heard the offer but he had not been interested, and so he had walked away to a corner to inspect his own purchases while Lautrec continued to do business with the merchant.
He had acquired a generous amount of repair powder for Oscar, as well as a couple of firebombs. His most relished acquisition however, had been an orange soapstone, identical to his own except for its color and its use.
According to the merchant, the orange soapstone was made of the same material the first of the Undeads and some of the gods had used to leave behind messages with vital information.
Perhaps the same Undeads and gods Petrus had mentioned.
Solaire had been skeptical at first, but it had taken very little time and arguments to convince him.
Lautrec had mocked him for his silly and useless purchase, but Soilare did not regret his decision.
Though maybe a little test wouldn't do any harm.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure Lautrec wasn't looking, and then he wrote down a small message on the wall with the soapstone.
Merchant ahead.
It was not precisely the most original of messages, and it was too obvious to be truly useful to any other Undead, but it was the only thing Solaire could think of.
He was glad to see the letters left behind by the soapstone shone bright and legible. He scrubbed his hands over it, and the soapstone did not fade.
That was good. It proved his purchase had not been a scam.
On the other hand, it was bad, as he had no way to erase or hide his simple message before Lautrec returned to him after finishing his dealings with the merchant.
"It seems we are done here. Shall we go back to Oscar?" He said to Solaire, who was desperately trying to hide his message behind his body. "Are you alright? What are you hiding? Let me see."
"No." Solaire spread his arm to keep Lautrec away. Then, trying to sound as calm as possible, he added. "It's nothing. I was just scratching my back against the wall. You know how difficult it can be to get rid of an itch only with your nails when you are wearing thick chainmail."
"Yes, that makes sense."
"Really?"
"No."
Lautrec then forcefully pulled him away from the wall. Solaire looked away, his face burning red with embarrassment under his helmet as Lautrec laughed as he read the message.
The merchant stared at them, and he too chuckled, though Solaire doubted he knew the true reason behind Lautrec's laughter.
"Why, Solaire." Lautrec said. "I didn't know you were a poet. Do you pretend to be an idiot just to conceal the genius you are underneath? Well, you sure fooled me."
He continued laughing. Solaire tried to join him, but no sound would escape his chest.
Lautrec indulged a long while in his mockery. When he finally stopped, Solaire's humiliation had started to border into anger.
"I'm just joking." Lautrec roughly patted his shoulder. "You know this, right?"
"At times, I'm not sure I do."
"That doesn't surprise me. You are Astoran, after all." Lautrec give him a friendly push that only dragged Solaire closer to real anger. "Let's get going then, before Oscar gets mad at us for leaving him waiting for so long. One whinny Astoran is enough, I don't need two."
The silence between them as they left the merchant's domain was tense, but Solaire felt no need to ease it, and neither did Lautrec.
Solaire didn't understand what drove Lautrec to be so needlessly taunting and cruel all the time. He tried to justify his endless mockery as 'knightly diversion', and while it was true knights commonly regarded each other with a level of rough treatment, it usually was good-natured.
And little of what Lautrec said or did felt like well-intended jests. He spared no mercy on Solaire, but it was Oscar who had been the target of his most heartless observations.
Solaire had not intervened, believing Oscar was indeed used to that sort of treatment after his years among the elite knights. They could be as ruthless as they were selfless, and Solaire knew it better than anyone.
Oscar.
He thought of his friend and of how he had laughed together with Lautrec when he had mocked Oscar about his Hollowing.
Solaire wanted to believe he had done so out of a moment of weakness where he had found Lautrec's jest amusing, but he knew it wasn't true.
A part of him had done so only to spite Oscar, to get a reaction out of him.
In its purest form, it had been a childish attempt to get his attention.
His anger for Lautrec paled in comparison to the shame he felt for his treatment of Oscar.
Solaire did not hate his friend. He was disappointed on him, angry even, but he doubted he could ever bring himself to hate him, no matter what happened between them.
But he knew Oscar hated him.
His silence and the absolute indifference he showed Solaire were clear evidence of how much he resented him for having brought discord into their friendship with his pesky morals and self-righteousness.
I am a Warrior of Sunlight. I cannot turn my back on my beliefs.
Solaire sighed.
Oscar... why don't you get rid of that ring? Do it and everything between us can go back to what it was. Why do you cling to it? Why is your past so important to you? Do you really treasure it more than your present?
It was a concept foreign to Solaire, to look back at one's past and sigh for it with wistfulness and nostalgia.
"Would you stop moping around like a child that has been denied some sweets? It's getting on my nerves." Lautrec said as he stopped and turned around to face Solaire. "I know what's troubling you, and it's pathetic. For how long do you and Oscar plan to cry about your little fight, Solaire? If you're friendship with him is ruined, then it's ruined. It's gone, and no amount of sulking will make it right. Besides, I don't understand why you mourn a friendship as poor as the one he offered you."
"His friendship is not poor." Solaire retorted, taking a step closer to Lautrec. "You know nothing of all he's done for me. He has showed me more kindness than any other person has in my life. I may be angry at him, but I will not be disloyal to him."
He took one step closer to Lautrec, and the Carim knight backed away slightly.
"And I will not let you badmouth him again, Lautrec. You consider us pathetic for our sentimentality, but I consider you pitiful for mistaking derision with self-confidence."
"Hmm, yes... I had forgotten how fond Astorans are of their motivational speeches. It's not as annoying as the Vinheimer tendency to educate others, but it's not too far behind."
Lautrec patted Solaire once on the chest, right on the painted sun of his tunic. He walked him by, completely unafraid of the potential attack Solaire could have prepared for him.
"Very well, if my jokes are so hurtful for your and Oscar's sensitive hearts, I'll do my best to keep my tongue in check from now on. Please, to try to understand, Solaire. Carim knights live a solitary existence. We have only our ladies to make us company, and friendship is not a concept we openly practice, let alone with other knights. This whole camaraderie we are sharing is new to me. I was in the wrong, and I apologize. When we return to Oscar, I'll apologize to him as well. What do you say? Are we good?"
Lautrec offered him his hand.
Solaire smiled from behind his helmet, and his anger towards Lautrec faded into nothingness.
"We're good." He said as he and Lautrec shook hands.
If only it was Oscar with whom he was so easily reconciliating with and not Lautrec.
The idea twisted his stomach and formed a lump in his throat.
"Still, as your friend, I feel obligated to tell you this, Solaire," Lautrec continued, "the way Oscar treats you is... demeaning. Well-intentioned, yes, but so very condescending. Now, I may not be an expert on friendship, but I know that nothing good can come from knights that don't respect each other."
Just when Solaire had started to think things would run smoothly, Lautrec had to put his finger on the wound.
"But you know this, don't you? Isn't it the reason you were so determined to fight the Black knight? To prove to Oscar you don't his constant coddling?"
The Black knight.
Solaire had almost forgotten about him.
Truth was he had not wanted to fight him, and he had only mentioned him to lure Lautrec away from Oscar for a moment, so they both could cool down their tempers before they harmed each other.
But when Oscar had forbidden them to get close to the Black knight, Solaire's temper had flared, and he had become determined to fight and defeat the knight, if only to show Oscar he was not bound to his commands and that he was skilled enough to defeat a powerful foe on his own.
He had fumed and raged in silence as he'd left Oscar behind, but his tranquil moment of shopping and his acquisition of his new orange soapstone had cleansed him of his anger and quelled his thirst for foolish battles.
Now that Lautrec had brought it up again, Solaire felt trapped.
"Solaire, listen to me. Oscar does not respect you. He may hold you in high regard as his friend and as a person, but you are nothing to him as a knight. Unless this changes, your relationship with him will be doomed to conflict. Knights that don't respect each other will always end up spilling each other's blood."
"He respects me as a knight. I've proven my worth in battle each time I've fought by his side." Solaire said, standing tall as the memories of his failures gnawed at his mind.
His death caused by his carelessness and the Hellkite dragon's fire.
His failed attempts to parry the Belfry gargoyles.
His defeat at the hands of Petrus and Reah's bodyguards.
All shameful mistakes Oscar had witnessed.
Lautrec's words no longer sounded deceptive.
But it was foolish.
Was his need to prove his value as a knight worthy of the risk of dying again?
"Defeat the Black knight and bring his head back to Oscar, Solaire." Lautrec continued, his grey eyes dull and sharp under his golden helmet. "Show him you are not his subordinate or his squire. You are a true Astoran knight, a powerful Warrior of Sunlight. Only then he will respect you, and who knows, maybe then he'll listen to you and get rid of that ring."
Lautrec had not been especially interested in fighting the Black knight. He had played for a moment with the idea while doing business with the merchant, but he would have gladly pretended he had forgotten about it if Solaire made no further mention of it either.
He was always eager and hungry for a good fight, but only if it was against foes and victims that would yield him something of value.
What could a Black knight possibly offer him? Some pieces of titanite and possibly a shabby sword or a shield.
He had no need for any of it.
Besides, he knew he wouldn't be able to properly enjoy the thrill of battle if Solaire fought by his side.
If they battled the Black knight together, Lautrec knew it would be him who would do all the work. Solaire would only get in his way, and he did not like to fight while worrying about someone's else sake.
It was not something one would expect from a knight of Carim, but it had been too long since he had last been the keeper of any lady that wasn't his beloved Fina; he couldn't remember was it was to protect someone anymore.
Lautrec would have gladly returned to Oscar so they could continue their journey to the Depths, but Solaire had not opted for this road.
He had confronted him, and while Lautrec had felt a new sense of respect for him , Solaire had also made him mad.
Lautrec had not appreciated the words he'd thrown at him.
Not one bit.
"There he is." Lautrec cocked his head as soon as he and Solaire descended the stone stairs.
In front of them, standing still across a rock tunnel, a tall and imposing figure showed them his immense and armored back, black as a raven's feather.
The sword he wielded was broad and dull, but Lautrec knew its edges would be sharp enough to cut through chainmail as if it was butter.
Now that he saw the Black knight in person and at such a close distance, he began to have doubts about how high his chances of success would have been if he had battled him.
It was not that he doubted his own skills, but he knew there were times when one had to be bold, and other times when one had the be cautious to survive.
Reckless bravery was as admirable as it was impractical.
It was a shame Solaire seemed to be so ignorant of this piece of basic knightly wisdom.
Then again, that wasn't Lautrec's problem.
"Go on." He told Solaire, giving him a small push towards the Black knight. "He is all yours."
Solaire did not hesitate, and as much Lautrec hated to admit it, there was something laudable in his courage and determination.
For a brief second, he wondered if perhaps he had been overly harsh in his punishment of Solaire.
The poor idiot had thrown some insults at him, and Lautrec had counterattacked by sending him to his death at the hands of a Black knight.
Black knights were merciless, and they were not known for giving their victims a quick and merciful death.
The narrow space of the rock tunnel would also be a poor battlefield for Solaire.
"I—"
Lautrec shook his head and swallowed the rest of his sentence.
Solaire was already too far away from him and too close to the Black knight.
It was out of his control now. Whatever befell Solaire was not something he could change, and he would not intervene either.
Though the whole thing was little more than a cruel prank for Lautrec, he could tell it was a meaningful test of knightly worth for Solaire.
He would not disgrace the poor bastard by interrupting his fight, and if he was to die, Lautrec would allow him to do so with honor.
That is if he doesn't go Hollow.
He sat down on the stairs and rested his elbows on his thighs, no half as amused by the whole fiasco as he thought he would be.
What a waste. Watching him fight Oscar would have been much more entertaining that seeing him being butchered like a calf. I did not think this through.
He watched as Solaire purposefully hit the floor with his sword, earning to himself the attention of the Black knight.
Stupid.
Solaire could have backstabbed him and inflicted a considerable amount of damage to the knight; instead, he had opted to fight him under the Astoran code of honor that demanded both knights to be equally prepared before the fight started.
The fool even had the gall to bow his head to the Black knight.
Is he crazy?
The Black knight replied in the only way Lautrec knew he would: by throwing a riposte at Solaire that was clumsily reflected by his round shield.
He had attempted to parry him.
And he had failed.
Meanwhile, Lautrec kept on looking, and soon his mind became so immersed in the savage fight that his faint regrets were forgotten, never to be remembered again.
"Hello?"
He tried to unlock the door, but it would not move.
"Is someone there? Can you hear me?"
Only a Hollow, one that still remember it had been a thief in its previous life, answered by stabbing the door with a dagger.
Griggs gasped and jumped back.
He retreated into a corner.
How could he have been so careless?
Him, a skilled magician, an effective spy and trained assassin, trapped inside an empty and dirty room at the slums of a forgotten Undead city.
"What will I do now?"
He collapsed to the floor.
"Master Logan."