XxXxX
He awoke with a start, his head jerking up in surprise and turning left and right to assess his surrounding, before he forced himself to calm down to gather his senses clearly. A hand over his chestplate as he relaxes his heart, he began surveying his immediate surroundings once again, this time with a mind clear from past experiences, and found only damp and decrepit walls of stones around him. A square hole on the ceiling allowed light to shine through, allowing him to see the small room he was in, as well as the steel bars of one wall.
Aah, he thought with clarity and exasperation, I am within a cell.
Looking down at his body, the charred metal of his armor still covered his form, and the slits of his visor he was seeing through meant that he still wore his helmet. Which meant his captors were either idiots, or he was awaiting a processing. Or possibly both. Either way, it would mean he still has his defenses, and that was enough for him to deal with his situation.
He patted down his body carefully, feeling the familiar shape of his flasks and, surprisingly, his aquamarine dagger still in its sheath, he snorted at the growing incompetence of his captors, before he felt the rigid shape of the bottomless box. Which meant he was far from being defenseless, something that has him shaking his head in pity for his captors. The more he surveyed his situation, the more he was finding himself in more than a hopeless position.
Though, something in his mind was telling him that all of this was suspiciously familiar somehow. A nascent memory of his past long gone finally resurfacing? Perhaps.
But before he could wonder some more, a loud and thick squish made him shot up into a defensive crouch, his body falling into a state of readiness trained and beaten into his subconscious mind from countless horrible experiences, before he saw the corpse that lied in the middle of the room, skull and brain matter splattered around its head.
When he realizes he was still safe, he relaxes his tense muscles and stood up slowly as he studied the body of a Hollow before him.
An amused huff caught his attention from above, and he looked up to see a knight in blue garb kneeling and looking down the hole at him. Then the knight spoke, sounding both amused and relieved, "You've still got your marbles I see." The man in armor, if the masculine voice was of any indication, then pointed towards the body before stating, "That corpse holds your freedom, my friend. Take it, and we shall meet each other later."
And then the knight stood up, unsheathes a straight sword, and left him alone with a corpse.
He blinked once at the odd turn of events that had happened, finding his situation getting even more strange that it seemed, before he huffed with a shake of his head.
The world keeps surprising him, even after everything that happened.
So he accepts what has happened, letting the nagging feeling of familiarity to continue on, as he studies the body more carefully. Now did he see the glint of a key hanging from the body's loincloth, and he kneels down to pull it off. And as he studies the key to his freedom carefully, a sense of elation at the prospect of being freed suddenly bloomed within his chest, and a set of memories quickly flashed through his mind. Accompanied it was a sense of disbelief, something close to apprehension, before a sombre feeling passed through. It was closely followed by a sense of duty, and he wonders quietly on why these were within his mind.
And then it clicked, and he gripped the key in his hand tightly as he realizes on why everything seemed so familiar yet so off.
These were the memories of the first Undead who'd linked the Fire, of the second Lord of Cinder to succeed Lord Gwyn himself, and of the most significant Undead that he and many others would follow their example.
After all, he'd subsumed them, and many other Lords of Cinder past, into his own ashen remnants of his soul.
With a rising chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh, the Ashen One realized he was back in time. When the Chosen Undead would first begin their travel across Lordran, land of the gods themselves, and would eventually begin the line of Cinders that would eventually lead to his own time.
When he finally calmed down, the Unkindled stared at the key within his hand critically, and then placed it back upon the corpse. He then turned to the steel door that barred his way from out of the room, and stood up and approached it with an appraising gaze. Once he was before the door, he took hold of one of the bars of the door and tested its strength.
It creaked and clanked noisily when he shook it head. Satisfied, he pulled with a grunt, and was pleasantly surprised when the door yielded and broke off with a sharp clang from where the hinges broke off.
He snorted in amusement as he eyes the door in his hands.
The Ashen One was at his peak, it seems, if the memories of Cinders past and his abnormal strength could account to that.
And he realizes, as he sifts through the memories of the Chosen Undead with clarity, he has the literal power to intervene. With foreknowledge of future events within him, as well as his own enhanced strengths early on, he has a chance.
A chance to ensure his own bleak future would be forestalled forever.
He smiled, somewhere between hopeful and cautious, as he threw the door away.
It's time to foil the Lord Gwyn's own plans.
XxXxX
"Here…," the knight from before, Oscar of Astora he'd call himself, muttered weakly as he held out a familiar and near-empty flask to him. His arm was shaking slightly as he held it out to him, and the Ashen One just stared at him.
True to the memories, the series of events that led to this had been accurate so far. From the Hollows, to the Asylum Demon, to even the rock that had crushed the Chosen Undead. It had all been accurate.
Now, as Oscar lay broken before him, memories show he'd die. And this death would be the last he'd experienced, before he went Hollow. And with his Hollowing would he be an obstacle when the Chosen Undead return for a forgotten item.
A sad death for a proud knight of Astora.
So, with a shake of his head, he grabbed the flask. But before the knight could thank him, the Ashen One leaned down, held the knight down with his free hand, and poured out the remaining liquid fire down the visor of Oscar's helmet. Which in turn poured straight into the knight's mouth, causing the Astoran to sputter and cough from the force feeding. He tried to push him off, but the Astoran being weak from his injuries, meant he could only feebly press his hand against his chestplate.
Once the flask was emptied, the Unkindled pulled back and released the coughing man, subsequently placing Oscar's flask on his lap, and let him clear his airway whilst he stood before him. He ignored the sounds of broken bones resetting and instead watched dutifully as the Astoran native finally finished clearing his throat.
"Wh-what in Gwyn's beard was that for?!" was Oscar's first words after he was fine, now sitting up whilst his visor faced him, a incredulous glare behind it.
The Ashen One tilted his helmet, crossed his arms, and then stated bluntly, "I've saved your life from Hollowing, Sir Oscar." Then he gestured vaguely at the sitting knight, "You had acquired fatal injuries, and instead of drinking your final amount of Estus, you decided to pass it onto me."
The glare lost its heat when he explained, but the Astoran's confusion still remained, judging by the unmoving visor.
"But… why? I was near Hollowing as I were," he questioned, lifting his visor up to show the typical face of an Undead who was nearing Hollowing; wrinkled and brown skin that clung to the skull with two pinpricks within black voids as his eyes, "You would've found more uses for the Estus than I do."
The Ashen One, having seen many near-Hollow Undead before, remain unperturbed when Oscar revealed his condition, and instead waved off the knight's concern before smiling beneath his visor, "And leave a helpless fellow knight behind? That defies my code and my own sense of honor."
The Undead before him stared at the Unkindled for a moment, his skepticism clear in his eye sockets, and the Ashen One sighs softly at his suspicion.
"'Thou who art Undead, Art Chosen,'" he recites the Undead Prophecy that the memories held, watching as the knight before him lift a non-existant eyebrow as his own words were thrown back at him before he gestures the Ashen One to continue.
"That is how the prophecy begins, yes?" he asks rhetorically, watching Oscar nod hesitantly at his pause, "No where, did the prophecy says it must be only one."
The raised brows, if he had them, told him that Oscar knew just what he was meaning to do. And he smiles deviously beneath his helmet when his plan was beginning to take an effect.
"I-I-but-," Oscar was sputtering in shock, surprised that a stranger would save him, and failed to find words that correctly expresses his befuddlement.
The devious smile beneath the Ashen One's helmet turned soft when he sees the fumbling Undead, and knew that the man had already accepted his fate of Hollowing long ago to even consider being saved. So he uncrosses his arms, and pulled out his bottomless box before rummaging inside the magical container. And once he felt the familiar feeling of wispy smoke, the Unkindled pulled out a black sprite that writhed with two pinpricks of light that seemed like eyes before handing it out to the knight before him.
Said knight stared stunned at the sprite handed to him, and flitted between it and the Ashen One as if he was waiting for a trap. But the Unkindled stayed still, and instead held his hand out closer to him in response.
"Take it," he finally says, smile audible within his tone, "We have a world to save after all."
XxXxX
The Asylum Demons that guarded their namesakes were formidable creatures, Oscar thought idly as they waited before a sheer drop with the Ashen One. He turned back to see the eerie structure with a hint of dread within him, and thought of how his original plan became obstructed when he'd encountered one of them. Not once did he thought that they would have two to guard the place, and the Astoran nearly paid the price for it in full.
Rather fortunate, that the final Undead he'd saved would be his own savior.
Now here they stand, awaiting the crow that would take them away from this place, with more than half their wits still intact!
He was still reeling from the skill the Undead he'd saved had shown back then, remembering how easily he'd dispatched the Hollows that he'd allowed free with a strange aquamarine dagger. And remembered quite well in how the both of them took down the demon that prevented them from escaping.
Then again, the feeling of being briefly choked to prevent himself from falling wasn't an easy memory to forget. As well as the feeling of incompetence when he considered briefly on how to escape without a key to the main gate, before the Undead he'd saved simply borrowed his shield and ran through the wall beside it.
"Say…," Oscar began, catching the attention of the Undead before him, "…who are you, exactly? The skills and strength you'd shown back in the asylum was not one of a mere man. From where do you hail?"
The Undead was quiet for a moment, one hand on the strange dagger on his hip, while the other held a longsword he'd pulled out from a box, something he was going to ask as well, before he answered quite hesitantly, "My memories are… quite vague regarding my past. But I hail from the lost land of Lothric, and was a knight-errant before I became Unk-dead."
His words were unsure, Oscar noted, and whether it was from being trapped within the asylum for a long time, or if because he was hiding something, he knows not. But he could not find a reason to be suspicious of him, for he was the only one that knew of his past. So Oscar nodded eventually, and instead opted to take notes.
Especially the near hiccup regarding his becoming.
The Undead then continued after seeing his nod, and this time, he sounded a bit sad, "And if you ask me of my name, then I am afraid I would avail you nothing. For I lost it long ago."
This time, Oscar nodded understandingly, knowing how horrid Hollowing is to an Undead's mind, and instead asked, "So what shall I call you? Surely you must remember something regarding your identity?"
The Undead tilted his head in thought, and then looked down, as if studying himself. Something that made the Astoran look down as well. The knight before him, for the armor resembles one which a knight would wear, looked a tad miserable if Oscar was honest. The steel of his plate armor was charred and burned, with the remainders of a cape sporting singed ends that flowed behind him. The red skirt he wore was also tattered and singed at the ends, and the Astoran wonders if the man had been burned before being thrown into the asylum.
Overall, he looked a mite pitiful.
A perfect look for a veteran knight, Oscar realizes.
"Ashen One," the man suddenly speaks, and Oscar turned up with a tilt of his own helmet, which prompts the man to elaborate further, "I was called Ashen One once."
"Odd name," Oscar commented, "Why would they call you that?"
The Ashen One shrugged nonchalantly, silent as he lost himself in thought for a moment, before answering, "I was burned once." A truth, for he did burn himself upon the Kiln, "But I burned too quickly, and people began calling me Ashen One for it after I rose back up."
A smirk of irony was beneath his helm as he explains the half-truth, remembering the first time he'd awoken after his failure to burn.
Oscar was silent, unsure on how to respond, and he stared in shock at the man before him for a moment before he managed a reply, "That-That is a cruel way to die…"
Again, the Ashen One shrugged with good nature.
The both of them were interrupted from further conversations when a loud caw echoed through the air, and only then did the two turn to the ledge to see not one, but two crows appear from the edge. Both flinched back from the sudden appearance of the birds, yet it did nothing to stop them from grabbing them, and before long, both Oscar and the Ashen One were carried away from asylum.
For Oscar, this would be the start of a truly exquisite journey. One where he'd be pushed and bent and broken, with a dash of companions and friends.
For the Ashen One, this would be the start to his plan to foil the Lords of past. A plan that would certainly be full of foils and obstacles in an of itself.
But if there was one thing that was common. It was going to be an adventure for both men.
Besides, the Ashen One wants to see the First Flame in its prime, before the many successors and the many, many failures had linked it.
XxXxX
A sigh, a wipe of a face, and the crestfallen warrior simmered lightly beneath a façade of apathy when he heard the distant caws of crows coming in. It would seem a fellow Undead had finally managed to escape the asylum, and is now being ferried to the shrine he was in. That meant he'd be expecting company, and with company came voices.
And with voices came noise.
Joy.
With a grumble that was unintelligible, the warrior simply adjusted his seating and replaced the shield he has to another side, waiting patiently to see if the Undead that would come would join in his silent brooding. Company was good if they were silent.
When the crows became louder and louder, he lifted his chain-helmed head just in time to see two crows, oddly enough, hover above before depositing their passengers. Both of them muttered grunts when their backs met solid ground, and he chuckled lowly at their misfortune before watching the birds fly away after completing their task.
So he was left with two men, one from Astora if the grab was anything to note, and one a complete stranger. The Astoran was remarkably like the rest, blue and silver the color of their armor, with a straight sword sheathed and a crest shield on their left arm. He was groaning when he pushes himself off the ground, movements a mite sluggish as he wiped his armor of dust.
All in all, a consistent, if boring sight.
The other one was odd though.
Clad in armor burnt and singed, the Undead seemed to glare heatedly towards where the birds have flown off, and was decidedly muttering something beneath his breath as he pushes himself off the ground as well. The apathetic man studied idly the crest he bore on the cloth on his chest, and found his head coming up blank with any remembrance of it. It was an unknown symbol, and that probably meant he was a complete stranger.
A bit of interest sparked within him as he studies the odd man.
"Well. It seems like the crows finally got another pair of poor Undead to feed to the beasts," he comments lightly, seeing if the two men were easily riled or not. He was met with pointed stare from the Astoran, but the odd knight besides him instead offered a tilted helm in return to his remark.
"You're still here," the Astoran retorts, and the cynical man raises an eyebrow at him for the words. Had he met the man before? Probably. There were many Undead that had passed through the shrine multitudes of time, and he mostly paid them little attention beyond his warning. Few listened, and none returned from their ventures. So he never really commits their faces and voices to memory anyway.
So he shrugs nonchalantly at the Astoran's rather hot words, and gave him a cynical smirk whilst he retorts back, "Of course I am. No use venturing into the Parish or the town below. I'd rather wait the end of the world than having to suffer severe deaths anymore."
The Astoran huffs in disdain, then turns to the man besides him. Who was looking at him rather oddly.
He himself turns to the man as well, raised brow still up and smirk still pulling his lips up, "And you? What's your story?"
The man was quiet for a moment, his visor pointed to him with neither heat nor cold, before he crossed his arms, "I don't think you'd care anymore than I would speak of it." His tone was one of exasperation, but understanding, and the crestfallen warrior respects the man for it as he shrugs as well.
"It was common courtesy. You won't believe the amount of people that would kill a man for not asking something about their sad childhoods," he answers honestly, finding no need to lie against a man who understands his motives.
The odd knight just chuckles lightly at the admission, garnering a shake of a head from the Astoran, before replying with good nature, "I can understand sentiment."
Sensing the end of the conversation, the odd man turns to the Astoran, leaving the crestfallen warrior to his solitude. Though they both turned back to him when he speaks up his obligatory, it was at this point, warning, "You have two bells to ring before you can advance to Anor Londo. One in the Parish above, and the other down in Blighttown."
But this time, he finds himself feeling a bit more generous when he continues, "The Parish has a dragon guarding the way to it. And the one in Blighttown, from what I've heard, has a Chaos Witch guarding it."
And then he falls silent, and watches as the Astoran reacting in shock to his warning. But before he could speak further, a hand from the odd knight besides him rests down on his shoulder, and the Astoran turned sharply to the knight in disbelief. They kept their stares to each other for a moment, one with shock and the other one calm, before the Astoran's shoulders sagged as he nodded.
The odd knight turned to him and gave the crestfallen warrior a nod of gratitude before pulling the man away.
Leaving the crestfallen man alone.
Just like always.
But somewhere deep inside him, he feels as if the two of them would survive whatever the lands would throw at them.
Maybe the two will surprise him.
XxXxX
"This… is this what awaits the maidens of my country?" Oscar says with disbelief, his eyes unable to tear away from the crippled maiden that sat behind the steel bars of her cell. Blood both dry and fresh surrounds her, with some on her robes, particularly on her chest, as she lays down on her side, curled up in distress. Her hood covers most of her face, yet he could see the blood that had dried on her chin. Her hands, gaunt and pale from malnourishment and lack of sunlight, clasped tightly together as she holds them close to her face, as if in silent prayer.
It was a poor sight to behold, and Oscars sense of honor bellows to right the wrongs that was inflicted to the maiden.
"Wha- how- why?!" the Astoran exclaims in shock, hands flying up to grab the steel bars that keeps the maiden within. It goes against what Oscar had swore his oath as a knight for, it goes against the common sense within him and it goes against the moral law of the world.
Yet in comparison to Oscar, the Ashen One was more calm.
He only nods in agreement to the Astoran's words, finding no words that feels right to accompany them, and instead holds a steel bar in hand. It was a far cry to how the firekeepers of his own age was treated; whereas the firekeeper of his time had lost her eyes in exchange for a well of near infinite humanity, this firekeeper had lost her tongue. Crudely even.
Whereas the firekeeper from his age had been treated with respect, this one was thrown into a cell as if she were some common thief to hold behind bars. The Firekeeper from his time had been allowed to roam the shrine, tending to both him and the place, yet this firekeeper was not allowed out or even to speak.
But if the memories of the Chosen Undead was correct, this imprisonment would not be eternal, for she would find freedom by the blade of a knight of Carim. Even if the reason for it was a tad cruel, if the memories serves him right.
The Chosen Undead would release the knight of Carim, Lautrec he was called, and would think nothing of it for a while, not realizing the mistake that would cost him eventually. But by the time they did, it would ensure the fading of the bonfire above and the death of the crestfallen warrior as well. They would retrieve her soul back, though they would invade in the process, and would eventually revive the poor woman into good health.
But whatever motives Lautrec had for the soul of the maiden, it was lost with the man himself when he was slain by the Chosen Undead. Him and his compatriots.
A price to pay, the Chosen Undead had thought with bitterness, for a maiden's right.
It had caused the Ashen One to tighten his grip on the steel bar he had held, making the metal creak under his strength and surprising both Oscar and the firekeeper, the former for the display of power he hadn't been aware, and the latter with fear, before he decides something.
I don't need to release Lautrec to free and revive her, he thought with a grim smile. And with silent resolve, the Ashen One allows his strength to pull the bar apart, shocking Oscar some more at the unexpected development of the situation, and causing the firekeeper behind the bars to sit up in fear when she realizes her cell was no longer a safe haven.
No, he could do more than that.
"Ashen One- wha- what are you doing?!" Oscar demanded, intending to pull the man back by way of his hand on his shoulder, but was surprised when the Unkindled easily shrugged it off as he enters the cell.
Ignoring the growing protests of his companion, the Ashen One pulled the aquamarine dagger from the sheath on his belt and knelt down before the frightened maiden, who was obviously crippled if the way her legs limps around was of any indication, as she seems to shrink back into the wall to get away from her.
But she blinks in surprise when a gentle hand rests upon her shoulder, and the maiden, young yet old when he finally sees her eyes, looks up to see the knight before her with a calm but reluctant aura around her. She stares deep into his visor, and saw only bitterness and resolve within the ashen colored eyes that peeks through the slits. She watches with rapture, when he brings the dagger, aquamarine in color, close to her heart, the reluctant clear in his movements.
And she hears only regret, when he finally speaks to her, tone sombre and heavy.
"Forgive me."
And then the dagger meets her heart, and she dies with a small smile on her lips.
XxXxX
Anastasia of Astora watches with a sympathetic smile as the blue knight, Oscar from Astora as well, viciously scolds the man that had saved her.
They sat around the bonfire, with the two knights besides each other, Anastasia just to the right of the Astoran knight, and the crestfallen warrior just across them. They'd come up after the strange knight had killed him, and it had been to a scene of murder when she finally opened her eyes again. She'd felt the link to the bonfire still there, but it was much more… refined, softer and looser even. But she'd ignored it in lieu of defusing the scene before her.
And now, as she sat before the bonfire that held her life indefinitely, she watches as the knight that saved her calmly taking the Astoran's heated words with consistent nods and placating words while the warrior across just glares at the two in annoyance.
Eventually Oscar calms down with a huff, gave a final glare towards the man beside him, before he turns to Anastasia.
"My apologies, firekeeper, but I had to make my displeasure known to the man," he says with a softer tone towards her, a sharp gesture towards the man beside him to accompany his words. Said man relents with a considerate nod before turning to her as well.
"And forgive me for taking your life so suddenly," the strange knight apologizes as well, a low nod in place of bowing considering they were sitting. And she just nods at their apologies, accepting them simply considering the two were concern for her still after everything.
"It is of no consequences, milords. I only hope my impure tongue does not cause thee problems…," she trails off with a guilt that had grown back, her expression falling when she remembers the circumstances that led to her previous situation.
Unexpectedly, a hand rests upon her shoulder yet again, and she raises her head again to see the strange knight besides her, looking at her with something akin to pity or respect before he speaks, "Worry not, firekeeper. You hold a station few would have the strength to endure, and is serving a cause that would allow us a chance to save the world."
The amount of respect within his words has the firekeeper blushing before she looks away from the knight, wondering why he was adamant in consoling her. The hand that he'd rested on her shoulder was pulled back, and she turns back to see the man with a curious tilt of his helmet, "Though it confuses me on how your tongue may be impure…"
"I-," Anastasia pauses before answering, wondering how to phrase her words well, before she shakes her head, "It is of no concern, milord. Mine words are of no importance for your quest."
The knight simply maintains the tilt, as if sensing the words she'd decided to forgo, before he shrugs in compliance, "Mayhaps it isn't."
She smiles gratefully at the knight.
"But whatever you saw within the abyss, I could not blame you for wanting to speak of it," he suddenly adds, with a nonchalance that has her briefly confused by his words before her smile freezes and her eyes widened. She stared at the strange man before her with fear once more, unsure on how he knew what she had hidden so closely, and wonders briefly if his kindness was a devious plot.
But then he laughs softly, and waves away her concern before he gestures Oscar closer.
Anastasia blinked twice at the strange knight, wondering just who he was, but forced the thought away when Oscar sat beside him.
"I know not if this is within your powers, firekeeper," the strange knight begins, holding out an palm-up hand towards her which she hesitantly takes, "But I figure it would be best to test it out rather than speculating." Then he wraps his other hand above hers, and Anastasia blushes once more when he holds her hand gently, Oscar looking between him and her curiously.
"Wh-what is-," she had started to ask, but she quickly shuts her lips when she feel his soul, his soul, brush minutely against hers, and she stares wide eyed at the knight in confusion and uncertainty before he explains.
"You had felt my soul, yes?" he asks first, prompting a nod from her, "Then can you feel the other souls?"
She gulped, but then reaches within him this time, and felt his soul once more, and she widens her eyes further if possible when she feels a sensation that was far too familia-
A tightened hold of her hand snaps her mind away from the revelation of just who this man was, and she focuses sharply towards him to see him shake his head minutely. She understands immediately, and instead focuses on his soul yet again. And now, did she feel more than one soul within, and she lets her mouth part when she feels them floating within him.
"I-I do…," she answers.
The knight nods, then explains, "Sovereign-less souls, having no where to go after death. Now, see if you can do anything with them."
She did as instructed, gently and cautiously feeling the way the souls reacted to her 'touch' and finding them quite responsive within him, and smiled rather childishly when a soul crossed path with another.
She was pulled from her increasingly distracted thoughts when the knight snorted softly, and Anastasia's expression changed into minute horror when she realizes the audience she has.
The knight waves her mortification away, finding himself quite pleased by the wonder she had shown, and instead resumes his explanation, "Now, once you can feel the difference between my own soul and the rest, see if you can… guide those souls to mine own."
Anastasia blinks, forgetting her horror of being childish before her saviors, and processed his words carefully. She was uncertain if she understands what he means, but she eventually nods, and tries her best to do as he'd said. So she reaches within him once more, and the firekeeper carefully nudges a soul closer to the one she knew was his. At first, she gives gentles nudges and cautious pushes, but when she remembers how reactive they were, she starts to guide them towards the knight's soul. And to her surprise, the firekeeper feels as multiple souls began to latch along, until the souls reaches his, and she feels them quickly being absorbed.
He breathes in deeply when he felt the countless souls he has finally joining his, and he feels multiple parts of his body began to strengthen and grow; muscles grew the slightest, his breathing became easier, and he feels his body growing just a tad slightest. His mind suddenly obtains various knowledge of multitudes of subjects, and he feels a sense of familiarity with some of them when the souls joins his.
Good.
With a proud smile beneath his charred helm, the Ashen One congratulates the firekeeper, "Well done, firekeeper. You now have the ability to directly help us in our quest."
Anastasia was smiling brightly at the new achievement she had done, surprised this was within her powers all along, and simply gives the knight a smile so wide she could feel the ends splitting from how joyous she was feeling.
"I-I- this is- I never knew!"
The knight snorts softly at her giddiness, and gave the maiden a few moments in basking in her new found purpose before speaking, "This is not the true extent of your abilities yet, milady. But unfortunately, it is the extent of mine own knowledge in regards to it."
Then he turns to the Astoran knight besides him, who'd been looking between them in growing confusion as he watches the lesson barely, "And I think both Oscar and I are willing to be your test subjects, yes?"
The question catches Oscar by surprise, and the man turns sharply to the Ashen One with an inscrutable gaze which he holds for a minute or two, before turning to see the brightly smiling and giddy firekeeper who was currently staring at him as well, and eventually sighing in defeat.
"Of course," he concedes, and is unable to keep his lips from smiling when the firekeeper started thanking him profusely.
XxXxX
"Two bells to ring…," Oscar says idly, his hand swinging his sword experimentally to test his newfound strength, finding it more than satisfactory when he easily swings the straight sword better than before. Though he was testing himself, the Astoran finds himself thinking back to the odd knight he had rescued, feeling as if he has met someone of higher notice than his own humble attitude would suggest.
Yet he could not tell if he is, or if his mind is simply throwing out theories after the near miraculous save he'd done to the firekeeper.
The Ashen One was a strange man, who holds more knowledge than he lets on, if the guidance he gave to the firekeeper was of any indication, and seems far more stronger and storied than he initially thought. Oscar had seen how he would stare at the warrior and Anastasia almost longingly, and would sometimes catch the clenched hands he tries to hide, but he said nothing of them.
Then there was the minute shock from Anastasia when she'd reached into him, and the way his helm had shook gently at her, as if she'd discovered something he could not hide.
The Ashen One was a strange fellow, yet he couldn't decide if he should confront him about it.
The sounds of boots and armor patting and clanking reaches his ears snaps him from his thoughts, and Oscar turns to see the Ashen One inspecting a straight sword as he comes up to his side. In his left arm was a crest shield, with a crest that matched the one on the cloth over his chestplate. And unlike his armor, these weapons were more worn than burned, with the shield's crest's fading color and the hilt of his sword being a bit bent, yet the blade was well polished and maintained, and the shield still looked sturdy enough to withstand more than one hit.
Unsurprisingly, Oscar didn't recognize the craftsmanship of the weapons, though he could guess the origins.
Seemingly satisfied with a nod, the Ashen One sheathes the sword onto his hip and gives Oscar an affirming nod when he asks, "My arms and armor are prepared and my flasks are full, how are yours?"
Oscar nods as an answer, but then notices the oddity within his sentence with a tilt of his head, "Flasks? You have multiple estus flasks?"
The Ashen One gives Oscar a long stare, as if processing his words carefully, before he reaches to his swordless side of his hip and pulls out another flask. This one seems similar to a regular estus flask, but instead of the golden amber liquid typical of liquid fire, this one holds a pale but brilliant blue liquid. And from the way the flask has condensation upon the surface, it contained anything but the liquid fire of renown.
"Do you… not use ashen flasks?" the Ashen One asks hesitantly, holding the flask out as he shifts his helm up and down between Oscar and it.
Oscars shakes his head before gesturing at it, "No, what does it do?"
The Ashen One gives him a long stare before answering, "An Undead sorcerer's friend. It restores your mind to peak condition after the strain of casting spells." The smirk was visible even behind the visor when he asks rhetorically, "I assume you know not much sorceries, do you Oscar?"
Oscar shakes his head, realizing why he'd never seen his type of flask before, and answers with a sardonic smile beneath his own helm, "No. Vinheim never bothered with me as far as my family was concerned."
The Ashen One laughs softly, gives the Astoran a conceding shrug, and replaces the flask by his hip. Then gestures to the way before them, and with audible excitement, asks, "Well then, shall we venture forth?"
Oscar smiles back.
Whoever this man was, wherever he hails from, Oscar was sure of one thing.
He was a man that promises adventure, and he was going to follow him along.
XxXxX
The cave that was Dark Souls was far deeper than expected….
Hello! And welcome to the start of my first DS fiction! As said above, I had recently been exploring the Dark Souls fandom after reading The Black Knight by Twisted_Fate_Mk.2 and found myself venturing far deeper than I thought was possible. Having not played the Souls trilogy yet, I had a few reservations on writing this fic for a while. Until I discovered the snapshot-style of writing, where in I cut up the details I wasn't too familiar with, and instead write the important bits extensively. Or basically just writing scenes.
Premise is simple, as you can guess, with how much this concept had been written. Ashen One gets transported back as the Chosen Undead, but instead of some mere Undead recently incarcerated, the Ashen One is an endgame character. And as you can tell, he has the memories of all past Lords of Cinder, including said Undead.
Which is also partly why I decided on the scene style writing. I'm not good enough with writing yet about it. And also because I haven't played the game yet :p
Anywho, enjoy the story!