XxXxX
The Parish seemed quite ordinary, if the Ashen One was honest, and he considers it a good change of pace from everything else. Almost near everywhere else is a hostile area, filled with Hollows and demons and beasts, yet nearly every shrine he'd been to were safe havens of some sorts. The Ashen One thought it was a pattern, a way to know if he was safe or not, and to know if he has a chance to remain sane within the world.
Or maybe it was bias; the only place of solace and safety being shrines might have formed a pattern itself within his head, so he views nearly every place of worship as some sort of safe haven.
Then again, almost every place he'd rested were places of worship…
The Unkindled rid his head of the thoughts by shaking his helm, and he instead focuses on the present time, namely the bell they must ring.
Said bell remains at the top of the church, and, if memory serves right, there were at least two guardians protecting it. Bell gargoyles, a challenge when the Chosen Undead was just a simple Undead, and had died a few times in trial, but eventually overcame them nonetheless. Of course, that was the beginning of their journey, which meant they weren't as strong as they could be.
So, the pair of gargoyles will be relatively easy.
At the very least, he'd have to pull out his stronger arsenal. Mayhaps Vordt's greatmace per chance? He remembered how heavy it was, and remembered quite well at how it had pummeled the Demon Prince within the Ring City.
No, that would be overkill.
Before he could continue his musings on how to dispatch the gargoyles, he was interrupted by Oscar with a nudge on his arm, prompting him to turn to the Astoran, "Yes?"
Said Astoran gives the Unkindled a tap on his head before speaking, smile quite evident behind his helmet, "You seemed quite deep within yourself, has something captured your attention?"
The Ashen One blinks behind his visor, and gives a soft chuckle as a response, "Quite, Oscar. I was thinking of the Demons we fought before, and how little we have done in terms of damage."
Immediately, the elite knight soured his expression beneath his helmet, and gives a grumble before begrudgingly nodding in ascent, "If not for Sir Havel, I doubt we would have fell it." The Astoran gives his straight sword a look of inadequacy and mutters under his breath, a bit miffed at the admission.
The Ashen One smiles under his helmet, remembering his own time when he first battled Vordt with nothing but a longsword. It had been a fright that fight was, what with him being smaller and lighter and Vordt being larger and deadly.
Not to mention the icy breath…
"We would, but it would have drained us quite a bit, maybe even kill us a few times. That Demon chose its spot well," the Ashen One reassures the Astoran, giving the Undead a pat on his shoulder as a vote of confidence.
"Say, do you have any experience with other weapons?"
The Astoran stares off after the question, possibly remembering pasts nearly forgotten, then turns to him with a slow nod, "I think I have, yes. My training does include the usage of greatswords, what of it?"
The ashen knight gives a hum of approval before replying, consideration in his mind, "Mayhaps we will get you a much larger weapon when we meet a capable blacksmith. With your growing potency, you will need a weapon that can reflect your growth."
Oscar gives the burnt knight a considering tilt of his helm before nodding in agreement, "Perhaps. It might be possible to find a blacksmith in Anor Londo if we pass through it."
Oh we will, Oscar, thought the Ashen One with an ironic smirk as he sifts through the Chosen Undead's memories regarding the City of the Lords.
We most definitely will.
XxXxX
Hardly had Oscar ever considered being lofty enough to be granted passage to Anor Londo, his family not high enough amongst the Astoran elite to be considered for such honor, and he recalls burying his dream of ever seeing one of the city's many silver protectors deep inside of his mind when he realizes the truth.
He remembered becoming fascinated by the knights of his own land, hearing their tales with naught but childish awe and grand visions, and had even became giddy when they had told of Anor Londo's silver knights, forming a great picture within the impressionable Astoran's mind regarding the knights of Gwyn.
It had been one of many reasons for him joining Astora's own elite knights, and had been the cause that kept him forward when he endured the trials and test of his training.
I can finally see Anor Londo, had been his thoughts when he was knighted, the smiles of his family adding warmth to the already giddy feeling he'd acquired after the admission to knighthood.
But then the fire started fading, and with it, the Undead curse.
He remembered thanking extensively to whatever deity that heard him that his family was not as high as to gain the attention of the lords of Astora, and remembered his father grimly begging him to run away after he discovered the darksign upon his back.
"Run, Oscar. Go away from here, and find a way to save yourself," was the warning from his father, who's pained visage was the only thing he vaguely remembers regarding him. All the while he heard his mother crying unto his brother's shoulders, heartbroken that her son was cursed.
The sad memory was pulled back from his mind when he dodges a deceptively dexterous swing from his opponent. His mind returning to the present when he swings his own straight sword to meet the foe's head.
And he grits his teeth when the black knight simply angles their helmet so his blade deflected off of it, and caused him to backpedal away before the shield met his exposed side.
This is not the meeting I had in mind his mind muses morbidly, eyes trailing over the blackened knight before him. Where the ashen knight was more burnt and charred, the once-silver knight before him was a blackened being of might. Holding an equally black sword and shield, with the former having retained its silver edge barely, it seemed far more intimidating than it rightly should.
A red and darkened silver blur equally dexterous met the black knight with sword and shield, and allowed Oscar to analyze the latter as the Ashen One fought them. Swords and shields clanged and crashed against each other with the burnt knight, the red one, meeting each of the black knight's swings with parries and blocks.
Distracted, a third form joins in from behind the black knight, his fellowman countryman Solaire, with a cry and in a surprising display of strength, thrusts his sword through the knight's back.
Or in fact, Oscar morbidly realizes, it was because the knight was just an empty husk of an armor.
Nothing sprayed when the Sunlight warrior's blade came out from the black knight's stomach, much to Solaire and Oscar's horror, and the blade remained spotless even after going through the knight's guts.
As if that isn't enough, the hole the black knight has poured out ash. Something that has the Astorans wide eyed.
But the ashen knight ignored it. In fact he begins to fight harder, thrusting his sword directly at the visor. The blade went in, again sending nothing, but the Ashen One didn't care, and instead pushes the blade further in, surprising nearly everyone when the black knight's head pushed back just enough to reveal the chainmail neck. Then with his shield, he sent a lightning punch with the tip aimed at the neck.
Almost as if they were alive, the black knight reeled back, kept in place by Solaire who shook out of his stupor immediately after he felt the knight back away, and was met with another shield-reinforced punch to their helmet, denting it severely, before the Ashen One pulled his sword out, reversed his grip on it, and plunged the blade deep into their shoulder blade.
Held in place by Solaire and the Ashen One, Oscar took the initiative and grabbed the knight's gnarled wing horns and twisted the being's head sharply to the right. There was a brief feeling of resistance, but then the helmet lulled when he released it and the Astoran felt a sense of euphoria coming through him before dissipating.
The animated armor finally becomes inanimate when it slackens and the three knights backed away, letting the pile of armor drop to the ground with a clutter.
Oscar breathed heavy through his nose, staring with a grimace at the blackened knight, and closed his eyes in a silent prayer for the knight's soul.
Not the meeting I had in mind he jests with a sad smile, looking up to see Solaire kneeling before the cluster of armor, a hand over his heart in silent prayer as well. He sighs in lamentation.
Giving the pile of armor one last remorseful glance, the Astoran turned to the Ashen One, "We need to continue, Sir Havel and Griggs will most likely be done with that titanite demon."
The Ashen One nods, but then kneels before the black armor and rifles through it. Oscar simply stares in brief shock before he exclaims in anger, "Wh-what are you doing?!"
Even Solaire, optimistic as he is, reels in surprise at the burnt knight's searching, "Ashen One?"
"As much as it pains me to steal from the dead, much of my experience within my ruined land involves me scouring to survive," the Ashen One reasons with a hint of remorse, though he still continues to pick the armor through.
"To do otherwise is to be killed, I have long since learned for too long," he finishes with a bit of pain in his voice, silencing the two Astorans at the grim reason.
Eventually Solaire begins to help the knight, hands slow but careful as he rifles through the armor, and simply assures the burnt knight, "I'm sorry to have judge you, friend."
Oscar turns away from the scene, feeling both guilt and anger conflicting within him, and lets the two knights to search the black knight with his arms crossed.
Finally they finished, with the Ashen One holding unto a slab of titanite before putting it into the box he so favors for its utility, and gives the Sunlight warrior a nod of gratitude. Then he turns to Oscar with a considering look, words he considers in speaking.
"Thou art fortunate to retain thine honor, Sir Oscar. I have long since left it within the ruins of my land," he finally speaks, a small, but proud, smile in his words.
He gestures forward, not minding the way Oscar simply remains silent, and went down the tower with Solaire following behind.
Oscar sighs heavily after the two left, feeling the guilt overcoming his anger, and lifts his visor to wipe his face. He grimaced at his quick judgement, but lets the feeling sit within him, and just turns back to the armor that lay positioned in a manner of respect. Lied on its back, the black armor has its arms connected over the abdomen with its shield over it, and the sword lay stabbed into the ground over the helmet.
He stares briefly at the simple sign of respect.
When he finally came down from the tower, the weight of the sword on his back felt reassuring.
As well as heavy.
Though if it is from guilt or the weight itself, Oscar knows not.
XxXxX
"I never knew demons could be made from titanite!" Havel turns towards where the sorcerer was kneeling before the slowly shrinking corpse of the demon they'd killed, hands tracing over the literal slabs of muscles that the demon it used to be was with amazement.
Havel snorts, finding the man's curious excitement amusing, and simply throws another chunk of titanite unto the carriage they had acquired.
The demon had posed quite the threat when they had encountered it, being a lithe and quick opponent that had Havel breathing hard to catch it, and had hit just as hard as it was quick. A grumble escapes the Rock's lips when he remembers the sheer force behind the thing's two pronged pole, and he had returned the favor by way of immediately swinging his club at it.
He had missed, much to his growing annoyance.
Then Griggs sent a clever heavy soul arrow towards its remaining legs, stunning it long enough for Havel to recover, and found itself crumbling when the ex-archbishop smashed it against the wall. It had survived, but the man had simply sent another heavy strike to its head, smashing the limb entirely and sending titanite flying everywhere.
He also remembered the Ashen One yelping in pain after some of the projectiles hit his helmet, knocking the man back unto Solaire who had ungraciously fell from surprise.
"I have heard of lizards of titanite, but I have never encountered a demon titanite within my homeland," Havel perks up his ears in interest, finding an opportunity to learn regarding the Ashen One's land as he easily lifts another slab unto the carriage. Knowing the sorcerer, he too would use this opportunity well.
"Titanite lizards live in your land as well? What were they like?" Griggs asks with obvious interest, watching closely as the ashen knight pulled apart another chunk of titanite from the corpse.
The red knight gives Griggs a thoughtful look of his helmet before answering, "I cannot say if they were similar to Lordran's, but the lizards in my country have, at the very least, three species."
"Is one of them a small lizard-like creature with a blue crystal on its back?" the sorcerer adds.
The Ashen One nods, "Yes indeed. Those were the ones I most commonly see anyway."
"Commonly?" Oscar chimes in with curiosity, finding oddity with the usage of the word. Havel turns his helm and upper body to the knights and sorcerer, and see Solaire stopping mid-heave with his shield full of shards to stare at the strange knight.
"Indeed. Like I said, Lothric has three known species. Though one is quite exclusive to one location only, the other one is a…," the burnt knight grew unsure, helm slowly drifting slightly to the right as he dug through his mind for an explanation.
The rest of the party waits patiently for his answer.
"…a mutation of sorts, or most likely an elder kind," he finally decides, uncertainty in his words.
"How so? I have never heard of crystal lizards mutating or otherwise before," Griggs digs further, interest now piqued at the knowledge of the Unkindled's land of origin.
The Ashen One shrugs rather hesitantly, unsure in his own explanations as he reasons, "I am unsure myself, Griggs. The crystal lizards I have seen were larger, closer to a horse in size, and more grown in stature, with gleaming crystals across its entire head, back and tail as if they were its scales."
Havel grimaces at the image the Ashen One's description conjures, and wonders just how a creature such as that came into being. Whatever the man's land was like, it was not a calm land, he concludes.
"I have slain quite a few, in search of twinkling and scale titanites for my weapons to be reinforced, and every time I did slay the beasts, the amount of souls they contain were more than what a simple beast should have," he finishes with a shake of his helm, remembering the countless times he had died to said creatures. If not by their rolling attacks, then by their crystalized maws that had crushed his body effortlessly.
"Scale titanites?" Griggs inquires, and already Havel knows the man's mind is becoming a whirlwind of theories. He should know.
His mind itself is also bringing up countless possibilities. None of which is satisfying enough for him to figure out the Ashen One with.
He did caught the slight pause of the Undead in his words, the knight becoming quiet for a split second before he answers, "My land has advanced soul magic significantly so that we may… transpose the souls of others into powerful weapons and spells."
Havel could not stop the interruption within his mouth, "Transpose souls? Into weapons?!" There were too many questions growing by the minute, and Havel was becoming more suspicious of the ashen knight.
But the Ashen One remained undaunted, and instead explains calmly, "Yes, the country transposition hails from, Courland, was proficient in bringing out the strength of the souls into objects of immense power. Though, like your reaction indicates, it was highly infamous."
None spoke after the Ashen One finishes, and Havel just stares at the man with growing suspicions before he huffs in distaste, "And what happened to this… Courland?"
The Ashen One shrugs after a moment, "Fallen or destroyed, I know not. My knowledge of the land only came from the last remaining monarch of said land."
It was the truth, Havel considers, but he felt as though the Ashen One was leaving far too much details behind. But he couldn't voice the thought, not when he barely knows much regarding the man already. And now he was even more unsure of him.
But at least he was honest regarding the land's fate, even if it was incomplete.
The Rock just needs to find more opportunities.
XxXxX
"You seemed to have quite the interest with me, burnt knight," he implies with a sly smirk beneath his bronze faceplate, eyeing the strange knight that stands before his cage with devious interest.
Not many would come to rescue a man hailing from Carim, but then again, not many would even care for a man locked within a cage. After all, the world is dying, the flame is fading, and here he is, trapped within a cage after a rather unfortunate meeting with a sneaky thief.
Curse that bald bastard.
Pulling his thoughts to the present with an odd sway of his helmet, the Carimian-native lets his helmet sway slightly in an act of listlessness. It was quite obviously a façade, but he didn't need anyone to know he was studying them.
Where would be the excitement in having them figure it out themselves?
"I will not lie, I am quite confused with you, sir knight," the strange knight answers honestly, making Lautrec chuckle huskily in delight. Oh how he would enjoy this exchange at least.
Shifting his slight sway into an interested down tilt, the knight of Fina wonders how much he could extract from the man, and muses if the Undead before him could last quite long with him, "Oh? And what of me that interests you greatly?"
Surprisingly, the Undead crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, small smile evident in his tone, "That a man of cunning such as yourself could be fooled so easily by a mere thief."
Lautrec paused minutely in surprise, but regains his composure just as quickly, before crossing his own arms through the bars of the cage, his own head tilting to the side, "Quite the assumption you have made. And what makes you think a thief is responsible for my predicament?"
Alarmingly, the knight chuckles low, shaking his helm in amusement before replying, "Please, Lautrec, we are both alone in this area. My comrades are already speaking to the blacksmith within, and the firekeeper at the shrine has already been freed."
Now, Lautrec stops his swaying, and instead sits straight with his arms back inside, resting upon his lap with his shotels ready. His smirk turned into a small grimace, his eyes had sharpened significantly to the strange and increasingly dangerous knight before his cage.
"Quite the information you have, but I fail to see the significance of them to my question," he tries again to dig further, though his attempt is half-hearted at best.
The knight shrugs nonchalantly, turning away from him with nary but a glance, and stares towards where the shrine is before responding, "If you so desire the firekeeper soul for your goddess, then I have it within me."
The knight had ignored his implied question, and instead gave an offer that was both interesting as well as alarming. Lautrec's grimace turns a mite upwards at the mentioning of a firekeeper soul, but he stays his hand, and instead goads the Undead, "A well of humanity, yes. Though I must wonder why you offer me such an item."
The red knight remains how he is, but only for a moment, before he turns back to him, uncrosses his arms, and grabs the cage door with both hands. Lautrec had only managed to lift an eyebrow before he stares wide eyed in shock when the knight pulls the door off. He throws it away with ease, and before long, the Carimian felt hands both his neck and his crotch, garnering a response that has his shotels crossing around the knight's own neck.
Before he could kill though, his family jewels sending a spike of pain has him pause in fear, just enough for the knight to speak to him.
"If I find you anywhere near the shrine, your pride will not be the only thing you would lose," the Undead threatens lowly, visor close to his own, and Lautrec loosens his weapons from the man's neck when he lets his own neck and balls go.
Eyeing him with both fear and cautiousness, Lautrec simply stares when the ashen knight pulls out a soul and hands it over to him.
One full of writhing humanity.
"Take it, and leave this land," the ashen knight offers with finality.
And Lautrec considers the offered soul with scrutiny, flitting his eyes back and forth between it and its holder, and cautiously considers asking for more.
But he will not try his fortune any longer.
When the soul was within his hand, the ashen knight offers a familiar bone that has Lautrec grimacing before he takes it as well.
And when the man lingers still, Lautrec scoffs and gives his own words to spare before breaking the bone, "Lady Fina will remember this."
And eerily, the knight just chuckles, "Let her come. She will not be the last."
And then Lautrec was gone in a flurry of lights.
XxXxX
"Here ya go," Andre implores as he holds out the greatsword forward proudly, the lengthy blade gleaming brilliantly under the sunlight, and smiles jokingly when it was taken from him, "And be careful not to tarnish my work."
Oscar, a fellow Astoran and an elite knight, simply gazes in amazement at the greatsword he now holds. His gloved hand glazes across its blade with near-reverence as he examines the masterfully crafted weapon, and the smith could not help the proud smile forming on his bearded mouth.
"Openin' up some memories lad?" Andre asks fondly, knowing an Undead can sometimes remember back their past with some help. The knight nods slowly, clearly digging up memories of long past, and raises the sword with both hands.
The Astoran knight backs up a distance, and then begins to swing his newly acquired greatsword.
Andre was no swordsman, having obviously became a smith instead of a knight, but he had seen enough knights of his homeland to recognize the agile swings of the balanced blade. Astoran-made greatswords were intended for agility rather than strength, something the lands of the East and Astora shares in terms of combat style, and he could tell Oscar is well-versed with it.
So as the Astoran retrains his body back with the sword, he turns to the other knight that had come with him with a smirk, "And you? Fancy somethin' for yer own?"
The knight, the Ashen One he had called himself, something that the smith lets pass, glances at Andre for a moment before shaking his helm, his hand patting on the bottomless box on his side, "No, actually. I still have my arsenal with me."
The blacksmith raises an eyebrow, glancing between the knight and the box he has, "Really? Care to show me some, lad?"
There was a pause before the knight's response, head tilted the slightest to him with something, before he nods slowly, "Of course, they might interest you, actually."
Andre raises a brow in a challenge, wondering what the knight has with him, and just flashes a daring smirk to him, "Well come on and show'em lad, you've piqued me interest well."
He gestures the knight to come close, taking a seat besides his furnace as he watches the knight pull out the box. Then he rummages within, muttering something under his breath as he searches for a weapon.
Andre waits patiently, quite intrigued with what seemed to be an entire armory the Ashen One was searching through, and wonders just who the Undead was. He did not feel like an ordinary Undead, but the smith cannot exactly pinpoint why.
Just then did the Ashen One exclaims excitedly and pulls out a greatsword of quite simple design, much like the one he'd crafted for Oscar, and hefts it easily as if it were a mere longsword. But Andre remains calm, for he is has seen Undead can nourish themselves with souls, and instead raises an interested eyebrow towards the greatsword in his hand.
When the Ashen One handed it to him, the smith takes it easily by the offered hilt, and places it upon his anvil. His eyes became sharp and focused, and he examines the blade closely, humming intermittently as he felt the blade.
"Reinforced eh? Whoever did the reinforcements must surely be a master craftsman then. They're quite complex," Andre comments honestly, appreciating the way the sword's enhancements are done, and keeps studying the weapon carefully.
Not once did he notice the caught snicker from the Ashen One, who had raised a hand to his mouthpiece in order to hide it, and just kept observing the expert enhancements of the weapon.
"They quite are," the Ashen One nearly lets a laugh escape with his words, but held the amusement back.
"And the titanite they used are unique as well. I've never seen titanite this… alive…," he looks up to the Ashen One, who had calmed down from his mirth just in time, and looks at him oddly with a hint of suspicion, "What titanite is this lad?"
"Titanite scales, picked from a grown or mutated and very ravenous crystal lizard. They're native to my homeland, and can only be extracted when crystal lizards consume much souls," the Ashen One explains, garnering a shocked response from Andre at the knowledge.
The smith took a while, but he manages to compose himself, staring blatantly at the sword with a mixture of awe and dread, "Then, these are-"
"-soul-infused weapons, yes. Most of Lothric, my land, are ruins with few alive and sane. Fewer more are smiths, and with many dead and or insane, the crystal lizards had become ravenous in their appetite," the Ashen One finishes with a mock shrug of nonchalance, a hint of solemnness in his tone, more so for the smith's own mind than his own.
He waves off the horror upon Andre's face, a sad smile in his tone when he comforts the man, "Worry not, Andre. Lothric's fate will not be shared by anyone else, I assure you."
The blacksmith still looks apprehensively at the knight, clearly frightened by the information, but just sighs deeply with weight, "Aye, I cannot blame smiths borne of desolate lands, they must do what they can after all."
With a newfound respect for the enhanced weapon, Andre hands the sword over to the Ashen One, who took it with a nod of gratitude for his appraisal, "Lordran is fortunate, blacksmith. It will survive the fading Flame."
Andre smiles sardonically, unaware at the truth he holds, and just waves the knight's comfort off. Then his features contorted slightly, and turns to the knight who is now inspecting the weapon himself, "Say, that sword. Where did you get it? It feels oddly… comforting to hold."
The sharp upturn of the knight's helm has him slightly worried, but the knight just waves off his concern before explaining, "A prize. There was a legion of Undead where I am from, formed to fight abominations no mere man could go against."
He then holds the sword up slightly, allowing the weapon to gleam under the sunlight, and continues, "But they fell to the abominations, and only their legionmaster was still alive when I arrived."
Andre listens attentively, finding the simple history a bit fascinating, and watches with a forming frown when the knight sighed sadly, "We fought, a final honor for the legionmaster, until he too fell. This was his final gift to me before he died."
"Undead do not die, though," Andre states, a moment of thinking allowing him to see a discrepancy.
The Ashen One nods, "Indeed, and it had taken a great many ways for me to finally end the hollow legionmaster. It was not until he was inflicted with the abominations' taint did he finally fell."
Andre didn't question him further, instead already looking towards the practicing Astoran with a look of forlorn.
"You did them a great service, Ashen One," he consoles the clearly grieving man, who had crossed his arms.
The Ashen One remains silent.
XxXxX
The bell gargoyles were formidable foes, Solaire notes with a hum as he sent a lightning spear into one, watching as it tensed tightly from overload. He smiles proudly when the Ashen One swings his sword upwards and cleanly cleaves through the beast's wrist, causing it to screech in pain before it sent a torrent of fire against him.
The Undead raised his shield just in time, taking the fire directly with a step back, and distracts the beast just enough for Oscar to thrust his greatsword between its skull and jaw, interrupting the stream of fire. The gargoyle screeched loudly in pain, the intact hand gripping the blade in an attempt to pull it from its head, but Oscar keeps it in with a struggle.
Stronger as he is, the gargoyles were still formidable creatures.
Holding the sword tightly, Oscar groans before he hammers the sword farther with a slam of his on the pummel, and the gargoyle tries desperately to free its head, flames sputtering out of its skewered maw in an attempt to destroy the blade. Distracted and crippled, the Ashen One ducks under the head and sends his sword up tip first into the creature's throat.
Immediately the monster gurgles in desperation and pain, and its fiery breath sputtered out from its maw and the newly punctured hole on its neck. With a kick, the Ashen One grunts heavily and falls to the ground on his back. Then it gripped the blade tightly, its jaw clamping as hard as it can, and twisted its upper body with a heave, surprising the Astoran who was sent careening towards Solaire.
The Sunlight warrior quickly acts on instinct and rolls away from the briefly flying Undead, talisman swapped for his straight sword when he rises. The gargoyle, now free to focus, pulled the Astoran greatsword out of its maw and threw it aside. Jaw hanging loosely, the creature gives a gargled screech of anger before it bulls its way to Solaire, barely missing the Ashen One who had rolled away in time, and swipes a claw at the Astoran.
Solaire takes the hit with his shield, metal sparking by the sharp nails scratching over it, and swipes once in retaliation. His sword connected with the beast's chest, sensing a splatter of blood flying, before he dodges from a frantic swipe of its claw. A dance ensues where Solaire parries, deflects and counters each time the gargoyle swipes it large claw at him and hammers him with its stub of an arm, all while taking a step back with each successive hit.
He should be worried, knowing he was edging closer to the edge of the roof, but Solaire just laughs joyfully as he takes another punch of its stub to his shield, spraying blood all over the sun on his shield. When his feet felt the edge, the Sunlight warrior didn't hesitate and jumps off, barely catching unto the ledge of the roof.
The gargoyle blinks in surprise when its target fell, and was about to screech in confused victory before something massive it was smashed its back.
After all, only another bell gargoyle would be identical to its size.
So Solaire glances over his shoulder when he sensed the two beasts fall behind him, and watches as the pair of guardians fell down to the burg below, screeching all the while as they tried to disentangle themselves. The screeches ended abruptly when two meaty thumps echoed from below, and only a pitiful wail came from where the beasts had fell.
That was two gargoyles taken care of.
Solaire huffs when his fingers began going numb, and heaves with might as he pulls himself up. A hand appeared before his helmet when he lifts over the roof, and Solaire exclaims jubilantly albeit gaspingly before taking the offered hand. And with the strength of another, the Sunlight warrior was back on stable ground, or roof, once again.
Breathing heavily, Solaire gives his savior a thumbs up with a hand over his chest. He thanked the Ashen One between breaths, "I- you have- my thanks- Ashen One."
"Breath, Solaire, it is quite embarrassing to die by asphyxiation," the burnt knight jests, a calming hand on his shoulder whilst the other hands his round shield back.
Despite being out of breath, the Sunlight warrior still manages a gasping laugh as he takes the shield, smiling brightly beneath his helmet whilst he fastens the round shield unto his arm again.
Once his breath was calmed, the Astoran mutters his thanks yet again and gives an appreciating nod when the Ashen One hands out his sword, "I must say Ashen One, you fought that beast quite well. Does your land house similar creatures?"
He had been quite surprised when the Ashen One joined Havel in taking the first blows of the gargoyles, and was suitably impressed when the man matched the gargoyle's strength and speed in kind. He had judged the knight as strong correctly.
But he hadn't expected him to be that strong, which makes Solaire quite relieved he was friendly.
"Quite many," the Ashen One replies with a sardonic laugh, clearly remembering memories of his own encounters, "Most of my deaths involved painful methods; bitten and swallowed, decapitated, burned alive and such."
Solaire raises his eyebrows, impressed and frightened by the trials the red knight has to go through on a daily basis in his country. He chuckles in sympathy, "Oh my, your country harbors quite the denizens indeed."
The Ashen One sighs wistfully, a sad smile in his tone when he responds, "To be expected from a ruined land, I should tell you of my experience with a beast of Sulyvahn."
"Sulyvahn?" the word, a name he realizes, has Solaire cocking his head slightly in question, to which the Ashen One gestures with his hand as he recounts briefly his tale regarding the beast.
"Mangled creatures the size of horses, mutated horribly by magic. Ferocious beasts, and has quite the bite and speed to accompany it," the Ashen One then taps a spot on his side, "And can teleport. I am quick to say that I have been mauled countless times by them."
Solaire shakes his head at the short recount, already finding himself grateful Lordran does not house such creatures yet. "And who is this Sulyvahn character?"
"Creator or instigator, I know not," the ashen knight answers with shake of his head, "But he is responsible for the creation of the beasts."
Sensing the end of the conversation, Solaire nods satisfactorily for the moment and gives a reassuring and friendly pat on the man's shoulder, "The many trials you face in your land has shaped you well, Ashen One."
The Undead remains silent for a while, staring at him with some unknown emotion, Solaire couldn't really pinpoint what he was getting from him, before his shoulders sag slightly, "I presume they have."
The response left Solaire confused, but he smiles anyway and cheers the man up happily, finding a silver-lining within the sombre mood, "That's the spirit! Now come, you have a bell to ring, yes?" He gestures animatedly towards the tower where the bell hangs waiting, a spring in his step as he starts bringing the burnt knight with him to it.
After all, the Sunlight warrior felt the Undead's quest could lead him to his own sun.
Moments later, Solaire stood with Oscar and the Ashen One within the bell tower, with the blue knight watching the red knight pulling the machinations to ring the bell, while he faces outwards towards the shining globe within the sky. And as gears began churning, preparing the bell to ring, Solaire smiles happily at the sun.
With his weapons stowed away, the Warrior of Sunlight raised his arms high and stood on his toes before exclaiming loudly yet again, the first ring of the bell finishing his pray magnificently.
"Praise the sun!"
XxXxX
He mutters darkly to himself as he shifts within his heavy set of armor, arms crossed and frown permanent upon his visage, whilst he waits for the rest of his squad to arrive. It couldn't have been anyone else now could it? He must have done something to anger someone above him if he had been entrusted with this task, and wonders if he has any chance to amend for the error after all of this.
Petrus really hopes he does.
Waiting for the three Undead that he was tasked with 'guiding' was proving taxing to his already short patience, and he grumbles to himself at how slow they are, but he still sits tight, and just weathers through the damp heat of the shrine area he awaits in.
Not long now.
He had heard one of the bells began ringing some time ago, and laments that the 'Chosen Undead' had already finished what should've been a deadly task that would've hollowed them out, but he dismisses them later when he realizes he has no power over it.
So imagine his surprise when the two Undead return with company.
Petrus eyes the three new company the Undead has gathered with suspicion and mild resentment.
The first was a heretical sorcerer, possibly from that accursed land Vinheim, who seems to be quite focused upon the book he was reading. The cleric just scoffs at the typical bookworm nature of the Vinheim-native, feeling a bit of suspicion when he notes his black robes of the Dragon School.
A follower of the Paledrake. How quaint.
Next was a Warrior of sunlight, and Petrus groans in annoyance at the man of faith, already feeling obnoxious at how a different practitioner is now within vicinity. He feels a righteous sort of anger at the fact that the man was still walking, and plots a plan to see if he could be disposed of. The followers of Sunlight were one of the Way of White's targets ever since its censure.
But his planning was interrupted when he beholds the third stranger, and Petrus widens his eyes comically when Havel the Rock himself follows the party behind at a reasonable pace, talking with the burned excuse of a knight at the back.
With a shake of his head, the cleric suppresses the awe he felt at seeing one of the Way's most successful archbishop walking with a bunch of nobodies, and instead wonders just how did they managed to find the man.
He wonders if he could bring him back to the Way's teachings again.
Again, his musing was stopped when a pair of footsteps approaches him, and he wipes the grimace off his face before he turns to the source with a neutral expression.
It was the burned knight.
Suppressing another frown from appearing on his lips, he greets the Undead warily, "Ah, it's you. What do you want?"
The burned knight stops just before him, and Petrus wonders if the knight had seen through his farce. But it was swept away when the knight tilts his helm to the side a bit with an inquiry, "Still here?"
This time, Petrus lets the grimace form on his lips as he grumbles a response, arms still crossed while his gaze went to the side, "Yes, my party is late. What of it?"
The knight was silent, not saying anything for a good while, and instead gives a non-committal shrug of his shoulders, "No reason in particular. I had thought you would be gone by this point."
Petrus raises an interested eyebrow at the wording, his mouth voicing his question, "'By this point?'"
The knight simply stares at the man, the intensity not enough for him to squirm, but enough to send his senses into overdrive, but eventually answers, "Indeed. I had thought your party ready for your quest, and assumed they would come by now."
The knight scoffs, giving an unconcerned wave of his hand, "But it seems I was wrong."
Petrus just huffs in reluctant agreement, turning away from the knight and staring off into the wall with a slowly forming frown on his face.
The knight then turns away from him, about to leave the cleric alone, much to his pleasure, but sends a final message over his shoulder that left Petrus frozen in place, "The catacombs are a maze, cleric. Pray I do not find you alone."
The knight then walks away, and Petrus now eyes the Undead with dread and suspicion, feeling the previous concern return and turning into worry at the implications the knight had given him.
Petrus would need to watch his back in the future.
XxXxX
Having no platform to properly play Dark Souls, I am depending upon the wiki for my source of information. If you know some characters missing within the areas they should appear, then it's either I truly missed them, and wished to rectify it as best as possible, or simply don't feel like writing them. Such as Oswald.
That doesn't mean I'll leave them, oh no. But it depends on where they'd be relevant.
And to address some of the questions regarding the characters' fates : It's an AU, not changing the plotline would kill the idea.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed!