XxXxX
A thrust, a blocked attack, followed by a lethal riposte, and the Astoran grunted in pain when the flat of the blade smacked his helmet to the side. Reeling from the shock and pain, Oscar grits his teeth and brings his greatsword up to block the downward swing from the Ashen One's sword, and retaliated with a sharp push back. And with surprising speed, he twists his body a full circle and stabs his sword forward.
But the quick reaction was still new to him, and Oscar growls in frustration when the attack misses by a wide margin.
His timing is still off.
The shield punch was his brutal punishment, his helmet clanging loudly when the shield top met his head and Oscar groans in pain when his head shakes greatly. Ears ringing and brains scrambled, the knight falls to his knees, sword clanging on the ground after his grip loosens, and barely catches his falling body with his hands. His head sways slightly as he stays on the ground, trying to remedy the blurry vision and slightly pounding concussion, and just groans again when the pain keeps persisting.
"Here," Oscar winces slightly at the voice, slowly raising his helmet to see the Ashen One holding out a blue-filled flask, and just grunts in thanks when he takes it, flips his visor up, and tips the ashen flask back.
The cold liquid fire runs down his throat smoothly, and quite immediately, the concussion begins to alleviate. The ringing subsides and his vision restores much to his relief, all the while the pounding lessens to a stop. Sighing in sweet relief, the Astoran hands the flask back and takes the offered hand as well, grunting when the man easily lifts him up to his feet.
Once he stands, the ashen knight pats his shoulder proudly and congratulates the Astoran with a smile in his voice, "Well done Oscar! You are well acquainted already with your reflexes."
"Not by much," Oscar denies the compliment, his mind still replaying the missed thrust. He grumbles something under his breath, but then huffs through his nose before picking up his greatsword. Inspecting the blade briefly for nicks and dirt, the Astoran then grips the blade with both hands and turns to the Ashen One.
"Another bout?" there was expectance, as well as a bit of dread, but the eagerness to practice was still evident despite them all.
And the Ashen One smiles before nodding, his hand reaching for his bottomless box. "Of course. But let me even the playing field a bit," he obliges cryptically, and the Astoran raises a curious brow at the Unkindled's searching. Before he could ask though, the red knight proceeds to pull out a greatsword just as long as his was. Simple in design, much like his own Astoran greatsword, and seemingly as weighty as his own.
With sword in hand, the burnt knight backs away from the Astoran, who does the same until they were at a reasonable distance from each other. Oscar readies himself with a stance, hands gripping the greatsword's hilt tightly with feet spaced apart, and watches attentively when the Ashen One does the same. And whereas Oscar uses both of his hands to steady his weapon, the red knight only wields his with one hand, the tip of the weapon close to the ground, while his other hand pulled out his strange aquamarine colored dagger in a reverse grip.
Both combatants ready, they began to circle one another.
"Odd stance you have there," Oscar decides to sate his curiosity, much to the Ashen One's amusement, and he was responded with a soft chuckle from the red knight, who simply brings the dagger a bit closer to his chest.
"Indeed it is," the Ashen One retorts, keeping his eyes upon Oscar's stance, and slightly lowers his body. Much to satisfaction, the Astoran adjusts his stance a bit awkwardly at his own shift. Even as he prepares, he still continues the conversation, "It is the combat doctrine of a legion from Lothric. The legionnaires, formidable foes individually already, fought much in the same way as wolves."
As if in demonstration, the Ashen One launches forth with considerable speed and brings the sword in a wide arc towards Oscar. The Astoran stares wide eyed for a moment and in response backs away while bringing his sword up to block the swing, hissing when the blade met his own with staggering speed and strength that has him stumbling a step back.
But it wasn't over, and Oscar watches in shock when the Ashen One continues the assault by stabbing the floor with his dagger and uses it as an axle, his blade coming back for a swing as he swings it forward with his entire body behind it. The Astoran grunts in pain when the blades met once again, his shoulders bearing the heavy assault, but maintains his position, and just grits his teeth when the burnt knight pulls, leaps slightly to turn his body and repositions the dagger unto another spot, using the momentum from the previous swing to bring his sword back.
On instinct, the knight rolls on the opposite direction of the swing, narrowly missing the blade which hits the ground where he formerly was, and quickly rights himself once he is on even footing. As he regulates his breathing, Oscar watches with sharp eyes while the Ashen One recovers from his spiral attacks.
He had never seen such style of combat.
"Was that their style?" he asks curtly, keeping his eyes on the ashen knight's stance and weapons, now that he knows what to expect, and circles slowly around him.
The Ashen One nods simply as well, his grips tight on his weapons while he studies the Astoran's tense muscles. "Quite. Their attacks were meant to be swift and unstoppable, but very much full of openings," he explains as they circle each other, remembering the many exploits during his own battle against the Undead legionnaires. He remembered not-quite-fondly of the deaths associated with them, particularly when he finds himself breathing tiredly after repeatedly taking their strikes, and grimaces briefly at the feeling of being cleaved, stabbed and dismembered.
Most importantly, he remembered the openings they showed repeatedly, gaps within their defenses so wide he could fit through, and the subsequent retaliation from him.
"How so?" Oscar asks tersely, but not begrudgingly, considering the undertone of interest.
"They rely with shock and awe, taking advantage of their foes' disbelief and inexperience with their style, as well as their numbers, to cut them down," he begins another launch forward, taking a leap and bringing his sword high before swinging it down.
Oscar rolls backwards instinctively in response, the clang of a blade hitting where he once was reaching his ears, and much to his chagrin, was forced to roll once again when the Ashen One uses the momentum of his landing to twist and embed his dagger in front of him before he utilizes his entire body to bring his sword to bear once more. Another leap and twist of his body and the Astoran is forced to confront the mighty swing again.
Their blades met once again, and Oscar growls as he deflects the blade away from his head, presenting an opening when the greatsword swings overhead, and sends a sharp kick to the Ashen One's chest.
The Ashen One gasps sharply when the foot meets his chest, and he rolls back away from the Astoran before a blade lands where he had been. With a smirk, the ashen knight rises to his feet and gives the blue knight an approving tilt of his head at the exploit, "As I said, the gaps are wide."
Oscar resumes his stance after the failed riposte, blade ready and body tense, but gives a conceding nod to him.
"To remedy their weaknesses, they work best as a pack, swarming and complimenting their enemies and comrades respectively to bring down their opponents quickly," he continues during the lull in combat, sword and dagger once again by his side whilst he lays low.
And as he readies for another launch, he finds himself surprised when the Astoran moves before him, leaping forward and swinging widely, to which the Ashen One responds with a quick raise of his sword, metal screeching as the Astoran's blade slides across his when they clashed, and huffs with a strained smile when Oscar uses the built up momentum of his first swing yet again, twisting his body around with his sword.
The Ashen One leaps back and lets the tip pass by, but couldn't resist the grimace when Oscar, instead of letting the blade move, releases the hand close to the guard and pivots the sword back with the far hand. Momentum efficiently converted, his free hand grasps the sword's blade and quickly thrusts the sword forward, catching the burnt knight by the chest.
The Ashen One smiles tightly at the clever move.
"Excellent Oscar!" he praises the knight.
Just before the tip penetrates through his chestplate, his dagger swiftly pushes the blade away, letting the sword nick the inner of his arm as it passes beneath his armpit, catching the Astoran off-guard as he stumbles forward. In a surprising move, he lets his greatsword go and instead traps the Astoran's under his armpit. He solidifies his trap with a strong grip on the blade and, with his feet planting firmly, twists his body to the side.
Already out-of-balance, Oscar yelps in surprise when the handle flew out of his grip, losing his offensive ability immediately. Disarmed, Ashen One lets the sword drop from his trap and launches his free hand forward. He catches the Astoran by the chestplate in an iron grip and pulls him closer, his dagger hand flying up to meet the knight's neck when they were close.
The Astoran stiffens at the feeling of sharp metal touching his neck, and sighs in defeat with his hands raising to concede.
"But despite it all, Farron's legionnaires are still lethal warriors," the Ashen One finishes calmly, letting Oscar's plate go and allowing the Astoran to back off. Said knight nods with a sulking gait as he picks up his weapon, and the burnt knight just chuckles in amusement at the Undead's sullen mood.
"You are steadily improving, Oscar. A few more deaths and you are guaranteed to be proficient," he jests lightheartedly, garnering a mumble from the Astoran who just inspects his blade.
But as much as he jests, the Astoran could sense the sincerity of his words and begrudgingly nods afterwards. The red knight had been nothing but helpful, if a bit insufferable at times.
Like now.
"Am I to assume you decided to teach me first hand regarding the Legion's style?" he inquires rather sardonically, half of him interested and half of him quite miffed at the repeated loss, as he stows his sword back. Oscar never could lie to himself when it comes to new and unique things regarding knighthood and its experiences.
The ashen knight had picked his own greatsword up and was stowing it away when Oscar asked, his oddly shaped helmet rising up to meet the Astoran's own as he stares at him briefly, before he shrugs half-heartedly.
"Mayhaps," he answers cryptically as he closes the box that contains his considerable arsenal and places it back on his hip, the greatsword now replaced with a large mace in his hand. Then he gives the blue knight an inscrutable gaze that has Oscar squirming slightly, the almost expecting feeling coming from it making the Astoran uncomfortable with how pressured it feels, and asks back a rather daunting question, "And what would you do with it?"
The Ashen One keeps his gaze upon the uncomfortable knight, his ashen grey eyes studying the Undead carefully, as if waiting for an answer, but turns away before Oscar could form up an answer.
"Come on Oscar, the Flame burns for no one," he says over his shoulder, leaving the Astoran knight alone as he walks to the bonfire.
The Astoran's silence was answer enough for him, much to his disappointment.
XxXxX
Griggs was nothing, if not observant. He has to be, considering his profession and school, and he needs to be, if he wants to live within this land.
To be ignorant was to deny man's greatest weaponry, leaving many to die because of their lack of strength and speed and power, and to allow others to peruse the weak. To be ignorant was to allow those that aren't to take advantage, and to be left behind when they failed to notice.
Which is why he was observing the Ashen One before him, watching quietly but intently as he reads his personal. Though an assassin, Griggs was still a scholar, and a scholar without his tome is a scholar that would waste knowledge. It was engrained within him so deeply, that he would feel naked without at least a scroll upon him.
He learned it the hard way, back at Vinheim, when master Logan suddenly decided to share with him a smidgen of his considerable knowledge, and he had cried himself to sleep during the night, feeling as if he had missed an important piece of himself when he forgets what he'd shared so willingly.
So as the knight studies the tome carefully, the great mace leaning upon the wall with a shield beside it close to the burnt man, Griggs studies the man himself in return.
And there were a lot to study.
His appearance alone has the sorcerer questioning within himself; burnt and quite gnarled, the Ashen One looks as if he had burned himself upon some sort of magical pyre. The clothe that was his skirt and tabard were tattered and, more importantly, singed at the edges, with the armor plates a bit charred and slightly blackened, though not to the extent such as the black knights themselves. His armor was simple and design wise, normal, but his helmet seemed much more… melted, than the rest. There was a sort of half-crown on the back of the helmet, with the lower half of the visor having a sort of ethereal grin.
It beckons towards a more fiery past, in the aspect that the knight had been burned once before upon some sort of pyre. Whether it was magical or not, he could not confirm.
Griggs stows the thought away carefully.
And then there was the matter of his feats.
The sorcerer knew Undead can be strong, what with their proficiency to enhance themselves with souls at a bonfire or, in this instance, by a fire keeper, and Griggs had seen quite many Undead who could handle weaponry ridiculously larger than they were.
Like the Ashen One and his greatmace.
But never, never, had he seen Undead that could tussle directly, however briefly, with Havel the Rock. Or a bell gargoyle. No matter the amount of souls they used.
Then there was the flask he'd lended, the blue flask containing cold fire that could heal the strain upon the mind. It was a miraculous thing, something that should've been normalized, yet now he discovers this while the Ashen One hands it over with the thought that it was a normal thing.
The fact that he has it means he uses some sort of magic. Whether it was sorcery, miracles, or Lords-forbid pyromancy, he would need to learn more. Which is why he'd let the Undead read his book.
The Ashen One was hiding something, that was for certain, and Griggs really wants to know what.
"Quite extensive, Griggs. I'm impressed," the Ashen One comments with soft amazement, his visor never leaving the page he was on. Already Griggs got a bit more out of the small exchange, and he raises an intrigued eyebrow at the small revelation.
"You understand it?" he inquires skeptically, wondering if his assumption was correct, and finds himself becoming more interested when the man nods casually.
"I had a teacher back at Lothric, and though he was a difficult teacher, he was patient with me when he educated," he answers honestly, somewhere between wistfulness and fondness within his tone, before flipping a page.
Griggs makes a curious sound at the answer, thinks for a moment, and then hands the Undead his staff. And when the knight raises his head, flitting between the staff and the sorcerer, he asks quizzically, "What is this?"
Griggs shakes his staff almost alluringly and with a small grin, challenges the knight, "You are a smart man, Ashen One. I'd like to see you try a simple soul arrow."
Already, he can tell the man is looking at him oddly, though he can tell he has a small, almost endeared smile, behind the visor as well. Which is also why he was challenging the man; he hides more than he seems.
Eventually, the knight closes the book and exchanges it with the sorcerer's staff, his visor still staring at the Vinheim-native. When the staff was in both hands, Griggs stows his book away and watches with amused interest as the ashen knight inspects his staff. He gives it a good flick, listens quietly, and then nods in satisfactory before he raises it casually.
Gradually, a blue glow begins to grow at the tip of the staff, shining brighter and brighter as the burnt knight conjures a simple spell, until it reaches a certain zenith in which the man flicks the staff forward, launching the soul arrow away with a chime. The blue sorcery flew fast and true, leaving a trail of wispy mist behind, and hitting the far end of the room they were in.
Griggs eyes the scorch mark for a moment, blinking twice in a bit of shock at how… practiced that conjuring was, and claps slowly in amazement.
"That is… impressive. Not many can take to sorcery quite well such as you," he congratulates the red knight, idly taking the offered staff when he hands it over, and tightens his lips when the knight shrugs almost nonchalantly.
"As I said, my teacher was very thorough in educating me," he reasons almost half-heartedly, as if he wasn't sure with his own words, before continuing, "Learning literacy has helped with that."
"Indeed, but comprehension is an entirely different subject, Ashen One," Griggs points out with a confused frown, wondering why the man was half-heartedly deflecting. He knows the man could divert the subject away quite well.
The ashen knight shrugs again, much to his chagrin, and simply stands up with a grunt. He swipes his lap almost subconsciously before turning and picking his weaponry up, heaving the greatmace up and unto his shoulder, and gives the sorcerer a tilt downward of his helmet before he speaks, "Yes it is, Griggs. So do what you will with what you have."
Confused and a bit concerned, Griggs watches as the knight turns away and head towards the bonfire, the air of mystery around him becoming more thicker than ever.
He wonders quietly if he should continue pursuing his decision regarding the burnt knight.
XxXxX
"When are we embarking for the second bell?" Solaire asks earnestly, his helmet looking at the Ashen One near expectantly as they sat around the bonfire. Said knight had just allocated his souls with Anastasia's help, the fire keeper oddly enough becoming quiet when she nourishes the strange knight, though he never questions it further, and is now polishing the greatmace he wields.
"Once everything is settled, really. Are you done with your own strengthening, Solaire?" he answers without pause, turning from the mace which is softly letting out cool wisps of air from it to face the knight in question.
Solaire nods in affirmation, his tone excited as he answers, "Hah hah! I am, the fair maiden has given me quite the strength boost!" He demonstrates by picking up an errant rock and near-effortlessly crushing it, the turn he did to look at the Ashen One filled with excited pride at his show.
The Ashen One shakes his head, thought better of it, and then hands the greatmace to the knight. He handles the large weapon easily, much easier than he should normally for an Undead, but Solaire dutifully ignores it knowing the man has a reason to, and instead grabs the hefty weapon.
And to no one's surprise, the weapon was far heavier than the burnt knight's handling should be when his breath hitches as he lifts the weapon. His second hand immediately grabs the hilt to balance the weapon properly and he grunts with effort as he lifts the mace up.
"Oh dear-! This is heavy!" Solaire heaves the weapon with another grunt, placing the mace on his shoulder as gently as he could, and simply giving the knight an impressed and incredulous stare in amazement at the knight, "Your strength is commendable, Ashen One. You have lived a long life to acquire this sort of strength."
The Ashen One laughs heartedly at the compliment, relieving Solaire of the weight by taking the weapon from him, and remarks sardonically as he leans the mace on his own shoulder, "I have lived as I died, Solaire. Much like any Undead. And you being one means you will to, it just depends upon if you remain sane."
The Ashen One then points his towards the sun emblazoned upon his tabard, much to the Astoran's confusion, and vaguely warns him with a tone of playfulness in his voice, "And should you fail to find your sun, it might be best to re-evaluate your goals, Solaire of Astora."
The Ashen One then leans back slightly, helmet tilting to the side in consideration, and watches as the Sunlight warrior traces a hand over the sun on his chest. He gives the emblem a long look, halfway between confused and slight dread, but shakes his head eventually before responding with a light tone, "Of course, I shall take your words into consideration."
Solaire smiles when the Ashen One tilts his head in consideration, a thoughtful hum accompanying it, before he receives a light punch to the shoulder in jest, the red knight remarking, "I shall take your word for it."
Again, Solaire smiles at the Undead's acceptance, and shifts his focus towards the greatmace he wields with a question, "Pardon my question but, from where did you acquire such weapon?"
The ashen knight glances at the large mace leaning against him, noting the wispy cool mist softly floating around the head, and answers with a near matter-of-fact tone when he turns back to Solaire, "This weapon belongs to Vordt, a knight-turned-beast of Irythill who was, as you would expect, quite large."
Then he shifts the weapon off his shoulder and lowers it down until the head rests between the two knights, catching the Astoran's attention as the cool air around it penetrates through his armor and cloth. He shivers slightly at the odd feeling, having never really remembered or experienced low temperatures aside from going in water, and finds the sensation not much to his liking.
"I already dislike this weapon," he comments honestly, hands rubbing the area where the misty air had touched him as he warms himself. And the Ashen One chuckles with mirth at the knight's discomfort.
"I can tell," he remarks, and then casually bumps his fist hard enough so that his bones rattled slightly. And almost immediately, the fist is enveloped by a layer of thin frost which has the Undead widening his eyes in shock, before the Unkindled shakes it off.
Calmly, he explains the strange magic that had occurred, "As you can tell, the mace is enchanted with sorcery. Any hit taken from this weapon will begin to freeze the opponent, as I had unfortunately experienced, until they eventually freeze over and shatter."
Then the Ashen One looks away slightly, as if remembering something, and mutters under his breath, "And that had never been a death I'd expected."
Casually, he turns back to Solaire to see the Astoran gazing at the mace head curiously, though cautiously if the distance he'd kept was anything to go by, before he asks, "Is Vordt the only one with enchanted weaponry?"
The Ashen One shakes his head, much to Solaire's dismay, and answers not-too-fondly as he reminisces back to his own time in Lothric, "Oh no, that would be too easy. No, Vordt was part of the Outriders, knights who Sulyvahn conscripted to protect his rule. And nearly all of them wield frost weapons."
The burnt knight shivers, his mind reliving the cold bite of ice digging into his flesh whenever the blue weapons touched him, and just warns the Sunlight warrior, "And believe me, frostbite is no pleasant death."
Solaire just nods numbly, imagining a frozen death, and shudders once more. Unironically, he very much prefers a fiery death than a frozen one.
Shaking his head from such grim thoughts, Solaire gives the storied knight beside him a bright smile once more, the aura of it causing the burnt knight to smirk amused as well behind his visor, and heartedly proclaims, "Worry not then, Ashen One. Lordran hardly has enemies of such low temperatures, we are fortunate to face only fiery ones instead. Hah hah!"
The Ashen One chuckles in mirth before nodding in agreement.
Yes. Lordran has no enemies involving low temperatures, just fiery ones, dead ones and godly ones.
Silver-linings and all.
XxXxX
"You're not joining us?" the burnt knight asks curiously, though with an almost expectant undertone, as they gaze towards the high wall of Anor Londo. He scoffs mentally at the formidable wall that was meant to keep invaders out, finding it a cage after everything he'd learned, and just glares at the stone wall with half-hearted contempt.
It kept invaders and enemies out. But it also kept enemies within safe as well.
Eventually, Havel turns his helm to the Ashen One and shakes his head, his gruff voice answering curtly, "No. I will not."
They sit just outside the shrine, leaning against the ruined wall of the building that overlooks the cliff, and were both gazing at the tall wall of the Lords' city. Havel had found it a suitable place to rest his bones and flesh, and had leaned his club and shield on a nearby wall. Just a few distance to his side, the Ashen One sits with his greatmace, a fine weapon of choice if Havel was asked, resting upon the ground on its head with a hand on the hilt, wispy mist curling and fading around the head.
The ex-archbishop gives the Undead a vague gesture when the burnt knight's helm tilts towards him in question, somewhere between waving off and half-heartedly answering, before he reasons, "Undead I may be, I am still old. I need adequate rest before I journey again."
For a moment, the two were silent, one sitting calmly and gazing upon the high defense, while the other stared with an uncertain emotion, before the Rock realizes what he had spoke.
Just then did the Ashen One sniggers, but catches the amused sound in time before it devolves into laughter.
It did not escape Havel's notice though, and the stone-clad knight glares through his visor at the clearly amused red knight who was glancing away in vain to contain his amusement. He huffs in annoyance when the knight returns his gaze to him, outwardly calm, yet the unspoken laughter in his tone tells the Undead he was still clearly amused, "Of course, it must have slipped my mind. Rarely do I meet elderly Undead."
Havel points a threatening finger before he warns the burnt knight, "Speak of this to anyone, and I will ensure your bones remain pastes even after your resurrection."
The Ashen One nods twice, smile still clearly visible despite the helmet but remains quiet.
Having secured his dignity from the younger Undead, Havel releases a heavy sigh borne from the weight in his mind. His shoulders sags slightly as he leans back upon the wall, and his gauntlets rests wearily on his knees, his baritone voice low and soft as he speaks, "I shall be honest, Ashen One. I cannot say I trust you entirely."
Glancing from the corner of his eye, Havel watches his honest statement causing the burnt knight to sharply turn his helm towards him, an incredulous air around him, before a near-inaudible sigh reaches his ears. From there, his respect for the man heightens just the slightest, and idly notes the new air of acceptance around the ashen man.
"I wouldn't begrudge you for it, Sir Havel," he offers with a relenting nod.
But Havel stops his words with a raised hand, and turns his helmet towards him with a placating tone in his voice, "Your skills commend my respect, Ashen One. But I cannot say my respects extend to yourself as well."
His attention captured, the Ashen One keeps his helmet facing just to the side to show his interest towards the Rock's words, keeping silent to listen attentively. Havel continues on, admiring the rather open-nature of the knight mentally, "But consider my own history. I was the few who could call Lord Gwyn himself as my friend, and look where that had led me to."
His heart races at the mention of the trickery, the sudden realization when the door, already enchanted and reinforced, closed behind him as he entered, and he grips his knees in anger before he growls it out.
Once he calms down, he gives the Ashen One a heavy gaze through his visor before speaking, "After that, I was left to ruminate my interactions with him, and what I found left me a seething man. You already know it had left me near-Hollow."
The Ashen One nods, but offers nothing else, and Havel smiles tightly at the respect shown.
"The lies he gave me, the truths he hid from me, and the deception he showed me, led me to consider everyone with the same light," he mutters just enough to be heard, his eyes glazing slightly in reminiscence. The omission regarding Seath and his experiments, and the lies he gave regarding the firstborn himself…
Havel releases another heavy sigh from his nose, feeling his age suddenly as he sags his shoulder with an invisible weight.
How he should have acted…
"And though you speak truth, Ashen One, it was far from being the complete truth," he finishes, eyeing the Ashen One again, who seems to be lost in thought.
Silent as he was, the ex-archbishop gives the man a few moments of time to think his mind clear, and pauses with a sniff of his nose.
When he speaks, it was with a light melancholy, his voice almost wistful when he asks the Ashen One, "So answer me, Ashen One. When will you tell us the full truth?"
His gaze had returned to the high wall of Anor Londo, envisioning the shining city and its inhabitants, and falls silent as he waits for an answer. He knows the Ashen One's type, those that hid knowledge for the better, and acknowledges that it would be better to let the man do what he wills, lest he shuts off some more.
In time, the Ashen One would open up.
Besides, Havel hardly knows the man himself.
But he wants to know when he would tell them.
Silence reigned between the two, allowing the ambience of the cliffside to pass through, before the sound of metal clanking rouses the Rock from his meditative state and turn his vision to the ashen knight. Said knight had stood up, his mace lifting up and resting upon his shoulders as he readies himself for travel, before he turns to the stone knight with indecipherable feeling around him.
And though the answer was short and concise, it contained honesty, true and complete, "When the world no longer needs people like me."
Havel smiles, both grim and impressed, at the vague answer and gives a chuckle in response. It was an unexpected answer, if he was honest, but that narrows the many theories he has regarding the knight very much.
The Ashen One was a man lost in time, much as he was himself. Whether he came from the past, or hails from the future, he doesn't know.
"Then I say this," Havel heaves himself up with little difficulty, and approaches the shorter knight calmly until he stands before him. Looking down upon the knight, who stands undaunted by his size and height, the Rock continues, "I await the day you will tell your tales, and give you my blessings upon your quest."
The Ashen One stands tall, an almost proud air around him mixed with a hint of regret, and gives a nod of gratitude before turning away.
And as the Ashen One leaves, Havel returns to his spot against the wall with a rumbling chuckle.
He has gathered more than he thought.
XxXxX
"We're going through there?" Oscar grimaced in distaste, staring incredulously at the Ashen One. His hand gripped the pommel of his straight sword for comfort, but the smell of the sewers did not relent the slightest as it assaulted his nostrils.
Despite experiencing the most horrendous smells along his undead life, the Astoran still finds himself grimacing at the sheer pungent smell of human feces.
It can't be helped really, it was just too strong.
The Ashen One, on the other hand, gave the locked door a simple analyzing gaze, casually ignoring the sharp scent of byproducts and corpses with grace and merely nodded in response. He ignores the stifled groan Oscar emits after he responds and as he studies the door, approaches it calmly before running a hand over its surface.
The door was old, but surprisingly sturdy in construction, reinforced with steel around and along its surface while heavy duty hinges and dead bolt locks keeps it accessible yet secure. The square peeking hole with a grate allowed any man to look through to inspect the other side, probably for beasts, and the locks on the bolts looked very sturdy on the first glance.
On the first glance.
"From what the warrior at the shrine told me, Blighttown's normal access way isn't the safest," the ashen knight eventually answers, his left hand tracing the hinges of the door as he remembers the crestfallen warrior's words. So it swings outwards from them, nothing too special. But the metal seems a bit rusted and weathered, most likely from a lack of maintenance.
His fingers eventually reach the dead bolts and lock, and he gently grasps the first lock in a grip as he turns it around for inspection, nonchalantly continuing his explanation, "Something about drakes flying about. This path is the safest of the two."
His eyes trace the wood of the door as he jiggles the lock in his hand idly, not stopping his inspection as he reasons to the discontent Astoran, and notes the subtle bulge of wood exposed to liquid. The metal that reinforces it looked more like it contained it with the way the wood bulged outwards from around it, and he was half-sure the insides of the door was a rotted and fibrous thing.
Easily breakable with a good kick or charge.
Maybe even a good axe could dismantle the entire thing.
Poorly maintained, and sadly predicted.
"Ah yes, I remember seeing a couple of drakes flying over us rather frequently," Solaire chimes in with undaunted energy, something that has the Ashen One snorting softly in amusement as he faintly squeezes the lock. He didn't turn around from the door, but he did hear the sharp turn of a helmet from Oscar's direction.
"Drakes? Drakes?!" this time, Oscar's incredulous tone has a hint of panic in it, but was otherwise quite contained. He had turned sharply at the mention of drakes, and his mind brought up the last time they had encountered such beasts on the way to the Parish above.
He had scowled quite heavily at the soot on his shield and the singe on his armor.
The other Astoran nods as he turns to the knight in blue, and was nonplussed as he spoke in calm reply, the hint of optimism forever present in his tone, "Indeed! If I'm correct, the other access way to Blighttown was a valley called…"
The Sunlight warrior pauses, recalling through his memories, and answers with a hint of hesitation, "…Valley of Drakes?"
This time, the Ashen One snorts audible in amusement and looks over his shoulder towards the two Astoran. One who was staring clearly blankly at the other, while the other hummed in curious deadpan as he realizes the rather uncreative name of the path.
Oh he remembered the last time he'd learned of a redundant name.
"Rather simple, no?" the burnt knight remarks with mirth before turning back to the door, and garners Oscar's blank stare in Solaire's stead from the lampshade he uttered. He could feel it, and he didn't resist the smile forming under his helmet.
Sufficiently amused and quite satisfied with his analysis, the Ashen One decides on a more peaceful resolution to the door situation.
And promptly rips out the first dead bolt with a tight grip. The wood groaned feebly for a split second before it softly cracks, and the Ashen One throws the useless piece of metal away before ripping out the other one. He ignored the stares behind him, and gently pushes the door open, revealing the quite unappealing sight of murky water and damp walls of the sewers of the depths.
Briefly, memories of giant rats and Hollows flashes through his mind, and then a red hued figure he was very much familiar with flashed a bit longer than others before it showed a ragged and trapped man and a truly disturbing dragon.
Well, he thought with a sarcastic smirk as he enters the depths.
Looks like we're going dragon hunting again.
XxXxX
I'm so, so very sorry if there's consistency issue with the story and the plot of DS here. If I miss anything, I can do nothing but say that I have never played the games. I grew interested in DS after reading Twisted_Fate_MK 2's RWBY/DS crossover, and have since fallen down the deep hole that is Dark Souls. So, again, I am very sorry if there's tons of consistency issues.
My notes are barebones and I'm doing this all by mind really. I'm writing as we're going. Essentially.
Regarding interactions, I plan to mete out chapters that don't specifically involve a location and just involves the Ashen One talking to characters. Which is why some interactions are brief, for I have plans for more in store. Now, the question if those interactions would be executed well? I cannot promise, but I will try!
…I'll need to rectify that slight error, thank you.
Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed!