08

The Watcher of the Dark

The warriors rested at the bonfire, recovering their strength. Thomas had long enjoyed resting at the Parish Bonfire, even when it was all just a game. The relaxing soundfile of the Bonfire on loop. The sound of Andre hammering away below. The (relatively) peaceful Darkroot Garden below, the scenic view of both the abandoned church of Lloyd, as well as the fortress of Sen (Reminder: Warn Oscar and Solaire that they're going to have a bad time. Because when the time came, they were going to have a very, very bad time, indeed.)

"So," Oscar spoke up, breaking him from his reverie. "What's next on the agenda?" In a way, Thomas admired the knight of Astora's bravado. It seemed that, after Thomas reunited him with his brother (accidentally, admittedly), and they had gotten some adventure in him like a hot meal, his spirits had been restored. By renewing his purpose, Thomas had inadvertently saved him from going Hollow. And already they were fucking with the timeline. Not that Thomas minded. The whole "Age of Fire or Age of Dark" ultimatum was kind of bullshit, and did nobody favors. Preserve the rule of gods that were either dead, insane, or about to be both, or let it all fall away into... Nobody knows. Nobody in the Lore communities knew. VaatiVidya, Sunlight Blade, Dave Control, Indiemaus. Nobody had any answers on what the Age of Dark would be like. But Thomas knew how the rest of the series went if the Status Quo was maintained. Even the First Flame had it's limits. The world just was unwilling to accept this. And so, Thomas had to devise something different.

If I could just fucking think of something... The problem with that is that Thomas didn't think that creatively. And either one he could think of boiled down to either Age of Fire, Age of Dark endings anyways. Thomas leaned back, taking in the silence for a brief moment. There was something keeping him from thinking. Some sense of wrongness. He cocked an ear, raising a hand to silence Solaire when he was about to ask. Indicating that they stayed seated, Thomas rose, listening.

"I don't," Solaire whispered, "hear anything."

That was the problem. For whatever reason, Andre had stopped hammering. Indicating again that the knights stayed put, Thomas drew his blade, and crept downstairs. There were voices. Hushed, and whispered, but Thomas could make out Andre's voice, even when under his breath. "All these years, I've held onto it fer ye. Tis a bit good to get it outta me hands again." That's when the sorcerer saw them.

Andre stood behind his forge, hammer at rest, as he pulled out a large, flat disk wrapped in dark cloth. A silvery pendant, tarnished with age, wrapped around the parcel, but that wasn't what caught Thomas' attention. What caught that was who Andre was handing this package to. A tall, dark figure. He was covered from head to toe in black robes, but not the Gold Trimmed Set of Quelana of Izalith. This was something entirely unique. The man then glanced at Thomas, merely tilting his head towards him. All it really did was tell Thomas that the man knew he was there. Without a word, the man gave a short bow to Andre, and then quickly turned to leave, his steps more quiet than if he had the Slumbering Dragon Crest Ring equipped. Thomas continued down the stairs, and decided to talk to Andre. "So... who was that, out of curiousity?"

Andre stared strangely at Thomas, then glanced back down towards the garden exit, where the cloaked man had left. He stroked his scraggly, soot filled beard thoughtfully, as though a secret had revealed itself to him, and he was taking a moment to process that. "Tis as he said," he whispered. "Tis as he said, indeed..." Thomas didn't hear Andre say this, too busy trying to peer down the stairs, wondering why he didn't hear the sounds of a Titanite Demon getting destroyed. Or even the breathy sounds that they made (which was wierd in and of itself, considering they had no mouths). Hm. Anyways, Thomas had the souls for it, so he may as well buy the thing now now, as opposed to later. I really don't want to do this bossfight, he thought, but I suppose I should just get it over with...

"One Crest of Artorias, please," he asked, souls filling his hand as he prepared for the transaction.

"Eh? What makes ye think I would carry such an item as that for sale?" What.

"Um..." Thomas didn't really know how to respond to this. "The Crest of Artorias. For the sealed door in the Gardens. I'd like to buy it." He held up the souls in his hands as emphasis. "I know you're the one that holds onto it, thanks to my Sight, Andre. So please, let's just get this transaction overwith."

"Listen, young wizard," Andre responded, his gravelly voice low. "That item was entrusted t'me many, many years ago, under very specific conditions, y'see. T'was on loan, and The Watcher only recently came to collect on't." Thomas' eyes widened. The man in black. The leather wrapped, dishlike parcel. The tarnished chain with-

"The Silver Pendant," Thomas breathed. There was no time. He had to catch up to this "Watcher" before he disappeared entirely. Rushing down the stairs, Thomas ran towards the garden, before taking note of the emptiness of the large room. The Titanite Demon was already destroyed, possibly a long time ago. The Watcher was apparently tough. Thomas had planned on having Solaire deal with the Demon using his lightning, while Thomas and Oscar assisted with ranged arrows and spells. But the Watcher had alrady dealt with it an an unknown length of time. Rushing to the Garden proper, Thomas noticed a distinctive lack of the "scarecrows," as he called them. What there was, however, was a few bastard swords planted in the ground, here and there. Ocassionally there were variations of greatswords, but mainly Bastard Swords. I thought swords only littered the ground at the Graveyard. The blades were in various degrees of rust and decay as he wandered the garden. Some looked like they had been there for a few hundred years, others looked like only a couple months. Some practically gleamed, as though they had been placed last week.

Thomas eventually arrived at a large clearing, both in terms of blades and trees. Still none of the Devilish Shrubberies had presented themselves to him, but he still felt watched. To his top left, he saw where the Wolf Ring would be. Or at least... where he thought it should be. Instead, there was nothing, except darkness and... smoke. The smoke suddenly launched itself forward, and exploded around the Sorcerer. Choking, Thomas fell to a knee, waving his hand in front of his face. The black smoke didn't last long without a source of fire, and quickly faded. Across the end of the clearing, the black robed man stood. The Watcher.

Thomas stood, a hand on his claymore on his back as he warily watched the Watcher. The warrior stood easily a head taller than he did, and moved slowly, deliberately, like a wolf stalking it's prey. He moved around, and Thomas did the same, so that they started circling each other. As they did, the Watcher moved a hand to his throat, unbuckling the robes, letting them fall to the ground. A broad, wide blade hung from his back that Thomas couldn't identify. It was wholly unique, like this entire man. Hmm... Thomas gave a closer look at the blade on the Watcher's back. It was wide, and flat, with a curved crossguard like a Black Knight's straightsword, but curving towards the blade, instead of the hilt. Simplistic, and deadly. This blade too, was dark. The warrior's armor was similarly a dark garb, with minimal plating, and his face was obscured both by dark hood and a mask underneath it. The Watcher made no motion towards his weapon, while Thomas kept his in hand.

"Who are you," Thomas asked. The Watcher did not respond. Merely kept circling. "Look," Thomas began. "I gotta give you props. You're intimidating as fuck. I... I don't much like the concept of crossing blades with you. But I'll do it if you force me to. You're not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve." Thomas pulled out his catalyst, readying a spell. "I need to borrow the Crest of Artorias. You can have it right back, I swear on the River Styx." The Watcher kept circling. Kept stalking. Silence was the only answer he gave. "All right," Thomas said. "I tried asking." They stopped circling, almost as though one knew when the other would stop. "Now," Thomas continued, "I'm telling you. Drop the crest, and I won't have to hurt you." It was then that the Watcher made the first known sound in many an age.

The Watcher laughed. A low, throaty chuckle that was as creepily sinister as it was deep. The very forest seemed to echo, and yet not, from the laugh. It seemed not to so much as come from the Watcher so much as it did from the forest itself. "Nay," it rumbled. "Ye shall not have it, yet. Thine time is not yet come, Prophet of Earthrealm." Thomas' eyes widened. He had only used that title to Oscar and Solaire. How did...

Fuck it. Combat time. The sorcerer jabbed his catalyst at the Watcher, firing a Soul Arrow. The bolt of magical energy flew towards the creepy mother fucker and he stood there. Waited till the last second.

And side stepped the spell. The Watcher made an effort of looking towards the bolt as it flew past, and then looked back at him. He made no sound. Merely looked back at Thomas. The very silence mocked the sorcerer, who threw three more bolts at the Watcher. The shadowy figure jumped, backflipped over a bolt, frontflipped over another, and ducked underneath the third like he was Albert fucking Wester. As he ducked low to the ground, he drew his broad greatsword, holding it horizontally above the ground with no visible effort, in spite of doing so with one hand. High strength, Darkwood Grain Ring, the Prophet thought to himself, and was forced to think of little else as the Watcher started to run towards him. Thomas put his Catalyst away, and drew his shield instead. Ranged attacks were just plain useless. He'd have to be up close and personal.

The Watcher gave a downward swing which Thomas rolled backward from. Moving forward as it attacked, The Watcher forced him to dodge again as the warrior twisted during his swing, letting the momentum of his last attack move into the next. Thomas barely was able to study the timing, and threw his shield up to parry the next strike.

It didn't work, because the third strike from the Watcher had just enough delay to it that he didn't swing until Thomas's shield was wide open. Spinning like a dervish, the Watcher sliced at him, cutting into the Sorcerer's light robes and the soft flesh underneath. Then, for insult to injury, the Watcher jumped into the air, twisted in midair, and kicked Thomas in the face, knocking him down. Thomas looked up from the dirt, winded, as the Watcher landed nimbly, and clutched his blade in both hands. The Prophet barely managed to roll out of the way as the Watcher stabbed the ground, right where his heart was but seconds ago. "HAH!" Thomas whipped out his Catalyst, bringing out Soul Whip to try and catch the Watcher. He merely swayed back, and avoided the tongue of magic altogether. Who the fuck is this guy?! The Watcher leapt, swinging singlehandedly with the weapon in his left hand. Shit! He can do this left handed, too? The Watcher kept at him, the wild swinging of his blade keeping Thomas more than just on his toes. He was almost on his heels. He brought his shield up as the Watcher began a flurry of blows that slid along his shield, allowing him to keep his momentum, but still wore down Thomas' stamina. Speaking of, how much does he have?!

It was a fair question, all things considering, But Thomas wasn't given an opportunity to explore that, as his own stamina was almost gone. He would wait till the last moment to try and roll away, to try and get some space, when the next blow came at a strange angle, and wrenched his shield arm away from his body, leaving him exposed. The Watcher's right arm flashed to his hip, grabbing a strange, curved dagger Thomas had never seen before, either in game or even on the Warrior's person, and sliced it across the sorcerer's throat in a single, efficient swing. Thomas's Bleed buildup had increased tremendously, and almost filled in the single swing, but the damage from the dagger itself was much larger than a regular dagger's. What was it reinforced at, +154 or some bullshit?! Thomas was given no time to think on it. The first cut was only the first part of the Watcher's swing. Not even turning the blade, the Watcher chopped into Thomas' throat a second time, pulling it's arm back in a way that gave Thomas a flashback. Another warrior, from seemingly another world. One who fought with blade and dagger. One who also took the name of the Watcher.

Thomas fell to his knees, dying. His fingers scrabbled at the estus flask only to feel the tip of the Watcher's blade under his chin. "The Graveyard is closed to you, Prophet. Thine path lies elsewhere," The Watcher stated this matter of factly. Thou wilt remain clear, if thou wishest to avoid this again. "When thou see'st the forest of blades, know thou'rt a tresspasser, and unwelcome." With that, the Watcher stabbed Thomas in the throat, impaling his neck with the blade. The warrior then lifted Thomas to a standing position and, in a quick flourish, spun, drawing the blade out of Thomas and spinning with such speed he didn't even see the blade come to chop off his head.

Author's Note:
I would be surprised if you didn't have an immense number of questions right now, especially concerning who the fuck THIS motherfucker is. Well now...

*finger shake*

I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Let me keep my secrets, for now.