Sorry for the typo's in the previous chapter, I aim for a story without textbook errors, but as the true meaning of the pokemon song goes, you really can't catch 'em all. Damn you Darkry…
Priscilla had woke with the morning sun, a light trail of drool hanging from her pouty lips as her groggy eye's cracked open to view her surroundings. At first she had frowned, wondering why the Painted World had even a smidge of sunlight for a city forever oppressed by Abyssal clouds and a gloomy moon; then she had raised herself to rest on her haunches, pondering on how exactly it was possible for her drool to liquify in the harsh blizzard, before shooting upright from her comfy bed roll with owlish eyes the size of gargoyle shields as realization sucker punched her into reality. The gasp that had flitted from her mouth like a stray spirit escaping containment, had stirred both Argon and the Firekeeper from their conversation, causing them to turn their masked faces toward the cross breed. To say her face had taken a hue almost equivalent to a ripe tomato would have been a crass understatement.
The rest of the morning had gone by faster than anticipated. The Firekeeper had taken the cross breed away from the bonfire, stating that even in times like these, a lady should still have the privileges of bathing at her disposal. The brass Keeper turned her gaze to Argon, who was too busy reading from an old tome to hear her, before leading the goddess to a secret spring deep within the abandoned lower city of Anor Londo.
The spring looked as if it had burst from the crarved stone itself, spilling its glistening waters into a large trough it had created that overflowed and left what looked like a miniature stream below it, running through the southern part of the lower city like some sort of blue bloodstream. The Keeper had stood watch while she bathed and dressed, before guiding her back toward the bonfire, her bronze armour lighting up the shadowed pathways and lifts like a life-sized firefly. They had arrived at the slowly burning fire only to notice the absence of a certain undead, and the Keeper had muttered under her breath before placing an enormous tray of assorted cooked meat at Priscilla's feet. Where the tray had suddenly appeared from and why she was being served at all took second place to the goddess' growing hunger.
"You will need your strength if you are to accompany the chosen undead," she said, her voice as neutral as ever. "Please eat, Mi'lady."
Nothing of importance had been exchanged while Priscilla ate and the Keeper, well… stood, motionless at her place against the wall. The silence that had enveloped the two wasn't unpleasant and Priscilla had revelled in the juciness of the red meat laid out on the tray before her, the spiced and salty taste merged with the tender flesh filled her senses with pleasure as her tail slapped against the floor rhythmically. Her finger's stained with sauce and her face an image of bliss.
This was the face Argon had first seen after warping into Anor Londo, a large sack slung over his shoulder.
At first he had assumed there was another mimic near the bonfire, mistaking the stains on her mouth for blood and her sharp fangs for the ones adorning those menaces. It was only after his tunnel vision had abated and the room had come into focus, did he recognise the cross breed in front of him with her cheeks stuffed like a squirrel. A chuckle escaped his lips and she turned her head his way, slitted-eyes wide in panic.
The Firekeeper raised her head and glanced at the two of them stuck in staring limbo for what seemed to drag on for a few minutes. The goddess had her mouth full of the meat she had given the her and the cross breed's slender fingers were a mess of sauce and marinade that dripped onto her clean gown and stained the floor with the sticky substance. Her face was a picture of abstract horror as she flushed a shade of red staring at the Chosen Undead. As for Argon, he seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment, going as far as to laugh at the goddess' predicament which made the cross breed redder, if that were even possible. The Firekeeper felt for the Princess; being caught devouring a meal like an animal by anyone would be embarrassing but being caught pigging out by your savior of all people was the last nail on the coffin, so to speak. It was an uncomfortable scenario for any lady, herself included. Then again, it wasn't entirely Argon's fault… being a lady - one of royalty no less - one would expect her to eat in moderation. Or perhaps her feral eating was because she was a cross breed? Nevertheless, the Keeper thought it would be wise to speak up now. The Princess seemed to be on the verge of uttering - or rather stuttering - something out with a mouthful of meat. It would only cause her to make a bigger fool of herself.
"Mi'lady, perhaps you should swallow first before you speak." She said with the same neutrality she always did.
Again, the goddess burned red before complying, the sound of her throat sucking in the meat echoing around the square room before going silent as she continued to stare at the amused undead. His shoulder's trembled slightly and he chuckled again, only louder this time and walked to the other end of the room, dropping the sack on his should with a loud clang.
He turned to the cross breed and gazed at her face, to her hands, down to her tray of meat and back up to her face before he finally spoke.
"I know I haven't said this before," he started and raised a gloved hand toward her. "it's a pleasure to meat you, Princess."
The Keeper simply sighed and shook her head as Priscilla covered her face with her messed fingers and groaned, blushing in embarrassment as Argon's laugh filled the air.
After Priscilla had gotten over her embarrassment, finished eating, thanked the Keeper and departed from the bonfire with Argon, the sun had climbed higher into the sky, outlining the clouds with gold and paving the cobblestone with a spectacular polish. The pair had travelled down the ringed elevator and crossed the bridge to the tall steps leading to the castle before Argon had begun to speak again.
"I've managed to open the main entrance to the castle, however, you might want to prepare yourself. The guards and soldiers that stand garrison aren't as docile as they appear from afar."
She nodded to him as they ascended the clean stairway; the sides of the wide stairway shaped to accommodate smaller persons of general height whilst the centre was designed with large steps, equal to two feet in height, to allow larger beings, like Priscilla to traverse. They had almost reached the top before Argon had placed a hand on her gown, motioning for them to stop as he crouched down and hefted that sack of his from earlier out of his bottomless box. They were extremely handy for storing just about anything and they were small enough to be carried around one's person within a simple pocket or pouch. They were so handy that she was starting to think that she needed one as well.
Her emerald eyes watched him lift gauntlets, steel leggings, and a breastplate from the sack before dropping it to the tiled stairs below with a clank. He had changed from the black leather he wore the day he saved her in exchange for a light pair of grey leather that looked old and worn, as if it had seen many scuffles in the past. He hummed a song to himself that Priscilla had never heard as he raised the shirt from his chest and dropped it to the floor unceremoniously.
The blush from before once again rose across the bridge of her nose as she watched him undress, eye's focussed intently on the minute nicks and healed cuts that decorated his arms and muscled chest like old tattoo's. If he noticed the hole she was burning into his body with her eyes, he didn't show it; lifting the breastplate up from the stair below and sliding his arms and head through the open holes, latching the clips into place and securing the chainmail underneath.
He did the same with his trouser's - which the cross breed had had the decency to turn her nosebleeding face away from - and the gauntlets before he gave a satisfied sigh, nodding at the way the armour glinted in the sunlight before looking up toward Priscilla, head tilted to the side.
"What are you doing with your face?"
"W-What do you m-mean?"
His head tilted to the other side.
"Your nose is bleeding and you look as though you're running a fever. Are you feeling well?"
She turned her gaze back to him, cheeks still red, nose wiped of blood. She was pouting at him again, fangs peeking out from under those large lips. Argon had the urge to laugh, she looked rather adorable like this.
"I am fine, but perhaps you could tell me in advance before you undress in front of me!" Her face was burning like the sun now, as red as its epicenter.
The masked undead stared at her for a long moment.
"Oh." He said.
Another moment passed between the two of them.
"Oh…" he said dumbly again before it finally clicked.
"Ohh… sorry. I didn't even think about that while I was changing. I'll… I'll remember to warn you in future."
"That is all I ask." She replied with a shy smile, her eye's shifting to the side timidly.
"Anyways, we'll have to go through the sentinel's guarding the entrance, as well as the Silver Knight's stationed throughout the halls beyond."
She nodded and looked at his armour, shinning silver that reflected her image back at her like a human-shaped mirror. His cape fluttered behind him as if he were the hero so many maidens spoke of from fairytales and his long black hair stroked against the shoulderplates gently. He rested the same sliver spear from before on his back, along with a matching shield decorated with carvings that dipicted a flowing river.
"Where did you acquire a Royal Knight's armour and weaponry from?"
"I claimed the spear and shield from a commander I slew with much difficultly." He said, drawing a hulking bow, the height of himself from his side. "the armour I found in a chest guarded by a pair of officers' with similar spears." The bow's weight made his arm shake slightly as he planted it onto the ground.
Argon knocked an arrow, the length of his arm, into the bow and drew back the drawstring, a metallic creak echoing through the air as he took aim at the sentinel on the left.
"I figured that it wouldn't go to waste on me rather than collecting dust in a chest for eternity."
She watched the dragonslayer arrow leave the bow almost in slow motion, as it sailed through the air, it's hexagonal arrowhead causing the air to ripple around it as it sped forward, impaling the sentinel's head against the wall with a giant screech of metal against metal, followed by a sickening crunch as the arrow broke through flesh and bone and pieced the wall behind the giant garrison. The sentinel dropped his halberd and shield, its tower-like body hanging limply from the wall like an iron puppet.
His companion shifted his gaze, taking a step that caused the ground to rumble and caught the sight of his fallen partner. A deep rage seemed to overcome the giant sentinel as he turned toward the stairwell and saw Argon and her, before it began bounding towards them, halberd swinging around his head.
Priscilla raised her scythe protectively, ready to deflect the sentinel's oncoming attack but heard another dull clap before the second sentinel's head was also impaled against the wall. A large patch of blood marking the area the sentinel was hit before death took him. She turned her eyes back to Argon as he lifted his bow from the ivory step and swung it to his side before it puffed out of his hand like smoke, set back into his bottomless box.
He panted loudly and rested his hands on the step, clearly winded from firing that massive bow. She waited for him to gain his strength back before speaking.
"Now that we're finally here, I haven't had the chance to ask," her soft voice broke the silence and he turned his visored gaze to her. "what do you intend to find here?"
He looked at her for a moment, a habit of his that seemed to make her more anxious the more time he spent doing it.
"To re-establish my fate," he said finally and her eyebrows furrowed.
"We're here to see Lady Gwynevere."
The chosen undead hadn't said much after that, instead opting to adopt a serious persona as the pair moved through gleaming white corridors and battled the Silver Knight's that dotted the vast halls and intricate staircases like polished mantelpiece's. The first few they had encountered were taken down by Argon, his pronged spear taking off chuncks of armour and tearing across unguarded throat's as his bright shield blocked sword strikes that rattled against his gauntlet and shook his core. These knight's were well trained and fierce, though never uttering a word, and their strikes dealt terrifying damage. Argon knew too well how devastating a chain of attacks from one of those stoic knight's could be when they found an opening, it was those strikes that had caused him more than his fair share of deaths; reviving him at a bonfire empty and agitated with both a loss of soul's and humanity he could not restore or get back again.
Those deft swings were the reason for the armour he wore. Though it may have aggravated the knight's that had engaged him in battle, it was necessary for his survival, and the masked undead smiled from behind his porcelain mask as one of those deadly silver swords scraped against his body, not even leaving so much as a scratch in his breastplate. Were the armour not so heavy, Argon would have considered wearing it for the remainder of his journey. It just defended him from so much!
Argon skipped back as the Knight's blade whizzed in front of his mask before he dived forward. He raised the spear above his head and thrust it downward at the last moment, grunting loudly as the spearhead met exposed chainmail and parted the Knight's arm from his shoulder. Sparks and blue light burst from the point of impact and blood sprayed the floor, the arm slapping against the ivory tiles heavily. The Knight dropped to his knees, staggered, but not giving up. Damn, these guys were persistent. And why the hell didn't they make a sound? He had just cut the guy's arm off. Didn't that cause a person to at least shout - maybe scream in agony? Or maybe it was just Argon who wasn't that resistant to pain…
Pfft, yeah right.
He tore the blade from the Silver Knight's shoulder, spun and stabbed at his chest, impaling the taller foe where he kneeled. In an instant, a monstrous cry came from behind the Knight's helm as his body broke apart in a multitude of white specks before exploding in a burst of light, his accumulated souls rushing into Argon as his sword clattered to the floor.
At least they say something when dying by crying out in anguish. Wait, now I sound like a psychopath… screw you brain.
It was the third one to fall to the undeads spear in the warmly lit chamber he and Priscilla had the misfortune of blindly walking into. They had been fine, slaying the lone knight's that had wandered into their path while on their patrols of the castle. It hadn't been much of a problem then. One of them would see the pair, draw their sword, and rush them in that predictable way the others had and would eventually fall to either spear or scythe. One knight had even gone as far as to pelt them with dragonslayer arrows from a balcony as they approached, peppering the walls with gigantic arrows that looked more like miniature monolith's with sharpened points.
Encountering five Silver Knight's in a small and enclosed room was a trouble they had not anticipated. They had attacked the two of them in sync, two Knight's at the vanguard slashing in opposite directions to confuse and break their defense, one in the centre to act as the piledriver that landed a lucky shot, and the last two at the rear for support, their annoying shields causing Argon's spear to rebound off of and make him stumble back.
The assult was well devised and they worked like a well-oiled machine, however, not even they had expected the larger one of the pair of interlopers to lift her companion by the back of his armour and fling him across the room like a shiny javelin, knocking over the three in the rearguard like the cross breed was playing a game of primitive shot-put. It had been Argon's plan, of course, as unorthodox as it was; and it had worked in distracting the Knight's long enough for him to slit the throat of the first downed soldier, bash the brain out of the second with his own shield before facing the second in a fair duel. Needless to say, the Silver Knight's weren't a match for the seasoned undead that had had his fair share of unequal fights leading up to his second time traversing the great walls of the shining castle. He still hadn't forgotten those two cowardly archer's that had killed him over four times before he had finally managed to kick them off their perches and send them hurtling to their doom.
Argon leant against the shaft of his spear and turned towards the direction of Priscilla and the vanguard Knight's she had chosen to face. He wasn't one to brag about his skills on the field of battle, being the jovial undead he was, but he certainly knew how to appreciate one's technique and skill with a blade when it was clearly visible. As another human being, he had been taught the stance of a swordsman, the way to aim like a true marksman and the efficiency of hand-to-hand combat of a brawler. His fighting-style was dirty, aimed to win, no matter the method. It wasn't the case, however, when he saw the gracefulness of his tailed companion.
With her size daunting even the likes of the famed and feared Silver Knight's, she moved with the agility of a cat, dodging swings with barefoot side-steps and skipping past thrusts like they were stray droplets of water. Her scythe arched around her frame beautifully, making the air shimmer as her Life-Hunt ability sucked life out from the Knight's body, the sharpened blade parting his chainmail and armour as if it were paper. The blood that touched her blade barely even remained as it rolled off the gleaming edge and fell to the floor, as if it was repulsed by the very presence of the soldier's life essence. It took her less than a minute to cleave the second Knight's head from his shoulder's, the sound of the helm bouncing of the ground with a metallic clang resounding around the room for a moment. He watched as she twirled her scythe a final time before resting the blade behind her, trailing next to her tail like some ethereal reaper dressed in white.
She caught him staring and gave a shy smile back. He would have been lying if he said his heart hadn't pumped faster at the act.
They made their way through the next set of corridor's without incidence. There seemed to be no knight's on patrol or even people ordinary people around as they passed the servant's quarters and opened a door to one of the armoury's. The great kingdom of Anor Londo was truly void of life, save for the loyal Knight's that stood in solitude; all that seemed to remain now were these ancient stone walls and vast hallway's.
The silence was also something that seemed to pierce the undead as they walked on towards the main hall. Argon passed a look to his tailed companion, keen eyes noticing her sudden unease. She had been quiet ever since they had entered the castle doors. It wasn't completely unusual in her case, he mused, she was often reserved and silent, as opposed to his verbal diarrhea, but this time it felt vastly different from the other occasions. For one, the silence they shared was usually comfortable. This felt just dull, empty like the many rooms they passed. The second exhibit the smaller of the pair used to prove his point was her tail.
The fluffy, warm appendage that she had used to rest his battered body on top of; the "mood indicator" as he called it, that usually flopped about like a grounded fish whenever she was excited, happy or comfortable. That slapped the floor lightly when she was 'secretly' enjoying something she didn't want him to know. He agreed that he hadn't known her long but in the time they spent fighting, talking and sitting in each other's presence - and due to Argon's uncontrollable inquisitiveness watching her out of the corner of his mask - he had reserved the right to say that he knew her habits fairly well.
As such, when he saw that long, fluffy, warm, cozy, fair-colored, cute looking, body warming, heart thumpingly lovely-
He shook his head violently from side to side.
Focus dammit.
His point was that her tail wasn't frolicking about like some energetic puppy. Instead, it was curling itself into knots, writhing as if in agony, and twisting like some electrocuted lump of fur. It wasn't that he was creepy, or even stalkerish in his curiosity - he swore - it was just that he was very attentive to the small things.
It was very difficult not to notice her discomfort anyway, when her delicate features were scrunched up in deep pensiveness and her hands were unconsciously wringing themselves as she walked with quicker steps that echoed loudly as they entered the side wing of the main hallway.
Argon shook his head as it continued on. The sound was kind of attracting the attention of the archer on the other end of the hall's wing. He should say something soon.
slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-slap-
"Hey Prisc-"
SLAP
She snapped her head towards him, broken from her trance before something big and silver shot in between them, puncturing the side of the wall.
Guess the archer did hear her too.
They both turned to the archer in question rearing back another steel arrow the length of his arm against the drawstring, cross hairs fixed on the taller of the two.
She flushed a red and apologised to him, cutely embarrassed.
"Well at least the Royal Sentinel's below didn't catch on, you know what a pain that would be?" He said reassuringly with a small laugh to the flustered cross breed before the floor beneath them rumbled as two sets of giant feet appeared near the base of the stairs to their left.
What perfect luck you have Argon. Try not to put your foot in your mouth next time!
The chosen undead simply groaned as he unslung his shield and spear from his back, motioning for his tomato-faced companion to ready herself for another difficult fight…
"Really, it's okay."
"B-But I was negligent and because of me you were hurt!"
"Now, now, I wouldn't call this an injury worth noting. It's barely a scratch."
"Your entire shoulder is hanging by a few tendons!"
"Barely a scratch if I were your height then. But seriously, stop apologising so much. I mean the pain's not even there anymore."
"Would you allow me to apply pressure to it to be sure?"
"I'd… rather you didn't. That would hurt pretty bad."
"I'm so terribly sor-"
"Not another god-damn sorry from you Missy, I said it's alright!"
Argon pointed an accusing finger at the cross breed, who whimpered meekly in reply, slitted eyes dropping to the ground and wringing her hands in guilt. He imagined make-believe animal ears on her head that drooped over her eye's in shame. Argon almost felt like 'aww-ing' at how adorable the scene looked, or he would have, at least, if the hanging limb to his left would have allowed him without the biting pain that moving brought.
After her tail-slapping had alerted the Royal Sentinel's of their position, and yet another life a threatening fight had ensued, the pair had fought to the death; employing the use of spells, offensive projectile's and the odd groin- kick to incapacitate and then decapitate their foe's. It had all gone smoothly until one of the sentinel's had used that pillar-sized halberd to try and rip Argon a new one in his last moment, cleaving the undead's shoulder from his body to hang like torn fabric. He just couldn't catch a break today.
Argon used his good arm to reach into his side and grasp his Estus flask, an item he was glad he hadn't had to use until now and brought the glowing emerald glass to rest on the floor as he began to remove his mask. He had expected more resistance from the castle's army since his first visit, but was glad that they had reached their destination at least.
He undid the clasps on the mask that bound it to his face before lifting it off gently, resting next to his spear and lifting the rim to his mouth to take a large gulp of the liquid fire within. Argon sighed in pleasure as the elixir did it's job killing the pain and knitting the severed flesh back together, sending warm ripples down his spine that tingled at his tailbone. He replaced the flask to it's place on his belt and turned to smile at Priscilla, amber eye's alive and bright with relief.
"See? All better. Nothing to worry about."
She looked at the healed wound, replaced by a red scar behind his torn silver armour before raising her eyes to meet his, nodding that she heard him and giving him a weak smile. It was clear she still felt guilty for his accident.
With a sigh, Argon sat back, arms supporting his weight as he leaned back. The sun was at it's apex in the blue sky, rays coming through the windows and doors to illuminate the floor like spotlight's around the pair at their place at the foot of the large staircase leading to the throne room. It was the same room he had fought Ornstein and Smough in, with Solaire's help, before reaching the Sunlight Queen's chamber to receive his undead quest.
He lifted a hand to scratch his jaw as he thought. Not much of what the goddess had told him resounded clearly in his mind. He was no idiot when it came to listening and his memory was almost equal to Logan's, but for some reason the events before his time reaching Oolacile seemed foggy. It was as if someone had just thrown dust in his face and he couldn't see around him anymore - like his mind was… blind almost.
But besides the amnesia he seemed to be suffering from, his darksign - at least he assumed it was his darksign - was also beginning to be a problem. It seemed that the more time he spent in his half-hollow form, the more feral his psyche was becoming. He had felt it during the departure of the Painted World after fighting those guardians and he knew he had felt it gnawing away at his mind when he was approaching the bonfire in Anor Londo. It had made his thinking grotesque, maniacal, as if he lacked any and all self-control. He remembered how weak he felt, how desperate his body was as he limped towards the inviting bonfire, dropping pathetically to his knees and drawing the flames within himself like a hound thirstily lapping water from a spring. He hadn't liked that feeling of helplessness, nor the sense of insanity that had accompanied it. It made him feel like the man he was before becoming undead. He didn't want to feel like that ever again.
"Let's get going Priscilla." he said, placing his spear back into storage and lifting a silver straight-sword from the box. He figured the sword would help in close quartered fights, so he had taken one from a fallen knight. It wasn't like the poor fellow was going to be needing it when he was little more than exploded atoms anyways.
"Also, I need you tell me why you've been acting so uptight since we entered the Great Lord's domain."
He stood as she widened her eyes at him and took a small step back that was more like the space of a leap he would take.
"How did you…"
"You've been more silent than usual, and your tail's been twistsing in on itself, making you appear apprehensive."
She 'oh-ed' in reply and pressed her fingers against each other tentatively. Argon scratched his jaw again, the itch starting anew before he felt small raised veins spread like spider-cracks along the pale skin through the gloved underside of his gauntlets and frowned, eye's looking to where his hand scratched.
Strange, that hadn't been there earlier this morning, and he didn't recall being hit by some poison or cuse-based spell recently. He reasoned the cause of the odd rash to hollowing.
Perhaps absorbing more humanity will get rid of it.
"Do you regret leaving the Painted World?" He asked the cross breed, putting his mask back on and climbing the stairs to the throne room, "You did leave behind a few friend's there, including that pyromancer. It's only natural to feel guilty or home-sick, given that you've spent most of your life in that painting."
He turned to her as she ascended the stairs, shaking her head gently, white hair blowing in the cool breeze. When she reached his position at the top, she looked down to him with a nervous smile.
"If I am apprehensive, then it is due to whom we are to meet." She said, gripping her scythe tighter and walking into the expansive room that glowed golden as the sunlight flowed through the colored glass windows. Argon matched her pace.
"You see… Queen Gwynevere is my mother. As such it is only natural that I am not so confident, having not seen her since my exile."
"..."
"Argon?"
"..."
"What is the matter?"
"Oh it's nothing."
"Why were you silent?" She asked, head quirked curiously.
"Your mother is Lord Gwyn's daughter, you say?" He replied, blinking dumbly behind his mask.
"Yes, I did."
Priscilla waited for him to speak. He took a while before finally doing so.
"Huh… that's unexpected," He turned his head to her, "so Seath and Lady Gwynevere…?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, it's just really, really hard to imagine how the Duke and your mother managed to, well… reproduce."
The goddess raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a soft gasp as she blushed crimson.
"I mean Seath is an everlasting dragon… he's massive."
Before the undead could say more or his cross breed companion could reply, the pair felt the air around them shift and the room darken considerably. Argon went to draw his sword from it's sheath but was struck by a flash of bright azur energy that flung him across the room, breastplate scrapping against the polished tiles.
"Argon!"
His body burst aflame with searing white pain that blinded him, preventing his arms from listening to his brain when he tried to get back up again. He let out a groan, finger's feebly clawing at the ground.
He heard the sound of bare feet. The rhythmic slapping like that of a panicked animal fleeing from danger, although this set of feet seemed to be drawing nearer as the sound got louder. Argon felt a hand grasp his shoulder and another wrap around his midsection before propping his lame body up to gaze at a fair-skinned face. He gazed at it intently, amber eye's locking onto the white locks of hair and pale scales that peeked out from the back of the figure's neck.
I know those scales…
His hearing was nullified for a few moments that felt like hours as his eye's re-focused and the feature's of the person above him reached an acceptable clarity. The worried visage of the cross-breed Priscilla seemed to be awaking enough as he blinked and jerked up into a sitting position, his hearing normalizing as he wrenched the mask from his face and gupled another mouth full of Estus. It was the second time in a short space that he had to rely on the life-saving elixir. His luck was just going south for some odd reason.
The elixir healed his body from the damage the blast had caused and he thanked the goddess holding him up, wiping the blood that dripped from his lips as he did so.
"Thou art brave but foolish, undead human."
Argon whipped his unmasked face around as the voice boomed around the throne room. The sound seeming to come from everywhere and in front of him at the same time. The person behind the voice in question sounded both female and male, as if the person's masculinity had only halfway developed, leaving a prepubescent representation behind.
Argon chanced that the owner of the voice was tomboyish, at best, or perhaps a more feminine boy of youthful age.
Though age aside, this person's no slouch when it comes power. And what's more, he's a sorcerer too, a skilled one. I'll have to be careful…
Argon drew his sword and grasped the hilt with both hands, feeling reassured by the weight of a knight's blade as he turned cautiously, ready to leap to the side and run from any other oncoming soul arrow's like that one.
"It cannot be…" he turned his head to Priscilla, still planted in the sitting position from earlier with a look of shock on her face.
"Priscilla," he called in a hushed voice. It seemed to break her out of her shock momentarily as she turned her face to him. "get ready, I'm going to need your help with this person if he intends to strike from the shadows."
Her shoulder's began to quiver as she heard his words and her eyes widened in fear, hands raised toward him in an effort to stop him.
"No! That was no ordinary spell, we must flee. We cannot hope to win against-"
"How pernicious! Dost thou think'st the God of the Darkmoon would be as cowardly as to strike from the corner's of thine focus, human?"
The voice sounded closer to Argon as it spoke, and he felt the air shift to his side before realisation hit him, and he swung his blade with a loud grunt.
"Futile," the voice said, as his sword clanged against something hard and metallic that rattled his armour, shaking his brain in his skull before he felt a transparent tendril slam into his back with a force strong enough to send his body careening through the air and crashing into a nearby pillar, "a pathetic attempt, human."
Another groan escaped from the undead as he rose from the floor, using the pillar to anchor his weight and turning to the source of the force that sent him flying. The air seemed to shimmer around a specific spot in front of Priscilla, appearing to be about her height and shifting the air around it by it's feet.
An illusion of the light then, but different from my own spell. I guess Oolacile didn't come up with Hidden Body on it's own.
"God of the Darkmoon, huh?" Argon panted out, his sword lying in the centre of the room, shimmering in the dim light that permeated them. "then that would imply that you are-"
"Gwyndolin, son of Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight."
Argon flinched as the darkness was purged by a flash of bright light that spat out a tall figure dressed in a pure white gown. A golden crown upon the person's head acted as a visor which shielded the figure's eyes, and from beneath the figure's gown grew silver, slender snakes that slithered, writhed and hissed softly like wisps of fleshy tentacles. The undead's eyes widened in awe as the the figure approached, towering above him with an intimidating presence so great, Argon almost felt compelled to take a knee in respect.
Male, definitely feminine male.
Dark Sun Gwyndolin stared down at him, right hand grasping a beautiful catalyst that was aimed at him, poised to fire at a moment's notice. Across his back rested a small, golden bow with a bowstring that looked as if it was made from a sliver of moonlight.
"Thine voice betray'eth thine skill, Chosen Undead. Thou hath done well to come thusfar on such a perilous journey as this," the god spoke, his voice regulating to that of normal sound, "but thou hath committed an act of misdeed by entering the Painted World and slaying it's people."
Argon saw the scepter glow that brilliant blue hue again, and braced himself for the worst. At point-blank range an attack from the god would kill him, regardless of the armour he wore.
"For that, thou must be dealt with."
"Uncle Gwyndolin, please wait!"
The god turned his imperious gaze towards Argon's companion, regarding her for a moment before speaking.
"Ah, yes… thou hath escaped from the Painted World of Ariamis," he turned back to Argon, "this was your doing." He stated plainly, voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. They way the god had said it sounded more like a statement than a question.
"That's right, my Lord," he replied. "I rescued the Lady Priscilla from her prison."
The Lord of the Darkmoon considered his words for a long moment, before the energy from his catalyst faded.
"Foolish," he said simply. It seemed he wasn't one for drawn out conflict. That was a good thing at least. "my servant did inform me of an undead that had done so. Although the description of thine appearance was not precise, I see that the Princess is with thee, therefore the Chosen Undead thou must be."
"So the Firekeeper's covenant was with you, I see…"
Gwyndolin quirked his head, interest piqued. "Your mind is as sharp as your blade, undead. Whence did it occur to thee?"
"She left the night I returned from the Painted World with the Princess, stating she had an errand to run." Argon replied, walking toward his sword, picking it up and sheathing it before turning back as both god's looked at him for his answers. His legs almost buckled under him as both of their intimidating presences bore into him like rays of fire.
"But we all know that a Keeper of the fire never leave's the flame unattended. Where would she have gone anyways, if not to her Lord."
A smirk creased the side of Gwyndolin's otherwise impassive mouth, a thing thought impossible to Argon, before he descended from the snakes beneath him. They seemed to shimmer into the same white light the Knight's of Gwyn did when slain before rippling the air and dissipating into nothing. The god's feet touched the ground without a sound and he started walking towards the undead, his crown-like helm catching the sunlight and gown swaying gracefully in the breeze within the vast room.
To Argon, the Lord of the Darkmoon seemed to possess feminine qualities in almost every aspect besides speech. The way he walked was oddly reminiscent to that of a teenage maiden of royalty, and the way he wielded his catalyst was like being pointed at by a manicured finger. A very terrifying manicured finger.
What caused the Chosen Undead to writhe in agony the most was the fact that although the slender son of Gwyn had decided to stoop from his serpentine throne, he still irritatingly stood two feet taller than Argon, further casting a literal and figurative shadow of intimidation over the smaller of the two. Was it too much to ask to at least be the same height of just one god for once? What's more, he was attempting to stare down a being that he had to cran his neck up to see, and he was six-foot three, dammit!
Gwyndolin stared down from his height above Argon, taking his time to weigh up the undead and further drop the amber-eyed man's self-esteem before he raised his left hand up to rest on Argon's shoulder.
"Only the true Chosen Undead would have the power to enter the Painted World. My thanks to thee for rescuing my niece." he said glancing at Priscilla that was currently tearing up as she approached the two of them. Argon was shell shocked beyond understanding. Never in his time alive had he the chance to meet a god - not that it would be possible given all he remembered from his past was being imprisoned - let alone converse with one. He had saved one such god that was now his companion, and now here he was being thanked by another for saving one of his kin - and by the Lord of the Darkmoon no less. Argon would have laughed at his change in luck were it not for the shock he was currently feeling due to Gwyndolin's massive hand gripping his armoured shoulder. Seriously, everything about the feminine-looking god was just twice the size of Argon, it wasn't fair!
Before he could wallow in self pity, the sound of his previously silent companion's voice woke him from his stupor, as he glanced up at her.
"Uncle Gwyndolin, I thank you for thy benevolence." Argon raised an eyebrow.
Again with the old-speak. Maybe it only quirks its head to her when with other god's?
"We seeketh audience with my mother, the Queen of Sunlight. Will thou permit us to converse with her? It is of my companion's quest."
Gwyndolin turned to her and was silent, he thought for a moment before speaking.
"I am afraid the Gwynevere in that chamber is little more than an illusion of mine, child," he said, lifting his hand from Argon's shoulder. He seemed to go solemn at the question. "my sister hath departed from Lordran centuries ago."
"Oh," the goddess replied, trying to hold back the sadness in her voice, "I see…"
"If she's gone, then why have you made a great illusion of her for the chosen undead to come across?"
Both god's turned back to Argon, broken from the sorrow the Queen of Sunlight left with her absence from the kingdom of Anor Londo.
"Her visage could'st do what I could not. My sister embodied the glory of our father, the Lord of Sunlight. With her as a guide to the Chosen Undead, stray from the linking of the fire he wouldst not. She could indeed assure the dark of the Abyss would not corrupt the chosen undead's focus.
"When she departed, the warmth of the sun departed with her, leaving only a kingdom shrouded in darkness. With my power, I hath returned Anor Londo to it's former glory, shielding any worthy undead from a truth so horrible it could blind their spirits."
Argon could only blink in response.
"Wait… you mean the sun above our heads is just an illusion?"
"Thou art correct."
"And the warmth it carries…"
"Is my power imbued into the skies above. The sun of the Great Anor Londo shalt never wither to embers so long as I still live and breath."
Argon said nothing, opting instead to shut his chattering lips and swallow thickly. He was too busy freaking out to talk anyways.
He used magic to create the sun… the freaking sun is a bloody illusion…
For the first time in years, he wished he was back to hallucinating things. Perhaps this was a hallucination? Yes, a large, crazily imagined one. This wasn't Dark Sun Gwyndolin before him, it was just a figment of his imagination. He was in a dream world while awake, as such he just needed a good jolt to wake himself up. Yes… that was it. Maybe if he stabbed himself in the gut right now, this dream would be over, there's no possible way a god could re-create the sun of all things, right? Sure they were gods' but that didn't mean they could actually do things that astonishing. He just needed to wake up. He should do so now.
Argon reached for the hilt of his sword to impale himself but was stopped again by Priscilla's voice.
"Please then, Uncle, tell us how it is we must continue on this undead journey."
Gwyndolin stared at her before looking back down at Argon, "You were the first to enter my sister's chambers and hear her message upon her bestowing the Lordvessel to thy. Why have you returned then?"
"Oh, ah…" the undead looked to the side shyly, a dusting of red on his cheeks.
"I had… forgotten."
If he could see Gwyndolin's eye's right now, they'd have been narrowed in his direction, clearly agitated, "Have thy now…" Scratch that, Dark Sun Gwyndolin was pissed, "would thou care'st to explain?"
"Yeah… I remembered everything fine at first, until I entered into that dilapidated kingdom that looked oddly like Darkroot Garden with that impossibly annoying bat-dragon-thing that kept sucking out the humanity from my-"
"Stop," the god said suddenly, "thou hath travelled to Oolacile?"
Argon nodded.
"There was a broken talisman I pick up amongst the body of a crystalline beast I slew between a valley at the base of Darkroot Basin. After I defeated a Hydra near a waterfall and travelled to the end of the river it lived in, the talisman activated some sort of portal. All I remember after that was an abyssal hand grabbing me and dragging me into the city."
"I see…" his crowned head jerked suddenly and Gwyndolin crouched down, gloved hand turning Argon's head to the side and running a thumb over the black veins on his jaw.
"The scurge of the Abyss hath already tainted you, chosen undead." He said in a grave voice before standing up.
"Even so, thou must continue on thine undead quest. Seek out Kingseeker Frampt, a confidant of my father. He shall guide you on your path to link the flame."
He walked to the edge of the throne room, using his catalyst to cast a sorcery that lit the space around him with a ring of sigils that glowed white. Before the god could leave them, Argon turned and began to speak.
"Why share such information with a mere undead?"
Gwyndolin turned to look at him with the same expressionless face as ever. Now Argon knew how people felt when he stared at them for long moments at a time without speaking.
"You said Queen Gwynevere departed long ago," the undead added and saw the Darkmoon God turn his entire body to face him. "By me knowing that and you mentioning the possibility of straying from my quest without her, why would you knowingly allow me to know the truth?"
For the second time that day, Gwyndolin smiled. It was small but genuine enough to feel its warmth. To Argon, he had to mentally jar himself from blushing after remembering that the god was male. He just looked so pretty in that moment that he-
No, calm down. He's a boy! The word 'pretty' doesn't exist for members of the same sex!
"Chosen Undead, what is thy name?"
Argon retrieved his mask from his furry-tailed companion and placed it against his face as he spoke.
"I am simply known as Argon, my Lord."
"Argon…" the son of Gwyn repeated, "May the flames guide thee." He said and disappeared from view in a flash of light.
The undead led Priscilla towards a large-ringed elevator that took them to the top of the throne room, the light of the bonfire catching their attention. As they neared, they saw the large form of Gwynevere though the oak doorway and Priscilla hesitated for a moment. He placed a comforting hand on her gown before guiding her to the bonfire, hand grasping the hilt of the coiled sword as he focused on channelling the Lordvessel's power on Firelink Shrine. Suddenly, he turned his covered face to Priscilla.
"Hey, would you mind striking me?"
"I-I'm sorry?"
"Not enough to injure me of course, just a good slap would do, really."
"But why would you request that of me?" She asked with her head tilted to the side in concern.
"I… just need to wake up from whatever daze I'm in right now is all."
The cross breed gave him a skeptical look before sighing in defeat as their bodies glowed during their warp.
"If it is what you wish."
"Thanks Priscil-ah!" He said as the force from the slap forced his head to smash into the broken steps of Firelink Shrine, scaring the living daylights out of the otherwise cool and collected crestfallen warrior.
"Oh my, are you alright Argon? That strike was rather hard… did it wake you from the daze you complained of earlier?"
Argon groaned and righted himself, an awkward chuckle escaping from his mouth before he stared at the sky and frowned, body deflating almost instantly as the bright sun stared back at him, illusionary warmth making him heat up under his steel armour.
The undead simply replied with an annoyed grunt before walking up the moss-covered stairs and entering through a broken archway, a concerned cross breed trailing after him. He glared at the sun again.
Nope, still there. Bloody illusion's…
And that's a wrap for chapter 3 (*pumps fist in the air)
Longer than the previous chapter, but the more the merrier, né? I had a different idea for Gwyndolin finding out about the MC's abyssal infection but unfortunately I messed that one up and you got this instead. Sorry 'bout that.
Also, I'd like to make it known to everyone that this fic is about the MC and Priscilla. I was going to select romance in the genre action but there's just so many in here that I just said general instead.
I hope you enjoyed the story thus far, and happy soon-to-be New Year!
Please do R , tell me what you liked, disliked and tell me your questions should you have any at all.
Also, on a side note, I'd like say one thing about episode IX of the latest Star Wars movie:
OMG, THAT WAS BRILLIANT FOR THE MOST PART!
I have a few pieces of beef for the director of the Star Wars franchise but that's a Fanfiction for another time.
On a side-side note, have you guys seen Luigi's adorable waifu?! Booette/Boosette/Princess Boo is what I'm talking about, baby! (Hubba-hubba) ;P
Screw the whole MarioxPeach thing. Luigi you lucky bastard, I knew there was a reason I liked you more than your dimwit brother…