The first thing the chosen undead had to say when staring at the primordial serpent was both unintelligible and shocking to a certain cross breed that had never heard the man cuss or even curse while in her presence. However, one would also argue that when you faced so many obscenities in Lordran and not been perturbed in the slightest, you would have at least a tiny bit of control when encountering Kingseeker Frampt; a big serpent-toothy-thing that spoke eloquently. Priscilla was more surprised by her companion than she was of the confidant's appearance.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

She hadn't known him to even understand the vocabulary of a lesser man but she also understood these were trying times.

"Ahem!" Argon gave a dry cough, looking at Priscilla and letting out a nervous laugh. She didn't need him to take his mask off to tell he was embarrassed by his outburst. It was amusing enough for her that the corners of her mouth lifted into a gentle smile that only seemed to embarrass him more.

"A-Anyways, it seems this is the confidant of Lord Gwyn," he began, "I don't know how it's supposed to give us the remainder of the undead quest but who am I to question Gwyndolin's wisdom?"

He sized up the smiling serpent that seemed to have burst up from the hidden trapdoor in the flooded shrine he had went through many times upon his days in Firelink. The water that was there had now been drained out as the big snake towered above the pair with that ever present smile, two fleshy tentacles drooping on either side of the thing's face like flat ends of a moustache. It was very unsettling to see them flapping about like giant ears but Argon didn't say anything about it. His mother had always warned him not judge God's creations anyway… maybe he should take her advice. At the same time, however, he was still stumped. Gwyndolin had sent them to a big snake with human teeth and no lips. In the undead's mind, he found it a tad difficult to completely understand the wisdom of a god; especially when said god had told them they would be delivered to their quest via a snake.

Frampt, he corrected in his head. It was rude not to remember the names creatures were addressed, no matter how absurd the current situation.

"So Priscilla..." the cross breed turned her head to him.

"Yes?"

"What do you think we should do about this thing?"

"My name is Frampt."

"HOLY SHIT!"

Priscilla was again wide-eyed; one half because of the sheer effort Argon seemed to put into his cusses when shocked, and half because of the deep voice that resonated from the primordial serpent. Today was yielding even more food for thought, it seemed.

"Now, now, cease your foul-words. You're in the presence of a lady."

"It can talk?!"

"As I've said already, I am Kingseeker Frampt. Please, Chosen One… compose yourself."

Argon combed a hand through his hair and sighed out, a few moments passing with both Frampt and Priscilla watching the undead's chest rise and fall as he controlled his panic and relaxed. Eventually, he did and stood from his kneeling position on the wet rock underneath them before coughing awkwardly.

"Right… sorry about that."

"It is quite alright." Replied Frampt.

"So you're Gwyn's confidant?"

"Indeed," he said bowing his head to the pair, "it was I that was entrusted with the secret of his undead mission to pass unto the Chosen Undead."

Frampt looked squarely at Argon for a moment and made a guttural sound at the back of his throat that sounded like a watery breath of excitement.

"You."

Argon nodded at him before the serpent moved to glance at Priscilla, his wide, red eyes appearing to widen even further, creeping out the undead so much that he took a cautious step back.

"Do my eye's deceive me?" Frampt murmured and leaned in closer to the cross breed that had the mind to skip backwards, least she be smacked in the face by one of his fleshy tentacles by accident.

"Is it really you, young Priscilla?"

"You know of me, Master Frampt?" She asked politely to which the serpent replied with another guttural breath.

"I had last seen you before your exile into the world the painter, Ariamis, had spoken of crafting. How wonderful it is to see you alive and well. I grieved with Lady Gwynevere the day Lord Gwyn had made the decision to exile his only grandchild due to the blasphemy of that scale-obsessed Duke." He said gravely, a shake of his bald head.

"If my father is truly as malevolent as many have made him out to appear," she replied, "I am sure I will never have the displeasure of witnessing it for myself. He is sure to have either passed on with his slain brethren or left Lordran long ago like my mother."

"You know of your mother's departure from Lordran?" He asked in surprise. Priscilla nodded.

"Uncle Gwyndolin told me the truth of Anor Londo after Argon rescued me from the Painted World. While I was saddened by his words, I am hopeful that the same will be true of my father."

"That, I'm afraid, is unfortunately not the case."

Both Priscilla and Argon looked at him perplexed.

"Chosen Undead," Frampt spoke again, a glint in his large eyes,

"You have been given a quest to relink the flame as your predecessor, Lord Gwyn had, using his Lordsoul, the Soul of Cinder."

"I understood that much." The undead nodded.

"Indeed, that much is true to us." Priscilla agreed.

"Yes, but that is the problem the two of you face." He said which further confused the pair. He continued after a growl left his lipless mouth.

"As it stands, your soul - strong as it may be - is not enough to carry the burden the Flame will weigh or open the doors to the Kiln of The First Flame. As such, you must go forth and best Gwyn's companions, acquire their Lordsoul's and use it satiate the Lordvessel given to you by Lord Gwyndolin.

"Only after the door to the Kiln is opened, and after you have consumed those souls, will you be strong enough to overtake Lord Gwyn and relink the Flame."

Priscilla tapped a sharp-nailed finger to her chin thoughtfully as she processed the words of the great snake before them, looking to Argon as he began to pace in a small circle muttering to himself quietly. After a while she turned back to Frampt and spoke.

"If Argon is to defeat grandfather's fellow Lord's, that would entail besting the first founder's of the First Flame."

"Indeed, young Priscilla," Frampt said nodding in agreement, his facial tentacles swiping at the wind as he did so. "Lord Gwyn's comrades were the first to awaken the the Flame and defeat the eternal dragon's from their reign. Their soul's will undoubtedly be enough to satiate the Lordvessel."

"If we're talking about Gwyn's comrades, that means the Gravelord and the Izalith Witch I'm guessing?" Argon uttered up to them.

Frampt and Priscilla nodded.

"Good… I can understand that much but will just two great soul's be enough? I mean the Lordvessel is pretty big, it got stuck halfway into my bottomless box."

"You didn't warp the vessle in any way, did you?" Frampt asked sternly.

"I managed to shimmy it in eventually. The bowl is fine, if not a bit scratched."

The serpent sighed, satisfied, giving another watery growl.

"Additionally, Lord Gwyn gave a shard of his Lord Soul to the Five Kings of New Londo, who were afterward corrupted by the abyss and locked away into an eternal chasm by Knight Artorias, the Abysswalker."

Argon flinched beneath his mask at the name of the great knight. Artorias was both mighty and graceful in his eyes, truly unmatched in swordplay and a worthy foe for any that possessed even a piece of the skill the tall knight was noted for. The undead silently grieved in his heart thinking about the encounter between Gwyn's strongest Knight and himself, as they battled in the ruined Colosseum back in Oolacile. His left arm was beyond repair even by the potent healing scripture that Gwynevere used and his mind was corrupted, filled with rage, pain, loss, and the insanity of the Abyss that coursed through his vein's as he fought like a mindless but deadly drone against Argon. With a heavy heart, the undead had been forced to kill the shell of a great man that stood beneath broken armour, and he had wept miserably listening to the strained voice of what humanly remained of the proud Knight as he pleaded for Argon to strike him down.

It hadn't been an easy battle, Argon still had the scars and torn armour to prove it, but he had hesitantly vanquished the corrupted Knight, covering his ears as Artorias's bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air as Argon's sword impaled him. He had stood motionless as the darkened soul of the man he admired swirled in his grasp like purple flames - too shocked to even speak or respond as that lone Lord's Blade had gently taken it from his hands and thanked him - and his mind had drawn a blank when he stared silently at the lone great sword that had rested at his tired feet. That rusted, worn and dented hunk of pure steel mutilated into an abyssal weapon that spread dark fumes and clouded the wielders mind. The blade of Artorias, the last momento of the Abysswalker had taken refuge in Argon's bottomless box ever since - a reminder for the undead to carry on his role in this accused land.

He was broken from his train of thought as Frampt started speaking again.

"The final Lord is the former confidant to Lord Gwyn," he said, a slight edge in his otherwise warm voice, "in the fight against the everlasting dragon's, he proved his skill and was the pivotal factor for the Lord's victory that day. Lord Gwyn had thereafter granted him dukedom and blessed him with a shard of his own soul."

"Wait," Priscilla started, "you don't mean-"

She and Argon met each other's gazes as they spoke in unison.

"Seath…"

"Seath, the Scaleless proved a capable confidant and a wiser mind more brilliant than the likes of the immovable Havel." the snake corrected.

"He brought untold wisdom to the kingdom of Anor Londo, and advanced both magic and architecture beyond their years. He was an invaluable asset that Lord Gwyn placed complete trust in… until he began abducting and experimenting on maidens within the castle, that is."

Recognition flickered across Priscilla's eyes. "So the reason you said his disappearance from Lordran was unfortunately no so was beacuse-"

"Seath is still in Anor Londo." Argon completed.

Kingseeker Frampt growled in response.

"He was locked away in the Archives he created - gone insane by his own absurd fascination with the scales his brethren possessed. It is there that you will find him and claim his Lord Soul."

Before Argon and Priscilla could talk about this new piece of information both damaging to the two of them, Frampt began to speak yet again.

"Now," he boomed, "you must place the Lordvessel into the Firelink Altar below me in order to rejuvenate it's powers and break the ancient seal on the Kiln's doors. Are you ready, Chosen Undead?"

Argon looked to Priscilla for a moment before turning back to Frampt, stepping closer to his slimy grey body and gazing down into the depths beneath him. He lifted his head the the serpent.

"The Altar is down there, you say?"

"Indeed."

Argon looked back at the goddess. "Stay here, Priscilla. You need a moment to rest before we depart again. I won't be long."

"Alright." she said softly, a smile on her face that made his heart beat faster. He didn't understand why he felt so drawn to the cross breed, and she didn't understand why he went out of his way to make her feel better. She knew he was compassionate, but never knew why he did the things he did for her, it was like being lavished, except more by his sensitive side than by a servant – not that she had ever had a servant to begin with. Even so, it was something she secretly treasured more than anything. She had been alone for most of her life and to experience his attention was her guilty pleasure. She almost felt like a needy pet sometimes, but loved every moment he spent focussed on her. In Frampt's eye's, they just looked like two oblivious lovebirds. He made an annoyed growl at the back of his throat.

Young people these days.

Before she could say anything more to him, he promptly turned back to the trapdoor Frampt stood from, tipped over the edge and fell into the dark below, flabbergasting the goddess as she gasped and called out his name, and mildly amusing the primordial serpent as his clicked his teeth together, looking at a bewildered Priscilla before pointing his bald head into the darkness below him.

"Well that's one way to do it."

The light around him disappeared completely in less than five minutes since his leap off the wet rock of the shrine of upper Firelink. The wind rushed passed him at blinding speeds that made a whistling sound in his ears as it curled around him like an airborne torpedo, barrelling down to meet it's chosen target. The excitement that bubbled in his chest was uncontrollable as he laughed loudly, sound vanishing just as soon as it appeared from out of his covered mouth. He just couldn't find the best word to fit his situation right now - he was falling.

He had felt an assortment of excitement and gotten his fair share of endorphins along his journey; ranging according to the different scenario's he had found himself in. The joys of battle had filled him, when he was hollowed and although it was a particularly darker part of him that favored the sight of drawing blood from his opponent's, he had to admit it was something that got his heart racing.

He had found pleasure in meeting and talking to the various other undead still sane in Lordran, launching into conversation and enjoying it whether the other undead were friendly or rude or just plain crazy. He had also revelled in the smiles that would split his face in half when wielding reinforced and ascended weapons forged either by Andre, that skeletal smith back in the catacombs, or the giant in Anor Londo.

But nothing had excited him more than falling for some reason. It filled him with adrenaline to a point where his heart threatened to burst from how fast it pumped and he swore he had never felt so weightless in his life. At that moment falling in the dark, knowing full well that soon he would meet flat ground, he didn't care about his undead mission, didn't worry about the darksign that always dully throbbed over his heart, and he completely forgot about the fact that his body was slowly being corrupted by the abyss. He felt alive for first time in his life since being undead - a gift he could only compare to when he was with Priscilla - and his mind immediately drifted to the cross breed that was waiting for him way above the expansive rock form and darkness.

He thought about his journey with her thus far; about how much she had made his monotonous and terrifying journey more lively. How at every stop they made, she seemed to brighten the room up with her smiles and warm his cold heart that seemed frozen in place by the things he had witnessed until meeting her. He thought of how she had healed him that day, broken as he was. He was an interloper. A murderer in a prison of insane criminal's. He had trespassed and paid the price by being killed multiple times and revived on the verge of going insane himself. But she had helped him.

In his moment of weakness, his moment of dispair and fatigue, she had made him rest against her fluffy tail and she healed his grievous injuries. After he had rescued her from her prison he had seen sides of her he thought never existed. He wasn't as blind as he appeared, he called himself observant for a reason. He noticed those times she would take her time to stare at him, those beautiful slitted-emerald eyes gazing at him for long moments when they were alone. He noticed the times her voice would raise an octave when replying to a sudden question of his his while they travelled, fought together or simply rested at another bonfire. And he never wasted any time enjoying those shy smiles and deilacte looks of happiness she saved only for him. Perhaps she was unaware she was doing all of it or perhaps she wasn't - he didn't have a clue - but what he did know was that he found himself wanting more and more of the cross breed's smiles, looks and voice. He felt a deep longing for her he hadn't felt in a long time.

As he finally saw light below him, his happy thought's came to an end and were replaced by the fast approaching ground. Argon tensed his muscles, preparing a spell to cushion his fall when he noticed golden sparks appear that wrapped around his body and slowed his descent. The rush of air around him dissipated as his boots gently touched the ground.

He looked around at the dimly lit chamber of deep set stairways and large hearths that floated in midair around him. He turned his body and found what he was looking for: it was a simple thing, a wide, flat stone altar raised above the rock to work as a stand for the Lordvessel to sit atop. Behind it sat a pair of gigantic white stone walls that were sealed shut - taller than the tallest sentinel and paler than a noble of Carim. This was the Firelink Altar, the place he would place Lord Soul's and open those pale stone doors. The doors to the Kiln of The First Flame. A small grin lifted his pale cheeks, they could have at least made the place a little warmer.

"Upon that altar will rest the Lordvessel you possess." he heard Frampt's voice behind him and turned to see the snake hanging upside down from the same hole Argon had dropped from, his flat tentacles flapping about as the cold air whipped around the dimly-lit chamber.

"Upon planting the Lordvessel here, the entry-ways and rooms previously blocked by Lord Gwyn's power will be undone, allowing you and young Priscilla to traverse and approach the area's the four Lord Soul's are situated in."

The undead nodded and walked up to the slab of rock, placing a gauntlet on the smooth, dusty altar and feeling it's power resonate against him. He had a feeling that if he tried to pry those giant doors open, something bad would happen to him due to the magic that resided here. A clever trick by the Sunlight god he didn't dare to test, he had already felt what those blocked areas covered in golden lightning had done to him when he had tried to walk through it. In his mind it wasn't a very pretty way to die by being struck with over a thousand bolts of electricity.

He stepped back a foot and took a moment to concentrate, focusing on drawing the Lordvessel from his eternal storage without damaging it, least that big snake do something like bite him as punishment. With a soft sigh, the Lordvessel eventually materialised in his hands, the giant bowl weighting both a ton and nothing at the same time, which threatened to break Argon's equilibrium as he cautiously eased it onto the outstretched rock below, making a loud thunk that echoed around the chamber.

"Now," said Frampt, "place your hand against the vessel and commune with it."

Argon frowned for a moment. Commune with it? It was just a bowl that had granted him the power to teleport from bonfire to bonfire. As unclear as it's relationship with the coiled sword fire's was, he hadn't the slightest clue how to interact with something so unknown.

Before he could turn around and question the hanging snake he noticed a small flame burn to life in the centre of the bowl, sparks of orange and yellow flying around like some type of geyser before it finally clicked in his mind.

It's another bonfire.

Without a second thought he thrust his arm forward, reaching into the bowl to grasp at the flame, curling his fingers around it and channeling out a piece of his soul before the small flame burst into a base of fire that covered the bottom of the Lordvessel, the familiar sound of crackling fire filling the chamber with sound and a yellow glow. He inhaled deeply as his darksign burned hotter for a quick moment, the souls it stored rushing out and strengthening him, reinforcing his muscles, his sight and his physical endurance. For a while he said nothing as the euphoria of those souls powered him and he was about to let his mind wander before the quantity of the souls diminished and his mind refocused, darksign fading back to it's dull throbbing and he stepped back as he felt the weight around the stone doors give way, a light spout of silver magic bouncing off the enchanted doors before they glowed white, illuminating the chamber to a point where everything, save for the deep corners of the room were visible.

"Well done, Chosen Undead," Frampt spoke up, an excited growl escaping his mouth as Argon approached, "the Lordvessel has been placed, and the seal's Lord Gwyn had once placed have finally faded after centuries of waiting." He finished, rasping that watery sound again. He was really excited, thought Argon.

"So that's it? I just… carry on and slay Gwyn's best friends and claim their souls?"

"Yes, their minds have been twisted or corrupted by the centuries that have passed. Pay them no mercy or hesitation… they will not hold anything back against you."

"Understood." Argon said nodding. All he had to do was kill some of the greatest Lord's that had ever lived and claim their souls as his own. Just great. Frampt had sent him on a suicide mission, though luckily for him, being undead meant a suicide mission was right up his alley. He looked at Frampt's smiling face again and deadpanned the well-spoken snake.

I wish I stayed in the cell.

"Now, we must return to young Priscilla, she must surely be worried for your safety."

"Now that you mention it, I get why everything seems so gloomy down here now."

"And why is that?" Asked Frampt.

"Priscilla isn't here to liven things up."

The primordial serpent made an interested sound and stared directly into the undead's eyeholes. Argon noticed and clicked his tongue.

"Not another word from you, old snake."

"If that is what you wish, Chosen Undead." Frampt replied, a chuckle in his voice as Argon folded his arms in agitation.

"How are we getting back anyway?"

Frampt cleared his throat. "I will escort you. Be still for a moment."

Argon turned to question what he meant but stopped, the hand he raised in question now frozen in place as the toothy snake opened his jaws wider and wider and wider. Wide enough to accommodate a person. This wasn't going to end well.

"Wha- wait Frampt, let's take a quick brea- no, no, no, no, no-"

Argon could say no more as he was swallowed up by the well-spoken serpent and dragged back to the top of Firelink Shrine.

Priscilla was beginning to worry a little bit. Sure, an undead quest meant devoting the longest of times into making sure it was completed and no one ever took a quest like so unless they were prepared for it, but the wait was killing her.

She had done her best to pass the time, she swore she did. From interacting with the black crow that rested above the dilapidated shrine, to walking around the pillars and archways singing to herself, to accidentally scaring a nearby pyromancer before conversing with him about Argon and various other topics. She should have been on her guard after seeing the bearded man meditating when they had arrived and passed him, however, for some reason his kind face and voice had pacified whatever caution she was going to throw to the wind. After a few more moments of chatter with the bearded undead, however, she rested scythe against the broken wall and dropped to the floor with a dejected sigh.

"You miss him, don't you?" Laurentius asked her that made her turn her flushed cheeks to the bonfire to the right of them. The pyromancer only laughed heartily in reply.

"He grows on you, he does. It starts from a simple interaction with the masked man, then a friendly conversation that takes your mind off of the predicament we all face here in Lordran; and then before you know it, you'd have wished you had accompanied him just to feel the same spark of life he does."

The cross breed nodded silently, a small smile in her face that made her reminiscent of her smaller companion.

"Don't you fear my lady," Laurentius said, a comforting hand on her… well, larger hand. The carefree pyromancer was starting to feel slighty insignificant in terms of size. He tried not to let it get to his head much.

"Argon is cut from a different cloth of exceptionally tougher material. No matter the circumstances, he'll find a way to come out on top, you'll see."

Priscilla nodded and looked out wistfully, "You are correct, Argon always finds a way to make it out alive. Though he may not have the best of luck on his side, and mostly comes across as ambiguous by the people around him, he never ceases to ease the worries of everyone, and turn someone's curse into a blessing."

Laurentius raised an eyebrow at the goddess, his pyro-gloved hand reaching up to scratch his stubble as a sly grin spread across his face.

"I see my friend has stolen more than just your admiration, my lady."

She frowned at his words, watching as he stood up and began to stretch his limbs. He sighed out as his shoulder's popped, stretching it skyward and arching his back. Sitting in meditation for hours at a time wasn't doing wonders for his spine.

"When I gave him a flicker of my flame, he was hesitant at first," the pyromancer began, "who wouldn't be when offered the power most people had deemed heretical? But he still accepted my gift, I owed it to him for saving me so long ago. I had thought he would just keep it stored away, hidden from sight while on his travels - thinking he was like the rest of the undead that were in Lordran who feared and hated pyromancy - instead he came back to me, asking for new ways to harness the flame I gave him.

"For so long, I thought that the path of the pyromancer was the wrong one I had chosen. The world shunned me even before I was undead, but what could I do, really, being born in the swamps as an orphan with no way to protect myself? I saw pyromancy as the personification of my own desire to get stronger. The way the flames grew with a stray gust of wind or burned brighter when struck by water entranced me; I found it's resilience captivating… and so I had taken to it like a moth to light. The world had judged me, of course, but as long as I kept my eye's focused on the flames in my hand, I didn't care what people thought. I was happy."

Priscilla smiled gently. She knew too well the suffering of being an outcast, the damage it did to one's mind when reality crashed into your world with an iron fist, shattering your dreams and aspirations to live free and happy. When she was first sent to the Painted World, she had cried bitterly, betrayal and hate festering in her heart like the putrid appearance of many of the undead caged together with her. She thought that her life was over, that she would die before she even had the chance to see the brightly lit corridors of her true home again, or to feel the loving embrace of her mother as she buried her face into her soft bosom, calm heartbeat lulling her into a peaceful dream. But eventually she had given up on things like meeting her mother again. On the hate she had held for decades - it had all just blown away in the endless winter that was her sense of normality - she had instead focused on living for herself. On finding what little joy was left for her in her prison: the moonlight, the stars, the rare company Jeremiah had brought with him whenever he had decided to visit her with that ridiculous Xanthous crown on his head. She briefly wondered if he felt the same as Laurentius did, and felt guilt bite at her mind at the thought that she had knowingly left him alone in the Painted World. Would he be angry if she were to ever see him again, or would he simply laugh and pat her tail in reassurance like he always did when she was apprehensive? He was a strange one, for a human, but when she thought about Argon and the pyromancer in front of her, she found that she welcomed strangeness. It was refreshingly better than self pity.

"When I came to Lordran in search of the truth of what my pyromancy actually meant, I was lost, afraid, and I found my overconfidence drip out of me with each death the hollow's here dealt to me. I quickly realised that just ignoring everything and under compensating for anything was bringing me deeper and deeper into the bottled up depression I had stored for most of my life. I discovered that what I really was wasn't happy, but living in dementia - that crestfallen soldier was to thank for that. Soon I had found myself trapped in the Depths of the Lower Burg, sentenced to be a hollow's supper.

"In those moments, I knew I was worthless. I hadn't learned anything from my fellow teachers in the Great Swamp, instead I was just lying to myself that I was just fine living as another lost soul without a purpose. That was when Argon had found me - rescued me - and gave me hope by the interest and attention he devoted to my teachings of basic pyromancy. Within moments, my outlook on life had changed from the person that saw my power as useless to a man that felt the fire that flowed through my veins; that finally understood how magnificent my flame truly was. Argon inspired me to continue my search for the Kingdom of Izalith, focused not on the origin of pyromancy but on how I could better my skill and live like the greatest of us so called heretics - the Great Salaman. Argon changed me with his words and… joviality, I guess. He made me smile again in this bitter land; truth be told I would risk my life for him, something I wouldn't even do for the teacher's that clothed and fed me years ago."

Laurentius started walking towards the trapdoor in the dilapidated shrine, humming merrily to himself as he regarded the memory and Priscilla followed, tail swishing from side-to-side pleasantly, interests piqued at the tale involving a certain undead.

"You seem to treasure him quite a lot, Master Laurentius."

"I do. He's become like family to me, he has. His personality is infectious sometimes, I can't stop thinking about how he greets everything with his usual quirkiness. Its the reason I'll follow him blindly." He stopped a few feet away from the trapdoor and turned around, head raised to look her in the eye's as he smiled.

"The same reason you've fallen for him, I might say."

The goddess in question blushed fiercely, eye's wide as the pyromancer laughed heartily, a hand on his gut as he struggled to breath. Her reaction was just too much for him. She would certainly make a good match for his masked friend, now if only she were the same height as the black-haired undead…

"Take care of him, will you? He doesn't say much about himself, but he's troubled deep down. You're honestly the only one I've seen that can make him come out of his shell and drop that emotional mask of his."

"I'm sure he just has trouble talking about his feelings with other people," she replied, brushing aside a strand of hair from her face.

"I'll do my best, but I hope he won't be deterred by my attempt to get closer to him. My appearance is quite stifling given my size, after all…"

"Ah! I wouldn't worry too much about that," Laurentius laughed, "he's too kind and noble of a man to even mention such things. He seems like he's been brought up to be a gentleman from what I can gather."

Their conversation was cut short as Kingseeker Frampt emerged from the hole in the floor, grabbing the attention of both of them as the serpent gazed back at the two of them for a moment, noticing their confused looks when they didn't see Argon anywhere with him. Before either of them could ask, Frampt promptly gagged, leaned closer towards the flat, wet stone ground and spat out a drenched Argon, rasping as Laurentius and Priscilla stared at him and Argon with bewildered looks on their faces.

"M-Master Frampt I-"

"God dammit Frampt! Couldn't you at least try and warn me before you do something as disturbing as that?!" Argon's voice cut Priscilla short as he stood from his place on the ground, sludge and water rolling off his silver armour in dirty rivulet's of brown and black liquid. His body was shaking in rage.

"Oh, now don't be silly," retorted Frampt, a bored look on his face as if he had much better things to do than argue about why his action towards the undead was considered ill behavior, "how else would you have returned to Firelink Shrine were it not for my foresight?"

"Foresight?" Argon coughed, head snapping to the giant snake.

"You call that foresight?! You opened your large-ass mouth and ate me, you mother fu-"

"Argon!" Laurentius barked, catching the attention of Frampt, his friend, and his fluffy-tailed companion.

"Maybe you should calm down a little, you're scaring the lady here…" he pointed to a flustered cross breed that had decided to look away and not further embarrass the wet undead.

"A-Ah… uh…"

Frampt just shook his head and stayed silent.

Young people these days, so ungrateful…

They all watched - save for Priscilla - as Argon stopped his stuttering display and turned to walk off toward the bonfire, stiff in his movements as he attempted to walk off his embarrassment. Laurentius sighed, a grin on his face as he looked at Priscilla, still blushing but watching through shy eye's as the undead walked towards the bonfire and sat down with a huff, the flames doing it's best to melt away the layer of mucus that surrounded his form.

Argon romoved his mask as he dried off, an exasperated look on his face as he stared it the porcelain mask, horizontally-slitted eyeholes staring back at him blankly as he shook it to rid it of slime. He hoped Frampt's bodily fluids didn't wear out the durability on his mask, it was a nice mask.

To his right, the Crestfallen Warrior sniffed the air, a foreign scent assaulting his nostrils as he covered his nose, and made eye contact with Argon, his face scrunched up in disgust as he spoke to the drenched undead.

"By the gods'... you reek."

Argon only glared back in reply.

I haven't said this before, but thank you to everyone that has read, liked, followed, favourited, and commented on any one of my stories thus far. I didn't think my work would be that exemplary, so thanks for proving me wrong with every new like and comment. You've no idea how much all of you make my day evey time I receive an e-mail stating that someone new has just liked what I wrote. You've all really made my day's happier one's, you know - me being a noob and all that.

The sappy stuff aside then! (*wipes tears away), this chapter was a small break from all the fighting to stay alive and the introduction of the primordial serpent! (I like Frampt by the way, but I seriously hated it whenever he 'ate' my character whenever I needed to go to Firelink Altar to place a new soul into the Lordvessel. I mean, come on, who wouldn't be freaked out by being EATEN by a bloody snake?)

Please do R , I look forward to any and all comments - flames or not - as well as any things you'd like to see, like other character's or perhaps more fluff between Argon and Priscilla.

Thank you for reading!