How many of you have watched the first episode of that new anime: Interspecies Reviewers?
-nobody reading this Fanfiction is a pervert like you.
I told you already, I'm not a pervert.
-then why are you asking the audience whether they've watched an anime solely devoted to-
ZIP IT! Do you really want to spoil it for them?
-ah, yes… sorry about that.
Mind your manners next time, you nearly made ME look bad this time.
-firstly, we're the same person and secondly I've basically already spoilt it for them.
You traitorous dog! How could you sully my name like that?!
-since you're the one writing this out and the fact mentioned above that I am STILL you, you're just insulting yourself here.
Ooh, my brain, you traitorous dog! How strongly you vex me…
-hurry it up, people want to read the next chapter, not read about you doing a skit about yourself.
Right! Sorry for the wait; Interspecies Reviewers is about milti-racial golf by the way (*nudge* do you think they bought it?)
-of course they did (idiot)
Yay, on with the story!!
-apologies for the wait, dear readers…
"What are you on about now?" Eingy asked, a tired sigh leaving his lips as he shook his head in disappointment.
Young people these days are so loose with their emotions.
"I won't assume to understand why you stand there frozen amidst all this heat but what I will say from this unsociable exchange is that you have the attention span of a teaspoon."
His insults seemed to snap Argon out of his quivering trance and he gazed at Eingy until the prone creature got frustrated and shouted at him.
"Well? What is it now? You came here to convene with the Fair Lady, not look at me like an old lover. Hurry it up!" The bald man muttered under his breath as he turned from the pair and crawled toward the entrance of the now uncovered tunnel, probably to recast the illusion of the wall they had passed through.
"Are you unwell?" Priscilla asked him, her eyes motioned back and forth between him and this 'Fair Lady' against the opposite wall that looked as if she hadn't noticed them yet. It was clear that she was another daughter of Izalith; with pale skin that shimmered like silver scales and stark white hair that reminded the cross breed of freshly fallen snow. Another obvious fact that tied her to the demon-infested kingdom of hellfire were the ivory claws on her fingers the length of throwing knives, as well as the half-dead arachnid her lower half seemed to be planted inside of.
The creature below her - or what looked like part of her - matched her in complexion; its maw hanging limp on the dusty floor, legs stretched out to their maximum as if an invisible foot had stomped on it. The spider-half was propped up by a mass of those webbed-eggs and it's breathing was laboured. The woman in question - to Priscilla's shock - was nude from the neck down and two thick locks of her cascading white hair fell over her small chest, effectively preventing anyone from seeing her nipples. Her dainty hands were clasped in prayer and her eye's were closed.
"So she actually survived." Argon muttered as he and his taller friend moved closer towards the seemingly frail woman. The woman would have raised her head to look at them, if she had any eyes that was.
Her eyelids were sunken and outlined the bone surrounding the eye socket; as for her hearing, it seemed the Izalith refugee was currently focussed on praying - as for whom she made the prayer to, however, was a mistery to Argon - as her mouth moved but no audible sound escaped.
"Who is she?" Priscilla asked quietly, a sympathetic look on her face as she stared at the hunched woman. It was clear that she had suffered much to reach the exit of her home; the burn marks on her arms and on her spider-half were proof of that. She was also very beautiful, her face was round and a small nose curved gently against the contour's of her face. Her cheeks that would have been slightly plump where instead hollowed out due to what looked like intense malnutrition, although that along with the worry lines etched into her forehead did nothing to diminish her youthful attractiveness. A glance at Argon showed he had noticed it too and more astonishingly, he had removed his mask to gaze intently at the praying woman. She would have said she was mildly offended since he had only begun to remove that porcelain covering weeks after traveling together, but now wasn't the time for petty sulking, it was clear this woman was precious to the undead. How could she be angered if it was his heart opening up to people he would usually walk past without a care in the world?
"Quelaan, a survivor of Izalith. Her sister was the one in charge of defending the second Bell of Awakening." The cross breed flinched. It was saddening that one had to slay another just for the sake of a worthless hunk of metal, but it was painful to come into contact with the family of those you had slain and attempt to act as if you were adamant to their loss.
Argon cleared his throat to get her attention and the praying woman weakly raised her head in their direction, her small mouth opening slightly as she attempted to figure out who the voice belonged to.
"Attia?" Her voice sounded as frail as she appeared, and it almost seemed that the mere act of conversing caused her petite body pain.
"Who?" Argon replied, his eyebrow raised.
"She called out for 'Quelaag'. That must be the name of her sister."
"You understand what she's saying?"
"Attia, rendus veram catu…" Quelaan sighed out, a shaky smile adorning her lips.
"Barely, her voice is so pained that it is difficult to decipher a syllable from a moan."
"Well you're doing great so far," the undead said nodding to her with a smile, that caused a light shade of red to powder her cheeks. Praise from him was seldom given genuinely without an attempt to tease her in the process. She would be damned if she didn't relish in this rare reward, as childish as she felt.
"Keep listening while I find something." Priscilla nodded and he began to rummage around in the five pouches resting snugly on his belt. Since his arrival at Lordran, he had used the worn out utility-belt of sorts to prep himself for any immediate dangers along the way. At first, he had only needed to use two out of the five; one for his Estus flask and the other for the times he would consume humanity to kindle newly discovered bonfires to make their healing properties more potent. Now, however, all five were constantly fully filled with projectiles, path markers and the occasional lost soul to crush when he was feeling like he needed a pick me up. The only unfortunate part of the trusty pouches - or space pockets as he liked to call them - was the fact that they only stored a maximum of ninety-nine of one item. The belt was enchanted of course, using a similar spell that his bottomless box possessed but to a smaller degree, and it was unfortunate that he could only keep less than a hundred copies of his lovable black firebombs that would only take him the length of Sen's Fortress without having to overexert himself. He absently patted the space pocket containing said bombs and made a note to restock his supply of them, he had been whittled to a measly fifteen of them so he had to be cautious when deciding to use the powerful explosives.
"If I may ask," Priscilla began as she eyed his arm disappearing into a pocket that could only be big enough to fit his fist inside, "what is it that you are searching for?"
"A ring." He replied and frowned slightly as his fingers brushed against something before he pulled his arm out of the pouch to stare at a grey ring with a sleeping dragon carved into it. Argon shook his head and drove his arm back into the pouch.
"Nope, not you."
It was practical to use smaller storage pockets in battle as opposed to the bottomless box due to their efficiency and quick-draw capability. Many undead fashioned their use to store assortments of herbs, elixers and throwing knives for when they knew the would need to purge the body of toxins and other ailments accumulated by the many foes of Lordran that possessed diseases for days. In Argon's case, the use of a multitude of rings with magic imbued into the bands' were a must when in battle, whether it was a need for stealth, greater force in his sorceries or just a desire to be more agile in battle. Although many undead had warned him that wearing too many at one go may cause his body physical harm due to the influx of magic surging through his veins, he had done his best to conquer that drawback nonetheless. While most undead only wore one ring at a time for fear of bursting into a pile of fleshy remains in plate-mail, he had found wearing two at once did nothing more than cause a mild tingle to appear on his skin. When pushing himself to the max he could even attempt to wear a third ring, provided that it only improved his five senses and not his magical affinity.
The undead dung around more as they waited, and even Eingy had made his return, crawling as slow as he did until eventually he got tired of watching the pair stand idle and spoke.
"By the god's, what are the two of you still doing standing there?"
Priscilla gave him an apologetic look whilst Argon ignored him and mumbled quietly to himself, still searching for a ring that seemed to only exist in his mind rather than his inventory.
"Corie gar iesen… wyn fastral…"
Eingy turned to Quelaan and his eyes softened significantly. It seemed he held the suffering woman in higher standing than his own life, the eggs infecting his body proof of his devotion. The undead briefly looked up from his fumbling to stare at her before turning his amber eyes to the prone man and Priscilla. The cross breed shook her head gently as if reading his mind, her braids moving with her as she did so. If his companion couldn't decipher the frail woman's mutterings then it meant her body was failing her even as they stood there, he needed to hurry it up. He heard Eingy sigh mournfully and furrowed his eyebrows. He understood the man felt for Quelaan sure, but he couldn't even understand what she was saying. For all he knew she could have been telling him to take a walk off a short pier in New Londo with all that dramatic sighing of his.
"This ring of yours… will it help ease her suffering?" Priscilla asked, stroking the shaft of her scythe gently as she looked at him.
"Yes, but not in the way you're thinking," he replied and grumbled for a few moments before his face suddenly lit up and he yanked his forearm free from the open pouch.
"Ah-ha!"
The goddess stared at the dull red ring for a moment skeptically before looking at his enthusiastic face. She didn't doubt the power magic rings possessed, nor the weilder of the current one in front of her. She knew how well they had worked in the past, cloaking the dark haired undead from head to foot in refracted light and others that made him near impervious to heavy attacks. She just felt that Argon placed too much trust in these circles of metal as opposed to his own abilities. It was becoming a bad habit of his that she hoped wouldn't spiral out of control.
"This ring is made by Izalith forges, as such also enchanted by an Izalith daughter. I should be able to properly converse with her after putting it on."
"Bah!" Eingy shouted with a roll of his eyes, "you expect me to believe a mere trinket can grant you the ability to understand the lost language of Izalith? Preposterous."
"Well we won't know until we try." Argon replied, slipping off the rusted iron ring from his middle finger and pocketing it. He walked up to the praying woman and she raised her head to him, her ear's catching the tapping of his boots on the dusty ground.
"Varses egru eern, nemte dre-"
He slipped the ring on.
"-be fine Quelaag…"
Argon glanced at the cross breed and smiled widely. Her cheeks heated up slightly as she nodded quickly and faced Quelaan.
"Uh, sorry to confuse you but I'm Argon, not Quelaag."
The woman's eyebrows rose to reach her hairline and he sniffed the air lightly.
"O-Oh… my apologies. Forgive me, I don't have many guest's other than my sister." Her voice quivered as if she was on the cusp of tears and her shoulder's shivered in excitement. Whether it was excitement or fear she was displaying was unknown to him, but she composed herself well either way.
"It is strange. Normally my sister doesn't bring me many new faces to meet, not that I can see them, really." She chuckled weakly at her own joke and Argon let a wry smile cross his pale features. At least she still had a sense of humor despite her obvious impairment, it was heartwarming to see.
"But I don't sense her with you. Are you hear for something in particular?" She asked it so innocently as if he were just a travelling merchant and her sister a roudy farm girl. If only that were the truth, however.
This was the moment he had been dreading, antagonising over, and generally sickening himself to the point of silently insulting himself for his crimes - even if they were necessary to reach Anor Londo - of putting another innocent soul down for the purpose of a damn maniacal quest. This is why he hated the old god's. As passive as he may have been towards Gwyndolin - even after the femboy had blasted him with a soul spear - he still felt a deep resentment for their ways, their actions, their greed to stay the dominant species. Gwyndolin's ruse of Sunlight and his sister had been enough proof to explain how they all clung to what little authority they possessed in this dying land.
They despised humans with a passion but were loathe to admit they acted exactly the same as them when on the brink of extinction. The pride Gwyn displayed against all humankind as a subspecies, the arrogance of Izalith's Queen in thinking she could control all life, and the utter disgust the other god's had shown to Priscilla for not being 'pure' like the rest of them. It all sickened him.
What was the use in following this 'undead mission' if the only thing in store for what remained of the sane in this ugly world was the end of his blade? What use was fulfilling the god's obvious desperation to stay in power when people like Priscilla, Quelaag and her sister only suffered because of pathetic parental figures? If these god's had been so merciful why had Sif needed to die, or Artorias the need to go on a suicide mission to an obviously too far gone Oolacile? Had the god's so called 'wisdom' not foreseen that it was a useless errand?
No, of course it hadn't. Because they only sought that which benefited them. They believed that only the blessed should live in jubilation; they would exile any who stood against their loose morals. That was why Gwyn's firstborn had been struck from the annals of time, and why Velka was hated by her fellow god's. At least those two had the heart to stand against such corruption. What a shame it was that he hadn't been able to meet them sooner, he could have saved Quelaag if at least one of their miracles were passed down to him.
He took a deep breath and forced a smile on his face, he had to live through whatever hand life dealt to him, there was no use delaying the inevitable.
"Actually, there is." He began and glanced at his companion. Priscilla looked back with a determination etched across her face and smiled gently to him. Almost immediately his nerves began to quiet down. He was glad she was with him, her very presence seemed to drain the worry out if him.
"It's about your sister…"
The frail woman raised her head a fraction in understanding, that innocent look of curiosity still present.
"She, uh, well… she's recently departed from this place." Quelaan's unblemished eyebrows knitted themselves together as she tried to process the information. Argon for his part was finding it harder and harder to properly ease the news to the woman. What was more perplexing was how calm she seemed to be - almost as if she knew this day would come.
"I see," she sighed out and smiled gently, her small hands retracing from their position of prayer to rest comfortably against her bare chest. "I know what you're thinking. I should be saddened by this news, devastated that the person keeping me alive has abandoned me. But really, I expected this day after day; year after year. Quelaag needed to move on and forget about all ties to her horrible past, her dying sister included. I was baggage to my dear sister, after all, how could I have not felt the weight she bore just to live a happy life once again?"
The undead widened his eyes whilst Priscilla stifled the sobs racking her body at how painful it was to watch this play out. She knew it wasn't easy for Argon, being the murderer of the weak half-ling's sister yet at the same time she felt the burning agony Quelaan must be feeling, even though she hid it well. Anyone would be shattered at the revelation that their sibling had left them, the cross breed still felt bittersweet that Argon had to lie that the Izalith daughter had abandoned Quelaan. She deserved to know the full truth but would she even be able handle it with all she had been through and this desease that was slowly eating her life away?
From the entrance of the warm room, Eingy had gasped softy, his mouth hanging open as he gripped his heart in pain. He had obviously noticed the tougher woman's loss of physical and magical presence long ago. He had even made the agonizingly long journey up those splintered stairs and through the broken bell structure to check on her and found not even a strand of her raven hair on the floor. It was true that she was truly gone, they weren't lying about that.
Mistress Quelaag had treated him with nothing but kindness since his arrival from the Izalith ruins. Being one of the only merchants of Blighttown before the blight at the time, he had a fair grasp on the domain of the Witch Kingdom, understanding their beliefs and ways and even becoming familiar with their inhabitants all those years ago. By right of being a human not affected by the Darksign, he should indeed be little more than a pile of dust today, age and time turning his bones to sand. That had all changed when he had met the Mistress and her ailing sister, his Fair Lady, however. It had increased his lifespan to eons when he had chosen to carry the cradles of humanity that now weighed him down against the floor. Quelaan and the Fair Lady were two of the surviving daughters of Izalith that had spearheaded the refugee camp to survive the fall of their once great city, and as such were the only two to be so badly affected by the foolishness of their mother's actions, their lower halves foreve mutateo to those grotesque spider's that dribbled scorching flames between their mandibles and fangs. He had been in the days of his prime then, and had done the only thing any honorable man would have; worked his body to the brink of breaking in order to make those refugee's comfortable in his hometown that only became known for acid and decay after that damnable Bed of Chaos had sent demons to corrupt it with their putrid potency. When the Sun Lord had come with his army of Knight's and the Elite Four, Eingy had done his best to hide them all from Gwyn's furious gaze, Quelana helping in the process with her mastery of what little illusions she could muster. If they didn't, Lord Gwyn would have certainly cut them down then and there. He may have been the god of Light but he was still a battle-hardened King with no remorse for killing those he saw as diminutive or corrupted beings. He briefly wondered what ever happened to her the third Daughter of Chaos; had she perished or fled from Lordran after helping her countrymen out?
He recalled that both the Fair Lady and the Mistress hadn't spoken a word of the common tongue when he had met them. It had been difficult to converse with them at first and only the Mistress had the strength and prowess to learn it willingly when push came to shove. Those were the finest of memories to him, teaching someone with a temper as hot as her own fire how to read and write the common way, laughing along with her and the Fair Lady whenever she would stumble on a word or cross an 'i' instead of dotting it. Those were happy, peaceful times. That was… until the Fair Lady had decided to try and drain the Blight afflicting his now bleak homeland.
He and his kinsmen had warned her against it, told her their home was too far gone to be saved. The Crimson Mages of New Londo had been there to verify his worries too, but she had ignored their plea's and used what little power she had to absorb and purify the land that had been a temporary home to her and the Mistress. Her kindness had only made her suffer greater when the blight crippled her petite body and robbed her of all sight. Eingy remembered the sorrow that had punctured his heart when she was near death, resting against a broken pillar of the Bell Tower smiling tearfully at Quelaag. It had been a hasty decision and the ritual took them hours but they had saved her. However, whether her new fate as a Firekeeper had been a blessing or a curse, he couldn't say for certain even after nearly four centuries of tending to her weakened state.
Ah, had it really been that long? How the years have flown by.
He glanced at the two new visitors that just walked through his illusionary wall and started talking with the Fair Lady, actually talking to her. The shock that they had the ability to have a conversation with a woman he had tried to teach the common tongue to for centuries almost made him want to roll on the floor in mild agitation, but the eggs on his back prevented that thought from becoming reality. He supposed some people were just more equipped at cross-species communication than others.
But what worried him was the fact that the Mistress had suddenly left her home of ages. He had lived with her long enough to call her his elder sister, and knew how her mind worked back to front. She wouldn't have any particular reason to leave without saying anything, or giving him explicit orders he would follow until Lordran crumbled to dust itself. Something seemed amis to him. Another glance at the odd pair standing with the Fair Lady and he sighed out tiredly. It was no use pondering on such things now, he had two new allies to the Chaos Servant Covenant, at least he assumed they had already made their pacts with the Fair Lady.
"You're wrong." Argon's voiced echoed around the room loudly, a edge to it that screamed anger. Eingy snapped his head to the undead and flexed his hand currently wearing his Pyromancy glove. He wasn't going to lose another part of his family to some stranger's short fuse.
Priscilla had also glued her gaze to the smaller of their pair and worry seeped into her being. She hadn't felt this malice from him since his hollowed mind at the Painting Hall. Her emerald orbs widened considerably when she watched those black veins stretch further across his face, creeping around the bridge of his nose like deathy fingers of a shadowed reaper. This wasn't good. It seemed deep emotion had a hand in spreading his infection, and as it stood, boiling rage was rolling off of him in buckets.
She heard a light splash of liquid through her heightened hearing and caught a thin trail of red seep out from his left hand clenched into a tight fist. His knuckles were a flaky white and his nails were biting through his fingerless gloves, explaining how the blood came to be.
Her own grip tightened on her scythe, she would have to intervene if he acted recklessly and prepared lung full's of ice in her being to stop his body from moving should it go down that road.
"You're wrong…" he whispered it this time and dropped his head, inky black hair obscuring his eyes from sight as Quelaan faced him, a confused look on her features.
"Your sister loved you more than anything in the world. She never once thought of you as a burden, a hefty piece of baggage that she was forced to lumber around during her daily life. She would give her all to protect you!" Warm tears trickled down his white cheeks as he spoke and both Eingy and Priscilla relaxed slightly, but not enough to dissolve the newfound shock the felt at how much the man seemed to be affected by all this.
"Quelaag wasn't a lovable person. She was always on guard, always one step away from blowing her fuse, she held more hate for the world than love for it or anyone inhabiting it. But she still had a familial love that she only showed to you. Her sole focus was to protect you, love you, and always be there for you when you needed anything. How can you just so simply dismiss the feelings she had for you as baggage? Do you really think she would have done her best to lengthen your lifespan with all these miniature humanity sprites if she only saw you as an immovable weight?
"No. She would give her life for you because you were her only family after your home fell and your friends turned to savage monsters. She didn't leave because she wanted to get rid of you from her life, she would risk the very soul she possessed to have you by her side. She had to leave because it was the only way to protect you. To… to make sure no uncouth figure would ever discover you."
Quelaan and Argon were both simultaneously wailing by now, having held the raven-haired woman in such high standing that even a moment without her felt like a notched-whip to the sinews of the heart. Quelaag's body racked with sobs while Argon choked a few times before he spoke again.
"If she had to be here now… we both k-know she would say the exact s-same. She was cold monster on the outside, but she still had a heart. And I bet it beat only for you." He sniffed loudly as he watched the frail woman place her hands over her face, crying like a child that had know sorrow and unbridled pain. The logical part of his mind wondered how it was possible for tears to leak out of her eye's if she technically had no eyes to speak of but he squashed it down violently, this wasn't the time to be analytical.
It was no shock that he barely knew an inkling about the Second Bell's guardian, or the feelings she carried in her breast, but he would have been a fool not to have noticed the anguish she felt before dying in his arms. Those tears, that bittersweet smile, that laugh that tore at him with incurable guilt as she held onto him desperately.
The few words she had spoken to him had been more than enough to identify her personality too. How could he not notice it immediately when she was the same as him? Brash, loud and hard on the surface, showing indifference to everything around her. Yet, inside… inside she was a tempest of emotions, a heart that bled with the love it couldn't find the courage to show openly. He knew what that was like, he understood because nobody but him could understand her clearly. He may not have spent years with her to pin point exactly how she felt, but their brief exchange had been more than enough to reassure him. With those dying breaths and soft voice, Argon had found a kindred soul just like himself – his words about the woman he barely knew had to be correct. He felt it in his gut, after all. What better way to confirm something than from that particular body part that was scarcely wrong?
"Y-You are r-right." She replied shakily, bringing her hands down to clasp them in prayer again. This time he knew whom she prayed for and a small smile settled on his tear stricken face.
"How could I have been so oblivious? My poor, poor sister. Oh Quelaag, please f-forgive me…"
She sobbed again and he went forward to rest a hand on her shoulder in comfort. She stiffened at his touch, not being used to any physical contact other than her sister's but relaxed when his warmth flooded her body, her tears coming to an end.
"Thank you." She said weakly and used what little energy she had to try and smile. The end result looked more akin to a crooked grin and he had to laugh at the display. That moment of pain must have taken everything out of her.
Argon removed his hand and slid his eyes to the cacophony of eggs lining the room around him.
So her life support hinged on these tiny sprites, did they?
"Eingy, how dependent is Quelaan on humanity exactly?" The prone creature turned his way and frowned in confusion. What did any if this have to do with those inky sprites?
"From what I know, the Fair Lady doesn't depend on it." He replied with a stern look at the younger man. He may be able to speak to her and he may know the Mistress and her departure but it didn't give him the right to speak without an inkling of respect.
"She is a Firekeeper, her soul resonates with the bonfire and she is one with it. The brighter it burns, the healthier the Fair Lady is. Mistress Quelaag only used humanity to ease her suffering and slow the spread of the blight that would have eventually eaten away at her body and mind."
"So all they do is keep the blight at bay…" the undead murmured and tapped his chin in thought. "What would happen if she were given more?"
"As it stands, her servants use humanity as an offering to strengthen their covenant with the Fair Lady. Each sprite eases her pain and purges the blight infecting her. If you were referring to how to acquire a cure, I'm afraid an overabundance of those sprites would be necessary, though such a thing is not imaginable and thus, a cure is impossible." He said quietly and dropped his head in shame. He had done his best to serve her, to bring her back to health, but alas; all he could do was allow her the strength to speak and sit slightly upright. In the many days he, the servants and his Mistress had spent hunting for humanity, all they had accomplished was this little victory. There was never going to be a day whereby she would be cured, although he always blocked that thought from his mind. To do so was to admit defeat, and he would never do so when it came to the woman he served and secretly loved.
"An overabundance, huh? I wonder…"
"What is it, Argon?" Priscilla, who had been quiet during the two's exchange, finally spoke up and looked at him with curious eyes. Argon looked back at her and their gazes connected for a split second. She could see the gears turning in his head and the variables he weighed up in those amber irises of his. In turn he saw the worry she had previously held for him, the inquisitiveness she possessed when he had spoken and was that an ounce of admiration he saw as those slitted pupil's of hers contracting slightly? No, maybe he was just being silly.
Just then, an idea broke through the mist of possibilities floating in his head and he smiled so wide his wet gums showed, making Eingy frown at the maniacal look and Priscilla shiver in anticipation. She secretly loved that look of excitement he had whenever he though an ingenious idea had arrived in his calculating mind. Not that she would ever admit it. To other people that smile was really creepy.
An overabundance. Contained by one and passed down to the next; the soul of a Keeper never extinguished but forever giving life…
He took a step towards Quelaan again and gently rested his hands on top of her clasped ones, amazed at how smooth her skin felt for a moment. She stiffened again before relaxing, realizing who it was.
"Argon?" She asked in confusion but the undead just smiled back at her unseeing face.
"After Quelaag left, she told me about you. She said you would have perished not long after her departure, but here you are still fighting to stay alive. As someone who understands the importance humanity, may this gift be a way to take you a step further toward freedom from your affliction."
She opened her mouth to question what he meant but gasped instead as her back snapped straight up, the strands of hair covering her decency abruptly falling away and Argon had the mind to point his head down in respect of not peeking at her now uncovered chest.
Eingy heard her gasp and his body immediately responded, crawling forward madly to intercept the undead from harming his master when he noticed the air begin to shift and white light burst from their held hands before he stopped and gasped in astonishment himself.
Priscilla's eyes also widened as she saw an unending stream of humanity sprites both big and small fill the frail woman with power. White light began to glow from under her pasty-colored skin and in patterns on the surface of the immobile arachnid-half.
After a few moments the tall legs of the spider began to twitch uncontrollably, strength and vigor filling it as more and more of the undeads humanity was released into the Izalith daughter. It was almost too good to be true for Quelaan. After obtaining the blight of thousand's and suffered for centuries, she had thought she would never be able to live like a normal person again. Never laugh, walk and see again, and for those long years she hadn't. She had forgotten what it was like to smell the rain, feel it on wet her skin as she stood under the starry sky. She had forgotten the sound of the wind, whistling like a merry man in Summer, unaffected by the obstacles life would throw his way. She had thought the simple things like eating and drinking would never feel enjoyable again due to the blight killing her sense of taste in the process. But now, those thoughts had been purged from her mind completely. The strength she had lost all those years ago was returning to a capacity greater than it's former size, the magic in her body swirled like the firestorms she could still manage to muster on a good day, and her body felt alive again. The true joy of being free filled her as she felt the blight seep out of her like a torrent of dirty sewage.
The exhilarating feeling of all that humanity flooding her left as soon as it had arrived and left her heaving air into her lungs as Argon removed his hands from hers, stepping a few paces back to allow her room to stand.
Her chest heaved as she gratefully sucked in air, filling her lungs with enough if it to make her head feel heavy. She flexed her arms and her spider-half planted it's pale legs firmly against the ground as it rose up resolutely, albeit a tad shaky.
A stuttered laugh left her lips as she wobbled slightly, equalling out her equilibrium. She still couldn't see although she felt new eyeball's grow behind her pale lids but she didn't bother with it. She was cured. She was finally cured.
"M-My Lady…" Eingy stammered out, tears of his own falling down his cheeks like small rivers as he smiled, a feat he hadn't accomplished in many years.
Quelaan began to laugh in joy and collapsed back against the ground, her body shaking uncontrollably in a mixture of joy, shock, happiness and thanks; the prettiest smile adorning her features as she stared towards the entrance of the cave.
"Thank you Argon."
Priscilla wiped a tear from her eye and turned to look at the entrance only to see her undead companion almost completely out of the cave, save for his leg that had stopped mid-stride. She frowned and quickly made her way to his side. How in the world had he moved that fast? Had he done it while everyone was too busy rejoicing? How had she not noticed the fleeing form of the one man she nearly always folllwed with her eyes, she didn't even care how weird it sounded.
Argon, for his part, had opted to refill his flask of Estus and strengthen the flames it possessed while the Izalith daughter was too busy getting used to her healed body and had quietly made his way to entrance in order to leave when the now healed woman had called out for him.
Damn her trained sense of smell.
When Priscilla had returned to his side, he turned his half-veined face her way and smiled bittersweetly before returning the porcelain mask to it's place against his cheeks and forehead.
"Live freely now, Lady Quelaan."
Without waiting for her to answer, he strode off, a cheerful cross breed in tow as they left the prone creature and the Izalith half-ling behind, dispersing the wall illusion for a second time that day. At least Eingy could remove those weird eggs from his back now, and that illusion wouldn't be needed anyway.
Argon let out a sigh as he silently climbed up the broken spiral stairway with his companion. He hoped curing Quelaan was enough to repay his debt to her raven-haired sister; yet even as he had given her the soul of the Firekeeper he had crushed before entering her chamber he still couldn't shake the guilt he felt for slaying another innocent soul. He was reminded about the undead mission he was sent on and pondered on it again as they walked.
Was it really worth it in the end? Linking the Flame would definitely kill him, he knew that much, and the Age of God's would continue to live on for another millennium or so if his own soul was strong enough. But was it what he really wanted? Look at lives affected by the Age of Fire, the families and people tainted all because of divinity lusting for complete control. Was that really the world he wanted to recreate after slaying the Lord of Cinder?
"You did what was right. I don't think Quelaag would doubt your conviction, not after you saved her only remaining sister."
He raised his head to the cross breed staring at him with kind eyes. His mind seemed to cease it's jouska1 at the sight of her whilst his heart slowed it's roll and returned time to its original speed.
"Personally I think you were more than redeemed when you gave her that Firekeeper's soul." He blushed scarlet at her words. So she had seen him consume it after all, how embarrassing.
"You became my hero the moment you acted so selflessly. Then again... I suppose you've always been my hero from the day I met you."
He begged her to stop her praise, it was too much on his poor thumping heart.
With a sigh and another smile that adorned his face due to his companion's divine intervention from his wayward thoughts, Argon reached into his bottomless box and withdrew a crackling orb of orange and red flame.
"Then I suppose I can finally let her rest," he said and stopped at the foot of the stairway of the Bell Tower, feeling the breeze of the open space of what was Quelaag's domain.
"I think she deserves it."
"Is that…"
"Her soul. I… I couldn't bring myself to consume it. Not after all she had sacrificed."
Priscilla placed a comforting hand on his bare shoulder affectionately. She knew how much pain he must have been feeling to carry it around for so long. He always bottled the worst emotions, but she knew how many nights he must have spent just staring at her soul in his hand. How pain, regret, guilt and sorrow had eaten away at his heart and mind when he looked at it and felt it's warmth. It was a burden he had allowed to weigh him down for too long, a burden he would now cast aside with her help.
"I lied to her, Priscilla." He said her name so softly it squeezed her heart flat.
"She wouldn't have been able to handle the real truth. You knew that when you said Quelaag departed Blighttown."
"But does that make it any better? I still lied to her. I'm still her sister's killer, dammit! She allowed a murderer to heal her, to touch her, to give her hope. Just how disgusting does that make me?"
He began to quiver and she rested her other hand over his left shoulder, pulling him forward to rest his head against her bosom. His hand cradled the soul closer to himself protectively but he sighed out shakily in her embrace.
"Is this what it means to be the Chosen Undead? Am I to kill more innocent souls just so that the likes of your uncle and his ilk can live in prosperity while everyone else suffers? Why risk the lives of Ornstein, of Smough just for simple vessel of all trinkets? Did my journey ringing both Bell's and dying three score for every boss I face mean nothing but a trifle to them?!"
The goddess' hands slid their way up from his square shoulders to curl up in his straight hair, slowly unclasping the plain mask from his face as he continued to shake in both sadness and rage.
"Is the journey I'm on not a quest to save the world but to damn it further into the void that surrounds it? Did Frampt and Gwyndolin simply twist the truth so that I would become a pawn for them to use and dispose of when the deed was done?"
His mask had already been removed from his face by the time he stopped talking to think again about his perilous journey. All the while Priscilla remained silent, pressing his face closer to her heart and listening to him vent. He needed to uncork those emotions he had put a dampener on for too long.
"And what of Laurentius?" He gasped with wide eyes. "I forced him to brave Izalith and defeat the mother of the art he loves so dearly. Why didn't I ever take his feelings into greater account? How does he feel about this entire arrangement he agreed to without hesitation? Is he only doing it because I saved him and he feels he has a debt to pay to me?! Why… why was I so blind!"
He stiffened in her embrace and turned his head upwards a fraction, his body shivering uncontrollably. "What do you think about all this? Have I damned you to dispair with my blind decisions, too? You probably think I'm being blasphemous, I'm talking about abandoning this quest, after all." He sobbed quietly and pulled his head an inch away from her warm body to stare blindly at her.
"Forgive me. I'd understand if you decided to part our separate ways…"
That's it.
Priscilla forced his head back against her body and wrapped her arms around him tightly, unshamed of how unladylike it was.
"Thou silly undead," she whispered to him, "why dost thine spirit tear asunder in the face of such challenges? Art thou not the Chosen Undead that hath saveth me without a mumur of worry?"
Argon breathed out shakily and laughed weakly.
"Can this undead really be called 'chosen' for attempting to double-cross the god's themselves?"
"Maybe if thy fate was to be chosen to do'eth so, then the issue, I see not." He seemed to regain his resolve as he chuckled louder and removed himself from her embrace.
She felt like pulling him back but resisted the urge, her eye's sparkling when he gave her that toothy grin of his that made her spine tingle. Although half his face was scarred with thin black veins he was still the most handsome human- no, man she had ever come across. In fact, all those corrupted tendrils did was amplify her attraction to him, she couldn't deny it.
"Thanks for calming me down, you can stop talking like that now." She giggled and returned his mask to him. He held it in his hand but didn't put it on, opting to stare into her eye's as he spoke again.
"What will you do after I've made my decision?"
"I'll do what I've always done, follow you of course."
"Are you sure it's me you want to follow? The road I'm taking is against the god's, against your family. They'll kill me and ensure I never revive if they find out, you as well for accompanying me."
"I'd follow you into the Abyss and back if that's where you wanted to go. As for my family, I don't have that much attachment to them to care what happens."
Argon narrowed his eyes and gave her a hard stare. She stared back impassively, slitted pupil's contracting.
"Is that you're final decision, to betray the god's and let the Flame die out?"
"My decision is to follow you. Whatever you decide, wherever you go, I will be with you every step of the way."
"Good, because I'm not going to let the Flame die out." He sighed dramatically, body deflating.
Priscilla faltered and frowned at him. "Argon?"
"You know how boring that'd be? It's still a perfectly good Flame, we could still use it for something else, like frying some meat or cooking a nice stew over it."
"Argon!"
"What, it's still just a bonfire. What would it say? 'I'm made for consuming undead, not cooking your stupid fish on a stick, go away'?"
At this point, the cross breed was in stitches with laughter, hands wrapped over her convulsing stomach as she gasped for air and rested on her knees.
"Thank you." She looked at him as he admired Quelaag's soul prettily flickering in his palm. "You saved me from giving up there. Laurentius would have beaten me black and blue if he saw what a sorry state I was in."
Priscilla smiled warmly at him, her hands absently twirling a braid of her hair as red began to creep onto her cheeks. She was just so damn adorable when she was flustered. He couldn't help himself from making it a habit to see it continuously, it was the only things keeping him sane, really.
He gave a sad look to the soul in his had and it crackled like so many of the bonfire's he had visited along the way.
"Rest now Quelaag… And thank you."
He crushed the soul in his hand and inhaled deeply as euphoria filled his senses, momentarily numbing his brain before he felt his Darksign grow cold again after sucking up every last fraction from the soul capsule.
"Sir Laurentius must be waiting for us to return. We have been gone for quite a while now."
"I'm sure he's not worrying, not with Quelana as his company. Those two are probably studying the Flame of Desire right about now, the most potent pyromancy if you asked me."
His companion flushed red and 'eeped'. The undead could be so blunt and suggestive sometimes and he didn't even care. It was most intriguing and flustering at the same time.
"Speaking of the Flame of Desire…"
"Uhm, y-yes?" She asked meekly, she swore she would faint if he was going to suggest what she thought he was going to suggest. Was she ready for such a dance so private? It was too soon. They hadn't even had the chance to kiss yet, never mind do… do THAT! Was he experienced in this field? If so who had he experienced it with? Wait, why did she care, it was his past, not his present. Did he even have protection on him? She was fertile as of late. Hold on, why was she thinking about this again? Oh, no, stop thinking! Shut up! Shut up! Shut u-
"We need to get you a proper set of clothing, you've shrunk again." Argon said. If she shrunk one more time, that gown would make its grand exit and give him a grand nosebleed.
Priscilla mentally sighed and screamed in frustration. She knew he could be overly suggestive but why did he have to take it so far? She nearly had a half-dragon heart attack!
Just as she was about to say something about his lack of tact, they both noticed a small pool of dark red liquid grow in the middle of the chamber. Argon frowned before his eyebrow quirked as a spike-armoured gauntlet rose from said pool to pull out the shoulder it was attached to, which then proceeded to pull out a head, armoured abdomen and legs that stood tall and glared at him through shadowed slits in it's visor. It held a thorny straight-sword and an equally menacing sheild peppered with ugly spikes of the same design and ominous black waves casacded off and caressed the red phantoms body.
A grin cracked Argon's already amused features and he replaced his mask against his face, drawing a longsword from his bottomless box.
"Well hello there, Kirk."
Okay, you must be wondering where the hell the action, blood and gore come in after not one, but three chapters that have remained clean of a spot of blood, well, mostly.
The action will come very soon, immediately in the next chapter actually. I was meant to include it here but the chapter was a bit too long with all the mushy stuff and I thought I'd segregate the different themes (look at me, going all F. W De Klerk on this story).
To address some matter's:
I changed Eingy's background to an inhabitant of the old Blighttown (for lack of a better name, I'll call it Nicetown). He was previously a merchant that travelled around Lordran and helped the likes of Quelana, Quelaag and Quelaan (that's what I've decided to call her sister, I think that's her fanmade name, right?) and the other refugees of Izalith when the Bed of Chaos was created. He hid the spider half-ling pair from Gwyn when he eveually came through Nicetown to spare them from death due to mutation. He taught Quelaag to speak the common tongue and became like family to them, while also falling for Quelaan which I mention briefly. Since Eingy is still human but not undead, he was granted greater longevity due to choosing to carry the humanity eggs that sustain Quelaan, although he still ages and is more like a sixty-ish year old man now physically. His relationship with Quelaag is more familial than anything else.
Quelaan is now healed of the blight that was slowly(very slowly if she survived centuries) killing her and no longer feels that she was a burden to her sister. In the game, when she thinks she talking to Quelaag, she tries a lot to placate the player that they don't need to worry about her and that she's fine, emphasising the fact that she either doesn't want to be a burden to her sister or that in truth, she's really just fine and doesn't need help for the moment. I used that to create the protectiveness Quelaag has over her and because of it, how bad Quelaan feels as taking care of her frail body and hunting for humanity to ease her pain is a strenuous task for anyone to do. As such, she feels like a heavy burden to Quelaag and wanted nothing more than to see her free and unhindered, which is why Argon lied to her that her sister 'departed from this place'. As for her illness, logically since she's a Firekeeper, she can't actually die unless someone kills her physically, meaning her soul is strong enough to keep her alive but the blight is still making her suffer because its like living with cancer, you're still dying on the inside. The humanity acts like the antidote to clear that cancer (and in reality I believe that such a cure WILL be created so that the bastardous disease can finally bite the dust for good).
The Firekeeper souls Argon has are Anastasia's and the deceased one found in the side entrance of Blighttown, where the poison-shooting lizards are. Argon crushed the long deceased one and absorbed all the humanity it possessed. In canon, those souls will give you 5 humanity if crushed(which sucks unless you exploit it), so in this case I figured that since it was that old that the name of the Firekeeper was forgotten, it had to have been passed through many generations and gained a plethora of humanity (over a 1, 000 since just 100 would be dumb, have you stopped to count how many eggs were in Quelaag's domain? A LOT). I was going to leave Anastasia dead but I thought about how she would tie into the story better if she were revived (or because I like her as a character) so I've decided that she will live. Yay!
Laurentius and Quelana (hubba hubba) are in love! They're going to have a kid and call him Quentius. He'll be stronger than Salaman and have a badass tomahawk (just kidding sorry). Those two make quite a nice pair, I only realized it a few moments ago 0o0
The undead eventually is out of the bag (I can hear the angel's calling as you all beat me with spiked clubs for ruining the ending) but is it really? As much as Argon just leaving the Flame alone to snuggle up with Priscy' sounds lovely, it's quite a bland ending. I want to spice it up.
People are still waiting for the god of war (enter the wondrous body of Solaire) and the other awaiting NPC's to help Argon in his endeavour's. They will be here soon(*voice of Gaara).
And Darkwraith Argon… you guys really don't like him, well, the few that have said so at least. I'll say this much without ruining the plot; he isn't gonna be the main antagonist, so if you were thinking he was (maybe a lot of you) then you're mistaken. If you want, I'll do another fic with a dark-side protagonist and see how it goes after this one is over.
Definition's:
Jouska - A continuous, hypothetical argument/conversation you compulsively play in your head.
Please do R and R(ampersand, come back to meeeee!), I'd always love to hear what the people reading my work think as well as any advice. I accept all comments, flames (mmm, toasty), questions (I have answers), or praise (if you have any and what to share) you might have for me.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Chapter 9 will come sooner than expected if my bloody Word App doesn't flip out on me again even after I've updated it and finally allows me to upload to the site instead of pasting and re-editing it (what a drag it is).
Have an amazing day and be safe.