14. Mirrorlink Shrine, Respite
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Slowly, the shrine materialized in all its surreal beauty. The luminous white tree reached into the dark sky above, its barren branches grasping at shadows. Before him lay the circular well, its clear waters rippling with the steady beat of the titansmith's hammer. As his eyes drifted to the ring of archstones surrounding them, he noted that one of them was peculiarly intact, magically reformed since his last visit. Within its rune-carved frame was a shimmering image of the Basilica, as if he were viewing it through a clouded window.
The Well Maiden approached, her grey gown rustling over the blades of grass. "Commendations on thy victory, Lucid One," she addressed him. "The first shard of the Lordbrandt hath been recovered, and the first step toward our salvation thus taken. Still, thou must journey on, and retrieve the other shards. To this end, please kneel and claim thy legacy."
He was slightly puzzled, for it had not been he who returned the shard, but knelt nevertheless. The Maiden touched his seal, and in a flash of light, he felt a tenacious fire swell within his breast.
"Thou hath been graced with a great power," the Maiden continued, "the echoes of divinity. The Cardinals were blessed with sacred souls, yet they squandered their gift and succumbed to vice. I beg of thee, do not follow their path. Shelter these transient beings, grant them sanctuary, and take nourishment in thine union."
The man stood and nodded in silent promise. The Maiden's crystal tiara dipped, as if she were inspecting him. "Lucid One, is that a bone shard thou possesseth? Yes, I can feel its warmth. Come, let us pay visit to the titansmith. He shall make use of it, and aid thee on the journey ahead."
They followed the curling path down the mountainside, to where the titan Volk pounded incessantly in his cave. As they came to the barred window, the man could see the spear of Andros lying atop the enormous anvil, in the process of being dismantled.
"Volk," the Maiden called to the molten giant, "Our friend hath discovered a remnant of the saints. Please, grant him thy services."
With a metallic groan, the titan paused his work and turned to the dwarfed figures. "Hm? Give." The man obliged, and held out the fragmented bone, which Volk carefully pinched between his stony fingers. "Ah. Bone of saint. Good. Make Estus strong."
The Maiden turned to the Lucid One. "Hand him thine emerald flask, so that he may temper its worth." Again, the man obeyed, and handed his Estus through the bars. "We shall return it to thee before thou awaken. Come, return to the well, and rest thy weary soul."
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As they reached the peak of the mountain, the man approached the tree, wondering if the snake had any new lessons to impart. Ryn lay coiled as always, its purple tongue flickering as he neared. "Well, look at you," it spoke with a hint of disdain. "An Inquisitor's cane, and their leader's own blades, nonetheless. Take caution, manling. You may yet become one of their forsaken coven."
The Lucid One ignored the serpent's prejudice and pointed to the tattered manuscript. "Of course. You've come seeking knowledge. I am sorry to say these pages are too worn to be of any further use. You will have to find something more intact, I'm afraid."
The man lowered his head in disappointment. "However," Ryn continued, "I have a surprise for you. Look to the branches, there." His eyes followed the pointed tail and beheld a strangely shaped seed hanging from the tree's boughs. Curious, he reached up and plucked the shriveled fruit.
"The seed of the spirit tree," Ryn informed him. "It is a boon against malevolent spirits that would do you harm. It does not grow often, silent one. Be sure you don't waste it frivolously."
The man nodded, and placed the withered seed in his robes. "While you're here," the snake said, "Perhaps you could take back that accursed book?" It glanced to the Inquisitor's tome at the base of the tree. "Its very presence makes me ill. Be rid of it, or give it to that old hag. I care not, as long as it's out of my sight."
He frowned and glanced to the Well Maiden, who certainly did not look like an old hag. A hissing chuckle slid from between the snake's fangs. "No, you fool, not her. The one below the shrine. Have you not met her?" He shook his head, perplexed. "Well, be warned, she is a strange one indeed. She won't tell you anything for free, and even then, her words should not be taken lightly. Visit her, if it fancies you, or don't. It makes little difference to me."
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The man wandered about the shrine, wondering where this crone was. After a moment of searching, he discovered another path winding down the mountain, opposite the one that led to Volk. He was amazed he had not noticed it before, and began his descent.
He circled around the steep cliffs, following the rocky road. Oddly, he never passed by Volk's window, though he could still hear the smith hammering away inside. Soon enough, he came to a small burrow dug into the mountainside, where a hunchbacked woman sat in a rocking chair, whittling away at a wooden figurine.
As he approached, she raised her hooded head. Her face was concealed by a tightly wrapped shawl, and neck was oddly elongated and serpentine. "Ah, a visitor," she cooed. "Welcome, good sir, welcome! Have you come to hear a tale from old Ethel?"
The man nodded dubiously, feeling uneasy in the crone's presence. She placed her carving down and held out a frail, bony hand. "Every story has its price, you know. What do you have to offer in return?"
He placed the black book in her hand, and she cackled with delight. "Ah, yes! Quite a treasure, indeed. Let us see what Val thinks of it, shall we?"
Before he could wonder who Val was, a guttural croak made him jump. He looked up to find a raven perched on the rocks above, tilting its small head, studying him with a single ebony eye.
"Ah, there's the little scrounger. Come here, Val, tell me what you think of this find." On request, the raven hopped down to an armrest and cocked its head at the tome. The storyteller opened it and tore out a page, which she crumpled into a ball and handed to her bird friend. At once, the raven snatched it in its beak, then took off into the darkness.
"He seems to approve," Ethel mused. "Now, which story should I share with you? The great deluge? The fall of the Demon Lords? The terrible battle between Saint Andros and the traitorous Xyne? Hmm... I know! I'll tell you a tale forgotten to time. Take a seat, good sir, and listen to the tragedy of Dominic and Karine.
"These fearless warriors were once the most famed Inquisitors to ever grace the battlefield. Saint Karine, the silver-haired archer, and her loyal companion Saint Dominic, the watchdog of Nos. Together, they fought back the wretched beasts that crawled from the Bottomless Pit, and later, they stood strong against the Nephel, the unholy spawn of Samaras.
"Despite their bravery, the hordes of the Propagator were neverending, and their army was forced to retreat. The Cardinals could not abide by this, and tasked the two Inquisitors with a daunting mission... to slay Samaras, the mother of abominations, once and for all. With Karine's arrows of poison, and Dominic's indomitable strength, they would infiltrate her island and end her cursed existence, condemning her to a watery grave.
"They set sail at once, traveling far across the seas. Untold time passed as the Cardinals awaited word of their victory, but none came. Some began to fear the worst. Then, at last, Dominic returned... alone.
"The once mighty warrior had been driven mad, beset by the Nephel's influence. In a rage, he challenged the Cardinals, claiming they had condemned them all to a fate worse than death. In response, they sent forth their divine executioner, Neron, the greatest swordsman to ever live. There, before the gates of the basilica, they battled in single combat.
"However mighty Dominic may have been, he could not best the executioner. The legend says the Inquisitor was slain on the spot, a warning to any who would dare defy the Cardinals. Some claim that Neron spared his fellow warrior, and merely banished him from the lands of Nos. And there are others who believe he inflicted the worst punishment of all... he allowed Dominic to live, but wounded him so severely that he would never fight again.
"Regardless of the true ending, Cardinal Lycian forbade the Inquisitors from speaking of it. The inseparable warriors were honored for their services, but their fates would forever be forgotten by all. None can even say what became of poor Saint Karine, who disappeared across the seas, never to be heard of again.
"And so ends the tragic tale of Dominic and Karine."
The Lucid One snapped out of his reverie, drawing a cackle from the old hag. "Had you spellbound, did I?" Ethel clucked as she retrieved her wood figurine. "Do come back soon, and bring me some more trinkets. I would be happy to share another story with you, if the price is right."
As he turned to leave, he finally noticed what she was carving. It was a man with a wolf's head.
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As he returned to the well, the Maiden stared at him with a reproachful frown. "Lucid One, did'st thou speak to the storyteller?" He nodded hesitantly, causing her to turn away. "Be wary of her tales," she warned. "That one weaveth truth and lie together, until they are but intertwined. She will fill thy head with falsehoods and uncertainty."
She faced him once again, the emerald flask held before her. "Volk hath finished his work. Here, take this as well." He accepted the flask, then received a handful of white powder. "Cast the bone dust into the waters, and it will bolster its potency." The man obeyed, and sprinkled the dust across the rippling well. The powdered bone sparkled as it touched the surface, which he then dipped his sapphire flask into, refilling it with the blessed waters.
As he returned the draught to its resting place, it bumped against the protruding skull, still nestled between his robes. He withdrew it hesitantly, half-expecting to be granted another vision, but the world remained steady. He showed it to the Well Maiden, silently seeking her guidance.
"Ah, another relic of the Cardinals. The skull of poor Saint Ogden, whose only crime was that of sympathy. How fortuitous that thou'st recovered it. Perhaps it would be best to leave it here, for safekeeping. It would only suffer with thee on thine travels, and may yet prove useful." The man conceded her point, and carefully placed the crystal-infused skull atop the well.
"Now, Lucid One," the Maiden spoke gravely, "the next step of thy journey awaits. Thou must seek the isle of Samaras, hidden far across the endless seas. There, the fallen Watcher clingeth to her shard, refusing to relent its power. Gain admittance to her shrine, and wrest the shattered Lordbrandt from her embrace. Take heed, for her kin shall not relinquish their Divine Mother without a fight."
Together, they approached the mended archstone, and with a determined breath, he entered the shimmering haze. "Farewell, Lucid One," the Maiden's voice called after him, sounding a thousand leagues away. "Mayst thou discover thy peace of mind."
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He awoke to a discomforting chill. The man glanced around in confusion, until he realized he was back at the first lantern in the birch grove. The steep mountain soared above, heavy clouds concealing the Basilica. He stared up into the shifting aurora, recalling his taxing quest to defeat the Cardinals, and the peculiar figures he had met along the way. Eventually, he rose from his resting place and searched for a clue to his next destination.
Between the leafless trees, he spotted a beaten trail leading down the mountainside. He pulled his cloak tighter and began a long march along the steady decline.
The forest grew thicker the further he went, as did the cold mist that swirled about. The gnarled branches hung low, occasionally snagging on his clothes, and strange shapes began to appear in their pale trunks. As he followed the footpath, he came across one of the headless knights, its golden armor coated in a frosty sheen. A tree had grown right through the empty shell, trapping it beneath winding roots.
Eventually, he reached a ruined structure of white stone at the edge of a cliff. Its roof was partly missing, and the floor ended abruptly in crumbling bricks, as if the rest had been torn clean away. He looked around, but the path ended here. There was nowhere else to go.
Beside the broken hall, he found a warped tree, its bleached, petrified bark as hard as bone. Resting within the branches was a strange hollowed knot, like a head without a face. Even stranger, a banner seemed to be growing right out of its trunk, with the twin-serpent standard of Saint Janith woven onto its tattered flag.
Gripping the wooden pole in both hands, he tried pulling it free, but it would not budge. He placed a foot against the tree and tugged harder, until it finally snapped at the base, nearly causing him to slip and fall. After regaining his balance, he approached the collapsed building, banner in hand.
He stepped cautiously to the ledge and peered into the roiling clouds below. The Maiden had told him to cross the seas, but not how. The Lucid One stared about helplessly, his cloak and banner blowing in the harsh winds, feeling utterly lost.
He was about to turn around when a blackened claw suddenly reached up and grasped the cracked floor. The man stepped back in alarm, his banner falling to the floor. One hand jumped instinctively to his weapon's hilt as the fiendish creature dragged itself into view.
The pale thing was vaguely human, but its head was lumpy and wrinkled, as if its brain sat on the outside. It had no eyes, only pointed ears and a long nose, and below that, a row of jagged fangs that dripped saliva. Two fin-like wings fanned from its back, and a serpentine tail wriggled behind it. Both its arms and legs faded into black, as if stricken with frostbite.
As the creature crawled towards him on all fours, another of its kind appeared, then another. The Lucid One tensed, ready for a fight, but before he could react, the three fiends leapt at him in a blur. They clung to his arms and legs, dragging him towards the edge while he struggled in vain.
His feet left the ground. The man could do nothing but pray as the winged horrors carried him off into the clouded skies.
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Appendix
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Seed of a Spirit Tree — A seed grown from a spirit tree. When consumed, it confuses enemies into attacking invading phantoms. Dreams cultivate the seeds of intent, but these forms are transient at best. Even the sense of self may change.