19. Shrine of Samaras
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The inside of the temple was disturbingly peaceful.
The Lucid One remained still, alert for any sign of danger, but none presented itself. Before him was a wide rectangular pool strafed by statues covered in purple cloth. Only the stone tendrils grasping their pedestals were visible. The crystal-clear water was spotted with lily-pads and pale blue flowers, their vines snaking across the floor and up ornate pillars that bore the vaulted ceiling. The entire shrine was overrun by vegetation, an encompassing meshwork that concealed the meticulous carvings beneath.
Two curved staircases lay on either side of the pool, leading to an upper level that wrapped around the width of the hall. The aurora lights drifted through open archways in prismatic beams, faintly illuminating the damp interior. When he was certain there was nothing patrolling the walkway above, the man carefully made his way forward into the shrine.
"Ru sap sert!"
He whipped around as a cry shattered the silence. A sentry on the upper balcony had eluded his sight, lurking in the shadows behind him. The white-winged figure was robed in layers of blue and silver, with an oval mirror chained around its neck. A tall mask sported numerous mouths arranged in diamond patterns. As it shouted, it bobbed up and down and rapped its two-pronged staff against the floor, ringing the bells that swung from either side.
The alarming noise was sure to draw others. The Lucid One turned towards the stairs, prepared to run, but the rippling waters stopped him in his tracks. From the surface, three ethereal phantoms rose, armed with an oar, wooden pike, and cudgel. The shadowy-blue spirits raised their heads; as one, they slid pieces of parchment over their weapons, coating them in icy crystals. Then, they sprinted weightlessly across the pool as if it were frozen solid.
As they converged, the angel shouted again in its strange tongue. "Rethom ethrof slous!"
The spirits descended upon him in a flurry of blows. The sorcerer spun around the first pike thrust, his blades instantly in hand, and countered with a series of sweeping strikes, keeping the foes at bay. The oar whisked overhead; the cudgel bore down at his skull. He halted the blow with crossed swords, then sent the phantom stumbling back with a solid kick.
The pikeman jabbed again. The Lucid One sidestepped the frozen spear and stomped down, pinning the haft to the ground with a splintering crack. As its wielder stumbled, the silver blade lashed out and opened the warrior's throat. The second one slid between his ribs without resistance, and the spirit billowed away into smoke.
An oar raced at him from behind. The man deftly tumbled away, but as he moved to retaliate, a chilling arrow burst across his shoulder. From up high, the masked angel prepared another spell, frost swirling between the points of its bident. The spirits charged just as it released the icy bolt, and the Lucid One dove behind a nearby statue for cover.
The pedestal quivered at the spell's collision, leaving a cloud of snow shimmering in the air. A moment later, the oar swung against the stone base, forcing the cowering sorcerer to roll away. The cudgel bashed into the floor, just missing his knee, and he hastily retreated up the stairs. The spirits were of little threat; nay, they were only a distraction from the angel's deadly magic.
As the summoned gave chase, the twin chimes rang once again. The Lucid One tensed as he reached the top of the stairs, where he beheld a tall mirror hanging from the wall. Something dark reflected within, a shadow taking shape, then the mirror cracked. It exploded into shards as yet another dark spirit leapt out, and the man was taken aback at the familiar foe. It was the archer from the forest.
If the hunter recognized him, they gave no sign. Without hesitation, the bowman drew two arrows and fired them in rapid succession. The first whistled past the sorcerer's neck; the second pierced his thigh, glancing painfully off bone. He grit against the injury and kept moving towards the angel, limping as fast as he could down the lengthy gallery. As he ran, he saw dozens of mirrors lining the walls of the upper level, each one bolstering his desperation. If he did not silence the summoner, the phantoms would never cease.
At the far end of the hall, the angel floated into view, its cerulean robes wavering above the tiled floor, and began chanting as frost glistened around its staff. The Lucid One glanced back as the archer loosed another arrow, missing so narrowly that the fletching tickled his face. He did not stop, and stared down the divine being in determination.
The spell was cast, hissing as it darted down the corridor. The sorcerer sheathed his left sword and dove to the floor, tumbling beneath the icy projectile. When he stood, his cane was in hand. It hummed softly as he launched a sound bolt at the angel, forcing it to retreat behind the railing. He immediately resumed his charge, weaving side to side while arrows continued to streak after him.
The man redrew his sword, and with a grating shriek, the blades were enveloped in the shadowy flames of Darklight. He rounded the corner and was met by a thrusting bident. He ducked aside, but one of the points caught the corner of his mouth and ripped through his cheek. He screamed silently as blood gushed from the wound, then he drove each blade into either side of the angel's torso, drawing an anguished cry that reverberated through the chamber. The summoner pulled itself free with a flap of its wings, and before the Lucid One could act, the mirror around its neck shone with a blinding light. He braced himself for another spell, but to his surprise, the light vanished along with the angel.
An arrow ricocheted off the pillar beside him. The three phantoms were gaining quickly, advancing from both sides of the gallery. At the opposite hall, near the top of the stairs, the angel reappeared in a brilliant flash. Its guttural laugh echoed across the vast space to taunt the embittered mortal.
He snapped off the arrowhead protruding from his thigh, pulled the other half out, then ambled towards the archer. Arrow after arrow soared past, but he ducked and hacked the projectiles out of the air with a precision he had not known before. The hunter stepped back from the relentless fighter and pulled strongly on the bow, coating its arrow in frost. As the ice flew, the Lucid One dove beneath it in a rolling slash, but the enemy tumbled safely out of range. Before he could stand, the sorcerer tackled him head-on. The pair struggled against each other, until finally, the lithe archer was slammed against the wall, then flung bodily over the balcony. The phantom landed in the shallow pool with a crack.
The angel continued to barrage the intruder with magic, but the pillars offered enough cover to make it through unharmed. He rounded the corner and found the other two spirits rushing to intercept him. He rolled right between their flailing clubs, then blocked with both swords as the silver staff crashed into his side. Sliding under the blow, he twirled about, slashing through the summoner repeatedly and releasing a fine silver mist from its wounds. Immediately, the mirror flashed again, but this time, the man thrust blindly into the white light.
Both blades connected. With the radiance still eclipsing his sight, he twisted his blades and tore in opposite directions. The light vanished as the angel fell to its knees, and its silver bident clattered to the floor with a final chime. "Rethom..." the creature whispered as it evaporated into dewdrops, "Eam vigrof..."
The Lucid One quickly spun towards the phantoms. His eyes went wide as he faced the archer once again, an arrow nocked mere inches from his eye. He flinched as the bowstring snapped, yet only air flittered across his face. He glanced up to find the marksman fading away, weapon lowered as if accepting defeat. Behind him, the other spirits dissipated into dark wisps, then the shrine was silent once more.
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The man collapsed against the balcony, breathing heavily. Though his injuries were minor, he had barely set foot inside the temple, and he had no doubt the dangers would only intensify as he progressed. He fumbled inside his heavy robes, then cursed himself further. His healing flask was empty from the previous battle, and only half his Estus remained. He hesitantly drank from the warm elixir, careful not to spill any from his ruptured cheek. Now, there was enough for one last swig.
As he rested, he took stock of the situation. A part of him wanted to ring his silver bell, to summon a companion to his side, yet his gaze kept wandering to the bident lying on the floor. Its twin bells were nearly identical to his own, and this unnerved him. Did their sound call forth only those allied to the summoner, or did they open the doors for any manner of spirit to invade? It was surely the Nephel's own magic that imbued them, and he could not trust in the enchantments of his enemy. Besides, two trespassers would draw more attention than one.
Despite his dwindling resources, the Lucid One concluded that he should carry on alone, and with even greater caution. Another foolish mistake could very well seal his fate in this deceptive paradise.
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A furtive glance through the archway revealed a similar chamber, with an upper level encircling its vast perimeter. There were no angels in sight to guard this balcony, so the sorcerer crept beside a pillar and peered into the vacuous room below.
As before, there were many cloth-covered statues, most dotting the edges of the hall in alcoves, though one larger centerpiece rested in the middle. Between them crawled a handful of strange creatures, the likes of which he had never seen before. Their gaunt torsos appeared feminine, with their lower halves concealed inside heavy spiral shells, and their faces masked by a mess of tangled strands that were too viscid to be hair. Each one was dragging a ceramic jug beside them, taking great care not to spill its contents. As he observed, the shell-women scraped their way towards a scattering of conical vases placed around the room, and emptied the contents of their jugs inside. Murky liquid splashed over dark soil, and eventually, the lowest point of the cones dripped a steady bead of clear water into basins underneath.
As he watched the strange process in mild curiosity, something much larger entered the chamber. The Lucid One went stiff at the sight of the monstrous being, its numerous tentacles undulating behind it like snake tails. He had seen this kind of aberration before, but those ones had all been dead and petrified. Now that he was witnessing one in all its slick, slimy repugnance, he understood why the other angels had feared them so.
This was a Nephel, the unholy spawn of Samaras.
Despite its looming size, rubbery flesh, and curling tentacles that draped from its head, the most bizarre aspect of this creature was the lavish jewelry it sported. Delicate chains hung from a gem-encrusted mantle, and polished silver bands sat at the base of its upper tendrils. Its humanoid arms were decorated in bracelets, bangles, and rings, all linked by a web of fine metal threads. A violet, silken veil covered its face, hiding whatever nightmarish visage lay beneath. It was at once hideous and elegant.
The Nephel glided among its servile minions, overseeing their water-pouring ritual with silent deliberation. The Lucid One continued to study their movements, searching for the safest way through. There were two other openings on the balcony, one to either side, but the shell-women headed in these same directions once their jugs were emptied. They crawled back to some unseen recess, then reappeared with pitchers filled once more. He could not risk being spotted, so he employed his most reliable distraction.
The Inquisitor's cane vibrated as he released an aural decoy into the room below. The intangible spell warbled when it struck the far wall, immediately drawing the Nephel's attention. It hissed and flailed its boneless limbs, calling for its minions to investigate, and as they abandoned their jugs one by one, the sorcerer descended the opposite staircase in silence.
The steps lay parallel to the room, and he had to crouch to avoid being seen through the pillars. Fortunately, every creature was preoccupied with the unfamiliar noise, and none of them so much as glanced in his direction. He made his way carefully to the ground level and found an adjacent room with a fountaining well, its waters clouded with telltale signs of poison. Casting a final glance backwards, the man slipped into the recess with a sigh of relief.
He immediately saw a lone shell-woman as she withdrew her pitcher from the well. She stared back with eyeless lids, her toothless mouth hanging agape in stupor. Without thinking, the Lucid One leapt forward and drove his blade through her head. It slid in without resistance, as if her skull were no thicker than parchment. Her pale face deformed from the blow in a sickening manner, and her body went limp without so much as a whimper.
The ease of the kill struck the man with an unexpected twinge of guilt. He paused only for a moment, just long enough for the ceramic jug to fall and shatter against the floor, spilling its tainted water. He wasted no time checking behind himself again, and ran to a second stairwell that curled down into the floor, nearly slipping on the wet stone steps in his haste. The pathetic shell-woman may have died without a struggle, but he was certain the Nephel would not offer him that same luxury.
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The air grew damp and fetid the further down he traveled. Only his shining seal illuminated the path ahead, glistening off gouts that spewed from cracks in the well. He did his best to avoid them; he had no purple blossoms to counteract the poison, and the ring from the Inquisitor's tower would only delay the onset of effects. When he finally reached the bottom, free of affliction, he found himself in a narrow and winding tunnel with blackened water pooling in the middle. There was barely enough dry ground to avoid it, yet the Lucid One inched forward precariously.
Shortly, the tunnel opened into a larger cavern. Its rocky walls had dozens of small niches carved in them, each one just wide enough for the corpses that lay within. The skeletal figures were dressed in assorted garments, some in mere rags, others in fanciful gowns. A few had weapons or other valuables placed beside them. He inspected them as he passed, hoping to find something of assistance, but most were simple material items that would do him little good. Even the weapons seemed so brittle that they would break if he attempted to move them.
Between the unmarked graves were large fissures of ice. At first, he paid them little mind, but he soon noticed other shapes trapped inside them. They were difficult to make out through the glaze, but they seemed to be twisted, vaguely humanoid forms, ropey and tangled like vines. Sometimes there was only one, sometimes more. The sight was unnerving, but no more than what lay above, so he moved on.
After some time, the cave opened into two more paths, forming a crossroads. The man estimated that the right path led back towards the shrine, while the other two led into the unknown. As vacant as the tombs were, he decided to keep exploring, and marched forward into the darkness.
The miserable scenery did not change in the slightest. The graves stretched on by the dozen until they abruptly ended. There was nothing special about the final grave, though its occupant was better dressed than the others. With nothing of interest found, he turned to leave, then spotted a corpse that was not ensconced in a tomb.
The dead man lay slumped unceremoniously in the dirt. The Lucid One recognized his robes as the same ones Tensen had worn, marking him as a scholar of Falmour. Sure enough, a silver cane was gripped in his bony right hand, though its thread had been severed and its pieces scattered uselessly. Oddly, there was a metal-wrought basket over his head, with openings barely wide enough to see through. The man almost found its design familiar, yet its purpose remained lost on him.
Most importantly, a threadbare tome lay beside the corpse. The sorcerer carefully flipped it open to find most of its pages worn away, rotted out from the musty territory. As he peeled away the tattered strips in despondency, he managed to find a few in the middle that were intact, detailing some mysterious sorceries. With great care, the Lucid One tore them from their bindings and folded them into his robes, hoping that the serpent might aid him with their transcription.
Backtracking, the wanderer made his way down the next tunnel. Once again, he found nothing of use, only material possessions whose value had long since decayed alongside their owners. This cave also resulted in a dead end, and so the sorcerer made his way back. As he gave the tombs a final, cursory glance, he suddenly noticed a skeleton dressed in a familiar garb. The sword and shield resting beside it only confirmed its identity.
It was the corpse of the spirit who had fought with him against the forest hunters. The Lucid One balked at the unexpected sight. All the spirits he had met were of living people, not those long deceased. The revelation was unsettling, but he pushed it aside as yet another mystery of this strange realm, then busied himself with inspecting the belongings.
Though the sword and shield wore signs of rust, they were much better off than the others. Now that he had the chance to view them more closely, he realized they were of master craftsmanship and exquisite design. The lengthy blade had one flat edge and the other undulating, like waves of the ocean. The shield was designed to resemble a blooming flower, with telltale signs of a rosy finish that had been worn away, revealing turquoise metal beneath.
The shield interested him most. He reached out to touch the armament, but as soon as his fingers grazed it, a sharp crack echoed through the cavern. The Lucid One jumped back as ice toppled from the wall beside him. Another crash caused the entire formation to give way, and along with it, the twisted thing it contained.
Without the ice to obscure its features, the abomination was even more gruesome to behold. Its head looked like a shriveled seed connected to a snarl of entangled roots, their shape appearing human only on the most superficial level. Two limbs stretched to either side, while its body tapered off into a slug-like tail. It released a high-pitched tone as it charged without warning.
The first swipe caught the man off-guard and sent him sprawling against the unforgiving stone. He had barely regained his senses when it pounced upon him, thrashing its stringy arms in a frenzy. Though its blows were weak, it attacked like a mad beast, and the sorcerer struggled to escape. He lashed out with his swords, chopping off strands of squirming veins, but it did not slow the creature in the slightest. When he spotted an opening, he rushed in, but the monster whipped around and sent him tumbling with its sturdy tail.
The Lucid One backed away to prepare his spells. Suddenly, the thing's arm rapidly extended, rippling down the tunnel to dig its way under his robes and skin. His eyes bulged in agony as the roots burrowed deep, dragging him back into the creature's grasp. It hoisted him off his feet, blood streaming from various wounds, and shrieked again in its single, earsplitting note.
It took all of his willpower just to cross his blades before him. In one motion, he slashed them together, severing the strands that bound him and releasing the Darklight. As the black-blue flames enveloped the roots, they wriggled their way out of his body and fell to the earth, while the creature cried monotonously and shook its seared limb. The Lucid One rushed in while it was distracted, slashing through its twisted body at random. Its tail swung around again, but he hurdled over it and kept hacking.
Whatever this thing was, it was tormented by the Darklight. It snaked away in desperation, but the man pursued it remorselessly, weaving between its aimless attacks. At last, he found his chance, and dipped below a flailing limb before rising with a double slash, cleaving its shriveled head in two. The soft tissue smoked as it ignited with cold flame.
The creature wobbled uncertainly before collapsing, its body unspooling into a shapeless mass. The man slumped against the crypt walls, panting and clutching at his pierced torso. The battle had been brief, but the damage was done. His health was ailing. The only solace he found was from somehow avoiding the poisoned waters, which would have certainly undone him. If he did not find a safe haven soon, however, it would not matter either way.
As he caught his breath, the seal's shimmer reflected on something buried in the tangled heap of the monster. Using his blade, he pushed aside the roots to find a ring caught in a knot. With little effort, he cut it free, then held it up for a closer look. It was a square, light-blue gemstone framed in gold, bearing only a slight resemblance to his own purple-gemmed one. Though he was sure it boasted magical properties, he could not discern what they might be. He looked over his own rings, contemplating on whether or not he should replace one. Each one was bulky, leaving only enough room to wear four comfortably.
Momentarily, he made his choice. With a grimace of disdain, he removed the Sentinel's Seal, having entirely forgotten its presence. After his last encounter with Brother Edson, he doubted he would ever want or need its aid again. He carelessly tossed the ring into the shallow rivulet, then slid his new addition on.
Now that the threat was over, he returned to the other treasures. He touched the shield tentatively, but nothing burst from the walls this time. Lifting it in his palms, he was surprised at how light it felt, and slipped it onto his left forearm with ease. If there was ever the time to use a shield, this was it. He could forego wielding his twin blades if it meant having better protection.
He tried lifting the foreign sword next, but though it weighed less than expected, it was too unwieldy to use in one hand. Reluctantly, he placed it back with its owner, then eyed the corpse's extravagant clothing. The outfit seemed to signify some high ranking, sporting platinum-wrought pauldrons and bracers over a deep blue tailcoat, which in turn covered a chainmail shirt. Silver-threaded embroidery swirled around the lapels and cuffs, bestowing it with a regal appearance. Baggy pants were tucked into heavy leather boots, reinforced with metal greaves.
The man took one glance at his own fur robes, frayed and dingy, then began stripping the dead man without a second thought. Soon, he was buckling his new boots and buttoning up the coat, marveling at its near-perfect fit. The armor was sturdy but light, and did not hinder his movements, offering greater defense with no repercussions. Of course, the cloth carried with it the unmistakeable stench of death and decay, but this was no different than his previous apparel, and it would surely fade in time. With newfound resolve, the Lucid One gathered the rest of his belongings and set off to explore the final tunnel.
He vaguely recalled that long ago — what felt like a lifetime ago — he had given pause to pilfering those ragged robes from a frozen corpse. Now, he did not hesitate, his conscience clear. He was a survivor. There was no time to debate the morality of his actions anymore.
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Appendix
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Azure Resin — A parchment of crushed azurite resin that applies frost to a weapon. This resin is formed from tears shed by the ivory trees. It was first created by outcasts who worshipped the Divine Mother, in direct defiance of the Cardinals' decree.
Blue Quartz Ring — A ring once worn by Captain Brenlyn the sailor. Boosts frost defense. When the ships of Captain Brenlyn reached their destination, he forced his men onto its frigid shores, heedless of their misery. Few can blame them for turning on their former commander.
Diviner's Bident — A two-pronged staff wielded by diviners of Samaras. When used in a ritual dance, its twin chimes summon aid from beyond. Since their inception, the diviners have served as mouthpieces for the angels of the sea. Their prayers echo across time and space.