Care to enlighten me on these Ringed Knights that curdle your blood so?
"They're not exactly frightening in comparison to some of the things you've no doubt killed. Certainly something like a dragon is more destructive or dangerous or whatever qualifier we want to use. The problem with the Ringed Knights – aside from being Abyssal creatures, of course – is that they're just humans.
Certainly again, we've seen humans with power that doesn't make sense. Like the infamous Knight-Slayer or that well-spoken severed head. Strange and mildly unsettling but not really scary, compared to the other dangers of the journey.
The Ringed Knights are… wrong. When you kill a monster, it goes away. When you kill a hollow, it simply comes back. They're each more powerful than a knight of the gods but have no grace. Only brute strength and the utter certainty of an undead. They don't carry shields but the severed heads of… what might be real dragons.
You can hide from a dragon. You can outrun a monster. What can you do if an undead of such power sniffs you out, following the Dark in you? Each was a match for one of the King's dragonriders, and when our Men died, they stayed dead. Better to avoid the Ringed Knights ever catching your scent."
Don't know if it means anything to you, but I believe I recognize the terrible hat you speak of. Your son-in-law's pet bipolar hexer sold it
"Ah, the Royal Sorcerer up to his old tricks. I'm not surprised. Only, I wonder if he had those because he had killed the witch and condemned her to the Heap or because she was one of Aldia's warlocks."
Are you the main driving force behind the Gonne revolution?
"For now. Gonnes have been rare to this point due to the matter of their construction. They're either expensive and require a gonnesmith's constant maintenance… or they're useless after one shot… or they blow up in your hand. Of course King Vendrick was sitting on all the treasure of his preceding Kings, so he could afford to equip his Men with my finest.
While the world has caught up to my old designs since the fall of Drangleic, I'm the only one who can produce them quickly and reliably. I have major clients here and there. I recently produced a masterwork for rising warlord in the distant east – they call him the 'Sword Saint,' so the gonne makes for an excellent surprise weapon. I also sold a number of plans to some new church in Catarina. Apparently they have a problem with wolves or something.
More interestingly, I'm finally making some progress in improving the designs. There's a certain count in Catarina who caught wind of my sales there and commissioned the absolute finest. Even brought over the smiths I'd worked with in the east to make swords and the like. Absolutely terrifying family, to say nothing of the castle… but silver-haired women… mm.
Well, be that as it may, even those gonnes were only another step in the evolution. The main problem is still the complexity and expense. The solution's on the tip of my tongue. I've got a buyer for when I do finally figure out how to make cheap and reliable firearms, though. Some independent workshop also dealing with that wolf problem. Honestly, what are those onion knights even doing if there are that many wolves about a single city?"
How does the Judicator's summoning work? Is it an alternative form of how we undead summon each other?
"Well, I'm not exactly a sorcerer. You meant Straid of Olaphis, correct? I've heard of him. He could probably give you a better answer.
From what I've been told, there's some sort of contract magic involved. Summons disappear when you've slain a monster because that fulfills the contract. Those sorts of contracts are ephemeral. You're temporarily taking part in an older contract for summoning. The Judicators are writing their own contracts. I don't know the terms.
Anyway, this is all coming from a newborn that can barely talk and fell asleep in the middle of the explanation, so it might not be entirely true."
The giants began to withdraw as the dragon's shadow loomed over us. Mytha gave her last orders. Call us bastards for having planned to abandon the others all along, but there was no way we could fight a dragon in ranks. This wasn't the King's army – and the King's army was nearly annihilated attempting it. It was every undead for themselves now.
That's not to say that we hadn't planned anything. Wingbeats echoed from the Dreg Heap as well. We needed to be out of the way.
I threw Mytha my gonne, and she threw me her head. Both of us ran like mad, directly into the giants. The black dragon swooped down over the gathered undead and expelled a wave of Dark-tinged fire. I'm not sure how many that initial blast took out. I stopped caring as soon as the dragon appeared. Either I focused my everything on it or we would all die again.
The giants swung at Mytha and me, but we ignored them. I was too small, and Mytha was too fast. They couldn't hit us while friend and foe were all fleeing together. Mytha and I headed up to a raised overlook where Judicators had tried to oversee the battle before I painted the road with their brains.
I looked back. Some of the ballista bolts had struck the dragon. Some of the acid spray had washed over its stone scales. Some of the gonners has shot its snout. Some of the warriors had struck its heels. One brave soul had somehow climbed atop its head and picked at its ears with a dagger.
All of this, and the dragon didn't care a wink.
My new gonne could wound it, if I could shoot its eyes. Would it let me? Would it hold still long enough for the firing wheel to spin? Of course not. Not unless it was bound.
I took aim while Mytha began to unpack my other tools. Just a moment longer. Just a moment longer.
Well, Ellie in her heavy armor had been a thorn in the dragon's side for longer than it cared. It took flight to reposition but stopped and looked up as it found itself overshadowed just as it had overshadowed us.
I fired.
Even that did little. The dragon roared in anguish or annoyance as the hot lead tore its flesh fiercely enough that it stumbled in its takeoff.
Then then wyvern's talons clutched its throat.
Aldia had given us his largest, strongest, fastest "Guardian Dragon". That was our secret weapon beneath the deck of the largest ship. It was still a wyvern of course and looked pathetic next to a true dragon descendant. Yet, the gangly, misshapen bastard child was at least as long as the true heir. And stone talons are stone talons.
The dragon choked and tore the road as it struggled to shake free. Some undead too slow to flee were torn to pieces by its flailing. It was moving too much now, and it knew the danger of my rifle. I wouldn't get a second shot.
I took a moment to attach all of my climbing gear to my prostheses. The might of dragons is something indeed. Wyverns are like birds. They're fragile and lightweight for their size – and so easily frightened. The dragons are apex predators in any environment. The black dragon threw the wyvern from it with strength alone, then lunged like a mountain cat.
The terrified wyvern took to the air, and the dragon followed. It tried once more to grab the fleeing drake with its forelimbs, but the lighter wyvern could evade more easily.
The dragon had had enough. While it was wasting time with this overgrown duck, every ranged weapon left among the undead was firing at it. It used that thing. I felt the echo of pain in my missing limbs.
Pure white Dark shimmered in its mouth for a moment before erupting as a sorcerous beam. The wyvern shrieked briefly before falling in two pieces. The dragon turned its head, driving the beam to the road.
The beam itself killed some, sure. But the explosion which followed killed more. I'd mentioned this attack to the undead, but most hadn't thought much of it. They expected a dragon would just be a tougher drake. Their mistake.
It turned to me now – the only undead who had truly injured it.
"You want my other arm?!" I yelled. "Come get it, you damned beast!"
I hadn't been idle all this time. I hadn't just watched as the undead I brought were slaughtered. I wasn't shouting out of a desire for revenge. I needed it to run toward me.
I did some math in my head and took one more step forward. The dragon raced toward me and lunged teeth-first, just as it had with the wyvern. I threw a match at my feet.
I couldn't prepare any large-scale explosives or traps in enemy territory. Not without a unit of sappers, and there weren't nearly enough Gyrm left in Drangleic for that. I'd have to fight like the old dragonslayers – but without the benefit of magic lightning.
So I blew myself up. My new steel legs could handle it. That catburglar from before had the right idea. I needed to get on top of the dragon in order to reduce its absolute advantage in mobility. The light and smoke of the explosion concealed my movement while the blast sent me hurtling toward the monster. With it charging straight ahead, it couldn't avoid me.
I sank the claws on my feet into the dragon's back and drew a gonne which could fire harpoons. Whaling wasn't exactly common back home, but the Majula fishermen did sometimes try it. I knew enough.
I shot a harpoon at the back of the dragon's skull, just beneath a horn. The beast wouldn't be able to pry it loose at that angle. The harpoon had a rope of spider silk attached, and the rope in turn was bound about my body.
A dragon of course can't swat an insect buzzing about it, so it tried to throw me off like a wild horse. Unfortunately for it, I was already in a stable position. Mytha shot it with a soul spear to distract it further while I drew my tools.
I used gonnes quite a bit throughout this story. But remember: I'm not a sharpshooter. I'm a smith. What belongs in my hand is a hammer.
I crouched on the dragon's back and planted a steel stake on its flesh. In my other hand, I held a hammer infused with boltstone and filled with a resevoir of gold pine resin. I don't exactly have faith in the gods, but lightning is lightning, and lightning is the way to kill dragons. This was my "lightning stake."
Just as my prey started to retaliate against Mytha, I began hammering the nail into its spine. It didn't like that, of course. It reared up and took to the air again, wincing but fighting through the pain. It spiraled as it rose, trying to throw me. I had to abandon the offense and use the claw on my prosthetic hand to help steady me.
I probably would have appreciated the view of the city had I not risked instant death by gravity.
Eventually, the dragon leveled out. Even it couldn't endure such spinning for long. Then it began heading for the cliff wall. I wanted to throw a firebomb in order to blind it, but at the speed we were going, it would have just exploded in my face.
I tried hammering the nail a couple of times, but the dragon wasn't turning. As we came up on the wall, I quickly swung around its flank while it scraped its back on the stone. That tore out the stake and nearly pulled me off. I yanked the spider thread off me at the last minute, but the force nearly ripped my prosthetic arm off.
Remember how I said that's a bad thing?
Of course, then my problem just became that I was hanging off the side of a dragon – secured only by some short spikes on two-and-a-half of my limbs.
Yeah, that didn't last long.
The damn thing spun again as we passed over the city. "Fortunately," I landed on a tower instead of falling to my death. I just landed on both my legs. The prosthetics breaking was bad of course. Certainly a bit worse than breaking a weapon and having to warp to a blacksmith to have it repaired. As you're well aware from acid traps, death would have been preferable to broken equipment, especially since we two have resistance to hollowing.
Mytha saw me go down. She yelled out, but I was too far away to hear. I couldn't really see her either. But up on that platform, she had a good idea of where I'd landed. And…
Bel stops and rubs her chin.
"Well… Honestly, I didn't plan this out. There's a little gap here. I just kind of crawled up some stairs for like five minutes. Darling, do you mind…"
Mytha sighs, shakes her head, and says, "So be it. You did not even give poor Alva a proper sendoff. I'm disappointed in your storytelling."
She continues where Bel left off.
As had been alluded to, I had been of little use throughout the fight. As I watched Bel soar through the air on dragonback, I felt a deep emptiness. How far I had come as a person; how far I had traveled from Shulva and from my lonely tower; yet still I was a useless figurehead to direct those with no will of their own.
I could not even provide support. The so-called "Dragon School" has long said that the soul spear matches the lightning of the ancient dragon hunters. In what degenerate world does that statement hold true? The spear of Lord Dragonborn would crest the sky and fall to smite his foe no matter where the fool might shelter. What use is a magic projectile slower than stone, which disperses at a range shorter than I can spit?
What use was I? A beast of burden to carry gonnes? Was such the only value of the dragon's blood in my royal veins? Useless! Yet there was a woman who had not all her limbs, riding a hostile dragon. I keenly felt envy once more.
In my fury, I did all that I could. I prayed. I prayed blasphemy, that a dragon might die for the petty reason of keeping that madwoman safe.
Shulva was a city of faith. Yet our faith bore few fruits. Little of the gods' power could we call or even desire to use, and the archdragons are indifferent by the very nature which makes them worthy of worship. Our precious few miracles, I could indeed manifest before my transformation. I had been instead one of the few who practiced sorcery, taboo in our land. It had been the practical choice.
Yet now I wished that I had cleft closer to faith. I wished that I could call upon the bolts of the Lord Dragonborn. That I could be that hero of my idle fantasies – a Warrior of Sunlight.
O Monarch, you know the magics of this world. You know what a sorcerer finds instead when seeking faith. In the Ringed City where the Pygmy Lords of Man hold sway, what could my prayers call but the Abyss?
In my heart, I heard a sharp whistle. A human might have repeated it, but I heard the song in my blood. I had never been true to the dragons, I realized. Their perfection and impassion was not in me. There was too much Want. Too much Dark. Such was reason for my imperfect form.
In spite of my blood, I was no dragon. I was a serpent. There, in that wretched place at the bottom of the world, I was in a serpents' nest. If I could not rise to the dragons, then I could drag them down to me.
I let my poisoned blood and stained the earth as I sang the call to my kin. The Abyss churned and answered my offering. As Midir, Dragon of Charcoal, wheeled about in the air to end the rest of our undead incursion, our cousin rose to meet him. A great, eyeless Abyssal serpent arose from below and took the dragon by the throat.
I did not stay to watch the carnage. I drew no pleasure from striking down the holy. I instead clambered down to the level of the city where Bel had fallen. I did not take the time or the risk to descend through the passages. Between my spear and tail, I descended the cliffside directly.
Bel had fallen to a tower above a cathedral. The structure itself was quite thoroughly surrounded by giants. Only, they did not seem aggressive. They had none of their usual vengeful demeanor. They were frightened, and they held their weapons back as if to defend against a blow, though I was at clear disadvantage.
I had no time to discern their motivations, though it would have behooved them to guess my own. I threw my head into the crowd and ordered them to make way, a command backed with sorcerous force. As the shockwave parted them just enough, I slipped my body through the crowd and recovered my head. Before the further giants could reach past their stumbling fellows, I clambered up a statue on the cathedral's facade.
As before, I climbed straight up. There was a long stair, however, so I swiftly turned to a diagonal and lunged over the side. It was not hard to find Bel. She had been climbing the stairs to the chamber at the top. I merely had to follow the trail of blood and Abyssal pus. My son is a man of half measures. You have seen the flawed and fragile nature of his "dragons" – it should be no surprise that Sabela's immortality is much the same.
Why does Bel have prosthetic limbs when rebirth at a bonfire heals all wounds? She has already stated that even teeth recover. Consider my son's other undead modifications. The "enhanced undead" are bloated with Abyssal power, rife with mutation and left to wander as stumbling, hunched monstrosities. The "artificial undead" are bolted together in order to keep their open wounds from tearing until the poor things fall to pieces.
I did not know the cause at the time, but Bel was becoming one of them. All three of her prosthetic mounts had been damaged, and now the compressed Dark within her was oozing free. That pearl is like a stopper on her connection to the Abyss, but it is pressed upon by both sides. If all the mechanisms encysting her body were to be removed, she would swiftly become an Abyssal beast of such power as to rival the Great One of the Abyss.
Already, her steel legs were dangling at the end of gnarled tendrils. Her steel arm had become a mere finger on a gnashing Abyssal claw. The signature twisting, ram-like horns had begun to grow atop her head. Still she had climbed, and now she banged on the door of the single room at the top of the stair.
I imagined her motivation. A single room – we could fight through and then barricade ourselves. We could make our last stand there.
As I approached, she almost snarled at me. Her eyes were hazy, and she looked through me as if blind. She calmed after a moment, and I moved to the doors. I pushed them open with caution, but there had been no need.
What lay beyond was a bedchamber, and what lay in the bed was the living corpse of a deity. Like the giants slain in Drangleic, her body was turning to wood and flower. Like the giants slain in Drangleic, there were brightbugs all about her. The insects are attracted to Dark and death, for the Fire within them grows in response. These insects positively shone.
I heard voices below. They came for us. Yet I had already realized there was an escape for we two which no other could use. As Bel struggled to maintain her very self, I took her in one arm and focused on the Ashen Mist Heart.