How To Git Gud, Well… Not Really

Chapter 2 – Gifts

Take the ring. That had been her first choice when Head Cleric Theodus had laid out a spread of the most outlandish items to have ever graced her light brown eyes. It was her right before she left on this dangerous pilgrimage to the Land of Ancient Lords, to choose an object before departure that would help as either an aide to her on this perilous journey or remind her of the home she would leave behind so that she could save the world as everyone knew it.

But all right, she should have been shipped to the Undead Asylum long ago. However, Head Cleric Theodus was a very different man of the cloth. One that actually filled his head with knowledge and understanding instead of casting stones at people like the imperious goats on the Holy Council of Thorolund.

Then again, she reminded herself, Head Cleric Theodus was also the mightiest perv that had ever lived in the kingdom to date. The reason he had protected her from the Council and managed to prevent her from being shackled in the dungeon was due to how infatuated he was with her rump.

Now, although that reason was complete bogus, even she had to agree that her rump was quite the sight to behold. Why, even after her body had turned half-hollow her derriere still retained its curvaceousness – and that was quite the achievement when the rest of her had been maroon and leathery skin and bone.

But aside from all that, what really had her hopping around like some chipper bunny was the fact that she was to go on a quest of a lifetime. Many clerics and paladins had ventured out into the unknown before her, yet none had returned. Whilst that alone was enough to scare away the rosiness from her cheeks, she was ecstatic at the prospect that she would actually be able to leave on a quest of her own, travel the world and possibly even save it one day! Perhaps she would even meet a handsome drifter on her way to the beautiful kingdom Lord Gwyn had lived in. He would save her from a near-death encounter, she would give him her handkerchief as a token of her appreciation, he would ask for more than just a piece of her…

Her wrinkled skin flushed burgundy at the thought.

"Now, my child, make your decision and be off," Theodus said with a soft wheeze. As old as he was and as difficult as it was for him to function normally without one of the nurses casting a miracle on him every morning before breakfast, he sure stuck his neck out for the younger generation he taught.

"I am afraid there isn't any more time. By sundown, the Council will decide to transfer you to the Asylum."

She nodded and placed her gaze back onto the ivory table. She had been told to choose any one of the items displayed before her, but only one. Each was remarkable in their design and possibly quite expensive if appraised by a renowned merchant. However, she knew that asking for a second option on which to pick was out of the question. Any moment now, the Elders would push through the broad double-doors of the cathedral and send her packing. She would have to make a choice here and now, or risk not possessing anything to keep as a memento of her homeland. She of all people knew how long quests could take to complete. If the average one was nearly the length of a full decade given the requirements, if not more, then an Undead Mission could and would take twice, or maybe thrice that time. So haste was the aim of the game in this instance.

Her mind had immediately drifted towards the small but cute ring at the far right of the table. From the brief description Cleric Theodus had given her of every item, said ring had been merged with old but powerful magic, able to replenish small amounts of her lost vitality over time. With a boon like that on her side, she would be able to recover faster en route to places that required her to be at her peak.

That being said, her mind had taken quite a blow when so many wonderful and foreign objects had been placed in front of her face. There had been a pair of binoculars from Vinheim, a treasure most useful for scouting ahead when moving over higher ground, a pouch of firebombs so potent a single one could obliterate the limbs of a demon, even two vials of elixir blessed by the goddess Fina herself!

And yet, with all that magnificence before her eyes, she had chosen a bronze pendant.

When she thought back onto that day years after she had left Thorolund, she could have chosen to opt for something different. However, even as she stood up in the dilapidated ruin of Firelink Shrine with naught but a single, crestfallen warrior for company, she was more than content with her decision.

Sure, it hadn't helped her when she had been pummelled to death over and over by the obese Asylum Demon during her exodus to Lordran; and it certainly had not stopped that fire-breathing drake from blasting her to a crisp – but she was assured that her choice had been correct. After all, from the talk of her fellow maidens and friends in the Holy Capital, and from the slivers of conversation she had managed to catch from the Council; it was rumoured that inside the innocuous little pendant she wore around her neck was a runic message imbued into the very metal itself.

It was said that it could only be opened by the Chosen Undead when in dire desperation. For only then would its old magic activate to give the wear a message of unfathomable wisdom – capable of outshining the very graduates of Vinheim's Dragon School itself.

So, with that bit of understanding carefully slotted inside of her head, she had remained strong as she braved the outer layer of the Land of Ancient Lords, faced every monstrosity and nightmarish terror with all the strength she possessed and never failed to get back up once she was knocked down.

She remembered the number of times she had died too. How could she not when every time she touched the bonfire, memories of her last death filled her mind with perfect clarity. Still though, she had kept on pushing, kept on rushing forward with her mace in hand.

Until she realized the guardian of the second Bell of Awakening was an Izalith Demon, that is.

It had taken thirty. Long. And agonizing attempts just to reach Blighttown, and after more than one instance of her falling into the muck and excrement flooding the floor like sloshy pudding gone wrong, she had been forced to change her Thorolund outfit into something a bandit would wear – she wasn't complaining though, that cute pyromancer dressed in red and white rags seemed to appreciate the curves she possessed in that mass of belts, leather and cloth.

However, what was more deterring than the everlasting stink that never really washed off her ivory skin after she fed humanity to the bonfire, was the fact that she had been stabbed, squashed, burnt, melted and literally eaten alive by a woman that was half spider. Now, whilst that wasn't the scariest sight she had ever seen – that cackling hollow merchant with too many screws loose in his head was – there was the teeny-tiny, not so bothersome but really big issue that she, the Chosen Undead; was afraid of spiders.

As if that hadn't been the highlight of her terrible encounters, she had found herself being killed by mosquitoes that fired blood at her instead of drinking it, gigantic lizards that threw boulders at her whenever she passed by and let's not forget the fact that mindless hollows with broken blades and loincloths on had overwhelmed her more than a thousand times since she had arrived in Lordran, the Land of Ancient Lords.

She sighed out as the knight in chainmail turned his head to her with an amused frown.

"It's almost as if you're more crestfallen than I am when you sigh like that."

"Oh, give me a break Cresty. You know how hard it's been for me since I arrived in the talons of a great crow."

The knight simply scoffed as he stood from his usual spot to come join her near the bonfire. She had given him his nickname after he pretended that he had forgotten his real name. Whilst she understood the need for secrecy in this undying land of people more likely to stab you in the back instead of help you, she was still determined to find something to call him by besides 'hey you!' every time she needed to know something.

To her relief, he had taken to the name well – or perhaps he didn't really care all that much to begin with – and was even surprised when he had decided to leave his usual spot in front of a broken fountain to chat with her. He had warned her that she shouldn't be too trusting, with himself included, since he claimed that the people here held grim agendas of their own. Her response had simply been to shrug and say that it was alright. And she had had every right to be relaxed about it. After all, she had her Sun-Bro in her corner. Nobody would mess with her with him throwing around lightning bolts and tearing gargoyles a new one like he was the king of freaking Lordran.

"I warned you already. The Second Bell is suicide."

"And from what I've already been through, I think I've consciously killed myself more times than Griggs has been abandoned by Master Logan."

"Ooh," Cresty furrowed his brow, a smirk on his lips. "That one had to hurt."

She had been around long enough to explore most of the fallen kingdom. And in that time, she had managed to encounter a terrified sorcerer afraid of his own shadow, an imprisoned knight with a deep voice that sounded like he was suffering from a throat disease, a smith trapped behind bars that told her to go away yet stay to hand him weapons to reinforce, and a dude dressed like a vicar who spoke as if he was Queen Gwynevere's advisor.

Whilst that had been a fun run, she had not enjoyed the manner in which she died and revived only to be killed again for her own clumsiness. Seriously, who collects over ninety-thousand souls only to stupidly fall off a cliff because the wind blew your hair in front of your eyes? Her, that's who.

Still after so long braving the remains of a once prosperous nation, she was miffed to find out that she hadn't even scratched the surface of her quest yet. According to more than one undead, ringing the Bells of Awakening was just the first step to finding out what the real mission entailed. Whilst the likes of that other cleric, Petrus and his fellow party members were in search of the Rite of Kindling, her quest was much more complex. And with complexity, always came difficulty. And with difficulty, arrived the merriment of more foes. And with the merriment of more foes, came more chances for her to get mauled by dogs, beheaded by a goat demon, killed by a freaking tree and shot in the groin by a lizardman with a blow dart. Seriously, in the groin? Did that humanoid lizard even know that she was a woman before she was a warrior? If that poisoned dart had been just a few millimetres to the left she would have been infertile for all eternity. The damn jerk!

With another sigh, she dug a hand into her cleavage uncaringly – which Cresty had the manners to look away from – before pulling out a bronze pendant the size of her thumb. Cresty looked at it intently as she turned it over in her fingers before he spoke.

"Going to unveil its secrets so soon?" he had heard all about the supposed magic imbued into the piece of metal. She had gone on about it every time he saw her until his own curiosity had been piqued and he had asked to examine the trinket. From what he could tell, it did indeed possess a small amount of magic, but as to what knowledge such an item could offer, he was unsure.

"By this point I need all the help I can get." She said and flipped it over before positioning both thumbs against the clasp. "I've been killed too many times and I've been here for nearly three years now."

Cresty rose and eyebrow. For a maiden of Thorolund she was quite an impatient one. "Quests can last nearly two decades if necessity requires it. Don't risk something so valuable over a procrastination that's fleeting."

He watched her cheeks puff up as she pouted and he chuckled. She was almost like a child in a grown woman's body.

"I know that but if I'm able to gain this knowledge sooner then maybe I can save the world quicker. If what the old man back in the Parish said is right then Lordran doesn't have long before it croaks."

Cresty weighed her words in his head. She had a point… somewhat. While she wasn't the sharpest sword in the bottomless box, more knowledge would help her in her quest to save the world. He wouldn't usually stick his neck out to help but he had grown fond of her after much pestering. The least he could do was offer her everything he knew about the place himself, she was the Chosen Undead, after all. Besides, that burly smith from Astora was correct in what he said. Lordran didn't have long. He would be lying if he said he hadn't noticed the way the ground seemed to grow colder despite being under the eternal sun, and how the bonfires sometimes crackled weakly before sputtering at odd intervals, as if the Firekeeper's themselves were having a tough time tending to the mass of wood, ashes and coiled swords.

"Fine," he said with a resigned sigh. "Better now than never, I suppose. Let's just hope this utter waste of my time pays off."

The grin she gave him split her freckled cheeks from ear to ear before she squealed in joy and pecked his cheek. For once he offered her a genuine smile. After all, it wasn't everyday a dim yet beautiful woman kissed you on the cheek for being you. Hell, he had barely gotten any attention when he was human, so this was like a distant dream come true.

"Thanks, Cresty." She said with another beaming smile before she turned back to her locket.

Gingerly, she gripped the seam of the metallic object and parted it with as much caution as she could. Both undead waited with bated breath until they saw the small, glowing text of a runic message.

It looked like the same runes left after someone wrote a message via soap stone. Cresty sniffed with an impressed look on his face. Small enchantments like this weren't worth the time in most cases; and whilst the method of imbuing a secretive message inside of an ordinary object and sealing it with old magic was quite nostalgic of the old mages, you hardly saw things like this anymore due to them being obsolete. Needless to say, if someone went through all this trouble just to write a message into an object only accessible by an undead then it must hold some importance.

The Chosen Undead squealed again in excitement as she prodded the message itself, watching as the runes diverted and flowed into a mass of orange and black to form a words of the common tongue.

This was it, the moment she had been waiting for. There would be no more of her stupidly falling to her death, no more moments whereby she would backstabbed by a skeleton when she wasn't looking and she could even possibly figure out how to gather enough humanity to last her the remainder of her stay here in Lordran. There was possibly also a hint to guide her in the right direction regarding this damned quest she had spent ages adventuring in. Maybe it even held the secret of how to make Laurentius fall head over heels for her? She knew she would revel in the chance to be warmed by his first flame. She blushed before shaking her head of her fantasies, now wasn't the time to be perverted. She could always jump the pyromancer's bones as a reward after she obtained this important knowledge.

Now was her moment of glory, one whereby she would be promoted from the hunted to the hunter. She couldn't wait as the runes finally settled, displaying the message she had waited years to read.

Cresty looked at her in confusion as she stared at the opened locked with a deadpan expression, her eyes turning up to the sky before she shook her head and mumbled out a curse. He was about to ask her what the matter was when she promptly dropped the locket she had been closely guarding for a few years, got up and marched towards the broken archway on their right.

"Wait, where are you going?" He asked with a confused frown. This was all very confusing to him for a multitude of reasons.

"To shag a pyromancer whether he likes it or not." He watched her shake her head and mutter something about choosing a 'the ring' – whatever that meant – before she disappeared around the stonework of what once was a church wall.

With a curious look on his face, he looked down at the opened locked before picking it up to read the message that was supposed to contain a wealth of knowledge capable of helping an undead survive and possibly beat the living gauntlet that was Lordran.

As he began to hear the sounds of the woman he considered his close friend moan erotically, Cresty decided to read the message fast before going downstairs to visit Anastasia. He couldn't and he wouldn't be mentally scarred by the sounds of the Chosen Undead fornicating.

With rushed movements, he held up the pendant and squinted at the message. It was quite a short message for one that was supposed to hold bountiful wisdom capable of saving the world; in fact, it only held four words to begin with.

Yo Scrub… Git Gud

"Heh…" Cresty said with a blank look on his face as he heard more moans and grunts.

That was it, Lordran was screwed.

Not as funny as the first one, I know. Just a tad busy working through a bunch of things at a time IRL. I'll come up with more content where I can but if you have any ideas then feel free to mention it in the review section.

This was inspired by the hoax FromSoftware hit us all with by making us think that the pendant actually had any use to begin with. Miyazaki-san you sly bugger.

Hope you enjoyed that. Please review. Peace.