At last, every paper had been filed, all accounts closed.
The captain held his head in his hands. This work wasn't exactly enjoyable, but the satisfaction came from knowing that he had pitted himself against it and come out the victor. A battle of wills with the statistics of Anor Londo.
He stood up, pushing his chair back into place.
He had been looking forward to this part of the day.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Izalith was much hotter than Anor Londo. Regardless, Ornstein had opted to arrive in full armor. He had a reputation to keep, after all. The lights from lamps and small perpetual lava flows gleamed off of his golden armor as strode through the crowded marketplace. He kept his eyes forward, and strode straight for the palace.
As different as the actual architecture differed from Anor Londo down here, the people differed more. The humans of Izalith had mixed with the other beings here, socially and literally, creating a mechanic that didn't exist above.
Of course, that mixture had caused this problem in the first place.
Queyla had sent him a coded letter, passed on to him by Ciaran, asking for his help. The Witch had tried to be as subtle as possible about dealing with the rebels hiding within her city, but the problem became amplified when they began converting residents to their cause. Or rather, potentially recruiting them. The profound lack of certainties in this kingdom made Ornstein uneasy.
It seemed that a precise and analytical strike was required to remove the threat. Something that no one here was particularly good at.
Something that the Captain was excellent at.
With the rebellion quelled in Anor Londo, he felt as though he could afford a short excursion or two.
Looking at the condition of things down here, he could feel the gears in his head churning, mentally solving the infractions he saw. He clenched his hand around his spear. This isn't your kingdom, you're a guest here.
Still though, he was reasonably certain that he had witnessed three accounts of pickpocketing during his walk so far. But the culture was so different, they may have even been acceptable gags.
Speaking of which, a figure had been tailing him for a short while. He couldn't pin down their race without turning and engaging them, except to say that they weren't a full giant or human.
He decided to find out.
There was some sort of street performance going on in a square involving a figure orbited by multi-hued orbs of fire that had drawn a bit of a crowd. He stopped and pretended to be interested, relaxing his hands.
His vision was somewhat restricted by his helmet, but he could just barely make out that the figure had carefully closed the distance, appearing interested in the display as well. They slowly slipped nearer, and he lost track of them in his peripherals. He put himself on high alert, expecting to feel the faint jostling of his possessions.
When he felt the faintest of brushes, his hand shot out and grasped his pursuers' wrist. He spun to face them, readying himself to berate them…
"Ah, hello, Captain! I'm ever so glad that you received my sister's invitation."
Ornstein blinked in surprise as Quelaag straightened up, smiling at him through her hood. She lifted a vibrant purple flower with her other hand. "Was this for dear Queyla?"
Ornstein had procured the flower from a stand in Anor Londo on a whim, an odd thing for him. It had been carefully tucked inside a pouch, and he had kept it from being jostled.
He composed his face and held out his hand. "I'm afraid that would be a private matter, miss."
She made no move to give it back to him, breathing in its scent instead. As exotic as the myriad smells of the street were, the flower cut through it with a light, pleasant aroma. "Oooh, she'll love this." She looked at Ornstein slyly. "Remember that you're here for business, Captain." A frown briefly crossed her face. "…A sentence I hadn't thought I'd use seriously."
She passed him the flower, and he carefully placed it back in it's spot.
When he was satisfied, he straightened back up. "What does the Witch think about this…situation?"
Quelaag shifted her weight from foot to foot and made a complex movement with her hands. In apparent response, another figure in the crowd signaled back in a similar matter.
"Let us go elsewhere to discuss this. You stand out immensely down here."
They traveled toward the palace, Ornstein following the odd zigzag pattern that the Daughter led him in. There was no real format to this city, as far as he could tell. That fact made him itch to correct it.
At last, they ascended the many stairs to the palace gates. Only when they were inside did Quelaag speak. "Mother has been rather…distracted of late. We haven't heard from her in a long while."
Ornstein stopped, disbelief shaping his words. "You haven't checked on the ruler of Izalith for days?"
"Closer to a week and a half, really."
He shook his head incredulously. "No wonder you need my help. I already have a plan for organization. The first step: I'll need your military information. We need to pull them back and structure our defense, leaving only a—"
"Captain."
He sighed. "I thought it was too good to be true."
"I'm sure you're busy enough back home without taking on the burdens of another kingdom." It was her turn to look at him oddly. "Don't you rest?"
He straightened his back and lifted his chin. "Not when the safety of those important to me is at risk."
"Gods, you're serious."
"Often, ma'am."
"Have it your way, I guess." She waved her hand dismissively. "In any case, we were going to check on Mother today anyway. Queyla and Quelea are in her chambers talking with her right now, actually. I'm sure everything is fine."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Mother, you've not slept in days! This work is noble, I'm sure, but perhaps it is dangerous as well?"
Queyla watched pensively as her sister made her point. The situation with the rebels had been allowed to fester for too long while the Witch was…distracted by her deed. As the First Flame began to naturally sputter and fade, so would the Age of Fire, the Age of Gods. That was simply unthinkable, but Queyla had begun to notice that problems kept popping up out of seemingly nowhere. They were beginning to appear faster than they could be solved, and she feared disaster.
Sharing her fear, the Witch had pondered long on a solution. She had even asked for help from Seath the Scaleless, which resulted in little more than vague assistance. In the end, she had decided to try and produce another Flame. All souls had their beginnings in flame, and as such the Witch had an interesting opportunity.
But she had been isolated and unresponsive for about a week and a half now. It wasn't exactly common for the family to intensely keep track of one another and report in, but this was a bit too long for comfort. When she and her sister Quelea had decided to check on her, they found her kneeling motionless before an altar, a golden flame burning upon it.
"I mustn't let go now, my daughters, lest the Flame consume me." She sounded tired, her actual age seeping into her voice. "It is a fickle thing, chaotic in nature, and I fear what would happen were I to lose control midway."
The two Daughters looked at each other. They wanted to get help, but who could they call? Neither wanted to leave the room, and ringing an alarm bell might disrupt their mother's focus. The Flame flittered wildly for a moment, then recovered just as quickly.
"I…forgive me, my daughters. This wasn't so deadly when I began, but it quickly got out of control. I'm losing power, and soon I won't be able to hold the Flame together." The light was reflected in her eyes. "But I am so very close, I can feel it. Imagine, the Age of Fire Eternal!"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Quelaag and the Captain had stopped when they had come across three of her siblings waiting for her. She had been especially surprised to see Qayleb moving about on his own today.
Quelaan stepped forward as she approached, fidgeting with her pale blonde hair. "Dear sister, something is terribly, terribly wrong!"
Quelaag's face hardened. "Is it the rebels? Have they finally struck?"
The blonde Daughter's eyes were wide with fear. "No, it's…Qayleb sensed something a short while ago. Mother's experiment…it's dangerous! We need to help her immediately!" She gestured the two over to a nearby balcony. Below, they could see how a nearby section of the city sloped down, eventually coming to a large enclosed area. "They're down there!"
"Alright. Alright." Quelaag paced for a moment. "Alright, Quelaan, you're coming with me. Mother always listens to you." She turned to Ornstein. "Wait here; this is a family matter. We'll be back before you know it." She turned to go, speaking to her brother. "However you're doing it, keep connected to Mother. You may be steadying things down there!"
Qayleb nodded and sat down, eyes half-closed. A tiny bead of lava oozed out of a sore above his eye, and his sister quickly wiped it away.
Ornstein reached out and caught Quelaag's arm. "My lady, I must insist I come with you."
The Daughter's eyes blazed. "Then I will give you an order to stay here." Her arm flared with heat, forcing him to let go, and the two sisters took off down the hall. He stared after them, fingers moving restlessly.
"Worry not, Ornstein. Our eldest may be bossy, but she often knows best."
He grunted and went back to the balcony, staring intently down at the chamber of interest. In a few moments, the two had appeared on the stairs leading up to it, taking the stairs three at a time.
Qayleb let out a horrible full-throated scream.
The air shimmered with heat.
In the space of a single heartbeat, a wave of red fire blasted out from the chamber, throwing everyone to the floor.
He had been surprised, but he made up his mind in just one heartbeat more.
Queyla was down there.
Getting his feet under him, he dashed for the balcony's edge. The Daughters were too busy trying to focus their energy into some sort of ring that Qayleb wore. He hadn't stopped screaming yet.
He vaulted the railing and dropped through the air, landing on a steep decline of volcanic rock. Sparks flew from his boots as he slid swiftly down it, crouching to preserve his balance. His descent was interrupted by a lava flow, but he deftly leapt it and continued unwaveringly downward. He hit the stones of the lower level and rolled to his feet, continuing his momentum to achieve maximum speed.
He was stopped when another wave of fire spewed from the heart of the city, brighter than the last. The force of it stopped all of his momentum, ripping him off his feet and hurling him through a nearby pillar.
Despite his drive to get to Queyla, he took several moments to get up. His vision was swimming, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision. He hadn't even been directly hit by either wave, and he felt a nauseating sensation coursing through his body. The stone pillar that had been broken over his back wasn't helping things either.
He staggered to his feet, just as the largest wave yet tore out in a ring, the speed of its passing slamming him back against a nearby wall.
His pack was thrown from his back, the contents spilling across the bricks.
There wasn't any strength in his limbs. He lay on the edge of consciousness, staying awake through pure force of will.
His unfocused eyes locked on to the flower.
It had come unwrapped when the pack had been emptied, and was now located delicately on the edge of the nearby wall.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his body to bend to his will.
For a moment, he was back in the Dragon Wars.
Dying in the pits carved in the ground by the terrible strength of ancient beings, writhing bodies in their death throes all around him.
He stood up in his memory.
He stood up in Izalith.
He continued on, not at any great speed, but faster than if he were dead.
When he reached the entrance to the chamber, the heat emanating from within nearly dropped him again. There was no sign of Quelaag or Quelaan, the area was scorched and twisted, the stones melted.
Queyla, he had to find her.
He limped on, using his spear as a crutch.
There was an ominous rumbling noise coming from the chamber, suddenly punctuated by a scream.
Drawing from some last reservoir of strength, the captain sped up, coming at last to the heart of the problem.
Horrors awaited him.
He arrived just in time to see Queyla fall to her knees, roots consuming her hungrily and bursting from her chest with one final scream. Orange energy hung hazily around the writhing mass.
He wasn't here.
He was back in memory.
Pulling himself over the dead and dying, trying to see the sun.
He reached her, what was left.
The sun had set.