Sorcery was an art, an expression of the soul projected into the material world. The gentle nature of the people of Oolacile was reflected in those sorceries. The streets were lit up at night with magic lights, damage done to the streets from weather repaired with magic. They had had troubles before due to their pacifism, their inability to effectively defend themselves, even though the Great Lord's forces often arrived quickly to mete out justice.
Cierte had thought before about developing a spell or two to repel bandits or creatures, to minimize damage to the pleasant city. After all, these people, they were worth it. Even now, as he mused in his study, he could hear people wishing each other well as they passed one another on the street in the warm night.
There was no question that Anor Londo would help them out in times of peril, but they couldn't be here immediately. People ended up hurt or worse sometimes. The first response to this had been to develop a spell to hide oneself. He was becoming convinced that a more…proactive approach was required.
"Father?"
Cierte blinked, straightening up to greet his daughter. "Qerra. How goes the mission?"
She was his only child, but hardly a child any longer. A woman in her own right. He would always be protective over her, despite her light objections.
Yet she was horribly vulnerable as the First Flame flickered and faded, as were they all.
He dreamt of it. The Kiln growing cold and dark, horrible things long-forgotten coming forth to replace humanity and their allies.
There was no stopping it, at least not by any knowledge he possessed.
But there were those that knew what he did not.
As a sorcerer, he was acutely aware that knowledge was power.
"Father, did you hear me?"
He shook his head to clear it. "I'm sorry darling. I—I just have a great deal on my mind."
She gave a searching look into his eyes, tiny almost nonexistent wrinkles appearing at the corners of her eyes in her concern. "Well, we have been looking into the caverns below the city, and have had some luck."
"Oh?" He got up, going over to the desk where a pitcher of wine sat with a light enchantment upon it that kept it cold. He poured her a glass, handing it to her. "Everyone is in good health? No issues?"
She accepted the glass, shaking her head. "Not as of yet. We discovered a passage that had been covered by some sort of landslide, quite a long time ago, if I had to guess. Some ways into it, a packed section of earth completely filled the passage. It appeared to be a lava tube almost."
"Interesting." He poured himself a drink, feeling his heart speed up despite his efforts to stay calm.
"Even more interesting was that we found what appeared to be extremely primitive shovels on the other side. They appeared to have been the tools used to move and pack the earth." She sipped from her glass, eyes holding a far-away look. "There were skeletons nearby. Like those who sealed the place walled themselves in and died in there."
He took a long pull from his glass, then carefully set it on his desk. "Qerra, I want you to stop."
"Father—"
"No, I—No. This seems like it isn't healthy. It was not my intention to make you dwell on dark thoughts, walk in dark places."
She stood up. "Father, if this is as important as you have said it is, then you understand that this must be done!"
He looked into the dark red drink. "Oh, it will. I intend to travel down there myself. You're correct; it must be done. Please send the rest of your crew in here, I'm going to speak to each of them. If they are uncomfortable continuing, then they are perfectly within their rights to refuse to continue."
She furrowed her brow, but nodded her head. Finishing her drink, she turned to go.
"Qerra? I'm doing this for you. For all of you."
She smiled sadly. "I know, father. And we love you for it. Be well."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The consultation with the exploration party had gone much as expected. Out of the group, three had elected to remain.
Cierte pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way."
"Oh no, my friend, no." The rich voice rolled out from the other end of the room. "Rarely is the path straightforward."
The being across from Cierte identified itself as a Primordial Serpent. The sorcerer had been aware that the Great Lord confided in these creatures, but quite privately. He had never laid eyes upon one before, no one had, it seemed.
His grey skin was rough, and slightly reflective, ending in a round head quite unlike a usual serpent one might find walking in the woods. But like a serpent, he had no arms or legs. Upon his head, a surprisingly human-like face perched.
The proportions were different, the mouth and flat teeth very large. A bulbous nose sat above this, with a pair of growths dangling down on his upper lip, resembling a long mustache. His eyes were like polished granite, no whites visible. His pupils cut through the brown-red color; wide, rounded slits.
His name was Kaathe.
"What if we called upon the Silver Knights to investigate into the ruins?" The sorcerer stood up, walking to the window.
The Serpent extended himself further out of the hole that had been created for him so that his head remained next to Cierte, looking out the window. His head was easily larger than the man.
"You know very well that we cannot do such a thing. The Great Lord's armies are busy with the situation in Izalith, which, I will add, is also a byproduct of the flickering of the Flame."
"Oh, I know. I…I just haven't had to do things like this before. I'm no adventurer! I'm a scholar!"
"If it would set you at ease, I can tell you that no harm will befall you upon your journey."
Cierte looked at the Serpent. "Truly? How do you know?"
The Serpent chuckled. "All of my kind know many a thing, sorcerer." He retracted somewhat into the room, looking at the art on the wall. "You know, humans have come such a long way. I beseech you to continue your work, so that your kind's time not be cut short upon this earth. I foresee great works in the future of mankind, the effects of their actions changing the world."
The sorcerer considered this. "It's difficult to refuse when you put it like that."
"I will not lie and say that it will be an easy task. You will meet resistance." He turned his ancient gaze upon the human. "But should you have the courage to push through this, you will have forever changed your people for the better."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The man in the burlap cloak had been intoning a lengthy prayer for a while now, holding Artorias's head in his hands. He had assured them that he could restore his sight, that Gwyn wouldn't allow such a fate to befall one of his Knights.
They were camped out in a ruined shell of a building, safe for now from the roving horde. Ornstein was staring out a window attentively, eyes panning over what was left of Izalith. Gough was with the refugees, volunteers, and silver knights, patting them on the shoulders and congratulating them for their valor.
"Well, I have to apologize." Artorias fidgeted as he laid on the floor. "We probably could have been out of the city by now if I hadn't…you know…lost my sight." He brought his hand up to his face, and Ciaran eased it back down.
"Hold still Artorias. Let the human work."
He settled for crossing his arms for a second before crossing them the other way, then let them lay flat on the floor. "I'm sorry, I—I just…I've never been blind before."
Ciaran shrugged, patting his chest. "You'll be fine. I've seen clerics restore sight before."
He shifted so that his face was turned toward her voice, his eyes moving frantically this way and that. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest. "Ciaran, I'm still blind. I know this might sound strange to you, but I'm not really used to having someone around that can just wipe away my wounds."
She considered this. "There wasn't any sort of holy man in your town?"
He laid flat, closing his eyes. "Not really, not like this man. When I got gored by a giant boar at age sixteen, I thought I was dead. Everyone did. I struggled through a few months in poor health before I began to feel better. But being a Knight, we have access to…to miracles." He tilted his head up to turn his blind eyes to the healer and gave him a smile. "You're a hero, sir."
The man cleared his throat. "You can call me Casper, Sir Artorias."
Artorias sat up quickly, almost throwing Ciaran and Casper across the room. "My sight! It's back!" He lifted Ciaran up. "And what a sight to come to!" He enveloped her in a hug.
She pulled away and shook her head incredulously, but a smile lingered. "I never had a doubt, Artorias."
"Well it's a miracle to me!" He got to his feet. "Ornstein, glad you could make it!"
The Captain kept his eyes on the scene outside, but clasped forearms with Artorias. "You weren't doing very well on your own. It's quieted down in this area, we should be able to make a quick exit of this cursed city soon."
Sif nudged Artorias's leg, and he got petted emphatically. He let his tongue hang out as his ears got the scratching they had been missing.