Sær slowly pushes open the heavy oak doors to the workshop, wincing as his exhausted body creaks and groans.

The squeaking and scraping of the doors sounds out through the workshop, causing the other inhabitants of the dream to look up from their breakfast.

An exhausted-looking Sær hobbles in, bow legged, taking great care not to let his legs meet. The Doll titters behind her hand as he sits down gingerly.

"Long night, master Sær?" She asks, smirking slightly. He merely grumbles in response, poking at the eggs she lays out for him.

The ground rumbles slightly, signifying the approach of a particularly large crossbreed. Sure enough, Priscilla appears moments later, popping her head and shoulders through the doors. Unlike her husband, she looks positively radiant.

Humming cheerfully, she sets to eating the whole loaf of bread that the Doll had toasted for her.

"Fhank 'oo, miff Kawina!" She exclaims through a mouthful of toast.

"Certainly, my dear," the Doll responds, amused. "You look rather pleased this morning. Anything we should be appraised of?"

Priscilla's eyes widen. "No, no. No, why, why would you think- s-say, I mean- what you- that is what I-"

The Doll smiles as she sputters and stutters.

"You're not sick?" The Hunter asks.

"No," Priscilla responds. "Why?"

"Oh no reason," he replies, stifling a grin. "Last night we heard some moaning and the odd squelch. We figured you might be voiding your stomach." He and the Ashen One struggle to suppress wheezy giggles.

"Just ignore them, Priscilla," Sær says with a yawn. "Besides, I still have to brief everyone on my trip."

That was enough to silence the others; all the commotion of the previous day had driven the thought from everyone's minds.

Sær takes a bite of toast, contemplating where to start. "The royalty of Lothric-the lucid ones, anyway- were quite interested to hear of the link between worlds. Being a mage, Prince Lothric had heard his fair share of legends, most of which he wrote off as fantasy."

He clears his throat, taking another bite of toast. "The surrounding lands have been experiencing violent earthquakes. Twenty miles to the the east of Lothric's borders, the pyromancers in the swamp province report due north shifting several degrees."

"Which means?" The Ashen One prompts.

"Which means the entire province is being moved. Several major landmarks no longer line up as they once used to."

The Doll frowns. "Surely such a thing is not possible?"

The Ashen One shakes his head. "In our world, the age of fire is what kept the earth balanced. And since the flame is fading, there is no force keeping natural order."

"The worlds are collapsing," Sær interjects. "All of them. Without the flame, the world is being pulled towards the largest fragment of the dark soul."

"But the flame never dies completely," the Firekeeper adds softly. "So if we destroy the dark soul, then it should halt the collapse."

"For Lothric, at least. Drangleic has already fallen," Sær says. "If we don't act quickly, the swamp province will follow, and Lothric not long after. Lothric's scholars estimate about a year before the kingdom starts moving. We need to stop it before that happens."

Priscilla's ears perk up. "Adventure?"

"Adventure," Sær confirms.

"Oh, how wonderful! Our first adventure as a married couple!" Priscilla beams. "Mister Vin-grahl will be delighted to hear it! Once we find him, that is."

"Then we shall leave on the morrow after procuring supplies," the Doll says. "Ah, the stew is finished. Good Hunter, would you please fetch Quork? She must be starving."

The Hunter nods, leaving the workshop through the side door.

Sær suppresses a grin. "Fetch Quork? What, are we having wine for breakfast?"

The building goes deadly quiet as the other occupants stare at him angrily. Sær shrinks into himself. "See, because wine bottles have corks in them, and that sounds - OW!"

Sær jumps as several strands of hair are pulled from his scalp.

"Quork!"

A large crow the size of a small dog flutters down from the Hunter's arms, ambling towards the bowl of stew placed on the floor.

Pump-A-Rum frowns, lightly smacking her. "Bad sis," she chides.

The rest of the room's occupants swivel to stare at her. "That's your sister?" The Ashen One breathes. "The one we were looking for? Why didn't you tell us!?"

"Did," Pump-A-Rum replies. "Unklindle didn't listen." Her tongue trips over it self trying to pronounce his title. To be fair, 'Unkindled' is a bit hard for a crow-girl to pronounce.

"At least that's one less problem to worry about," the Ashen One sighs. "The list is long enough as it is. Stop the Ringed City, split the Dark Soul, kill the knights..."

"Find our friend," Sær adds. "He's the reason we came here in the first place."

"What does this friend of yours look like?" The Doll asks. "Perhaps we have seen him."

"Well," Sær starts. "He's difficult to spot, but once you do, he's very memorable."

"Could you please be a bit more vague?" The Hunter says dryly.

"Fine. He's a severed head inside of a dog helm."

"Oh," Pump-A-Rum starts. "Mama tried to feed him to us. Pump-A-Rum chipped a tooth!" She pulls up her lip to reveal a cracked molar.

Sær looks at her blankly for a moment, then merely sighs. "Let's go get him, then."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Vengarl lay in an unkempt nest behind the great tree. His dog's head helm was littered with bird droppings, and he has a look of resignation on his face. Upon hearing the shuffling of leaves, he merely sighs. "Oh, get on with it, you great, stupid bird."

"Well, that's a fine way to adress someone here rescue you!"

Vengarl's downcast eyes flicked up upon hearing the familiar high-pitched voice. "Lady Priscilla!"

"And me!" Sær scoffs indignantly.

"And you," Vengarl agrees. "After so long staring at this damned nest, even your face is a welcome change."

"Hey!"

"Now, now, boys," Priscilla chides. "You can chat all you want after mister

Vin-Grahl has been all cleaned up."

Vengarl breathes a sigh of relief as Sær picks him up. "Finally, I may be free of this stench!" He yawns. "What news? Surely you must have a reason for taking so long to rescue me?"

"We're going to save the world," Sær replies nonchalantly.

Vengarl stares at him in disbelief.

"...Put me back in the nest."