Chapter Two: The Catacombs.
The rickety stairs wound down into the cavern, the light started fading, catching a step roughly half way, he couldn't quite tell though as it slowly became pitch black. He heard a strange whirring noise, a rattling and then nothing. He shrugged his chest, rolling his shoulders, trying to ease the burden of carrying Grant and Sanctus.
It became so dark he felt blind. He stood in complete silence, observant, praying he'd adapt instantly, he focused hard on an outline then an imperceptible scuttle, the longer he focused the less conclusive it was, it was all mental, the hollow hole playing on his mind. He could hear himself breath, heavier and heavier in the confined space of his helmet. His nerves taking their toll, he tried to slow his exhaling, calming himself with the knowledge that Firelink Shrines safety was mere meters away. His senses would take too long to adapt, he had no choice but to carry on, the white light of Gywn would guide him. He slung the shield over his back and tightened the leather strap over his shoulder. He held his free arm out and groped along the bumpy, rock strewn wall. The strange whirring clatter started up, he could only comprehend it as a strangled inhuman scream. Leeroy endured the darkness until a soft white glow revealed itself, appealing to the eye in this all-encompassing blackness, he held his hand out and then pulled it back to the safety of the wall as it rattled vigorously in midair. The empty grey hulk of bone reminiscent of a human skull, lunged forward point blank into his face, a violent piercing scream erupted from its distorted jaw. It ignited in a ray of light, quickly illuminating a bone strewn path, it was narrow and wound around a sheer drop into a bottomless pit, the littered bones started to float across the ground and merge into reanimated skeletons. The detonation knocked him off his feet and as he got up a skeleton took a swing, a lump of steel struck his helmet, indenting it into his skull. He turned back into the light of day and ran to the mid-point where the sun began and the darkness ended. He saw the abysmal, decaying bone structure of a once fallen hero, who had struck him so viciously, walk into the light. The sword gleamed revealing its location in the shadows, Leeroy swung Grant two handed, crushing the foul beast into dust.
He knew the power of Necromancy, these Catacombs had a master.
What cryptic monster would reside in such an ebon, lifeless abode? What entity would repossess the skeletal wreckages of men, lost and brave souls that traversed the Catacombs to cleanse this blasphemy? He did not want to dwell too hard on it, he had not been given enough information prior to this expedition. No one had ever returned. Whatever lurked down there had its soulless grasp over the forgotten Undead.
Any messenger of Gywn, any sane or insane warrior backed by his holiness had the right, the will of god imposed on them to have an honourable death and a holy burial, not their bodies twisted and deformed to fight for this demon. When Leeroy inevitably reached this perverse demon of bone and dead flesh, he would not face the fate of lesser men. He would exorcise the Catacombs of the heretical blasphemy.
The second time was less daunting, but he knew there would be new and terrifying evils to behold in this trapped cavern. He virtually crawled across the narrow ledge knowing he overlooked a drop that would lead to his demise. His hand was constantly on the wall, he checked his grip on the protruding rocks, he did not want to hold on too intensely, only for a chunk to crack off which would make him lose his balance. Dust and gravel sputtered over a drop which he found with his leading foot. He slinked along until he felt two cold bars of a metal ladder. He slid down and landed in a heap of dry bones, they cracked and fragments spun off clanging against the wall. The echo bounced around a small tunnel, once the sound died, he heard an unnatural groan, he realized once again, he had awoken something.
One of the four Lords in the ancient age of fire was Gravelord Nito. Paladin Leeroy knew them by name and each attribute they possessed to help Gwyn destroy the Stone Dragons roaming Earth's surface. The signs in the Catacombs indicated to non-other than Gravelord Nito. There was a lesser Necromancer below, that Leeroy was certain of, but further down he could smell death, waves of deadly miasmas travelling upwards trying to find the light of day and spread its corruption. Age long dead bodies were rotting, withering away, bones upon bones of forgotten heroes lay scattered, so many of them they filled the ground of the ever deepening cave like a carpet. There was a constant crunching noise taken with every stride, alerting enemies of his whereabouts.
It was all a guess though, no one had ever come back to say whether or not they had seen Nito, but Leeroy and the Way of the White were certain and they had prepared their glorious golden Paladin. His body layered with chainmail and plating to protect him from the skeletons slashing, bleeding weapons. The white cloth was dosed in protective ointments, so curses and poison couldn't soak in. The Clerics knew of the weaponry the skeletons used, as they lumbered aimlessly around the graveyard, entrance to the Catacombs and only a few hundred meters walk from the protection of the Firelink Shrine.
Grant was blessed with divine powers to crush and keep down the unrelenting hordes of self-reviving cursed skeletons. He knew past the dead, dark, stench that hovered throughout the dank caves, was a crippling jagged dancing of blades, streaming with disease and beyond, empty skulls hung jangling from its neck, two red eyes pierced through the veil, the vivid image tore into his mind, like a persisting nightmare. That ghastly, black mist covered heretic frightened him more than anything in this cesspool of death.