Chapter Four: Tomb of the Giants.
Leeroy begun to sift a bone, possibly a finger or toe, through the dirt, particles soft as sand were easily divided as he wrote. As he dug in he could feel hard clay, and beneath that solid granite, he'd gotten much further into the depths than he'd ever imagined. Small bugs crawled out and dug new holes as he pushed aside fossilised bones of men and demons.
L E E…R?
He couldn't remember, he had not taken up quill to scroll in so long he had forgotten how to write… no … he had…
What is my name?
Leeroy found it, buried amongst the endless tide of books, manuscripts and spell tomes, the Rite of Kindling. A red flame, enveloping a deep black spiralled up the cover. The book was fairly damp, but not soaked, he opened the pages carefully and the words hadn't run, it was all legible. He sat, removed his helmet and smeared some water over his forehead. It was refreshing, satisfying, he hadn't cleaned since he ventured down, which was…
Never mind.
Nothing was important anymore, he had completed his sacrosanct task! He held it proudly in the air, the cover opened and pages flapped loosely over his head. He had succeeded where everyone else had failed, but he did not feel proud, no, he thirst for more. He wanted to crush Gravelord Nitos Lord Soul and end his treacherous ways.
No one deserved a never ending cycle of constant fighting, for what? These empty carcasses to wind back up only to be smashed into the dirt. It was no way to live, the soul needed to leave the body. Pinwheel was dead, no longer would he face the torment of these helpless Skeletons. Further down, in the Tomb of the Giants, lay much greater enemies instead.
Kindling was a sacred rite passed down among Clerics,
but all Undead can imitate the process in the same manner
that they restore their Hollowing with humanity.
How peculiar that humans had found little use for humanity until they turned Undead.
He had to continue on, but… the Rite… it needed to rest upon the mantle. No, he would continue his endeavour and liberate the world from the evil miasma king and then head back up to the surface.
He climbed up a ladder, out of the square box room of Pinwheel into pitch black. Luckily he had robbed the mangled corpse of one of its lanterns. It meant he had to do without the protection of Sanctus and no doubt be caught off-guard from some monstrous mammoth. The flame lit the cavern, there was no trace of natural light that would aid him. Giant pillars lay lopsided, Leeroy imagined a once great golden city, much like Izalith, coated with intricate designs and great grandiose over-elaborate towers spewing with fumes. With buildings housing giant rooms with libraries, where bookcases grazed the ceiling, jam-packed with sorcery tomes. Mages paced up and down, lost in thought as they read the art of magic... Instead it was destroyed and everything lay in ruins, bones of men, stone structures of men…
What did the sun look like? Feel like? The daydream broke as he came to and realised the heat beating upon his face was merely the lantern too close for comfort. He relaxed under a huge skeleton, its thigh bone wider than his chest. The Tomb of the Giants, as he named it, was home to skeletons ten times the height of the ones he had felled, those bodies belonging to mere mortals. He reckoned these were the empty shells of once Gods that had failed to vanquish Nito, maybe they had come down to steal and consume his soul though? If the time came, would he be strong enough to crush the soul, or would greed overcome him?
The sun felt like a wondrous incandescent father, the god of sunlight, was… ah yes, Gwyn of course! Why was he down here again… what was he doing…
He tightened the bandage around his wounded chest and pierced arm. His ribs were bruised, maybe one or two broken, he could deal with that pain, but he would succumb to the infection running across his bloodied arm soon enough and his strength would diminish and Sanctus would be left behind… No he could always carry it over his back, it would make him cumbersome but he would delve into his last reserves of strength if he had to. He scrutinized the Talisman… where was Gwyn now? He looked across to the bonfire, the flames dancing, stoked by humanity, man's soul.
If the soul is the source of all life,
then what distinguishes the humanity
we hold within ourselves?
He was running out of humanity and if he did, he would become hollowed and wander the tomb as a lifeless being till the end of time. Until another hero, fallible and flawed stepped down into the dark and repeatedly destroyed him like he had done to so many others. Pinwheel was dead and surely the souls of man would forgive him? Would god forgive him? Why did the Way of the White really send him down on this impossible mission?
Why did he care, now of all times? Because it wasn't such a grandiose mission after all. He had been paraded around the streets of Thorolund like a hero before he had even achieved anything.
He had to get the Rite to the Firelink Shrine. He didn't know how though. To continue the flame, the will of Gwyn, who had sacrificed himself to carry on the Age of Fire… What would happen if the flame that linked all bonfires in the Kiln went out?
Alone, his mind was maddening him with erring questions. He had slid down many crushed pillars, dodged giant skeletons wielding weapons as big as he was and made it down to this desolate ledge next to a single giant frame of bone. He clambered up the deteriorating ladder beside the fire he had made and noticed a silhouette. Leeroy held his weapon ready in his sweaty nervous grip. The figure moved forwards into the light of his shaking lantern.
"Hello there." The gangly man ebulliently smiled.
"…"
"What are you doing down here? Are you a Cleric or something?" The man prodded. Leeroy looked him up and down. He wore ordinary leather battle gear and wielded a standard rectangular great shield with the crest of an eagle patterned over it, but the Crescent axe, that had divine powers and he did not seem like anyone from the order. Leeroy looked at him sceptically.
"Yes." He replied meekly, his face wanly. He had not seen anything edible for a long time and water was sparse. The once splendid gold armour hung off his malnourished bones, he looked emaciated and his face showed it.
"Hmm well…" He replied, unconvincingly. "Take a look down there, plenty of trinkets and treasures to be found! It'll shimmer you blind!" He exclaimed enthusiastically.
Leeroy looked at him dubiously and poised himself over the edge, he held up the lantern.
"I can't…"
The man turned and kicked him down the ditch. Leeroy landed amongst corpses, souls hovered above the bones and the bodies had been completely stripped.
"Heh heh, this is what I do, my friend. The trinkets I'll be stripping off your corpse; that's the real treasure! Nyah hah hah hah!" He stood rubbing his hands emphatically and laughing hysterically.
"Bastard." Leeroy spat blood onto the ground. He had landed heavily on his injured side. Broken and ashamed he clambered to his feet. The light in the lantern was rapidly shrinking.
He moved several feet and heard a whimpering. He wasn't sure if he was deluded but his senses had adapted somewhat and he was sure a young female was crying softly to herself. He stepped forward and the pure white of a Maidens robe shone in the orange glow. It was the same Maiden at the Firelink Shrine, she belonged to the Way of the White. He limped over to her and knelt beside her.
"You're no hollow, are you?" She spoke with a discordance, sounding as out of place as she looked.
"No." He reassured her by holding up his Talisman, one given by a Cleric of the Way of the White. Don't you remember me?
He looked at the nubile Maiden, how did she get down here?
"I was on a mission with two Clerics, but we got separated. I am glad you're here." She smiled weakly.
He grabbed her hand and uncurled her fingers, he placed the Rite of Kindling in her palm.
"You need to reach the surface."
"But how?" She replied timidly, she had lost all hope in this tomb, expecting it to be her grave.
He looked up at the ledge where he'd been kicked off.
"I have an idea, do you have any humanity?" He asked kindly.
She shook her head shamefully.
Leeroys head hung, he only had so much left and he desperately needed it. He'd have to offer it to the man that so hastily kicked him down to his 'death'.
"Follow me."
"…Oh, you, I… Let's just calm down. Talk about things… I did you wrong. But, I didn't mean it. These temptations, they can, well, overcome me… You know what I mean? Don't you? Please forgive me. You and me, we're jolly Undead outcasts, aren't we?" The man stood uneasy now, trembling, twiddling his thumbs, his confidence extinguished.
Leeroys mind oscillated between right and wrong. He couldn't afford to take the Maiden up to the surface, his mission was too important to turn a blind eye and no one else could carry it out. If he saw the sun again, he would never want to go back to this dark, cryptic dwelling. This place had deluded and corrupted this man in front of him, how long had he been down here? How long would it take Leeroy to…
"Here is humanity. Take this Maiden to the surface and all is forgiven, do not come back down here and trick and deceive anyone else, you hear?" Leeroy stepped close to the man now, Grant scraping menacingly against the stone beside him.
"Oh brilliant! A second chance, wonderful!" He emanated rapture.
"(Don't let him know about the Rite.)"