Chapter 3: Sword and Spear
Erik couldn't help but feel a tad embarrassed as he continued through the halls of the ruined castle. He'd shouted out those lines to the heavens full of vinegar and vigor, only to immediately regret it as a Royal Soldier Hollow dropped down from a hole in the ceiling and lunged at him. His shout had apparently woken it from its stupor, and it hungered for his souls. He was barely able to finish it off with a sharp blow to the head with the ladle and a push down another hole, and he quickly vowed not to make the same mistake twice.
Traveling down a ladder that stood nearby, fighting through more Royal Solider Hollows, and moving through dank, musty halls, he came out in some sort of inner courtyard where a number of run-down barracks stood, all girdled with roots and decay above a stagnant lake.
At the moment, he was huddled in a door frame as crossbow bolts shattered on stone next to him, puffs of dust and splinters flying up. All he had to do was make a break for the large root that looked like it could support his weight, and he'd hopefully be out of their range. But, that was the problem. There were a lot of crossbowmen taking pot shots at him.
"Great gods, will they ever run out of bolts?" Erik shouted, annoyed at the seemingly endless rain. His shield had taken a dozen of the heavier iron tipped bolts, and was in danger of completely shattering, and without it he'd been a sitting duck! Still, he had to do something! He felt the strange call pulling him deeper into the castle, but couldn't find out "where" it wanted him to go. All he knew was something was pulling at him. And right now, it beckoned up the tree branch.
Taking a deep breath to fortify his nerves, he bolted for the branch while holding his shield to the right side in order for it to absorb some of the projectiles. And true to his assessment, his shield splintered into a mess of wooden chunks under the barrage! Still, he made it, and panted in exhaustion at the top of the branch. It seemed to have led him all the way up to the next level of battlements, which had previously been cut off by rubble choking the stairs and doors elsewhere around the castle, or the oddly impenetrable doors and gates here and there. Seriously, not even his Combustion could warm up the metal bars on the door's he'd found right after clambering down the ladder next to the bonfire! Now, though, he was able to progress!
As he looked around the area, the cook spotted a small ladder leading up to an elevated platform. It seemed to overlook the entire interior of the castle, and that would be a boon for setting up further advances in the area. A single Royal Soldier Hollow stood on a ledge, looking down at another part of the path ahead.
"That looks like a good spot to get a better view of the area. Though that soldier may need to be removed…" Erik mused, before taking a few steps up the ladder and slamming into the soldier from behind who was standing overlooking another part of the roof, with his back turned. The chef's dagger bit deep, and with a twist of the blade, the body went limp. Over in moments, the adrenaline in Erik's ears caused him to miss a distant bird call. He did not, however, miss the sudden crash of metal behind him. Spinning around, the first thing he noticed was a towering man in thick full plate armor, carrying a sword taller than the young Undead cook. Weapons and shields were lashed haphazardly to the knight's back, while he seemed to float a foot or so off the ground.
Erik froze. This was not something he could defeat. Even if he had better armaments, his general lack of skills was nothing before this warrior! In his fear addled mind, Melentia's warning rose up.
"Pursuer," Erik whispered in fearful awe. It tilted its head to side, as if judging him, before darting forward faster than the Undead could see! The next thing he knew, pain flooded his body as the great sword punched clear through his chest, out of his back, and through the backpack. The sound of ripping fabric tore through the still, almost motionless air, followed quickly by the clattering crash of falling pots and pans and utensils.
"Gurk…" There wasn't much Erik could say at this point. His lungs and throat were filling with rank, blackish blood, and his limbs felt like lead. The armored monster proceeded to lift the impaled Undead and growl with a deep metallic, animalistic noise no human could have produced. The blade started to feel hot and currents of pain arced through its victim, before a burst of blinding blue light tore at his senses. The light faded, leaving nothing but darkness, and Erik fell, plunging down towards a screaming pit of fire. He wanted to scream, to cry out, and he did.
With a start, Erik shot up, gasping for breath. He looked around wildly, before realizing he was back in the chamber with the bonfire.
"What just happened?" He mused, staring deep into the flames before him. He distinctly remembered being stabbed right through by that massive armored knight, and then the sword had glowed, and then he'd… exploded? Was that what happened? But, why was he back at the bonfire then? The first time he'd died, it had been back in Lindelt. He'd reanimated in the ally where his killer had tossed the body, and had wandered home in a daze. His skin had withered and felt as if he'd aged decades instantly, but other than that, nothing had changed. What was so special about this burning pile of bones and metal?
He staggered to his feet, only to stumble as he felt the weight of his backpack. Blinking in surprise, he twisted his neck to get a look, and sure enough, there it was, completely undamaged. He removed it and checked through the contents. Nothing was missing! But he had definitely heard some of his cooking implements clatter to the floor! Even his shirt, which had been pierced, was whole! What was going on? As he examined himself, he noticed how his hands had turned a dark green, as if under the effects of rot and necrosis! This definitely hadn't happened when he'd died back home! What in the name of the Gods was wrong with this land?
Now that there was a moment of relative calmness, Erik noticed a strange, gnawing sensation in him. It felt like hunger, but was situated up in his chest, and his heart. Was it from the sword wound? He rubbed his hands over his chest, trying to feel for something, anything, he may have missed, but nothing stood out. Was this a reaction to dying? He proceeded to look inwards. A technique, skill, or whatever one wants to call it, there was a way for Undead to "see" themselves. To know, intimately, how much power they had, how many souls they'd collected, and how close they were to Hollowing. Erik had found this ability early on in his journey to Drangleic, and thought it an amusing parlor trick at best. Now, though, he could see just how useful it actually was! He could see his souls, or rather, lack of them. Death seemed to have stripped them from him, and now the dull emptiness he felt was a direct correlation to that. He shook his head. So, yet another issue of being Undead. Oh joy!
Looking around, everything seemed to be in place, and he moved over to the ladder once more. Descending, he found that the Royal Soldier Hollows had also reanimated, and in the same general area as he'd first encountered them. As he fought them, he noticed how they seemed to follow the exact same pattern of attack as when he'd first done battle with them, and now, knowing how they moved, they became even easier prey for him. Tossing one off the edge into the pit where sweltering heat billowed up, and jamming his dagger through the visor of the other, and he was soon moving on to where the crossbowmen had been before, their souls sating the emptiness, at least for now. A few more Hollows later, and he was dashing up the branch, hunched low to avoid being hit. Oddly enough, his shield was the only item on him that remained broken. Was it perhaps because it had sundered before he'd been butchered by the Pursuer? But that didn't make a lot of sense. Unless whatever odd effect had teleported and restored his body could only work if it was repairing damage from the cause of the death…
The chef shook his head clear of those thoughts. This was not the time to think about such things! No was a time to move on! Moving on down the battlements, he adamantly refused to venture up the ladder a second time, just in case the Pursuer came back. He noticed a pulsing green flame and a strange, writhing patch of blackish blood up top, but ignored it. Whatever it was, it wasn't worth the risk of being penetrated by several feet of steel again!
Across the battlements, he dodged the slow lunges of yet more Royal Soldier Hollows before coming to another ladder, this one leading down. A quick survey of the area revealed no immediate threats, though there was a suspicious man with a long spear leaning against the wall some ways away from the ladder. Hadn't Melentia also warned about someone like that? After being caught off guard by the Pursuer, Erik was not going to take any chances, and treat this man as a foe until further notice.
Down the ladder Erik went, being careful to keep an eye out for anything or anyone who might pose a problem or threat. In the alleyway, he peered around doors, and saw more than a few Hollows, mostly of Royal Soldiers, but there was a large, bulky warrior clad in extremely thick and heavy looking armor guarding a door. The armor looked inferior to the Pursuer's, but the chef did not doubt that the massive mace it carried could pack a very deadly punch. Cautiously, Erik approached the spearman, and when he did not move, only turning his head slightly to look at the new arrival, and Erik came even closer. As the chef did so, he noted that there was a large square tower shield leaning against the wall next to the man, and the spearman in question was dressed in simple leather armor. He looked as if he might be bald under the helmet, as well. Other than that, though, he seemed average all around.
"Oh, hello. You're a new face. Come seeking treasure have you? Though you don't exactly look the part," the spearman said in a dry and dull monotone, though with a hint of pleasantness.
"I'm a chef, not a treasure seeker. I'm here because I was told there might be items of value for my goal of cooking grand feasts," Erik explained, causing the eyebrows on the man to shoot up under his leather helmet.
"A chef, truly? Well that is certainly an odd thing to be out here. Let me guess; the cat told you to come here, did she not?" At Erik's expression, the man laughed, though it was without mirth.
"She's a clever kitty, working so hard to help the Undead. Of course, her 'help' is why I'm here right now. Me and my… partner… were scouring the castle for treasure, when he got caught in a trap. I shall wait here, and see if he returns, but be sure to take everything she says with grains of salt. She has only one allegiance, and that is to herself and her own goals, whatever they may be."
"Oh, and I suppose I should introduce myself. I'm Pate, a wanderer and treasure hunter."
"I am Erik Potts, of Lindelt," Erik introduced in return. The spearman's eyes narrowed as he seemed to glare at the young Undead after hearing about his country of origin, before settling down.
"Forgive me, but I am not too fond of clerics. Though if you were one, you're extraordinarily bad at trying to hide. Yes, you're a chef alright, no cleric would have hands like that," Pate explained, eyeing the callouses on Erik's hands.
"I understand," Erik said, secretly wondering what would cause such animosity. He knew not all members of the churches and faiths were kind or forgiving, and Erik had cooked for more than a few who could only be called thugs, if not monsters. But in Lindelt, where the Church was the State, it was easier to keep your head down at the sight of robes and the ringing of chimes.
"If you're heading deeper into Drangleic, take these," Pate suddenly said, holding out a chalk-white shard of stone and a spur of fire-orange stone. The chef's eyes widened, and he took them almost reverently.
A White and Orange Soapstone! Precious artifacts, used by high ranking clergy to commune with the gods and each other, at least in Lindelt. He knew they were used elsewhere, but he'd never seen one up close, let alone hold one! White Soapstones could bend space and time, allowing one to summon figures to your side, as long as they allowed it. Orange, on the other hand, could be used to write messages that transcended time and space, giving warnings of ambushes days in advance, or quickly relaying information from leagues away! Such incredibly potent items, and this man was giving them away?!
"I see I've made your jaw drop," Pate chuckled, seeing Erik's dumbfounded expression. "Here in Drangleic, where the souls of gods and mighty kings and terrible beasts once resided, reality is malleable in ways you can only dream of elsewhere. Without either of those Soapstones, you'll likely find your travels through this land difficult without allies. Here, see over there? Hold the Orange Soapstone and tell me what you see."
Clutching the colored stone, Erik peered over to where Pate was pointing. It was a raised portcullis, leading into another part of the castle some ways away. Where there had once been bare dirt in front of the gate, now lay a glowing message, as if written from fire! Approaching, Erik could see the words "Trap ahead!" scrawled on the ground. He looked back at Pate, who nodded.
"Had my partner and I checked our Soapstones, we could have avoided the traps. Try not to get yourself killed out here, will you? And if you see my comrade, tell him I still have his ring."
"Of course, thank you!" Erik said, giving a polite bow towards the reclining spearman. He just nodded, before looking off into the distance. Maybe Melentia had been wrong, or this wasn't the spearman she was referring to.
With a wave goodbye, Erik headed off towards where the bulky mace-wielder had been. A few messages from other travelers seemed to be pointing in that direction, and with nothing better to do, he followed.
As he left, he completely missed the smirk that crossed the lips of the vagabond spearman.
Author's notes: The reason why Pate does not trick Erik into the trapped area is because he does not see any value in it. Our chef carries little of value, save perhaps his magic ring and tome, and he likely wouldn't hold up to the repeated assaults of the Hollows and thus be unable to acquire treasure Pate could later steal. As such, he's just hedging bets right now, giving the Undead a reason to trust him, and perhaps be useful later on.