Chapter 7: A Blue Banquet

It was not the morning light that woke Erik Potts, nor the sound of the sea. Rather, it was a sudden sharp pain in his right foot, which was poking out from his blanket. With a grumble, he blinked his eyes open, and saw a seagull trying to pull off his toes, thinking they were a tasty grub or worm.

"Oi!" Erik shouted, shaking his foot and startling the hungry bird. It squawked indignantly and took off, circling for a bit before leaving. Muttering curses under his breath, the young Undead rose, his joints creaking and popping in the chilly morning air. A growl ripped through the air, and he tensed, before realizing it was his stomach with a blush. A few strips of dried beef were popped into his mouth as a quick breakfast. He frowned, noting that he was running low on dried rations. He hadn't seen a single horse or cow, or even a chicken anywhere. Some Undead pigs roamed in the alleys and corners of Majula, but Erik highly doubted they'd be edible. He sighed sadly. Looked like it would be lots of vegetables and fruits for the foreseeable future.

Stuffing his blanket into the bottom of his sack before latching it onto his back, Erik looked out over the dawn-stained waters and gave a smile. Time to adventure!

Before leaving the bonfire area Erik took a quick peek over the side of the cliff to check if the Old Knight Golem was still there. To his surprise it was, and also it was immobile! It looked, well, dead, for lack of a better term. Blinking, Erik quickly looked inward using his Undead senses to check on his condition. Aha! Just as he thought, there was a massive amount of souls sitting inside him! Apparently it had reanimated and died over and over all night, its souls rushing into the chef, either because he was close, or because he was the person who'd brought it to such a situation. Now though, all the souls that animated the creation were completely drained and it could no longer move. It was truly defeated!

Grinning, Erik walked back up to the upper levels of sunken Heide with a spring in his step. His joy immediately faltered as he spotted another Old Knight Golem, this time with a gargantuan mace-hammer-club weapon. It was next to a small staircase which was also missing railings on the left side, so perhaps his tactic that vanquished the first one would work? Gods he hoped so, he did not even dare to think he could match that monstrosity in a battle of martial skills. Sure, a man-sized foe was doable, but something almost twenty feet tall? No thanks, that's a bad idea!

Creeping closer, Erik slowly reached for another fire bomb, hoping he'd have enough to clear the area. Before he even reached the first step, the rusted helmet snapped towards the chef and locked onto him. With a shout of fright Erik raised his fire bomb, ready to do battle if necessary. It began to clunk towards him, shredded cape flapping sadly in the breeze, before it reached the short staircase. With a roar it lunged forward, all but running towards the Undead.

Again, Erik hurled the bomb at its feet but before it reached the giant warrior bent its knees and freaking jumped, sailing over the blossom of fire to crash heavily right in front of Erik! A second shrill scream of fear later he dove between his assailant's legs as the mace-hammer-club slammed violently into the ground where the chef had once stood, spending chips of stone flying. Quick as a flash, the Old Knight Golem twisted about, dragging its weapon in an upwards backhand swing towards Erik where he lay. A desperate roll to the side later and his face was nicked with flecks of jagged rock, but spared the fate of being crushed.

'Shit!' Erik swore to himself, backpedaling. This monster just wouldn't stop! But, in a panicked glace around the area, Erik saw that his attacker was standing just a few feet from the edge! If he could push it over, then he might have a chance. A plan forming, he leaped up and tossed a knife to distract the Old Knight Golem. The blade bounced off and skittered to the side but it did its job. Turning slowly the ancient warrior ponderous raised its weapon above its head. With a shout Erik lunged forward, slamming an open palm on its right leg and letting loose a Combustion straight on the knee! It staggered, and the weapon's sheer size and weight tilted the wielder backwards. Unfortunately, this foe seemed smarter and let go of its weapon, letting it thud loudly behind it. Still, Erik wasn't worried. He slammed another Combustion on the other knee, and the armored soldier took another step back. And then, luck struck.

Its boot clipped against its own fallen weapon, and it seemed to take on an almost comical air as it realized it had been tricked! Like its earlier comrade the Old Knight Golem gave a roar and then fell backwards, plunging into the ocean. A few seconds and a rush of souls later, Erik sighed in relief. It was over!

As he turned to leave to the next area his eyes fell on a package of some sort lying near the mace-hammer-club. Made of silk, it was clearly something precious, but why would that monster have held it? Curious Erik picked it up, unwrapping the silk only to stare in confusion at what he saw. A glass vial full of white powder? It radiated a faint magic and gave off a feeling similar to the bonfires he'd encountered. It was clearly valuable but Erik just shrugged and shoved it into his pouch to keep it safe. He could figure out what it was some other time. Right now he had to leave before the Golem came back.

Walking up the steps he came face to face with a door. It looked big and heavy, but was slightly ajar. He grabbed the open seam and pulled, dragging the door open. What he saw did not improve his mood. Another Old Knight Golem stood waiting, though with its back turned to him. Over to the left a long walkway ended inside a pavilion of sorts, in which a trio of the same massive armored guardians stood. From there, two paths branched off. One lead to the cathedral, the other off to a fairly intact tower and a cave. Decisions, decisions.

Erik removed his Orange Soapstone and held it tightly, praying that someone had left a message to help him. Before his eyes a few flaming messages materialized and he checked them carefully. One, directly in front of him, claimed he should "Sneak Attack!" the Old Knight Golem that faced away. Another offered the suggestion of "Slow, then Run," perhaps urging the reader to take advantage of their foe's ponderous nature and evade them. The third and final message was the least helpful. "Try Jumping!" It said, right next to a sheer drop on the left.

After careful consideration, Message 2 seemed the best option. Run and hope for the best it is! He removed a ring from his pouch and slipped it on.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Erik looked ahead to check his route. To the Cathedral first, the tower and cave second. Whoosh! Like an arrow Erik shot off, darting towards the pavilion and what lay beyond it. His action attracted the attention of the first Old Knight Golem and it began to chase after him, while at the same time two of the three ahead of him caught sight of the running chef, and rushed out to assault him as well! But he did not stop. He ran, and even as the rusted armored warrior ahead of him raised its bludgeoning weapon, and the pursuer behind him raised its sword and shield, he kept moving full tilt. With a wild battle cry, Erik slide forward between the charging artificial knights' legs avoiding all of them in one fell swoop!

Ignoring the sound of three massive forms slamming into each other and then toppling into the ocean Erik kept moving, daring not to pause. He gave silent prayers of thanks for the Clothary Ring though as its magic kept up his stamina that would have otherwise faded much earlier. A bubble of elation and an influx of souls buoyed Erik and his movements improved. He dashed past the last of the pavilion guards, who turned creakily in surprise, and then past two more Old Knight Golems who were guarding a staircase leading to the temple. They did not give chase once he reached the top though which was a relief, and Erik finally allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. Just one more obstacle!

A single Old Knight Golem remained ahead, standing guard on the round platform where the drawbridge –which was currently raised- likely lowered and allowed entry. A lever stood nearby the clunky soldier, and the way it was positioned Erik guessed that was what would lower the drawbridge on his side. How to deal with the guard, then? Well, knocking them off ledges had worked so far, so why change it!

With measured steps Erik inched closer, hoping to pull off a sneak attack and dominate the battle. When he was just a few feet away though the Old Knight Golem rumbled to life and turned to face him, sword and shield raised for combat. A sigh of resignation is all Erik can utter before he and his foe all but collide. Two Combustions in quick succession blackened its legs and it slumped over, as if in pain. Ignoring the motions the chef slammed a burning fist into the side of the helmet, ripping it off with an explosion of magical flames with souls spurting out into Erik. It collapsed fully to the ground now, the rather anti-climactic battle over as soon as it began.

"Well…" the wandering cook mumbled to himself as he pulled the lever. A grinding of chains later and the surprisingly well polished drawbridge thumped down, allowing him across. He made his way up, coming up to a door of grey fog. Swallowing his nervousness, he steps into it, feeling the familiar lurching sensation deposit him on the other side. What he saw was not what the chef had expected.

Worn but lovingly cared for wooden benches and pews stood on either side of him, as well as a number of marble pillars holding up the ceiling. Stained glass windows, unbroken and clean of dust, turned the early morning sunlight into a myriad of dancing colors. The whole scene would have been calming if not for the tall black armored knight in front of him! The helmet was modeled after a lion, and though the entire set was black, a faint hint of gold could be seen through it. Accompanying it was a large lugged spear, the tip seemingly made of marble, while the shaft was also blackened yet retaining an echo of faded gold.

Frozen in place, Erik didn't even have a chance to react as it lunged at him, bring up the spear to run him through! The chef whimpered and raised his arms to cover his face, vividly remember the last time someone ran him through with an oversized weapon. He could only hope it would be over quick.

However, nothing happened. After a few seconds of not being killed, Erik lowered his stance and peeked out to see what the holdup was. Where the black lion knight had originally charged now it stood standing in front of the chef as if confused, eyes behind the helmet locked onto Erik's right hand…

With a start Erik looked down as well and gasped in realization. The Blue Seal Ring! If that was the case, perhaps this man was one of the Blue Sentinels? Maughlin and Saulden had both claimed the Covenant had taken over part of Heide.

"Are you familiar with a man named Saulden?" Erik inquired.

"...Yes…" A voice that was cracked and faded with under-use and age came from the lion warrior, and Erik smiled.

"He gave me this ring after I joined the Way of Blue. Are you perhaps one of the Blue Sentinels?"

"Yes…" the black lion replied. It stepped aside, and the fog suddenly dissipated from the doors behind the two of them.

"Friend… may pass…" the possible Undead knight uttered, and Erik gave him a deep bow of gratitude.

"Thank you." Stepping out of the small chapel room Erik found himself walking up a flight of steps to an open air balcony where a tall man in elegant armor and an exquisitely crafted halberd stood looking out over the ocean.

"Oh, what's this?" The man turned and the chef was struck by a noble presence emitted from this man. "A visitor. How rare. I see you bear the mark of our sister Covenant. Welcome, fellow Undead, to the Drangleic branch of the Blue Sentinels!"

The large man, easily seven and a bit feet tall, gave a respectful nod, causing Erik to return it with a deep bow.

"I thank you for the welcome, noble sir! I am Erik Potts of Lindelt, given this ring by Saulden in Majula!"

"Peace, brother, no need for such ceremony here!" the knight laughed kindly and Erik was filled with gratitude. "I am Targey, commander of the Blue Sentinels in Drangleic and former Grandmaster of the Covenant before I contracted this sad Curse."

"The Grandmaster? Forgive me, I did not know who you were."

"That is quiet alright, brother. I 'died' a little over two centuries ago, and few would probably remember or recognize me. Though may I say I am impressed you made it this far! You do not have the look of a fighter about you." Targey looked over the young Undead with a critical yet respectful eye. He was privately impressed.

"No sir I am not, I am just a humble chef, traveling through this land in search of culinary delights," Erik explained. "I would have died many times over if not for my luck. Indeed, I feared that your guardian would strike me down as soon as I entered! If not for the ring, I fear I'd be back at the bonfire."

"Yes, our dear Dragonslayer can be a bit overzealous at times. It's all he has left I'm afraid. Nearly Hollow, the poor man. He was one of the first Blue Sentinels to contract this Curse, you know? He's been protecting these lands for many long and lonely years. Only after I arrived did the scattered remnants of the Twin Azure Orders gather together once more," Targey said, explaining the situation. "But that is neither here nor there. What brings you to the Blue Cathedral?"

"Well, I was just exploring to be honest. Saulden suggested I visit this area if I wanted to continue onward through the land. This church seemed like a good place to investigate first."

"And it's a good thing you chose us before anywhere else! The tower in the distance near the Wharf's entrance is guarded by a dread knight; a Dragonrider, one of the few remaining original inhabitants of Heide!" the Covenant leader revealed. Erik paled and wiped his brow. That had been a close one!

"Is there another way around?" Erik asked after a moment. Targey nodded, and motioned for the young chef to follow him. The two walked in silence for a bit before coming to a stop before a bonfire nestled in a tiny back room.

"Rest here by the fire first and we can discuss these things later."

Erik nodded in agreement and sits down, letting the embers wash away his aches and pains.

"You are a chef… does that mean you can cook a variety of dishes?" Targey asked after a moment of peaceful silence.

"Indeed! Something I pride myself on is having a grasp on different cuisines," Erik said with confidence.

"Volgen?" Targey inquired.

"At least a dozen, not including the countless pasta recipes."

"Melfia?"

"Mostly sweets and desserts. Sorcerer's have a mean sweet tooth," Erik stated.

"Mirrah?"

"Pot roasts, meat pies, and marching rations alike."

"Lanafir?" Targey asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I actually found a recipe for Rhubarb Pie on the way over here, plus I can use turnips and beetroots in a whole host of dishes," Erik said proudly.

"Forossa?"

"Stews, crusty bread, and a homebrew recipe for Seigbräu. Honestly though you could always just leave out the stew and bread and give them alcohol," Erik said with a deadpan expression, causing the Templar to laugh in agreement.

"Catarina?"

"I can add garlic and onions to anything," Erik assured.

What about Jugo?" At this, Targey's tone became almost longing. This did not go unnoticed by the young Undead chef.

"Wow-Wow curry is one dish I can say I am well acquainted with." That did the trick, as Targey's expression brightened.

"Wonderful! Do you think I could impose on you to cook the Covenant a midday meal?" The Covenant master asked hopefully and Erik nodded.

"I'd be happy to. Though I may need a lot of ingredients… how many am I cooking for?"

"There's a dozen people here right now, excluding myself and the Dragonslayer. A few more may trickle in when word goes around of an actual decently cooked meal though."

"May I have some parchment? I'd like to write a list of what I'll need," Erik requested, and the Jugo native passed him a scrap of the writing sheet. In a few moments a list written up in charcoal was passed back to the Covenant leader who simply nodded in understanding as he looked over the supplies.

"I should be able to have them all gathered in a few hours. Let me take you to the kitchens." Targey lead the Undead visitor up the stairs and through some side corridors into a large, fairly empty room.

It was a kitchen only in the fact that it was where food was prepared. The hearth was barely stoked and the tables where the pots and pans were stored were very cluttered and messy. Plus, the cooking implements themselves were filthy, layers of grime and grease staining most of the collection.

"Oh gods." Erik winced as he took in the sight before him, with Targey having the decency to look abashed.

"None of us know much about how a kitchen works. Most of us who arrived here were from a privileged background of some sort. Sadly most commoners do not last long in Drangleic these days so what we can do ourselves is limited at best."

"You said you had a dozen men here?"

"Yes," Targey nodded, noting a change in the boy's demeanor.

"Send those you can spare over here. I can't do any cooking in these conditions. They'll be cleaning while I do the preparing."

"I'll see to it." Targey quickly left, unpleasant memories of him as a boy trying to sneak treats from the kitchens playing in his mind. Each time he tried he would be caught and paddled by the head chef. No one trespassed in a knight's arena, no one trespassed in a priest's sanctuary, and no one trespassed in a cook's kitchen. Do not anger the hand that feeds you!

Six of the twelve arrived shortly after in the kitchen, the others sent off to organize and gather the required ingredients. Most of the new help were sheepish and embarrassed at the kitchen's state and quickly got to work under Erik's direction. One of them though, a Forossan mercenary, scoffed at the orders.

"I fight and swing a sword, I don't clean or wield a mop! Why should I have to do servant's work?" His fire red hair stood out prominently with the blue colors of the symbols on his armor, and he stood just shy of eight feet tall, his soul clearly a mighty specimen. He wore the gauntlets and chest piece of the legendary Lion Knights of Faraam, with lighter leather boots.

"It is quite simple, really," Erik had replied, his voice sickeningly sweet and his body oozing a menacing aura as he showed off his Titanite knife. "You either do as I say, or I'll take this knife and cut something precious off."

"Hah! Just try and take my manhood! It's more than you could handle, tiny man!" The Forossan sneered, somehow not seeing his comrades trying to get him to back down.

"Now why would I want a tiny shriveled root?" Erik said, earning a red face from the large man and guarded snickers from his compatriots. "No, what I'll take is something you pride just as much, and is much closer to hand. Have you ever tried to wield a weapon missing a pinky finger?"

The Forossan blinked, unsure of where this was going.

"Obviously not, you still have both of them. So let me let you in on a secret; the pinky finger is the hard working yet unappreciated digit. It lets you control the balance of whatever you're holding, as well as adding an extra bit of force to a grip. Not much of course, but the effects are just subtle enough that without the pinky you'll overcompensate without it. And that would be dangerous for a swordsman, wouldn't it? After all, a strong blow might suddenly disarm you without that tiny extra help from the littlest finger, or you swing too wide and leave yourself open to counter attacks because you couldn't maintain the proper balance."

Calmly and with a smile still plastered on his face, Erik pulled out a leg of mutton from a crate that had been brought in earlier. He carefully placed it on a cutting board, and still maintaining eye contact with the mercenary brought his Titanite knife down onto the shank of meat, slicing clear through the thick fatty meat and bone and the cheap wooden board beneath.

"I am weak and frail and not much of a fighter. Out there in that wasteland I wouldn't last a minute against a skilled enemy. But in the kitchen, I am king. So you can clean up and get food, or shut up and leave and lose a meal. Your choice."

A long tense silence filled the air before the giant of a man roared with laughter.

"Ha! You've got guts and a sharp tongue, kid! Fine, you win, I like my hands in one piece." He stuck out his left hand and Erik took it, the two men coming to an understanding with a handshake.

"I am Gordin, the Wandering Knight of Forossa! If you ever need me to crush your enemies, give me a call!"

"And I am Erik Potts, chef extraordinaire," the young Undead returned. Gordin gave a booming laugh before grabbing some pots and starting to scrub away at them. His comrades just stared at the two.

Gordin was a man who could be counted amongst the mightiest warriors of Forossa alongside Vengarl and the Ivory King. Even if he'd lost his legendary blade he was still a beast on the battlefield. It was a good thing he valued honor as much as he did, else he would have been a terrifying foe to fight against. And here he was, making peace and friends with a simple peasant! Would wonders ever cease?

Hours passed in a blur of cooking and preparations, and by the time the food was ready it was more suited for the evening meal. Erik brought out the food on trolleys, his kitchen helpers carrying out dishes and platters as well, and setting it up at the long tables other Covenant members had set up.

By now word had spread and many more people from both the Way of Blue and the Blue Sentinels had gathered, bringing the number up to fifty nine! Erik had worked hard to prepare enough food for everyone and now it was time to show off his results. He stepped up to Targey and the now helmet-less Dragonslayer who were sitting at the head of the room, steam wafting up from the dishes.

"I felt that you'd appreciate a taste of home," Erik said to the Blue Sentinel's leader. "So I prepared you a heaping bowl of Wow-Wow curry, made with Red Burrs and Acid Ant Meat while seasoned with a touch of Green Blossoms. Enjoy!"

"…It's been so long since I last had a real curry," Targey said with joy, quickly taking a spoonful and grinning as the heat blasted his mouth. "Oh yes, that's the burn I've missed!"

"Red Burrs have a hot and spicy taste all on their own, and when combined with the acidic flavor of the Acid Ant and the bitter Green Blossom, it forces the curry powder to new levels of heat as the ingredients all force the burning sensation to the fore," Erik explained happily, his smile growing wider as he saw the Dragonslayer, a surprisingly young Undead with extremely decayed flesh, and Gordin have a contest to see who could eat the most curry the quickest. It ended with both of the fierce and mighty warriors screaming like children and dunking their heads in casks of ale simultaneously.

"Damn it, kid, that's hot! How do you sandmen stand that stuff?!" The Forossan demanded of his leader.

"Hot? Ha! This is mild if anything! We couldn't get our hands on any Bloodmoon peppers or Noonday Spice! If we had, this stuff could melt iron!" Targey happily claimed, Erik nodding in agreement in the background.

"Shit and blood and more shit! You're crazy!" Gordin accused, much to the laughter of his commander and the few other Jugonan's in the room.

"Perhaps! But who's crazier; the man who eats this or the man who tries to drink it and hope it doesn't leave him with a scorched chamber pot?" Gordin just sighed in defeated, smiling in a good natured way.

The feast quickly turned into a party and the mood had visibly lightened as the sky darkened. So many of the men and women here had fought and died and lived to fight again. Year after year, the weight of the Curse grew heavier. Many of the companions Hollowed as they lost all hope. Many of the ones still here knew it was only a matter of time before they snapped as well. But not today. This young man, barely a month on Drangleic, had brought up the spirits of the people who acted to protect the weak and innocent from the evil and cruel. He had no way of knowing, but this simple act of kindness had likely saved quite a few from slipping over the brink into emptiness.

But Targey knew. He himself struggled desperately with ennui and growing numbness as he did endless battle against the Brotherhood and the various madmen of this stricken land. More than once he contemplated following the example of his old friend Saulden and just giving up. But he endured. He had to be strong for his followers. His children. From the Dragonslayer, so close to becoming a Hollow he was almost a child in mentality, to Gordin who immersed himself in constant combat to avoid feeling anything, all were his to care for and look after.

And today an innocent boy gave him a much needed boost to his soul and will. Tasting the flavors of his homeland brought back wonderful memories of his life, and the reasons why he joined the Blue Sentinels.

Erik Potts… Targey couldn't help but shake his head as he thought of that new Cursed Undead. He had sensed the Giant's Soul nestled in the boy's own, as could the Dragonslayer and Gordin. Hells, anyone with sufficient strength and skill could sense powerful souls from a distance. This unfortunately made the chef a tempting target for uncaring and greedy men. Somehow the kind Undead had stepped onto the Monarch's Path, and now he was doomed to see it through or fail. And Targey did not want to see Erik fail. Because that meant death and madness. Only Saulden had escaped that fate, and only because the knight had quickly thrown away his acquired souls and progress back into the bonfires, resetting his cycle and barely evading a cruel fate. The leader of the Blue Sentinels did not want the boy to die.

"The stars are out and the moon rises high, young Erik. I invite you to stay the night before you continue your journey," Targey said, offering a warm and most importantly safe bed to the Undead cook.

"Thank you very much Sir Targey. I'll take you up on that offer," Erik smiled, hiding a yawn. Seeing that, the commander snapped his fingers and pointed at a random Sentinel, instructing him to lead the chef to a spare room.

As soon as he was gone Gordin saddled up next to his leader.

"I couldn't believe it when I first saw that kid, you know? To have snagged the Giant's Soul… that isn't an easy feat even for a seasoned fighter, and I have a feeling he didn't do it in a conventional manner."

"I agree Brother Gordin. Young Erik Potts is a mystery. An anomaly. Did you see his soul?"
"Scrawny. Fairly average for a commoner," The Forossan knight said, an odd look in his eyes. "But I've never seen a soul that white before. At least not in an Unhollowed person."

Souls were the sum of a person, and reflected both the personality and their experiences. Colors would encroach on a soul as the owner grew and learned and lived. A murderer or evil person gained a red tinged soul, while a noble and upstanding man gained a golden shine. Blue for genius, yellow for faith, green for charisma, orange for fighting skills, purple for luck, and black for those touched by Chaos and Dark magic. The rarest color of all though was white. Not because it was hard to come by, but because of a souls very nature. White was innocence and purity. All were born with a pure white soul, but over time it would change color as they experienced life. Hardships strengthened it, success polished it. Only in death did a soul return to its colorless, original state. Why? Because there was no more humanity to influence a soul once it left its container. Save the most powerful and mighty souls of Demons and legendary heroes, souls returned to white with their owner's passing.

And for that reason Erik Potts was an enigma. His soul was not new; he was clearly in his earlier twenties regardless of how others referred to him, and the soul was strong and fully formed as it should be for an adult. But it retained the veneer and freshness of a newly born soul. That should not be possible. No man could truly be free of influences of some sort. Even saints had hues to their souls! As the Pardoners preach, "there is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt," and "it is only human to commit sin."

Who, or better yet what, was this caring young man?