Chapter 11: Fish Dinner and Histories Revealed
"Heave, ho!" With a splash, the Varangian pirate's body that was thrown overboard hit the water and proceeded to sink thanks to its armor. For the past few hours the team of Undead humans had been cleaning house, or ship as it were. The pirates were Undead as well, so in time they'd reanimate. Having a ship filled with resurrecting foes was not ideal, and it was fairly cramped already. Furthermore, Erik wanted to release the Hollows who'd been chained up and imprisoned. It was cruel to have them remain bound to the ship with rusty – and on closer inspection, barbed – chains, or locked in cramped cages. Lucatiel and Carhillion both agreed, and went about freeing the damned souls, letting them fall lightly into the water. Most were far too gone to do more than gnash their teeth and moan, and they bobbed for a bit before sinking under the waves.
Lastly, there was the Flexile Sentry. It was too dangerous to leave alone, and to ensure it could not come after then when it revived, Erik had jammed a poisoned knife into each throat and then wrapped it in chains before tossing it overboard. Even the elderly sorcerer had been disgusted when he saw the remains and felt the tainted magic that had held it captive to the ship and its orders.
When Erik asked why the Hollows didn't appear at bonfire they he and the rest did when they died, Carhillion explained it was because they lacked Humanity and a mind. The bonfires were potent sources of magic which attracted Humanity to them. Unhollowed Undead possessed this substance which was why Undead were teleported to a nearby Bonfire upon death. Since becoming Hollow meant you lost your Humanity, the bonfire would no longer accept you, but if they possessed souls they could revive until those ran out.
Carhillion then had to explain what Humanity – with a capitol 'H' – was. Basically, he described it as the essence of what makes a person a person. Even a Hollow has souls, which is what animates them. But Humanity is what allows humans to think and feel and reason. Take it away and one is no better than an animal. Even non-humans like Gyrm and the Lion Clan had a form of Humanity in them which granted their mind the power to think and feel.
Humanity could be extracted from non-Undead corpses and then processed into Human Effigies which an Undead could use to temporarily resist Hollowification, and restore themselves to their original form. It had other uses, but the sorcerer didn't elaborate.
Lucatiel had gasped at the last bit of information before excusing herself. Erik had been curious, but let her go. Instead he proceeded to remove one of the Human Effigies he'd collected and examined it. The ominous black wicker-cage looking idol had always intrigued Erik, but he hadn't understood why. Now that he knew what to look for, there was a tingle of something within it. Not magical, because that was easy to detect. This was more subtle, which made Erik even more curious about the Curse of the Undead. There were other thing to look into as well.
With the ship clear of Hollows, it was time to open the treasure chest! Carhillion had already left to examine the astro-globe, and Lucatiel was somewhere doing something, so the young cook meandered to the captain's quarters once more.
Side stepping the old man, the chef carefully popped the lid of the wooden container open, and was slightly disappointed. There wasn't much inside. A few gold coins, cheap looking jewelry, a scroll for a spell, and a red seed that seemed to flicker with heat and inner flames. The gold and jewelry was worthless, but the scroll and seed might be useful. Unfurling the parchment, Erik saw to his surprise that it was a spell scroll for the Pyromancy spell Fireball. A ranged fire-based attack was actually useful, and would serve him well.
Carrying a spell scroll allowed a person to have immediate access to the spell formula necessary to cast magic. Even Miracles worked similarly. A person with sufficient talent could cast a spell without requiring a scroll; all they needed was to memorize the formula and incantations, chant it without a mistake, then direct it to a foe. Such a string of actions was all but useless on a fast paced battlefield, so scrolls allowed a person to instantly channel the formula and all the caster needed was to supply the soul energy to produce the effect. Of course, carrying too many scrolls was as dangerous as it was efficient. Channeling too much magic around too many spell scrolls had the risk of casting the wrong spell, or all of them at once and creating a massive backlash. So a caster had to be careful.
It wasn't a problem for Erik just yet. He had enough control over his pyromancy he could manage to carry two spells at once right now without worrying about complications. Three or more was where it got trickier.
The odd, wooden seed was more interesting at the moment. He wondered if Carhillion would know what it was.
"Mr. Carhillion, have you ever seen something like this before?" Erik spoke up causing the sorcerer to glance over, annoyed, before his jaw dropped.
"Is that a Fire Seed?!" He asked, rushing over and staring at the bulbous object in the cook's hand.
"Maybe?"
"Let me see that!" Erik complied and the Melfian quickly poured over it, prodding it and mumbling. After a while he passed it back.
"That is indeed a Fire Seed, a rare and special tool for a Pyromancer. Do you know what a Pyromancy glove is?"
"Enchanted leather that allows one to control flames through the medium of a soul," Erik replied, reciting what he knew. Carhillion nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. But it is a weak crutch, nothing like a true Pyromancy Flame."
"What is that?"
"That is the secret of power for the Pyromancers of ages past. You see, Fire Seeds are natural catalysts for Pyromancy. By imbedding it into their flesh, the old Pyromancers could cast fire spells without the need of a glove! The fire was a part of them at that point, allowing them to use their powers anytime, anywhere, and with a greater affinity for it."
"That's amazing! But you said they had to imbed the Seed into themselves… does that hurt or have adverse effects?" This sounded really useful for him, as long as it didn't have any drawbacks.
"If you don't have enough soul and willpower, then the Fire Seed will drain you dry, and eventually you'll spontaneously combust," Carhillion warned, and Erik gulped in fear. Oh. That sounded bad. And painful. And messy.
"Just one Fire Seed won't cause that to happen though. That risk only starts to arise when a Pyromancer absorbs two or more Fire Seeds. The power boost is phenomenal, but carries risks. I think it would be useful for you. Sorcery is not your cup of tea, but Pyromancy suits you well. If you want, I can infuse the Fire Seed into you right now," Carhillion offered, and Erik paused.
On one hand, greater firepower. On the other, exploding. Still, he did say it was safe with just one…
"Go ahead. I'll need every edge," Erik decided, and the sorcerer nodded.
"In which hand do you want the Fire Seed to be implanted?"
"Left please, it's the hand I wear my glove on, and I'm used to using it that way," Erik said, before holding it out along with the Fire Seed.
Closing his eyes Carhillion closes his hands around Erik's left hand and the potent artifact, before blue light tinged with red and later purple seeped out from the concealed appendage. Erik winced as a searing pain cut into his palm, but he endured. The feeling faded quickly and soon Carhillion removed his hands revealing a dark spot in the center of his left hand. A slight heat emanated from it, and now it looked like there were flames writhing under his skin.
"You'll want to be careful with it for a while. It may take a bit to get used to have the fire right at your fingertips. Try to avoid setting things on fire when you touch them," the old sorcerer requested.
"Can do," Erik said, a hint of awe in his tone as he stared at his left hand and felt the power hiding within.
"Why don't more people use this method, besides the obvious dangers?" Erik asked after a bit, flexing his wrist.
"Fire Seeds are rare. They take years to mature, and they only grow in very specific locations and conditions. Plus, when a Pyromancer dies with a Fire Seed in them, their corpse often immolates itself, destroying the Seed so it cannot be recycled," Carhillion explained, and Erik thanked him for the help, before turning to leave.
"I'll be making dinner soon, so if you want to join me and Lucatiel, you're most welcome. It's going to be fish." The sorcerer nodded thoughtfully and accepted.
"Been a while since I've had a warm meal, so I'll take you up on the offer."
"You are a resourceful chef. I wouldn't have been able to make a meal out of the paltry ingredients available to us," Lucatiel praised as she watched Erik go about his work on the deck.
He'd set up a small impromptu cooking area near the bow, where the wind wouldn't mess with his preparations. He had absolutely refused to use the gallery onboard Caitha's Chains. Mostly because it had been converted into a Hollow holding pen, since Undead do not need to eat, and it was utterly filthy and under equipped. A small portable cooking brazier had been scrounged up thankfully, so they didn't have to eat cold food.
Fishing lines had caught a good number of fish, including some puny Shallow Sea Bass and a quartet of lean looking Wavefresh Tuna.
The Undead cook did not have too many resources either. A lot of what he could make involved either vastly different ingredients, but also lots of fresh water for boiling and steaming and cleaning. Salt water just did not cut it. But, Erik had found a recipe in Donovan's tome that detailed a salt water cooking method that was perfect for fish.
Currently the fish was roasting on the small brazier, the flesh charring slightly as he prepared the seasonings. First, he boiled a pot of salt water while chopping up some clumps of Poison Moss, Amber Herbs, and parsley. Once he was sure it was all finely diced, he added them all to the boiling salt water and let it stew for a minute or so as he check on the fish. Once Erik was satisfied with the state of the seafood, he removed it and placed it on a trio of plates he'd brought out.
Lucatiel sniffed the air and sighed in anticipation. During the march through the Wharf, Erik had only prepared some simple rations for the two of them to eat. While still vastly superior to the army rations she'd eaten before, the scent of cooked fish filled her with hunger and a promise that it would be a glorious feast.
In time Carhillion stumbled out of the captain's quarter as well, drawn by the smell of food, and Erik chuckled as he heard deafening roars from the two Undead's stomachs.
"Been a while since you've had anything edible, huh?" Erik teased, making the Mirrahian huff.
"We don't need to eat, and most foodstuffs that can be scavenged are spoiled or taste awful. We learned how to ignore the hunger pangs," Carhillion explained. "Plus, most who wind up in Drangleic don't have much talent in making anything more than bean-and-rock soup."
"Yeesh. Well, hopefully I can provide better fare than that," Erik said, taking the pot away from the flames and straining the contents. He shuddered at the thought of the infamous bean-and-rock soup, also called "Beggar's Soup."
The recipe for Beggar's Soup was very simple. Take some beans and then boil them. Add some small pebbles to make it look like your soup has more substance to it. In a pinch, beans are optional. Rocks are not. Eat while hot and try to avoid tasting it.
Using the Handmaiden's Ladle, Erik scooped out the boiled plants and spread them over the fish before handing the dishes out to his comrades.
"Tonight is a simple fish dish with a special garnish. I used Poison Moss, Amber Herbs, and parsley to make what is known as Ocean Spray Garnish. The Poison Moss has a sharp flavor that is only drawn out more fully by the sea salt. Amber Herbs have a more subtle taste, somewhat like a mix of a turnip and crisp cabbage. It brings out the other subtle flavors in foods, making fish have a stronger punch while being balanced by the parsley. Parsley absorbs and mitigates the overwhelming saltiness that would normally come as a result of using sea water, and is a common addition to seafood dishes. And that is the Potts Family famous Ocean Spray Garnish!" Erik declared proudly, his smile growing wider at the grunts of approval from Carhillion and Lucatiel.
The Undead chef couldn't help but sneak looks at the knightess of Mirrah as she ate. It was the first time he'd seen her without the silver mask, and he had to admit she was rather pretty. Her skin was almost alabaster smooth and clear, a surprise considering she'd lived a life of a warrior. She had a strong, wide jaw line, giving her a faint masculine look that seemed at odd with her long light blonde hair. That too was also surprisingly well cared for. Erik guessed she allowed herself some feminine vices every once in a while. Lastly, her blue eyes were sharp and focused, but had a distant look to them.
Erik shook his head. It was rude to stare, and he chose to eat his own meal before it went cold.
"I think we should spend a bit of time getting to know each other," Erik suggested as the meal continued, earning some raised eyebrows from his fellow Undead. "Oh come now, don't give me that look! If we're going to be traveling together, we should get to know each other!"
"Well, I don't see why not," Carhillion sighed, fishing a bone out of his teeth before continuing.
"As I have said, I come from Melfia. Specifically, the Melfian Magic Academy, which is something of both a major academic institute but also the seat of political power. High ranked professors, scholars, and masters in the Academy also have political and governmental powers and influence. It is this August Fraternity that makes the rules for not just the school but the entire country," the sorcerer said, a tiny sneer on his lips as he spoke of the distribution of power.
"Great advances in research earns prestige and power. A teacher whose student excels is reward for their pupil's success, while those apprentices who fail or fall behind are cut loose and seen as liabilities. It is a cut throat situation, and most of the issues that plague Melfia stem from inter-department conflicts and rivalry. According to my title, 'of the Fold,' I am technically one of the August Fraternity, and was head of Combat Sorcery for many years. But I was disdainful of the bickering and the way true research and discoveries were suppressed in order to weaken an opponent. So, one day, I planned to leave and come to Drangleic to pursue my own studies away from the nattering old fools."
"How did you die?" Erik asked, engrossed in the talk. Carhillion laughed bitterly.
"I was murdered by my own apprentice on the way out the door! The little rat had wanted my position for years, and thought he could just snatch it away with my death! Unfortunately, the Dark Sign appeared on me after the dagger pierced my heart. I revived, hunted him and his collaborators down, and then killed them all."
Erik and Lucatiel were silent. That got dark very quickly.
"Lucky for me none of them became Undead as well, so after bidding a few of my other, more faithful, pupils goodbye I left and came to Drangleic. Been here for nearly five years." Carhillion took another bite of the fish and washed it down with some weak wine before continuing. "A year or so after I arrived, one of my apprentices appeared before me. Imagine my shock! Poor Rosabeth… she was never very good with ordinary sorcery, but was a genius with Pyromancy. Such a shame she died. Silly girl blew herself up with a spell. She came to find me, to continue her studies, but I turned her away. She was already far more proficient in the Art of Flames than I, and knew I could not teach her anything. I do hope she has been doing alright. I'd love to see her again…"
"An interesting life you've lived, Mr. Carhillion," Erik said in praise, to which the sorcerer laughed politely.
"Perhaps. And what of you? For a Lindeltian, you're surprisingly tolerant of me and my talents."
"Well, as I said, I am from Lindelt. Specifically, Cathedral City, the capitol. My family, while not a noble or notable one in certain circles, is actually well off. You see, the Potts have been the Personal Chefs to House Osteria for generations. Ever since my ancestor, Donovan Potts, in fact."
Jaws dropped and both the sorcerer and knight stared. Well. That was interesting. Even in the isolated land of Lanafir one couldn't not know of House Osteria. The mightiest clerics in history had been born from that family, and each member was venerated like a living saint, or a direct conduit to the gods. They could perform difficult Miracles with barely a thought, and were rumored to have actual dragon's blood in their veins. In fact, most of House Osteria were very tall, their souls extremely potent. To even look upon one was a blessing to many, and each servant was carefully screened for a year before being allowed to even set foot in the Lightning Palace. To cook for this family meant they had to have perfect skills and unflinching loyalty.
"My father raised me in the kitchens. I never knew my mother for most of my life, as she was not a woman of equal standing to my father, a noble in all but name, and I was born out of wedlock. Still, my expertise in the kitchens was acknowledged early on; I've been handling knives since I was four."
"One day though, about a month ago, I died. I was mugged and then murdered in an alleyway on my way back from the markets with an order of food. I was afraid when I woke. So very afraid." Erik trembled for a moment before he caught ahold of himself. "Undead are pariahs in Lindelt. Worse, even. Public beatings and endless executions until we go Hollow is all we have to look forward to if we get caught. So I ran. I ran home and stole this."
The Undead chef patted the leather tome that rested in his pouch at his side.
"Donovan Potts was a legendary chef. He cooked for the Three Great Kings of Drangleic centuries ago, before all this Curse madness swept the world. He was praised and acknowledged by all, and in this book he detailed incredible recipes. Most of the ingredients can only be found here, and with the rise of the Undead swamping Drangleic, obtaining said ingredients is becoming harder and harder. So here I am. To travel the land and cook the legendary feasts of my ancestor. The Four Divine Meals. The Sacred Soup, Salad, Meat, and Dessert. Such foods use the rarest of rarities, and can supposedly create miraculous effects. So that is my story. A chef with all of his future stolen, only to try and take it back with the help of a simple book. Crazy, huh?"
"You're very brave, young man. Few would have the courage to return to the center of a dangerous city just for a book so they could pursue their own future. I applaud your fortitude." Carhillion did so, a slow but respectful clap echoing in the deepening night.
"…I was born a commoner in Mirrah," Lucatiel said, sharing her story after a hesitant pause. "My family was dirt poor. The land in Mirrah is fallow in many places, and what land isn't is controlled by the nobles and rented out at insane prices. Mining and logging are the only other major industries, besides war. You've probably heard the rumors saying anyone can become a knight or official, as long as they have talent? It's true, but the standards for peasants are much, much higher than for the pre-established aristocracy. To give you perspective, I am the first and only female knight of common birth in all of Mirrah. Some noblewomen become such, but only I broke through their challenges. I cultivated my Poise to insane levels and became an elite. But I wasn't the best. That title belonged to my brother, Aslatiel."
As she spoke, her face became relaxed and she smiled at fond memories.
"Aslatiel was a genius swordsman. He had cultivated 250 Poise, a number never before reached in Mirrah's history, by the age of twenty, and then beat it and reached 300 by twenty three. Aslatiel also was a proficient sorcerer as well. He was approached by the Shadow Knights to join them, and would have joined that secretive order but a war fell on us. The barbarians to the east of Mirrah's borders have always raided by, and three years ago they fell on the outer regions like a tide. Hundreds died in the first hours, and the elites were mobilized, my brother and I included. For days we fought, until my brother killed the enemy commander. But he took a deadly blow, and died soon after."
Lucatiel's hands clenched, and her expression turned grim. "He died. But he did not stay dead. The Dark Sign appeared on him, and he was thrown into a makeshift brig. Such a travesty! My brother, the greatest warrior alive, imprisoned like a worthless criminal! The Shadow Knights are tasked with eliminating Undead, and they are very good at it. Undead go Hollow after a few days of their 'treatments' and then completely exhaust their soul in a week. Complete death to an unkillable target."
Erik and Carhillion shivered at her proclamation. An Undead could die, it was true. But they had to die over and over and over. A hundred times a hundred deaths, or experience equivalent suffering. To be able to do so in a week sounded like a nightmare!
"My brother feared this fate, and struggled free of his bonds. In the dead of night, he took his equipment and ran, but not before doing something impossible." Now, Lucatiel's tone took on reverence, as if she'd seen some great act of the gods. "My brother, by dawn's first light, had slaughtered the entire enemy army. Over three thousand hardened Steppe warriors, cut down by a single man! The invasion ended that very day. But my brother was nowhere to be found. His corpse could not be located among the piles of dead barbarians, and Aslatiel was declared Killed in Action. Rather than reveal to the country that their most famous knight had become an Undead, they instead claimed he had done the massacre without his cursed powers and died in the process. But he was alive! I knew he was! And I received confirmation of it last year, when a merchant claimed to have dropped off a masked knight of Mirrah with a distinct great sword in Drangleic sometime after his 'death.' I desperately wanted to go to my brother, but the Shadow Knights discovered this information as well and planned to use me as bait to lure in Aslatiel. I fought back, and was accidentally killed in the battle, though I took my killer out with me."
Lucatiel absentmindedly traced a finger along the left side of her face, remembering where her killing blow had landed.
"I awoke with the Dark Sign on my breast, and knew I had a chance to atone for letting my brother go to his death, and not even try to help him. I love him! And yet I left him to his fate…" Lucatiel looked away, as if ashamed. No one said anything for a long while, with Erik packing up the cooking supplies and Carhillion moving to examine the sails which were providing light even as the darkness of night fully fell.
For what seemed like hours, an awkward silence settled on the boat, not a single person sure of what to say. They had all bared their hearts, and some had darker stories than others. Where did this leave them now? For Erik, he had omitted several things from his story that he had been afraid to speak of, even in trusted company. The guilt gnawed at him.
For Lucatiel, she had revealed everything. For her past, to her great shame, to her quest for forgiveness. In a way, she was glad she had become Undead. It meant she could atone, and seek a cure alongside her brother. The two of them, fighting impossible odds and yet emerging victorious! Just like old times…
Erik and Lucatiels thoughts were all interrupted by a sudden exuberant shout from Carhillion.
"Land ho!" He cried, cackling a bit. Erik and Lucatiel stared up in shock as the ruined majesty of a gargantuan prison towered up ahead on the cliffs before them.
"Behold, the Lost Bastille! Last stop for Undead of all ages!" Carhillion laughed darkly, and Erik trembled. Something was in that place. Something dark and hungry and burning. And it was calling out for him.