Chapter 12: Three Golems and a Blacksmith

A cold wind blew over the deck sending shivers through the three Undead as the ship trawled ever closer to the massive fortress-like prison. Not helped at all was the festering darkness and madness that wreathed the stones and metal. Tens of thousands of people had died here, in great agony. Their souls had bled into the very foundations, and now an eternal gloom hung over the Gaol.

The Lost Bastille; a haunted place that was infamous for being where the worst of the worst criminals had been incarcerated for untold ages. It was an old structure; it had existed for millennia, and was supposedly from the age of the First Flame. Additions were made, the crumbling ruins were fixed up, and it endured. No matter the shape or owner, the Lost Bastille carried a million times a million sorrows and deaths in it, and no amount of construction or cleaning could remove the stains.

With unearthly care and precision, Caitha's Chains sailed up to the small dock that was built into the side of the cliff below the bastion of torment. From the sails a faint blue light emanated, casting weird and twisted shadows on the walls and water. It only added to the suffocating and eerie presence. In a few minutes the Undead would arrive, and the next leg of the journey would start.

"How did you jump so high?" Erik's question to Carhillion seemed to come from left field. Lucatiel and the sorcerer just stared at the chef, but noticed his trembling. He was trying desperately to distract himself from the overpowering fear, and the elderly man smiled in a grandfatherly way.

"The original spell was that of Fall Control. However, there are ways to use spells, be it a Sorcery, Miracle, or Pyromancy, in many ways beyond their stated purpose. For example, I just reversed the spell formula for Fall Control, and that allowed it to become a whole new spell; Super Jump! I invented it myself," Carhillion said proudly, glad to impart knowledge and sooth Erik's fears.

"Using and learning magic is not a straight forward, linear process. So many of the older practioners have forgotten this. Invention and progress cannot come without experimentation and challenging the norm. Remember; there is always something new to learn. If you have a problem, work at it from a different angle, or try and solve it backwards. If nothing else, keep those words close." Carhillion said kindly. Erik nodded just as the ship bumped up against the docks.

"Well, this is it," Lucatiel said softly, before straightening her shoulders and walking down to the gangplank that slid out noiselessly from the ship. Erik took several nervous deep breathes, before he stepped down towards the wooden platform below.

Once the duo was down, they looked back only to see the ship start to creak and sail away!

"Mr. Carhillion, hurry up! The boat is leaving!" Erik called out, but the old man just shook his head.

"Sorry, but this is where we part. This ship is so fascinating! The spells that drive it are sublime and the work of a master! Ah, if I had a decade I might barely scratch the surface!" He then smiled down at the two Undead he'd come to know and like. "I have enough understanding of the magic to control it myself. I shall sail back to Majula, and await you there. So promise me you will come back in one piece! I still have much I need to teach you!"

Erik frowned, but then laughed a bit. "Of course! Mr. Carhillion, you have my word! Lucatiel and I will return, safe and sound! Though try to go easy on the lectures!"

"I make no promises!" Carhillion chuckled. Lucatiel smiled as well under her mask, and once the ship was far enough out to see, she lightly tapped Erik's shoulder.

"It's time to go," She urged, and though he hesitated, he nodded.

"It is. Let's move," Erik said confidently, and the two Undead strode into the docking area, and boarded another one of the unique moving platforms. This one was made of solid metal and rose much faster and smoother than the one Erik had ridden on to reach the Last Giant. He was fascinated by the machinery, it reminding him of the dumb-waiters House Osteria had in its palace, though larger and automatic.

Once the device clunked to a stop, Erik and Lucatiel emerged in a dark, underground place, lined with countless cells built into the walls. The doors of many of them were bent and torn, or missing all together, where the ones still intact had corpses within. Whether they were of Undead or normal people it was impossible to tell. They were putrid and unrecognizable, and the smell alone was bringing the two travelers to near retching states.

Moving up the long stairs they soon found an odd but welcome sight; a bonfire seemed to be have been placed in one of the open cells, and the two eagerly rested at the flames. After a brief pause they continued upwards and the sudden tang of salty sea air brought a smile to their faces. At long last they escaped the stench of decay and emerged onto a long, crumbling battlement. It was in major disrepair, but what drew their eyes was a white armored knight clutching a spear as they sat on the floor. Erik and Lucatiel tensed, but relaxed slightly when they realized what it was; A Knight of Heide! These white clad warriors had been the high ranked soldiers of the Kingdom of Heide. Clad in fine armor, and clutching weapons infused with lightning, a Heide Knight was a force to be reckoned with. Not nearly as elite as the Dragonriders, but powerful all the same. While that might worry some, these warriors did not move or attack, unless provoked first. They had been defenders, and were renowned for never throwing the first punch, even when Hollowed.

Erik had run into one in the Forest of Fallen Giants but had avoided it completely, unwilling to confront a fearsome fighter while still having to deal with the other Hollowed foes in the area.

Walking by cautiously but respectfully the pair did not disturb it and soon came to a ladder.

Shimmying down it, they were soon attacked by Undead Dogs that leaped and snarled, but before the sword swings of Lucatiel they fell fast. When they all dropped dead a large and burly bandage wrapped man jumped down from a wooden platform, startling the two Undead. It carried a wickedly long and curved polearm while shooting off Combustions from a tattered Pyromancy glove on its right hand. While big and its swings were fast, it eventually perished from the combined efforts from the chef and knightess.

Moving on, they found a treasure chest hidden at the end of an inconspicuous path that held an Estus Flask Shard and a large piece of Titanite! Further along, they came to a lowered gate that had more Undead Dogs guarding both sides. Hacked apart, the two Undead opened it and killed the remaining undead animals.

"I think I'm starting to hate dogs," Lucatiel grumbled, Erik nodding in agreement. At least they sometimes had Human Effigies on them for some reason, locked onto their collars. Lucatiel had snatched them up with an almost desperate speed that surprised Erik. Was she truly that concerned with her looks? Or was it something else?

"Let's… look out!" Erik shouted, throwing himself on top of Lucatiel, knocking her down. She shouted in confusion but was soon glad the chef had done so as a large barrel flew over their heads and slammed into the wall behind them. Looking up, the two Undead glared at an Undead Jailer that was tramping down the stairs, having hurled the wooden container at them.

"Rude!" Erik snarled, dodging under its polearm and giving a hard kick to its back. The Hollow stumbled backwards and turned with a groan. That was all it managed, as Erik quickly conjured a Fireball from his recently acquired scroll and hurled it at the Undead Jailer. The fire splashed over their foe, but the chef's smugness vanished as suddenly there was a tremendous explosion!

Stone chunks went flying and a wave of heat and pressure bowled Erik and Lucatiel over. Ears ringing, they staggered to their feet to see the wall had collapsed, revealing a bonfire! Of the Undead Jailer no trace could be found except for the charred and mangled metal of its weapon and steaming chunks of flesh.

"What just happened?" Erik asked, dazed. Lucatiel turned to him, as if to say something, but nothing came out.

"What?" Erik shouted, confused. Lucatiel shook her head, then walked over and grabbed his shoulders, dragging the cook to the bonfire. As they near, sparks danced out and wrapped around the two Undead. In moments their wounds were gone and the damage to their equipment was also mostly removed.

"What on Drangleic was that?" Erik asked again, his ruptured eardrums mended, and Lucatiel just shrugged.

"I have an idea, but I want you to stay back while I check." The knightess then stood and went to one of the barrels that had been standing here and there. She cracked one open and reached her hand in, removing what looked to Erik a handful of black sand. She nodded, as if this confirmed her suspicions, before walking back to the bonfire and the chef, pausing only to stab the Undead Dogs to keep them down.

"Black powder. The barrel was full of it and I'll bet there's a lot more where that came from," Lucatiel said. Seeing Erik's blank expression, she elaborated.

"A powerful explosive substance, and the main ingredient in Black Fire Bombs. It was originally produced by Forossan alchemists, but the secret has since been lost, or sold to other kingdoms. Mirrah currently has the largest black powder manufacturing base, at least as far as we know. Our lands may be bad for crops, but the minerals needed for this substance are abundant. Black powder makes an excellent weapon. What I don't understand is why it's here. The sheer amount of it means that either Drangleic discovered it first, or Forossa exported most of what they made to this land. Neither option makes me comfortable."

She looked down at Erik, who was still seated at the fire. "Try to avoid throwing around your Pyromancy near any barrels, lest you ignite more of it and cause untold devastation. I don't know how well the Curse of the Undead will protect us from becoming smeared across the walls and floors."

Her scolding tone made Erik want to curl up into a ball, but he just nodded in understanding.

"Good. Now, shall we continue?"

"I want to check something first. I think there is a person in there," Erik said, pointing at the open door near the bonfire. Heavy breathing could be heard from in there, and Lucatiel tensed by curtly nodded in agreement. Better to see if there was a friend or foe in hiding now, then have them become a problem later.

Inside, they were confronted with an old, white haired man, who despite his age was massive and bulging with muscles. A blacksmith's apron covered his front, while he wore threadbare tunic and trousers. He was next to a work bench covered in tools and scraps of equipment while sitting on what looked like a treasure chest and idly swinging his hammer in the air as if trying to strike iron where there was none.

"Meh heh heh… Oh why can't they all be this easy?… Meh heh heh," the blacksmith mumbled, his words infused with dementia. He seemed to be nearly Hollow! When the chef and the knightess' boots crunched onto the gravel he gave a start then looked up and stared at Erik with dull eyes, before snorting.

"Hmph! Hmm! We've got a wild one here! Shape up! Shape up, I say!" Erik took a step back from the man, noting a few other chests set up here and there, while an empty torch sconce stood nearby an anvil as he did so. The crazed man followed Erik's gaze, and laughed.

"Oh-hoh hoh hoh! That's it, yes, that's the way! Dear flame… how brightly you burn! Meh heh heh…"

Unnerved, Erik and his comrade cautiously stepped back out to the bonfire, hearing his final words before he descended into giggles.

"I ought to fetch a new ember… Flame, dear flame…"

"Poor man is nearly gone," Erik said, feeling pity for the old blacksmith. He wondered how Lenigrast was doing.

"At least he did not seem inclined to attack us," Lucatiel said with a hint of relief. She didn't like being around Undead that close to losing it. It reminded her too much about her and Aslatiel's potential fates.

A silent look between the two Undead prompted them to move on. Up the stairs they encountered more Undead Dogs and a single Undead Jailer, all while trying not to disturb the barrels filled with black powder that were just lying around. The knightess started to roll these barrels over the edge of the walls when she could, watching in satisfaction as they splashed into the water or spilled open on the rocks below.

At one point though the explosive substance proved extremely useful though. The two Undead had opened a door that looked to lead deeper into the prison, when at least a half dozen Royal Soldier Hollows armed with great swords rushed out. Only a panicked Fireball had saved the two from a gruesome butchering, the detonation mashing the Hollowed soldiers and only knocking Erik and Lucatiel down with minimal injuries. The blast also opened a hole in the wall they were quick to take advantage of, as it cut through several rooms that were crawling with odd, bandage wrapped Undead prisoners. Similar in appearance to the Jailers, but much worse in terms of combat, as proved when one rushed them and blew itself up. Apparently someone had stuffed their bodies with black powder and faulty Pyromancy gloves. Taking them out with throwing knives before they got to close became standard practice.

Along the way, Erik was thankful for the Orange Soapstone. Though limited to no more than ten words a message, more often than not that was enough. "Enemy/Ambush Ahead!" prevented some very uncomfortable situations, and helpful hints for the weaknesses of certain foes let the chef and his partner eliminate enemies with greater efficiency.

Additionally, Erik would spend some time whenever they had a break thinking on what Carhillion had said about experimentation and progress and magic. All he had was Pyromancy. But that shouldn't limit him. Erik stared at his left hand, concentrating on the Fire Seed that now nestled inside it. He'd gotten somewhat better with controlling it, though the output was fairly wild, and he still burnt things if he gripped them too hard or held them too long in that hand. In spite of that, Erik felt as if he was approaching a breakthrough. He just wasn't sure what it was.

"Fog Gate Ahead," Lucatiel said, reading out the latest message. The knightess had her own set of White and Orange Soapstones, though she admitted they were plundered from the corpse of the Shadow Knight who'd attacked her.

Sure enough, around the corner a mesmerizing vortex of grey stood, waiting. She narrowed her eyes behind her mask and held up her milk colored Soapstone. A white name flickered into existence, and she stroked her chin.

"Erik, there is a Summoning Sign in that doorway near the fog gate. Do you want to try summoning them?"

The chef looked up from his palms, a bit annoyed that Lucatiel had interrupted his introspection. But he got over it. This was an important question.

"May I see?" The native of Mirrah nodded, and Erik pulled out his own Soapstones. "Pilgrim Bellclaire…"

"Heard of her before? Based on her name, I assume she's from Lindelt," Lucatiel said, but Erik shook his head.

"If she was, I've never heard of her. Not to say that it is impossible, of course. A lot of clerics have come and gone over the years. Let me just…" Erik held his hand over the symbol, and a ghostly image appeared, a faded depiction of the woman who had placed her summoning signature. She wore mages robes, but armored gauntlets and boots, while clutching some kind of sorcerer's staff as well as a cleric's chime.

"Huh. She's not just a cleric. Interesting name, then," Erik mused, then shrugged and tapped the glowing white name, summoning her regardless. Help was help, after all. He stepped back, and in moments a radiant white glow flickered to life and Pilgrim Bellclaire appeared. She gave a short bow as she appeared, then stood by.

"Hello, Miss Bellclaire. My name is Erik Potts, of Lindelt, and this is Sir Lucatiel, of Mirrah. Would you care to help us with what is beyond that fog wall?" Erik said, introducing himself with a smile and bow. The woman blinked in surprise, but gave a kind smile and a nod.

"Well then! Let's go!" Erik said, and strode up to the spacial barrier. Instantly he was sucked through, and the chef paled as he saw what awaited him and his companions. The stitched together pirates had been bad enough. Now they had to deal with three whole foes?!

Indeed, there were three enemies waiting for them within, wearing finely crafted bronze armor and wielding a round shield and Lucerne, also made of some sort of bronze colored metal. Erik was fairly certain these things were not human. Ignoring the size, the legs and arms were far too slender too support their weight, and as they began moving towards the three Undead their movements were too smooth for such gangly limbs.

"Scatter! Everyone, attack them one on one!" Erik commanded, and his companions shouted in agreement. Lucatiel dove off the top of the crumbling balcony she was on to impale the nearest armored entity, while Bellclaire lit up her staff and sent Soul Arrows whizzing into the enemy standing by the entrance. That left one for Erik.

He cried out, and jumped off the balcony as well. His possible-golem was ready for this though and held up its shield to block. Erik didn't mind, and clung to the shield as if it were a giant plate. He slapped two Combustions right into its helmet before it dislodged him. By slamming the shield right into a nearby pillar. The old stone shattered under the impact and the chef cried out in pain, dropping to the floor once his grip relaxed. He barely had time to roll aside from an overhead smash from the Lucerne before it struck the ground.

Meanwhile, Lucatiel was weaving in and out, striking at the armored sentinel's legs until it fell to its knees, the metal buckled and rent by her sword strikes. That did not stop the enemy, as it began to hammer about madly with its weapon, trying to keep the knightess at bay. It didn't work. She was a knight of Mirrah, trained to be the best. She had Poise few could match, and talent only exceeded by her brother. She was not afraid of this creatures, and drove in. As the hammer-end came down at her, Lucatiel gently raised her sword to the side. Not to block, though. Instead, she caught the shaft of the Lucerne on the edge of her blade and guided the weapon away from her while also plunging the blade clear through the chest. Diving Falcon Strike! She then ripped her trusty great sword upwards, tearing the helmet off and sending it flying. This revealed the true nature of her foe; an empty suit of armor! Her blow defeated it, and the armor clattered down. She quickly looked around, assessing the situation. Bellclaire seemed fine, dodging the attacks while shoving Sorceries into her assailant, while Erik looked to be doing naught but running in circles around the armored golem, blasting it with fire and swiping it with his dagger. She made a beeline for Erik. He needed help more than the summoned phantom.

"Damn it, why won't you die?!" Erik hissed, completely annoyed. The armor of this creature was strong, his puny steel dagger barely scratching it, while his Pyromancies were just about capable of scorching the metal, but little else. When this debacle was over, he would invest in a sword, or some other kind of weapon!

As he drew up his last Combustion, something felt odd. For a moment, Erik was acutely aware of the heat in the room. He saw Lucatiel out of the corner of his eyes, a pulsing red and orange aura overlapping her, while Bellclaire was coated in a faint yellow sheen. The ruined sentinels, though? No more heat than the surrounding stone. No, that wasn't true. There was some, nestled in the metal. It felt distant though, as if it wasn't real heat, but a memory of it. Frowning, Erik dismissed his Combustion, reached out to place his left hand on the right leg of the monster, and pulled. He reached into the metal and grasped the heat he'd sensed, before yanking at it and dragging it to the fore.

Instantly there was a hollow popping sound, and the armored legging collapsed, severed from the rest of the body. Or rather, melted! The area where Erik's hand had rested now glowed cherry red and practically oozed heat, the edges around the two separate parts super-heated as if it had just emerged from the forge, or was subjected to a blast of ravening flames. The armored sentinel lurched, and it crashed onto its side, flailing wildly. Erik's hand shot out again and impacted the helmet before him. The chef grinned. If he could do that trick again…

His smile faltered as he couldn't seem to repeat what had just happened. He grunted and tightened his fingers on the helm, but the heat he'd sensed from before was gone! The guardian, perhaps realizing that it had been disabled by a one-hit-wonder, lashed out without fear of retaliation. Erik flinched, and was sent flying into the wall. He felt a rib crack under the blow, and gasped in pain. Thankfully he had a knight of Mirrah to avenge him, and Lucatiel's sword rammed through the golem's helmet, causing it to fall limp. Souls rushed into him, and Erik sighed.

"Thanks, Lucatiel, you saved me," he said gratefully. The knightess shrugged.

"Not a problem. Now, should we back up Bellclaire?"

Erik glanced over and saw the armored sentinel sink to its knees before a large bolt of magic tore its head off, and souls gushed out like a spray of white arterial fluid.

"Nah, I think she's fine." Indeed, the self-proclaimed pilgrim seemed fine with nary a scratched, and she waved farewell as her magic faded and she vanished.

"Why do they vanish like that when the fighting is done?" Erik wondered, fishing out his Estus Flask.

"The fog gates are made of some sort of magic that isolates time and space. When they are dispelled, the ripple effect that is caused destabilizes the summoning ritual," Lucatiel explained, getting a raised eyebrow from the cook.

"I was bored on the ship and Carhillion was nearby, ok?" The knightess stated, as if trying to assure Erik she was not, in fact, a huge nerd. He just smiled and nodded, giving her a wink.

"Well, that was fun, but we should…" He didn't get to finish as a gold and iron colored soul appeared before him, and it sunk into his chest without warning.

A younger version of the blacksmith from the bonfire earlier appeared in Erik's mind. The blacksmith stepped back and gave an approving nod to three bronze suits of armor.

"Hear my words, and obey," the smith intoned, cutting his finger with a knife as he dabbed the insides of the armor with his blood, drawing esoteric and arcane sigils.

"First command, serve the King and his officials in all they demand. Second command, all who attack you are foes to be slain. Third command, patrol the Lost Bastille, and keep it safe. Fourth command, no prisoner is to escape. Fifth command with primal over-write authority, ensure the Old Witch never escapes her imprisonment."

His words spoken and the symbols drawn in each, the younger form of the blacksmith moved over to a section of the wall where three massive cages hung. Inside was a terrible sight. Twenty people were trapped within each, stripped naked and bound. They seemed human, and at the very least untouched by the Curse. They hollered and pleaded, shaking the bars and weeping in terror. A pained expression crossed his face, and he shivered, before walking over to a lever.

"I am sorry," he muttered, before pulling the lever. Screams echoed from the cage as spikes jutted up from above and below, killing the inhabitants instantly. White trickles of souls poured out from the victims into the bodies of the golems, where they sunk into the blood runes and caused them to glow white and red.

"McDuff, is the latest batch of Ruin Sentinels complete?"

"Aye, Duke Aldia, they are. Ready to be shipped off to the Lost Bastille," the blacksmith, McDuff, said, turning to face a regular sized man in rich clothes. Erik instantly recognized him as the person who'd stood beside King Vendrik when the Flexile Sentry was made! This was the Soul King's brother!

"Excellent. The Ivory King is placing great trust and faith in us to keep that vile heretic safe and secured until he can figure out how to undo what she did," the duke said softly. His voice was calm and measured, and he barely spared the bloody cages a second glance.

"My lord, may I ask… why the golems? We've never bothered with such things before, even during the Giant's Invasion we kept our hands clean of such practices. Why now?"

"It is not your place to question, Steady Hands McDuff, only to do as ordered," Aldia said, turning piercing gold eyes onto the blacksmith.

"I understand, it's just… wrong. Using people like this…" McDuff's voice faded, and the duke shook his head in disappointment.

"They were criminals and heretics. Death for such a noble goal is only right and proper. Now, here are you new orders; you are to go to the Lost Bastille and perform maintenance there."

"That's the same as banishment!" McDuff roared, and Aldia laughed.

"Be glad we still need your unique talents and skills, Steady Hands, or else we might have been inclined to lock you up as an actual prisoner. Or kill you. Don't think my brother and I don't know what you've been doing, sending information to the Iron King, selling secrets of the craft," the duke whispered, leaning close.

"He has my family!" The blacksmith protested. Aldia just shrugged.

"Not our problem. Now… Ruin Sentinels! Escort this man to the Lost Bastille!" With a jerk, the suits of armor sprang to life, and two grabbed the shoulders of McDuff, steering him out of the room. He did not resist, and let his shoulders slump in defeat.

Chuckling to himself, the duke walked over to the dripping gore of the cages, leaned in, licked his lips, and unhinged his jaw…

Erik spasmed as the vision faded, and Lucatiel leaned back to avoid being hit by his flailing limbs.

"Are you alright? That large soul entered you, and then you blanked out for a moment," the knightess said in concern.

"It's nothing, just a bit overwhelmed is all," Erik lied. Lucatiel folded her arms.

"That's what you said after the double pirate was slain and a similar soul fused with you. What's really going on?"

Erik opened his mouth to lie or protest of wave it off, but then closed it and sighed.

"Sorry Lucatiel, I just wasn't sure what happened myself. Still don't. Truthfully, ever since the Dragonrider, whenever I absorb one of those big souls I get glimpses of… something. Memories perhaps, or a view of the past itself. But I've seen things. How the fog master's died, perhaps, before the Dark Sign branded them. Or perhaps what happened to create them? Just now I saw that blacksmith from before in my visions. He made these things, Lucatiel. He made them with blood and souls." Erik trembled, remembering the screams.

"And he was ordered to do so by King Vendrik and Duke Aldia. I don't know why, either. I also saw Aldia in the Flexile Sentry's, that is the double-Hollow's, memories, and he was the one who made them that way."

Lucatiel blanched under her mask and shivered as well. That had been an abomination, and someone had actually wanted to make it? That was sick!

"Don't worry, Erik, I'm here for you," the knightess said kindly, patting his shoulder before helping him up. "Shall we continue onwards?"

"Yes, let's," Erik said eagerly. As they walked out, Lucatiel turned to the chef.

"So, what was that thing with the Sentinel's leg back there? It looked like you melted it."

"I'm not sure about that either. I was just able to sense the heat around me, as well as what I think was the 'memory' of heat that lay in the metal. I pulled at it with my Pyromancy, and the next thing I know I somehow made the armor 'remember' when it was hot and molten. At least, that's what it felt like," Erik said, rubbing the back of his head.

"Interesting. Just remember what I said; no fire around the barrels. I rather like being in one piece thank you very much!"

Erik laughed at that, but trailed off as he saw Lucatiel was not making a joke, and had an aura to her that informed the chef she might stab him if he messed up. Assuming he didn't go 'splat!' first.