Chapter 13: Lamentations of Old Witches

"This place is a damned maze," Lucatiel grumbled, decapitating a charging exploding Hollow before it reached the duo as they walked through the Lost Bastille. Erik nodded in agreement. The entire complex was huge, built to be the size of a large town, if not an entire city. Most of it was rubble and in poor condition, and what wasn't brimmed with Hollows. At the moment Erik was just following his gut, or perhaps it was his soul. A painful tingle had been passing through his flesh as time went on, trying to direct him towards something. And if past experiences told him anything, it was likely an overpowered monster he'd be lucky to defeat, even with Lucatiel.

At the same time, Erik was working hard to discover more of that fire and heat manipulation he had displayed back in the Ruin Sentinel fight. At the moment, if he focused on generating a flame from his Fire Seed, the chef could momentarily feel the temperatures around him briefly. Other than that, Erik could bend and move external fires around a bit, but not much else. Still, it was progress!

"Where to now?" Erik asked, looking about the area. They'd come to a gatehouse of sorts, where across from them a lone tower sat, accessible via a bridge, but guarded by a number of Hollow crossbowmen. A staircase led up to the right, and a faint orange glow could be seen coming from the top. A bonfire, most likely.

Up the stairs first. There's a bonfire up there and I'd like to refill our Estus before moving on," Lucatiel suggested, and Erik nodded in agreement. As soon as they ascended though, the Undead regretted it immediately. Five exploding Hollows were waiting for them, and they charged the travelers with a roar of demented glee.

"Son of a!" Lucatiel swore, backpedaling, while Erik called up a Fireball and chucked it at the foremost Hollow. The chef grabbed his companion and threw themselves down the stairs, hearing the loud crumps and bangs of detonating black powder filled Hollows. As the smoke settled and cleared, The two rose back up, nursing aches and pains but no severe injuries caused by throwing themselves down a flight of steps.

"I hate them. I really, really hate them," Lucatiel snarled, kicking the tattered remnants of a partially singed Hollow's waistcloth.

"Agreed. Now, let's grab ourselves some Estus," Erik said eagerly, and they walked up only to once more find despair instead of hope.

"Argh!" Lucatiel howled, smacking the iron bars with her fist. There was indeed a bonfire, nestled in a prison cell at the back of the upstairs room. However, the way to it was blocked by both the cell's bars, and the doorway being barred by a hideously lifelike statue of a sorcerer. No matter how they pushed, pulled, or smacked it the statuary refused to budge. The metal composing the bars was also unbreakable, and Erik tried to use his heat manipulation again but to no avail.

In the end, they had to settle for Erik tying their Estus Flasks to the Handmaiden's ladle and pushing it through the bars to get close enough for the bonfire to react to the emerald glass and refill them with precious liquid flames.

"That was a bust," Erik grumbled. "Who even puts up statues like that in front of important locations?"

"I don't think it is a statue, but perhaps an actual person," Lucatiel mused. She continued at Erik's look. "Ever heard of Basilisks? They're a plague and a menace in both Jugo and Mirrah. They have this accursed gas they spew that turns people to stone if they're exposed to too much, otherwise it just makes you violently ill. A petrified person is extremely fragile, and can shatter with but a touch. But supposedly if a sorcerer or powerful mage is exposed, they harden to a near indestructible form."

"Why then leave him here?"

"Perhaps he was a dangerous prisoner," Lucatiel suggested with a shrug. "Maybe it was cheaper and safer to petrify criminal mages. I don't know. But I do know is that he is blocking a bonfire, and that has made me less than charitable. Let's move on."

With a sigh, Erik nodded and passed back the knightess' Estus Flask while pocketing his own.

"We need to go across the bridge. Something tells me we need to do so," Erik said, and Lucatiel nodded. So far, Erik's gut hadn't been wrong yet. Yet at the same time, the swordswoman of Mirrah felt distinctly uneasy as she looked to their destination. Ever since the two had arrived at the Lost Bastille, a palpable miasma of darkness had darkened the sky. There was no sun, only a dim reflection of it through the unnatural magical clouds. And this mist of gloom seemed to be originating from somewhere in the direction Erik wanted to go. Lucatiel wasn't happy about confronting the source. But what other choice did she have?

The two dashed across the bridge with quick move, their heads protected from the rain of crossbow bolts by their shields. Erik with his Iron Parma, and Lucatiel with her knight issued shield of Mirrah. He hadn't actually seen her use it before, the knightess having been content to store it on her back, under her coat. It was certainly much better looking than his own, with delicate whorls carved into the shield's rim, while it had a faint goldish sheen to it when it caught the firelight. It was also able to deflect the bolts with ease, much more so than Erik's. By the time the two had cannonballed into the watch tower, at least five bolts had lodged themselves deep in the metal of his Iron Parma. It was almost useless, now. Erik grumbled at that. A thousand souls, down the drain! He really needed something better to counter projectiles.

His mood brightened when the Undead reached the top, and found a bonfire blazing away merrily. They took a well-deserved rest after taking out the Hollowed crossbowmen, tossing their remains over the edge into the water. Hopefully that would slow them down from crawling back up.

Down the staircase at the back of the tower's exterior, they then ran into a big, wooden moving platform. Once the Hollows were dispatched and tossed away, they had themselves a nerve wracking trip down, the old, warped wood of their transport creaking and groaning as it moved, both chef and knightess praying it would hold together a bit longer. When it finally touched down the two sighed in relief then shivered in the sudden cold. Ahead of them stairs led down into icy water, the floor submerged waist deep.

"Has it flooded perhaps?" Lucatiel asked. Erik shook his head.

"If the wardens of this place petrify sorcerers to keep them contained, then maybe they purposely filled it with water and locked up clerics and pyromancers down here. Miracles primarily generate lightning, and water would conduct it and fry the offender. And for pyromancers, well, I'm just standing here and the cold and the wet is sapping my Fire Seed's strength. I doubt anyone could produce more than a spark down here," Erik mused. Indeed, he could feel his left hand grow numb with cold as his Fire Seed seemed to retract a bit, as if hiding from its mortal enemy.

"Let's move them. I can see a gate up ahead. It should lead outside," Lucatiel pointed out, and the chef agreed instantly. They hurriedly descended into the water, only to backpedal as three hideously misshapen aberrations lumbered and splashed through the water. They looked as if someone had inflated a human and added some spines and extra bones and limbs! Crashing towards them, Erik and Lucatiel barely registered that they'd fallen back to the mobile platform and activated it. With wide eyes, they watched as the abominations tumbled down into the shaft below them, where the platform had rested mere moments before.

"…You have the Gods' luck," Lucatiel finally managed to say, as they rode back down to the watery chamber and souls flew up to them.

"It's starting to look that way," Erik admitted. Now, without those monsters waiting for them, the slog through the water was safer. Even though they ran into some more exploding Hollows, the water had soaked their black powder and rendered them utterly helpless. Their expression of bewilderment when they tossed themselves in front of Erik and Lucatiel was absolutely comical, before the swordswoman took their heads off their shoulders.

Something interesting that the two found was a hidden chamber containing a magical ring, a Northern Ritual Band, and another silk pouch with a tiny vial of pale white powder. Erik took both, stuffing them into his pouch for safekeeping. He'd have to ask Shalquoir or the Emerald Herald what the stuff was when he saw them next.

At the end of the waterlogged chamber was indeed a gate, as well as two doors that led outside, to another building. This one was even further away from the Lost Bastille proper, located on a tiny island all of its own. The structure looked like a large fortress rather than a prison, so whoever was in there had to be either extremely dangerous or important, likely both.

Travelling down the path to looming building, Erik felt his pulse racing, as if whoever or whatever was here was what he needed to find. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he stared pointedly at the fog gate that swirled before them.

"Ready for battle?" Lucatiel asked, readying her sword. Erik gulped, but raised his dagger and left hand, sparks dancing about.

"Yes."

The portal drew them in, the water clinging to their clothes evaporating as they passed through.

"Bu-bump!"

A sudden red haze settled over Erik's sight, as blood started to pound in his ears, his pulse raced, and his soul seemed to scream out in fear.

"Bu-bump!"

A heartbeat, loud and deafening, filled the circular darkened room as a hunched woman staggered in, clad in ratty robes with an iron mask trapping her head and a pair of solid metal manacles keeping her hands bound. In spite of that, she still managed to clutch a long, rusted, claymore-like sword in one hand, holding it as if it was as light as a wooden stick. Even bent over, she was tall, about eight feet tall, and her full height might put her around nine. Heat oozed off of her, a thick and oppressive feeling.

"Bu-bump!" One last throbbing pulse echoed through the area, and Erik glimpsed a tiny centipede-like bug crawl out of the mask's left eye socket and seem to stare long and hard at Erik, before it hissed and slipped back inside. The blood-mist faded from his eyes, and he found he could move again, and not a moment too soon!

"Raaargh!" With a roar of blood lust, the woman lunged at the two intruders desperate to kill them. Her leap was unnaturally long and high, more so than they had thought she could manage.

Diving to either side, Erik and Lucatiel split up, ready to try and tag team her like they'd done with the Flexile Sentry. Two on one was a valid tactic, after all. As Lucatiel neared, she swung down with an overhead chop. Her blade was caught by the claymore, but she just smirked under her mask. Now her back was wide open! Erik saw the opportunity and dashed in with his dagger, poised to strike…

In a flash, the old woman's left foot lashed out and struck the chef in his stomach, before exploding in a burst of fire that sent him rocketing backwards into the wall.

"Erik!" Lucatiel cried out, seeing her comrade and friend laid low in a single blow! While the knightess was distracted the prisoner twisted her sword out of Lucatiel's block and slashed at her, forcing the swordswoman to step away and dodge.

At the wall Erik coughed and staggered to his feet, feeling his flesh blacken and crack. His shirt was burned badly, and his chest was not much better off. He took a swig of Estus, and sighed in relief as the wound on his body healed.

"OK, whoever she is, she's obviously a master pyromancer," Erik grunted, shrugging off his backpack. It would only slow him down. He watched as the ragged prisoner cast bursts of flames at Lucatiel while coordinating her sword to catch the knightess off guard. Uniquely the flames came from both her swordless left hand, and her feet! He'd never seen or even heard of anyone using anything but their hands to cast Pyromancy!

Grimacing, the cook called up a Fireball of his own, and tossed it at the old woman, hoping to distract her from Lucatiel, who already had several wounds on her body, thin cuts dribbling blackish blood. It worked, but not in the way he'd hoped. The prisoner pivoted on one foot, shoving Lucatiel away and then catching the Fireball in her left hand, dispelling it to smoke!

Erik stared, jaw practically on the floor. He soon had more to worry about though as the iron masked prisoner hurled herself at him, her claymore opening a painful wound on his stomach. The chef felt something nibble at him, as if the metal of the sword was trying to suck the life out of him. Erik leaned back in time to avoid complete disembowelment however, and managed to stab his dagger into her right arm. She hissed and responded with a Great Combustion that blasted Erik aside. Before the woman could stab him though, Lucatiel leaped back into the battle, slicing a deep wound across her back.

What spilled out was not blood, however. Or, maybe it had been at one time, but now it was thick and glowing and practically on fire. The flaming ichor hissed where it landed and Lucatiel swore, flicking her sword around to get the offending substance off. Of course, that proved to be a mistake as She was run through with the claymore while distracted.

"Lucatiel!" Erik shouted, but the knightess was stronger than that. As both a knight and an Undead, she could survive wounds that would incapacitate or kill lesser folk. She slashed at the old woman while still impaled, trying to take her foes head off, but the ragged prisoner just jumped aside.

"Any ideas?" She asked, wincing at the hole in her stomach. Erik tossed her a Lifegem before replying, keeping a wary eye on their powerful enemy.

"We need to slow her down. Try going for her legs," Erik said. "I'm going to try and counter her flames when she uses them. If she can dispel my pyromancies, why can't I do the same to her?"

Unspoken was the fact that she was likely much more skilled than he in the art of flames, and both Undead knew it. But it was worth a shot. They had nothing to lose, except their lives.

Death was not something to truly fear for an Undead. Going Hollow was the true terror. But too many deaths ate away at the mind and body, hastening the chance of becoming lost in insanity and despair. That was why every fight for an Undead was treated as if it was a true life-or-death scenario. Failure and dying meant little at first, but it quickly built up and grew into a major threat.

Erik and Lucatiel shared a nod before darting forward, hoping to catch the prisoner off guard. It didn't, and she launched a torrent of searing flames into their faces as retaliation. Erik raised his left hand and reached out with his Fire Seed to the oncoming pyromancy. He could feel the oncoming attack and see it as a glow of magical force, not just mere flames, and knew just how much more powerful she was. She had to have at least five other Fire Seeds inside her to be able to generate such overwhelming magical power!

But he pushed on, straining. For a moment, he felt as if his surroundings dropped in temperature, despite the fire surging forth at him. The Pyromancy weakened just a tad, and Erik pushed back and for a moment he held it at bay, which was enough to surprise and distract the caster. Seizing the opportunity, Lucatiel pirouetted away from the fire and brought her sword down to the calf of her opponent's right leg. The pyromancer noticed and evaded the blow, but not before a thick chuck was carved out, burning gore splashing to the stone floor.

The old woman hissed and growled as her own steaming fluids cauterized the wound. Erik panted, covered in sweat. His left hand felt hot, as if it might melt, and yet the rest of his body was wracked with cold chills.

When he had struggled against the woman's Pyromancy, he'd felt something click in his mind. Instead of pushing back with his own fire-based powers, Erik had begun to move the fire away, dispersing it and cooling it rather than trying to actually match flames with his opponent. It had worked well, and Erik could sense there was a breakthrough close at hand. Carhillion's parting advice filled his mind.

'If you have a problem, work at it from a different angle, or try and solve it backwards.'

Erik blinked. That was it!

"Lucatiel! Try and drive her over to me, I have a plan!" Erik shouted, and the knightess just nodded in acknowledgement. With measured strides, the masked swordswoman clashed blades with the imprisoned pyromancer, forcing her to take steps back. It had taken a while, but the knightess had finally figured out her opponent's pace and technique.

Whoever she was, she was strong. Lucatiel freely admitted this. But she was clumsy with the sword, her power all stemming from her overwhelming physical strength. With her hands bound as well, the prisoner had even less freedom of movement to use her claymore, which meant she had to swing her arms more widely and that made her have exaggerated movements, which while fast were easy to read. Lucatiel had analyzed her foe and had a grasp of her talent. Now, she could go on the offensive, pushing back and herding the insane iron masked pyromancer towards the chef.

Lucatiel trusted Erik. If he said he had a plan, then he had one.

As the pair of dueling women got closer, Erik made his move. Shouting loudly to get the old prisoner's attention, He ran at her, dagger raised high. Lucatiel was confused, as it seemed as if Erik had gone mad. The Lost Sinner saw this as well, and spun around contemptuously, stabbing her blade clean through his chest.

To both women's surprise though, the chef just laughed as if he'd expected this. Then, he reached out and grabbed the old pyromancer's wrists. A tingle ran up her arms, and she started to twist, trying to break free. Yet Erik clung on, and summoned up his Fire Seed's strength. Only, this time, he did not call out its flames. Instead, he recalled them, sucking in the heat from the arms of his foe and pushing in the cold that lingered around him to where the warmth had once resided.

A pained and fearful scream ripped her way through the demented hag's lips, and she tried even harder to escape. There, before everyone's eyes, was a layer of ice and frost creeping up her arms and heading towards the rest of her body. She flailed around, panicking, trying to get Erik off of her, but the chef held on even as he was rammed into the walls. Lucatiel snapped out of her daze, and she tackled the Lost Sinner, trying to hold her still while Erik did his work. More and more ice popped and crackled to life, crawling inexorably up the pyromancer. Soon, only her head and feet remained free of the frozen prison she found herself in. A thin screech came from her left eye socket, and a tiny, mutated worm tried to escape but the ice snagged it, binding it in a cold embrace. Though it was cold, Lucatiel hung on, just in case her captive struggled some more, and was silently glad the ice seemed to avoid her.

Erik finally released the old woman, arms flopping to his sides as he gasped and panted. The pain in his chest that he'd been ignoring flooded back, and he almost cried out. Sweat stained his entire body as well, making him feel wet and cold thanks to the wafts of icy air coming from his impromptu ice sculpture.

Without warning there was a cracking sound and Erik collapsed to the floor, long sword still using him as a sheath. However, the Lost Sinner's hands still were holding on the weapon, they just weren't attached to her body. The ice had not just covered the woman, it had penetrated and fused with her to the bone, making her flesh and blood as close to pure ice as possible. Now cracks started to appear and the chain reaction started from her snapped arms and spread to the rest of her. Soon, the Lost Sinner collapsed into a shattered pile of frozen meat chunks.

Souls rushed forth from her remains, and Erik sighed in relief, then winced as Lucatiel pulled the Lost Sinner's sword from his chest. The knightess examined the blade before grunting in appreciation, and tied the much long blade to her back.

"Can never have enough weapons or options," Lucatiel said when he looked at her in bemusement. Their banter stopped dead through as this time, two massive souls appeared before Erik.

One was gold, yellow, and red, and looked like a miniature bonfire had somehow manifested. The other had the same colors and style but was bigger, rounder, and throbbed with black veins as it beat almost like a heart. Erik tensed and prepared for the influx of sights he'd soon see. He wasn't proved wrong, or kept waiting long.

A young woman in strange white priestess robes stared with longing at an extremely tall man clad in purest white armor, wearing a majestic crown of silver and ivory with a glowing golden gem set in the middle. It was the legendary Ivory King of Eleum Loyce, his face handsome enough to make any woman swoon. She watched as the Ivory King doted on a frail looking woman dressed in white and grey robes with a black veil over her head and face, who seemed to be naught but Fear wrapped in flesh. But her kindness was radiant, and even though the lesser priestess was jealous, she loved her mentor like a sister and mother.

The scene shifts, and Erik can see a terrible fire boiling away in the center of the earth. Lava oozes and flows like water, and before it stands the young woman, now in much more ornate garb, and with a glass eye in her left socket. She was arguing with the Ivory King and the Lady of Fear. He could not hear them, for the sound of fire was too much. Only faint snippets audible.

"Too dangerous… folly…" "Only chance… let me help!" "Chaos… contain… cannot control…"

The scene shifted again, showing the woman alone this time, screaming as her skin is alive with writhing, crawling flames. The glass eyes has fallen out and in the emptiness a tiny worm burrows, whispering promises of success and love to the desperate priestess.

Now, the priestess kneels in chains, shackled and wearing a black iron mask to seal the Worm of Chaos. She is before a furious Ivory King, who shouts and screams terrible oaths at her. He commands a pair of white armored knights to take her away. As she begged and pleaded for mercy, claiming it was all for him, that she loved him, the Ivory King barked an angry laugh.

"Love? You dare to say you love me after what you did? Your selfishness and jealousy has doomed us, and now I go to hold back the Chaos so it does not consume the world." He turned away, flanked by dozens of knights. "I may have loved you once as well, but no more. Get out of my sight!"

At those words, the woman sank to her knees and cried, the last thing she sees being the petite woman of Fear standing at the king's back with a look of profound sadness. All the while, the Worm whispers lies into her head and laughing all the way to the Lost Bastille…

Erik twitched, but the visions weren't done yet! He saw everything in his mind shift violently, and soon he was standing in the presence of a woman.

To put it simply, she was beautiful. No mortal woman could possibly match her, for hers was an unearthly radiance. Hot as fire and just as dangerous! Hair as black and smooth and elegant as ebony cascaded down her shoulders, and ruby red lips locked themselves in a sensual smile. Most alluring were her eyes; one was a rich brown with a black pupil, the other was a royal purple with a sapphire blue center.

He saw her kneel before a bright flame that was at once limitless in scope and size, but also terribly fragile and small. She reached in and removed an ember from within that glowed purest white. It melded with her and she rose, flames literally dancing in her eyes.

The next Erik saw of her, she wore black and gold robes that accented her curvy figure while holding a staff made of strange wood. She was tall as well, and loomed over seven smaller and younger women. All held similar staffs, and they conjured up vast firestorms that swept across a grey landscape, barren of life save for mountainous Arch-trees and stone scaled Ancient Dragons. She cast them down, and made her name known to all; Beware of the Queen of Fire and Life! All hail the Witch of Izalith!

The scene shifted again, and now he saw the beautiful witch arguing with two other figures. One was a bearded man, taller than her and crowned with lightning and sunlight. The other was a mass of bones and putrid grave soil, held together by a mind and soul made of death itself. They spoke in a booming, ancient tongue, but the meanings were someone made clear to Erik. These three were fighting over what to do with the First Flame! The Dead One was apathetic. All perished, so why not the Flame and Life and Light?

The King of Light shook his head, saying there was a need to preserve the First Flame, but the risks of trying to create a new one were too high. The dangers of accidentally snuffing it out were all too real.

The Witch of Izalith protested that her research was sound! The Fire Keepers had already proven to be a successful experiment, and with an entire Lord Soul a Second Flame would rise and continue the Age of Gods! In the end though no consensus was reached, and the three split.

Now, the Witch was alone, watching as her kingdom sunk into lava that bubbled up from the earth. Her beautiful body was gone, wracked and twisted and mutating into a monstrous form. Demons cavorted in the death of her domain, born from her own people as they were touched by what she had wrought; Chaos, a new Element, beyond the Light and Dark and the Life and Death granted by the First Flame. The Witch wept as she saw her own children become abominations, insect-like and mad, punished for their mother's sin. She cried and cried, even as her eyes turned to ash and her throat melted away and all that was left was a Worm that waited to be reborn…

Erik suddenly screamed, his body wrapped in a cloak of pure white flames! Lucatiel cried out in shock and tried to approach but was driven back by the pressure of the heat. The fire faded as soon as it appeared, and the knightess took the chance to try and help the Undead chef.

"Erik, are you alright?!" What happened, what did you see?" Lucatiel cried, getting her friend into a sitting position.

"It was… bad… I saw the birth of Chaos, and the one who did it," Erik said, heart still pounding. Lucatiel's jaw dropped behind her mask, and she could only guess at what he'd seen. Chaos was well known to anyone. You did not have to be religious to have heard of what it was or did. Most stories varied widely, but some common points were there; Chaos was unnatural, and those it tainted became Demons. Wielders of Chaos could control a twisted and evil form of Pyromancy, and supposedly buried somewhere in Drangleic was a gateway to its realm. But to actually see it…

"Anything else?" Lucatiel queried. Erik nodded, wincing as he did so. He felt sore all over, and downed a mouthful of Estus before continuing.

"I saw who that old woman was… she was priestess of Eleum Loyce, and I think she tried to do something with the Chaos that was hidden beneath the kingdom."

"You're saying the source of all Chaos is sitting beneath us as we speak?" Lucatiel asked, pale. The chef shook his head.

"Sort of? It looks like it is mainly in the north, and that the Ivory King did something to contain it. It wasn't very clear." He stood up, brushing ash and frost off himself. He also decided to keep the secret of the mysterious Witch a secret for now. But for some reason he felt as if he'd met her before. "We should move on. I feel something in the back of this place."

The knightess only bobbed her head, eyes wordlessly fixated on Erik. Or rather, his now bare midriff. The Pyromancy from earlier had burned his shirt open, giving the swordswoman a good look at the chef's surprisingly toned upper body. He was not nearly as buff as a knight, or even a farmer, but he had a muscle tone that complimented his handsome face.

Lucatiel blushed and shook her head. Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! He's just a friend!

"You OK, Lucatiel?" Erik asked, picking up his backpack and putting it on again. She just nodded and walked to his side, yet again glad her mask covered her face. Erik shrugged and headed out, the knightess trailing behind.

The two made their way deeper into the prison, coming across a chest that contained nothing but a single fat branch of wood. It was either a joke, or something more valuable than it appeared. Erik didn't care either way. It had a soft fragrant aroma too it, and he felt it would make good charcoal for cooking.

Heading in further, there was nothing else in the area except a solitary bonfire. It had a different feel to it though, as if it was older and more potent. Approaching it, the flames from it lashed out, wrapping around the two Undead and pulling them close! The tongues of flame did not burn or hurt, but they were held fast none the less!

With cries of fear on their lips, they shut their eyes as the bonfire exploded into a pillar of primal flames.

They kept screaming and felt themselves thrown to the floor suddenly. In panic the chef and knightess scrambled to their feet, ready for anything!

"Oh me, oh my! Look what the cat dragged in! I see you've discovered a Primal Bonfire. They certainly take some getting used to." A cheerful and familiar voice greeted them, but the Undead were too stunned to make much note of it.

Somehow, the bonfire in the prison had sucked them in and spat them out at the bonfire in Majula, with the sun in its position for early morning.

And there was Shalquoir and the Emerald Herald, as well as all the other Undead of Majula, looking at the two travelers like they were crazy.

"Wha, buh, how..." Erik stammered. The immortal cat laughed airily and sauntered over to them.

"Oh my friend, it seems you still have much to learn about Drangleic…"