Chapter 16: Bone Yards and Red Invasions

What Drangleic had in store for the two Undead travelers was apparently lots of uphill walking, ruins filled with Hollows, and a dead forest also filled to the brim with Hollow!

The Huntsman's Copse was eerie and had a sense of dread hanging in the air. Night had fallen completely by the time Erik and Lucatiel reached the forest proper, and the moon and stars gleamed in the dark, providing illumination alongside mountains of burning corpses. The pyres were far off, up on hills and behind rocky outcroppings, yet their light and charred smells filled the hilly region with unsettling shadows and sensations.

The Hollows too were vile and disgusting, many wearing bandages like the Undead Jailors of the Lost Bastille, and were armed in much the same way with Man-Catchers and Pyromancy Gloves. The rest were clad like thieves or near naked, neither proving much trouble. Lucatiel's sword was both long and heavy, and it split the Man-Catchers of the Jailors in twain, while Erik's Pyromancy, ladle and dagger were enough to dispatch the smaller, weaker Hollows.

As the chef fought, he was slowly starting to come to understand how he could use his magic to create ice instead of fire. So far, he could only disperse and absorb the heat around him, which by extension caused frost to appear nearby on enemy targets. From there he hoped to actually generate ice rather than steal heat like he had done spontaneously with the Lost Sinner. And as Carhillion had requested he made notes when he could about his progress.

A full day had passed since the pair had entered the dark and gloomy woods, and the going was rough. Many of the paths and roads were carved straight into the sides of the cliffs and hills, which made them very narrow and the drop very perilous. That which wasn't steep and sloped was uneven, filled with dead trees, and crawling with Hollows. More and more though many of the Undead Jailors and Slavers worn a unique emblem on their ragged clothes; a black bull's head, the symbol of the Old Iron King of Alken. These men had once been servants to the king before their land fell to the Curse. Erik wondered how it all had happened.

Advancing through the copse did bring one bright spot for Erik; he was able to harvest a large number of Moon Butterflies for their feelers and meat. He cooked some but saved most of it, wanting to gather more ingredients before trying any of Donovan's more advanced recipes.

"What purpose do the feelers have?" Lucatiel finally asked after the seventh moth-like insect. Erik hadn't even paused in his dressing of the corpse as he answered.

"Alone, the feelers of a Moon Butterfly are useless. Tasteless, little nutritional value, and slightly poisonous because of the dust scales of the rest of the body. But, if they are boiled in water with Twilight Dusk Herbs they lose their toxicity and make an excellent substitute for sugar. They can then be boiled to make a syrupy sauce or dried and ground up to make something akin to powdered sugar. It was apparently a staple for desserts in Drangleic, since sugarcane only grows in Lanafir and is difficult to obtain in large quantities or transport long distances."

Lucatiel was impressed by her companion's knowledge, even if it was taken from a book. Not to mention she was looking forward to having something sweet. Most candies and treats in Mirrah were made of honey or maple syrup, since sugar was so expensive. Even as a knight she'd only ever eaten food made with real sugar a few times.

Currently the two Undead had emerged from a dense section of forest to stand on a long, rocky cliff. A faint orange glow could be seen, and Erik grinned in relief. A bonfire! It was below a bridge that led to a giant coliseum built into the side of the mountains across a deep valley. The pair rested only long enough to refill their Estus. After that they moved on, getting bad vibes from the far off structure.

A sudden chill ran down the chef's spine as he spared a glance at the distant building. Something was very wrong with that place, and he could tell Lucatiel sensed the same thing. The young Undead cook could feel something deeper in that place. It felt, strangely, like the Soul of the Old Witch he carried, as if a fragment of the First Flame that was not a bonfire was up there.

"Erik, is that where we need to go?" Lucatiel asked cautiously, and to her relief the chef shook his head.

"No. Something is up there, but I do not feel drawn to it. If anything, I feel repulsed. I believe we should avoid that place as much as possible." The knightess' shoulders relaxed slightly.

"Good. Where to then?"

"Deeper into the woods, towards the mountains. I think we need to head further into Alken, maybe all the way to the Iron Citadel itself," Erik said, pointing off to the looming peaks of the Coalbrand Mountains which divided the territories of Alken from the rest of Drangleic. Lucatiel grimaced but nodded. Heading to the capitol of the Old Iron King's domain meant heading through the poisonous fume choked Harvest Valley. But if that was what had to be done, then there was no choice.

"Do you have any idea where to go from here to reach that place?" Erik asked after walking for a bit, glancing back at Lucatiel. She nodded and pulled out a sheet of parchment covered in lines and runes and drawings.

"I investigated the manor you told me about a while ago, the one with the stone map. I copied what I could, but it wasn't much. But based on what I did obtain, there should be a pass through the mountains leading from here to the Harvest Valley. We should look for a gatehouse or some sort of large building that was built into the passageway to act as a toll gate."

"Huh, that sounds useful… what about reaching it? How do we get to it from here?" Erik asked while staying on guard as he surveyed the area to avoid being ambushed.

"I think there should be a series of bridges that connect from here to there. Other than that. Walking."

"Joy. You know I'm glad that the Undead don't get blisters. Because this would be a lot worse if that was the case," Erik griped, earning a chuckle from his knightess.

"Don't be such a baby, Erik. You can face down an ancient demented pyromancer and abominations of nature yet all it takes to defeat you is a bit of walking? The bards will sing of this for ages to come," Lucatiel laughed, and after a pout, the chef joined in as well.

Eventually the pair came to a very large bridge that was sealed with a pair of large metal doors. There was a lever nearby, so thankfully they did not have to worry too much about finding alternate routes. But the two Undead quickly wished for one.

Across the metal bridge were three massive bonfires, except they were not kind and gentle ones that refilled Estus and mended wounds. These were towering mounds of corpses, set aflame and used as fuel for dark, twisted fires born of anguish and malice.

Erik's Fire Seed throbbed painfully as he got closer, and tiny sparks spat out, as if finding the very existence of these dark flames an insult to be purged in righteous, true flames. But the cook squeezed his left hand shut, desperate to keep the Pyromancy contained. There would be time for venting later. But not now.

The corpse-bonfires were much larger than any of the others Erik and Lucatiel had seen so far, and were positioned in a semi-circle around a collection of squat dome shaped prison cells, all but one empty, though there was an actual healing bonfire secreted away in one that stood nearby. They'd use it later. For now it was best to investigate why one of the prison cells had a guest.

Inside the occupied cell was a man in chainmail and leather, with a large two handed axe and a face covering helmet. He glared up as the two freed Undead approached, his stare hardening as he spotted Lucatiel and her outfit.

"You there, boy! Please, get me out of here!" The man demanded, and Lucatiel gasped as she saw the insignia on his outfit.

"You there! You wear the armor of a soldier of Mirrah! Who are you?" Lucatiel inquired, a feeling of unease in her chest as the warrior turned his stare to her.

"I am Creighton, and yes I am from Mirrah. Once part of the Border Guard before the Curse damned me. What is it to you, knight?"

"Have you perhaps seen any other Mirrahian knight about? Specifically one with a deep blue feather in his cap and a sword with the inscription 'I shall not die before you' near the hilt?"

"I've seen a few knights, but most were Hollowed. Maybe one had blue feathers instead of red or yellow, I wasn't really paying attention to that at the time. And if I was that close to a sword to see such a message on it, the wielder is either Hollowed or a killer." Creighton chuckled at that last part, infuriating Lucatiel.

"So you have not?"

"No. Now are you going to let me out of this cage or not?"

"Where is the key?" Erik asked, looking the prison door over. It looked extremely sturdy and fairly well maintained, so force would have to be a final option.

"The bastard who locked me in here threw the key away! I don't know where it went," Creighton lamented. Erik just frowned, then smiled as inspiration struck.

"Step back, I'll see what I can do," Erik promised, and the trapped soldier obliged by pressing up against the far wall. Taking a deep breath, Erik grabbed the bars with his hands and focused on the metal, letting his Pyromancy seek out the door's distant memories of heat and being hot, and pulled. Much slower than before, the bars began to turn bright red, radiating heat before hissing as they melted away. Erik then pulled the remaining bits of molten slag away revealing a decently sized hole for a human to fit through. Creighton nodded, dutifully impressed by the display and gave the chef a deep bow as he extracted himself.

"Thank you for that, dear friend! I am in your debt! I'll be sure to remember this! Now, I'm off to find the rat who did this to me… thinks he can escape? Ha! No one crosses me…" The soldier from Mirrah wandered off in the direction Erik and Lucatiel had come from, his mutter threats and complaining faded as he left.

"Everything alright, Lucatiel?" Erik asked, noticing the pensive stance the knightess had assumed.

"Perhaps… his name seems familiar for some reason. He wasn't a knight… something else then?" She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. "Whatever it was, I don't like the feel he gave off. He shames the uniform he wears."

"If we run into him again we can stay away if you wish," Erik offered, and his companion nodded in thanks.

They took off, heading down the second bridge across from the bonfires and dispatched the Hollowed thief on the other end, coming to a winding path cut into a valley. At the far end a large yet ruined building stood, the bull of the Old Iron King still visible despite the march of time all over. However, there was one problem; a fog gate, barely noticeable due to the distance. It was not an immediate issue, as they still had to walk quite a ways to get there, but regardless the point remained. There was something powerful on the other side of it!

A sound that was both a deep groan and vibrating hum split the air all of a sudden, and dread settled on Erik and Lucatiel's shoulders as their stomachs rebelled against them. A lump of fear formed in the chef's throat, and Lucatiel tensed. She'd heard and felt this before. It had been a week or so into her stay in Drangleic, and she'd had a run-in with the most reviled force in the land: The Brotherhood of Blood! This bone rattling sound accompanied by a wave of nausea was the hallmark of an Invasion, a twisted form of spacial transference used by other Convenants and Soapstone users.

"Erik, we need to find cover! Somewhere we can make a stand against the Invader," Lucatiel said, grabbing his arm. Erik stopped shaking as he was reminded of his powerful friend's presence, and he nodded eagerly. Quickly the cook pointed behind them to a squat structure they had passed and cleared of Hollows just moments ago.

"There, that prison dome! We can hide inside and spring an ambush when they get closer," Erik suggested, and Lucatiel grinned and nodded her head. Normally she'd be adverse to such tactics, but these were Brotherhood bastards, and had it coming. Not to mention it gave her a thrill of vindictive pleasure to know she'd be defeating one of them the same way they'd done to her!

Unfortunately their Invader had had the same idea, and a red glowing phantom appeared, forming a few feet in front of them and blocking their way to the cell.

It was a woman, judging from the two round bulges only partially obscured by her robe. The make was that of a sorceress of some kind, but the rest of her outfit made it hard to tell. On her head she wore a large horned skull with an odd eye-like orb embedded in the forehead. In her hands she carried a long scythe made of bone and wood and a similarly made shield. A faint tang of ozone, a telltale sign of magic, hung around the Invader, and Erik tensed as her gaze fell on him.

Saulen's words came back to him. Enemies with sufficient talent could sense powerful souls huh? And for a group of ruthless killers like the Brotherhood, his own souls likely seemed far too tantalizing to ignore. He was proved right when the woman swung them with her weapon.

Erik stepped back and Lucatiel took a defensive stance, blocking the polearm with her great sword. Erik conjured a Fireball and hurled it, smirking as the Invader was forced to raise her shield to block it. But the sorceress spun, swinging her scythe in a wide arc. Again Lucatiel blocked, but the blow jarred her and she took a step back in response. There was not a lot of room on the narrow road to fight, and one small misstep could send any of them over the edge to a painful meeting with the rocks below.

The Invader knew this though, and kept up her attacks while blocking Erik's Fireballs, keeping the Undead travelers on the defensive. Without warning a black glow wreathed her weapon's edge and a shockwave of darkness lashed out! It was a Hex of some sort, Erik's magic senses informing him of that. The darkness was thick and heavy, and Lucatiel had not been expecting such an attack. It staggered her, leaving her vulnerable to an attack! The scythe never reached the knightess though, as Erik stepped in and took the blow, the point digging deep into his shoulder while his dagger turned aside most of the force.

"Burn!" Erik growled, and he unleashed a Combustion in the Red Phantom's skulled face. She staggered back, a silent scream making the air tremble. Erik grinned, but knew this was not a real problem. It was two on one, and Lucatiel was much more skilled than this woman when it came to handling weapons!

The bravado was instantly sucked out though as first one and then two more convulsions of reality hit them. Erik paled and Lucatiel's eyes widened in fear.

Two more Invaders?! The skull-wearing Invader suddenly relaxed her posture, and an air of smugness suffused her body language.

Indeed, a pair of Red Phantoms were manifesting behind them, and Erik's stomach dropped. One was a lanky bandaged man with a Man-Catcher polearm and a whip, much like some of the Hollows they'd seen elsewhere in the Huntsman's Copse. The other, though, was a much more terrifying sight.

He was not overly large, but his heavy and bulky armor gave him an air of hugeness that was more than a little intimidating. Then there was his armaments, which included a very large great sword and an equally large tower shield. Both of them blocked any escape down that way, and with a Hexer in front and two melee focused Invaders behind, this was not going to end well for Erik or Lucatiel.

"Push through!" Erik shouted and he and the knightess rushed the female Invader, hoping to smash her aside and have a better chance against the other two that way. Sensing their plan, the woman reacted by casting a spell. Space seemed to distort violently in front of her, and the two charging Undead were thrown back as they collided with what felt like a steel wall. Ok, so she had a way to deny them escape. Great. What else could go wrong?

Erik's question was sadly answered by what felt like a spiked collar attaching itself around his neck and he was lifted bodily into the air, his feet kicking helplessly. Pain shot through his throat as sharp spikes drove into his flesh, and he could vaguely make out the bandaged Invader holding him aloft with his Man-Catcher while Lucatiel had a desperate battle against the heavily armored one. The Hexer just laughed, soundlessly doubled over as she pointed and mocked the chef's current situation. Meanwhile, the Man-Catcher was maneuvered so its prisoner was dangling over the sheer drop, and would thus fall if either of them moved around too much.

Erik closed his eyes. The fall would hurt, but he'd be back at the bonfire in time. Not that it wouldn't be bad. What would be was that his souls, which were substantial in number, would be lost and he had no doubt that the Invaders were going to steal them before he could run back and reclaim them. He only hoped Lucatiel would spawn at the bonfire soon after him.

The Man-Catcher jerked about suddenly, and Erik yelped as the sharp bits pressing on his neck drew blood. He opened his eyes and tried to turn his head to glare at the offending Invader. If he was going to die the least the Red Phantoms could do was make it quick and painless. However, the glare quickly morphed into surprise as he saw the bisected halves of the bandaged Invader tumbling down into the ravine before fading into red mist and light and a stream of souls.

Erik felt himself dropped down onto the ground away from the drop and with hurried hands he removed the weapon restraining his neck. Twisting around a wide smile broke across the chef's face. There, standing triumphantly with a large battle axe, was a very familiar blue person.

"Gordin!" Erik cried, glad to see the tall Forossan Blue Sentinel. The Blue Phantom nodded before turning to the great sword wielding Red Phantom. Both of them stared each other down before charging, the Invader ignoring Lucatiel now that a greater threat had appeared. That left the Hexer, who was starting to think the tables had turned.

Erik dashed over to the female Red Phantom and grabbed her wrist with his left hand, his Fire Seed pulsing eagerly. He'd discovered that a Phantom did not possess body heat, being an astral projection sustained with magic. But that did not stop substances from affecting them, and the chef's smile quickly turned feral as he blew the Hexer's arm off with a Combustion. A noiseless scream is all the Hexer can release as her scythe falls to the ground along with her right hand, elbow, and part of her shoulder. Thankfully her suffering is short lived as Lucatiel runs her through before ripping her blade upwards at an angle, bisecting the woman.

As souls rush into the two Undead they turned back to observe the battle between the Forossan and the Brother of Blood. Gordin was faster than the heavily armed and armored swordsman, but his blows did not do that much damage against the massive shield and thick armor. Both combatants knew this, and were trying to find a way around this. And the Blue Sentinel managed it first, clinching the battle.

Gordin whipped out a clerics chime, to the surprise over everyone present, and then smirked as the Emit Force Miracle erupted forth and stagger the Red Phantom, making him lose his footing and tumble over the edge into the deep valley. The Blue Sentinel just gave a mocking wave at the Brother of Blood as he plunged to his doom, before turning to Erik and Lucatiel and giving a polite bow. Once the souls flew up to them, the Blue Phantom started to flicker and fade, Gordin's face breaking into a wide grin as he looked at Erik before winking as he vanished.

The chef blinked slowly, confused by Gordin's gesture. He turned to Lucatiel to inquire about her thoughts on the matter, before he froze like a deer in the presence of a wolf. The knightess' armor had taken a beating from the Red Phantoms, and at some point her hat and mask had been knocked off, along with the ribbon tying her hair back. Her soft brown hair now lay loose in a fan around her shoulders with her bangs drooping in an alluring manner.

He gulped as odd feelings stirred in his stomach and he looked away. It was the first time he had ever seen her let her hair down, and he couldn't deny she was lovely.

Lucatiel just tilted her head unknowingly and bent down, retrieving her hat, the front brim bearing a long cut in it. In addition her mask was busted, shorn clean in twain by a glancing blow from the great sword. She jammed her cap back onto her head, and rolled her shoulders. The mask halves were slipped into her pouch, to be repaired by Lenigrast later.

"Come on Erik. We should try and push through the Fog Gate tonight, before anything else. I really do not want to linger in this place any longer and draw more Invaders to us."

The chef agreed, and the two hurried down the rugged mountain path and reached the run-down building, the fog almost leering at them.

"Ready?" Erik asked. Lucatiel nodded.

"Ready." Pushing through the fog was easy as always. But as soon as they emerged into the room, both Undead knew this was going to be 'interesting.'

Corpses. Mountains of them, piled around the room. Some, the ones at the top, were rotting, the flesh hanging in shreds and all but dripping into puddles of drying gore. At the bottom were bleached white bones, stark pinpricks of ivory in the darkness of the room. The pillars of death crackled with tainted flames just like the ones outside. The floor was carpeted in bones while the walls were buried beneath them, and furniture, specifically three throne-like chairs, were built from the remains in a macabre display of death. Lastly, seated atop these grim seats was a trio of skeletal men, each as different as they were the same.

Each wore tattered black and gold magisterial robes, accompanied with a crown made of bones on their fleshless skulls. One carried a scythe similar to the one used by the Hexer Invader, one bore a boney spear, and the last clutched a sorcerer's staff made of bone. Creakingly they rose, red lights flaring to life in their sockets as they leapt down from their thrones and advanced upon Erik and Lucatiel.

"Take out the sorcerer first!" Erik shouted. He knew how dangerous long ranged attacks could be, and it was always best to eliminate people who could use such things first. His short time in Drangleic had already taught him so. Lucatiel nodded, completely in agreement, and soon she was off, bashing apart the mage skeleton. Meanwhile, Erik lobbed Fireballs at the other two skeletal lords to keep them from his partner. They turned, and were fairly slow, even compared to other Hollows.

How were they even able to animate themselves, though? Erik knew Necromancy was a school of magic, albeit a banned one, and it fit under the art of Hexes. And it would take an extremely powerful magic caster to maintain the spell on themselves, let alone three others. And to be honest, Erik doubted that the sorcerer of the trio could manage even preserving himself. So he let his senses expand, relying on the Fire Seed to filter the magic and find a solution to the problem. It came quickly.

The answer was the burning piles of bones! These three men were sustaining their existence via the bodies of the Undead around them, using Hexes to create pseudo-bonfires to channel Estus-like energy to themselves. And they needed lots of bodies to maintain the spell.

If that was the case, he could slay all three by extinguishing the fires in this room! Perhaps not permanently, seeing as there were numerous fake bonfires all over the Huntsman's Copse, but it would take exceedingly long to regenerate from the loss of the primary bonefires.

Spinning around, Erik slapped his left palm onto the nearest unholy pyre, and let his Pyromancy go wild. It was already affronted by these cheap blasphemies to the First Flame, and it burned bright to eradicate them.

The Skeleton Lords screeched as their source of power was attacked, and they lunged at Erik. He countered by throwing a Fire Bomb onto their feet, causing them to skip back a step from the explosion. Erik just gritted his teeth and ignored the stinging, and quick started to suck the heat out of the room, suffocating the dark flames with a slow creep of magical ice. Lucatiel cried out in triumph as the sorcerer skeleton clattered to the floor dead, and turned her attention towards defending the cook from his attackers while he finished his mad scheme. Before she could reach Erik though four skeletons rose from the ground, piecing themselves together as the soul of the crown wearing sorcerer entered them instead of the knightess. A failsafe of some sort, to punish the killer of a Skeleton Lord by both denying souls and spawning additional foes.

Despite being crazy and insane, Erik's plan was working. The two remaining Skeleton Lords movements became sluggish, and they were easily parried by Erik even as he focused on purging their necromantic fuel source. He was using the Handmaiden's Ladle for this, as the blunt instrument was adept at cracking bones thanks to its unusual hardness. But the Pyromancy was taking a toll on him. He face became pale and sweat beaded along his brow, while his breathing became labored.

"Just a little bit more," He panted, and pushed even harder. The duo of skeletal overseers was still advancing, and he didn't think he could last much longer. Desperate, Erik let his Fire Seed feed on the souls he'd collected as fuel, and it greedily ate them up at a rapid pace. Suddenly, there was a loud 'Pop!' and the pyre of bones the chef had been touching exploded, steam rushing out and filling the area. There was a shrill hissing screaming, like a boiling teapot, and the cursed flames of the other pyres quickly died out. With them the Skeleton Lords collapsed as well, no longer sustained by the magic. Even the minor skeletons fighting Lucatiel dropped dead again, and souls flooded into the victorious pair.

"Well done, Erik," Lucatiel praised, kicking the skull of a nearby fallen lord, sending it and its crown skittering across the floor.

"That… was…" Erik gasped. His whole body felt cold and numb from overusing his Pyromancy to such a degree. He looked down at his palm and flinched at what he saw. The Fire Seed was visible due to the flesh of his hand having been burned away to the bone, the enchanted item suspended by nerves of glowing red energy that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. What flesh wasn't charred and black was covered in ice and looked frostbitten, giving his hand a very unique duel appearance of both burned beyond recognition and badly frozen like a slab of winter pork. Lucatiel winced in sympathy as she caught sight of the wound.

"That looks extremely bad. Does it hurt?"

"I don't think I have any working nerves with which to feel pain anymore, Luca," Erik joked, trying to alleviate the situation with her nickname. The knightess didn't buy it though and handed him her Estus Flask. He waved it away and took out his own. In the end it took the entire contents of both his Flask and Lucatiel's to undo the damage, and even then his hand remained numb, as if it had fallen asleep and was trying to wake up but all he got was a sensation of pins-and-needles.

During the Estus chug-fest, a black and red soul had materialized, and Erik took it, watching as the visions of the previous owners filled him.

The chef appeared in a room, filled with expensive looking art and made out of finely carved granite and local stone. It took a moment for Erik to realize that this was in fact the room he was currently standing in, just free of unholy pyres and bones. Three men stood inside, each one wearing black and gold robes of a high ranked official. The emblem of the Old Iron King was stitched upon the back, and they were conversing with each other in worried tones.

"…Alken has fallen! The Iron Citadel has been swallowed by the earth and even now lava spews forth, incinerating the land!" The one who spoke had long black hair and clutched an ornate spear tightly, as if afraid to let go.

"What of the king, or the queen? How about the prince? Where are they?" A magister with blond hair and an elegant scythe demanded, and the spearman shook his head.

"The king was last seen combating a demon of some sort that rose from the lava, but after killing it he began screaming and melting! The queen remains locked away in her fortified manor near the Harvest Valley. We are unsure if she is even aware of what is going on, or if she cares."

"The harlot is barely a noble, let alone a queen. All she cares about is her own vanity," the scythe carrying man spat in disgust. "It is the prince we should be concerned with. Where is he?"

"Gone! I know not where he fled, but he escaped the Bell Tower with the aid of that damned Berserker! I fear he has gone to rescue his love the princess of Venn from the Lost Bastille and make a life away from here. He never was one for ruling," The spearman said in annoyance, and the other two men grunt in agreement.

"…What do we do now? Alken is crumbling around us, and you can bet your boots Vendrick will seize this opportunity to invade. Should we swear fealty to him when he comes?"

"No. We shall not." The spear and scythe wielders turned to the third member, a wizened old man with white hair and a sorcerer's staff. "We shall fortify this area, and cut ourselves off from the other kingdoms. Form an enclave of our own and rule it ourselves. Vendrick's time is drawing to an end as we speak. First Eleum Loyce, now Alken… Drangleic will be the next to fall, and we shall be prepared for that."

"We do not have the man power to do so! The Jailors and Executioners are good at hunting Undead, not fighting off trained soldiers. How can we maintain our power?" The spearman asked, worried yet intrigued, an expression of greed appearing in his eyes, much like with the scythe wielder.

"We shall turn to Nahr Alma." The sorcerers declaration was not met with shouts of outrage as would be expected, but contemplation.

"That might work… if we give his disciples in the Brotherhood some land and the right to hunt within certain limits they could be a powerful ally… the coliseum would make a good offering…" mused the scythe carrying man.

"Nahr Alma and the Brotherhood will want sacrifices… and how can we ensure they do not turn on us?" The spearman inquired, and the sorcerer's eyes twinkled with dark mirth.

"Allow me to tell you of a spell I recently obtained from Heretic Navlaan…"

The vision dissipated, and Erik was back in the present, shaking off the effect of the soul.

"Anything interesting?" Lucatiel asked, and Erik nodded.

"The skeletons we just defeated were officials in Alken. I think they fled here after the fall of the kingdom and set up their own little territory. They were also working with the Brotherhood of Blood. I also found their base. It is the coliseum up on the other side of the valley we crossed."

Lucatiel gasped and grabbed the chef by the shoulders.

"That is valuable information! The Blue Sentinels have been searching for their main site of operations for a while, and with this we can let them know where it is! We can help end the Brotherhood's reign of terror!"

"I know! We'll tell them as soon as we can. We should finish this quest first though." Erik saw the questioning look in Lucatiel's eyes, and he explained.

"Targey and the rest will want to assault their fortress as soon as they get the information, and I'll bet they'll want us to join them for it. I'd feel better completing this current task though. Besides, we can teleport with the bonfires now. That way we can be inform them as soon as possible."

The knightess looked hesitant, but reluctantly nodded. It was her master's choice, after all, and she'd sworn to follow him and all of his decisions. He wasn't running away, either, just concerned with finding the next powerful soul that called to him.

"Then let's hurry. We can reach the Harvest Valley through this place, I'm sure of it," Lucatiel said, and the pair moved on to the next area.