Chapter 28: A-head of the game
After raising the gate, Erik may have over reacted slightly when he saw the bulbous 'eyes' of a Basilisk staring at him in surprise. In his own terror at the sight of the dreaded beast, the chef at thrust out his left hand and shot off a Fireball in a hasty attempt to repel the monster.
The resulting explosion leveled half a dozen trees and left a smoldering crater and just a few flakes of ash to remember the Basilisk with.
"Perhaps I should take point for now," Benhart murmured, and Erik mutely nodded at the suggestion.
So the duo advanced into the overcast forest, following what had once been a road deeper in the depths of Drangleic. Benhart stood at the front, ready to intercept any projectile and warn against approaching threats. Two steps behind and one to the right Erik followed, able to peer past the larger knight to observe any foes or interesting parts of the path.
And there was a lot of interesting things! Growing with almost startling abundancy were countless rare herbs and plants. Wilted Dusk Herbs grew near patches of Dried Roots and trees laden with Goldenfruit. This was not natural, and though the chef eagerly plucked the bounties of the wild, he was worried as to what had caused this to happen.
Wilted Dusk plants had been harvested to extinction on the mainland, much like the Twilight Herb. They grew in places where magic was abundant, which meant that they either appeared near sorcerers and were thus harvested as soon as they appeared, or in places that were populated by magical beasts and were damaged in the hunts to exterminate the monsters.
Dried Roots normally only grew in Lanafir, because they needed the extreme humidity of a jungle to properly grow. Goldenfruit were just plain hard to cultivate because they were susceptible to all sorts of blights and infestations.
In short, none of these plants, and more than a few others, should have been here, and certainly not so close to each other. Something was up, and like most people from Lindelt, he blamed magic. Although in Drangleic that was likely to be the answer nine times out of ten.
Speaking of unnatural, the enemies too were a disgusting menace. Sickly pale yellow in color, with elongated heads that looked snake-like and distended stomachs bloated with both Chaos influenced growth and filled with rotting flesh that could not be digested, the mutant Hollows that roamed this area where utterly vile. Four times the pair had run into them. Twice had been surprisingly thought out ambushes. They were no match for the heavily armed and well trained travelers, but none the less they were an impediment.
Benhart took care of them with ease. He used his massive sword as a shield when they charged or threw rocks, and then with a devastating overhead smash would split them in twain. It was simple, but effective, and despite the basic movement the Undead chef could see that the knight from Jugo was a master at fighting with his gargantuan weapon.
The second foe that was encountered on the way were Basilisks, in ones and twos. They were larger than the specimens Benhart had seen in Jugo, and claimed that the kind native to the desserts did not have those bulbous fake eyes. Of the two foes, these were the most dangerous. Their noxious fumes lingered for several minutes and their speed and jumping distance was terrifying.
Erik picked the Basilisks off with either Fireballs or his newly created Ice Spikes, which were just large spears of magically created ice that he shot off like an arrow at foes. They were twice the size of a throwing knife, though he could make them bigger with more energy and effort. On contact, the Cryomancy spell froze the flesh they pierced, in some cases shattering it when the target moved.
At long last though, the team made it into the remains of a rundown town. Long ago this area had served as a halfway point between Majula and Central Drangleic where further ahead the royal castle stood as well as leading off to two fiefs; the Dukedoms of Aldia and Tseldora.
There was a bonfire up in what looked to be the foyer of a ruined manor, and was the destination for the two weary travelers.
Erik could feel an odd sensation within him as he approached. One part of him felt a tugging on his being, dragging him deep into the woods and towards where the map claimed the legendary mines of Tseldora lay. As for the rest of him, it was chaos.
Many of the souls within that the chef had obtained from his greatest foes screamed out in abject terror. The Flexile Sentry's was trembling in fear, trying to keep their new owner away from the direction of the territory Duke Aldia had once ruled. The Ruin Sentinels' soul vibrated eagerly as they sensed their old master's domain and tried to pull Erik towards it. Worst of all was the souls of the Last Giant and the Lost Sinner. Pure, utter loathing and disgust emanated from them as they neared Aldia's realm, and instead of trying to push Erik away, they seemed to scream out for the Undead chef to smash and shatter all that that man had touched. They roared for vengeance, screamed for justice, and howled for blood.
It took all of Erik's will power not to just fall to his knees from the overwhelming pounding that filled his mind as different images and sensations fought for attention within him.
With a gasp of relief, Erik sank to the dirt in front of the bonfire. He sighed with relief as the clamor of the souls abated, the mystical flames soothing and silencing them.
"Are you alright?" Benhart asked in concern. Erik gave a feeble nod.
"The brat is stuffed full of souls. Many of them are old and powerful and retain some degree of memory as too their past. Ironic, is it not? Souls are needed to avoid dying and going Hollow, yet they bleed into their new owners, tainting their minds and hastening the process," a dark, almost demented voice called down to the two and Benhart whipped around and placed himself in front of Erik.
"Who goes there?" The knight demanded, and in response a figure appeared over the edge of the crumbling staircase, staring down at the two Undead.
In the haze of fading pain, Erik thought he recognized the man that now leered at him.
"Were you the soldier from Mirrah who was trapped in that cell in the Huntsman's Copse?" Erik inquired, seeing the white stag's head emblazoned on the chest piece of the man.
"Indeed. I am Creighton of Mirrah. I thank you for freeing me," he said, giving a respectful nod of his head towards the chef. Erik stood up and returned the gesture.
"It seems we meet again. Are you still on the trail of the man who betrayed you?" Erik inquired and Benhart's ears pricked up at that. He loved a good quest, after all!
"Yes. That cursed thief… leaving me for dead… trapping me… Pate will rue the day he crossed me," the warrior swore, hatred thick in his voice and he tightened his grip on his axe's handle.
"Wait, the man who betrayed you was Pate? As in, the man with a large spear and shield?" Erik inquired, surprised. It seemed his female companions had been correct when they'd commented on the treasure hunter's sketchiness.
"Yes! That whoreson first led me into a trap, so he could claim the loot over my dead body! Then, when I escaped, he fled! I tracked him down to the Copse, but he was one step ahead and turned my own trap against me." Creighton growled, shooting the chef a look. "He then made his way from the Earthen Peaks with an old man, whom he then abandoned like he did with me! I've finally got his scent though! Just a few days past he was headed towards the Brightstone Cove."
"How did you manage to find that out?" Benhart inquired. Such tracking skills were impressive.
"The forest beyond here, the Shaded Woods, is filled with a strange bunch of tree huggers. They worship this hideous cat-like monster, but as long as you do not harm their trees or tread too deep into their territory they'll leave you alone. Show respect, and you can trade with them. I bartered for the information," Creighton explained. "And until then, well, I was part of the Border Guard for a reason. Give me a target and I can find its trail no matter the terrain. Ah, the thrill of the hunt…"
He trailed off, remembering something or other from his past, before snapping back to the present.
"What can you tell us about the areas up ahead?" Erik inquired.
"They're a mess. The Lion Clan is on the warpath, but I don't know why and neither do the Forest Watchers. Plus, there's been a large number of Basilisks recently, trampling the local wildlife," Creighton explained.
"Damn. That'll make things difficult," Erik groused. He then looked up at the man who stood at the top of the ruined staircase. There was something broken about the man. Something bent and torn and twisted that the man from Mirrah barely hid, but also relished in.
He was close to Hollowing. Erik wasn't sure how he could tell, but there was something that told him such. When Creighton found his target, and when he exacted his revenge on Pate, the soldier would snap. He was already on his last legs. In fact, he should have Hollowed long ago. Only his thoughts of revenge kept him sane. Only his hatred and purpose held the tatters of his Humanity together.
By all rights, Erik should have ignored him at best, or tried to put him out of his misery. But he didn't. Instead, the chef took a deep breath, and made a choice.
"I too am seeking to head towards the Brightstone Cove. If possible, would you care to join us?"
Creighton was silent for a long while, fidgeting and fingering his axe as he continued to ponder the offer. Finally, he gave a slow nod in acceptance.
"Thank you. I shall accept you generous offer. It has been a long time since I have had companions. It might make for a better chance to catch that thief as well," the warrior from Mirrah announced.
"Come on down then. I'm going to be making a quick meal before heading into the Shaded Woods," Erik declared, removing pots and pans and ingredients as he did.
Creighton was silent but complied all the same, walking down and taking a spot in front of the bonfire with the knight from Jugo on his left and Erik straight across from him.
"Been a long time I've eaten anything. What is it going to be?"
"Grilled mushrooms and moth meat. I got quite a good haul of the former from this forest, and the latter from Huntsman Copse."
A nostalgic gleam entered Creighton's eyes, visible even through the slits in his visor, which did not go unnoticed by Erik. Internally the chef smiled, pleased at having guessed correctly what the man needed for a pick-me-up.
Benhart just looked happy to have a warm meal after so long.
"I notice you wear the same armor as I do, or at least the emblem. Are you also from Mirrah?" Creighton inquired, an almost hard edge to his question. The knight just chuckled and shook his head.
"No, this was a gift," Benhart explained, touching the faded stiches of his chest plate tunic. A fond smile crossing his lips. "It was a few years after I arrived here, and I found a man about to go Hollow. He begged me for one final duel, and I obliged. He offered me his armor if I won, and so I took his request."
The swordsman from Jugo then frowned slight.
"I never got to finish the duel, though. Some Brothers of Blood invaded and we drove them off, but my opponent perished during the battle. Sadly, he did not return to the bonfire upon death, so I knew he'd gone Hollow. I took his armor before he revived and the rest is history. I've treasured it ever since, to honor the man's wish for a battle he could never complete."
"Honorable," Creighton muttered, shaking his head in either amusement or disgust. It was hard to tell.
All the while Erik cooked, searing the large mushrooms in the bonfire's enchanted flames while he sprinkled sage on the segments of diced up moth flesh. After some time staring at the flames, he removed the mushrooms and chopped them into tiny parts, and then skewered the meat chunks and mushrooms together on tiny wooden spears he'd purchased from Melentia back in Majula.
Satisfied, Erik finished cooking the skewers and handed them out to the waiting men. Creighton removed his all enclosing helmet to eat, and revealed a head of black hair and a fair bit of stubble on his chin. A long scar traced down the left side of his face, barely missing his eye and curving across his jaw.
Groans of pleasure come from the men as they tucked in, giving their praise with every bite.
"Oh, this is fantastic! Such simple ingredients but such vibrant flavors! Dishes worthy of the royal court without a doubt!" Benhart cried. Creighton just tore into the meal, trickles of juice running down his chin.
Erik partook of his talents as well, chewing happily. Until something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.
Up at the top of the stairs and near the Shaded Woods entryway was a fat, grey cat. At first glance, Erik thought it might have been Shalquoir, but a second look conviced the cook that if the cat from Majula ever heard him admit that, he'd have claw marks on his face.
This creature looked like a large cat in body, but its neck was nonexistent, and its face had a hideously wide mouth full of jagged teeth that seemed stretched in a perpetual grin. Which was quite unsettling to see peering down at you.
"Creighton, does the cat from the forest you mentioned have an unnaturally sharp looking smile?" Erik asked. Creighton and Benhart, not being fools, turned around quickly to try and see what Erik did. Sadly, they did, and their guts clenched a bit upon seeing the malformed feline.
"So the rumors went," Creighton admitted. The beast stared at them for a bit, before sashaying away and fading into a puff of mist.
"Does anyone else feel like it wanted us to follow it?" Erik inquired and the two men nodded. With a sigh, Erik began to pack up his supplies and finish off his meal quickly. Creighton and Benhart followed suit, devouring the food and getting their equipment ready. Once they were all set, they headed up to the entrance to the fog shrouded forest and saw the cat sitting at the end near a tree, just waiting.
"Do you think this is a trap?" Creighton asked, and Erik and Benhart shrugged as the terrifying kitty melting away into yet more mist.
"If it is, you can all say 'I told you so' when we revive at the bonfire," Erik offered and his companions chuckled in agreement.
Striding forward, the team followed the strange creature through the almost impenetrable fog and gloom. Bizarre trees with faces littered the path, and Creighton warned them to stay as far from them as possible. They complied, not willing to approach the twisted plant life if they could help it.
But after some time, the group came upon a tumbled down rotunda, ancient stone blanketed with moss. There was the grinning feline sitting in the center, looking from them to a red helmet than back to them before vanishing again.
Erik approached, hand resting on the hilt of his Heide sword, ready to fight if needed. He stomach clenched when he saw that the helmet had a head still inside it, severed and pale in death.
"What business do you have here, traveler?"
Erik would never admit to screaming like a child and leaping back in fear. He would, however, claim he had been surprised. Blank grey eyes stared up at the Lindelt native, conveying annoyance with just eyebrows.
"Did that head just talk?" Benhart asked in shock, which made Creighton laugh darkly.
"Even after so long I continue to be surprised by the horrors of this land. So tell me, who were you?"
The eyes swiveled to Creighton before the head spoke again.
"You may call me Vengarl, ye who reek as I do. That is, if I deserve a name in this sorry state."
"Vengarl? The Crimson Murder? The Bloody Lion? The Red Rust Knight of Forossa?!" Benhart cried, awed at being in the presence of a legend.
Creighton looked uncomfortable, having his stench compared to a blood soaked butcher, but did not protest. Erik however just looked disturbed.
"How are you still talking? I'm not a doctor but I do know you need a throat and lungs to speak," Erik said, oddly focused on this rather than anything else. Then again, this was Drangleic; weirdness was around every corner.
"I do not know. I was hired to protect this kingdom and so I did for many a year. I hunted the Undead, I slaughtered bandits and malcontents. But one day King Vendrick commanded me to go to the Brightstone Cove and bring him Duke Tseldora, dead or alive. I was not sure why at first, but upon arriving at the dukedom, I saw horrors upon horrors. Men twisted into insectoid monsters and made to slave away in the mines, gargantuan spiders feeding on prisoners, corrupt priests lording over the people…" Vengarl's voice faltered as he recalled the past.
"I fought my way to the Duke's manor, but upon entering the last thing I remember was a giant scythe-like leg swinging at my neck. I woke up, headless and alone in the dust of the mines."
"Then how did you get here?" Benhart inquired.
"The Gyrm. They had lived hidden in the mountains and caves of the region for generations, but the Duke's experiments forced them to defend themselves. They came across me, and placed me here. Why, I do not know. I could not speak their tongue to ask them. But now here I sit, alone with my thoughts for all eternity," the ancient knight mused, staring up at the sky.
"When the sky is clear, I can see the stars. And I cannot help but lament my old life," Vengarl admitted, a sigh of regret on his lips. "I spent so much time fighting and killing, that I'd forgotten what peace was."
"Do you perhaps know why a cat made of mist would lure us here?" Creighton asked, speaking up and slightly derailing the mood. The warrior from Mirrah ignored the looks he was getting and stared at the decapitated man.
Somehow, Vengarl mimed a shrug.
"If you mean Alvina, then no. Such a sad beast. A memory of a memory she is. Touched by the Dark but forever watching over the Light. She speaks to me occasionally, when she is lucid. Such a sad soul she is, to have been forced to witness the First Flame die so many times." Vengarl let out a sigh. "She claims to guard the tomb of an old friend. Deep in this woods lies the grave of one who fought the Primeval Darkness and drove it back at the cost of their own life."
Something stirred in Erik, and the Soul of an Ancient King woke.
A knight clad in silver and blue, fighting alongside a masked woman, a giant with a bow, and a man dressed in the armor of the Dragonslayer of the Blue Sentinels, though it was new and gold instead of tarnished and black. They fought alongside tens of thousands of knights in silver armor against countless Dragons made of Stone Everlasting. Leading them was a man crowned in sunlight who hurled lightning to tear off the scales of the beasts so his men could wipe them out.
Another scene, this time of the blue and silver knight training a wolf pup, and the ancient king smiled fondly at his favored warrior.
Horror, shock, disbelief! A man, covered in pulsating black tumors, screamed to the God of Light that Oolacile, the original kingdom of Man, had been swallowed by the Abyss.
With a heavy heart the king can do nothing but seal off the area. Three of his knights volunteer for what is certainly their final mission. The king, who was personally touched by the First Flame, watched with a heavy heart as his nephew went off to die, laughing all the while as he played with the wolf pup…
"Artorias… Sif…" Erik gasped, clutching his head, the visions fading.
"Did you say something?" Benhart inquired, looking to his leader, with Creighton looking on as well. Vengarl, however, had a different look, one of surprise.
"How do you know those names? Alvina only ever mentioned them once, and it was barely a whisper! What sort of man are you to know the names of the Abysswalker and the Great Wolf, they who were there when the First Flame was born?!"
"My name is Erik Potts, chef of Lindelt," the young Undead replied. "And apparently also a Monarch Candiate."
Vengarl's eyes widened, then narrowed, before a chuckle escaped him.
"Well isn't this a surprise? It seems that Aldia failed. Serves the slimy worm right, trying to mess with forces beyond his ken." His looked turned sour. "Though that means that Vendrick's plot is the one to succeed? How odd…"
Erik just stared at the head, before walking over and plucking it from where it lay.
"Wait, what are you…?"
"You know some things about what's going on it seems, and I'd very much like answers. However I also don't have time to sit around all day, so I'm taking you with me. We can walk and talk."
Benhart and Creighton looked flabbergasted as the chef proceeded to hook the head-in-a-helm to his belt, wearing the legendary knight like a gristly trophy.
"Stop this! Put me down! I do not want any more adventurers, I'm tired of them! Just let me rest for the first and last time in my life!" Vengarl pleaded, not at all sounding like the infamous warrior he supposedly was.
Erik just shook his head.
"No. I'm tired of being in the dark about my mission and this deal with the First Flame and Vendrick and Aldia and the Emerald Herald and everything! No more! I will be getting my answers, and by the Gods if I have to wear you like a belt buckle then so be it!"
The Undead chef stalked out of the ruins, his two comrades just staring in shock before hurrying after their leader. They had never seen him so resolute or manly. Benhart silently amused himself thinking of the swordswoman from Mirrah swooning over the boy's sudden shift in attitude.
Behind them, almost going unheard, a faint feminine voice called out to them.
"Thank you for giving my friend a chance to stretch his legs… oh-ho-ho!" When they looked back, only dissipating mist greeted them, though Erik could have sworn a leering grin stared back at him for a brief moment.