Chapter 29: Lions and Lizards
"Truly, you are Donovan's offspring." Vengarl, or at least his head, was sitting on a piece of rubble in front of a bonfire watching the chef as he cooked up a meal. Erik just rolled his eyes and continued working while his other companions checked their equipment.
The group of three and a quarter had wandered aimless through the Shaded Woods, occasionally being escorted by a ghostly feline that popped up here and there. Along the way Erik had revealed his name and the decapitated head had been surprised.
Apparently Donovan Potts had spent a lot of time in King Vendrick's domain and met the mercenary from Forossa a few times. They had even struck up a slight friendship. Donovan knew about cuisine from Fallen Forossa, and having been born after the collapse of the kingdom Vengarl had never had a chance to sample any of it. Comradery born of food was nothing to scoff at.
After a few hours the all-encompassing fog had been escaped and they were now sitting in a mossy ruin. Supposedly this was once a large town by the name of Cree, which was the only settlement right before the dukedom capitol city, also called Tseldora. Naming sense was not something Vendrick or his court had even been renowned for.
During the travels the head gladly shared his experiences and tales of the past with a curious audience.
"I remember this one time Donovan was cooking in the woods and a skunk up and sprayed him," Vengarl chuckled, remembering various times. "He just kept going, and somehow his food tasted still tasted good."
"The boy hasn't been squirted with any noisome fluids yet, or at least, not that I know of," Benhart said, a hearty laugh on his lips.
"Give it time. This is Drangleic after all." Creighton added his two copper coins, joining in on the time honored tradition of making fun of the chef.
"Keep talking and I might forget to make the rest of you a serving," Erik said snidely, a note of warning in his words.
So, Vengarl, what lies ahead? How do we reach the Brightstone Cove?" Benhart asked, seamlessly switching topics.
"It's been so long, my memory and knowledge might be lacking, but there should be a pass leading through the mountains to the mines. We could take the longer route, but I do not know how safe it would be. Far easier to sneak through Cree than be in the open."
"What about the Basilisks? Those beasts are crawling all over the area," Creighton stated, and Vengarl somehow mimed a shrug again, despite being just a head.
"They're mere animals. Large and dangerous, but still animals. They can be tricked and evaded. Smear mud onto your body to hide your body heat, mix the mud with some Lemongrass to cover up your scent, and you will be free to sneak past. Animals are animals. Basilisks are no exception. Sure, they're somewhat larger than normal, and more dangerous, but they are dumb."
"Also, they're delicious!"
Everyone looked at Erik who shrugged. "What? Donovan left a lot of recipes for Basilisk meat in his tome. It would be blasphemy for a chef not to try and cook them!"
"That aside, what do you know about the Lion Clan? I know they've been spotted around here," Creighton inquired again.
"There is a small Pride in Drangleic, but I don't know where they live. If we run into them I suppose I could try and talk with them."
"You can speak their tongue?" Benhart asked, surprised. The Lion Clan, also known as the Lionkin, lived primarily in Jugo and the deeper sands of the desert, existing as warrior-nomads who skirmished with his people often. Their language was mostly unknown, as they were isolationist and mistrusting of humans.
"My blood-brother and I traveled the world in our youth before we chose to come to Drangleic. We met a Pride of Lionkin when we were in Jugo and became friends of theirs. We both learned their tongue and taught them ours. Ah, I miss them. Such a wise culture of warriors." Vengarl sighed in reminiscence.
"Since you're being so forthcoming about various matters, why don't you tell me about this whole 'Monarch Candidate' business?" Erik prodded with a thin smile directed at the head.
"Look, kid, I'd like to help you, really, but what I know is limited. I've already told you that Vendrick and his creepy older brother were competing to see who could find a way to revive the First Flame," Vengarl said with a sigh.
"Aldia wanted to use Dragons in conjunction with the bonfire system –somehow- while Vendrick was of the mind that he could focus the energy of Humanity using some sort of magical wishing chair." At that the head snorted.
"His 'Throne of Want' would supposedly become a conduit for fathomless powers and use those to reignite the First Flame. It was all thanks to his weird wife that he was able to come up with the device at all. As for the Monarch Candidates, they were just people with souls strong enough to withstand the strain of using the Throne of Want. Anything more than that is going to be guess work."
"Why would Aldia's plan be worse than his brother's?" Erik asked after a lull of contemplative silence.
"If we go with his experiments as a base, then no way in Hell would I agree with it," Vengarl snarled, fury dripping in every word. "I saw some of the stuff he did, kid. Mutants and abominations born from the depths of blackest magic. I would not trust him with organizing a bake sale, let alone the salvation of the world."
"A bake sale? Really?" Creighton asked with an incredulous look. "Does anyone even do those anymore outside of Lindelt?"
"Hey, baking pastries and then selling them to raise money for the local church is a time honored tradition in my homeland!" Erik retorted, giving a glare at the axe-wielding warrior.
They went back to wait for the chef to finish lunch, letting the sounds of the forest wash over them. Creepy monkey laughs from those strange pots aside, it was rather pleasant.
"Um, guys? Does anyone else hear that?" Erik asked out of the blue, gulping in fear.
The group froze, listening intently. A second later a deafening burbling shriek echoed through the ruins, followed by a chorus of much softer roars.
"Those are Lionkin roars!" Vengarl cried, trying to twist himself to stare off in the direction of the howls.
"And a Basilisk!" Benhart claimed, identifying the first sound. The group shared some looks, and then burst into action. Erik whimpered but left his food near the bonfire, packing up what he could and unfastening his Heide sword, ready for a fight. He also scooped up Vengarl's head and attached him to the belt. Muted grumbling came from the helmet but was ultimately ignored.
Rushing through the ruins, the trio plus baggage reached a ramp where the roars were emanating from, and made their way up them.
What greeted them was a sight straight out of legends and bardic tales.
Over two dozen massive, lion-headed figures rushed about a clearing in a forest, clutching massive axes and crude wooden shields, though a few had simple bows and one had a staff made of bones that glowed pinkish-purple as it hurled bolts of sorcerous energy around.
And towering over them was a gargantuan Basilisk. It was huge, ten times larger than the largest Basilisk any of them had ever seen. Its skin was pitch black, with pulsing red markings running along its body. A white mark shaped like a crown was on the top of its head, though slightly hidden by blood. It's eyes, normally so small and hard to spot, were glowing a baleful violet as they stared out at the Lionkin that attacked it. Around its feet were dozens of much smaller Basilisks, though still unnaturally big.
Its maw, wide enough to swallow a man whole, gaped open for a second and then a Lionkin's upper torso vanished in a spray of blood as it bite down, slaying one of them. The body exploded into golden flames a moment later, and it was clear that this was a battle between Undead and a titan.
One of the bulbous fake eyes on its head was ruptured and leaking thick black smoke and blood, and the skin flapped around like an obscene cape. The giant Basilisk inhaled before expelling a cloud of grey-black mist that turned flesh to stone on contact.
Most of the Lionkin leapt clear, but a few limbs were caught and quickly petrified. But the warriors didn't let that stop them as they hacked off their own cursed appendages to stop the spread of the stone.
"What should we do?" Creighton asked, staring at the sight with an awed expression. Benhart was no better, almost insensate at the spectacle before him.
Erik, though also shocked, was a bit more focused. Partly because he could somehow understand what the Lionkin were saying.
"Hold the line, hold the line! We cannot let it get past us!"
"But Pride-Leader, Klan'r just fell! We have no more Axe-Leaders or Undead with which to keep the beast at bay!"
"If we do not hold fast then these monsters will rip apart our wives and children! Do not take a single step back! We either slay this beast here or we all die!"
"We need to help them!" Vengarl cried at the same time Erik announced "We're going to help them!"
Their companions looked at the chef and head as if they were crazy. Jumping into that would be suicide! Even if they were Undead, petrification was perhaps the most dangerous weapon to use against them. After all, even an Undead if petrified was subject to permeate death. After all, how could the dead reanimate if sealed inside cursed stone? The curse of the Basilisk was strong, and in some cases could even overpower the wretched Dark Sign. And even if it didn't being trapped as a statue for centuries was unappealing.
"They're protecting their families," Erik said, unwavering determination filling him. "I will not let innocents be slaughtered when I could have acted to save them. Now come on! Let's do some good in this blighted land for once!"
His words had a stirring effect of the two warriors, and they gripped their weapons tightly.
The chef started off their attack by conjuring a massive lance of ice that he hurled at the giant Basilisk. It missed due to the monster possessing unnatural agility for such a being that size and instead slew three smaller Basilisks when it hit the ground after the big one jumped aside.
Now everyone's eyes were on him, and by extension his group. The Lionkin were hesitant at the sight of three clearly armed Undead, though the severed head that was spitting insults at the man who was wearing him like a belt buckle made some eyebrows rise.
The giant Basilisk and its smaller brood did not have such cares. All they saw was more victims to prey upon. With foul drool dribbling from its stained fangs, the towering monster leapt at the humans!
Only to be sent hurtling backwards by Erik's new Pyromancy.
Courtesy of Nadalia and the Iron Crown, Outcry released a shockwave of searing flames that scorched the Basilisk's flesh. The smaller ones died, immolated, while the larger one leered at the suddenly dangerous prey and slowly began to realize it might have been outnumbered.
With a warbling roar the Giant Basilisk turned and fled, trailing embers, blood, and black mist, its tinier kin trailing after it.
A great cheer went up from the Lionkin as they saw their foe retreat. Now that the swarm was gone though, that meant they could focus on the newcomers.
"What are you humans doing here?" One of the warriors hissed. He was the largest of the band, with a thick mane that had intricate braids woven into it. His weapon, a large axe, was worn but still gleamed wickedly, and his armor looked as if it had seen better days, being little more than scraps of leather clinging to his form.
"My name is Erik Potts! I am just here to cross over to the Brightstone Cove!" The chef stated, holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner. The Lionkin just tilted their heads.
"What's going on?" Creighton hissed, nervously fingering his weapon.
"I don't know. I can understand them, but it seems they can't understand me," Erik claimed. "My Ring of Whispers only works so far."
"Let me handle this," Vengarl sighed. "Warriors of the Pride! I and my companions seek to pass through you territory. We mean you no trouble if none is offered."
"I didn't know you could speak the Lionkin tongue!" Benhart exclaimed, causing Erik to frown down at his head.
"What are you talking about? He was speaking Common!"
"No, he was growling and sounding like a strangled cat," Creighton interjected.
"Look, kid, you're wearing a Ring of Whispers, remember? I don't know where you found that but it allows the wearer to comprehend any spoken language," Vengarl explained, rolling his eyes. "But stay quiet and let me speak. They cannot understand you."
"Apologies, my companion can hear you but not speak your language," Vengarl said to the Lionkin.
"You! The Bloody Head! So the Mistress of the Forest has seen fit to release you at last," the spokescat for the warriors said in surprise. "It has been a while since any of us have entered her domain and spoken with you!"
"Indeed, Alvina has. And I remember you. Some of your young warriors would come to me to learn of war at my feet. Figuratively speaking." There was a tone of bitterness in the head's voice and his gaze flickered up to Erik. "As for how I can speak the Lionkin's tongue, I spent a few years among the Pride of Talrok in Jugo. I learned much from them."
"The Talrok's are dead, Bloody Head. Wiped out many years ago by the humans," the warrior hissed, and Vengarl looked pained.
"Did they at least die with honor?"
"Yes."
The conversation flowed for a bit longer between the Lionkin leader and Vengarl, before Creighton started to get annoyed at being left out of the conversation and being forced to have Erik translating everything.
"Pride-Leader Rav'el, may I ask if there is anyone who can speak the human tongue among you? My companions grow weary of not understanding," Vengarl cut in before the Mirrahian soldier could do anything.
"A few. Though only Pur'nen was fluent," Rav'el, the chieftain, said. "Sadly he was petrified a few days ago."
"I have something that could free him then!" Erik spoke up. "The smoke from this log of wood released someone from their stone prison, so would this work for him?"
"The statues are kept with the Pride, and we dare not risk moving them. Yet we will not risk letting our women and children be harmed by you humans should you turn on us," Rav'el said when Vengarl translated.
"Pride-Leader, if they can undo the curse, is it not better to risk at least the weak one's presence?"
"He throws fire and ice like a sorcerer flings spells, so he is not weak," Rav'el retorted to his subordinate who shrunk back.
"Then why not let the Clawed One judge their worth? He can see souls can he not?"
The Pride-Leader opened his mouth to retort, before snapping it shut and closing his eyes in contemplation.
"Meet with our sage, and if he deems you pure of heart and noble of soul, we will permit the Frozen Flame to enter the clan to undo the petrifaction. If not, well, the Clawed One will ensure you do not harm us," Rav'el declared, to which Erik nodded.
"Take me to this wise man of yours. I'll prove my intentions."
Vengarl was handed over to Benhart to hold while Erik was examined by the Lionkin's mysterious sage. Rav'el led the chef into a rundown building that was being used as a makeshift field hospital. Wounded Lionkin lounged against the walls or reclined on straw mats and stared at the Undead human as he passed.
The cook from Lindelt did not let their stares bother him too much though, and was soon led down into a basement and then into an open air store house like room, where an open, sand filled space lay.
It was the person within the pseudo-arena that made Erik stumble a bit when he caught sight of them. It looked like what happened with Mytha wasn't an isolated occurrence.
The naked torso of a man was fused to the dark off-blue shell of a scorpion. The pincers were large and looked heavy while the stinger was slightly stubbier than seemed normal based on proportions. The person was not in perfect shape either. Bandages were wrapped around the chest, and one of the legs was bent in a painful looking manner. Bright green fluid leaked from a few smaller wounds along the scorpion's side that were uncovered, and the sand beneath the man looked black with dried ichor staining it.
"Ah, Rav'el. How goes the battle?" The man's voice was deep and regal and carried a strong will behind it. Whoever he had been before Chaos claimed him, he had been a leader of some kind.
"It goes well, Lord Tark. We have driven off the King Basilisk, but with heavy casualties. In fact, if it were not for this human here we would have been overrun." Rav'el stepped aside and presented Erik to the man-scorpion whose eyes narrowed when they landed on the Undead chef.
"You are a Monarch Candidate are you not?" Tark demanded and Erik nodded.
"So people have said. I never intended to become such, and have found myself forced onto this route," Erik admitted and Tark snorted.
"I have met a few of them myself in the past, and you're the most polite of the lot. I assume my friend wishes for me to see if you are not a threat?"
"Yes. I have an object that might be able to undo the petrification of his clansmen," Erik said, holding out the lump of charcoal made from the odd wood.
"A Fragrant Branch of Yore! Such a rare item!" Tark exclaimed, leaning forward in surprise. "Such a thing would definitely free one from a Basilisk's curse."
"Only the oldest of Arch-trees produced them, and such things are rare even in Drangleic. You have great luck to find such a large chunk," Tark elaborated, before turning to Rav'el. "This young Undead is a pure soul, despite the wretched destiny hoisted upon his shoulders. He will willingly do no harm to your people."
The Lionkin bowed respectful to Tark, before turning to Erik.
"This way. We're keeping the statues over here."
Rav'el led the chef through a passageway nearby the man-scorpion, and they entered an underground complex. Several Lionkin tensed as the two approached, and though they remained wary around Erik at Rav'el's command they allowed him to pass. Further along, the pair came to a wide cavern-like area filled with Lionkin. Mostly women and children, a few grey haired ones stood around, clutching weapons ready to die in order to buy time for the young. Near the front in a cleared space over three dozen petrified figures stood, some in amusing stances.
"Here. Do what needs to be done and we shall discuss what comes next," the Pride-Leader instructed and Erik stepped up, heating the lump of Fragrant Branch with his Pyromancy. In moments thin wisps of smoke trailed off of the charcoal, and he wandered among the stoned Lionkin, letting the sweet scented dark grey cloud wash over everyone.
Like with Rosabeth, the stone flaked off completely revealing nude bodies, but given that the Lionkin were mostly covered in fur it didn't cause that much of a reaction from the young man. He did look away out of politeness, and hastily made his way back to Rav'el as some of the expressions on the newly freed Lionkin were anything but thankful.
"Peace, brothers and sisters! This human was judged by Tark to be pure, and he is the one who broke the Basilisk's curse!" Rav'el announced, and mutterings swept through. A grey maned male stepped up, uncaring about his nudity.
"My name is Pur'nen, the medicine-cat for the Pride. I speak the human tongue well enough. Who am I addressing?"
"Erik Potts of Lindelt. Also, an unwilling Monarch Candidate," the chef revealed, earning a wave of gasps and mutters from the crowd once translated. Pur'nen cocked his head to the side, silently evaluating Erik. He nodded after a moment and turned to his people.
"The human is not to be harmed. His mission is one that will save us from the Darksign!" A few cheers erupted here and there, but for the most part there was little jubilation. Still, the anger was dispersed and the crowd broke up, some to find clothes, others to look for family.
"Come, let us return to Tark. There is much to discuss," Pur'nen said, patting Erik on the back in praise.
Once back with the Chaos twisted man Erik looked at the group that had assembled. His companions had been summoned as well, and they kept a wary distance from Tark.
"So, what exactly do we need to talk about?" Erik inquired, sitting down in the sand facing the man-scorpion.
"What comes next. Before you can venture further toward the Brightsone Cove, I must ask you for help in three matters," Tark began. "First, help the Lionkin slay the King Basilisk. If left alone it will continue to breed more and more and they will sweep over the land. Second, help me free a friend of mine and a guest of the Pride. They were trapped when the Basilisks invaded."
"And the third task?" Benhart asked after Pur'nen finished translating.
"Help me kill my wife."
Utter silence filled the arena and Crieghton shook with repressed emotions.
"You want us to do what?!" The Mirriahian snarled, reaching for his axe. "You want us to become murderers for hire?"
"I should have phrased that better," Tark admitted, looking sheepish. "Let me explain; my wife, Najka, is like me. Tainted by Chaos through wretched experiments, she has slowly lost her mind. I have been able to keep her stable and grounded, but when the Basilisks showed up we were separated. She was having a fit, and I fear it is impossible for me to calm her down now. I have tried, but between her rage and the Basilisks, I've taken too many wounds to continue fighting. If we do nothing she will kill anyone in her path."
"Experimented on?" Benhart asked.
"Duke Tseldora was a twisted man," Vengarl spoke up, surprising the group. "I was ordered by King Vendrick to slay the man if I could not bring him in to answer for his crimes. He'd been experimenting with Chaos and Hexes on the peasants and commoners of the dukedom, and it was rumored he had managed to incubate a Blight strain."
Flinches went around the group, even the Lionkin shivering in fear. The Blight was a Chaos induced plague, and those it infected mutated into vile Lesser Demons. Not as strong as a true Demon, but they could spread the infection through Blightpus by wounding others. If not contained it would become a tide of demonic beasts.
"Indeed. My wife and I were captured by the duke and imprisoned for his sick research. I-I do not remember much of my past life, before we lived in those cages. So much was lost in the Chaos, the madness and the pain," Tark admitted.
"Najka suffered the worst of all, and her sanity always hung by a thread. Without me to comfort her…"
"We'll do what can," Erik promised. Although he and the rest of his companions looked saddened by what they had to do, they understood there was no choice.
"Very well then. First, we should deal with the immediate issue of the Basilisks," Pur'nen said, speaking to the group. "Thankfully the first and second tasks can be done at once."
"That's correct. The Basilisks have taken up residence in the tunnels beneath us to the north-east, and that is where our guest hid herself when the attack came. We know she's alive, for we can communicate through a tiny air vent, but we cannot reach her without clearing out the infestation," Rav'el explained.
"So, kill that enormous Basilisk, free a lady, kill a demoness. If I knew we'd be having this much fun, I'd have continued on my own," Creighton grumbled. Benhart just slapped the brooding soldier on the back.
"Cheer up! At least you can say you've done it!"
"So, I'm just a head. Is there any chance I can sit this one out?" Vengarl asked hopefully. To that, Erik just strapped the severed body part back onto his belt. This at least earned a smile from Creighton. After all, misery loves company.