Chapter 32: Spiders and a broken Spear

"Close the door, close the door, close the door!" With a resounding 'slam!' ancient and heavy doors crashed shut, blocking off a legion of hideous giant spider-like creatures.

Everyone sighed happily at escaping the swarm. The trip towards the Cove had been… interesting.

First had been the Undead. They were weak yet numerous, ranging from mere Hollowed peasants to trained guards. None were a true threat though at this point. The worst were hideous Hollowed pigs that chased them and took too many blows to kill. Erik had seen Undead piglets back at Majula and found their adult forms just as revolting.

That hadn't been the worst. Massive spider monsters crawled out of holes in the mine and attacked the group as they passed by, and these had crippling poison lurking in their fangs. Erik's Pyromancy cleared them out, but there were lots of them, and it was a moment of pure terror as the Undead and sole Lionkin fled into a small chapel.

That had led to encountering a fog gate guarded by an Undead Cleric and Sorcerer and a host of Hollowed praying peasants. They had not been too much of a challenge, as Benhart had cut the Sorcerer in half with a single blow, Erik's flames burned away the horde, and the Cleric was dealt with by Creighton.

But, as soon as they finished off the Undead Congregation, the giant spiders had burst through the floor and ceiling and some panicked screaming later the group fled and sealed off the chapel, leading to the current situation of adrenaline draining.

"What is wrong with Drangleic?" Erik whimpered. "Giant Basilisks, giant rats, and now giant spiders? What's next, giant cats?"

Vengarl's head coughed awkwardly but chose not to answer the chef's question. The poor lad might learn soon enough.

"At least we made it to the city proper," Benhart offered, seeing the silver lining in everything.

"Joy and jubilations, let us rejoice," Creighton snarked. But there was a spark of eagerness in his eyes and his heart was not into the teasing.

"I know there's bad blood between you and Pate, but try and listen to his side of the story? Or not attack first?" Erik pleaded. Creighton just shook his head.

"You've told me he helped you, and I find that hard to believe unless there was an ulterior motive. That bastard stole from me something precious and betrayed my trust. I will not forgive him."

Erik sighed but nodded. At least death was not that much of an issue here in Drangleic. Letting his comrade vent his rage would be for the best.

"Fine. But before we go any further, let us have some food. All that running in terror has given me an appetite." The chef led the group to a small Bonfire and began to stir up a large serving of stew for everyone.

"Smells good. What is it?" Benhart asked, sitting down on a boulder.

"Basilisk meat with honey in a milk porridge," Erik explained as he cooked. "The honey makes the tough, stringy flesh tender while the milk softens the acidic flavors of the fat and gives a thickness to the stew. Add a pinch of basil for taste and you've got a hearty meal."

"Oh my! Smells and sounds wonderful!"

Everyone jumped at the voice that had appeared, and the group whirled around to face a Cleric in black robes.

"A Pardoner," Erik mumbled, and the man bowed politely.

"I am indeed! Cromwell, at your service! Such a pleasure to find the faithful in this forsaken place," the holy man replied, giving the Lionkin a curious look before turning back to Erik.

Apologies for startling you, but I smelled your meal and I couldn't help but approach. I also noticed you managed to give peace to my companions back at the chapel. Here, allow me to thank you with this."

The black robed priest handed Erik a ring that had an interesting macabre design.

"A Ring of Resistance will help you resist the effects of poison, bleeding, and petrification. As you seem set on going further I would recommend that," Cromwell said cheerfully. Erik nodded in thanks, though the chef could tell that this ring was weaker than the one passed down in his own family. Still, bling was bling and he slipped it on to a free finger for better aide against status effects.

"What are you doing in this place?" Creighton demanded, keeping a suspicious eye on the man.

"I was waiting for a companion, but I fear she is late. I do hope those Basilisks haven't harmed her… Have you by any chance seen a crow-headed woman by the name of Ornifex?"

"You know Lady Ornifex?" Rav'el asked, surprised.

"Of course. The Children of the Crow have been allies of the Order of the Pardoners for countless centuries. Alongside her people and the Master we deliver judgement on heretics and watch over the First Flame and those whose destiny is to save it."

"Erik?" Benhart inquired, and Erik shrugged uncomfortably.

"The Pardoners are a mysterious group. Officially they are a part of the Church of the Pantheon and obey the will of the Pontifex. However the Pardoners have their own internal structure, secrets, and leaders. They listen to the Cardinals, but only obey if it suits their purpose. Very little is known of them, save that they deal in matters of sin and justice," the Lindelt chef explained.

"Correct, young man. But let me just say I mean you no harm. As the Monarch Candidate, it is my duty to assist you should you need any help," Cromwell stated.

"Fine. I suppose you'd like a bowl as well?" Erik sighed, offering the hungry Cleric a helping of stew.

"So, is there anything you can tell us about this place? Perhaps what we can encounter below?" Vengarl asked, miffed he couldn't eat anything. He could talk, but food just slipped through the hole in his neck. It was cruel punishment, he cried!

"Basilisks here and there, a few Hollows, more giant spiders, and some mutated folk," Cromwell said offhandedly as he shoveled food into his mouth. "The latter are the escape experiments of Duke Tseldora. Thankfully they've remained within the Cove, but they are to be wary of. Each one was tainted by the Blight and further twisted by dark magic."

"What is your purpose here?" Benhart inquired, taking a moment to wash down his food with some water from the canteen.

"I was to accompany Lady Ornifex and retrieve some Demon Titanite from the depths of the Cove. She needs the rare substance for her work, and it requires a delicate touch to extract. I was nominated to guard her. But it seems I have longer to wait," Cromwell sighed.

"Demon Titanite?" Erik blinked in surprise. It sounded sinister. Chloanne would like that.

"Titanite that has been infused with the power of Chaos. It can be used to create extremely potent weapons," Cromwell said. "Just like Twinkling Titanite which is made by infusing Humanity and souls into regular Titanite, Demon Titanite only forms under certain conditions. The Brightstone Cove is the only place Twinkling and Demon Titanite can be harvested naturally, and only once every few centuries."

"Why is that?" Erik asked. Cromwell looked to the sides and the people around him, before shrugging and leaning in.

"You didn't hear this from me if anyone asks, but the Brightstone Cove used to be where one of the last Ancient Dragons dwelled. After he was slain by a hero chosen by the First Flame its remains were petrified below the earth and from the corpse Titanite grows as its power seeps in the soil and stone around it," Cromwell uttered in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Wait, a dragon?" Erik demanded, the oldest of his gathered souls throbbing painfully. A name crossed the threshold of his mind, but he couldn't catch it. It began with an 'S' though.

"Yes. But be cautious. That dragon is the source of the madness that infected Tseldora. He excavated a portion of it and used it for his experiments. Be very wary down there. The dragon may be dead, but its soul lives on."

Sufficiently disturbed, the Undead and Lionkin finished their meal before packing up and descending into the city. Cromwell gave them so directions though about where to go and what to avoid. He also mentioned seeing a skinny man with a spear sneaking around one of the housing blocks. That caused Creighton to become excited.

The Cove was even worse than they'd first expected though. Great lumps of sand were everywhere, burying entire swathes of the city. Only a few of the buildings close to the center of the city and the manor stood tall and proud, but time had taken its toll on even them, and they lay crumbling to pieces. And Hollows and monsters swarmed across the ruins.

Mutated humans clashed with Basilisks and giant spiders, while Hollowed Clerics and Sorcerers showered anything that moved with bolts of energy. A mere handful of Hollowed peasants and guards could be seen but they were all on the outskirts, forever mining and oblivious to the world beyond their task.

The path to the duke's estate was blocked in some places, the only clear path through a street infested with conflict.

"What do we do?" Benhart asked, turning to Erik. The chef had shown his ingenuity time and again, and the knight of Jugo had respect for the Undead. Erik pursed his lips as he surveyed the city below.

"We can't fight through them all," Erik mused, stating the obvious. "We could avoid some of them though if we sneak through the buildings."

"Would that work?"

"It should. The structures closest to us seem fairly close. We could knock a few holes in the walls and sneak around that way," Erik offered to Creighton's question.

"The sound alone would attract Hollows and monsters. How do we deal with those? I doubt we could hold off all of them ourselves even with a well-fortified position," Vengarl pointed out and Erik bit his lip.

"Times like these I wish we had a sorcerer with us. He could use Muffle to hide our noise," Erik grumbled. "We will just have to take our chances. We'll move swiftly, silently, and…"

"PATE!"

"Or we could shout out names, that works too," Erik sighed, turning to see Creighton sliding down a rope towards a figure that was darting off into one of the houses across the way.

"Let's go, I don't want to see our friend do something stupid," Erik declared, using the rope like Creighton had. Sadly the chef was too heavy, what with the large box and all, and the rope snapped, sending Erik smack into the wall on the opposite side.

"Are you alright?" Benhart shouted.

"By nobe ib bropen," Erik grunted, snorting and spitting bloody phlegm into the sands below.

"Climb kid, climb!" Erik looked down to see what Vengarl was shouting about and saw a number of spiders gathering below clacking their mandibles in hunger.

"Ship, ship, ship!" Faster than he'd thought possible Erik scurried up the remains of the rope and got to the other side, taking a swig of estus at the top and restoring his busted face.

"Go and get Creighton, Erik! We'll find my way across!" Benhart shouted from his side, Rav'el drawing his axe and Benhart hefting his sword as some of the monsters decided the knight and Lionkin looked tastier than the scrawny cook.

"Creighton?!" Erik shouted, running through the houses and buildings and discarded streets. "Where are you?!"

No one answered him, but the clash of metal on metal rose out of the corner of his ear.

"Damn it," Erik swore, chasing the sound. He found the source soon enough.

Pate and Creighton were fighting each other, the former using his spear and shield in a defensive stance while the latter flailed madly with his axe at his opponent.

"Give it back!" Creighton screamed, smashing his two handed axed onto the sturdy shield.

"Step off, you maniac!" Pate snarled, jabbing his spear into the Mirriahian's leg. The wound barely slowed Creighton down as he just kept coming forward.

"Give it back!"

"You're insane!" Pate hissed, fear trickling into his expression.

"Give me back my wife's wedding ring!"

"It's mine now! I stole it fair and square!" Pate screamed in a distinctly not mild manner. He twisted his head slightly and spotted Erik standing befuddled in the doorframe.

"Oh! It's you! Help me, this madman attacked out of nowhere!"

"Creighton, stand down!"

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes and He stepped back slightly before fury reasserted itself and he raised his axe once more.

"Stop!" Erik shouted, drawing his sword and intercepting the blow. "This wasn't what we agreed on!"

"He stole her from me! Give her back to me!" Creighton screamed, completely blind to Erik as he shoved the chef away.

Erik hit the wall hard and tumbled into a rotting bookcase, splinters showering him as he felt something wet trickle down the back of his head.

Creighton suddenly froze, staring into nothing before shakily facing Erik.

"I'm not a murderer…" He whispered, dropping his axe onto the floor. "I'm not. It was an accident… I didn't mean to hurt her…"

"Ha!" Pate lunged, driving his spear through Creighton's heart, but his joy fled when he saw the warrior from Mirrah just standing there, dazed.

"She slipped! She slipped! I didn't mean to push her!" Creighton was starting to shake, and he tore off his helmet and fell to his knees, yanking Pate's spear out of his hands.

"Not my fault… didn't have to hang for that… not my fault…"

"Creighton? Are you alright?" Erik asked, voice trembling slightly.

"I think he's going Hollow, kid," Vengarl claimed. A scream was the reply, and Creighton rose from the floor, tearing the spear out of his chest, and snapping the haft like a twig.

"Not my fault!" Creighton howled, shoving the broken spear point into Pate's throat. A surprised gurgle was all the thief managed before he fell to the ground, life leaving his eyes.

With a demented giggle Creighton dove down onto the fallen man and began to tear his armor and clothes off, trying to find his ring. At last he found it, in the thief's pocket along with a key and several other small trinkets. He clutched the small band to his chest and whimpered and cooed to it.

"Why isn't Pate vanishing?"

Vengarl's question caused Erik to blink and Creighton to freeze. That was a good question. In Drangelic as long as you weren't Hollow an Undead would be sucked back into the nearest Bonfire and restored before being spat out good as new. It was almost instantaneous, and there was rarely any time to loot the body.

"No… not my fault…" Creighton reached out with trembling hands and began to strip the rest of Pate's clothes off, checking over his body for the Darksign. It should have been there. It had to be there!

"He wasn't an Undead…" Erik gasped. Vengarl whistled in surprise. It took balls the size of a house to want to willingly come to Drangleic, and only someone with castle sized kahunas would do so while not being an Undead. Yet the evidence was clear. Pate had been an ordinary human!

"Not… my… fault… she slipped…" Creighton mumbled, staring in shock at the dead body before him. He started to shake the corpse's shoulders.

"Wake up. Wake up. It wasn't my fault. She slipped…"

"He gone." Erik looked sharply at Vengarl's head and the knight grimaced.

"The Mirriahian. His mind has snapped. He's gone Hollow. Look."

Before Erik's eyes rot and decay began to spread across the Undead's face, years of decomposition happening in seconds.

"Going Hollow makes all the time you cheated catch up to you," Vengarl explained softly. "That is what the Darksign offers. Suffering and madness."

Erik stood shakily, wary of attracting Creighton's attention. But the soldier was focused entirely on Pate's body, just shaking him, trying to wake him up.

"Kill him. Put the poor bastard out of his misery," Vengarl instructed, and Erik swallowed a lump in his throat.

"I can't."

"You have to! He is Hollowed now, he has to die or he will come after you next!"

"He was a friend…"

"You knew him for less than a week! Kill him now! This is mercy!"

"But…"

"KILL HIM!"

Vengarl's shout caught Creighton's attention, and the man looked up with dead, empty eyes. He let out a moan and started to stagger to his feet, hands reaching instinctively for his axe.

"NOW!"

"Argh!" Steel flashed, blood spurted.

"Erik! There you are!" Benhart said happily, waving the chef over. Benhart and Rav'el were standing in a small alleyway that had a path that led close to the manor. It looked like a back entrance. Erik had appeared from some buildings across the way and hopped down a few feet to reach his remaining companions.

The knight stood knee deep in a pile of corpses, mostly spiders but a few mutated humans were there as well. Rav'el stood nearby, his own axe sticky with ichor, and his nose wrinkled a bit in concern.

"I smell blood. Are you wounded?" The Lionkin growled out.

"I'm fine. Just a bump on my head," Erik said, smiling weakly.

"Is everything alright? I don't see Creighton," Benhart asked, concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Erik…"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

Silence fell among the group as Erik panted sharply, his rage making him tense. Only then did Benhart and Rav'el notice the unsheathed long sword in the chef's grip, the edges smeared black with Undead blood.

"Let's go. We have a soul to collect." Erik turned and stalked off down towards the rear entrance of the manor, and after sharing a look between them the warriors hurried after the cook.