I watched as the little mage drew out a bit of the swirling energy inside of him. I could feel how he coaxed the magic out, swirling the energy around the catalyst that he held in his hand, before raising it and creating a bolt of brilliant blue that struck the somewhat scorched tree he was using as a target. He nodded, satisfied with his performance.
“Soul arrow is the most basic sorcery, but a vital one, and one of the first offensive pieces of magic that Vinheim teaches. It’s simple to shape the arrow itself, and hard to make a mistake that can injure the casting mage, and is thus ideal for apprentices practicing their ability to quickly manipulate magic, particularly in a stressful situation.”
I nodded, feeling out the weak wafts of magic that clung to the impact site slowly dissipating. I wasn’t sure if I could perform the spell myself, not without a catalyst to use as a foundation for the lattice of energy that formed the projectile, but I wondered if… talismans could be formed from the body parts of the divine. If they could channel miracles, could they channel magic?
When I’d marshaled and structured the mana I’d needed to craft my avatar, external and internal, I hadn’t needed a catalyst. In retrospect, as I considered it, I’d managed to structure the energy into complex forms well enough without the crutch of a catalyst. Was that because of my inherently divine nature? Was there some element of myself that allowed magic to flow easier and be molded without hassle? Surely not. After all, Gwyndolin used a sorcery catalyst, didn’t he? But-?
I shook my head. It appeared that, sadly, complex magic may be beyond my reach, if only for the moment. Perhaps I could trouble one of the smiths for a catalyst that I could wield and use, or perhaps sound sorcery wouldn’t require the use of a catalyst from me. However, right now I was stuck with the conclusion that spellcasting was not yet a goal I could reach for.
I nodded to the sorcerer Hunter, thanking them for their time and explanation, and they nodded back and went on their way. Whether or not I could actually cast spells or do things beyond what I was already doing was a question for another day. For the moment, I felt that I had plenty to do, and not nearly enough time to do it all in.
Still… magic, even the basic thing that was the Soul Arrow, was complicated. It was energy, extracted from the physical body of the caster, then forced into a latticework that could sustain itself away from the foundational building block of that latticework that was the catalyst itself. But what if I, say, wanted to achieve a simplistic environmental effect, instead of actually creating and sustaining a complex structure?
On paper, this was simple. I wanted to create frost around me, so, in theory, I would reach out and tweak the magic around me, drawing the thermal energy from the surrounding air and ground to produce extreme cold and frost. In reality, I had no real idea how to achieve the effect. I had known what I wanted with the creation of the avatar, had bent the world to my will in the direction of the effect I wanted to achieve, but that appeared to not be the case here. How does one draw thermal energy from the area around them?
I flexed my Soulstuff, pushing and pulling, experimenting with touching the wider world. If I infused the air with my magic? Maybe if I tried to will it into existence? But each attempt fell short, not even managing a puff of cold air. Ultimately, I suspected that I was going about this the wrong way, that there was some fundamental truth that I was missing. Some part of the universe resisted my attempts to bend it to my will, fight my authority over it.
That sparked frustration, and I glared at a nearby log, lips pulled back slightly from my teeth. Something surged within me. The world, no, the universe would bend. It was not a matter of if, it was a matter of certainty. That it should resist me was inconceivable, impossible- the surge reached up like a wave, and I was standing, snarling, my fur on end-
I shuddered as I came back to myself, suddenly feeling unsteady on my paws. I sat, heavily, and flinched at the sudden coldness underneath me. Looking down, I realized, with surprise, that the ground underneath me had frozen solid. I traced the fresh layer of ice with my eyes, finding that it led all the way to the tree that I’d been glaring at, which was now coated with a layer of rime. The wood was split apart by fingers of frost that had reached into the wood as it flash froze, causing pockets of moisture to rapidly expand. As I watched, there was a loud CRACK as it split, revealing that it was frozen all the way to the core of the tree.
“Magnificent, Lady Sif! Few have I seen who could wield any kind of magic without a catalyst of some kind! Why, I-”
I tuned out the sorcerer, thinking rapidly. In the future games, wolves had been linked with frost more than once. And, once the surge had started, it had been… easy, to push out. If that had been frost magic that had flowed through me with such ease, did wolves in the Dark Souls universe have an alignment with ice? There were many species, in various folklores, that were associated with an element or a concept. Perhaps, then, wolves had an association with frost that went deeper than just happenstance.
I recalled how the energy had flowed through me, the nodes inside me it had touched. The surge itself had come and gone, and now I struggled to dredge up the strength that it had summoned at its call with ease, but there was still plenty for me to summon. I traced the line of magic and thought back, considering the pattern that the magic had taken, and with a thought, wove it around my paw. I reached forwards and pressed it against unmarred soil, then lifted it away, finding in its wake… frost. Rime and frost, the loam of the forest floor frozen in the shape of a paw print. Fascinating.
I flexed the limb, feeling the very light buzz of mana arcing up and down the fur. I could feel how I could shift the world ever so slightly, how I could draw the heat out of things, how I could freeze and coat in ice. Frost wasn’t my favoured damage type, that would always fall to lightning, but I couldn’t deny that it made for some quite terrifying possibilities. After all, it was very hard to protect against an extreme cold with a mind of its own, that wormed its way into every crack and crevice in your clothing. It was far from being utilized, but it was certainly the beginnings of something great. I summoned it together, placing my paw against the ground once again and trying for another wave, but it only spread a fresh coat of ice for a few centimeters in front of me instead of the true wave of cold I’d produced before.
Ah, well. I had plenty of time and space to practice. It was learning to walk all over again.
“Sir sorcerer, I thank you dearly for this, but now that I am across the first hurdle, I would hate to see you or my other Hunters injured in my experimentation. I would appreciate it if you would inform Lady Alvina of my departure, and my thanks for referring such a helpful tutor.”
The Hunter straightened with pride, making a salute of some sort with his sorcery catalyst, then turned and marched off. Presumably, to go see Alvina, as he’d been told. As for myself… I hadn’t been lying.
The small applications of this new frost magic had been… worrying. The initial surge was almost unconscious, and just short of entirely uncontrolled. A wave of frost that could very well have seriously harmed anyone in its path. Even without a wave of power like that, my newly discovered affinity for frost was dangerous- the cold could kill just as well as the heat, and often worse so. It was easy to tell when one was burning, but the damage that the extreme cold did to you was much more subtle. If there was anything that I didn’t want, it was catching one of my precious Hunters in the crossfire of my magical experimentation. I had few enough allies as it was.
Still, in a stroke of good fortune, I had the perfect place to practice: namely, above Artorias’ grave. There, I would be able to flex the power I had managed to call in peace, leverage myself in ways that I would fear to if I was surrounded by vulnerable allies, as I was here. I walked off into the forest, circling around to where I could cross the thin stone bridge again. As I did, it occurred to me that there was one final group of beings in Darkroot that I hadn’t yet met, owing to them being deep within the trees of the second half.
The mushroom people, who most likely descended from Elizabeth of Oolacile, had a small colony in Darkroot just as they had a colony in the Great Hollow leading down to Ash Lake. The latter had light implications of being somehow linked to the plot against the gods, being that they were guarding the only entrance to the rebel stronghold that was Ash Lake. That did make me wonder, however, whether the mushroom people here had any kind of links. Perhaps the colony that stayed here had stayed in order to protect Sif? Did they somehow remember things from Elizabeth’s time, or were they just mindless fungal beasts? I spared a thought to how the largest of their kind could strike a blow that could smash stone and break steel, and I hummed. Such strength wouldn’t go remiss, if they had held onto their ancestor’s capability for higher thought.
As I passed into the area guarded by Alvina’s descendants, I felt their eyes upon me. I could not reach the mushroom colony by myself, not without uprooting a good portion of the trees and leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. However, the cats were lithe and agile, and could easily fit between the trees. The easy solution presents itself.
“Descendants of Alvina.” There was shuffling between them, upon their raised plateau, and one came forwards. Older, scars of battle across their body, and fur lanced with white and gray among the black. “Do the fungal people of Darkroot still hold true to the intellect of their ancestors?”
There was shuffling among their ranks again. The elder silenced them with a flick of his tail, sitting regally before me and raising his head high. Proud as any cat would be, prouder still for his signs of battles fought and won, and I wondered how the hierarchy of the cats in Darkroot worked.
“They remember their pact, if that is what you ask, Lady Sif. They hold true to the agreements between themselves and Lady Alvina, and have not broken their word. As to whether that indicates if they have held the capacity of thought demonstrated by their progenitor, Elizabeth, for all this time…” He made a noncommittal hum.
“I would ask permission to entreat you and yours.” His tail flicked again.
“We are here to serve Darkroot, Lady Alvina, and Artorias’ memory. You need not implore us to follow your word, Lady Sif.”
“Still, you are my sister’s to command, not mine. I give what respect is due, both to Alvina, and to the pride of your race.”
His lips twitched, and I thought I read a bit of a smirk about the expression, though it didn’t so much translate to human analogues.
“Ever the wolf, Lady Sif. A cat would be cunning and clever, but you come to us with honest treatment, speaking of honour and respect.”
“Should I not be?”
His tail flicked again. “I do not think it is a bad thing, per say. Just not the way of my people.” He waved a paw. “Say your piece, and we will listen.”
“My thanks.” I flicked my gaze over those gathered. Not a large crowd, only five besides the elder, but I suspected there were more that I hadn’t seen. “Things are stirring in Lordran. Foul creatures that have made their nests in the dark places are slaughtered by heroes, powers begin to wake, and things begin to move as they haven’t in hundreds of years. There will come a time when we find ourselves in true conflict, though against whom, I cannot say. What I am certain of, however, is that it is inevitable that it occurs. When that time comes, I must be ready with whatever strength I can gather.”
“We would not hesitate to protect Darkroot, Lady Sif.” One spoke up, raising his head high.
“I have no doubts about that. What I am asking of you, however, is more than simple guarding.” They had looked interested before, if only because of the novelty of being addressed by Sif herself, but now they focused on me. “I asked you of the fungal people of Darkroot. I need a representative, one who can go in my place and speak to them, and see if they won’t lend their incredible strength to the task ahead. More than that, I and Alvina both need scouts- ears and eyes beyond the Hunters, and… paws to do our work.”
The elder smirked, the other cats chittering among themselves in amusement.
“I- we, are honoured that you would seek us out for such a question, Lady Sif, but I’m afraid that I do not see what we could offer you that an Undead could not.”
“There are more than just six of you.” I said, simply.
The elder blinked, then grinned a grin full of needle-like teeth. Amusement flickered in his golden eyes, his tail twitching as he flexed his paws, claws scraping against the densely packed loam.
“Perhaps just a few.”
“And perhaps, those few see and hear more than you indicate.”
“They might.”
“If they truly are what I believe they are, then I would ask boons of you.” He nodded, once, and I continued. “First, the fungal peoples. Approach them and entreat them as I have you, see if they possess the intelligence of their precursor, and, if so, whether they will lend their strength to the Sunlight Throne. Second… the latter of the two Bells of Awakening lies deep within Blighttown, though we know not where, nor its condition. I have need of scouts, those willing to plumb the depths, to see what peoples are down there and whether they are amenable to speaking.”
I paused, glancing around the clearing, taking in the walls. There, I realized, something slightly cool settling deep in my stomach, were more cats than I’d ever seen in the games. They lounged upon the raised wall of earth that surrounded the little bowl-shaped area, watching me closely, while some stood or sat here or there among the trees, or behind me. Carefully concealing my surprise, and a sudden spike of anxiety, I returned my focus to the elder.
“The last two are rather sensitive.”
“You have nothing to fear from me or mine, Lady Sif. Those here will keep the confidence of the sister of their ruling Lady.”
I nodded. “Very well.” I breathed in, then let it out as a huff through my nose. “There are rumours, hearsay, that the members of the plot against the gods hid below, in Blighttown. The entrance will be hidden, but from what I have heard, it involves the great tree at the edge of that diseased crevice. The second is that I need reports- I have been caught off guard at least once by the Black Knights placed by the god’s orders around Lordran, and the further my actions take me, the more will shift beyond my control. The Way of White already has an inkling of my existence, I suspect, though I am unsure when or how their agent reports back.”
“It will be done, Lady Sif. Of that you can be sure.”
The elder bowed his head, though the vicious smile never left his face. I inclined my head to him, then stood, glancing over the clearing. The spots that had been taken by cats just moments before were now empty, every single one of the watchers gone entirely. I found myself between a flicker of anxiety and a glowing core of… expectation, perhaps. The Hunters were a force to be reckoned with, there were no doubts about that, but there was no stealth in their ranks. They were sentinels, an army of warriors, and it showed in their tactics and approaches. The cats were closer, for their part, to Shiva’s nameless bodyguard in nature.
The rest of my walk was quiet and undisturbed, moving through the undergrowth towards Artorias’ resting place. For once, there wasn’t anything pressing to distract me, no large issues I was on my way to address, nothing that strictly needed my immediate attention- at least, not from my larger body. For the first time since I’d started moving around, I could take my time a little, appreciate the ethereal beauty of Darkroot. I inhaled the scent of forest, small animals and dense fog mixed with wood and the slightest undertone of rot. Felled trees and dead plant life, dissolving into the ground and feeding the next cycle of life in the forest.
“How would an age of Dark affect Darkroot?” I mused to myself, quietly.
Surely, Dark denoted a lack of the sun. Wildly different the world of Dark Souls was from my own, with magic denoting even the pass of time itself, surely the trees still required sunlight for photosynthesis. In the prospective Age of Dark, would plant life die out? Would the world be left entirely bereft of most life, save for immortal undead, wandering in the darkness?
I hummed. I hadn’t felt hungry since I’d arrived here, and it’s not like Sif left her arena to hunt. It was likely that I didn’t need to eat at all, and if that was true, that most likely meant that I could endure a complete death of the ecosystem. Depressing as it might be, I could survive it, though I had little wish to exist in such a barren world.
Carefully, I crossed the stone bridge back to Sif’s arena, though the crossing was much quicker and easier than it had been the last time I had made it. Practice really did make perfect, especially when some of that practice had been going toe to toe with many of the hostile creatures that called Lordran home. I swiftly came to the other side, then went up and over the wall that denoted the edge of the arena.
Artorias’ grave was left undisturbed from when I’d seen it last. The walls might have been crumbled, but they would be exceedingly difficult to climb for an Undead in armour. If, by a total miracle, one had managed to get past the highly increased presence of both myself and the Hunters, then they would’ve been stumped here. The main doors were still barred by Sif’s… did it count as an ultra greatsword, even? From my perspective, it was relatively the same size as my smaller form’s lightning blade, in comparison to my smaller form’s size. My size. Whatever. Still, that meant that it was so large and heavy as to be completely unusable by even the strongest of Undead. Even those capable of wielding the Berserk reference, that solid hunk of iron, might not even be able to lift the hilt, let alone hold the entire blade. Though, come to think of it, a Black Knight might be able to wield it… though only with extreme difficulty.
I cast my gaze over the blade, then dismissed it with a shake of my head. Practicing with it was a necessity, as my own experimentation had shown my teeth and claws and raw strength to be insufficient to kill many of the larger enemies I’d faced. That, however, would come later, when I was comfortable with my ability to wield my newly discovered affinity for frost. I sat in the center of a path of grass, then breathed in, and out. Little spiderwebs of white reached out from my paws in all directions, while I watched with interest.
Frost was a damage type that appeared in the third game, specifically linked to Irithyll of the Boreal Valley, which, itself, was either modeled from or built around Anor Londo. If proceed, Frost caused Frostbite, which did damage, reduced stamina regen, and reduced your armour’s ability to protect you. It wasn’t very good, for a status effect, and thus was rarely used, but here…
Frost, as a game mechanic, was restrained to status effects and HP damage. Here, however, the insidious creep of cold would be something more like reality. If I could cover a target in frost, I could slow their reaction times, make them sluggish and lethargic, even make their weapons and armour brittle or kill them outright with extreme cold. Assuming, of course, that I could land the hit and make the frost penetrate their body. This didn’t include the ability to make frozen spears, or even battlefield hazards in the form of slippery ground… hmm, potential. Though I felt that I might struggle to direct it, without a catalyst for control. As it was, I was simply projecting uncontrolled frost into the wider world, at best barely directed by my intentions.
I breathed deeply, then settled in to practice. Directing the frost and harnessing the energy in a way that prevented it from flowing where it will would be a lengthy process, but after landing in this body, I was rather familiar with exactly that.
----------------------------------------
“You don’t have to follow me on the next leg of the trip. In all honesty, I’d rather have you here, keeping an eye on that buffoon, Petrus.”
Patches nodded, his mouth quirking upwards into a smirk as his eyes danced towards where Petrus was still standing. Rodger, for his part, watched on with a sort of vague curiosity. He was interested enough in our conversation that he at least wasn’t sinking back into staring at the bonfire in silence. Anything, really, was an improvement from that, as long as it wasn’t him Hollowing.
“Far be it from me to complain about not having to follow you on whatever suicidal adventure you cook up next, wolfy. Old Patches is perfectly fine staying here.” He reclined back on the stone steps, his shield and spear laying by his sides. They were never very far from his hands.
“No kicking him off any ledges- at least, not yet.”
Patches’ smirk turned into more of a scowl.
“And here I thought we were friends! You don’t trust me, wolfy?”
“Specifically, I don’t trust you not to give in to your hatred of clerics and the intrusive desire to see one take a bit of a fall. You have a way of doing things, and while I certainly wouldn’t argue that the idiot doesn’t deserve it, it would be inconvenient for all of us if the Way sent someone more competent when we weren’t ready for them.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him.” I looked at Rodger in surprise, who shrugged, his chain mail shirt clinking softly. “I’ll somehow fit it into my packed itinerary.”
I snorted, nodding my thanks to him, a nod that he returned with a thin smile. Patches made a noise of offense and rounded on him, launching into a defense of his honour that I immediately tuned out. I walked away from the circle of warmth around the bonfire, through the ruins of Firelink.
By this time, the Hollows that guarded the way up from Firelink and into the aqueduct leading to the Undead Burg had been restored. I wondered if, rather than being a factor of resting at the bonfire, the restoration of enemies was a factor of time instead? I rammed one of them off the edge, watching it smash itself against the rocks far below, and shook my head. If that was the case, how did the ones that were kicked off ledges and such find their ways back to where they’d stood? A conundrum to be sure.
The last of the Hollows dealt with, I went to step into the clear flowing water, glancing down the aqueduct as I did. The shortcut leading to the tower that let out just above the entrance to the Depths was still closed, so I ignored it. Then I paused, looking down at the water I’d been about to put my paw in.
I stared at the surface of it for a few moments, then, experimentally, my larger body tried sending a thin layer of frost across the surface of the ground in the arena. Several tries finally yielded a success, coating the entire area I’d been aiming for in a thin, but solid, layer of ice. Both my bodies nodded, and then I reached towards the water with a paw, touching the surface gently.
There was a crackling as frost spread from the point of contact, quickly crossing the waterway and affixing itself to the stone on either side, allowing me to swipe my paw. The ice traveled down the surface of the water, making a solid surface on top of it, creaks and groans echoing through the stone passage. Experimentally, I pressed onto the surface with one paw, then two, then settled my entire weight on it. It creaked underneath me, but held. I grinned triumphantly, making my way down the passage and towards the door to the Undead Burg with perfectly dry paws.
I didn’t care how it looked, or whether it was really practical to expend all this effort just to keep from getting wet. In my book, it was a win.
The Hollows weren’t particularly more difficult from this end than they had been coming from the opposite direction. The only real danger came from the crossbow Hollow that looked down on the square barricade area, and even then, I brutalized the Hollows there fast enough that I only had to dodge a single bolt. The Hollows slinging firebombs were slow and didn’t bother to lead their shots in any way, making it easy to dash through and slam myself into the three Hollows guarding the shortcut from the Undead Burg bonfire into the Lower Burg. Speed and strength, as well as a good blade, saw me easily through them, leaving me standing in front of the iron door closing off the shortcut, sheathing the sword at my side.
Celia and Siegmeyer hadn’t been this way, yet. At least, if they had, then they hadn’t bothered to actually open the door that led to the stairway down, as it remained closed. Now, typically, the iron door itself couldn’t be opened from this side, and had to be approached from the Lower Burg side of things. The idea behind this was that it gave the player character the option to backtrack to the Undead Burg bonfire, for the purposes of healing and refilling the Estus flask while exploring the Lower Burg and fighting things like the bandit ambush or the Capra Demon.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
From the appearance of Reah and her guardians, and assuming that the order of events of the game still ruled, Celia must’ve defeated the Capra Demon. If that was so, then the two of them had most likely cleared out most of the Lower Burg. The only place left to go was down, down into the Depths, which ultimately led to Blighttown. And, of course, the Gaping Dragon, empowered by another one of Seath’s channelers. Between the channeler, the dragon itself, and Domhnall of Zena, it would seem to me that the Depths were firmly under the control of Seath the Scaleless.
Seath had long undertaken experimentation with the goal of producing more of his kind, offspring with the stone scales that denoted a truly immortal dragon. The Gaping Dragon had once been a true dragon, but had fallen to corruption and hunger, and was now a twisted shell of its former self with a fraction of its original strength. Given its channeler guard, I was more than a little inclined to believe that it was the byproduct of some experiment of Seath’s- perhaps into the nature of the dragons themselves. Whatever it was, it was most definitely something that needed putting down. It was something that would, without a doubt, attract the attention of the Duke. The question became, then, whether the attention drawn would be positive, or negative.
I cast a glance over the iron bars of the door and the moderately rusted lock. It was a simple deadbolt, mounted to the iron of the door itself and the stone doorway, and I could see a bit of the bolt through the thin gap between the door and the stone. It would be difficult, if not impossible, for an Undead to reach through the bars and unlock the door from this side: between the closeness of the iron bars and the iron square that surrounded the deadbolt, I was unsure a human could even reach it. Still, I was in the unique position of not caring in the slightest.
The door buckled at the first hit, my shoulder bending the iron bars in a little with a loud KRANG as I rammed it. The second hit caused stone dust to fall, landing in piles on the ground. At the third, it wasn’t the deadbolt or the door that gave, but the iron driven into the stone that the deadbolt slid through. The bits of iron clanged against the stairs below as the door swung open, slamming against the stonework with bent hinges and ruined bars. I really hoped that we didn’t need that door again, as I think I ruined it pretty thoroughly.
I made my way down the stairs, paws soft against the hard stonework as I padded down to the entrance to the Lower Burg. I reached the second landing, and only spared the doorway to the left a glance before walking to the right, to the stairs down into the Burg. The corpses of those enemies that inhabited the place, dogs and worse, lay scattered about the path. To one side, I saw the open door to where Griggs had been contained, nodding and walking on. Celia appeared to have made easy work of this place.
The various ambushes that littered the way deeper were similarly scattered about, the bandits made nothing more than corpses with one or two precise strikes each. At least a full third were hewn entirely in half, wounds I recognized as having originated with Siegmeyer’s zweihander and near-superhuman strength. The old adventurer appeared to have had no difficulty with anything here, and the two of them had gotten through with nary a hitch, as far as I could tell. I could smell no trace of their blood among the bodies.
The fog wall that normally hid the layer of the Capra Demon was gone, leaving me with a direct view into its small arena, which was scattered with more dogs. Their corpses bore the same wounds as the Hollows that littered the Lower Burg, and I nodded to myself. My assumption that Celia and Siegmeyer had defeated the Capra proved true, and I couldn’t help but feel some flash of pride on behalf of the Undead. Not so long ago, she had quailed in my presence and acted in fear of me, and now she was bringing down demons. They grew up so fast.
My purposes for coming this way fulfilled, I turned right and into another stairway, turning halfway down and coming down a second flight to the bottom of the Lower Burg. Here, the walls rose far above my head, forming foundations for the buildings above, the stone riddled with moss and lichen. It was colder and wetter, down here, and as I sniffed the air, I thought I recognized just the barest hint of something rotten. A whiff of the Depths.
I poked my head around the left-hand corner, nodding to myself as I saw the lifeless body of the bandit that looked to ambush any passing Undead from behind there. Not that I thought that it would’ve ignored the two Undead that had already passed by, but once one was punished for their lack of caution enough times, one learned to double check things and make sure. You never knew where something dangerous might be hiding.
“Lady Sif!”
I turned away from the corner at the excited voice, ears perked, and saw Celia waving at me from the steps up to the shortcut tower. Siegmeyer sat a few more steps above her, cleaning his blade, his helmet resting on a step at his side. He looked up at the sound of Celia’s call, sighting me in but a moment, a huge smile breaking out on his face.
“Well, Lady Sif! This is certainly a surprise. Did you intend to meet with us here?”
I padded closer to the base of the stairs and sat, not bothering to prevent a smile of my own from crossing my lips. “I have to say that I didn’t specifically have any intention of intercepting you here, not in any specific sense, but I’m glad to see you all the same. I saw some of the enemies that you managed to overcome on the way here, and I spoke to Griggs of Vinnheim, the sorcerer that you freed.”
Siegmeyer nodded in recognition. “Ah! Yes, poor Griggs, locked away in that room by those bandits. That we managed to come along in time is a true stroke of luck. He stated that his intention was to make his way back to Firelink- I presume that, if you spoke to him, he made it?”
“Indeed. He was hale and hearty when we spoke, and had interesting insight into some subjects we discussed. He stated that you were intending to move deeper, and I regret that I had other things to attend to and couldn’t join you for your exploration, though you seem to have made quick work of everything here and you seem unharmed.” Celia shuddered.
“Not for lack of effort.” she said, grimacing. “Bandits and Hollows, and there was this creature behind another of those walls of fog- tall. Wore a skull on its head. Had these two huge iron cleavers.”
“Ah.” I nodded. “A Capra demon, one of the footsoldiers of the wild Chaos Flame. Strange, that one should find its way here, so far from its origin. How it came to be, I doubt we’ll ever know.”
“Was an excellent fight, I must admit, and an interesting challenge!” Siegmeyer said, bright as ever. “Close quarters meant that Celia had to cover me, so that I could get room for my sword-” He brought his hands up to begin gesturing, then hesitated and lowered them sheepishly. “Ah, but the storytelling can wait for later, when we are in friendlier environments.” I nodded to him.
“Indeed.” I turned towards the doorway to the Depths, sniffing once, then drawing my lips upwards in disgust. “If my nose is correct, I would guess that that way is the way to the Depths below the Burg. Sewers and worse, and, I would hazard, packed tight with all manner of disgusting creatures.”
“Aye, we had assumed as such. We had just been preparing, and discussing whether we should see where this other door leads.” Siegmeyer waved his hand over his shoulder, indicating the entrance to the tower shortcut.
“Hopefully, a spot we can rest at.” Celia said, cleaning something dark from the blade of her sword with an oil cloth and returning it to its sheath. She then proceeded to take out her Estus flask, swirling the remaining fluid around inside of it. “I think I’m nearly empty, and I don’t fancy exploring an entire new place without a fresh supply, not with how treacherous this place has been so far.”
“If you would like, I would be willing to scout the tower for you. Gwyn willing, perhaps it’ll lead to a refuge that you can rest at, or perhaps a roundabout path to someplace you’ve already been.”
Specifically, the tower was a shortcut at the very terminus of the Burg that led back to the aqueduct, on the other side of the iron door I’d looked at earlier. It opened easily from this side, and would lead one back to Firelink shrine. Not that they knew that, or that I was supposed to know that, but a white lie here was harmless.
“I would not wish to impose, Lady Sif, but if you would be willing, then we would gladly take you up on your offer of aid.”
Siegmeyer shifted himself towards the wall, leaving a gap next to him that was easily wide enough for me to pass through, and Celia did the same. I nodded to the both of them, passing them by and up the steps, then turning into the entrance to the tower.
It was a stone circle, with a staircase spiraling up the inside, much like the tower that the Havel pretender had been contained in. In this case, however, instead of multiple landings, there was a wooden platform on stilts, suspended halfway up the inside. Like many of the more fragile looking constructions of Lordran that were perfectly sturdy in the games, this was one that I was much more dubious about in real life. The legs of the platform looked half given to rot and mildew, and it creaked ominously as the bow Hollow that stood atop it shifted around. I was glad that, unlike the rickety bridge over nothing that was the entrance to New Londo, it wasn’t anything that I would have to walk across.
I padded my way up the steps, making a distinct effort to remain as quiet as possible. Whether my efforts succeeded, or the Hollow itself was so out of it that anything short of an Undead in full plate clanking up to it would go entirely ignored, it had its back turned to me when I reached the same level as the platform itself. This made it simplicity itself to jump up, slam my paws into its back, and send it right over the edge to smash itself against the stone floor below.
“Lady Sif?” The question echoed up from below, and I looked around the edge of the platform to see Celia, blinking at the corpse of the Hollow that had pancaked on the stone floor.
“I’m perfectly alright.” Celia looked up in surprise, quickly finding my face with her eyes. “There was simply a Hollow that I… dealt with.”
“I can see that.” Celia nudged the Hollow’s corpse, then crouched down to have a look at its bow.
I, for my part, turned back to the stairs, mounting the last few and finding myself at the only real landing in this tower. The stairs in front of me had crumbled, and wherever they had led to originally, the way farther up was blocked off by wooden planks. The curiosity that I spared them was passing, at best; whatever was farther up the tower most likely wasn’t worth the effort that I’d spend trying to get there.
Instead, I stepped over the surprisingly well-preserved wood of the landing and through the doorway at the opposite side. The opening smelled faintly of dampness and echoed the sound of rushing water into the top of the little tower, and as I poked my head through, I found exactly what I expected. In front of me ran the water of the aqueduct, and looking left, I could see where sunlight peeked into the tunnel from the two doorways that led out of it beyond the iron gate.
“Vee hee hee, what kind of creature is this, hmmm?”
I twitched and grimaced. I’d always found the moss merchant to be a little bit unnerving, and as I turned to look at her through the iron bars that she hid behind, I winced again. Her tattered clothing did nothing to hide the physical rot of Hollowing, her emaciated form showing through the tears and rips in the fabric. The only way she was even identifiable as a female was by her voice, and even then, only just.
“Haven’t attacked the bars yet, so you must have some sanity about you, eh?”
“... Some.” I said, reluctantly. If she was as surprised by a talking wolf as the rest of the residents of Lordran, she didn’t show it.
“Well, I’ve got moss, and you’ve got Souls. Care to trade?”
I opened my mouth to say no, then paused. The moss that she sold was actually very important for any trip into Blighttown, to ward off both toxin and poison. For the large party that I wanted to take down there, her efforts- and wares- might very well be vital to their success and lack of casualties. After all, if they died in a permanent sense when the player killed them, then what was to say that the horribly toxic environment of Blighttown couldn’t do it.
“Out of curiosity… how much do you have?”
“Ohhh, piles and piles, wolfy!” I grimaced at the nickname. It had been bad enough when Patches had started using it. “I know all the secret places to collect it, oh yes, though I’m not telling you, vee hee hee!”
“I’m not planning to make you tell me. I’m just-” I frowned and swapped gears. “I may be involved in an expedition into a highly toxic place soon, with a large number of allies. If you would be willing, I would like to ask you to gather whatever mos you can find. Ideally, we’ll come to purchase the lot before we head on to our destination.”
“Well, well, a bulk order! I can see that you’re a shrewd buyer, wolfy, and I’ll have it when you get back! Vee hee heee…” Her laugh faded as she walked backwards into the dark, and the last thing I saw of her was her glowing red eyes, before those, too, winked out.
I stood there for a moment in the doorway to the tower, then shuddered at the chill prickling up my spine. I definitely hadn’t remembered her being that creepy in the games, thought that might’ve been because my visits to her were just the rare instances I’d needed to stock up on vital supplies she offered. Optionally, of course, there was the idea that she’d been this creepy all along, and that it never came through the games. While I didn’t doubt that I could put her down with ease, there was part of me that was still glad that she was in there and I was out here.
I shook my head, banishing the thoughts, as I turned back towards my intended goal. It was easier, this time, to step down onto the surface of the water and freeze it underneath my paws, allowing me to walk down the tunnel to the grate. Unlike the shortcut from the Undead Burg, I didn’t have to bull rush this one and knock it off its hinges: it was enough for me to get up on my hind legs and manipulate the deadbolt with my teeth, sliding it into the unlocked position before pushing the door open with an awful creaking noise. I shuddered as it swung open, sticking out my tongue.
“Ugh. Disgusting. I should’ve used my paw.”
The muttered words rebounded off the walls, echoing in the small stone space. The bolt had been slimy and encrusted with moss and… other things, and I most definitely regretted tasting it. Still, with the door open, I turned back and walked across the layer of frost to the tower and down the steps inside. It was something of a relief to exit the dark dankness of the aqueduct and back into the weak sunlight, even weaker for our position in a man made crevice. That particular thought made me glance at the door to the Depths and grimace, thinking about how much worse it would be in an actual sewer.
“Welcome back!” Siegmeyer smiled at me, Celia perking up farther down the steps. “So? Any luck?”
“Indeed. The tower climbs up and meets the aqueduct that runs into the Undead Burg, but further along. There was a deadbolted door that I opened, but besides that, the way is clear to Firelink.”
“Ah! Excellent!”
Siegmeyer stood, grabbing his helmet from the step next to him and fastening it back onto his head. He patted it twice, then turned and took his zweihander from where it was leaning against the wall, resting it back against his shoulder where it typically lay. Celia buckled her own helmet to the rest of her armour, her hands touching the shield on her back and the sword at her side, before she nodded to herself and began climbing the steps. I led the two of them back up the tower and into the aqueduct, where Siegmeyer paused, leaning down to examine the layer of ice that I’d formed atop the surface of the water.
“How peculiar… it looks rather like a river during the deep of winter, when even the slow motion of the water isn’t enough to keep the frost away.” He leaned down and rapped his gauntlet against it, the sound of metal on ice echoing through the stone passage.
“I’ve been experimenting with magic, and found myself to have an affinity for the manipulation and generation of frost. Knowing the places that we might find ourselves in eventually, I figure that practicing making a solid surface to stand on might be a wise decision.”
“Oh, I agree, Lady Sif. I must say, I can definitely count the amount of times I would’ve given much for a frozen river.” He pounded his armoured stomach and laughed. “I’m afraid that all this plate makes it a little too hard to swim!”
Celia laughed, the sound causing her helmet to ring slightly, and I couldn’t help a small smirk. I had to admit, I’d missed these two, even in the little bit of time that I’d been away from them. Being with them was starting to feel… right, like comradeship. The thought came with a spark of wistful nostalgia, vague feelings of close friendship. The feeling lingered for a moment, and then I shook it off, stepping down onto the layer of frost atop the water.
“Whup!”
There was a crack, and my head whipped around to where Siegmeyer had tried to step onto the layer of ice, and his boot had gone straight through it. Sheepishly, he drew it back, shaking droplets of water off of it.
“It appears that I may be a little too heavy for it.”
I frowned, the pelt between my eyes creasing as I concentrated, trying to exert more control over the magic that I pumped into the ice. Instead of making it thicker, I tried to make it denser, the mass of ice pressed into the same space that it had taken before and not damming the flow beneath it, but becoming strong enough to support a human in armour. As I watched, the hole left by Siegmeyer’s boot closed itself with ice thick enough that it turned opaque, that same white opaqueness rapidly spreading throughout the rest of the translucent layer.
“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble just to keep our feet dry, Lady Sif.” Siegmeyer said, stepping down onto the ice and letting out a satisfied ‘hm’ as it supported his weight. I shook my head.
“Eventually, I’ll need to do this for a group of warriors- whomever we choose to accompany us downwards, when we try for the second bell. It will need to support their weight, even when they fight, or risk exposing them to the poisons infesting Blighttown.” the edge of my mouth quirks upwards. “Congratulations, Knight Siegmeyer, my attempts to keep your boots from getting wet might save lives.”
“Well, then, I suppose that it’s our duty to test it thoroughly!”
----------------------------------------
By the time we actually reached the bonfire, it was with an extremely wet Siegmeyer.
“Really, I apologize. If I’d known it was that weak-”
He waved me off with a laugh as I hovered by his side, somewhat anxious.
“Worry not, Lady Sif, this isn’t the worst I’ve been. Trust me, I’ve been dunked bodily in pond water in armour, this really can’t compare.” He looked up as we reached the bonfire, unbuckling his helmet and taking it off his head, revealing his blinding smile. “Ah! Here we are!”
I looked around at Firelink. Patches had apparently set himself up to one side, rolling out a heavy cloth of some kind on the grass, and appeared to be servicing his spear. Griggs and Rodger had apparently been sitting together, deep in some kind of discussion that had halted when we’d entered the circle around the bonfire. Petrus has apparently abandoned his vigil away from the others, and was sitting on the exact opposite side of the ring from Patches, the two of them occasionally sending glares in the other’s direction when they looked away. Lautrec, however, was nowhere to be seen, which was to be expected. I doubt he would want to mix with the likes of those that sat here.
“Oh, if it isn’t the Chosen Undead.” Rodger said the words with sarcasm, some of the most animation that I’d seen from him. Definitely the most on Celia’s part, who gave him a startled look. “Just about ready to ring the second bell, then?”
“Ah… not yet? Depths next, I think.” She looked to me and Siegmeyer for confirmation, and I shrugged.
“Far be it from me to direct your path, Celia. Choose your own.”
Though, really, we needed to get down into the Depths as soon as possible to rescue Laurentius. I didn’t know if we were working on a time limit there, but it’s not like I could indicate such a thing. Still, in a place where the order of events was laid down by uncaring gods, most likely before any of the humans save Patches were born, the decisions of a person were something that I wanted to respect.
“I’ve had plenty of my own adventures. This one is yours, and if you think that is the best choice, then I will follow.”
Celia seemed to waver at that proclamation of faith in her for a moment, before nodding decisively. I pretended to ignore the way that her hand flicked something away from her eyes as she did so.
“Yeah, okay…” She stood up straighter. “We’ll rest, then head into the Depths.”
Siegmeyer nodded, satisfied, then ambled off to introduce himself to Patches, who watched the knight approach with a hooded expression. I hummed. In the far future, Patches would trick one Siegward of Catarina, a very similar person to Siegmeyer, into stripping himself of his armour. Somehow, Siegward would end up at the bottom of a well, and Patches would use his armour in his attempt to get the Unkindled Ash killed. Not relevant, except as an interesting parallel, but still.
Celia, for her part, walked to the bonfire and sat at it, setting the Estus flask down in front of her and holding out a hand. As I watched, she seemed to coax a spark from the bonfire, which smoothly settled into the bottle. The liquid inside swirled and surged, and I watched as the amount in the bottle slowly increased as the tiniest of embers flowed from the fire and into the mouth. I padded up and sat at her side, and she spared me a glance before going back to her careful work.
“How did you learn to do this?” I asked, quietly. Celia frowned.
“I’m… not sure I did? It’s instinctive. I… felt like it was the right thing to do, when I first brought the flask to the bonfire. I just followed hunches and experimented, until I had a process for filling it.”
I nodded, fascinated. It felt as if she was drawing the barest golden thread from the bonfire, linking it with the flask and storing the healing fire of the First Flame for later use. The Estus flask contained something like… concentrated time at the bonfire? I wasn’t sure how to put it. It was like the concept of sitting at the bonfire while it healed your wounds, except condensed into a golden fluid that the bottle contained. The Estus flask itself was one of the most mysterious artifacts in Dark Souls, being that it had little linked lore information, but now I wondered if it wasn’t some healing artifact of the gods that had been lost to time. Perhaps one of Seath’s experiments, integrated into the meatgrinder plan of the gods? I hummed.
“Before we leave, have you gone below?”
Celia gave me a curious look. “Down the elevator? I explored to the entrance, but didn’t trigger the mechanism. Didn’t know what was down there, and I was dealing with enough already.”
“A fair conclusion to reach, and you’re most likely the better for it. The ruins of New Londo contain enemies that you just don’t have the resources to fight.”
Celia gave me a curious look, motioning with her hand for an explanation. I shrugged.
“Curse is the only way one can fight the ghosts that haunt New Londo, and, disregarding the few cursed weapons, it comes in two forms. The first… well, I have only heard rumours, but, apparently, if one survives being cursed by a creature known as a basilisk, they come out weakened greatly but possessing the ability to fight such creatures.”
“Weakened? How so?”
I hummed with uncertainty. I really wasn’t sure how chopping off half the health bar worked in regards to real life.
“Weakened. That is all I know. However, the second method is one much more known to me, as it’s one that was commonly leveraged by warriors aiming to fight similar beings. A Transient Curse is an item that afflicts the one who uses it with a weak pseudo-curse, surrounding them with a glowing circle and allowing them to strike blows that land. However, the effect is temporary, and the magic does not last. Without a supply of these items, one might find themselves facing a crowd of ghosts with no way to fight them.”
Celia shifted, looking perturbed. “Is there really no other way?”
I shrugged.
“There are weapons that are cursed by nature, but those are rare. The primary ones that I know of are the daggers and blades carried by the ghosts themselves, but getting them from their hands requires having the ability to strike them in the first place.”
Celia grimaced. “Ghosts. I thought they were only the territory of tall stories and tales, creatures you told children about to scare them into behaving.”
“Not so, unfortunately.” I glanced over and met Siegmeyer’s eyes, who nodded to me, then focused on Celia. “Such creatures are rare things, powerful and reclusive, and few live to tell the tales of their encounters. However, I have fought a few in my time. It is never a happy experience.”
“Should hardly think so.” Patches muttered, his legs folded under him. “Ghosts’re formed by bad things. Always tragic figures, them. The results of drama and terrible crimes.” He gave me a meaningful look, his eyes flicking to Petrus. “Lot of religions tend to keep those trained in fighting them around.”
I grimaced at what that implied. I would put money on the Way of White having quite the supply of Transient Curses, stashed away in basements. I would also bet money on the halls of their holy places needing a clearing every so often by hunters trained in their use. If one needed to break a few eggs to make an omelet, then the Way of White could feed entire crowds.
“It is the duty of any follower of the gods to fight such creatures.” Petrus said, and I resisted the urge to respond. Nothing good could come of that.
“Mm, perhaps, but to produce even one of them is a tragedy.” Siegmeyer looked contemplative. “Lady Sif, how many ghosts would you say haunt the ruins?”
I blinked, then frowned. “Too many to count.”
Siegmeyer sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking the most serious that I’d ever seen him.
“What sort of travesty creates such a place?”
I made eye contact with Patches, who was watching me levelly. He lifted an eyebrow, inclining his head slightly in the direction of Griggs and Petrus, and I shook my head slightly. I wouldn’t reveal that I had such knowledge, not in front of them. Taking my meaning, he shrugged.
“Well, see, way back when,” he started, “during the reign of Gwyn, there were four kings. They each got a piece of Gwyn’s Soul, see, a reward for services to the gods and the Sunlight Throne. They were philosophers as well as kings, and they ruled over a city-state of mages and alchemists- New Londo, the second jewel of Lordran. Playing with magic brought them riches and power, and the city prospered.”
“What happened?” Celia asked, quietly. Patches grinned.
“What happens when anybody gets a taste of true power? They got greedy. Started reaching deeper than they should, started looking at the Dark, not in fear of it, but with greed. Kings wanted to add the Dark to the power they wielded. Idiots.” He muttered the word. “Nobody knows exactly what happened, but when it was all over, New Londo was underwater and ordered sealed. Nobody, far as I know, managed to escape the drowning, and what’s left of them haunts the ruins, attacking anybody who gets close. And, beneath it all, a heart of Dark still beats.”
There was a moment of somber silence, where nobody wished to speak. A recognition of those that died, what small memory of them we could honour. Eventually, I broke the silence myself.
“Thankfully, the ghosts seem loathe to leave the ruins. Whether they are bound to the place that they died or are simply unwilling to leave it, they do not spread beyond it. As long as one does not cross the wooden bridge and into the city, they are perfectly content to keep to themselves.”
Rodger huffed. “At least we can consider ourselves lucky, there. I would hate to have to find a new spot just because somebody who died centuries ago took issue.”
I stood and stretched, hearing my joints crackle as I held out my legs one by one, then shook myself.
“Before we leave, Celia, I would like to introduce you to someone that I found in the Catacombs. An ancient smith of some renown, who I think may interest you.”
Celia sat up in surprise, then, taking my meaning, put the Estus flask back at her belt and stood. Quickly, she checked over her gear, then followed me as I walked away from the bonfire, though I paused and nodded to Siegmeyer, who nodded in return. As I led her down the steps and passed Lautrec, I simply exchanged a stare with the golden man, who merely folded his hands and watched me with detached interest as I made my way by.
“Why a smith?”
“Hm?” I returned my attention to Celia, as I walked her towards and into the elevator, triggering the mechanism in the center.
“Just… Why a smith? I’ve already met Andre, and he seems more than skilled enough for what maintenance I need.”
“Ah, but that’s not the only reason to seek out a smith, Celia.” I smiled a little, my tail lashing as the elevator started down. “Tell me. Have I explained weapon ascension to you?”