I stretched the limbs of my larger body, listening to the cracking of the joints. I had been sitting it at the bonfire while I fought Pinwheel, concentrating on the fight and the magic used, and now that my small body was pawing, heh, through Pinwheel’s notes and documentation, I was eager to practice something.
The nature of me, being Sif as I was, was that I was a physical attacker. I had my sword, my paws, my claws, and my teeth, but this caused significant issues when faced with something at range. I could strike at anything within the radius of my sword, but if I was fighting the Moonlight Butterfly, as an example, I would struggle just because of how much difficulty I would experience trying to hit it.
I had briefly considered miracles of some kind, being that I was a divine being- or at least squatting in the body of divinity. However, I had quickly run up against an issue: I couldn’t make them work. It wasn’t so much the lack of a miracle focus, but the fact that I completely and totally lacked Faith. To work miracles, one had to have faith that they would occur when the requirements are met; supposedly, miracles themselves came directly from the gods, and whether one worked or not was based on one’s belief in the gods. I, however, suspected that faith, in and of itself, referred more to the belief of someone that a miracle would work, which could be directly compounded by faith in the divinities but not necessarily linked.
However, for my part, I had little to no belief that something would actually happen if I waved a bell on a stick around and said some words. Certainly, I knew that miracles existed, had even seen them worked both by the Hunters and by Solaire, but that did nothing to change the fact that I did not believe that I could achieve an effect through such methods. Because I didn’t believe it would happen, it didn’t. It was a self-reinforcing cycle of failure that would no doubt take a large amount of time and effort to overcome, more than I had to spare. Thankfully, however, there was another option.
Magic flowed through me, within me. It was how I’d created the avatar, and, I suspected, how I was capable of feeling the web of connections that made up many magical things. But, then, how did I manipulate that energy to achieve external results? Certainly, I’d used it to do a variety of things, the aforementioned creation of my avatar, for one. However, actually wielding the magic that swirled within me as a weapon was an entirely different beast. However, I had an idea of how to approach the problem. While I was plumbing the depths of the Catacombs, I had also been speaking with Alvina. The interaction had been short and to the point, but more than enough to ask for what I’d wanted.
Specifically, I’d requested a Hunter that was capable of utilizing magic.
Eventually, I’d be speaking to Griggs about sound sorcery- I was, after all, a wolf, and the idea of weaponizing a growl, bark, or howl appealed to me far too much to let the idea lie. However, my smaller body was more than somewhat occupied with its various activities, and thus I would have to send a Hunter for Griggs in order to call him here. I had nearly asked it of one of the hunters that haunted the forest already, but hesitated, uncertain.
Griggs himself wasn’t much of a threat, per say. Like many humans, it was more a question of how long they could dodge before I squished them; though, to be fair, Griggs might well get some damage in before I could deal with him in a permanent sense. No, the thing that worried me about Griggs was his being here specifically as a spy keeping an eye on Logan and, perhaps, scouting out Lordran. In fact, he was potentially doubly a spy, in the first capacity for the sound sorcerer’s, and writ large for the college of Vinnheim. If he was actively reporting back, there was a chance that anything that he relayed could find its way to the gods that had abandoned Lordran, putting into motion conflicts that I wasn’t ready for. So, instead, I chose to ask a small favour of Alvina, and shoulder much less risk in the process.
I paused in the process of climbing the barrier. Perhaps, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been so cavalier in asking Witch Beatrice to find her way to the Duke’s Archives, but I hadn’t wanted her to try and interact with Sif in the past and cause… some kind of complication. I wasn’t sure precisely what would happen with that particular paradox, given the malleable nature of time in Lordran, but I wasn’t eager to find out.
I climbed into the territory of the Forest Hunters, nodding to the warriors patrolling the woods, and receiving nods in return. I wasn’t particularly eager to knock down a line of trees between myself and Alvina, and didn’t particularly want to take the entire circuitous route around to the other side of her building, so I took the relatively clear path that led to the right and around, following it to the cliff’s edge. From there, I only had to ruin a few trees as I pushed through a small copse, knocking them askew or into the abyss below, then shaking the leaves and branches out of my fur on the other side. It was then, of course, that I sighted Pharis.
The relatively small human was fingering her bow, staring up at me in a mix of awe and wariness, much the same reaction as I’d gotten from most of the other Forest Hunters. We made eye contact, and her eyes widened slightly under the brim of her hat, before she bowed to me.
“Lady Sif.”
Her voice was pleasant and smooth, and her bow was proper. It spoke of either upbringing tracing back to at least low nobility, or excellent training on the part of whoever involved themselves. Pharis was her name, and yet, it had been the name of someone else before her, a man, one linked to the legend of Robin Hood.
It wasn’t difficult to put together how the bow and the hat had lost their original owner. One linked so closely to such an outlaw would have fallen in with the plot against the gods, and would have most likely met their end at Seath’s machinations. The real question was how they had found themselves to be here, in the possession of someone bearing the same name. From the descriptions in-game, the items were the real thing, the actual belongings of a legendary fallen hero.
“Tell me.” She stiffened, then forced herself to relax. Clearly, she hadn’t expected to be addressed. “Your hat and bow. I recognize them as belonging to another.”
I could hear her heart pick up slightly in her chest, and wasn’t that interesting? Given my loyalties to the Sunlight Throne, however, it was understandable. I had no doubt that she expected me to make a meal of her or something to that effect.
“They… belonged to an ancestor, much like my own name, handed down through generations down to me.”
“Truly? So you descend from Pharis of the Black Bow?” I lowered my head to get a closer look at her. She nearly took a step back in surprise, then planted her feet with determination. “Pharis was legend before his fall. A contemporary to Hawkeye Gough at his prime, the great slayer of dragons. Tell me, Pharis… do you live up to the legacy of your name?”
“N… no, Lady Sif. Not… yet.” Her gloved hands tightened around the shaft of the bow, and she grit her teeth. “That is why I came to Lordran, why I joined the ranks of the Forest Hunters. I hope that, one day, I will be all my name promises.”
I blinked, slowly. “Noble. But Pharis fell behind the wrong banner, in the end… for your sake, I hope you do not do the same.”
I straightened up and continued on, leaving her to her thoughts. If there was any sedition left in the line of Pharis, I hoped that would clear her of it. I didn’t need disloyal Hunters casting doubt on my own dedication to the Sunlight Throne, when I would need every bit of trust I could gather to bring Gwyndolin and the inhabitants of Anor Londo to my side. This was going to be complicated enough as-is.
----------------------------------------
Patches refused to look at me as we climbed the steps back towards the graveyard, though that was, I felt, more down to the fact that I’d threatened to throw him bodily off the cliff if he started laughing again. Still, I felt like he was casting looks at me when my back was turned- not that I could catch him in the act, the narrow stairs and the heavy burden of Vamos’ smithing gear preventing me from turning without getting dangerously close to taking a shortcut to Blighttown. Something he probably knew and was taking liberal advantage of, the bastard. The smith himself followed behind us, grumbling about the lack of a convenient elevator shortcut out of the depths of the Catacomb.
The skeletons that inhabited the graveyard were perfect targets for my ire. I left them broken up into pieces and piles of bone powder, and felt much better for it.
Patches followed me up the stairs and into the chapel connected to Firelink Shrine, casting a wary gaze up at the giant bird that sat atop the ruined walls. I followed his gaze, frowning at it, then shook my head and stepped through the doorway.
“It won’t hurt you. I doubt it even cares that we’re here.”
“If you say so. I think I’ll still give it a wide berth, me.”
I shrugged. “Far be it from me to tell people not to avoid the giant bird.”
As I stepped into the actual chapel itself, a low rumbling made me freeze. Patches gripped his spear, instantly on edge, but I just grimaced and kept walking. He lingered in the doorway itself, however, surveying his surroundings. I made it halfway through the room before I realized that he wasn’t following me anymore, turning around to face him.
“It’s just snoring, don’t concern yourself.”
“Snoring!?” The corners of his mouth drew tight, and he examined the room closer. “What terrible kind of beast makes a snore that loud?”
“... Better that you don’t know, really.”
“As long as I don’t have to fight it.” He muttered. “This whole place is starting to seem like a menagerie.”
I blinked. Had that been a crack at me, as well? Before I could voice that thought, however, Vamos interrupted me.
“The old snake’s still here? This will be no place for a forge, then.” I could hear the distaste in his voice. Small wonder, I don’t think anyone liked the serpents but Gwyn, and even that might be a stretch.
“There are other places. One below, filled with Hollows that we could clear out with relative ease, right on the edge of New Londo- and I doubt there’s anything there that will bother you.”
“Hm.. does the seal still hold?”
Vamos was shockingly knowledgeable. Well, perhaps not shockingly; he had, after all, hinted at knowledge that was almost totally extinct in the modern world, the end of the second Age of Flame. Really, I wondered if he might even have an inkling of what truly awaited the Chosen Undead at the end of their quest, and simply didn’t speak up. After all, what did he care?
“It does. We may have to release it eventually, however, in order to purge the specters of the Four Kings from the depths of the ruins, but for the moment it will remain intact.”
“And what of the sealers?”
“One dead. One missing. The last still guards the Seal itself, holding the key to its release.”
Vamos grunted quietly. “That shall have to do, then.”
I waited a moment more, but that appeared to be all he had to say.
Patches was first through the doorway, glancing about, and I saw from behind as he looked left and a sneer of disgust crossed his face for the briefest of moments. I didn’t even have to look to know what had earned his ire. However, angling my ears revealed the soft, female voice of what I was suspecting was Reah, conversing in hushed tones with Petrus, most likely about their pilgrimage to Nito. I suppressed a scowl of my own, as, ironically, their trip to the Tomb of the Giants, double ironic for passing the holder of what they sought, would absolutely turn out worse now for the absence of Patches.
When Patches betrays the lot of them and kicks them down the hole, Reah’s companions turn Hollow, though they still guard her from the monsters in the pit. In the end, she’s rescued by the Chosen Undead, and, without her guards, turns back and somehow escapes the Tomb of the Giants and the Catacombs, ending up in the Undead Parish, praying at the altar.
Without Patches to derail her purposefully impossible quest, if she somehow beat all the odds and actually managed to trek through the Tomb of the Giants, Paladin Leeroy waited at the end of their journey, at the entrance to Nito’s tomb. After all, the entire purpose of the quest was not to actually achieve anything, but to dispose of those inconvenient to the Way of White, even if that meant killing them outright.
This was… admittedly complicated. I wanted to stop Reah and her companions from venturing into the Tomb of the Giants for much the same reasons that I’d altered events for a number of others, but doing so might require more from me than I was willing to give. My authority as one of the divine would suffice, certainly, but that would mean revealing my nature to Petrus, and, through him, the Way of White, an outcome that I wanted to avoid for as long as possible. If I were to pretend to be a messenger from Gwyndolin or Gwynevere, it would hide my identity from him for just a bit longer, but I suspected that Petrus would smell a rat and report to his superiors. Suddenly expressing interest in a Way of White cleric would be very out of character. However… there might be another way. The problem was that I didn’t know how long I had until their departure, and thus I couldn’t risk delivering Vamos’ equipment and coming back afterwards. If I was to speak to them, it would have to be now.
Patches shuffled off to the side, joining Rodger at the bonfire, while I turned my head to Vamos.
“Would you be willing to wait? I need to speak to them.”
Vamos grunted. “Don’t take long.”
I bowed my head in thanks, moving to a patch of grass and shuffling myself out of the heavy saddlebags and pack that had been strapped to me. I stretched my limbs, then ambled off in the direction of Reah and her comrades.
When I came through the door, Petrus narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, before immediately hiding it behind a guileless expression. Reah’s companions came alert, then hesitated, staring at the sword still strapped to my side. Reah herself blinked at their reactions, then turned to face me, stiffening in surprise. I sat down in the doorway, tail flicking, and spoke first.
“I presume that you’re representatives of the Way of White, come seeking the Rite of Kindling?”
Reah blinked several times, caught even more off-guard. “W- y-yes, I suppose we are?”
The tail end of the statement curved up into a question, her uncertainty at this new situation apparent. Being totally fair, I didn’t blame her for not knowing how to react properly to a talking wolf. I doubted that they covered things like this in cleric school.
“Excellent. I would speak to you, if I may, regarding your quest. My companion and I have just finished plumbing the depths of the Catacombs, and I may be able to provide some guidance, if you would be willing.”
Reah paused, glancing at her entourage, who simply shrugged. Clearly, they didn’t have much more of an idea about what to do about me than she did. Not having gotten the answer that she’d been looking for, she turned back to me.
“Well, I… suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
“My lady, be careful.” Petrus said, voice low, false concern threaded throughout his tone. I had to admit, for his other faults, he was an accomplished actor. “We do not know what the creature intends. It may mean to lead you astray.”
I huffed, indignantly, and a flash of temptation to wield my divine soul as a sledgehammer to crush this insect welled up within me. I indulged in considering it, then crushed the urge itself. No matter how satisfying it would be, it would also turn Reah and her companions against me, something that I didn’t need at this juncture. As Reah walked up to me, her companions a few steps behind, I jerked my head towards the stairs down.
“If you would follow me, I have a task that I must assist with. We may speak on the way, if that is amenable to you.”
“Of course.” she said, simply.
I nearly smiled, before remembering that the expression would most likely not look as friendly on a wolf as it would a human. While this would accomplish my goals for Vamos, it had the unique advantage of bringing us far beyond the prying ears and eyes of the Way of White, and allow us to speak in private.
As we came back through the archway, Reah’s companions noticed Vamos, and both tensed, their hands on the holy weapons at their belts. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, walking up to the pack filled with equipment.
“The lady and her companions will be accompanying us. Is that acceptable?”
Vamos looked up from the tiny piece of jewelry he was slowly working with an equally tiny hammer, empty eye sockets passing over each one of the three. After long moments of silence, he finally grunted, the tool and the jewelry vanishing somewhere as he pushed himself to his full height and walked towards the steps. I shrugged, taking that as a ‘yes’, and began slipping into the straps of the back. Reah, the kind woman that she was, immediately began helping me with them, though she struggled desperately against weight that I hardly noticed.
“Uff, how can you bear such a burden?” she said, straining against the pack. I simply shrugged.
“My size and outward appearance are deceiving.” I replied. There was a flicker of temptation to make a ‘size matters not’ joke, but I pushed it aside.
We made our way down the stairs that curved downwards to a small, flat outcropping, one level below the bowl of Firelink. As we rounded the bend, however, I sighted a glint of gold, and I realized exactly what I’d forgotten about this place.
Lautrec sat in one of the window openings in the crumbling wall that surrounded the flat little space, watching Vamos walk by him with a relaxed sort of amusement. His golden armour shone slightly in the sun, highlighting the molded arms in the breastplate, a direct reference to Fina’s grasp on him. Despite both of their links to the plot against the gods, and the hints of freeing the Undead from their slavery, I still didn’t have to like him. After all, good deeds don’t change someone being essentially unpalatable.
He turned his attention to myself and Reah, and I felt my muscles tense for a brief moment, having a flash of memory- a Firekeeper’s Soul behind bars, devoid of an owner. I shifted myself between him and Reah, but he didn’t seem interested in her. Instead, he seemed to have eyes only for me, which I wasn’t sure was worse or better.
“Well, well, it truly looks like the entertainers have arrived in Lordran. What a parade of misfits and creatures we have… and quite the interesting beast of burden, my lady.”
There was the slightest mocking edge to how he said those last two words. While I might side with him against the Way of White, and agree to some extent with his disdain of them, Reah was an innocent that wasn’t involved in their crimes. Given how the Way of White didn’t seem hung up too much about disposing of her companions as well, they were most likely decent people. My lips twitched back from my teeth in displeasure.
“My burdens are my own, and I carry them at my choice.”
“Hah! So you are the one that the poor fools above were speaking to!” He leaned forwards slightly, truly interested for the first time, though the feeling had a tinge of the maliciousness that he radiated with just about everything he said. “Tell me, where does a talking wolf find themselves in this crumbling ruin? Surely you cannot be Undead.”
“May I have your name, sir?” Would that I was a Fey, and that was a more literal question.
“Knight Lautrec of Carim, little wolf. Now, I admit that I’m truly curious- will you reciprocate?”
“... I am Sif, sworn of the Sunlight Throne.”
He laughed, loud and grating, my ears flicking back at the noise. “Truly! Ah, what a day this is, that the pet of Artorias- ah, the late Artorias, forgive me-” I outright snarled at that one, though he didn’t even seem to notice, carrying on without a hitch. “Comes to visit a humble knight. And with such a following! Tell me, little wolf, are you gathering a covenant of your own? Perhaps you aim to test the mettle of those that remain.”
“I have a covenant, Knight Lautrec, one managed by my sister in arms. The Forest Hunters follow loyally. I have no need to convince anyone to follow me for myself, I simply welcome those who come of their own accord.”
“And, tell me, who would that include?” He leaned forwards again. “I see the sword at your side, Lady Sif. The piece of steel and magic that you bear is more dangerous for what it carries with it than what it is.”
What-? The Black Knight in Undead Parish. He’d implied the same thing. The sword was made by Andre of Astora, one linked to the plot- and, perhaps, the unnamed blacksmith god, who’s skull rested in the stronghold of the plot. The pieces clicked into place, and I realized that the Black Knight hadn’t just been questioning my loyalty to Gwyn, as I’d thought, but whether I was a rebel in all regards, when he’d been placed where he was specifically to deal with the rebellion against the powers of Anor Londo. I’d missed it in my anxiety, and was even more thankful that the encounter had gone as well as it had.
“I dislike what you’re implying, Lautrec.” I dropped the title. Skilled with arms he might be, even potentially well-intentioned with his aims, but he was undeserving of the term. “I have told others, and I tell you now, that my fealty lies at the foot of the Sunlight Throne. Not who sits upon it, not those who fled in the face of dying of the Flame, but the Sunlight Throne itself. Gwyn was not perfect, I will acknowledge that, but he was good, and I swore to protect all that sheltered under his power.”
“Mmm… a shame.” He leaned back. “I would have thought that fate would find us aligned in our causes, but it appears we walk slightly different paths. I would be much more careful with what I carry if I was you, Lady Sif. You may give people a… wrong impression.” He chuckled. That wasn’t ominous in the slightest.
“I will speak with you later in greater detail about this, you can be sure of that, Lautrec of Carim. I will have words with you.”
He waved a golden-armoured hand, now seemingly disinterested in the goings-on. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you will. Go back to bearing your burdens, little wolf.”
For a brief moment, I seriously considered shoving him off the cliff. The weight on my back was significant, but it didn’t prevent me from moving quickly, and I could most likely tackle him hard enough to send him right off the edge, plummeting all the way to Blighttown far below. But then I remembered Reah, watching the events with anxiousness, and her companions, who had hands on their weapons and were glancing back and forth between myself and Lautrec in the corner of my vision. I took a deep breath in and out, and growled at Lautrec as we passed, low enough to rattle the stonework that surrounded us. He merely let out a small laugh, though his helmet turned to watch me go.
I walked past Anastasia, who appeared to be staring into nothing, then down the second flight of stairs to where Vamos waited at the entrance to the elevator. His bare skull turned to look at me as I came around the bend.
“You play a dangerous game.”
I sighed, tiredly. I wasn’t made for political intrigue. “It is the only game we can all play, Vamos. All we can do is try to assure that the outcomes are not too terrible to bear.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Hm.”
He walked into the elevator, and I followed, moving towards the back and ensuring that the bags on my back were angled in such a way that they wouldn’t scrape the walls of the elevator shaft as we went down. Reah followed me in, and then her companions behind her. The moment the second- either Vince or Nico, I couldn’t recall which was which- was inside and properly placed, I put a paw on the large stone plate in the center of the elevator and pressed it in. With a rumble, the grating of stone, and the clanking of chains and gears, the elevator started downwards to New Londo.
“I think it is time to speak to why you brought us here, Lady Sif.” There was a tone in the last two words that- Vince! Yes, he was Vince, and the one with the helmet was Nico. “We have already interrupted our righteous quest for long enough, and I believe I speak for us all when I say that we are eager to get back to the task ordained to us.”
“And what if I told you that the task itself is a trap? That you have no favour with the Way of White, and that they have sent you to your deaths, as they have many others?”
Reah stared at me, shock and confusion written across her face, but before she could speak, Vince spoke out in anger. His voice echoed some along the stone shaft, but between the length of it and the sounds the elevator made, I had little worry that those in Firelink would overhear.
“Do not besmirch the Way of White! They have sent us here to retrieve a holy artifact, a Rite-”
“Yes. The Rite of Kindling, most holy of arts, a method for feeding Humanity to the flames of a bonfire, to strengthen its link to the First Flame.” Vince drew back in surprise, and I huffed in amusement. “Yes, I know very well of exactly what you seek. It is how I know that you have also been deceived and betrayed by those who have sent you here.” Vince tightened his grip around the haft of his mace, Nico noting the tension and putting another hand on the grip of his axe, while Reah shrunk back as far as she could and Vamos watched on with passing interest. I held up a paw. “Peace. I mean you no harm, merely that I bring a warning- not to trust the Way of White.”
“You claim yourself to be an adherent of the Sunlight Throne, of Gwyn, yet you disparage those who honour the gods!?”
“Honour is a question of integrity. The Way of White has none. Tell me, did they actually tell you where to find the Rite?”
He stood straight, proud. “The Rite is possessed by Nito, in the depths of the Catacombs, a place haunted by Undead. Our holy mission is to petition the god of death for the Rite.”
“Lies.” The look he gave me was rage, and he opened his mouth, before I continued regardless. “The Rite was stolen long ago by a creature known as Pinwheel from Nito, for the purposes of necromancy. Nito, himself, does not reside at the end of the Catacombs, but beyond a place called the Tomb of the Giants, one of the singular most dangerous places in Lordran, wrapped in a magical darkness that can only be pierced by the lanterns the necromancers that infest the Catacombs carry.” The lanterns that I’d looted from their corpses lay inside the pack, in particular. “Even if you should get to the bottom of the Catacombs, face the threats there, penetrate into the Tomb of the Giants- even if you should overcome the creatures that haunt that impenetrable darkness, with no light to guide you among the twisting and deceiving passages of rock and reach the entrance to the Tomb of the Gravelord, you will most certainly die there. For the entrance to Nito’s tomb is guarded by Paladin Leeroy.”
There was a flicker of hope on Vince’s face. “An ally, then!”
“That is what he would have you think. In reality, Leeroy is stationed there to deal with any who should actually be in danger of reaching the end of their quest.” Nico didn’t seem to be following the line of the conversation much, if at all, but Reah was looking more and more bewildered, while Vince displayed anger shot through with confusion. “Think for a moment! If Paladin Leeroy is at the entrance to Nito’s tomb, one of the greatest champions of the Way of White wielding one of their most holy of relic weapons, then why hasn’t he retrieved the Rite himself? Why have none returned from this quest in success, with the Rite in their hands?”
“Clearly, they were judged unworthy by the Gravelord!”
“No. The truth is that this quest is how the Way of White disposes those who have become inconvenient to it.” I turned to Reah, who shrunk slightly at my gaze. “I can smell your lineage on you, girl. Bishop Havel, the Rock, is no longer welcome in the halls of power, and we all know the opinion of the gods on the sins of the father.”
That seemed to finally put them all off balance, but before either of them could say anything, the elevator slowed, then ground to a halt. Vamos grunted, pushing his way through the crowd and out the door, to begin inspecting the area for a good place to set up his forge, I presumed. The three of them moved out of my way as I followed him, out into the gloom and dampness of New Londo.
Immediately, I was met with a sight that I had forgotten. The wall that contained the elevator had crumbled some, leaving a large rent in the side of the stone, and a perfect view out into the larger cave, and the ruins that filled it. Ghostly lights and lanterns glittered off the dark water, reflecting off the wet stone walls. The ghosts themselves wandered amongst the walls, their keening cries audible occasionally from here, and the occasional ring against stone as they lashed out against the physical objects around them without rhyme or reason. The rickety wooden bridge that connected the elevator landing with the ruins proper looked even less safe than it did in the games, which was saying something, little spires of thin wood supporting a sodden wooden bridge that looked as if it would collapse at any moment under its own weight.
Vince followed me out, storming in my wake and clearly about to unleash a diatribe on me, but was stopped in his tracks by the view, struck silent by its ethereal beauty. Reah and Nico followed behind, silent, but no less awe-struck by it.
“Behold, one of the greatest mistakes of the gods. New Londo, the result of the gift of pieces of Gwyn’s Lordsoul to four mortal kings, who went mad in the search of power. Any who did not die when the Abyss was unleashed died in the flooding afterwards, when the gods sealed the gates and filled the cavern with water in order to contain that which lies within.” My eyes tracked one of the glowing figures, wandering across the water aimlessly. “Their aggrieved spirits live on, crying their pain to the world, and attacking any and all that dare cross into their territory. I wouldn’t suggest going over there- unless, of course, you’re suicidally brave. They cannot be harmed by earthly weapons, but only by one who is cursed.”
I left them with that, choosing to ignore the passage to the right that took you to a staircase going down, but instead leaping through the gap and landing on the stone work below with a crunch. I walked out the door and into the larger open space, where wandering Hollows resided. To the right, there was a stone doorway, which led outwards to one of the two entrances to Blighttown, and the cliff path to the Valley of the Drakes. To the left, there were more ruins, finally leading down to the wooden bridge that led into New Londo proper. Far in the distance, atop the rightmost building, I could just see a speck of red in the dark- the Sealer, in his eternal vigil over this abandoned place of water and ghosts.
The Sealer might eventually be vital to my aims, and I would need to speak to him myself, or convince him to meet with me through a proxy. For now, however, I was content to lay down my burden, so that Vamos could begin his smithing. I padded out of the door and to the left, ignoring the silent Hollows that wandered or huddled in corners, unseeing and totally unaware that I was there. I lay down the pack to one side, slipping out of the straps and shifting myself to reseat the sheath and sword at my side, before looking around for Vamos. He wasn’t here, but my ears swiveled, and I picked up a hint of his voice over the edge of the drop off. I walked towards the edge, noting as Reah and her entourage stepped through the stone doorway that led to the elevator one by one, and placed my paws on the remains of a low stone wall that prevented one from simply walking off the edge.
Down below, at the bottom of a flight of stairs that no doubt once led somewhere, Vamos was speaking at a set of bars built into the rock wall. The window of the cell of Rickert of Vinheim, mage smith, the one who ascends your weapons with the sorcery ember to make magic weapons. And a figure that I knew next to nothing about.
There was no lore for Rickert, no hints at some large past, no clues leading to some kind of large conspiracy. Alone amongst gods and larger than life figures, with interwoven history, Rickert was simple. His dialogue was all that I knew of him, banished from Vinheim, perhaps for being Undead or for some other reason, his obsession with the magic ember once shown, and the implication that he’d once been a smith of some renown. Useful, no doubt, but I admitted my curiosity about his story.
“Pray tell… how do you know…?”
I turned my head, eyeing Reah. Her hands were clasped at her chest, and her eyes watched me uncertainly.
“As I said, I could smell it on you.” I turned back to gazing over the ruins of New Londo. “Once, I was comrades with Havel the Rock, and we fought many times together. He was a friend of Artorias, and of Gwyn. I knew him before the beginning of the second Age of Flame.”
She was silent, for a time, processing that.
“Can you… tell me what he was like?”
I pushed off of the wall, turning to face her fully and sitting. Nico hovered behind her shoulder, watching the Hollows wandering around the ruins warily, while Vince was staring out at the ruins, mouth slightly agape. Such wondrous things were no doubt rare in the wider world, despite its extremely dark implications. Ghosts weren’t created by happy events, after all, especially not in the numbers that infested New Londo.
“That’s a somewhat dangerous question, Reah of Thorolund. Havel is a controversial figure at best, among those who hold any kind of power in Lordran, and though many knew him, I would be careful who you ask. The best you might get is a warning about straying onto paths better left alone.” I shrugged. “Still, I feel that I can give you this much. I suspect that Havel is still alive, for I fought what is supposed to be Havel the Rock in his prison, and found only a disciple of his in his place.”
She gripped the front of her robe, seeming between excitement and anxiousness. “Please, if you can tell me anything-”
I cut her off. “It would be unwise to ask after this. Dangerous questions… though, given that the Way of White has already marked you for death…” I chewed on the question for a few moments.
Reah was doomed, this was certain. Either she died alone in the dark of the Tomb of Giants, died at the altar in the Undead Parish, or was captured by Seath’s Channelers and transported to the Duke’s Archives, where she Hollowed in one of the cells, her purpose gone. Without my intervention, she was dead in all the ways that mattered, and so were her companions. However…
“There is… something. Havel plotted against the gods, working with a number of allies to his cause- it is the reason that they attempted to entrap him, and instead contained his disciple. There is a place, a relatively safe place once… certain things are dealt with, that was his territory, the potential meeting place of the plot. There, perhaps, you may find his allies, sooner or later.”
Ash Lake. The resting place of what was most likely the skull of the nameless blacksmith god, the site of one of the few remaining true dragons, one created by Seath’s final successful experiment on creating dragons. I had planned to go there anyway, to query the dragon about what she knew of the plot against the gods, their allies and their surviving members. A hint of this, however, would be enough to derail Reah, along with my warnings about the Way of White, averting the fate of both herself and her companions. I hoped, in any case.
She seemed… uncertain. This was a fair reaction to have, given what I’d said and the implications of it. Dangerous and unsure, with only the possibility for what she wanted in the end. But I’d cut off her other path, severed the strings of fate that bound her to the trap of the Way of White’s quest, and hopefully in a permanent enough manner that, eventually, she might find herself… well, maybe aligning with the dragon covenant, or maybe with the Sunlight Warriors. There were plenty of covenants in Lordran that one could follow, and all of them were better options than the Way of White.
“In any case…” I shuffled my nose into a little side pack that was strapped to my sword’s sheath, drawing out the vial of Rite and setting it down on the dirt, gently. “It is pointless to go down there, seeking the Rite of Kindling. Here I have it in Soul form, the pure ability of someone to stoke a bonfire with Humanity, and I’ve asked Vamos to hold on to the papers describing the Rite for safekeeping.”
Reah’s eyes were wide, as she stared at the swirling vial of black and red. Vince had frozen in shock, and his mouth silently mouthed the beginnings of words. Nico leaned around his charge, staring at the vial curiously, and I wondered for a brief moment whether he really was simple, as he was portrayed, or just a very quiet person. Gently, I picked the vial back up, sliding it back into its cushioned place in the little bag and manipulating the buckle with my teeth and tongue- not an easy process, but one that must be done.
“You… have the… I’ve never seen any Rite act like that.” Reah said, in a hushed voice. I simply shrugged.
“I am not a proper host for it, and thus it cannot latch onto my Soul. I have no intrinsic connection to the First Flame, nor am I capable of hosting Humanity, so there is nothing for it to catch onto, no crevice in my Soul in which it can live and integrate itself into the larger whole. I already know whom I will give it to, when it comes to that, so even if your quest for the Way of White wasn’t the futile deathtrap it was intended to be, there would be no point to it.”
Reah nodded hesitantly, not convinced, but looking totally lost. Vince, however, appeared to have rallied at my disdain for the Way of White and their purposefully deadly quest, and clenched his teeth.
“The Way of White is made up of the servants of the gods, of Gwyn. To say such things about them is-”
I growled, and he snapped his mouth shut. “Be very careful what you say now. The Way of White proclaims to serve the gods, and perhaps they do, but they serve those gods that have abandoned the throne that I pledge my loyalty to. I cannot say that the Way of White serves the memory of Gwyn, nor the Sunlight Throne, when they are but the tools of the gods that left their lord’s purposes behind.” I straightened, giving him a flat look, which seemed to cow him slightly. “If I am to say anything, it is this: I will make no enemy of the Way of White, despite my disdain for their methods. My only purpose is the protection of Gwyn’s people, and the intentions of the true ruler of Lordran that I adhere to. If the Way of White disagrees with that, then they are against Gwyn, against Gwyndolin, and they make themselves rebels against the purposes of the gods.”
I glanced past them, to where Vamos appeared to have made his way to the collection of items that I’d dropped in the corner, shooing away a Hollow that had wandered nearby as he began setting himself up. I sighed through my nose, then refocused on Reah.
“I suggest that you stay here. Petrus is a dangerous agent of the Way of White, and his purpose here, I would guess, is to lead astray those that the Way sends here to be disposed of. Better that he not know what became of you- after all, he won’t come down here. Much as he is a terrible person, he’s a coward, and this place would be too much for him.”
I pushed myself to my paws and walked forwards, head held high, right through the center of their group, making a point. Dismissing them. They moved to the side as I did, Reah uncertain, Vince gritting his teeth, Nico still watching the goings-on with quiet curiosity.
Vamos took the wrapped anvil out of the pack, and, with strength that could only come from a lack of muscles, set it atop one of the steps to the side. He began collecting bricks from the surrounding area, setting them up into the beginnings of an actual forge, even as he stacked a bit of flammable material and took out a piece of fire-resistant cloth. He noticed me at this point, his head turning slightly in my direction, as he placed the coal within the cloth gently in a pocket of dried grasses.
“Blow on this, would you? I lack the lungs.”
I nodded, then stepped around him and blew on it. The coal glowed, and then the fire caught, spreading among the dried grasses and small pieces of wooden detritus until it was a merry little fire, here in the damp dark. Vamos nodded in satisfaction, then went back to stacking bricks, forming a rectangular and self-contained area of stone, inserting the metal nozzle of a pair of foot-operated bellows into a small hole he’d left.
“Fine lad, that Rickert is.”
I raised an eyebrow at Vamos, though he pretended not to notice. “I was sure that you’d have an issue with him. After all, isn’t he someone intruding upon your work?”
Vamos grunted.
“He’s a smith. A good one, if my measure is right. I’ll have to get rid of the notion in his fool head that he has to stay in that cell, and teach him some real smithing. The sorcery of Vinheim’s an art, yes, but it can’t hold a candle to what I can do.”
I huffed in amusement. Rickert, out of his cell, learning Chaos and Fire smithing from Vamos himself. Now that would be a sight to see. Vamos, himself, stacked the last brick, then began laying down charcoal and burnable material, to encourage the hot-burning forge fire that he needed to work metal. As if he’d forgotten I was there and had just remembered, he turned his head towards me again.
“There’s nothing left for you to do here, wolf. Now, begone- you’ll spoil my focus.”
The edge of my mouth twitched upwards, and I inclined my head respectfully, turning to make my way back to the elevator. Reah was kneeling in the grass, praying, while Vince surveyed the ruins and the ghosts nervously.
“Hey.” I jerked my head in the direction of the voice, to where Nico sat on the steps, holding a whetstone and his axeblade in his lap and watching me carefully. “Did you mean all that you said about the Way of White?”
“... I did.” I said, softly.
“Hm.” he glanced over at Reah and Vince, something unreadable flashing across his face under his helm, then looked back at me and nodded, solemnly. “I’ll take care of them. You have my word.”
“I expect nothing less.” I hesitated for a moment. “Though… Thank you. Enough life has been pointlessly wasted on Lordran, and I would hate to see more needless waste.”
I returned the nod, and he focused on caring for his axe. For my part, I walked past him and towards the elevator. The ride up felt quite a bit longer than the ride down, though I wasn’t sure whether that was the elevator’s mechanisms struggling against age and the weight of their burden, or whether the lack of conversational partners and distractions made it feel longer. Still, it gave me a little time to think about things, which I sorely needed.
At the top, in Firelink Shrine, was Lautrec and Petrus.
There were some hints that Lautrec had killed Anastacia, and thus killed the Firelink bonfire, in order to prevent further Chosen Undead from making their way into Lordran, and becoming slaves to the whims of the gods. Without Firelink, which was a vital central location for healing for any venture into the Catacombs, up into the Undead Burg, or even down into New Londo and Blighttown, further Undead transported from the Asylum or elsewhere would struggle to get anywhere. The plan of the gods delayed, for just that little bit.
Killing Anastasia… I wasn’t sure. Her current body was ruined by the process that had made her a firekeeper, maimed and cut apart to make her a more effective and more stationary doll, something that couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t complain of the suffering of its existence. In this way, Lautrec’s killing of her was a mercy: even if restored from death, she came back in a body that was completely restored, though the Dark would never stop nibbling at her Soul for as long as she lived.
Petrus, on the other hand, was a much easier and much less complex subject, by every account. The man was deplorable in every possible way, and barely even bothered with a thin veil of sincere bumbling over his fanatical devotion to the Way of White, and to leading people to their deaths in the Catacombs. The easiest way, if I was being honest, was just to tell Patches that he was fair game, and let things take their natural course from there, but I found myself hesitating.
While the snake was aggravating in many ways, he could also be useful. The Way of White was my primary organizational threat in the outside world, the hand of the fled gods influencing the events in Lordran and the kingdoms of men. Getting rid of Petrus solved some direct problems, such as containing information in Lordran and preventing it spreading to the wider world, the Way of White, and, eventually, the gods.
Eventually, I knew, I would have to gather what power I could around the Sunlight Throne, to protect my plans and protect the legitimacy of Gwyndolin. Gwynevere could very well be in the palm of the fled gods, and couldn’t be trusted with the Sunlight Throne. Gwyndolin, at least, was loyal completely to the aims of his father, and had stayed in Anor Londo after all other gods had fled. Our goals aligned, in that I doubted that he liked the plan of the gods any more than I did, and I didn’t doubt that I could bring him to my thinking of attempting to keep the next Age of Flame going indefinitely, or at least extending it to the degree that it was a problem that we had thousands of years to solve properly. Telling him of my visions of a world burned to ash would convince him well enough, I believed.
Thus, I came back around to Petrus. I needed to rally power, centralize what strength I could around the Sunlight Throne. I needed time to gather the gods and Undead there were in Lordran, potentially even convince the Daughters of Chaos to align with us, but all of this took time, time that I wouldn’t have if the Way of White knew what was happening here. If I could turn Petrus, most likely through threats, then I could mislead the Way of White, and buy time for my plans to come to fruition. Ideally, the Way would only realize that they were being deceived when I had already concentrated all the power that I could get ahold of around Gwyndolin, securing his place on the Sunlight Throne, and potentially rallying enough swords that we could defend Lordran, or at least Anor Londo, from assault by those that had abandoned it.
Because they would move against us. I knew that without doubt, total certainty that they would not let my derailing of their plans stand. The Way of White was their eyes, ears, and hands, and I aimed to blind, deafen, and cripple them. The plan of Lordran was their way of holding power over the Undead, of taking the figures that might challenge them and disposing of them in the deathtrap, before the most powerful of them sacrificed themselves to the flame, and I desired to avert the entire thing.
No, when their methods of control were challenged, I suspected that they wouldn’t take it lying down. No, they would march against me in force, and I would have to hold strong in the face of it, with whatever strength was left in Lordran.
The elevator clunked to a halt at the top of the shaft, jarring me from my thoughts. I shook myself, the physical sensation warding off the distraction of thoughts and plans and schemes, and walked out and into the sunshine.
Lautrec first.
He was still sitting there, when I came up the stairs, humming softly to himself and running his left hand over a golden ring on the ring finger of his right, polishing it with the leather. The ring of favour and protection, one of the best rings of the game, one that can never be taken off. He noticed me, and stopped, relaxing his arms in his lap as he sat cross-legged. For just a moment, I fantasized about bull-rushing him over the edge of the cliff, much like I’d kicked him off in at least one playthrough, then let the fantasy go. I may dislike him, both as a person and for his actions vis-a-vis the actual game, but he was far too useful to kill, even if I managed to tip him off into the abyss so easily.
I made eye contact with him, then elected to ignore him for the moment, padding to the bars on the underside of the hill and sitting just before them. Anastasia was thin, a waif, fragile in a way that I couldn’t help but compare to Celia’s strength and healthy figure. My eyes softened as they ran over the poor firekeeper, in her soot-stained and tattered robes, sitting in a dark cave in the dirt.
“Lady firekeeper.” I whispered between the bars.
She twitched, turning her head in my direction. I trailed my eyes down her face, to her ragged clothing, to the bloodstains on the skirt about her feet, and something in my chest clenched. I opened my mouth to call her over, then stopped, shutting it and grimacing. It would be too much pain for her. I opened my mouth again.
“I come as a representative of the gods, such as I am, to tell you th-that…”
What do you tell someone like this? What can you even say to a person so broken and molded that they believe being tortured and maimed is right and just, that it is necessary? But her head was turned in my direction, and there was wonder in her expression, hope. I couldn’t…
“That… you are doing well, and have… served the god’s plans as best you can.”
Tears dripped down her face from her closed eyes, and she clasped her hands and nodded her head in thanks. I turned my head away, away from every part I couldn’t bear to see, swallowing heavily and desperately trying to blink away the wetness in my eyes.
“Oh, poor creature. Are you attempting to comfort it?”
“SILENCE, Lautrec!”
I snarled at him, finding myself up and on all fours, teeth bared. I imagined how good it would feel, to sink my teeth into his throat, to rip out his artery, to feel his lifeblood escaping between my jaws- I shut eyes as tight as I could and shuddered, pressing it back within me. The urge to tear his throat out writhed within me, then settled back into the depths of my mind reluctantly.
I can’t kill him. Not yet, maybe not ever. He was too useful, and Fina might yet be an ally.
“Mm, that was quite terrifying, Lady Sif. Why, I almost thought you were going to hurt me, there!”
“I’m still not entirely convinced that I shouldn’t.”
He put a hand over his breastplate, and I noted how the metal fingers seemed to intertwine with his.
“Why, Lady Sif, what a thing to say! I am but a humble servant of Lady Fina, and have done nothing to wrong you.”
“Nothing to wrong me, perhaps. But I know a little of what you have done in the service of your Lady, and, perhaps… some of your role in the plot.”
“Hmm, dangerous accusations, Lady Sif. Particularly against one who has so loyally served one of the gods for as long as I have. An accusation of collaborating with those who would rebel against the rulers of Anor Londo- why, I have never heard such a remark being made on my person.”
With great effort, I hauled myself back in, flattening my hackles as much as I could and sitting closer, just outside of what I thought was the range of his shotels. I glared at him, sitting as straight as I could manage, my ears flicking backwards in displeasure.
“The rulers of Anor Londo are not those that departed it, Lautrec, I suspect the both of us know that much. I have told all that I encounter that I serve not the departed gods and their whims, but the Sunlight Throne. Gwyn’s intentions, Gwyn’s plans.”
“Noble, if futile, I must admit. Still, what does this have to do with me, then?”
“You serve Lady Fina. You have work yet to do in Lordran. I must do so at the behest of Gwyn, though he has passed, and what I need to know is whether Fina and I will find ourselves at odds in this endeavor.”
His helmet turned up towards me slightly, my sitting position making my head higher than his. I could almost feel the smirk behind the faceplate.
“Well, now, isn’t that interesting? The current crop would call that seditious to say.”
“Sedition is how one perceives it. From my perspective, those who abandon sunlight for the gods scurrying in the growing dark are seditious.”
“HAH!” He let it out as an exclamation, in surprise and mirth, shifting his sitting position. “How amusing! One cannot be a rebel, I suppose, if they simply define themselves as a loyalist! How… entertaining.” He laced his fingers together, supporting his helmeted head with his hands, staring at me through the holes in his faceplate. “I think you will find that, as long as you work against those scurrying vermin, that you and Lady Fina shall find no points of contention. Really, I think I speak for both my Lady and myself when I say that we would let you run free, just to see what kind of things you get up to.”
“And because I would divert your enemies down another path, away from you.”
“Of course. Let it not be said that I wouldn’t make use of your death- it’s only pragmatic, after all.”
I turned and walked away, sure that if I stayed here a second longer, eventually I’d get an urge to do something that I wouldn’t be able to resist. I felt his leer on my back all the way to the stairs, until I came around the bend and broke line of sight with the repulsive knight of Fina. I stopped there, for a moment, and shook myself violently, trying to get rid of the memory of how he felt, of the link with Fina, of his voice and how he addressed me. More than anything, even as I had seriously considered tearing out his throat, I thought that he had been thinking the same, just with his weapons instead of his teeth. He was, without a single doubt, exceedingly dangerous, a constant threat. Keeping him on-side would be difficult, but I had no use for another enemy.
I breathed in, then out, before climbing the rest of the steps into Firelink proper. There, seated together and speaking, were Patches and Rodger. Griggs had moved his books to one of the rings of steps that surrounded the bonfire, and was referencing them, occasionally glancing up, or adding a comment to their conversation. It was such a large difference from the confrontation with Lautrec that I stopped for a moment, which was long enough for Patches to notice me with a grin.
“Well, well, if it isn’t wolfy!”
Rodger raised his eyebrows and turned his head, while Griggs glanced up at me, before going back to his books. I sighed and took a step forwards, into the warmth of the bonfire. I could use a few minutes of friendly conversation at the fireside before setting Patches on Petrus. This seemed as good an excuse as any.