“Ascendency? Hrn. I can do it. Hand it here.”

Celia hesitated, hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. Reluctantly, she finally handed it to Vamos, his skeletal fingers closing around the blade, examining it closely.

“Adequate make. Acceptable maintenance.” He tapped a finger against the blade, listening to the sound the metal made. He shook his head, his metal beard rattling slightly. “Not enough titanite in it to ascend, not yet. Fixable.” He laid the sword down on his anvil, rummaging around in the supply boxes that he’d scavenged somewhere. After a moment, he turned his head towards us, as if remembering that we were still there. “You’ll get your sword back, now leave. You’ll spoil my focus.”

Celia gave me a dubious look, but gave Vamos an accepting nod as we walked away. It wasn’t long before the ring of hammer against blade was echoing out over the water, bouncing back at us from the crumbling stone of the various ruins. The ghosts seemed not to care, and we’d ushered all of the Hollows away, leaving the space empty save for what was left of the various tumbledown buildings that had occupied this outcropping.

The Undead woman settled on a particularly large piece of stone debris with a groan, taking off her helmet and setting it aside. She popped her neck, a painful noise accompanied by a sigh of relief, then started in on the buckles holding her armor on. A few minute’s relief from the weight of the thing would be welcome, I imagined.

“Have you had Andre beat improvements into that armor, yet?” Celia gave me a wordless, curious look. “Titanite doesn’t just improve the effectiveness and strength of weapons, you know. When it’s melded into armor, it makes it stronger, more resistant to both physical strikes and magical damage.”

“... Huh.” She held her breastplate in her hands, tapping the steel with her fingers in thought. “I guess I’ll have to see whether Andre can see to it… or maybe…”

She glanced over in Vamos’ direction. The skeleton was carefully heating her blade, with pieces of titanite, reforging the steel with the metal of the gods. Titanite shards came from chunks, which, in turn, came from slabs, which were left behind by the nameless blacksmith god. The metal carried with it strength, power, the ability to channel the abilities of the wielder through its physical form. As far as I could tell, a weapon that incorporated titanite into its construction could, if the wielder was skilled, work in direct opposition to the nature of the target. In this way, a blade could inflict wounds that were far mightier than it should be capable of, merely because the user willed it to be so. Fascinating.

“I am unsure that Vamos would be the right one to ask for such a thing. Whether or not he’s capable of it, he might turn you down without a thought, there’s really no way of knowing.”

“So, then, why take us up on the offer to improve my sword?”

“Interest, I think. He sees the potential in your blade, even if he won’t admit it. Magic binds stronger to those weapons that have been party to great deeds, but do not yet have enough of a history to develop something… more. You’ve wielded that blade long enough, and done enough things with it, that it’s- how to put it…” I tilted my head back, thinking. “Receptive, I suppose. Open to change.”

As Vamos worked the shards of titanite into the blade, I noticed that some of them were a slightly shimmering red, rather than the deep black that was typical of the material. As he worked them, my ears pricked; I could just hear him chanting something over the blade, low enough that I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. Smithing was an art, certainly, but ascending a weapon appeared to be ritual more than simply working the right kind of titanite into the blade.

“Is your sword ascended?” She asked, gaze flickering to the blade sheathed at my side.

I opened my mouth to reply in the negative, then closed it again, tilting my head. Andre had specifically mentioned that the blade was the result of cooperation between himself and the giant blacksmith of Anor Londo, giving it its electrical properties, but did that mean that it had been forged with them? Or, had Andre forged the blade and worked titanite into it, then the giant had ascended it?

“I’m uncertain. It could be, or it could be that what abilities it has are ones that it was forged with.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I suppose I’ll ask Andre when I see him next, though whether or not it was hardly matters, unless I wish to attempt to improve it further.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Blades that are ascended are still mostly steel. Blades forged with abilities are mostly titanite to begin with.” At this point, of course, I was mostly working off of guesswork based on the games, but there was no need to tell her that. “The latter requires a particular kind of titanite to be improved further.”

Celia leaned back with a hiss, wincing. “Sounds complicated. A real nightmare to keep track of.” I gave her an amused look.

“It’s well that we’re not blacksmiths, then, but instead those that bend the tools they make to our trade.”

She was quiet for a long moment, staring out across the deep black water of New Londo. When she finally spoke, it was wistful in tone.

“Would be nice to be a blacksmith, though. To make tools and fix things. A sword’s not much good for anything besides killing.”

“A sword can also protect, Celia, and you should not forget that. A blacksmith cannot learn or ply their trade without defenders to keep raiders from burning their workshops down.”

She nodded, slowly. “Maybe.”

Her answer was neutral, but I could tell that I’d brightened her spirits, at least somewhat. We lapsed into silence after that, though not an uncomfortable one. We basked together in the cool darkness of New Londo, watching the ghosts wander about the ruined buildings. Occasionally, one of them would wail loud enough that it would echo across the water, as if in answer to Vamos’ hammer strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?”

I sent a sideways glance at Celia, sweeping my gaze over the buildings and water.

“Despite its… unfortunate nature, I can’t disagree. It’s…” I searched for the word for a few moments. “Ethereal.”

“I think you could describe Darkroot like that. Ethereal.” She rests her arms on her lap, watching a ghost pace in circles atop an outcropping of stone. “But in a different way, I think. Darkroot feels… unreal? Like it’s a place out of the fairy stories.” Her mouth quirks upwards. “It even has walking mushrooms. Plant creatures.”

“I would ask if that would make me some manner of fey queen, but I think we both know that title belongs to Alvina and Alvina alone.” I shudder. “If mine sister thinks she has competition for the title, I dread what mischief she might get up to.”

Celia laughs, startled and amused, and the ghosts shriek in response to the noise. It dies down into comfortable silence once again, as I consider my question. It’s not a particular priority, but it is something I’ve been meaning to ask for a while. Unlike everything else I’m doing, the world doesn’t seem to hang on the knife’s edge of the answer. It’s a nice change of pace, really.

“What was your town like?”

She gives me a look, one laced with a bit of surprise. “My town?” She processes the question, then, leaning back slightly. “Ahhh, my town. Well… there’s not a huge amount of interesting things to note, there.”

“Please. I am up to my ears in interesting things, and I’m growing quite tired of it.” I nod for her to continue, and she acquiesced.

“Well… there’s not a whole lot to tell. Fairhaven- that’s the name of the place- wasn’t a big town. Maybe… two, three thousand, packed into the walls? A few thousand more scattered on the outside, working farms and orchards.” She’s still staring out at New Londo, but through it, not at it. I suspected that her eyes were focused on the past, instead. “Not a bad place. Not bad people, either. Maybe we weren’t as close knit as some places out there, but we got along alright, and most of our problems were external.” Her mouth twitches upwards. “‘Course, wasn’t all roses and sunshine. The main street stank awfully, we had a pack of urchins that pickpocketed any traveler they could, the guard occasionally had to deal with giant rats in the sewers, but…”

“It was home.” I said, quietly. Celia nodded.

“It was home.” she clasps her hands in her lap, leaning forwards. “I was with the guard practically from when I could pick up a spear. My mother was a seamstress in the merchant quarter, and my da was a sergeant. Practically ran the city guard, and was so damn proud when I dedicated myself to being just like him. Learned the spear, and a bit of the sword and shield. Patrolled. Used to get a fresh roll from Maggy, lady that ran the bakery every morning- I’d give her full price, and she’d give half to one of the urchins with some of yesterday’s bread, tell ‘em to put it back in my pocket when I wasn’t looking.” She smiles at the thought, and I see something glimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Fairhaven was built on this little island, and every morning it’d be foggy and wet- I remember the smell of the river. The fog would kill the smell of main street in the mornings, so I used to volunteer for the first shift at the walls. Was nice. Quiet. Peaceful.” she waved her hand at the scene in front of us. “Something like this, but with more fog.”

She sits there, silent for a long moment, lost in the memory. As I watch, I see her shoulders droop, the little smile disappear.

“Then…” She trails off, looking pained, then starts again. “Then, well, I don’t quite know how it started. But there was a…” she swallowed. “All I know is that the alarm bell rang, and before I could get my armor more than half on, the west wall was gone.” Her hands tighten into fists, so tight that they shake, and I have no doubt that her knuckles are white under her gauntlets. “Merchant quarter… was the first to burn. Fighting in the streets, the screams… I can’t…”

She runs a hand over her face, and her shoulders shake. I hesitate for a moment, uncertain, then shift. She twitches as I lay my head in her lap, then smiles despite the water on her cheeks. Her hand finds its way between my ears, stroking the fur there, as I feel the shaking in her hands slowly die down.

“Thank you, Lady Sif.” She says, hoarsely. I merely flick my ear in response. She takes a deep breath, then forges on, her voice steadier. “I got my armor on, got my spear, opened my door just in time to watch three of my men incinerated.” Her hand tights on my fur. “A drake. By the gods, Lady Sif, a drake. I had never…”

“You told me you died to a thief.” I say, softly.

She smirks, but there’s no warmth in the expression. “Not a lie, not completely.” She shrugs, slowly. “Drake wasn’t interested in me, flew off- thought it had a rider, but I could be wrong. I did my best to try and secure the city after that, and during the running around… I ended up in an alley, a place that had been spared the burning the rest of Fairhaven was experiencing. And there was a man. I thought he was a survivor, but I should’ve known- he had this desperate look about him. I approached, telling him to get to safety, and I wasn’t even looking when he…”

She trailed off, rubbing my ears gently.

“When I woke up, my armor, my uniform, and my spear were gone. I don’t know if he was a looter that just took the chance to kill a guard, or if- I don’t know. All I knew was that there was a cleric of the Way of White standing above me, and yells of ‘undead! Undead!’”

My stomach twists. The Way of White manufactured Undead, specifically for the purposes of the god’s plans, to fill out Lordran with the desperate and the broken. A mound of victims rising to the heavens, in the hope that, one day, the pile of corpses would be high enough for the last to climb it to fling themselves into the sun. For all I knew, even the attack that she’d spoken of had been manufactured by the Way just to make more Undead out of the corpses left behind.

“Drakes and bandits and raiders, years of guard work, and I get killed in a back alley by some mad vagrant with a knife. After the Asylum, I think I clung to Oscar’s words, because I didn’t want to think that was all I’d come down to, just someone knifed in the side in an alleyway. I’d thought that the gods had given me a chance, twisted as it was, to do something with my life.”

“And now?” I ask, softly. She shook her head.

“I don’t know. I look around, and… if you’re right, Lady Sif, and the very seat of the gods lies almost empty, then… What meaning does any of this have? Why would the gods allow such cruelty to exist, the suffering of those who are Undead? Every Hollow here was a person, once. Lordran exists as it does, filled with those that have lost their humanity, and horrible creatures. And the things I’ve heard of Seath…” She stops stroking, her voice quiet. “I lived my life believing that the gods were good, Lady Sif. I believed that they had a purpose for every person, that they had some great plan, that all our suffering would be worth it. But what if… what if the gods aren’t good, Lady?”

“Then I suppose that we must put value in our own actions and the actions of others.” I say, pulling my head up and looking her in the eyes. “A life saved or an innocent protected is someone saved, regardless of fickle powerful beings. Our actions have worth, Celia, regardless of the actions and words of beings you have never even seen. And they have worth because those around you value your triumphs, and because you, yourself, do.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling, then nodded. “I’ll try to remember that, Lady Sif.” Her eyes opened again, and she smiled. “Thank you.”

Someone cleared their throat directly behind us. Celia jumped in place with a noise of surprise, while I merely turned to the side, regarding Vamos with a raised eyebrow. The skeletal smith simply crossed his arms impatiently.

“If you’re done with whatever you’re doing…”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Celia refastened the buckles of her armor quickly, grabbing her helmet from where it sat. “I’m ready.”

Vamos looked to her, then to me, then shrugged and turned away. Celia followed in his footsteps, but I waited a second more, stretching and working out the kinks from sitting on hard stone and lying across Celia’s armoured legs. I cracked my vertebrae, then leaped down from the piece of rubble, paws softening my impact against the dirt to the point that I made no noise in the action.

The smith led the two of us back to his little smithy, where he picked Celia’s blade from the anvil- without, I noted, the use of gloves. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him wear any sort of protective gear, not even the leather apron that was practically stereotypical of smiths. Perhaps lacking flesh had certain advantages? My line of thought was interrupted as Vamos held up the sword in his bony hands.

Before, the blade had been a decently-made sword, a competent work by a competent smith. Now, however, it was something… more, and I could immediately see what was meant by ‘ascension’. Now, lines of very dim shining red worked their way up the blade, the red titanite having integrated with the blade to give it a gentle sheen, almost a glow. As I looked closer, I realised that part of the shimmer was heat- not the glowing heat of freshly forged metal, but a constant shimmer of heat. Fire, worked into the very steel.

Vamos shifted his grip, an oil cloth in his hand that hissed lightly as it came into contact with the blade, holding out the wire-wrapped hilt to Celia. Awe written across her face, she put down her helmet and reached out. She wrapped gauntleted fingers around the proffered grip, lifting it away from his hands and turning it slowly in front of her.

“Blade took well to the titanite and the ritual work. Holding the spellwork well, no issues.” Vamos tapped the flat with a bone finger. “Cleaning should no longer be much of an issue, heat will burn off anything that sticks. Anything else, use this.” He tosses Celia a glass bottle, which she fumbles to catch, trying to both grab it and not touch or drop the sword in her other hand. “Come to me for refills. Now, go away.”

With that, the blacksmith turned on his bony heel and marched right back to his forge, where he pulled a hot piece of metal from the fire and began hammering it. Celia cast me a bewildered look, tucking the bottle of oil into a pouch at her waist.

“How am I supposed to sheath-?”

She yelped as a sheath landed in her arms, and she nearly dropped the sword a second time. Vamos, for his part, went right back to ignoring us without a word. We shared a look, and I turned towards the elevator back up, with Celia grabbing her helmet before trailing behind. She swapped the sheath at her side for the new one as we climbed the steps up to the elevator, then slid the sword into its new scabbard, letting out a breath of relief as it contained the sheer heat from the blade without immediately bursting into flame.

“This is incredible, I never thought I’d be wielding a magic sword- and, yet, here I am!” She patted the sheath excitedly, and I couldn’t help but quirk a little smile at her excitement.

“There you are, indeed.” I said, amusement clear in my voice. Celia looked slightly abashed, mastering her excitement at her shiny new toy and standing straighter.

“Well, that is, I think it’ll be an excellent increase to our fighting capability, don’t you?”

“It’s a magic sword, Celia. I would be shocked if you weren’t excited about it.”

She grins, left hand resting easily on it as her fingers trace the wire and leather wrapped hilt. Her fingers rap a staccato beat on the hilt and crossguard for the entire elevator ride up, and I can tell that she’s eager to use it, to test how it performs against the things she’s fought.

“You may want to try the Hollows up the hill, first.” Celia gives me a curious look. “Heated metal and flesh. Consider that, for a moment.”

She blinked, then blanched, and finally turned a slight shade of green. Seeing that my point had been made, I nodded and sat. The rest of the short elevator ride passed without comment or incident. As we reached the top of the shaft, the stone pad ground to a halt, mechanisms resetting as the huge circular button rose back up with a grinding noise.

When we stepped into Firelink Shrine, Celia just a step or two behind me, I took in the area with a glance. To my surprise, I found Patches and Siegmeyer still seated together, the onion knight gesturing as he told a story. Further surprise was that Patches actually looked halfway interested. Apparently, not even he was immune to the charms of the knight of Catarina. Siegmeyer’s armor sat on a rack made of sticks and twine, close enough to the bonfire that the metal steamed very faintly, the last of the water from the aqueduct drying out of it. Griggs was writing something on one of the stone walls, referencing a book that he was holding in his left hand. Rodger was sitting in his customary position, apparently perfectly happy to just sit there and take in the atmosphere.

“You know,” I said, walking up to him, “you could move yourself to Darkroot.”

“Oh?” He leaned back, frowning. “Seems like quite a bit of work, and I’m perfectly comfortable here.”

“Not that much work. Up the elevators in the corner, across the Parish, then down the tower. The Hunters can be put off simply by telling them that I sent you.”

He sat for a moment, his face contemplative. Ideally, he’d relocate, sparing him the fate of… whatever Frampt did to him that finally turned him Hollow. Also gave Frampt just one less target of manipulation in his reach, which was always a good thing.

“I’ll… consider it.”

I nodded, then left him to his devices and turned away. Celia had walked to Siegmeyer, and was helping the knight into his now-dried armor, removing it piece by piece from its improvised rack and buckling it on. I noted that, beneath the rotund steel, Siegmeyer was quite… well-developed. I could see the impression of muscles through his gambeson, how they flexed when he moved his arms, the ease with which he picked up his giant sword and set it aside-

“Lady Sif?”

I started, blinking rapidly as I snapped my eyes over to Griggs. The sorcerer had approached me while I was… distracted, and was now giving me a look of light concern. I shook myself slightly and tried to adopt a dignified pose.

“Apologies, I was… caught in my own thoughts.” My ears twitched as Siegmeyer muttered something, and Celia laughed, the chuckle of Patches underneath it. “Was there something you needed?”

Griggs frowned at me, then shook his head. “Well, I was simply wondering- your companions mentioned that you rescued a woman in Darkroot. One Dusk of Oolacile?”

“Ah, yes, that we did. She was trapped in a yellow crystal golem, one of Seath’s- no doubt destined for some experiment of his.” I could guess the exact reasoning for Grigg’s questioning, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “Why, are you curious? I’m certain that Siegmeyer can tell you the story.”

He shuffled in place, glancing in Siegmeyer’s direction.

“Well, yes, he can- and has. Rather boisterously, I might add.” I chuckled at that, then motioned for him to continue. “Moreover, I wished to confirm… well. I have mentioned that I originate from Vinheim, and there has always been curiosity. Oolicile’s magic was lost when it fell to the abyss, and it would be all but forgotten but for that fact. Speculation and rumour of their magical talent and lost techniques has made the place legend, in Vinheim. Merely, I was wondering if she was still around, that I might speak to her.”

Yeah, that was exactly what I figured. “She was returned to her own time by the mysterious magics of Lordran, which no doubt are what allowed Seath to steal her away from the past in the first place.” Griggs’ face fell. “Oh, don’t fret, that doesn’t mean that she’s beyond our ability to contact. She left a gift for us, a summon sign by the lake in Darkroot Basin through which she can be called and spoken to. She offered her magical knowledge to us out of gratitude, and I think she would be happy to teach you anything you asked.” I nodded to Rodger. “Rodge may be headed in that direction, and it may be a good idea to accompany him. When you reach Darkroot, ask the Hunters to lead you to Dusk’s summon sign. Use my name, if you must.”

Griggs bowed. “My thanks, Lady Sif.”

I waved my paw, dismissing him, then turned back to Siegmeyer. Celia had drawn her blade, and was showing it to both the knight and Patches, demonstrating how the air rippled with heat over the blade. I walked over, padding against the dirt and stone of Firelink.

“Follow my suggestion, Celia, and test your blade. The Depths is not the place you want to be when you attempt to get used to the scent for the first time.” She nodded, tightening her grip around the blade and walking in the direction of the stairs up to the aqueduct.

“Ah, I think I’ll follow her! I’ve seen a few ascended weaponry in my time, of various grades and types, and I am curious what a master smith has achieved with it.”

With that, Siegmeyer ambled away in Celia’s wake. The two of them leaving me alone with Patches, who watched them go with a neutral expression. I really couldn’t tell how the man felt about Siegmeyer, or Celia.

“The man has quite a few stories in him, doesn’t he?” I asked. Patches’ eyes flicked to me, then away.

“That he does.” He shrugged. “Nothing on me, of course, but there isn’t anybody who could beat Trusty Patches for stories.”

I nodded and hummed. Patches most likely had us all, there; I had little doubt that he’d been around when the First Flame was found. Hell, he might even have been older than Demon's Souls, which was a thing to think about.

“Tell me. What do you know of Seath?”

Patches gave me a sideways look, considering and searching.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“... Enough.” His eyes flicked away again. “Betrayed his own kind, he did. Banked all his hope on stealing their immortality, only for it to turn to dust in his claws.” Patches smirked. “Inspired, that was. If there is a god of gods that plans out the paths of fate, I applaud their efforts. I couldn’t have done it better.”

Figures that Patches approved of the cruel irony of Seath’s story. Somewhere, back home, I imagined that Miyazaki-sama had just sneezed… and maybe Solaire, too.

“Betrayal has ever been Seath’s wheelhouse, though, strangely, he’s never turned that penchant against the Sunlight Throne.”

A shrug. “Why would he? Scaleless has been varying grades of mad his entire existence, but even he knows better than to bite the hand that feeds. What would he gain, by turning on the gods? The loss of his archives, no more test subjects.” He huffed in amusement. “Lots of things can be said about Seath, but never that he’s not pragmatic.”

“A dragon after your own heart.”

Patches gestured with his hand, clearly not denying it. I got to my paws and inclined my head to him, receiving a nod in return, then walked towards the stairs up to the aqueduct.

I reached the base of the stairs just as Celia, at the top of the line of stone steps that terminated at the aqueduct itself, cut the last Hollow in twain. The two halves fell in different directions, steaming from the cauterized wound, and the smell of cooked meat filled the air. If I was a human, I had no doubt that the smell would disgust me. As it was? The wolf in me felt vaguely hungry, for the first time since I’d come here. Which, honestly, was faintly unsettling to the rest of me.

Electing to ignore it, I sat at the base of the steps, watching Celia take off her helmet and retch over the edge. Siegmeyer showed no reaction at all, simply coming up and patting her back gently. Suspect that he’d been around enough awful or offensive smells that this one didn’t offend him overmuch. That did make me wonder if he’s ever been on a true battlefield, however, a question I’ll have to ask when it feels more appropriate to do so. As soon as Celia stops looking quite so green, the both of them begin making their way down the steps towards me.

“Bad, mm?” I said. Celia grimaced and nodded. “Now, imagine that you’d smelled that for the first time, except that it also stank of rotting flesh and sewage.”

Celia’s hand goes right to her mouth, and she looks unsteady on her feet as she imagines it. I simply nod, as Siegmeyer pats her back, though in comfort or commiseration I can’t tell. She takes a few more minutes, trying to acclimate herself to the smell. After all, if she’s going to effectively fight in the Depths, let alone Blighttown, she’s going to have to.

She takes several long moments to breathe, centering herself. It takes a minute, but eventually Celia’s in good enough shape to buckle the helmet back on and give me a nod. I nod back, and we march up the hill together, back into the cool stone tunnel of the aqueduct.

There are still remaining bits of the layer of ice that I’d frozen the top of the water into, though it’s rapidly melting. Cool it might be in here, yes, but not nearly enough to keep water in its solid form, even given magic to help it along. As we watch, part of it breaks away and floats down the tunnel with the flow of water.

Easy enough to fix, at least. I flex the Soulstuff inside me, then step down onto the surface of the flowing water. Ice so thick that it’s opaque rapidly spreads from my paw, anchoring itself to the walls and to the remaining pieces of ice in the water. I learned my lesson from Siegmeyer: under the water, where it can’t be seen, there are small ice pillars supporting the ice floor. It takes a large amount of control and focus, but the constant practice is slowly refining my ability to create and mold the ice. Guiding it along specific paths is as simple as extending out fingers of my Soulstuff and forcing the freezing along them; that is to say, it’s complicated and difficult.

Still, I manage it well enough, stepping down onto the icy surface without hesitation the moment it’s fully formed. Siegmeyer is similarly confident, stepping down onto it without hesitation and being met only with a slight creaking. Celia, on the other hand, hesitates just long enough to make sure that it’ll hold Siegmeyer’s weight before following the rest of us.

The merchant at the end of the corridor is still missing, most likely still searching for more moss, as per my request. It’s not a problem, not yet, but we’ll need those pieces of moss eventually, and I’d prefer to be stocked before we make an attempt at Blighttown. I don’t particularly want to try for the back entrance through the well in the Depths without a supply of the stuff. Like many things, I was uncertain how poison and toxin would actually function outside of simple game mechanics. It was absolutely better safe than sorry.

With the bow Hollow having not returned to the wooden landing in the tower, there wasn’t anything to prevent a smooth walk down to the base, then out. And there sat the door to our destination, made of stained and ancient wood. I made my way down the stairs and around, sitting myself to one side of the doorway. Siegmeyer stopped by my side and hummed, examining his zweihander. He swapped his grip on it, grasping it as if it was a spear, one of his gauntleted hands on the second grip and the other on the blade itself.

“Learned this from a knight I ran into once. Many a foe has attempted to lure me into an alleyway or close quarters, thinking to trap me in a space that makes my blade useless, then been taken off guard by a jab to the gut!” He laughed in amusement. “Still, Celia, it would be best for you to be at the fore. Lady Sif relies on wide horizontal swings and jabs; if the tunnels grow small enough, you would be the least impacted by the narrow spaces.”

“Astute as ever, Knight Siegmeyer.”

Now that I thought about it, the tunnels at the beginning of the Depths were tight and hard to maneuver in. Before they widened out into the absurdly spacious sewer, it would be impossible to get the angular momentum I needed without awkward positioning. Even with his spear trick, the length and size of the zweihander would still limit Siegmeyer’s angles of attack, particularly in some of the exceptionally narrow tunnels. Limiting myself to frost magic and being support for the narrower areas was most likely the best idea, as I was unsure I could even wield my sword in some of the tighter ones.

The image of me holding a sword, then having it bonk against a doorway and clothesline me appeared in my head. I couldn’t help but snort slightly at the image, drawing the gazes of both of my companions. I waved them off with a paw.

“Ah, don’t mind me, something amusing occurred to me is all.” Celia shrugged and Siegmeyer hummed. “I believe my primary use in the more narrow passages will revolve around my frost magic. If I can freeze a target in place or impale them…”

Celia nodded, shifting her grip on her sword and shield. “Should we go, then?”

“Indeed. Let’s.”

“Hahaha, excellent!” Siegmeyer pounded an armoured fist against his breastplate, then adjusted his grip on his sword.

The doorway down to the depths was old, of that I had no doubt. Rust ran in a small river of orange-red from an iron plate set into the wood at about chest height, which had an iron ring bolted to it and the classical keyhole. Really, it was a wonder that the lock could even function without being worked with oil and cleaning tools.

Celia pressed a hand on the door, causing it to rattle- but not to open. Frowning, she tested it with her hands, then crouched slightly and peeked into the gap between door and frame. She hummed to herself, then straightened.

“I don’t think it’s a bar. Looks like a deadbolt to me, though I’m not sure where the key would be.”

“Ah! A moment!” Siegmeyer dug through a pouch at his side, then withdrew a large, rusted key with a cord threaded through the circular hole. “This was around the neck of that skull-headed demon. Perhaps…”

He stepped forwards, slotting the key into the lock with the grinding of rusted metal against rusted metal. His first and second tries didn’t get it to turn, but his third, gripping the key and twisting it so hard that it creaked, forced the deadbolt to retract. The horribly corroded mechanism made a series of terrible noises, making me wince and flick my ears backwards, but it functioned. Siegmeyer grasped the circular handle, then pulled the door open.

Immediately, a blast of fetid air flowed over us. Celia took a stumbling step back, waving her gauntlet in front of her helmet in a vain attempt to ward off the smell. Siegmeyer winced, but didn’t otherwise react, leaning forwards to peer down the stairwell behind the door. I, myself, was absolutely floored for several moments by the awful smell.

It stank of rot, of dead flesh left lying in water, of feces and urine and all the horrible things that you’d imagine a medieval sewer to stink of. And as bad as it was for my human companions, it was so much worse for me, with my much more sensitive nose. Hell, I could taste it, and that was intensely unpleasant in a way I’d never experienced before as a human. Suddenly, I was dreading what Blighttown would be like, if the Depths were this bad. Finally, in an act of desperation, I plugged my nose with a bit of ice. Instant relief, as I could no longer smell the horrible place, though I could still vaguely taste it.

Siegmeyer stepped to the side, and after a moment of recovery, Celia shook her head and moved onto the steps leading downwards. I took up the middle, just behind her, and Siegmeyer the rear, closing the door behind us. The stairs were slightly slick with slime, and I briefly considered freezing it just so I wouldn’t have to walk on it, before remembering that Siegmeyer was directly behind me. I pictured what would happen if he slipped on the stairs and winced, thinking of the ball in Sen’s Fortress.

At the bottom, Celia stepped out, then let out a cry of alarm and stepped out of the way of a torch Hollow, who swung the torch through the space that she’d been. These things were nightmare enemies to fight as a player, incredibly high and rapid damage-dealers, but here? Here, it was just a Hollow with a fire stick. I pounced on the damn thing, knocking it to the floor, then grabbed its head between my teeth and YANKED. Its weak neck bones snapped like twigs, and it shuddered before giving up a pitiful dusting of Soul.

Between the three of us, the Hollows of the Depths were merely cannon fodder, and we cleaved through them like the sharpest knives. It was odd, I didn’t remember enemies being in this upper area. I assumed that they had been drawn up here by the echoing sound of the door rattling, but it didn’t much matter. Three of us was complete overkill, and we easily slew our way through whatever ran at us, making our way down another level.

My ear twitched as I heard a rhythmic chop, scrape. Chop, scrape. Celia seemed markedly more nervous, clutching her sword closer and peering into the faintly lit rooms, looking for enemies.

“What do you think that noise is?” She whispered.

Siegmeyer’s helmet turned towards the stone windows, and he crept over- at least, as much as Siegmeyer can creep. He looked through them, then motioned us over. I had an inkling of what was down there that he wanted us to see, and braced myself a little bit, putting my paws on the stone and looking out into the room beyond.

The place was divided into three sections. A doorway to our right led out onto stone steps, and a flat area with tables, something of a dining area, though I had no idea how one could possibly eat while assaulted with the offensive and omnipresent stench of this place. A second level, closer to the roof and a little higher than us, was mostly empty save for dust-covered detritus. Below it, however, just visible through stone railings, was the lowest level.

Cauldrons simmered over fires against a wall, holding unidentifiable concoctions. A dog, Hollowed like everything else, sat at the bottom of a set of stairs that led up to the second level. And there, on the far right, was a wooden table. Even with the weak torchlight, and the single candle set upon the table itself, the wood reflected red with the many stains in its surface. Huge cuts of meat littered the top, originating from unidentifiable sources. Grimly, I thought about Laurentius in the back room, among the barrels filled with corpses. Above the meat stood something that was nothing short of a monster.

It was grotesque and wrong, bulging muscles that didn’t look human covering its form underneath an incredibly stained apron. Its face was hidden by a worn and bloodied sack that looked to be made of rough homespun canvas, and in its huge and bloated hands, it held two knives, though both could barely be named as such. The first was practically a cone of metal, three sharp teeth jutting out of the top and coming to wicked points, dyed entirely with the reflective sheen of blood. In its right hand, it wielded a butcher’s blade that was closer to a sword or an axe than a cleaver, the sheer size and weight of the crude iron making it as much a weapon for chopping up live meat as it was a tool for sectioning dead flesh. As we watched, it raised its huge blade, then brought it down on the meat before it with a crash. It scraped the cutoff onto the flat of the cleaver, then threw it behind its bulky form, to fall down a chute behind it.

I grimaced, disgust rising in me. I absolutely wouldn’t be taking that shortcut unless there was absolutely no other choice.

“What a creature…” Siegmeyer muttered, staring at it. “We shall have to be cautious of it. I’ve seen such barely-human brutes before, and they never fall with ease.”

Celia swallowed and nodded, pulling away from the window and stepping through the stone door, out onto the flight atop the steps. The Hollows milling about the tables, waiting for a meal that would most likely never arrive, immediately turned in her direction and hissed all as one. Celia made to brace herself, shield raised, then turned towards Siegmeyer.

“Knight Siegmeyer! I’ll keep them here, come around from behind and cleave through them!”

“Very well! Siegmeyer of Catarina will not let you down!”

Celia grunted as the Hollows slammed into her shield, taking a step back as their swords made sparks against the steel between herself and them. I moved to her side, glancing between the Hollows to ensure that we had drawn all of them to the steps, then placing a paw forwards and breathing out. The dampness of the stone turned to ice in an instant, reaching up and wrapping itself around the feet and ankles of the Hollows that crowded the steps. An intelligent soldier would break free from it in but a moment; intelligent was not, however, how anyone would describe Hollows.

Instead of breaking the thin layer of ice trapping their feet in place, they simply shrieked and flailed at anything in reach- the stone walls, Celia’s shield, even each other. Sparks flew as their broken and ruined weapons struck things that wouldn’t yield, and produced shrieks when they struck something that did.

“My turn, then!” Siegmeyer exclaimed.

His armour rattled as he leaped from the top of the stairs and directly to the floor below, letting out a loud “OOF!” as he landed with a clatter. He turned, swapping his grip on his zweihander to its more traditional form, then let out an inarticulate yell as he swung the blade with all his strength, the steel humming through the air as it flashed in the torchlight. The Hollows on the steps fell in two, and Siegmeyer’s zweihander clanged against the stone wall to the right, having cut clean through the entire crowd in one stroke.

Celia looked over her shield, then lowered it in frank surprise. “Siegmeyer, that was…”

“Impressive?” he huffed proudly, settling his zweihander against his shoulder. Celia nodded silently.

The two of us carefully stepped between the lower halves of various Hollows, moving down to the same level as Siegmeyer, who was using a relatively clean rag stripped from one of the Hollows to clean the blood from his blade. He scrubbed the last bits of fluid from the steel, turned it this way and that in the torchlight, then nodded in satisfaction and tossed the rag aside to plop sadly against the stone.

“There was a dog guarding the base of the stairs.” My ears twitched and I concentrated, not that I really needed to. “I believe that I can hear… one, perhaps two more.”

“That monster down there is guarded by them, I guess.” Celia muttered, rolling her shoulders. “I’ll handle the one at the base of the stairs. Lady Sif, if you could circle around and handle the dog?” I nodded, and she nodded in return. “Then Knight Siegmeyer can charge down the center and levy the first blow against that creature.”

“A problem, Celia.” She turned her head towards the onion knight, who gestured with his sword. “Now, think. My sword is too long, and the ceiling too low…”

He trailed off, gesturing towards Celia, encouraging. She turned towards the railing, looking over the edge to where two dogs and the butcher sat. The pillar in the center, the ceiling above. I saw her helmet turn, taking it all in.

“You’re using this as a teaching moment, aren’t you?” I muttered to Siegmeyer.

I could feel his smile through his helmet. “Life is a teaching moment, Lady Sif. This more than most.” He turned his head in her direction. “One day, she will be a great leader of men and women, but that starts with a few simple lessons.”

I gave him a sideways look of approval, then nodded. “I hope to see that day.” he hummed in agreement.

Celia turned away from the bannister, walking back to us, glancing down nervously as the boards creaked beneath her feet. Still, she made it back to where we stood without real issue, thinking for a moment before speaking again.

“I think that, perhaps, you should go left instead, Knight Siegmeyer. There should be enough room to swing your sword while Lady Sif moves to defend you.”

“A good observation, Celia, but tell me. Why not have me use my sword as I had demonstrated, in close quarters?”

She hissed out a breath through her teeth, the sound echoing inside her helm. “I considered it, but you said that these things are durable, and I’m not entirely sure that it’s human. A single stab through the gut may kill it or incapacitate it, or it might not do much of anything. One single, huge cut, though?” She nodded, decisively. “Even if it survives being cut in half, or nearly, then it’ll be a lot easier to put it down.”

“Well thought!” Siegmeyer turned his helmet towards me, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes twinkling through the slits in the metal. “Well, Lady Sif? What do you think?”

“A splendid plan.”

Celia stood a little taller, then hefted her blade and turned towards the top of the stairs. Siegmeyer and I followed in her footsteps, ready and waiting. She paused at the top of the flight of steps, taking a deep breath in and out, then raised her shield high and charged. The dog at the base had jumped to its feet, but was far too slow to react. Before it could attack Celia, she rammed into it with her shield, plowing into it and driving it out of the way.

I darted past, with Siegmeyer directly on my heels. As Celia weathered another blow on her shield, taking the dog’s attention, I darted swiftly around the central column, then charged straight into the second dog. The poor thing’s bones folded like twigs in the face of my tackle, snapping as it yelped in pain. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched the butcher’s sack-covered head snap in my direction, shoving the meat that he’d been working on away from him violently and turning to deal with me. Before it could, however, Siegmeyer uttered a wordless battlecry, steel-shod feet ringing against the stone as he charged around the pillar, his zweihander whistling through the air as he swung it with all his might.

The butcher attempted to turn towards him, halfway through its initial turn towards me. The sudden change of direction put its two weapons out of alignment, and there was nothing to stop Siegmeyer from slamming his blade into the thing’s chest. The sheer weight and force behind the sword sent it crashing straight through the unarmoured flesh, the butcher spinning and nearly cut in half. Siegmeyer grunted and halted the zweihander’s motion as the body slammed into the stone floor, slick with blood from the meat the butcher had been working. Back near the base of the stairs, Celia cornered the first dog against the stone wall with her shield, then drove her sword into it. It shrieked, then fell, boneless.

I nodded in satisfaction, then stomped on the dog that was whimpering underneath me, shattering its skull and killing it instantly. With the last of them dealt with, that left only the third dog in the water behind us. When I turned towards it and growled, it whined, tail between its legs, and fled deeper into the Depths. I blinked in surprise, then hummed to myself; well, one less enemy to deal with is certainly not something I was going to argue against.

“What do you suppose it is?” I turned my head back to find Celia poking the butcher with her sword, a note of disgust ringing in her voice and inside her helmet.

“Not human, is all I can say for sure. See the muscles? And the hue of the skin?”

Siegmeyer rolled the thing over with his foot, then grabbed the sack on its head and pulled it off. Celia made a noise of disgust and stepped back, while Siegmeyer leaned closer. Curious, I turned back and padded over to take a look of my own.

The thing’s face was absolutely inhuman, jumbled teeth shoved into rotten gums with no lips to speak of. The eyes were pure black, with no iris or sclera that I could see, and the tongue was large, filling the entirety of the lower jaw and hanging out past its sharpened teeth. Come to think of it, Snuggly traded the sack for the Demon Great Hammer, didn’t they? The Depths led into Blighttown, Blighttown led to Lost Izalyth, and the Capra Demon had the key to the door of the Depths. An interesting link, and one I’d have to investigate eventually.

“Hmm, perhaps a form of minor demon?” I said, absently. Siegmeyer stepped closer, taking a more detailed look, then shrugged.

“I would have to take your word for it, Lady Sif. Seldom have I seen demons in the outside world, and demon lore is rare and inconsistent.”

“I’d rather not hang around the thing.” Celia muttered.

She moved away to look across the water, with Siegmeyer right behind. I made to follow, then stopped and picked up the butcher’s sack mask between my teeth, shuddering at the taste of rotten blood. I stuffed it into one of the leather pouches at my side, silently vowing to have it cleaned after I gave the mask to Snuggly. The thing had no other value, after all.

Siegmeyer and Celia appeared to be attempting to determine the depth, heh, of the water in front of them, a task that was made quite a bit harder by its murky nature and the dim light provided by a few torches. I slipped by them, and rather than splash into the water itself, I repeated my aqueduct trick. The ice spread with speed and surety, the colder nature of the Depths encouraging it more than the mere coolness of the aqueduct. Quicker than ever, it formed a relatively flat and solid surface, incredibly dense and entirely opaque ice saving us from the need of stepping into disgusting and treacherous waters.

“Be careful,” I muttered to the two of them, keeping an eye on the pile of rubble that was our way forward. “There was a third dog who ran upon seeing us defeat its master. It may be somewhere ahead of us, looking for an ambush when we let our guard down.”

The two of them nodded wordlessly, hands tightening around their respective weapons. I stepped forwards and onto the ice, crossing the room with the two armoured warriors spacing themselves out, attempting to avoid straining the ice that they trod upon. Thankfully, besides some light creaking and groaning, the layer of solidified water held the weight of all three of us, and we easily reached the opposite end of the room. I easily clambered over the uneven rubble to the top, turning back to watch as Celia and Siegmeyer carefully made their way up the broken stone.

“Would be embarrassing if we successfully crossed the entire room without getting a single drop of water on us, then slipped and fell right through the ice at the end!” Siegmeyer said, chortling.

Celia went to say something, but I immediately hushed her. My ears stood high, twitching and swiveling as I stood at high alert. Celia and Siegmeyer immediately went from relatively relaxed and joking to ready, moving to cover each other's backs and scanning the area around them, stepping up into the hall where I stood for better choke potential.

“H-hello…?”

It was weak, and I’d barely heard it the first time, but there was no mistaking it now. A human voice came from the room at the end of the hallway, echoing on the stone. Male, and exhausted. Laurentius.

I went to step forwards, then stopped and shared a look with Siegmeyer. Both of us looked back to Celia, who seemed distinctly nervous about being put on the spot so suddenly. Still, she recovered her balance after a moment, gesturing to Siegmeyer and pointing to the hall behind us, before pointing at me and then herself. I nodded, stepping behind her as she pointed herself at the door, shield raised high and sword at her side, ready to strike out. If there was a blow, she was planning to weather it and try for a counter, while I could dart around her legs and take them out from below. Siegmeyer, with his larger weapon, had been placed to guard a passage where he had just enough room to swing it. Well done, Celia.

She stepped through the doorway, bracing herself, then paused. When the blow never came, she lowered her shield, looking over it to examine the room. I, for my part, slipped into the room past her right side, wrinkling my nose at the smell.

The room was rather like the rest of the depths that we’d seen so far, green moss and slime on cool, dark stone blocks. The smell, however, was quite a bit more pungent, rotting meat and old plants combined with mouldered wood. The faint scent of blood hung around as well, and, looking at the room’s contents, it wasn’t hard to see why. This was a storeroom, and judging by the bloodstains and the contents, this was where the butcher stored his meats- alive and dead.

Barrels filled the entire back of the room, packed together tightly. Some had rotted and rusted to the point that they were nearly fallen apart, the corroded iron bands the only things holding them together, while others looked somewhat more stable. There were a couple corpses in some of the more intact barrels, but I was somewhat relieved to see Hollows, rather than full humans. However, one of the barrels was an exception.

All the way in the back, in one of the more intact barrels that was also bound with brown rope, sat what appeared to be a mound of cloth. As I watched, it began wiggling, and I realized that what I’d taken for simple cloth was a hood. Peering closer through the dim lighting, I realized that I could also make out a beard and a bit of the face, dirty though it was. The head with its hood turned towards us, eyes glinting in the darkness made by the cloth.

“A-ah! You! Y-yes, you! Please, I need help, she’ll eat me if you don’t!”

His voice was raspy and somewhat weak, but it wasn’t hard to hear the fear in this voice. He struggled against his bindings again, somewhat weakly, accomplishing only a slight rattling of the barrel itself against its fellows and the stone floor. Celia turned to look at me, and I returned the gaze, raising one of my eyebrows. She seemed to think for a moment, then sheathed the sword at her side and slung the shield over her back, stepping forwards and grabbing the first barrel in her way.

It took a bit of time to clear the way to the pyromancer. Some of the barrels were empty, some fell to rotten pieces in Celia’s hands or when I tried to shove them out of the way, but some were full of various substances. A few sloshed with unknown liquids, some were heavy and slowly leaking blood, and one barrel made skittering noises as I rolled it away into a corner. I shuddered at the noises, then made a note to myself to tell Laurentius to torch the thing if something tried getting out.

Laurentius, himself, was thanking Celia profusely as she drew a knife, cutting each of the ropes that held the barrel together. Finally, she reached inside the barrel itself, cutting the man’s bonds, at which point he attempted to scramble out of the barrel that was holding him. I swallowed a laugh as, instead, he caused the entire thing to tip over, making an undignified sound as it shattered against the stone below. Celia stepped back, putting a gauntleted hand over the faceplate of her helm as she sheathed the knife at her belt, but I heard the snort.

The pyromancer sprang up from the ruins of his prison, slightly flushed, but seeming far too happy to be embarrassed at his tumble. I supposed that if I’d escaped the gruesome fate that he’d been destined for, I’d be less worried about some minor humiliation. He grabbed Celia’s hand and shook it ecstatically.

“Thank you! I’d never thought I’d get out of there, that I’d… I’d be eaten for sure.”

He shuddered, then wobbled in place. Celia grabbed his shoulder, steadying him, and took the Estus flask from her belt, offering it to him. Laurentius took it with a hand and took a slug of it, starting as the unhealthy pallor I could see underneath his hood retreated from his skin. He stood there for a moment, blinking, then stared at the Estus flask in his hand.

“By Gwynn, this is good.” He muttered.

Celia snapped her fingers and, when he looked at her with surprise as if he’d forgotten she was there, she held out a hand. Sheepishly, he handed the dull green flask back to her, then smiled.

“Ah… I’m sorry. I must introduce myself- I am Laurentius, of the Great Swamp. A pyromancer, by creed and by trade. I’m afraid that I rather got myself into a situation, but, thankfully, you and your wolf happened along!”

“Hm.” She nodded. “Celia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She tucked the Estus flask back into her belt. “You said you are a…?”

“A pyromancer, yes.” he held up his hand, little sparks of fire dancing around it as he smiled under his hood. “Many from the Great Swamp are. It’s a fringe thing, not accepted by the sorcerers of Vinheim as a true discipline, but it’s magic.” He lowered his hand again. “I find myself in your debt, having saved me, so if you’ve the talent and the will… Well, I could show you a few things.”

“... Perhaps.” Celia said. There was a note to her voice that I didn’t think I’d heard before, something curious.

“Celia.” She twitched, as if shocked, and Laurentius stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “This isn’t precisely a safe place to have a conversation. We should press on, see if we can find a safer place, where you can speak with our new friend in peace.”

Her shoulders squared and she nodded, turning to the pyromancer. “We’ll be pushing deeper into the Depths. If you’re willing, we wouldn’t say no to a fourth. Safer in numbers, especially in this horrible place.”

Laurentius nodded his head absently, still staring at me. “Ah, yeah, that sounds… good.”

Celia nodded, drawing her sword and unslinging her shield, walking back towards the door to the corridor where Siegmeyer still stood guard. I gave Laurentius an amused look, which he nervously avoided, then made to follow her. The pyromancer’s shoes sounded against the stone as he followed in my wake, bringing up the rear.

We were becoming quite the mismatched group, I thought, chuckling. The noise just served to make Laurentius shuffle back from me a few more steps.