Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I woke up with a headache.

This wasn’t the annoying sort of light throbbing you get from dehydration- no, this felt like a pulsing fire in the forefront of my brain, a mass of pain that just wouldn’t go away. I’d never had a migraine or a hangover, but I imagined this must have been what it felt like. The sort of pulsing, pounding pain that just wouldn’t leave you alone, clung to the inside of your skull like superglue, made your head feel like it was just going to explode- if the pain wasn’t it being in the process of doing so anyway.

I groaned, pulling myself into a tight ball and trying to push the pain away, compact it, ignore it- do something with it as long as I didn’t have to experience it anymore, but the stupid thing didn’t want to GO. It clung stubbornly, with every mental trick I tried, and nothing worked, not even imagining putting the stupid thing in a box. Not that I’d had much hope of that working in the first place, but I was barely coherent as it was.

Gingerly, trying not to jostle myself too much and bring down the wrath of yet further pain, I raised my hands to my head and whined.

Actually whined.

I had just enough mental presence to realize something to the tune of ‘I don’t think that’s how I’m supposed to sound’, and I tried to latch onto that thought as best I could, anything to ignore the headsplitting agony that would otherwise occupy the whole of my existence. I tried to search my memory, figure out what had happened, but through the fog of pain everything slipped away from me again and again. Maybe I’d been in some sort of accident? I didn’t know.

I let myself lay there, feeling miserable for several minutes, until the thought occurred to me that I might not be supposed to feel like this. If I’d been in some sort of accident and was hurt somehow, maybe I was supposed to be on painkillers, and they’d just run out somehow? God, I didn’t know, and I was desperate for even the slightest chance of pain relief at this point. This meant, of course, that I’d have to actually press the call button and inform a nurse that I was in a frankly pretty appalling amount of pain and could use about a thousand CC’s of happy time drug right about now.

It took a summoning of effort of monumental proportions, and an amount of time I couldn’t begin to guess at, but eventually, I managed to pull together the mountainous store of energy that it took for the herculean task of… I was being dramatic. It helped cope, but I didn’t need it right now. Still… I managed the one thing I set out to do: opening a single eye.

I was immediately greeted with green. A lot of green. Tinged with silver, as well as… grey lines? All of it blurred almost beyond recognition, and immediately, just this one thing felt like a railroad spike plunged into my frontal lobe. My eye shut again and I whined, curiosity at what I’d just seen shattered by pain.
I rolled, making a keening noise, pressing my hands to my forehead and generally just trying to get the godawful pain to go inside a box and go away, anything to just reduce whatever was happening to manageable levels.

Time didn’t exist. I practically didn’t exist. I didn’t even have the presence of mind to compare the pain to every other pain I’d felt in my life, that’s how much it worsened. I don’t know how long I lay there, wherever I was, writhing and making what sounds I could squeeze through my throat. But it couldn’t last forever.

Eventually, finally, it died down. Slow, gradual, the pain plateaued, then began to shrink. I started piecing my thoughts back together, trying to get some semblance of self that I could work out of, trying to function- and eventually, piece by piece, I managed it. Time, more time, but in the end it was me laying there, the pain no more than a fading throb in the back of my mind as I panted. And slowly, ever so slowly, even my breath slowed.

Which left me… somewhere. Somewhere green, silver, with lines of grey- a blurry picture of which I’d only caught a moment before a frag grenade went off in my brain. Now, that had faded almost entirely- or as close to as makes no difference. And despite the fact that looking had caused said frag in the first place, I didn’t have much of a choice other than taking a look unless I just wanted to sit here. So, hesitantly, I inched one of my eyelids open.

First thing that I saw was the same thing I’d caught a glimpse of before: green environment, tinged with silver light, with grey lines scattered chaotically throughout my view. I shut my eye tight, blinking hard, trying to clear whatever was blurring my vision and very thankful that it hadn’t caused the same reaction as before. Next time, I tried both eyes at once, lifting my head away from the slightly springy surface I’d been resting on.

To my utter and complete bewilderment, what greeted me wasn’t what I’d thought I’d see- a hospital room, perhaps, with a very strange theme, or maybe some sort of hotel room or the view out of a window. Instead, when I looked, head raised, it was… I wasn’t in a hospital room. I… wasn’t in a room of any sort.

Green grass covered the ground, extending outwards, forming a glade of sorts surrounded by short, earthen walls that came up in mounds topped with trees. The forest was dense and misty beyond the first layer of wood, the plant life appearing to shift and change before my eyes as the mist thickened and thinned on its own, following no pattern I could detect. As I turned my head this way and that, I realized that the grey lines I’d seen, so chaotic in their layout, was actually a thicket of what appeared to be blades of all shapes and sizes. Huge greatswords stuck out of the ground side by side with tiny rusted swords with snapped blades, some laying on the ground and others standing point first in the thick grass under me.

Strangely, no matter how hard I blinked, one thing about the view never changed: a grey, blurred thing in the center of my vision. I closed one eye, then the other, but the blur stayed consistent- always in the center between my eyes, always there. I blinked, then did something I hadn’t done in so long I’d almost forgotten how to do it: I went cross-eyed.

And promptly had a headache of a new kind to deal with, this one caused by the straining of eye muscles and… the fact that I now appeared to have a muzzle.

This was… I didn’t even know how to approach this one. The thing was big, furred, stuck out of my face where I was pretty sure I remembered my nose and mouth being, and was tipped with a nose that I certainly didn’t recognize as mine. I… didn’t think it was human. And when I tried to put my hand to my face, that… that wasn’t a hand. A paw covered in grey fur pressed against my muzzle. My muzzle. My paw? It certainly felt like it.

I’m not too proud to say that what followed was a series of panicked swears and even more panicked discoveries. For all intents and purposes, it appeared that my PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL human body was now replaced with the body of a freaking WOLF, of all things. And not just a wolf, but a frankly huge wolf, assuming that the little toothpick like swords were normal sized.

More than that… the grave in the center of the clearing, the sword placed before it and the ring that I… I supposed “sensed” is the best way to put it, gave me a dreadful suspicion of exactly where I was and what I was. The gravestone I woke up next to was covered in writing, worn enough that I wouldn’t be able to read it without long work and effort, but I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. Well, more or less. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the grave was that of Artorias the Abysswalker.

And here I was, in the clearing, grey fur, four paws and a tail. Process of elimination left me only with the conclusion that I was, well, the only thing that I could be: Sif, the Great Grey Wolf. Artorias’ companion, guardian of his grave and his ring, the Covenant of Artorias, the legendary artifact that allowed one to survive physically entering the Abyss itself. And, lucky me, the plot-vital item any Chosen Undead needed to progress to the Four Kings fight in the ruins of New Londo.

Ffffffffantastic. I really was looking forward to being hunted by any jerkwad with a sword and board for an item. Not only that, but I wasn’t sure how the game’s mechanics extended to… this. Would I respawn if I died? Would I be shunted to another world with its own Chosen Undead, who would then also murder me for the ring, and so on and so forth until some poor sob initiated the next Age of Fire? Or, worst of all, was there only one version of Sif in each and every world, and only this world had me? I didn’t particularly feel like ending up as a sword or a shield, or worse, having my soul consumed to add to the power of some chump who would most likely just end up one of the endless pile of corpses the final “lucky” Undead climbed to reach the First Flame.

Only… I could just straight up GIVE the ring to an Undead. Not like there was anything or anyone stopping me. Except that that didn’t guarantee that said Undead wouldn’t just turn around and stick a sword or a spell in me anyway for the souls, or for the sword, or, hell, just for kicks. Plus, giving the ring to an undead would most likely just buy me exactly as long as it took the next Undead to waltz through the forest, ignore the Forest Hunters and make a beeline for the huge gravesite of one of the most legendary warriors in history guarded by some very big and very obvious stone doors. So just handing the ring off to appease the first Undead who showed up looking for the Hornet Ring and a wolfpelt was out.

The other option, of course, was to simply decide that the only way to win the game was to not play at all- which is kind of a theme in the crapsack world of Dark Souls, but I digress. I could get out of here, leave Darkroot, and pretty easily at that; besides the black knight guarding the path to the Valley of Drakes, the Moonlight Butterfly and potentially the Titanite Demon, there wasn’t anything that’d really be a threat to me here. Ignoring the Undead, of course. Only… that was a pretty terrible idea for other reasons.

Even if I made it out of the area where the game occurred and into the outside world, that wouldn’t change the fact that the First Flame was fading. The gods were weak or entirely absent save for Velka, Undead stalked the land, kingdoms collapsing as the Curse sunk its teeth into them… put simply, the world was dying. If I wasn’t hunted down by the knights of one of the surviving kingdoms for sport or because I was a potential threat, then I’d give it even odds that I was hunted down by an Undead or by some Way of White bastard. And that was if the Age of Dark didn’t happen and bring about Oolacile 2: It’s the Whole World This Time.

I wasn’t even going to dignify the idea of letting events take their course as a proper option. Not only did I like living, thank you very much, I was rather reluctant to figure out where poor humans-turned-wuffs went when they died in the Dark Souls universe. If they even went anywhere at all, which, given the fact that the souls of powerful creatures are the standard drop from them, is pretty likely. As I’d said, I didn’t particularly feel a desire to become a sword or a shield, especially not if I kept my awareness. That’d just be insanity by slow torture.

So… what did that leave? I could sit here and defend Artorias’ grave. I was pretty sure I could do a better job than Sif in the games, but all it took was a skilled enough Undead and I’d go down as hard as wolfy in canon. Besides, while Sif might have been so unbelievably steadfast in their loyalty to Artorias that they stuck by his grave until long after Anor Londo collapsed, but I barely knew the guy by reputation and lore. I certainly wasn’t going to stake my life on the defense of the grave of someone that I didn’t even know.

I made a frustrated growl and swatted a rusted claymore with a paw, causing the weathered steel to shriek and bend. I stared at it for a moment, then huffed and continued pacing back and forth across the width of the clearing like a caged tiger. Or, well, a caged wolf.

I couldn’t leave. Doing Sif’s job in the way that Sif did it was flat out suicide, and adding my own flair was just delaying the inevitable. I only had one ring, which prevented me from giving them out like candy, and even if I could do that, there was nothing stopping an Undead from either not getting the hint or ignoring it and trying to slay me anyway. What options did I have left? I mean, I couldn’t exactly ask anyone’s opinion-

I halted, tilting my head. Or… could I? I turned towards the stone door guarding the only entrance and exit, tail swishing back and forth slowly in the air.

There was one relatively sane, perfectly talkable and very knowledgeable individual within Darkroot Garden. Well, two if one counted Princess Dusk, but I personally didn’t: poor girl never knew what hit her. Still, Alvina of the Darkroot Wood was out there, most likely sitting atop her wall and coordinating the Undead that hunted intruders seeking Artorias’ grave or to explore the depths of Darkroot Garden. She’d known Sif for their entire life, given that she led the Chosen Undead to where Sif was trapped in Oolacile. Not just that, but cats in Dark Souls were always implied to know much more than would appear, and THAT wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Alvina had apparently not only forged a magical ring, but an apparently infinite number of copies. And, on top of all that, there was nothing more than a bunch of mushrooms and some cats between here and there, and I was almost certain I could avoid the latter. The former was too slow to even bother with.

So… it was a gamble. But, as it stood, it was the best gamble I had available with the highest odds of paying off and the lowest risks. And even on the outside chance that Alvina couldn’t- or wouldn’t- help me, I could still coordinate with the Forest Hunters, and make surviving a whole lot easier for both them and myself.

I padded over to the wall, still a little wobbly on my paws, and tried to put them on top of it. And immediately found myself on my side. Apparently, I wasn’t even nimble enough to climb the walls, which was just… embarrassing. I needed more practice with this new body of mine: otherwise, regardless of how fast, strong or powerful I was, I was going to die a chump’s death. Alvina would have to wait, I had practice to do.

****************

I don’t think anyone remembers their first attempts at walking, but I think there are a few at least who remember their second first attempts- if that makes sense.

Figuring out how to walk in a new bipedal body with a similar bone structure to a human would have been easy. A wolf the size of a house, though? You couldn’t get much more difference between that and a human form, unless it was something like an octopus or whatever Aldrich turned into. Four paws and a tail, five limbs in all, was an entirely different muscle structure, bone arrangement and center of gravity than what I was used to, and it showed. Really, it’d been a miracle that I could get up and slowly pace. Running was a fair bit beyond me, let alone jumping.

So I tried to make circles around the grave of Artorias, grass shifting under my paws as the ever-present moonlight shone down on the glade. As far as I could tell, time didn’t pass here, which made sense with the rest of the world and all: the moon didn’t budge the entire time I moved around, slowly increasing my top speed by inches and bits. Managing a more heavy jog wasn’t quite defeating the Nameless King, but I felt accomplished, so that was at least worth something.

And then I made the mistake of picking up Sif’s blade.

Dear Gwyn, I didn’t know how the wuff managed it. The thing was heavy as hell, forged from what I was pretty sure was near pure Titanite, and it absolutely killed my balance even holding it. Besides that, I felt like an idiot with the thing in my mouth, like I was a middle schooler trying to mimic Roronoa Zoro. I was almost entirely certain that Sif wielded the completely cumbersome thing out of respect for their master and in honor of his legacy, not to mention their having trained with whatever sword-in-muzzle style was called since they were very young given their appearance in Oolacile. I, on the other hand, barely knew Artorias, hadn’t ever been stupid enough to put a sword hilt in my mouth before and thought that Sif’s claws and teeth were perfectly functional weaponry, thank you very much. So, with a flicker of guilt for the misuse of such a magnificent blade whether I could wield it or no, I stuck it into the ground and used it to bar the entrance to Artorias’ grave shut.

I mean, I still slipped the two rings onto one of my claws, where they both magically stretched to fit, but just because I was taking all the loot from the place didn’t mean I was going to leave it open to vandalism by any idiot that came strolling along. I might not have personally known Artorias like the real Sif did, but that didn’t mean I was going to take any chances with his grave site. Given the ghosts in the New Londo ruins, I didn’t want Artorias to come back all fire and fury because somebody defaced his gravestone. I don’t think I’d have very much fun fighting a ghost with non-magical claws and teeth, especially not the vengeance-fueled ghost of one of the greatest knights to ever live. Brrr.

I made a once-over around the perimeter of the clearing, then, satisfied that I’d done what I could for the place, I hunkered down and eyed the wall closing off one side.

The thing was taller than me by a fair margin in some parts, but I was certain that I could easily put my paws on top of it like I’d tried to do earlier if I really wanted to, and that I could pretty easily leap the whole thing with a little bit of a running start. As I didn’t want to leave the door open, for reasons I already mentioned, this was the best way to exit that wasn’t going into the spooky shifting fog-filled forest, which just screamed “bad news, stay away” no matter what universe you were in. In fact, eyeing the shorter collapsed bit to one side, I was pretty sure what constituted an impassable obstacle to a Chosen Undead would basically be like clearing a stone wall that came up to my waist for me. Not… that that was even an apt measurement for me anymore, given my entirely different anatomy, but… hrn.

I padded up, poking the rotted stonework with a nose. The last ruins of the arena where Artorias had fought his last battle crumbled a bit from my touch, but I was going to chalk that primarily up to the sheer strength I had in this body. I lifted a paw, glancing about, then set it gingerly down in a relatively flat section. I tested my weight, then, satisfied that it would hold me without dropping the leg into some sort of pit or collapsing the whole thing into the ravine, I searched for a place to put my next paw. One foot in front of the other, I advanced through the crumbling brick and barely standing wall, until I was overlooking the wide gap and the river below.

Here, the wall dissolved into nothing but shambles, bricks laid about at random in a huge pile. If I had to guess, I’d say that what I’d just climbed over had been one of the supports that I vaguely remember from Artorias’ boss fight, and that it’d collapsed outward somewhere during the age between then and now. When it had fallen, it’d gone right over the edge, scattering a bunch of itself up here and the rest across the riverbed, though I didn’t know how much of the thing was down there now.

I cast a wary eye over the rickety stone bridge that connected Sif’s arena with the rest of Darkroot Garden. The thing was wide enough for two to three people standing shoulder to shoulder, and could easily hold a Chosen Undead with the heaviest weapons and armour, but I was a lot bigger and heavier than a lone armed Undead. A single paw barely fit between the short stone walls that made up either side of the bridge, and when I put the first paw down on the thing, the stones ground very faintly under the weight. I eyed the river under the bridge, but I couldn’t tell how deep it was, and I… wasn’t sure how to swim in this body. If there was easy access to the water, I might have tested to see if it was shallow enough for me to simply walk across, but as it was…

I had to go carefully, slowly. My already iffy balance was tested multiple times by the narrow stone walkway, tilting this way or that as I tightrope walked across a surface that any normal human would have found wider than they needed to be comfortable. For the first time, I appreciated how large I’d really gotten: the swords had been good for an initial comparison, sure, but trekking across something like this… really put it into perspective. I’d put my size as about that of a house, but it really hadn’t clicked with me exactly how big that was until now.

Still, with only a few scares (and a chunk of the stone railing being introduced to the riverbed) I made it across to the opposite shore. The cliff here, which was enough to cause falling damage to an Undead, came up to about my shoulders, and I was easily able to hop to the top of the thing… though it did come with the embarrassment of letting out a yelp when my paws slid right out from under me and I faceplanted into the loam. I growled and stood again, getting my paws securely under me, peering into the trees and trying to figure out if the gaps were wide enough for me to pass through.

It was now of course, that it occurred to me that there was another issue that I hadn’t thought of. Communication. Another frustrated growl escaped my throat, and I flopped down on my haunches, staring into the trees and considering the problem.

The first hurdle would be one of language, but I was really crossing my fingers (paws?) there and hoping that, much like in the games, everyone spoke English for some inscrutable reason. But with a wolf’s anatomy, even the anatomy of Sif, that still didn’t mean I could communicate- unless people magically spoke wolf, which I wasn’t going to be betting on. The only translation ring in the game only worked on denizens of Izalith, and I was sure that there weren’t any of Sif’s kind in the city. Though, the idea of a demonic Sif was… rather horrifying, now that I thought of it.

I stretched my jaw muscles and swallowed. Experimentally, I pressed my lower jaw against my upper and tried to breath out, blinking in surprise when the sides of my mouth ballooned outward slightly, then letting my breath go with a light ‘pop’. Well, then. From what I remembered, canines were incapable of making a seal with their mouths, but apparently Sif could? Perhaps because whatever species they were was different enough from other canines to have such a feature, or perhaps Sif in particular had been changed magically somehow… wouldn’t put it past any part of this world to be like that.

Still, though, that made me wonder. If this one part of Sif’s anatomy was similar to a human’s, what others were? Sif could howl, bark, growl- all the usual sounds of a canine, and though I hadn’t made the first, I’d demonstrated the last repeatedly and the second at least once when I thought the stupid bridge was going to fall out from underneath me. More accurately, I had no real clue what sounds I could make with Sif’s muzzle and vocal cords. If I was very lucky, I might even be able to mimic language well enough to be understood in basic terms.

I tilted my head. Now that I thought about it, Alvina communicated with Undead just fine, despite being a cat. There wasn’t any telepathy bull there, either, given the fact that you could pretty clearly see her mouth moving to actually form the words. It was a pretty consistent staple of the Dark Souls universe that magical animals could speak, which made me wonder about the cats scattered around the area… well, whatever. I ran my tongue over my lips and tried to form a word.

“Thpffppfhghph.” I winced. That wasn’t dignified in the slightest. Pretty sure I coated a tree in wolf slobber, utterly drenched the bark, poor thing.

The way that everything moved and worked in my muzzle and throat was so completely alien to the mechanical parts I’d had as a human that I didn’t even know what I was doing wrong. I could try to form the word, but there wasn’t muscles to actually move various bits in the way that I wanted, and thus it ended up mangled at absolute best. Much like walking, the muscle and bone structures were so vastly different that I was going to need quite a bit of practice to actually figure the stupid thing out. Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted to spend my time.

Thankfully, there wasn’t actually anything in this portion of the woods that could constitute anything like a threat to me, as long as an Undead did happen upon me in the meantime. Not to mention… it was actually rather peaceful, here. Moonlight flickered over the lazily flowing river, painting my surroundings a dully shining silver. The forest was nearly silent but for the occasional quiet rustle of leaves as breezes moved through the trees and grass. Deeper in the forest, there was an occasional thump or patter of footsteps, but they were too light to be made by a human- either the mushroom children or animals, I’d guess.

And a couple of things occurred to me in rapid succession.

First, I could actually see green. Sure, it was layered over with moonlight, but I could easily make out that the grass was green, that the trees were brown- wasn’t canine eyesight supposed to be more grayscale, or colourblind at the least? As far as I could tell, I just had something like normal human vision. However, in this case, I was willing to shrug it off as more magical animal bull and move on. I was thankful for the ability to see in more or less the same colour range as a human, but it wasn’t worth that much remark.

What was, though, was my sense of smell. I hadn’t noticed it, with Artorias’ gravesite deserted of anything but some rusted swords and a bunch of grass, but here? Animals still roamed the woods, mushroom people wandered, Undead and cats passed through… and I could smell EVERYTHING. It was like suddenly stapling on a whole new sense over an existing one, and for the first time, I could truly appreciate how utterly pathetic the human sense of smell was. I sniffed the grass, and I could actually smell the stale and fading scent of what I thought was an Undead, clothed in rusted armour, but I could also smell something… chemical about it? I sniffed again, confused, then did the quadrupedal version of a shrug. It was just incredible how much I could smell in general. I didn’t know how handy it was going to be going forward, but in the moment at least, it was an utterly surreal experience.

I leaned back into a sitting position, which was just as weird as everything else had been so far, and let out a breath. Like walking, talking would just take practice to get a hang of. I just hoped that it didn’t take too much practice, or I’d end up fighting something much earlier than I wanted. Basic sounds first, of course.

“Mmmm.” M was an easy sound. Just closing my mouth and making a humming noise, not too dissimilar to growling, just… lower? It was hard to express meaningfully. “Mmm. Mmmaaaaaaahhh.”

A was pretty similar, the same humming noise but with my mouth open. But I needed to try something a little harder than that, something that actually required tongue motion to manipulate the noise. Perhaps a T?

“Thpfffff.”

Alright, yeah, that wasn’t happening. I growled, trying to curl my tongue against the roof of my mouth and try again.

“Thhhpffff. Thhhffff. Thffoof.” I bared my teeth in frustration.

It was a good thing time didn’t seem to really pass here. This was going to take a while.

****************

“Dah… t-the quick brown foxsh- fosh- ffffff… frick.” I took a deep breath. “Ffff… ef-oh-exsh. E-sh. Hrnng.”

The past… couple of hours, maybe, had been a truly grueling exercise in patience. I was trying to pronounce the relatively easy phrase primarily for the reason that it contained every letter in English, and was thus a good test of my current level of mastery. I’d gotten basic swears down pretty quickly, of course, but the rest? That wasn’t coming as easily. Especially X, S, V, th, and Z. Those sounds in particular were ones that I struggled to pronounce, trying to position my tongue, teeth and lower jaw just so.

Pronouncing the noises properly wasn’t difficult, per say, and I managed it on occasion. Mostly, it was just that my muscle memory, because that had made it into this body as well, kept dictating that I do something entirely different with my mouth than what I needed to do to make the sound. You don’t easily unlearn over two decades of English pronunciation practice in the course of a few hours. Still, that didn’t mean that I wasn’t making progress- I’d at least figured out the easier sounds, and while my speaking was slow, I could do decently well with pronouncing most words that didn’t include my problem letters and sounds. Speed would come with time and practice, things that I was planning to have plenty of- all I needed to do was sound stuff out, figure out how to pronounce most basic words well enough to communicate with Alvina. Once I was over that initial hurdle, and the cat was made aware of what had suddenly changed, then I could move from there… though I wasn’t quite sure what my eventual plan was.

Eh, I’d sort it out when I actually crossed the language anatomy barrier and had the foundations of a potential mutually beneficial arrangement with Alvina. Once I could begin trying to figure out what I should do with the practical Dark Souls Cheshire cat, it would give me a good jumping off point to… well, the rest of this crapsack world.

The First Flame was dying down, that was painfully obvious. I couldn’t be lucky enough to be dumped into the actual Age of Fire itself, I had to be dropped straight into the midst of Dark Souls as a non-optional boss. The primary question was, what am I going to do about it? And, really, being honest with myself, I didn’t have enough information to make a decision in any direction, not as I was. But Alvina? Alvina was centuries, if not millenia old, and most likely knew things and people that wouldn’t be remembered outside of obscure records. If anyone could guide me through the slowly dimming final days of this Age of Flame, it was Alvina.

“Okay, one more time… d… THE quick brown fosh- fo… FOX,” I grinned, though it wouldn’t look like that to anyone that saw it, “jumped over t-tha lazshy- laZY, lazy dog!”

I nodded triumphantly. I’d still stumbled over pronunciations, and my speed still needed work, but I had the basics. Anything else would come with the practice of frequent use. I stood from where I’d been sitting, muttering the words to myself, and made a sweep of the surrounding area. That… is when I sighted the figure in armour.

Unlike most of the undead filling the lands around Anor Londo, this one appeared to have kept up the maintenance on his armour and weapons, though partially that might have been because they appeared to have managed to loot the Elite Knight set from the corpse elsewhere in Darkroot. They held what looked like the Crest shield in their left hand, a normal longsword in their right, but both were slack in their grip as they looked at me. The wind shifted, a breeze blowing from behind them, and I scented them on the wind- the same sort of chemical scent that I’d picked up from the other Undead, the scent of iron and of flesh, and a sharp scent that I wasn’t sure of. Instincts, buried deep within the wolf I’d become, supplied the answer for me: fear.

They turned their head, glancing in the direction of the arena I’d come from, then jerked their gaze back to me. They turned back and forth a few times, then slowly sheathed their sword, placing their shield on their back… then bolted full-tilt into the trees.

“HEY!” I yelled after them, leaping to my paws and bounding after the fleeing armoured form.

I growled in irritation as the trees I’d been planning to pick my way through barred the way, no doubt what the Undead was hoping for, but it was mostly just an aggravation as I dodged inbetween them. Even with the density of the forest slowing me down, I was certainly faster than them, something they clearly realized when they glanced backwards and realized I was still after them.

“HEY! STOP!”

Instead of stopping, they made what sounded like a squeak of fear and juked right, running straight through… ah crap. The large mushroom people turned to follow their fleeing form, but the armoured Undead was moving too quickly for them to react. They heard me coming, turning in my direction, only to be scattered like bowling pins as I plowed straight through the group of them, being thrown bodily hither and thither amongst the trees. I slowed for the barest fraction of a second in surprise- wow, I was even stronger than I’d thought- before leaping forwards again as I saw them running towards the stairs that led to Alvina and the exit to this area.

They made the mistake of looking back as they reached the clear area around the steps. They let out a shout as I barreled out of the woods, right on their heels, and then went immediately rear over teakettle as their armoured boot caught in a root and sent them tumbling to the ground, rolling a few steps before they came to a stop. Before they could recover, I was right on top of them, lifting a paw and pressing it down on their chest. They tried to struggle, get to their sword or their shield, but the couldn’t reach the former because it was beneath my paw, and the latter wouldn’t budge, pinned as it was under them.They struggled for a few moments, trying to do anything to get a shot at their weapon or get out from under my paw, but when I simply shifted to stop each of their attempts in their tracks, they eventually just went limp, obviously waiting for the inevitable.

I had no idea what I was going to do to them. They’d been Undead, and I’d been interested, but thinking back… I’d chased them not because I’d really wanted to, but because they’d run. Some instinct, combined with the scent of fear that I’d smelled from them, had driven me to chase them down and capture them, an instinct that had faded to nothing now. So, I was left with an Undead I hadn’t intended to capture, in the middle of a bunch of woods, with only my paw preventing them from making a run for it or taking a shot at me here. My lips twitched, revealing a flash of teeth, and the Undead flinched. I examined them as I mulled over my options, before finally leaning closer and sniffing them in more detail.

The first thing that occurred to me was that their scent was… familiar. Now that I was right in it, it rang a bell somewhere in my mind… my head twitched upwards. Ah, of course, the trail of the Undead that had passed through the woods in the direction of Artorias’ grave! They smelled precisely like that, but this time I recognized the vaguely chemical scent as the same one that wafted out of their sword’s sheath. Oil, maybe? Not only that, but the scent of rust that had traced through their footsteps was gone, perhaps because they’d dumped whatever set of armour they had or cobbled together in favour of the Elite Knight set, which was in much better condition, no doubt.

“How many timesh have you fought me?” My mouth twitched in annoyance at the slurring of the ‘s’, but nothing to be done about it now.

“A-ah, um…” To my mild surprise, it was a woman’s voice that came from behind the closed visor, unsteady and ringing with surprise, echoing slightly in the metal helmet. “I-I dunno, five times? Six?”

“Hrn.” I raised my head towards the staircase, but Alvina wasn’t available from this perspective… if she was there. The Chosen Undead could attack her and make her vanish permanently… “Did you attack Alvina of the Darkroot Wood?”

At the edge of my vision, I saw the Undead trace the direction of my gaze before snapping their head back to me.

“Uh, n-no, no I didn’t?” I heard the unasked question in their words. They’d relaxed a little, looking closer at me from where they were pinned, but I still smelled an edge of fear about them.

“Hm. Good.” I paused for a moment, considering what I should do with this Undead.

They’d fled from me primarily because they were surprised and terrified to see me outside of Sif’s usual arena- bosses didn’t go beyond their fog walls, after all, so to see one do so must have scared the pants off the poor Undead. I wasn’t entirely unsympathetic, it wasn’t like they’d had a choice in fighting me if they were following the canon plotline for Dark Souls, which I’d guess they were given that they had the Crest shield. Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t perfectly aware that they’d tried about five separate times to kill me- even if I remembered none of those times, given that they’d happened to the actual Sif and not, strictly speaking, me. I weighed my options for a moment, then decided that they’d be best where I could keep an eye on them. I turned my head back down to regard them, noting the uptick in fear-scent that I was smelling from them, and spoke again.

“I will release you. You will follow, or I will catch you again. Undersh… un-der-stand?” they nodded rapidly. Made sense: just because they’d come back when they died didn’t mean that they’d willingly die at any time. I pressed down on them a little harder, just to drive the point home, then raised my paw. “Good.”

I watched as they hesitantly stood, brushing the twigs and loam off their armour and keeping a wary eye on me. As soon as I was sure they were ready to move, I walked forwards, paws leaving deep impressions in the soft forest ground as I approached the half-ruined stairwell.

The remaining shard of some Oolacile building stuck out of the ground next to a ravine that I could just see from here. Through the archway at the top, I knew that another bridge spanned the gap, then led through another archway into the square room with no roof where Alvina lounged on a windowsill. The stairs themselves were thankfully wide enough for me to place my paws on and bring my head level with the archway, which I knew from a glance was far too narrow for something my size. Simply put, it had been built for humans and, at most, the more minor, smaller gods like Ornstein or Artorias. There was no possible way I was getting through there, even if I really squeezed.

With a dismissive snort that was mostly for appearance in front of the Undead, I swatted the stone archway with a paw. To my pleased surprise, the stone shattered and gave relatively easy before my paw, blocks sent spinning into the abyss as a cloud of stone dust hung in the air. I huffed, blowing most of the cloud away, and examined the bridge, nodding when I found it satisfactory for my needs. It wasn’t much wider than the bridge leading to Artorias’ grave, but I’d crossed that one alright… for a given value of “alright”, anyway. I turned my head to regard the Undead, who I found standing off to one side, their left hand laying on the sword at their side with what looked like a white-knuckled grip.

“Come.” I said simply.

With that, I turned back to the archway, easily climbing over the stairwell with my rear paws and stepping out onto the bridge itself. Just like the previous bridge, one paw after the other advanced me down the narrow stone beneath me. Internally, I wished I was capable of the size-changing trick that those with a large amount of souls were capable of, that would have made this a lot easier. Still, I made it alright to the other side.

I twitched as I felt something moving over the bridge beneath me, but a glance revealed that it was just the Undead, who seemed to be regarding me with more and more wariness every time we looked at one another. I shifted a paw, and she hesitantly nodded in thanks before passing through the archway and into the structure that sat at the other end of the bridge.

“Ah, back so soon, hm? Something on thine mind or on thine heels?” I heard the smile in the cat’s voice. “A crash of that degree means pursuit, but while I see what must be the chased, I see not the chaser.”

I measured the second archway for a moment. I could knock it down easily as I had the last, but I wasn’t really willing to risk a stray brick striking the Undead that I’d formed a shaky truce with or to drive away Alvina. I had control, but not that much- hard to have much finesse with paws the size of tractor tires, and all. I hummed quietly to myself as I examined how wide the archway ways and did some quick guestimation. It was most definitely far too small for my body to fit through, but I didn’t have to fit all of me through, now did I?

It was actually rather difficult on the narrow stone bridge, but I managed to hunker down as close to the ground as I could get and crawl forwards on my paws. After a bit of difficulty, I managed to poke my head through the gateway, which thankfully did nothing more than let out a series of ominous creaks and cracks. I blinked, then glanced about Alvina’s small “room”.

The Undead was pressed against the far wall, body language uncertain. From the way that one of her boots pointed at the exit and the way her body was angled, I’d say that she had been seriously considering booking it- or at least she had been, before I stuck my head through. Alvina, on the other hand, merely looked surprised, and not particularly so either. The only outward physical signs she showed were a thrashing tail and slightly widened eyes, and when I smelled the scent in the room, I just simply smelled the scents of Undead and a spicy sort of animalistic scent that I instinctively knew was Alvina herself.

“Oh, truly, this art quite the shock! Yonder sentinel and neighbor mine come to visit, after so many years- and here is me, without anything to greet thee with!” She laughed, an unnerving sound that I couldn’t quite bit words to, even knowing what its purpose was. “What possesseth thee, that thee leaves thine vigil on a day no different than the last- and without thine sword, even?” her eyes flicked downward to the paw that poked through the doorway under my head, tail whipping as she gazed at the bands of metal laying there. “And… carrying such things as those, as well.”

I made a non-committal growling noise. The Undead flinched, pressing herself a little tighter to the wall, but Alvina failed to react outside of her gaze finding my eyes again.

I had to do this right, say this right. Alvina was perceptive and quite possibly one of the three or so most intelligent characters in Dark Souls- the top one and two slots most likely taken by Seath the Scaleless and Big Hat Logan, respectively. Not only that, but she’d known Sif for who knows how long, though I wasn’t sure what sort of relationship the two shared outside of the scope of the game. Alvina obviously respected Artorias and had at least had some measure of loyalty regarding him, given how she led someone to save Sif and then spent the next few centuries to millennia forming the first line of defense against those who sought the grave of Artorias and Sif. Still, though, what she’d said implied that she and Sif were not on speaking terms, if they’d ever been, and I was inclined to believe that her guard duty was out of regard for Artorias, not loyalty or comradeship with Sif.

The problem was that I didn’t actually know precisely what I wanted to say. I needed information, but I didn’t want to tip off Alvina that I might not be the Sif that she knew, and thus couldn’t ask for it outright. I needed guidance on what paths I might have open to me, what I could actually do in this fading land, but that wasn’t something that I could directly pose to Alvina either.

“Hesitant, are thee? Unsure of what thou came to say?”

The growl I made this time was annoyed, but it only elicited an amused noise from the cat. I was starting to get the feeling that the relationship between Sif and Alvina had been one of siblings instead of comrades.

“... I grew restless.” That was safe enough, I thought, not something that would be terribly out of character for Sif… well, I hoped, anyway.

Alvina made a ‘chuff’ that was somewhere between a scoff and a sound of amusement. “Truly? Thee, the unrelentingly loyal guardian, grown tired of thine self-chosen business? Truly this is the most dire of times, that thee should leave thine copse and sword to seek out mine own place!” the tone of voice she took was almost teasing, which just lent more credence to the idea of a sibling-like relationship.

“Artorias… has been gone… a long time.” I felt a flicker of surprise as Alvina sat up a little, a touch of her own surprise mixed with something that looked rather like concern. My lips twitched a little, and regardless, I carried on. “And I look around now, and I realize that we’ve spent our lives guarding the place he fell. This was known as Oolacile when I last roamed the world by his side, and all I can think of is what I’ve accomplished since.” I growled, scraping claws against the stone floor and leaving deep rents in the stone. “Can you truly look at us as we are, Alvina, and say that he would have been proud? Once, I would have said that my vigil at the very least had a point, a purpose, but now?” I pointed my nose at the Undead pressing herself against the wall, who shrunk a little farther into the corner in response. “This one ALONE has fought me five times, perhaps six, if her own recount is accurate- I could not say, they blur together, and the Undead simply come and come and COME. There is no end to their tide. I am tired, Alvina, and I fear what will happen to Artorias’ legacy once I fall.” I closed my eyes. I had to drive it home. “Who even remembers his name? If I went above with his sword, who would recognize me, his weapon? Are there even any left above? Are the god’s halls still filled with those giants with souls ablaze, or are they empty?”

Alvina shifted uncomfortably. “I cannot say I know. My concerns, as thine, were with guarding and ensuring Artorias’ eternal rest.” The cat turned to her right, in the direction that I knew Anor Londo was in. “I have not left in time and time again, and last I stalked the gold streets of gods, they still walked in numbers among the buildings… but even I can feel the warmth fade, the fog refusing to vanish with sunlight, as if the very fire of the sun itself loses its potency.”

I shifted in disquiet myself. Had Alvina actually noticed that the sun that hung above Anor Londo was an illusion? I wonder if she knew Gwyndolin, knew that the princess in the castle was of a somewhat different persuasion, or that he’d been maintaining the illusion of the god’s continued power in the structures rising high above the Undead Parish. It made me wonder what else she knew that she wasn’t supposed to, and whether or not her presence guarding Artorias’ grave, surrounded by Undead who chose to serve her cause, was out of choice… or necessity. Close enough to the capitol to be within watching distance of those within, but far enough and out of the way enough that she wouldn’t be considered an active player or a substantial threat.

The Undead, on the other hand, simply glanced back and forth between the two of us with something like bewilderment. Which was… fair enough, really, the sorts of things Alvina and I were discussing were pretty far beyond the ken of your average Undead.

… ‘Beyond the ken’? When had I ever spoken like that? This place was getting to me. With a light start, I realized I hadn’t slurred or stuttered once during my monologue. I felt more and more unsettled as I considered what I’d said, how I’d said it… it hadn’t sounded like me, to be sure. Not only that, but every pronunciation had been perfect, and I’d somehow managed to choose what words I thought Alvina needed to hear without actually knowing WHAT she’d wanted to hear in the first place. But before I could consider further, Alvina spoke again, interrupting my thoughts.

“And here thou art, wearing thine lord’s ring and the ring of his friend, speaking of dissatisfaction and frustration. Thou hath not expressed such feelings to mineself before, nor those fellow knights of the lord when they still visited his resting place. Truthful, I had thought that thou were satisfied with thy lot in life.”

I huffed, my mouth and tongue suddenly feeling just as awkward as they’d felt when I’d made a few stilted sentences towards the Undead. I chose my words carefully and shaped them even more so. Whatever happened with my monologue before, I couldn’t just simply rely on it happening again, not when I still wasn’t sure what had happened the first time.

“I-” I paused. Partially for effect, appearing to reconsider my words, and partially because I’d been about to slur an S, and that wouldn’t do at all. Different combination of words, perhaps. “I think… that I’m sick of standing by, of watching the world move ahead without me. I think I’d liked to do something about it, even if I do not know what that thing is.” Alvina glanced to the side, muzzle doing something that I interpreted as a grimace. “I think you-” hell, I hadn’t practiced this word. Time to wing it. “Chaaafe-” Nailed it. “As well, under our duty.”

“That… I shall not deny. Watching from afar hath never been mine habit, and doing so for such time has been naught but rubbing raw scars.” For the first time, Alvina looked at me, and her gaze was openly wary. “But neither of us should forget why we are here. Those holder of souls sat atop their golden thrones do naught more than tolerate we two, and only for the legacy from your lord keeps it that way.”

I let out a growl that surprised even me, baring my teeth. I remembered what I’d thought of the gods before: cowards fleeing a sinking ship, abandoning one of their own in Anor Londo to maintain the illusion of their power while they run from the fading of the Flame. Gwyndolyn’s own sister slipping away first chance she had. The only gods left in all the game were Nito, Gwyndolyn and perhaps Seath- if one stretched the definition a bit- and they were respectively the Grim Reaper, a complete asocial who’d been shut away all his life, and a mad scientist in dragon form. Not only were they cowards, they were cruel cowards, ensuring that this entire place was a gigantic death trap designed to siphon every Undead within its clutches of every drop of humanity and Soul, chuck their corpse onto the mountainous pile, then hock the final ‘lucky’ Chosen Undead into the First Flame as firewood. No, I had no love for the gods, but they’d made themselves irrelevant to the equation that was Lordran. And I got the feeling that, after the fall of their lord and master, Sif hadn’t been particularly keen on them either.

“And who saysh that they are effen here!? Craven cowardsh, fled at the firsht sign of the fading Flame-” I bit down on the next words, shaking my head and calming myself, surprised at the rage that had welled up within me. I’d been slurring words, I knew I had been, but the Undead was too far gone shaking in their boots to notice and Alvina seemed… unsurprised.

“Thine accent hath slipped again, methinks… how long since thou hath spoken to another living creature? Decades? Centuries?”

I glanced away, though the limited mobility of my head prevented too dramatic of a movement. “I do not remember.” That, at least, was the complete and honest truth.

Alvina sat for a while, tail swishing back and forth, looking thoughtful. Slowly, the Undead calmed her shaking and settled into the corner she’d been in. As I watched her, and she watched me, she carefully drew her sword from her sheath and began a process of cleaning and polishing it. In the process, she used some sort of oil on the blade, which I recognized as the chemical scent that I’d picked up in her trail and coming out of her sword’s sheath. Given her lackluster sense of smell, I had no doubt that she had no idea of the potency of the stuff- considering, that might be why some creatures in Lordran found the Chosen Undead so easily.

“... This is a fool’s venture.” Alvina said, eventually, drawing my attention back to her. She paused for a few minutes more, then sighed and closed her eyes. “And I suppose that I must play the part of a fool.” she straightened, looking me full in the eye. “I shall consult with mine covenant- call members longer in experience, from worlds across and beyond. We shall see what they know of Lordran… and we shall decide from there.”

My lips twitched, but, mindful of the Undead who’s attention had temporarily switched to Alvina while she spoke, I did not smile. Baring teeth the size of swords did not do much to endear one to someone, especially not when I’d apparently killed them several times outside my memory. I went to nod, then thought of the fragile stone around my neck and thought better of it, answering verbally instead.

“Thank you.” I Iet out a puff of air through my nose. “It feels good to be doing something.”

Alvina’s needle-filled grin was part wistful, part glee, and all catlike. “Now there, I must agree.” she waved a paw. “I shalt send one of my hunters along with news, when I have it. They shall know where to find thee.”

I huffed an affirmative, then gently began extracting myself from the stone arch. I stood up straight on the stone bridge for the first time in quite a while, turning my neck this way and that and producing a series of echoing cracks as my joints popped. One of my ears twitched at the slightest sound, and, glancing to the side, I made eye contact with Shiva, who was standing near the edge of the ravine and watching in what appeared to be carefully restrained awe. Glancing behind him, over his shoulder, I caught a glimpse of his ever-present bodyguard, as well as a number of the other Forest Hunters. My eyes passed over the archer, and I paused for a moment.

Wielder of a legendary weapon, with the hat of an old hero. She dropped twin Humanities as well, when she was killed in the game… and, most notably, she didn’t respawn. Curious, and I’d have to ask questions about and to her, if I ever got the chance. I huffed, walking backwards along the bridge until I reached the stairwell, carefully turning and climbing down from there. It wouldn’t do for me to trip, not now.

I paused at the edge of the forest, turning my head back towards where I knew Alvina was sitting right now, contemplating things, perhaps even considering what members to call back- if that was what she intended to do. I supposed that I could only wait, for the moment. I let another breath out, then turned back towards the forest and walked back towards the lonely grave of Artorias the Abysswalker.

Chapter Text

I wanted to go to Artorias’ grave, lie down and wait for Alvina to report back what she’d found out.

I lasted about a half an hour before I had to get up again. Apparently, changing bodies hadn’t fixed either my need for stimulation or my inability to sit still.

It was hard to determine how wide the clearing actually was. Walking across it, back and forth, didn’t really do me much good- I had a poor at best idea of how my current size stacked up to my original size, let alone either imperial or metric measurements. Actually, come to think of it, had units of measurement ever been mentioned in Dark Souls? I mean, they had to have SOME sort of standard, but it hadn’t exactly come up at any point that I could remember…

I shook my head. That wasn’t really important.

Having exhausted the entertainment value of measuring the clearing in Sif-lengths, measurements that I had the sneaking suspicion kept shifting with the fog, I’d turned to the other things within the clearing that might divert me. More specifically, the rings that I’d manage to fit on my paws.

The Covenant of Artorias. A tiny little ring, gold-banded, with a tiny blue gem set in a little gold circle. It looked almost comical on my gigantic paw, and I had to lean my head close to make it out through my… fur. Hrm. Regardless, this is the ring that protects the player when they descend into the Abyss in New Londo to battle the Four Kings. As far as the game goes, it doesn’t have any other purpose, and is simply left sitting in the player’s inventory afterwards. The interesting part is the lore. From what I remember, this ring was a symbol of some sort of pact with the creatures of the Abyss, which is fair enough… but...

Artorias fell in Oolacile- actually, right where his gravestone is, so… probably within a few meters of where I’m standing right now, which is a weird thought. The ring ends up here, because the player receives it after defeating Sif, but… where did it come from in the first place? It states that he made a “covenant” with the creatures of the Abyss, but which creatures? Manos? The general creatures of the Dark are mindless, the Dark given form. He had to have made a deal with SOMETHING for the lore blurb to be any sort of correct, but there’s nothing in the Abyss to MAKE deals with. Though, that… did Artorias know Manos? I mean, there was some implication that the residents of Oolacile did something pretty awful to Manos, if I wasn’t misremembering someone’s headcanon. Maybe Artorias came to put Manos down after he went mad, let his guard down and fell to the Abyss? I made a frustrated growl. I didn’t know enough to really say what happened in Oolacile. Maybe I could make an Undead go back in time through the portal to figure things out, but even then it’d be figuring things out belatedly, and I didn’t exactly want to go back myself and risk running into past actual-Sif, I had no clue what that’d do to the timeline.

I turned my attention to the other ring, the Hornet ring. Slightly more ornate than the Covenant ring, though it’s obviously far more practical than your average piece of jewelry, with the plain metal circle carved with the image of a hornet on a silverish band. No actual jewels, but then, at least half of all Dark Souls rings don’t have gems anyhow. I suppose that, in a world where a high-ranking knight might commission a piece of magic equipment like this and some are even churned out in large numbers (the Cloranthy ring most likely, definitely some of the Faith-based rings), it would make sense that they were designed much like practical equipment is, especially the ring of one of the Four Knights of Gwyn. It’s meant to boost the critical attacks of the wearer, but I’m not sure how that crosses over from the game into reality.

Four knights, four kings, four Lordsouls… need to keep an eye on that. Sympathetic magic with the number, perhaps, or maybe it’s considered a holy number based on the fact that… no, no, the fourth Lordsoul was the Dark Soul, stolen by the Furtive Pygmy. There’d be no reason for the gods to advertise the fact that they’d been outsmarted before their reigns even began. So, probably sympathetic magic, then.

What was especially odd was that the rings… FELT like something. When I closed my eyes and concentrated, I could feel something from them, a tingling sort of energy that made my fur stand on end. I… didn’t know how, but if I had to take a guess, I’d thing that I was feeling the magic impregnated into the metal. I could focus on one or the other, honing in with this sixth sense. It was strange, unnerving, memories being brought to the forefront of my mind uncalled as if the magic had brought them forward to express itself. Images of underground rivers, still cave pools, the deepest black of night from the Covenant, contrasted with memories of clashing metal and swinging swords from the Hornet. The memories were mine, from movies or places I’d been, and I guessed that this was how my mind was interpreting the feelings I was getting from the little pieces of enchanted metal.

And… that was another avenue of entertainment exhausted. I glanced around the clearing, shifting back and forth on my paws, my, eh, tail twitching. Weapons made a pincushion of the grass under my paws, many rusted through, the gravestone standing as solemn and unchanged as it had when I’d woken up here. My muzzle twitched as I realized how utterly dull it must have been to wait here for centuries, guarding a stone. Sif must’ve been absolutely ecstatic when someone came to try and kill her, it definitely would have broken up the monotony.

It’s just now that it occurs to me that, going by what I know, time in the Dark Souls universe moves forward on a purely event-based status focused around the actions of the Chosen Undead towards their eventual endgame goal of becoming a log of firewood. And given how the undead that attacked me was definitely coming after the Covenant, I suspected that time might not even pass unless I made them rest at a bonfire…? How did any of this even work, in any position but the player’s? Did I experience time passing when Undead rested at the bonfire, or was it like time dilation for only the one actually sitting at the bonfire and staring into its flames?

And that… I perked. Actually, come to think of it, that was something I could just… go find out. There were two bonfires in Darkroot Garden that I could remember, the secret one next to the Artorias’ Crest door and the other in the middle of the passage to the Valley of Drakes. Figuring out whether it worked for me as it worked for the Undead was as simple as just walking up to a bonfire and trying to rest at it. The… primary problem was actually reaching one bonfire or the other.

The secret bonfire was probably the easiest for me to actually reach, but the thing was sitting on the edge of a cliff inside a ruin that I had doubts I could easily fit into- not to mention, I’d somehow have to figure out a way to get around to it without wrecking the place where Alvina held court. I suppose I could just jump the ravine, if I really needed to, but that didn’t solve the problem of getting through the actual woods on the other side without knocking half of it down.

Of course, the other option was to sweep around, somehow get down to where the hydra was, then move through the place with all the crystal golems and approach the passageway bonfire from that direction. Though, come to think of it, I didn’t know if the Undead I’d fought had defeated the Black Knight in the passage. Hell, I didn’t know if they’d fought the HYDRA, and, no offense, if they couldn’t beat Sif after multiple attempts, I wasn’t sure they’d be able to handle the big lizard.

I mean, assuming that not-me-Sif had actually fought like in-game Sif. I didn’t actually know if she’d really fought in real life like she fought in the game. Rather hope she didn’t, that was somewhat embarrassing. Though… maybe a real life Sif using the same fighting style would be a lot more intimidating and capable than she was in the game? I had no idea, and nothing to compare it to.

There were… other things, as well. I could feel magic. I think that was what had happened when I focused on the rings, I was actually feeling the spellwork woven with their metal, into the physical objects. I was curious, very curious, about what a bonfire would like, a tiny ember of the dying First Flame.

That, and, to be honest, it was something that I didn’t exactly have a choice about. In the long run, the First Flame WAS dying, which meant that someone had to do something about it. Really, I could just hand (paw?) the Covenant of Artorias to a decently strong Undead, reinforce the rhetoric of Kingseeker Frampt, then send them off to toddle into the fire.

But that didn’t solve anything. The Cycle of the First Flame, the fading of the Age of Fire, would happen one way or the other. If the Undead fed themselves to the Flame, it did nothing about the underlying cause of the decline of the world. Lordran and the world surrounding it would fall to the edge of the Dark, again and again forever, until one day there was nothing left but ash with everything that could burn cast into the flames for just a little more warmth. It was simply how the world was designed, how the Flame worked, it just was.

So, I had to break the Cycle somehow. Somehow. After all, I didn’t want to be trapped in a world constantly clinging to life by its fingertips while its strength wanes, Cycle after Cycle. It was the sort of crushing, despairing, nihilistic thing that made me feel empty when I’d still had two legs. Except, here, I could actually do something about it. I hoped.

And the first step in that process was going to a bonfire and trying to feel it out.

“LEAVE, wolf! This is not your place!”

It turned out that it hadn’t been as easy as I’d been imagining, because of course it wasn’t. It turned out that, instead of just having the problem of fitting inside openings and small spaces as I’d anticipated, I’d somehow forgotten that there were actually enemies. Enemies that, apparently, could talk perfectly fine despite being giant cats.

Well… giant relative to the size of a normal Undead, anyway. The big panther-like things were only half my own height, and there were only two of them. A threat they might have been to the typical knight, but… I wasn’t sure if they qualified as such to me, unless there were four or five more waiting just out of sight to mob me the moment their fellows attacked.

I could shatter stone with an offhand swing of my paw. To be perfectly honest, I was now a little afraid that I had no other mode than ‘highly lethal’.

Careful, careful, don’t slur… “I sh-” Dammit “Simply… wish to move by in pea- without conflict.”

The cat that had spoken to me hissed and spat, and I had to prevent the edge of my mouth twitching in disgust at the gesture. The second cat had moved around to my left, creeping towards the limit of my vision in an attempt to gain an advantage.

“Mother Alvina gave us our duty, to let none pass- her fellow you may be, Grey Wolf, but we were not told to allow you by!”

Mother-? Huh. I’d thought Alvina must have had descendants, what with the extreme distance of time between the fall of Artorias and the events of Dark Souls, but having the giant cats be said descendants? I actually felt a little bad about killing them in the games, now. Also meant that I… probably couldn’t kill them now, not without pissing off an ally I sorely needed. I growled at the one before me, something that came rather naturally, disturbing as it was.

Suppose Alvina never expected Sif to leave Artorias’ grave. I wasn’t sure if I should take that as an insult towards Sif, Alvina never expecting her to move on or do anything actually proactive with the rest of her life, or some sort of complement on Sif’s honour for refusing to abandon the resting place of her fallen adopted family member. On top of that, she apparently never expected me to actually go out and do anything else without her input, if she hadn’t sent a courier along to explain things.

“I have no quarrel with you, and even conversh-conversed with Alvina not long ago. Do you really believe that Alvina would be content to remain here as the dregsh of the Age of Fire grow dimmer with each passing day?”

The cat’s eyes flicked to the side. “She has told us nothing of discontent. We have heard naught from her or her Hunters in… quite some time.” Alright, deep breath, take it slow.

“Then go! S… send your ally to ssspeak with her, or cease w… waSTing my time and hers!”

They bared their fangs, but didn’t hiss again, narrowing their slitted eyes as they considered my words. I tensed my muscles slightly, ready to spring away if they decided to attack me, either to dash past or retreat back towards Artorias’ grave. A bit of that tension faded as the cat across from me raised their ears back up, lips concealing their fangs as they looked thoughtful. They considered a moment more, then their eyes flicked to their companion, who stopped trying to sneak around behind me, turned, and bounded off in the direction of the copse where Alvina held court.

As a gesture of good will, or at least the closest I could think to get to one, I backed off down towards the cliff to give the cat some space. Given how their fur flattened and they sat down, I think they appreciated the gesture, though they didn’t actually indicate that much with their words. Guess that’d be too much to hope for.

You know what true awkward is? Eyeing someone who would rather you be dead across a clearing while being perfectly aware of the fact that it would take a momentary effort to powderize their skeleton. I mean, I could appreciate the effort they were putting in with the glares and the haughty body language, but it just really wasn’t landing like they clearly wanted it to. Honestly, I’d probably call it cute, in another set of circumstances.

Both of our heads jerked to the side as we heard the same noise, ears angling towards it without my direct input, which was a… strange sensation. What was just as strange was that I heard the other cat coming long before I saw them leap from atop the divider that sectioned this area from the area with the mushroom people. Better senses are just a package that comes with being wolfy, I suppose.

The second cat gave me an uncomfortable look, clearly not precisely enthused by what they’d heard from Alvina. After a moment of staring that just about reached the level of awkwardness that we’d hit before they arrived, they turned their attention back to their fellow.

“Mother Alvina has directed that we allow the Grey Wolf past-”

“And thou art not to interfere with her again.”

I twitched in surprise as Alvina herself coalesced into being from the mist atop the rock wall, tail flicking, eyes observing me in something between amusement and curiosity. The cats bowed their heads together, respectfully. She gave them a glance, then turned her head back to me.

“True, I am surprised by thy sudden willingness to step out of thy home. Not typical, given thy reactionary nature, and I find myself more and more curious about what sort of dream or vision brought this about.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I wasn’t exactly sure whether Alvina could detect lies, or if she’d be able to tell that I was fudging the truth or by how much. I mean, I could just say that I had a vision of the Dark Lord ending, where the Chosen Undead chooses to let the fire die and, in doing so, becomes the Lord of the Dark. Alternatively, I could also say that I had a vision of the Usurp ending of Dark Souls three, where the Chosen Ash chose to take the fire into themselves and bring in the dawn of a new Age. Before I could even answer, though, Alvina waved a paw.

“Never the mind. Certainly, you shall tell us once done and won- thou were’t never one for hesitance. Or discussing thy plans with thy allies.” The fur around her eyes shifted as she grinned, showing a mouthful of little fangs. “I shall be interested to know the why’s and wherefores, when you deign to discuss it… but until then, my Hunters hunt amongst the god’s halls in far-away Anor Londo, and I keep my promise.”

She waved a paw dismissively, then vanished into white mist that blended with the fog of Darkroot Garden. The cats growled at me, once, then moved aside, back up to the raised area they jumped down from. I nodded respectfully, then moved past.

There were two ways to get to the bonfire in the passage to the Valley of Drakes that I remembered. The first was to swing wide around through the woods and come at it from the direction of the Artorias Crest door, which rather defeated the purpose of the exercise. If I could make it through the door, then I might as well visit the bonfire behind the illusionary wall. The second was to descend down the ladders into the Hydra area, hang a right, go through the crystal golems and take the trail from there.

I was going to do neither.

The average Chosen Undead was limited by a number of factors, but most particularly, they were limited by their size, their lack of a true jump and fall damage. All of these things came together to ensure that the player wouldn’t try tricky jumps and falls that might skip portions of the game. I, on the other hand, was huge, could jump very high and could probably fall all the way to the Hydra from here without much more than a potential injury. Thus, I was going to leap from the little bridge up to the forest plateau, skirt the edge of the woods, then jump back down onto the path. Easy.

I handled the first jump without a single problem. The ledge above the bridge only came up to my shoulders, and I didn’t even need to do any sort of dangerous little hop to get up there. Really, I just put my paws on top and climbed over. Dark Souls was so much easier when you were the approximate size and height of a double decker bus. Off to my right, I caught a glimpse of one of Alvina’s group watching me from between the trees, something like awe on their face.

I had at least expected the treants, or whatever those evil bush things were, to make themselves a problem for me as I moved through. When the first attacked, it came from the forest, leaping at me from the undergrowth- but, I’d been anticipating it. The wooden whip smacked against my fur, but I barely even felt the impact, my thick coat acting like armour and the actual hit feeling like nothing more than the flick of a weak rubber band. I backhanded the thing with a paw, sending it hurtling into the forest and crashing into- and through- a tree.

I stared after it with some surprise. Whoops. Hadn’t really meant to put that much into it.

The rest of them revealed themselves from the undergrowth, but instead of attacking, their bush-like heads were just turned to me. Then they turned towards where their shattered comrade was lying on the floor. Finally, they all turned inwards toward eachother in a huddle, before, one by one, they melted back into the trees.

I blinked, surprise increasing by a bit. I’d… expected to have to fight the things, even if they’d have been naught more than a momentary annoyance, but they’d just decided to run instead? Not that I was complaining, it was one less thing to deal with and I didn’t want to have to be settled with the annoyance of tossing them around until they finally gave up (if they ever did), but it was still weird to realize that the monsters I’d gotten pretty use to murdering without really thinking about it in DS actually were capable of something resembling reason.

When I actually got to the place where the corpse wearing the Eastern armour set lay, the bushes there… there was actually one more than there was in the games, and they were all huddled around it as it seemed to make gestures with its branches. Were they… speaking with eachother? I perked my ears, but I couldn’t hear any sounds from them other than the creaking of wood and the rustling of leaves. Maybe that was their language? Still, when they noticed that I was there, they withdrew to the side as one, watching me carefully.

I hesitated, not used to moving through with only token resistance, then nodded to them and moved by. They didn’t reciprocate, simply watching me as I moved to the edge of the cliff and looked over.

As I’d anticipated, I could see the path below me in the semi-dark, and could even see past that to where it wound serpentine down the cliff. The actual entrance to the passageway was all the way at the bottom, on the lowest path. With just a tinge of nervousness, I leaned out and looked past the path, to where it dropped off to a… huh. Wasn’t that the Valley of Drakes bridge, way down there? I could even see the thick, heavy gates that kept the water in the New Londo Ruins, and the corpse to one side on a cylindrical tower. I could… probably survive the fall, now that I thought about it, as long as I landed on the bridge and didn’t go right into the chasm, but that didn’t make me like heights any more than I already disliked them.

The little hop down to the path was simplicity itself, of course. Much like the bridge to plateau climb, the distance between the plateau and the path was about up to my head, and the path was wide enough that I could fit all four paws on it.

Turning, on the other hand, would be a bit of a pain.

I huffed into the passage.

Making my way down the path to get here had been… a bit risky. Perhaps more than a bit, given how many times my paws had nearly slid out from under me thanks to slippery plant life or scree scattered on the ledges. This wasn’t the garbage a Chosen Undead had to deal with. Still, I’d made it here without falling to my death, which was a pretty good performance if I do say so myself. I’d even managed to maneuver myself on the bit of ledge just before the entrance so I could actually have a look at it.

The problem, of course, was that I could fit my head in… and nothing else.

My vague memories of playing Dark Souls several times through years back had me recalling the entrance here, the elevator beyond, how to get here, even the presence of a bonfire and a Black Knight. They had not, however, informed me that the passage was a tiny little hole in the rock wall that could fit a Black Knight without real stooping and an Undead with ease, but was roughly comparable in size to how a dinner plate would be to my original form. This wouldn’t do in the slightest.

“Thish ishn’t how I planned thish going.”

My ears perked as I heard the shifting of metal just after my muttered comment echoed down the little cave. And then I panicked a little as I heard clanking footsteps coming this way, which could only mean one thing: for SOME REASON, the Black Knight taking up residence here had decided that my muttering was something they needed to investigate, and was now coming. Right here.

I was big. I was strong. I was pretty damn scary, to be honest. The general mooks of the Dark Souls world were essentially just as much a threat as puppets made out of twigs to me, and I could snap them in half without much more than cursory attention. Black Knights, on the other hand? They were the godsdamned elite of Gwyn’s Silver Knight forces, the demon slayers, knights that had survived Gwyn stuffing himself into the Kiln of the First Flame at point-blank range and came away with their armour a different colour. Or was that from demon-slaying? Whatever. If there was anything that could kill me, I was pretty damn certain it was the gigantic elite demigod soldier that had been around since the dawn of the Age of Flame.

The problem was that… I had nowhere to go fast. Backing up the trail would be an involved process that I would have to take carefully if I didn’t want to go plummeting into the Valley of the Drakes, and then immediately have to fight about four or so of said drakes. I couldn’t leap down to the bridge, because that’d hurt like hell and I wasn’t sure how injured I’d be afterwards- plus, y’know, drakes. And it was in the middle of this thought process that the Knight themselves walked out, stopped on the ledge, saw me… and knelt.

“Lady Sif.” The voice, distinctly feminine, echoed inside their helmet.

I blinked. That, uh, that wasn’t what I was expecting, not in the slightest. Though, I… suppose it made some sort of sense? If Artorias was a close friend of Ornstein who was the head of Gwyn’s knights, and this Black Knight had been around since the very beginning, then it was only logical that they- she? She might have been under Artorias’ or Ornstein’s direct command, and fought besides or even knew Sif, even if it was young Sif. Was the war against the Chaos Flame before or after Oolicile’s fall? No, wait, she’s waiting for a response, I need to say something!

I gestured with a paw. “Rise.” I even managed to not slur the word, so that was at least a good start. I think it was getting a little easier to concentrate and not screw up the hard sounds.

The Black Knight rose to her feet, planting the blunt end of her halberd in the ground as she did, an almighty creaking coming from the thick plates of blackened metal that concealed her form.

“For you to have left your vigil, Lady Sif, something great and terrible must have occurred. For you to have sought me out, worse even still than that.” She leaned on her halberd slightly, watching me and waiting for my response.

Great, another potential minefield, but this time with something that can actually kill me instead of risking pissing off a vital ally. Twice in one day, must be some sort of record. Buying time, I turned my head to the right and up, staring upwards to where the belltower of the Undead Parish was just visible through the fog of Darkroot Garden.

“I have been thinking. Con… sidering.” Got it. “About my place in all this, all of our place. The end of an Age, and what have we done.”

“Lady Sif, we have done what we were commanded. We take our posts, we ensure the power and quality of those that attempt to pass is sufficient, that when they meet the gods in Anor Londo they are worthy of the task they will be given.”

“Do we?” I whispered the words, but it occurred to me a moment later that the Knight might have… I heard her shifting uncomfortably, so she must have. Urgh. I turned back towards her, that… feeling coming back, rising in my throat and my mind, my jaws less awkward, anatomy more obedient. “Tell me, when was the last time you heard from the gods? Does Ornstein himself come down from his mountain on high? I myself have doubts that there are any gods of note left in Anor Londo, for neither Alvina nor I have seen trace of them for a long, long time.”

“Lady Sif…” her grip tightened around the shaft of her halberd, metal creaking almost inaudibly under her superhuman strength. “It… does not do to question the motives and plans of the gods. It is not our place to object to our orders, such as they are. The gods have seen wisdom, in placing me where I am, in agreeing with your desire to guard your master’s grave, and that wisdom is seeking a champion amongst the teeming Undead.”

“And what if they are gone, having truly abandoned us? What then?” Her helmeted head jerked back, then turned away. It wasn’t something she’d considered. “Where were the gods when we stormed lost Izalith? Lord Gwyn at the fore, as he ever was, Lord Nito with his death and his legion of undead creatures, Lady Gwyndolin behind him with her illusions… and then you, who stood by Ornstein’s side, and I, who stood by Sir Artorias’. Three gods and an army of demigods against all the demons Chaos could bring forth.” I swept my paw. “No, ‘tis more likely that the gods have abandoned us in our hour of need, cowards that they are. And it will come down to us to deal with the results of their folly, as it ever was.”

The Knight’s hands clenched and unclenched, clenched and unclenched, as I finally fell silent.

“And what…” she cleared her throat. “What are you planning, Lady Sif?”

Okay, first hurdle. She hadn’t outright killed me right out of the gate at least. “I have spoken to Alvina. She sends a team of Hunters above and beyond, to cut through the legions of Undead infesting Lordran, to parlay with the gods in Anor Londo. If they still hold the center, waiting for a tested champion, if they have plans, then we shall return to what we were directed to. But, if they find the white halls empty… then we are betrayed, and must act on our own for the first time in our history.” I sighed, looking upwards at the bell tower again. “In all honesty… I wish for you to be right, that we might not take such drastic measures. But I have steeped too long in misery and grief, and I fear that Sir Artorias would be disappointed, should he see how I have squandered my days without him in a clearing, sleeping atop his grave.”

There was a long pause. The feeling in my throat faded, jaws becoming awkward and hard to manage once again, but I was just glad it had allowed me to say my piece. I gazed up at the tower, trying to make out the individual forms of the gargoyles that guarded it… with mild surprise, I realized that they were all still intact and standing. Had the Undead that faced me ignored what Oscar had no doubt said to them and come down to Darkroot instead of ascending to face them and toll the bell? I’d have to ask her. And… probably fight them, eventually. Hrm.

“I…”

I heard a very quiet click of teeth on teeth, and I imagined her grimacing under the impenetrable darkness of the inside of her helmet. I wonder what she looks like, under there? You don’t precisely get to see the appearance of… actually, come to think of it, you don’t see the appearance of a single one of Gwyn’s knights. Even the four knights were entirely concealed. That was… very odd, now that I thought of it. My train of thought was broken as the Black Knight stood taller.

“I… perhaps… you may be right.”

I tilted my head. “Truly? Wa...S it-” Easy? Simple? Both have ‘S’, I’d probably screw them both up-

“Easy as that?” A shake of her helmeted head as she intuited the rest of my sentence. Lucky, that, I hadn’t been sure I could finish it. “Nay. Perhaps… my compatriots felt different, but… my service is to Gwyn above all others, and I served by his side with honour and distinction for many years. I fear that, in the end, the light of the Sun blinded me to the treachery of the lesser gods. I had thought them loyal and brave as Lady Gwyndolin, but looking back…” she walked forwards, standing at the edge of the cliff and looking out towards the bell tower high above, rising high above a church dedicated to the worship of the gods in Lordran. “Though it fills me with regret, I… am afraid that you ARE right. That none are left in Anor Londo, that we have been simply spent to protect a fading ruin while the gods flee to the corners of the world.” her grip tightened on her halberd once again. “I pledge to you, Lady Sif… if you are correct, if what we fear comes to pass… return here. Call for me, and I will lend my strength to your cause, whatever cause it may be.” she raised her hand, then planted the butt of her halberd into the solid stone. That done, she raised her hands high, and it only took me a moment to recognize the famed Praise the Sun pose. “Long may the Sun shine.”

I bowed my head slightly. Focus. “Long may the Sun shine.” Got it in one. Nice.

She tore her weapon from the rock, creating a hail of stone shards that rained into the valley, extracting an annoyed cry from the drakes far below. One more nod to me, then she turned and marched back towards the bonfire. I watched her go, and, the moment she was out of earshot, released a long sigh of relief.

“Well, at leasht that went okay…”

I muttered the words to myself, relief evident in my voice even to me, then turned to the arduous task of climbing back up the tiny, human-sized trails to the top, where the path up the cliff met the path from the entrance of Darkroot Garden to what was more or less the hub of the area. Two paths, one through the Crest Door and one other, led from the small safe area outside of the illusionary wall that concealed one of the area’s two bonfires, and most definitely the more central of the two. Given that I couldn’t access the passageway bonfire no matter how I tried, and the fact that my Black Knight friend would most likely expect taciturn Sif to leave the moment… well, she said her piece, I couldn’t do anything more here.

I thought about what she said, as I carefully moved myself to the top of the path, and started squeezing my bulk through the stone passageway at the top. About… what I’d said. Had Sif and Artorias fought in the war against the demons of Chaos? It… it felt right, thinking it, saying it, like it was a fact, an indisputable truth of the universe. But it didn’t come from lore that I could remember, hadn’t risen from my memories or from a simple lie, it simply… was.

Had something of Sif remained, when I supplanted her in her body? The sensation that I had experienced when I had gone to speak with Sif’s old allies, twice now, steadying my words and allowing me speech longer than I could ever manage without it.

I felt… regretful, I suppose, about… whatever happened to Sif when I’d come in. I didn’t know if her mind had been destroyed, kicked out or simply made dormant, and I had no idea if there was anything I could do about it. I’d had… something of a freak out about my changing body- and changing gender- already, but… this world was a giant deathtrap. Lordran was quite literally designed as a giant deathtrap that was only meant to be escapable when enough corpses had built up that somebody could climb the mountain straight into the First Flame. Everything that had shifted and changed about me, about what I was, who I was… it could wait. I could leave it until I knew that I was safe.

I suppose it was fortunate for me that she knew Sif just well enough to have fought by her side on a number of occasions, but not well enough to know Sif’s mannerisms and habit of speech, otherwise my game’d be rumbled and I’d be screwed.

Though, she’d implied that the other gods had given her reason to be suspicious of them in the past. Part of me wondered if that extended to the ranks of normal Silver Knights as well, which would neatly explain why so many of the ones in Anor Londo were illusions and not true Knights. They would serve Gwyn loyally to the very end, without question, go up against the fiercest foes and give their lives for his cause, but with Gwyn dead and the Fire fading it made sense that their loyalty to the other gods would be questionable at best. So, the best solution would be to set them on an old stopgap plan of dear old dad’s, then ditch Lordran and party it up somewhere far from the Undead scourge until the Flame went out. Of course the faction loyal to Gwyn would stick faithfully to a plan that he came up with, and there was a very good chance that most of them would die during the process, giving the other gods the best likelihood of taking back Lordran if it all worked out for the better.

I was pretty sure that Velka would have some quite nasty things in store for them in the aftermath, given her whole sins shtick, but I really didn’t know where she fell on the loyalty thing. Given her sphere of influence, and the likelihood that Gwyn would have used her as an enforcer of sorts, I’d tentatively say that she would be a loyalist whose assistance I might be able to count on eventually, as long as I had the right people and plans on my side. Given that she had a representative taking up residence in the bell tower after the gargoyles were defeated, it might be likely that she was showing support for Gwyn’s plan in absentia. Potentially, she was roaming the world, meeting out punishment on the far less loyal gods who abandoned Lordran. Or… she’d fled just like the rest and Oswald just came here so he could tell her when it was safe to come back home. That was an option as well.

I glanced at the bush monsters as I passed them on the trail, but after some minor shivering, they seemed to be content to stay in place and ignore my passing. I wondered if their buddies informed them of what I did to the other one on accident, or if the ones waiting in ambush were just more attentive to the fact that I was boss-level, not mook-level, and treating me as such.

Specifically, she’d mentioned both Nito and Gwyndolin as fighting alongside Gwyn during the demon war. Gwyndolin was no surprise, he’d stuck fast by his father’s side for so long that he’d willingly remained in solitary confinement in a nearly abandoned Anor Londo just to manage the Darkmoons and maintain the illusions that reassured people of the god’s continuing power despite the Undead curse spreading through the kingdoms.

Nito, on the other hand, was a complete unknown. You never knew where a death god stood, really. On one hand, he could be entirely supportive of my technically Gwyn-aligned cause of… I don’t know, stopping the Cycle? Especially if we took care of his little necromancer pest problem. However, on the other hand, he might declare complete neutrality based on the fact that if the world ended, then it was just its natural time. Not likely, given his interference whenever Gwyn went out and fought somebody, but then again, you could just make the argument that he saw the fall of the dragons as part of the perfectly natural cycle of life and death and fought against Chaos because it was a perversion of such. I suppose I wouldn’t know until I plumbed the depths of the Tomb of the Giants and asked the big skeleton himself.

And then there were the entirely likely options that he’d gone mad from the death cult that’d staked their camp right at the door to his apartments and that he’d try to kill me and anyone I brought with me the second he knew they were there. Or he’d declare us an affront to the natural order by trying to disrupt it and try to kill us. Or… he’d decide to kill us just because. Like I said, you could never tell, with death gods.

Seath was… Seath, so at least he was somewhat predictable. Interested only in his own survival and collecting further knowledge, not that he was especially concerned about the former anymore given that the bugger could just reincarnate every time somebody put him down. Or, at least, I think he could. Still, I’d have to make him a good offer to catch his interest.

Everything else would have to decide itself one way or the other, whenever I got to the person in question and spoke to them. I wondered if the Knight knew anything about Quelagg or Priscilla, but that wasn’t particularly likely. Would probably be better off talking to Gwyndolin, he’d know his way around everybody that was or had been in Lordran at any point. Princess daddy’s boy-

I stopped, frowning. Alright, that sentence ranked up there with the worst things that I’d ever thought, and I wasn’t ever going to think it again. Washing my paws of that particular combination of words and pretending I never thought them.

Anyway… Gwyndolin had stuck by Gwyn’s side ever since he’d been born, most likely knew his way in and around everything Lordran and all his dad’s vassals. Though, thinking about it… didn’t the illusion of Gwynevere lovingly call Gwyndolin ‘brother’? Was that wishful thinking on his part? That was… kind of sad, really. Poor snake prince needs a hug.

As I mulled over these thoughts, I finally came around the bend and caught a glimpse of the bonfire through the archway that’d been filled with an illusion at some point. And I caught a glimpse of the figure sitting at it. Wearing the Elite Knight armour. Crap.

I grimaced, wincing a little. I’d have really preferred that they not be there the moment when I came to have a look at the bonfire, but the worst part was that I didn’t exactly have a choice in this encounter. There quite literally wasn’t a way for me to leave Darkroot Wood and Darkroot Basin, being that the only two exits were the tower shortcut to the Undead Parish and the other tower that came out next to the belltower, with Andre of Astora perched in it, working on his weapons. Neither had large enough entrances for me to fit through, and even if they did, I didn’t really have any desire to face the hollow of Havel the Rock. Even if he was a shell of his former self, the dude wore some of the most formidable armour in the game and wielded an actual dragon’s tooth. I was at least decently sure that he fit somewhere on the list of things that could actually kill me.

So, with only two bonfires in Darkroot and the first being entirely inaccessible to me thanks to being in a tiny little cave, I didn’t precisely have a choice. If I wanted a look at a bonfire, it’d have to be this one. And that meant making nice with the poor Undead that I’d scared halfway to second death… or however many deaths she was on.

I sighed. Might as well get it over with.

When I poked my head through the archway, she glanced up and nearly had what I was pretty sure would be a heart attack if her heart was still beating. Actually, was it? I didn’t exactly know how being cursed affected the autonomic functions of the body… whatever. Regardless, her gauntleted hand went straight to her chest, and she backpedaled so hard back from the bonfire that I was briefly worried that she’d pitch herself right off the edge and into the chasm below. Not that it’d be anything more than a short delay as she respawned from the bonfire she’d been sitting at, but I still thought it was a decently embarrassing way to die.

I held up a paw to forestall her. “I am not here to take revenge, or anything like that.”

“Th-then, ah, wh-what do you want…?”

Her hand still hovered above her heart, but she’d sat up a little more. Progress, I think. I gestured with a paw towards the flames crackling around a sword thrust into a small pile of Undead bones that seemed to be serving as fuel.

“Wanted a look at the bonfire.”

“That’s… that’s it?”

I think, had she not been wearing her helmet, she’d be blinking at me right now. Not that I could precisely blame her, I’d be totally panicked if Sif went on a walkabout. Sif in Artorias’ gravesite I could handle, Sif wandering around Darkroot Wood could very well be a nightmare of the worst sort.

“Mhm.” I tilted my head thoughtfully for a moment. “Though… there are thingsh that I wish to… to ask you.”

“...Ah.”

She didn’t sound precisely enthused about that, but I really couldn’t blame her. Instead, I ignored her for the moment and leaned as far through the archway as I could get, being stopped only when my shoulders met the stone- and then just because I didn’t want to outright collapse the thing.That done, I lowered my head, getting as close to the small flame and the sword as I possibly could, taking a deep breath and trying to bring that same thing that let me sense the magic in the rings close to the surface.

The first thing I realized was that the bonfire was disorienting, what felt like two different cooperating magical signatures overlapping. They felt different, and when I really focused, eyes narrowed, I could feel that… the sword. The sword and the actual flame had different kinds of magic.

The flame was… it didn’t feel like fire. More, it felt like the concept of fire, the idea of fire. As if someone had taken all the things every being had ever thought about fire and distilled them into this, the purest true form of Flame. Suddenly, I understood why there would be capitalization there: this wasn’t just A fire, it was THE Fire. All other fire was a cheap, weak imitation of this, the true Flame. It would burn anything that was put into it, not because it was hot enough or because whatever was fed into it was actually flammable, but because it would burn the very idea of something for fuel. No wonder the Undead could lose themselves to the bonfires, it could be corrosive to the very soul. Suppose that was a decent reflection of another collection of ideas about fire: lifegiver and warmth and safety, but the potential for raging destruction in every spark.

The coiled sword was entirely different. The Flame felt natural, like it existed on its own before everything else- which was true, as far as I knew about DS lore. The Flame wasn’t precisely chaotic, but neither was it really ordered, being somewhere between the two. The sword, however, was woven with order, with carefully crafted magic, logic beaten into every fold of the metal. Where-as the Flame was something like a primal force of nature, powerful and barely controlled, the sword was a tool. Quite literally, it felt like the sword was pinning this small fragment of Flame here, calling a few sparks from the very First Flame itself and preventing them from escaping. It WAS the Flame, but it also wasn’t, as if this bonfire was an avatar that was just an expression of a tiny percentage of the might of the Flame refined down to a merry little fire dancing around the metal of the coiled sword. I suspected that, if I reached out and touched it, the sword would feel cool despite being sat right in the center of the Flame. Not that I was willing to try, I didn’t exactly want to lose a paw to stupid experimentation.

And when I focused… I could feel something, the thinnest thread of orange-gold. Tracing it led me to look right back at the Undead, who was watching me warily… and had blue light swirling within her. The orange-gold of the thread wrapped around her, connecting near the base of her neck. Interesting.

So, I suppose that meant the Undead were physically tethered to the bonfires they were so fascinated by, doomed to be drawn to them again and again as long as they felt purpose, to be eventually burned to ash in the Flame when even their Hollow gave in. I could even get vague snatches of something from the bones in the fire, the swing of a sword, the ring of metal against metal, despair and hopelessness…

I shook my head, pulling away from the sense within me. Immediately, the sensations of Flame and Sword faded to the back of my mind, where I realized they’d been burning ever since I’d laid eyes on the bonfire. If I was to guess, I’d say that was most likely how the time-skipping effect of the bonfires worked; they formed a magical link with… the souls? Yes, the souls of anyone who laid eyes upon it, and thus it could introduce external magical effects such as the subjective dilation of time.

“... So.”

“So…?”

Urgh, how to question her without making myself look like an idiot. I mean, I guess I could just say that I haven’t spoken mortal languages in so long that I’m struggling with them… actually, you know, that could work. As far as she knows, I’m ancient beyond belief and pretty much a god, so it might make sense.

“I… feel I mush- must apologiZe for my mangled shpeech. It ha… has been sho long sinshe I… spoke your language lasht, I fear that I shtruggle with many of the wordsh.”

I saw movement dimly through her helm, what I’d assume to be her eyes blinking.

“Uh, well… d-don’t worry about it?” I quirked the tiniest grin, but that just seemed to put her ill at ease, so I stopped. “What do you, um…” she swallowed, trying to get up her courage in the presence of something that killed her multiple times. Should probably say something about that at some point. “What did you want to, er, ask?”

“I shimply want to ashertain your level of progresh through Lordran, learn where you have been and where you have not been yet.”

“Oh, ah…” she raised her head, and I imagined her squinting under the visor. Honest recall then, good. “I… woke up, in that weird chapel place, the one sorta stuck on a mountain?”

“Where did you come from before that?”

She fidgeted with the gauntlets on her hands, rubbing rings placed over the metal.

“I, eh, would prefer not to…”

I waved a paw. “No need to, then.” Another gesture from me. “Continue.”

“O-okay. Some… guy, in armour, dropped this key down to me. I unlocked the door with it, but all I had was a broken sword, and there were… things in the corridors. Undead, like those cursed in my, um, homeland… but way worse. Leathery skin and sunken, empty eyes…” she shuddered, armour rattling. “They came at me, hissing and groaning, swung swords. I… killed them.” her arms tightened around her chest as she hugged herself, staring into the Flame. “I’d never killed anyone before.”

I considered trying to comfort her in some way, but… that would probably either come off wrong or injure her somehow. She was skittish already, and making a sudden move and potentially accidentally hurting or even killing her, even if it wouldn’t have more than a temporary effect, wouldn’t exactly help my case. She gathered herself, falling silent for a few seconds, then continued forward.

“I met the guy, in armour, he fell through the floor when this big demon up there took a swing at him and just missed… seemed annoyed by it, really, had me help him to a bonfire before he gave me… this.”

She held up a dull green glass bottle filled with something that looked- and glowed- like liquid fire. The Estus flask, then. I leaned slightly closer to examine it, causing her to twitch, then relax and hold it up higher for me to examine. I gave what she hopefully saw as a nod of thanks.

The glass felt… it was something like the sword, actually. Instead of pinning a shard of the First Flame in place, however, this thing actually took a spark of the First Flame and contained it within itself, taking on a liquid form, allowing it to be drunk. However, it seemed to only have a limited capacity- it was… actually, it was rather like a battery or a capacitor, something that could hold a finite amount of charge from the Flame and administer the power in careful bursts.

And then everything else she said registered with me. Oscar of Astora, not dreadfully injured and not Hollow? That was a departure from usual DS at the very least. Or, perhaps the Chosen Undead that was the player character hadn’t actually arrived yet in this timeline, and thus Oscar hadn’t met his doom? That made me rather hopeful that I could hop over there and kidnap the knight before his fate truly befell him; I needed all the hands I could get, and a skilled knight who might know more about the Bells of Awakening was always handy. Heh, handy.

The Undead put away the flask, turning back to the bonfire and continuing.

“I fought a number of Hollows, killed anything whose path I crossed… Oscar gave me tips and some training, so I didn’t entirely embarrass myself with the first actual blade I picked up. Still, though, he said I couldn’t leave without challenging and defeating the very thing that had almost gotten him. He said it was… the magic of the Asylum? As if it was a hurdle I would have to cross before being allowed to leave.” she shrugged. “I didn’t, and don’t, know much about the magic of the gods and demons, so… I trusted him. Dropped down on the demon from above, got a few good stabs in, then it threw me and… it stepped on me.” a shuffle. “That’s… that was my second death. If you count me becoming Undead as the first.”

She fell silent, and I felt no desire to interrupt that. I wondered if she had a family, a home that she left behind in her old country when she travelled here to Lordran. She probably wasn’t from Thorolund, if only because that seemed to be the hub for the activities of the Way of White, and they were rather known for their Undead hunting. Doubt she’d have made it here if she’d run into them. Still didn’t answer the question of where she was actually from, but I suppose that could wait for another time. Not like I was on the clock here, other than the dying of the First Flame.

“It… took… a few attempts. And as Oscar explained, I could see something of the… the test that the gods had designed. The demon would move in patterns, predictable and consistent, and eventually I learned the patterns and struck a blow that slew it.” her helmet turned towards me. “Can you imagine that? Me, a demon slayer. Pshaw.”

“Shuppose the people back home would never believe it if you told them?”

A shake of the head, chuckle echoing very slightly within the metal helmet. “No, they’d call me a teller of fairy stories. The only swords I’d ever even handled before I came here were wooden.” she shrugged, armour clanking softly with the movement. “At least I knew the pointy end from the dull end, how to stick it in… that was something, I guess.”

“Sho. You beat it?”

A nod. “It was… I think it was almost magical, standing above some great giant monster right out of legend that I’d slain with my own two hands and a weapon. For a moment, I felt like a hero straight from the stories…” she sniffed. “Though the stories don’t tell you how bad the monsters smell.”

I let out a huffing chuckle at that. The Undead startled a little, then settled back in and let out a small laugh of her own.

“Oscar told me to walk up the hill, to the cliff, bade me a friendly goodbye, said he might send more Undead along to help me as they appeared. He mentioned… something about worlds, that we’re all aligned, but we’re not? It was confusing, and he didn’t explain himself very well, but I got the gist of the fact that they’d all pretty much experience what I experienced, thanks to the magic of the gods.” Another shake of the head. “Could never wrap my head around that magic stuff. At least the more complicated things. We had a hedge-witch, she showed me a couple things, but besides that…” shrug.

“Magic ish a tough dishipline, shurprished you know anything about it at all.”

“If I had a catalyst, I could probably cast a spell or two… never showed enough potential for the witch to take me on as a student, though. Anyway…” she shifted herself, trying to get more comfortable. “Fought my way up the cliff, then… then this raven just swooped down out of nowhere, picked me up, and hauled me into the sky!” she made a gesture with her hand, seemingly starting to get into the story-telling. “I think that was the point that I resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t home anymore, that I couldn’t go back, and now I was a part of some story the gods had designed for me to be a part of the telling of.” she kept her hand up, staring away from the fire and into the sky with a wistful air. “I think… of everything that’s happened, that was my favorite. If I… die, and go… Hollow, I think I’d be happy, just because I got the chance to fly. How many humans have experienced that?”

She lowered her hand again. I shifted a bit, carefully laying down in the archway without knocking the structure over, putting my head on my paws with one of my ears pointed in her direction.

“After that… the shrine, that forlorn guy… I dipped down into the ruins below what he told me was the Firelink Shrine, and there were honest-to-gods ghosts down there that I couldn’t even hit with my sword. Rickert was nice, though the fact that he was in a cell makes me nervous. I tried going into the graveyard, but the skeletons would just get up again and again no matter how many times I slew them, so I turned and went up the stairs.”

“It all sheemsh so shtrange when you tell it.”

“Heh… I suppose you’re used to it, Lady Sif…?” I nodded, and she nodded back. “Erm. Anyway… this merchant lady told me I was going into the Undead Burg, warned me about the things that lived there, the big monster that dominated the bridge to the Parish- where Oscar told me I needed to go if I wanted any answers. So I moved through there, fought my way into the burg, met the creepy merchant in the one room… kept going. Saw a lot of Undead, fought most of them, I had to to progress and I slowly got better at it. Managed to nab myself a better shield, though not this one, not yet.”

Fondly, she patted the shield that I’d thought was the Crest shield, but looking closer… it seemed I’d only been half right. The blue light in Darkroot had tinted it, but now, looking at it, I realized it was the Grass Crest shield, not the Crest you got from Oscar during the second Asylum visit. Which… she wouldn’t get, because Oscar wasn’t Hollow. Hrm.

“Interesting story about this- but, um, I’ll get to it in a bit.” she rested her arm back on her knee. “So, anyway… that was when I saw my first Black Knight, there in the burg. Standing, guarding something.” she shuddered. “I grew up with tales of Gwyn and his loyal knights, Ornstein, Artorias, Ciaran and Gough, and the legions of the Silver Knights and the demon-slaying Black Knights. I was, frankly, terrified out of my mind when I saw that knight standing there, but thankfully they seemed satisfied to stand there and glower unless I came too close. So… I didn’t. Didn’t feel like assisted suicide by way of sword that probably weighed half as much as me. Went up some stairs instead.” a turn of the head. “What’s with all the stairs, anyway? Was there some god of stairs that had to be appeased?”

“Your guesh ish ash good ash mine.”

“Heh, that would be pretty funny… anyway. Went up the stairs, then climbed up this tower. Then… there was this thing, this wall of fog that I’d seen before, when I’d fought the Asylum demon. So I knew I was gonna be in for a rough fight. I passed through, went up a ladder and killed some archers- then this fucking thing the size of a godsdamned building comes charging down the wall! I freak out, of course, but it hesitates when it gets to the base of the tower, and I remembered how I managed to score some good hits on the Asylum demon thing before it even knew I was there. So… I took my sword, jumped off the tower, and rammed it right in the thing’s eye.” she made a downward stabbing motion with her fists as I watched. “Damn, but that felt good. Then, eh, it threw me off the wall… but, hey, I got a good hit in. Took me a few tries to get the hang of that one, but I finally brought it down… and then I had to contend with the fact that a godsdamned dragon was guarding the bridge to the Parish.”

I shook my head, drawing her attention. “Not a dragon. Drake. Very different shpeshiesh. Shpeciesh.” I frowned. “... rashes? R-a-c-e-s. Ra-ces.” I nodded. “Very different racesh.”

“... Really? Looked like a dragon to me, like from the old stories of Gwyn and his knights, the war for the dawn of time… big, scales, bat wings, breathes fire. Dragon.”

“No. If it wash a dragon, trusht me, you’d know. They’re cunning and intelligent, not to menshion far more powerful than their lessher coushinsh, the drakesh.”

Shrug. “I’ll… take your word for it, I suppose. You’d know better than I.” she snapped her fingers, more of a clank of metal on metal than a clean snap. “Ah, almost forgot- I met a knight, Solaire of Astora. He… also mentioned something about worlds, that he wasn’t sure how long ours would be aligned?” she leaned back against the stone wall. “It was… nice to talk to somebody for a while, especially someone that upbeat and positive. Like shining a ray of light into a dark room. Hadn’t realized how bad it got before that.”

“Undead… they go Hollow if they don’t have hope, don’t have a caushe to push for, shomething to dedicate themshelves to. Sh’why there are sho many religions in Lordran now.”

“Ah.” she sounded distinctly uncomfortable at that bit of information. “W-well, anyway… I ran past the thing, finally, by hitting it with a soul spear, but I lost my catalyst in the panic and it got burnt to ash when the drag- drake flamed the bridge. But I didn’t care, because I was past all that garbage- or, at least I thought it was. And then I fought a bunch of filthy disgusting rats but I don’t want to talk about that, and THEN I got to the top of the tower and ran like hell from another Black Knight, which led to me ending up at the bonfire there.” she placed her gauntleted hand over her helmet’s visor, shuddering. “The Parish was a complete nightmare, I don’t even want to talk about that place. Just… so much… Eventually, trying to escape the whole thing for a breather, I went down this bridge to a tower, and I ran into this blacksmith. He was nice. Nice enough to warn me about the demon in his basement, which I… eventually defeated? Saw this place past it, thought it was… nice. A nice change from all the grey stone I’d seen so far, so I tried to figure out if there was anything here that could help me.” A shrug. “Eventually, that led me to you, and… yeah, that’s it. My whole story. Still feels like… a fairy tale that happened to someone else.”

“Ishn’t there one more thing?” she turned her helmet to me. “Your shield?” Hey, look, a word that I can’t mangle with an ‘s’, what an achievement.

“Oh! Uh, well, see, while I was exploring… I came across this cliff path. So I went down it because of course I did. I got all the way to the bottom, where this cave was, and I thought I saw a bonfire down there, right?” she shrugged. “Thought it’d be a nice place to rest up, get my equipment back in order. So, I was fiddling with some buckles, and ran smack into the legs of a Black Knight.”

“That had to be terrifying.”

“Urgh, you’re not kidding. I think I jumped about six feet, which… let me dodge the first swing of the halberd, by accident. When I rolled away from the next strike, I landed right on top of the corpse that had this shield, so I grabbed the shield and tossed the corpse at the knight to distract them!”

“... And then what?”

“I ran like hell.”

We both laughed at that. I felt like she was more at ease with me, now, not so scared as she’d been even at the start of this particular encounter, which… I think that was good. We sat in a distinctly more comfortable silence for a while, watching the Flame of the bonfire ripple independent of the wind.

“Hrm.”

The Undead twitched, looking at me. “Hm?”

“It occurresh to me that… you have me at a disadvanshe.”

“Uh… how so?”

“You know my name, but I haven’t learned yoursh.”

“Oh, is that all?”

She took off her helmet, shaking out black hair. Her face was a bit worn, but it was obvious she’d sacrificed humanity between the last time she died and now. I think the word for her face was… striking? A number of scars dotted the skin here and there, one leading from her chin to just below her left eye, another on the bridge of her nose. She smiled at me, hesitant, but honest.

“Celia. My name is Celia. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Sif.”

Chapter Text

“Lady Sif?”

I started, blinking and making eye contact with Celia.

We’d spoken occasionally, small things primarily- I didn’t want to spook her by asking too much about her time here in Lordran, given how unsettled she seemed to be about the place she’d been dumped. Mostly her childhood, with me filling in the details of my knowledge of the world outside of Lordran. Celia had grown up in a small kingdom called Fiana, which apparently was just a few nations away from Carim. However, the Undead Curse had seen it overrun with Undead and Way of White followers hunting said Undead. Celia, who’d been city guard when she’d been shanked by a back-alley thief and come back, couldn’t attest to its current status… but, I’d gathered that, at best, the descriptive word for it would be ‘desperate’.

What was interesting, in a way, was her elaboration on when she’d said she’d only held a wooden sword before. Apparently, guards are trained in the use of spears and daggers instead of actual swords- though, in retrospect, that did make a large amount of sense. A sword was an expensive and finely-crafted weapon for knights and nobility, where-as spears and daggers would be much cheaper to manufacture in numbers. I was pretty sure that was how it had worked in medieval times back home, as well.

Without my notice, however, my staring into the bonfire… I shook my head as I felt the tiny golden thread of a link to the Flame shimmer and sever itself. Apparently, it wasn’t just Undead that could be pulled into the time dilation of the bonfire’s magic. I’d wager that anything with a soul to anchor the link would end up affected by it, though I wondered…

The thought turned in my head as I began the slow, careful process of extracting myself from the archway. I’d managed to fit my head and front paws through, but the rest of my body occupied most of the small space just outside of the Crest door. It wasn’t built for a creature the approximate size and weight of a tank. To be fair… the majority of Lordran wasn’t. I was gonna have to figure out if there was a way to consciously change my size, or… I’d be doing a lot of jumping and climbing, going forward.

I managed to pull myself out without collapsing the whole structure, which was a relief, but it still managed to shower me with dust. I shook myself… then realized what I was doing, and stopped, carefully turning towards the person that had addressed me.

With just a touch of surprise, I realized that I recognized them- one of the semi-visible knights of the Forest Protectors, the ones that don’t respawn once you beat them. Right now, however, he was fully visible, sword sheathed at his side and shield slung over his back. I couldn’t see his face behind the visor of his helm, but the way he stood spoke of a man relaxed, at ease, despite the way that his hand curled just slightly over his sword’s hilt and his helm turned side to side. Martial readiness, or was he just used to being randomly jumped by the shrub things?

Another little twitch of surprise as he bowed respectfully to me, armour softly clanking. “Lady Alvina has requested your presence, if you are not busy…?” he glanced between my legs into the little bonfire clearing.

Huh. I wonder how much time passed? If, well, if it had passed, and if whatever Alvina had called me for was something that had happened from her perspective and not mine…? With all the parallel timelines and worlds running all simultaneously in Dark Souls, I couldn’t even make a good guess. For all I knew, it’d been days from her perspective and only hours from mine. After all, someone could spend practically in-game weeks farming and not have it affect the storylines of the characters. Really, who knew how the passage of time worked when you didn’t actually have eyes on somebody.

“Lead on.” I gestured with a paw towards the Crest door and the knight nodded, turning towards it. I half-turned my head at a slight shuffling noise, finding Celia, helmet back on, standing at my side. I nodded and turned back towards the Crest.

Okay, so, er… how was I going to handle this? The door was definitely far too small for my large frame, and from the way the knight slowed and turned his helmeted head as he reached it, he was realizing that himself. I gave the archway a contemplative look, then gestured with my paw again.

“Go on. I will meet you… there.” Almost went for ‘on the other side’, there. Regardless, the knight nodded and moved on, disappearing beyond the door. I watched him go, then turned away.

Now, see, the normal entrance to Darkroot proper was Undead sized- and, thus, far too small for something of my current stature. However, that wasn’t necessarily an issue, for much the same reason that it hadn’t been an issue for me to reach the entrance to the passage to the Valley of the Drakes elevator. Most specifically, I could just go around in a way that the game never intended a player to go, by climbing over the barriers that would prevent someone from going that way.

Celia hung back slightly, seemingly concerned, glancing back and forth between me and the Crest door, obviously reaching much the same conclusions that I had. I waved her forwards anyway, and, after a moment, she went. However, she did glance back in the doorway before going through. It felt odd that she seemed to be concerned about, or at least attentive to, me, when not-me Sif had killed her multiple times… but, then again, just about everything in Lordran tries to kill you at some point, so perhaps she was used to it? More willing to forgive things like that? I felt like it was a tad too early to ask that question of her. Maybe later.

I frowned at the wall next to the unguarded slice into the earth that led away from the Crest door clearing. Much like the transition from the cat area to the plateau of Darkroot Forest, it came up to around my shoulders to my head, and thus it was simplicity itself to hop on top. I grinned to myself a little at traversing a blockage that was essentially impossible to cross for a player character, then hopped down on the other side.

“Oh!” I turned left to see Celia standing there, helm pointed in my direction. “I didn’t think about…” she gestured weakly in the direction of the Crest door. “I had to exchange souls for the Crest of Artorias, and you just… climbed over.”

I raised an eyebrow, as best as I could with a completely different facial muscle arrangement, but I’d guess that the expression got through given how Celia looked away. A very brief flicker of amusement passed through me as I imagined her looking embarrassed under there, because of course I wasn’t going to go through all the effort of retrieving the key for a door that I couldn’t even go through when I could just as easily go around. I didn’t let it show on my face, however.

Passing through the actual trees was very difficult. Often, I found myself carefully stepping around the tiny twig-like trunks, having to take care where I put my paws, keeping my head low so I could duck under the short canopy. And, still, I managed to knock down at least three separate trees with my paws or tail- and that had been interesting, just accidentally wiping out an entire plant with a careless swing of my fifth limb. I wouldn’t even have noticed the wood shattering on contact without the cracking sound.

Still, I eventually reached the little clearing in front of Alvina’s throne, glancing off to the side as Shiva gave me a respectful bow- Eastern, not Western in style. I gave a shallow nod of acknowledgement, eyes flicking past to the tiny nexus of magics I could just feel behind him where his ninja bodyguard was- and I could see him, if just barely, making out the contours and lines of his body in broad strokes if I focused.

In the actual game, Shiva was just the second in command of the Forest Hunters, as well as a sword merchant in Blighttown to the player if they were a part of the aforementioned covenant. However, I also dimly recalled something about cut content where he was meant to be a much more involved character, even an antagonist to the player. He’d been planned to have a… a black eye orb, I think? And there was something about him killing Alvina, the player having to rescue her Soul, but that wasn’t how Souls worked in Dark Souls.

Did that mean that he was just the loyal second to Alvina and sword merchant here? Or, would he go knives-out after anybody who wielded the Chaos Blade, like he was meant to in cut content? Would he be an ally, or ultimately someone that I would have to take care of in the long run, when he made a nuisance of himself? I wasn’t worried about actually taking him down (squishy human go splat), but I was worried about what damage he might do to my cause. Whatever cause I decided that to be.

I blinked, then refocused on the arch. Whatever he was, whatever his loyalties and goals, I’d have to keep a close eye on him to ensure that he wouldn’t do anything untowards. As of this moment, he all but belonged to Alvina, and I wasn’t willing to cross Alvina to get rid of what was just a potential enemy- and not a very threatening one, at that. I padded up to the archway and lay down, sliding my head through as best I could, just as I’d done in the archway that led to the bonfire.

The people there twitched at my appearance, but I suspected that they’d been waiting for me, and thus had been at least expecting me. I glanced over the four gathered here, recognizing them from the cadre of Forest Hunters that usually guarded the forest itself: the Cleric, the Thief, the caster and the missing Knight. Briefly, I felt another flicker of amusement, as this was essentially a well-rounded small D&D party.

The Cleric had been reading a book, but was now looking in my direction with something like contemplation on his face. The Thief had been trying to read it over the Cleric’s shoulder, but had stepped back when I had appeared and he’d glanced up, examining me warily while fingering something inside their jacket- their face was entirely hidden by their hood and mask combo, and underneath their armour, they were androgenous enough that I couldn’t begin to guess at their gender. The caster had been taking notes from a book he was holding, and hadn’t even done more than glance up when he heard me coming through before going right back to his note taking. The Knight had been sharpening their sword, but now they slipped the whetstone back into a pouch at their belt and sheathed the blade, standing expectantly.

And, of course, lazily waiting over the entire gathering, was Alvina. She practically lounged on the stone window, body lax with what appeared to be either sleepiness or indifference, but I didn’t miss the sharp, though half-lidded, glance she sent my way. I nodded to her respectfully, and received one of her signature needle-filled grins in return.

“You called for me?”

“Indeed I did, dear Sif- my Hunters have been up, down and around looking for what you spoke of. All the way up to Sen’s fortress- sealed, of course, but no challenge for those light of feet and quick of hand.” the Thief flexed their other hand. Not hard to guess who that was referring to. Had he climbed around the outside? Huh. “Truly, going into fair Anor Londo alone would be something not precisely desirable… but, fortunate or no, passage was not given. Thou might say they ran flat up against a wall.”

I twitched imperceptibly at that little line. Had the Thief…? Was that where you first met Siegward of Catarina? How long had he been sitting before that stupid ball? Wait, no, no, I remembered- he was sitting in front of Sen’s fortress before you rang the Bell of Awakening. So they’d met him there? Then where was…?

Alvina just about saw the question. She chuckled. “Ah, I fear that turn of phrase was not mine, but belonging to the jovial knight my Hunters met. He seemed drawn by a promise of adventure, and is away walking amongst the trees- one supposes the mystical misted wood under the shadow of Anor Londo rather loses its luster after a few centuries, but to the average adventurer weaned on stories of the resting place of one of Gwyn’s knights…” She trailed off, looking upwards, the expression on her face almost sad. And then it was gone, like it had never been, and she was back to the mysterious cat. “Ah, well, ‘tis not what we are about- true, our light-footed friend made it all the way to the entrance of the seat of the gods…” Alvina narrowed her eyes. “There was only an autonomous guard, a creation of Sen’s. Of the entrance used by those who were not of the strength of soul, there was nothing but flat brick- hurried and shoddy, but there all the same. There will be no direct entreatment with the gods, should they even still be here, and I fear that that which concerns you comes to pass. There or not, abandoned or desperately fortified, by all apperrent accounts, they have sealed us out and will ignore us all as long as they wish to… perhaps would continue if you had not pushed me.

“Regardless, with the passage sealed, we have no way into Anor Londo and, thusly, no way to verify what happens in the white halls. And now… we must decide what path we are to take. Including you, dear sister, was the least of what I could do for a little push.”

Each of the four Hunters was now paying close attention. Celia, who had edged past me and into the room, looked back and forth between myself and Alvina, somewhere between awestruck at being included in a conversation about action between two legendary beings and very well remembering that Sif had killed her multiple times, and contrasting that with the fact that I was now treating Alvina as an equal.

Alright, what did I know? I had to organize it in my head, quickly. Nito is still in his catacomb, Anor Londo has a bare handful of arguably sane people and at least one, perhaps two stark raving mad ones. Seath was long gone, obviously, but I wouldn’t know if Smough was insane or just an out-and-out monster until I spoke with him. My main priority was getting Dark Sun Gwyndolin and Ornstein on my side…

I paused. Hang on, I was forgetting someone, wasn’t I? I had no idea if Priscilla would be willing to leave the safety of her painting to fight alongside me, but maybe a group of Gwyn’s one-time subordinates offering her an olive branch would be enough to coax her into ditching that frozen wasteland? Every sword added to my cause was a plus, I really wasn’t sure what I’d be dealing with in the long run here, and her ability… I think it was called Lifedrain? Something like that. Regardless, it was something that had terrified the gods and ended up with her thrown into what was essentially a storage vault with a bunch of other artifacts the gods hated and feared.

Huh. Maybe the painting guardians would be sane enough to listen to reason. Something to think about when it came to it.

So… the best way of approaching Gwyndolin was most likely through the Darkmoon Knight firekeeper near the game’s entrance to Anor Londo. Though maybe we should hit the Painted World first to grab Priscilla before approaching Gwyndolin? But that might piss Gwyndy off… hrrrrng, Alvina’s waiting for an answer, and I can only do silent contemplation for so long.

“All avenues that should be open to ush are blocked. It sh- seem… s ash though we have no choishe-” Hrngngngng why were there so many words with hard ‘s’ or soft ‘c’! “but to find our way through, no matter what barsh our way.”

“Mmm, certainly not bad ideas- agreed that we have no choice but to do it, but there seems to be no way in if thou art not as light and nimble as our dear thief.” Alvina gestured with a paw towards the thief in question, who, if I wasn’t wrong about the expression I could make out through their mask, was very smug about that. “The gate is locked, and though I have no doubt you lack not the strength to tear your way through shoddy brick, Sen’s gate shall foil even thee. It was designed with those of prodigious strength of arms- and arm- in mind.”

“Maybe… there ish another way in, a way we have not con…templated.” Come on, come on, I know you got the whole Bells of Awakening speech from Oscar…

“Um, a moment…”

YES! Alright, gently now… I turned my head in Celia’s direction- meaning that I looked to my left and almost straight down. Whoof, still getting used to people being so little. She twitched as she realized that the attention of everyone in the… well, I wasn’t sure it was a room per say. No roof. The… space? That works. The attention of everyone in the space was focused on her. However, after a moment, she squared her shoulders and pushed on.

“Oscar of Astora, a knight I met in what he called the Undead Asylum, mentioned something to me… it was a few lines, passed down his family, concerning the Undead.” she tilted her helmeted head back, obviously trying to remember the passage. “Thou who art Undead, art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum- that was what he called the place, anyway, maketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords. That must be Lordran, right? Ah, there was one more…” She tapped her fingers together. “Oh! When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening, the fate of the Undead thou shalt know.” She nodded to herself. “Yeah, that’s all of it… ah, and this knight at the bonfire shrine, he mentioned that there are actually two of them.”

“The bells? Truly?” Alvina made a sound of amusement. “Ah, the bells tolled for worship to the gods. Not a terrible surprise… a test, for Undead seeking those in Anor Londo high above. Perhaps, if rung, passage into the fortress shall be granted.”

Not like I could get any farther into Sen’s than maybe the room with the pendulums. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get past the entrance area with the snake guys, I was just too big for the doors. Mentally, I drew several lines under the note-to-self about ‘figure out size change magic ASAP’.

“If the other ish below, it mu- may be located in Blighttown, correct?” I think I was getting better at avoiding the problem sounds. Hopefully, anyway. Alvina gave me a glance, and a small cat-grin.

“Blighttown and worse. The border of poison and chaos fire, seated on the divide between the swamps and muck of Blighttown and the burning demon-infested Lost Izalith. Though the power of Chaos burns low since Gwyn’s downward crusade, no doubt the watchtower constructed there still stands bastion against the Chaos Flame- but I truly doubt it is guarded these dark days by allies of Gwyn.”

Definitely not. Quelagg, while no comrade of demons, despite her appearance, was no friend of Gwyn either. Was it a good idea to get Celia to trade Snuggly for the Old Witch’s Ring? What did you trade for it again? Wait, hang on, you had the trade the Sunlight Maggot, and you can only get that AFTER you defeat Quelagg and get into that one passage where it is… so short of getting Quelana to translate and maybe talk some sense into her sister, we’re gonna have to torch the spider. Which is unfortunate, I’d rather have her as an ally or even a neutral than an enemy, but needs must.

“If the gods shall not allow us in, we must find our own way- and if that way is completing the test they meant for the Undead… well, then, I suppose we must pass those tests ordained. One above, one below.” Alvina seemed almost… wistful.

Maybe this was enough like a quest that it reminded her of something she’d done at Artorias’ side? Outside of fighting alongside Gwynn, apparently being anointed as the Abysswalker and losing in Oolacile, I didn’t actually know that much about Artorias- discounting, of course, the occasional flashes I got from what I guessed was the actual Sif.

I cleared my throat. “Regretfully, I cannot…” assist? Help? Fight alongside? To hell with it, let’s just go with- “Shtand with whomever chooshesh to fight the guardians of the Undead Parish bell.”

“Oh?” I twitched my ear as one of the four Hunters finally spoke up, identifying it quickly as the Knight. “Forgive me for the question, Lady Sif, but…”

“There are… other thingsh that I have no choishe but attend to.” Like practicing my diction, for one. Seeming satisfied, Knight- no, wait, hang on, there’re two knights. Knight 2 works, I suppose. In any case, they nodded, seeming content to leave it at that.

Except… hang on. I might not be able to get there in person, what with all the narrow doorways and such between here and there, but there might be another way to… I turned towards Celia, who twitched as she realized that she was the center of attention once again.

“Though, now that I… think of it, there may be another way to fashilitate my involvement.”

I leaned close, focusing… to my surprise, Celia was more of a focus for magical signatures than anyone here besides myself and Alvina. No, wait, thinking about that, it makes some degree of sense: really, I wondered how many rings she was either wearing or carrying on her person at the moment. Still, I was able to locate the signature I was looking for: the White Sign Soapstone.

Threads, gossamer thin but stronger than steel, linked from the little bit of magical stone in all directions. Some glowed differing colours, from white to blue, no doubt denoting the allegiance of those the lines connected to… I’d guess that all White Soapstones were linked- that, in fact, all kinds of Soapstone were linked to all others of their kind, throughout the many worlds and alternative timelines. So… when you put down a sign, and someone summoned you, I would hazard a guess they were literally yanking your soulstuff through the barriers between worlds. Idly, I wondered if the restriction on players for summoning only those of roughly comparable power held true here.

“Your White Shoapshtone, if you will.” Celia hesitated, then nodded, bringing it out and holding it up towards me. I leaned in, touching it with my nose.

Some of the connections didn’t feel like they went… beyond the barriers? It was hard to express, but those lines which I guessed were connected to other Soapstones among the worlds vanished into what almost felt like walls, whereas some of them… they went out in this world, linked to what felt like locations. If I focused, I could even trace some of them, and feel where they ended- and one gave me an image. An image of the Undead Parish.

Tentatively, I turned inwards, to the roiling strength within my form that wasn’t quite mine. It made me nervous, looking at it, realizing that I was something of an add-on slapped onto a larger whole, worried that I’d be bucked off the entire thing if I pressed just a little too hard. So, I was cautious, drawing out just the tiniest pinch of soulstuff and forcing it through the Soapstone, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding when I felt the tenuous little link solidify and anchor itself. I… hadn’t been sure that would work, but it had.

I drew my head away, nodding in satisfaction. “There. You should be able to draw me to you ash with any other Undead, when you return to the Undead Parish.” I turned my attention to Alvina, who, I saw, was watching me intently. I tried to push down the surge of anxiety THAT caused. “I agree, it ish paramount that we gain acshesh to… Sen’s fortresh. No matter if they have a wall of brick, we musht push forwards, if only to tear down the barrier they erected.”

Celia nodded her thanks to me, tucking the Soapstone back into her bag as she did. Alvina mirrored the gesture, looking thoughtful once again as she did.

“True and true. Whatever the gods have placed in our path must be gone through, for we have questions they must answer- if, truly, they are capable of it. And they have much to answer for, oh yes.”

Everyone in the space save me shifted uncomfortably at the expression that crossed Alvina’s face, which could only be interpreted as ‘malevolent’. Somehow, I got the sense that she’d not been overly fond of the gods to begin with, which… you know, that made sense. Cat, after all. She waved a paw and, recognizing they had been dismissed, the Undead in the space all slipped past me and out. After the last was gone, I made to crawl back out, then stopped, turning my attention back to Alvina.

“Perhapsh… it may be a good idea to find othersh like the Catalina knight.”

“Mm…” Alvina considered for a few moments, then spoke. “I feel that I agree… the Hunters, strong as they may be for Undead, are not enough to face what we may clash with. If we truly are to move in such a way, it may be wise to seek out others to lend their strength to ours.” she sat up, regarding me levelly. “Make no mistake, Sif, if we are to do what thou intends, we shall play a dangerous game- particularly if any gods remain in Lordran. They will neither be forgiving of our intrusion, or considerate of our intentions, no matter what they may be. They were always fickle and unpredictable, and in these unstable times… well, now.”

“... I understand.” And I did, truly. I knew exactly how dangerous what we were doing was- more than that, I understood WHY it was dangerous, in that we very well might be upsetting the cycle. It didn’t help that, even if we weren’t disrupting it, I very much intentionally planned to. “But I have stood by long enough.”

Alvina chuckled, a sound that was most definitely malevolent in its pronunciation. Actually made some of my fur stand on end a little. More than anything though, and based on the sentiments she had expressed before, she agreed with me: she, too, had stood by long enough and let the world march by her window- metaphorically, as well as literally. A little trill of relief sounded through me; I’d truly crossed the first hurdle, with Alvina as committed to change as a cat could be committed to anything.

I inclined my head ever so slightly, aware of the groaning of the stonework around me as I did, and felt a little heartened when Alvina returned the gesture. Gently, I extracted myself from the stone arch, standing on all four paws and shaking the stone dust out of my fur, producing a small grey cloud of the stuff, powdered mortar and bits of ancient stone dropping to the ground. Honestly, the fact that the components of these buildings were so fragile made me more than a little nervous to be around them- not that I thought it would actually injure me if one fell on me, as long as it wasn’t the Moonlight Butterfly tower, but still.

“Lady Sif.”

I turned, flicker of surprise crossing my face as I watched Shiva maneuver himself away from the slowly drifting dust cloud. His bodyguard hadn’t moved from where he stood, I could sense that, but the man himself had seen fit to approach me? Shiva himself seemed to take my attention as a go-ahead.

“I must admit, I am… somewhat awe-struck to be in your presence.”

Ah…? Wait, hang on, Shiva was part of the Forest Hunters, but… how many of said Hunters had even seen Sif? Did Alvina send them to report into- no, they hadn’t had contact. Huh.

“A guard never having sheen what they were guarding. Shomething perhapsh too common in Lordran.” Ornstein and Smough apparently never saw Gwynnevere, the painting guards never actually saw the inside of the painted world… regardless, I heard more than saw him shift his feet ever so slightly. “Ah… but your loyalty ish more to Alvina than to me, ish it not?”

His feet shifted again, a slight creaking noise as his hand tightened around the hilt of the blade he had laying against his shoulder. I nodded.

“It ish not a shurprishe. How can one be loyal to that which they have never layed eyesh upon themshelvesh? True loyalty ish to comradesh and leadersh, not to an invishible figure.”

Shiva inclined his head. “I thank you for your words of wisdom, Lady Sif. I will think on them further.” He raised his head again, giving me a more level look- as much as someone who came halfway up my leg could give. “Still, however… much is changing now that you have left your post. Lady Alvina mobilizes the Hunters with direct orders, when before, she was content recruiting the occasional passers-by and leaving the commanding to me- as much as there was commanding.”

“Hrm.” For the love of- was Shiva gonna make a problem of himself ALREADY!? I figured that I’d have a little time before he started causing trouble, if he was going to. “Ash I shtated to Alvina hershelf… we have waited long enough. But, do I shenshe dishcontent…?” He shook his head.

“No. Lady Alvina…” he paused, taking a moment to taste his words. I watched, quiet, trying my best to read him with sound, sight and scent. “Perhaps… I have it wrong, but… Lady Alvina has always seemed listless. Discontent, herself. She toys with those who pass through, and all throughout, there is a note of disappointment when they answer in return. If… I were to hazard a guess, and if it were not out of line for me to do so…?” My eyebrow twitched as I realized that he was asking my permission to speak. I considered for a moment, then twitched my muzzle upwards. He nodded. “I feel that, perhaps, Lady Alvina has missed your company. Truly, I have never seen her as pleased or as involved as she became after your first visit.”

Alvina missed Sif? Well, that all but confirmed the sibling-relationship between the two. Perhaps they teased back and forth when they were younger, fighting together under Artorias, accompanying him everywhere he went. It made me wonder once again how the two of them truly felt about the knight of Gwyn- was he a commander? A leader? Perhaps he was even like a family member to them, a stern but protective father, maybe even something of a brother. I imagined what it must have been like for them, to have that influence ripped away, to never have it replaced by anything. A hole in their lives, in their very souls, that had never really been filled. No wonder Sif had never left Artorias’ grave, and no wonder Alvina, with all her clearly mischievous personality and desire to mess with those she encountered, suddenly buckled down and founded a covenant. From what she’d said, she’d even negotiated alongside with Sif in Anor Londo for them to keep their posts guarding the place where Artorias fell.

“I musht shay that I, too, have misshed her company, rather dearly.” I looked out into the fog, picking out the faded figures of the Hunters guarding the woods. “It ish part of what drove me back here.”

“And I, for my part, am glad that it did.”

I began walking towards the hole I’d made through the trees coming from the Crest door, thinking about what I needed to do next. Downstairs, the Hydra most likely still stood, and I would most likely need to eliminate it myself- along with a little something… else that was down there. My ear twitched as I heard footsteps, and glancing to the side revealed that Shiva had actually matched my pace, with the ninja not far behind us.

“I must admit, however, that while I am rather pleased to be doing something once again… I fear that, as the leader of the Hunters under Lady Alvina, I would at least like to know some part of your plans.”

I turned forward again. “Alvina hash already shent Huntersh with the Undead warrior…” I fought with my tongue and muzzle for a moment, struggling to get them in place. “Sh…. Celia. They will ashend and deshend, toll the bellsh of Awakening, and open our path into Shen’sh Fortressh. I, myshelf, would like to speak with the Catarina knight, and eliminate a… pesht that plaguesh Darkroot.”

Shiva made a contemplative noise. “If that is the case… the Hunters may need to mobilize in numbers, soon. Perhaps I ought to call amongst the rings, and gather those willing to leave Darkroot when the time comes. However, at the moment, I must ask- would you be willing to allow me to accompany you? If it is not too much to ask, I would like to spend time in the presence of Lady Alvina’s fellow.”

That couldn’t be his whole reasoning, but why… hang on. Shiva was not just a sword merchant, he was something of a sword fanatic, given his knowledge and expertise- that I knew of, in any case. And… the weapon of Artorias the Abysswalker was rather famed, and having been in direct contact with Alvina herself for so long, I had no doubt that she must have spoken of the weapon in question at least once or twice. Equally, of course, I imagined that she must have been very cagey about details, either because recounting things about her… about Artorias was painful, or because she would enjoy Shiva’s frustration at not being told the whole story. So, when he had the chance to be around someone who was relatively straightforward from what he knew, and knew Artorias and his weapon just as well as Alvina would have… oh dear. I was going to have to try and remember things I don’t actually know.

“Ah, but if I may…” Here it comes. “Lady Alvina mentioned more than once that you wielded a blade, one forged to resemble that of Artorias, and yet…”

Oh. That was easier. “I will not remove the weapon from my Lord’sh reshting plashe.”

Shiva simply nodded, accepting the answer and keeping pace with me. We reached the dirt wall that marked the border of the forest behind the Crest Door- to the left, I could feel the bit of magic that surrounded one of the trees, the one the Way of White sigil would appear under. To the right, a short staircase led up to the Crest Door itself. I nodded Shiva to it. He nodded in return, walking to the stairs and climbing them in a manner that could only be described as dignified. Pointedly, I made eye contact with his nearly-invisible bodyguard, who appeared to gaze back warily before following his master.

I watched them go for a moment, then turned my attention to the wall, taking a moment to hop atop it and glancing down into the little path that led past the circular area with the three shrub trap. I stepped over the little crevasse, putting all four paws on the other side, where the wall was wider and easier to walk on, then making right towards the bonfire clearing. There, I found Shiva waiting for me, gazing through the stone archway at the flickers of Flame held there.

“Fashinating, aren’t they?” Shiva turned and gave me a quizzical look as I stepped down next to him. “The bonfiresh.”

“Ah.” He turned back. “I admit… there is not anything like that in the East, no… primordial magic that can quite match it. It is almost like a force of nature in physical form.”

“It ish. The bonfire itshelf ish but a fragmentary ecshpression of the true Firsht Flame, which ish, itshelf, the pure idea of fire, from the raging foresht fire to the warm hearth.” Shiva nodded, following as I strode down towards where the path led downwards. “Though, I musht admit curioushity about your homeland. Are there plashesh such… as thish, there?” At least this conversation was good practice.

“Places like Darkroot? Ah, yes, though perhaps not with a history as complex. Mostly, they are the residence of powerful but reticent creatures, unwilling to show themselves to men. Though, for safe passage through their domain, they must be called and bartered with. My own people have many such stories of heroes having to survive ordeals and accomplish feats in order to gain passage or the regard of one of them.” He maintained eye contact with the shrubs along the path, hand ready to draw his sword at a moment’s notice, but as it was the last time I’d passed through, they stayed in the ground. He hummed. “Though you seem to have negotiated passage of your own, Lady Sif. Usually, these creatures make a nuisance of themselves to anyone who wishes to move through Darkroot.”

I waved a paw dismissively. “I wash attacked but onshe, and when I deshtroyed one with a shingle shwing, the resht sheemed… not ash eager to try their luck.” Shiva chuckled at that.

We rounded the bend in the shadow of the bridge, soon coming upon the side path that led a little up, then down and towards Darkroot Basin.

+++

I lept at one of the crystal golems, slamming it into the ground with my paws hard enough that the crystal cracked through under me, snarling at another that came closer to try its luck with its greatclub-like arm. Shiva, to one side, danced out of the range of another golem’s blow, his bodyguard slashing at its leg and forcing it to its knees, where Shiva plunged his sword to the hilt into the abdomen, the large, thick blade penetrating easily.

I jumped to the side, avoiding the swing, then shoulder-checked the hunk of animate rock as it tried to recover its balance, sending it slamming into one of the boulders that decorated this area. It groaned as cracks ran through it and began to get to its feet, but I didn’t let it, taking a step forwards and slamming it back into the rock with a paw. The crystal, and the rock under it, shattered beneath my strength, the golem shuddering for a moment before losing cohesion and falling into crystalline bits. I glanced to the side as a metallic sound rang out, catching a glance of Shiva rebounding his opponent golem’s clumsy strike with his large shield before hefting his sword overhand and smashing the blade into the shoulder of the golem, severing its arm. Assured that he had it well in hand, I turned my attention back to the first golem, which was struggling to rise with its cracked body. With a touch of contempt, I moved back to it, leaping into the air and bringing both my front paws crashing down upon it with a huff, making its chest explode outwards into scillinting bits of light-catching crystal.

The crystal golems that inhabited Darkroot Basin were something of a challenge in the game when you first faced them, given their high damage and unparriable attacks, but with two highly skilled and experienced fighters and, well, me… not much of a challenge, there. Honestly, I was enjoying this a little, given that I was very obviously both stronger and quite a bit faster than these things. Brute forcing my way through an enemy essentially made of very pretty rock was probably the most satisfying thing I’d done yet. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to having to fight the Hydra, but this was a good bolster for my fighting confidence. I mean, I already knew I could probably just step on humans, but it was nice to know that even relatively larger and stronger enemies would go down pretty hard once I started hitting them. Now I just needed to actually figure out some manner of actual style so I didn’t get my tail handed to me if I decided to take on something that didn’t quite literally have rock for brains.

“That was the last of them, I believe.” Shiva stood at the edge of the field of crystal bits that was all that was left of the one I’d thrown against the boulder, nudging one of the larger pieces with his boot. “Vile things keep trying to kidnap female Hunters, took some time to get them to keep to the Basin and well away from the hunting grounds.”

“They sheem shimilar to some of Lord Seath’s worksh.” I was getting a little better about the slurring, actually managing to push some words out with the actual sounds they should be making.

“Truly? Hrn. May have to give him a piece of my mind when we reach Anor Londo. The Hunters hunt as they like, but being captured like that is no way to go.” He hefted his blade back onto his shoulder, making his way around the crystalline remains. “Another defense against intruders in no way makes up for whatever horrendous thing is being done to those that are captured.”

I crunched my way through the remains of the golem that I’d shattered with my paws, pawpads grinding the crystal to dust under them. Perhaps it was the wolf in me, that piece of Sif that had given me answers before, but I felt that I rather understood Shiva’s position in this regard. Better to die standing against your enemies, fighting, then be captured and end up in Seath’s laboratory. Though, I was surprised to hear that Seath’s science-related memetic disorder was so legendary stories of it had even made it to the ears of someone so foreign to Lordran.

“I admit my shurprise at the fact that you are aware of who Lord Seath ish.”

He huffed a breath through his nose. “Stories from Undead, passed down- people in Lordran knew to be afraid of Seath, and Lady Alvina especially hated him; cats are rather fond of their freedom. So, yes, I know enough of him to be very aware of the fact that he is in no way deserving of the title of ‘lord’.”

“Perhapsh.”

We moved past the remains of the other golems, which had all swarmed us the moment we came down from the path. If I were to speculate, I’d have said that they’d all come after me for some reason or another, but each of them had gone down more or less as easily as the last three we’d fought. One had gotten in a good hit on my side, which hurt a bit, but much like the attacks of the shrubs in Darkroot proper, the blunt attack had been cushioned by my thick fur. I suspected that that advantage in particular would last until I faced enemies with bladed weaponry.

The Hydra in the lake was visible from practically anywhere in the Basin, a huge and looming figure whose multitude of necks and heads twisted in and around in blurry shapes in the dim light and fog of Darkroot. Shiva gripped his sword tighter, not a bit of hesitation in his stride, though I noted that his bodyguard kept his blade drawn. Shiva’s backstory was never really expanded upon, or if it was it wasn’t something I remembered, but he seemed in his element, and it made me wonder if the warrior had faced monsters of this size before. From the way he eyed up the shifting form in the fog through his helmet, it certainly seemed that way, and he most definitely didn’t smell like fear. He nodded to the form in question.

“Your ‘pest’, Lady Sif?”

“Indeed. I believe it may be in our way in the future, and I prefer to clear roadblocksh before they become real problemsh.” That, and I knew for a fact that the golden crystal golem trapping Dusk of Oolicile was on the far side of this thing. Given the lost magic of her homeland, she might be useful going forwards, and I wasn’t one to pass up an opportunity like this.

Shiva shifted his sword on his shoulder.

“Hm, quite. So, shall we?”

I nodded, stepping forward, Shiva only a few paces behind. “Avoid the headsh, it will rely on shtrikesh like a snake. Aim for the eyesh, attempt to get your blade through into the brain. I will attempt to pin the headsh in place.” He nodded, flexing the arm his shield was bound to and cracking his neck, slowly putting distance between himself and me.

As we approached, the Hydra became clearer and clearer- and so did something else. I didn’t know if Shiva could smell it, but he certainly couldn’t smell it like I could even if he did. The wet, rotted reptilian scent filled the air, mixed with the scent of stagnant water to make a combination of smells that made my muzzle wrinkle. And, honestly, the hydra itself didn’t look much better than it smelled.

Towering necks stacked next to eachother atop a fat, bloated body, all covered with green scales that had fallen off in patches here and there, showing infection and rot in the skin itself. I couldn’t see its legs, if it even had them, most of its actual body being below the waterline of the relatively small lake that it was lying in. Its heads thrashed back and forth, necks undulating in a way that gave me just an edge of motion sickness as I watched them. As we approached the small beach that edged the tiny lake, I realized that the pieces of scale dropping off the huge lizard-like thing were washing up there, and I suppressed a grimace.

Slowly, as we drew closer, the necks slowed in their swaying. With an unsettled feeling that curled in my stomach, I realized that the heads were turning one by one in our direction, and I could almost feel the eyes on us. And, for the first time, I was really realizing how huge the thing was compared to the size of a normal Undead, or even me in my current form.

I don’t think the size of the hydra really registers with Dark Souls players after your first time encountering it. Oh, certainly, the first time you lay eyes on the thing, it’s intimidating and heck and honestly a little frightening, looming out of the mist like that, even despite the lack of boss fog. After that, though, you know that the thing has a bunch of attacks with light tracking that are pretty easily dodged, and that it’s more or less a test of patience trying to kill it. You dodge, you walk up, you swipe, repeat.

Here, though… this thing was real. It was huge, and it was real, and it was right there watching me. This was one part where the mechanics of the game most definitely weren’t going to translate to reality in a way that benefited me. The moment we were in range of its necks, it was going to be attacking non-stop, with the only small mercy being that I was pretty sure that it couldn’t move out of the deep pool it was floating in. Not only that, but without an overall health bar, I, with Shiva’s help, was going to have to individually kill the heads until none were left. I was decently certain that my claws and teeth weren’t long enough to guarantee a kill with a bite or swipe, I’d have to actively dig to get at something vital and I wouldn’t have long enough to do that, with every other head taking shots at me. Thankfully, I was decently sure that Shiva’s blade was large and long enough to deal fatal damage to whatever head I could get ahold of, and while my claws weren’t fit for killing a head, I could most definitely hold it in place.

I was so on-edge from my thinking and the quiet that had settled like a blanket over the entirety of Darkroot Basin like a thick, suffocating blanket that I nearly jumped out of my fur and retreated a few steps when the hydra suddenly roared. Every head pointed to the sky, jaws wide open, then quite suddenly shot at where we were. I tensed for just a moment, tracking them with my eyes and gauging where they were aiming, then leapt out of the way at the last moment, sand from the beach and bits of scale flying in my wake.

The head crashed into the sand, particles spraying upwards and outwards in a cloud of white, while other heads hit the beach at different points. Shiva had rolled out of the way, but was already on his feet, sword ready and standing on the balls of his feet, his helmet angled slightly in my direction.

With another spray of sand, I practically threw myself forwards while the Hydra was dazed for a moment, leaping onto the head and sinking my claws past the reptilian scales. The head screeched in anger, the sound all-encompassing this close to the source, but I merely grimaced and hung on, growling as the head tried to pull itself out from under me.

I clawed my way to the top, placing both paws on the top of the head, the rest of my body off to the side where the snapping jaws couldn’t get to me, claws sunk into the filthy scales. As the other Hydra heads drew back for another strike and the one underneath me struggled to get away, pinned there by pain and my weight, I heard the patter of footsteps on sand. The head shifted, loose sand rolling away as it tried to pull out- but it was too late, Shiva leaping from the side and sinking his sword to the hilt in its eye with a spurt of reddish blood! The head screamed, then faded off as Shiva yanked his sword out, retreating back several steps. I jumped backwards, paws spread and hackles raised, eyes flicking to the other hydra heads as the head we’d attacked drew back, leaking blood from multiple wounds and completely limp. The other heads eyed it, then shrieked again, angry and in obvious pain as they reared back for another strike.

This time, when the heads came down, I stepped to the right and shoulder checked the first head that had been aiming for me into the sand, much like I had the crystal golem a few minutes earlier. A curtain of white powder exploded from the impact, heads that had been striking drawing upwards and away, hissing in displeasure as they blinked their eyes to clear the sand that gritted under their eyelids. The head that had struck the ground, however, remained where it was, clearly momentarily stunned- though already stirring. Quickly, I ran forwards and sank my claws into the throat, the head having landed on its side. As I pushed my claws into the flesh and the head awoke fully with a roar, I realized dimly that the scales were smaller and the flesh softer here over the throat, meaning that my claws could sink in all the way. Quickly, I estimated where I thought the arteries feeding blood to this head’s brain might be, slashing away with my claws- and swiftly being awarded with a practical SPRAY of blood arcing over the water. I retreated from the crimson liquid staining the sand, registering out of the corner of my eye Shiva slashing at another head that had come too close to him before his bodyguard appeared on top of it just long enough to sink his own sword in to the hilt.

That momentary distraction was all it took. A head that I hadn’t noticed, having recovered from the sand earlier than its fellows and not registering the pain of two more heads lost yet, slammed into my side, sending me rolling away and out of the range of the Hydra! I slid to a halt, growling at the pain of the impact, only lessened slightly by my fur. Thankfully, looking at it, I wasn’t bleeding, and looking at the head told me why: while the head had recovered from the sandscreen, it had misestimated where I was thanks to the sand still hanging in the air, and had aimed too low. Instead of being struck with fangs that looked even longer than mine, the head’s snout had slammed full-tilt into my side, throwing me away from the fight. The head in question made a roar of frustration, drawing back as I shook my head, recovering.

“Lady Sif!” Shiva shouted, then rolled out of the way of another strike, helmet turning in my direction and shield raised.

“I am whole, Shiva, do not break your concentration for me!” I shouted in return, paws digging up grass and dirt as I ran back to where blood caked the sand at the steadily-reddening water lapped at the shore.

Immediately, I muttered a curse and sent up a spray of red and white sand as I dodged to the right, another head coming down right where I’d been standing. I reversed my course in an instant, kicking up more sand as I rushed to where it had struck, leaping high into the air and coming down with all of my weight on top of the thing’s skull with a resounding CRACK! Unfortunately, while the head let out a strangled screech, it didn’t seem to be dead- it blinked slowly, but I knew that it wouldn’t take long for it to shake even this off and retreat out of range. I couldn’t even get to the throat, with the head right side up and embedded slightly into the sand from the force of my landing.

“Shiva! Here!”

“By your word, Lady Sif!” Shiva stirred sand in his wake as he dashed across the beach, then jerked his helmet to the left and cursed, leaping backwards as another head slammed into the very spot he’d been.

I growled as I grappled with the head, trying to keep it under me as it struggled, my muscles straining against its building-sized neck as I held it to the sand. Shiva slashed at the heads assailing him, two snaking after him and periodically withdrawing to attempt to flatten him against the sand, his bodyguard diverting their attention with slashes and stabs to their snouts as he disappeared and reappeared.

I snarled, clawing at the head under me as it shifted and yanked itself- it was going to get away, there was just nothing I could do about it, not to mention the other heads reeling back for a strike at me-

“BE NOT AFRAID, FOR SEIGMEYER OF CATARINA FIGHTS BY YOUR SIDE! YAAAH!”

I balked slightly in surprise as the onion knight himself in his rotund armour charged up from where we’d just fought the crystal golem, sprinting full-tilt with his huge Zhweihander bouncing against his shoulder. As I looked at him, he lowered the blade into a stabbing position, point towards the head I’d pinned, one hand on the hilt and the other gripping the rectangular section of the blade just above the crossguard. Holding the ultra greatsword like a lance, he drove the tip into the Hydra’s head at full tilt, penetrating just below the eye socket all the way to the spiked second crossguard. With a grunt of exertion, he yanked the blade out again with a spray of crimson and bits of grey, the head gurgling in its throat as its remaining eye rolled up in its socket. I retreated back a few pawsteps, tensed and ready for another strike, as the head limply flopped into the thrashing and bloodied waters of the basin.

“I thank you for the asshishtanshe, knight Seigmeyer.” I intoned, loud enough that he easily heard me over the din. His helmet turned to me, both hands on the hilt of the Zhwiehander as he drew back as well.

“I heard the noise, thought someone might be having a jolly old adventure without me- and we can’t have that! I am glad to offer my sword for the slaying of such a beast, my lady!”

He hefted the blade in question in a quick salute, then turned his attention immediately back to the monster as its remaining heads let out a deafening SKREEEEEK! All four of us winced at the noise, then moved almost together as the remaining three heads came down in tandem. I swatted one away with my paw so hard I heard a CRACK, bits of broken teeth raining down on the beach as it reeled from the blow, giving me enough time to ram full-tilt into another of the heads, sending it skipping across the sand and slamming into the cliff, almost at the end of its neck. Shiva’s bodyguard darted past me, bringing his sword up in a slash that parted the scale armour and muscle of the neck like air, severing its artery before leaping atop it and stabbing it for good measure. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Seigmeyer yelled something at the head that’d focused on them, rolling out of the way as it hit the ground with a resonating WHUMP. In the moment it took to recover, Shiva stepped forwards to one side and brought his sword into an upward slash while Seigmeyer yelled again with the effort as he shoved his blade off of his shoulder and into a thundering downward slash, the two of them striking so deep and hard that the neck pulled itself free of the now-severed head and flailed, spraying blood from the stump.

I turned with a thump of my paw impacting the shore, glaring up at the final head. It hissed and screeched, flailing about as the pain of losing six of its fellows registered in waves. It turned hateful red eyes on me, rage apparent in its gaze, then coiled itself and struck like lightning. I threw myself to the side, rolling and coming up slightly turned, my hind legs lashing out at where I guessed the head would be. I was rewarded with a shattering of bone as both paws connected with the jaw, throwing the head to the side. I rounded in and instant, darting forwards before it could recover, and, before I even had the chance to think on it, sunk my teeth as deep as they could go into the soft flesh of its neck and ripped its throat out!

The thing let out a gurgling noise as it withdrew drunkenly, thrashing about, sending waves hither and yon throughout the lake, worsening the blood in the choppy water. Finally, though, it let out a single, last shudder, the head falling into the water with an almighty CRASH… then, the thing began to dissolve into white mist. I shuddered as some of it entered me, clenching my teeth and watching the others jerk as some of it flowed into them as well.

We watched it dissolve, the body turning to naught but air, and leaving behind something that glittered in the dim lighting as it washed up onto the shore. I retrieved the Dusk Crown Ring from where it lay with my claws, watching as the band expanded to fit one of my toes. A booming laugh caused my ears to twitch in the direction of the knight of Catarina, who flopped himself down on a clean patch of sand and leaned his sword against his shoulder, the hilt in his lap.

“Ahhh! Now that was a taste of the adventure I expected!”

Despite myself, I couldn’t help the way the edge of my mouth twitched upwards.

Chapter Text

Shiva laughed, Siegmeyer smiling wide as the joke landed despite the cultural differences between the two. Celia sat to one side, tentatively smiling, eyes darting across the assembled gathering as if she couldn’t quite believe she was here. Even Alvina had deigned to leave her nook for the first time in what had to be practically forever, given how I thought Shiva would have a heart attack when he saw her at the bonfire. I lay just outside the little space, basking in the little bit of warmth that came from the Flames. The two of them had come back from the Hydra full of cheer and knightly celebration, adrenaline and triumph burning in them like the sun. The Thief, who had made several good-natured (and handily blocked) grabs for Siegmeyer’s discarded helmet, made some quick-witted remark about the onion knight’s sword handling, which caused him to practically explode with mirth, painting the walls with the brightness of his deep laughter. It did not, however, prevent him from rapping the Theive’s knuckles with a paternal shake of the head, preventing his most recent attempt for the helm, while Shiva watched with amusement written across his face.

The Slaying of the Hydra, as the event was beginning to be known amongst the small rag-tag group of Hunters and otherwise, was apparently something that would typically be celebrated with wrecking a tavern and having both the deed, and the more dubious deeds against said tavern afterwards, immortalized in song in the outside world. Here, however, they had settled for packing the little bonfire area with as many people as could fit. The Hunters, all of whom were eager to hear the story of such a grand hunt. Celia, who was still just as nervous at finding herself in such a frankly incomprehensible situation, surrounded by people that had mostly been her enemies not so long ago. Alvina, hanging about, drinking in the warmth and the camaraderie with the wistfulness that had become almost as familiar as her mischievous tongue. Shiva, reigning in Siegmeyer to some degree, modestly trying to downplay the event with gestures and explanations that only served to make it seem more impressive to the gaggle of Hunters, though the effort certainly wasn’t helped by the mugs of… something Siegmeyer and the Thief had gotten from somewhere, that the onion knight kept pushing into his hands. Even Shiva’s bodyguard couldn’t help but be drawn in, lips showing through his mask as he slipped at the frothing whatever-it-was, giving the occasional small smile as his… master? Leader? Whatever Shiva was to him, kept trying to prevent Siegmeyer from telling the story at a volume fit for five people his size.

And there, at the center of it all, was the onion knight himself. Siegmeyer had done away with his helmet, revealing his thick mustache and fluffed hair, hearty brown speckled with respectable iron gray. Smile lines decorated his face, one not used to anything but that expression of joy and thrill at life. Wide sweeping gestures, as he recounted himself driving his blade into the Hydra’s head while I pinned it to the sand for the fourth or fifth time, every movement filled with energy that seemed more fit for someone half his apparent age. The gathered crowd held up their mugs and cheered as he mimed driving his zweihander forwards with both hands, his movements just as sure as they’d been then. More than anything, he seemed to be in his element, surrounded by good drink and better friends, easily directing the energy of his small audience of watching warriors.

“Another story! Another!” they called to him, voices and mugs raised.

“What, you want to hear the Hydra again!?”

“NO!” they replied, and they all laughed as a mug clanged off of Siegmeyer’s armour. The knight didn’t even seem to notice, his booming bright laughter filling the space again.

“Oh fine, fine! You are all just impossible to satisfy!” He dropped back onto his rear, settling onto a piece of rubble and taking another mug as if it were second nature. “Oh, let’s see… ‘twas a decade ago, and I was long from Catarina then- some dusty road through a forgotten village…”

I listened with one ear as he told the tale, a story of his meeting with some half-rusted hedge knight and their battle with a dark creature that had taken up haunting an old lord’s keep. He told the story with the same sweeping gestures, but this time there were moments where he lowered his voice and leaned forwards, practically thriving off of the tension that saturated the air. Moments of triumph and near misses with death, and a moment when he held his fist aloft, his face a mime of the hedge knight’s wonderment as he managed to call upon the miracles of the gods to bless his blade and smote down the evil creature with a single swing, while Siegmeyer himself dealt with the cultists that had summoned it- which, in a twist, turned out to be underlings of the lord’s.

The man was a masterful storyteller and a fantastic orator, and even I, at my seat at the edge of the ball of warmth that had sprung up around them, felt myself tugged this way and that as the story rounded its bends and curves. Mentally, I compared this Siegmeyer, so chock full of life that it felt as if he could restore the humanity of every Hollow from here to fake tits herself just by talking at them and giving them a jovial grin, to the broken man who hung above a pit of demons, contemplating one last act to assist the one that had helped him. Mentally, I vowed that it wouldn’t happen that way again.

Sieglind deserved more than that. Siegmeyer deserved more.

The bonfire never truly died down, Flame ever lit now that it had been kindled by Undead hand, but the energy of the party did. It appeared that not even Undead are immune to the vice of drink, not entirely, and the stories and songs had gotten more and more incomprehensible as time had gone on. A few careful nudges had kept everyone away from the edge, but eventually, the beast of the flagon proved too much for even this brave cadre of fighters to match. Even Celia, poor Celia, was out of it entirely, head back and mug dropped loosely in her lap, snoring loudly. Alvina had, at some point, ended up in Shiva’s lap, and the Easterner himself rested against the outside wall. Whether the cat was asleep or not, though, was anyone’s guess.

Siegmeyer, on the other hand, had outlasted them all. Oh, Shiva had tried, certainly, but the warm atmosphere had been too much for even him, and he’d fallen asleep- and was due to be mortified when he awoke to Alvina lying in his lap, with his hand at her ears. Which, come to think of it, was probably her plan.

Chrrrrk.

The sound of whetstone drawn across the blade was soothing, at this point, as Siegmeyer softly hummed to himself and cared for his sword. The man sat by the bonfire, where the light was best and he could angle the zweihander to catch the most of it, inspecting it carefully for nicks or damage. I’m sure he could feel me watching and listening, but he seemed content where he was, surrounded by sleeping youngsters.

Chrrrrk.

I watched the stone slide up the blade passively, my only movement being the slow rise and fall of my chest as I breathed the cool and misty air of Darkroot, warmed only slightly by the Flame at this distance. I listened to each of them snore gently, and I wondered how long it’d been since they could truly be off their guard. With Lloyd’s Way of White thugs hunting Undead in the outside world, and Lordran being death at practically every corner, not to mention most of it being a festering ruin even in the few safe places, I’d imagine that none of them had had time like this in a long while.

Chrrr-

“They remind you of children, don’t they?”

Seigmeyer paused in the middle of the blade, blinking as he considered my words. His eyes raised themselves to the bonfire, and he ran his thumb over the whetstone.

“Mm. That they do. Young and full of… that thing, which I don’t think there truly is a name for.” His eyes roved across the sleeping forms of those here, and met mine for a moment, before going back to examining his blade. “The best swords of this century. Such a shame they would end up here, in this gods-forsakened place. Better for the old adventurers to come here than some poor ambitious fool with a shield and a half-rusted longsword, at least we’re not wasted on it.”

“But that’s not to be, is it? Not with the world the way it is.”

He went to run the stone across the edge again, but ended up palming it, turning it over and over again in his hand as he stared into the Flames.

“They…” Seigmeyer trailed off, and for the first time, there was something other than the boisterous knight there. Something sad, wrought with worry and concern, and… “They don’t end up here because they have a choice.” He looked at Celia, and something like pain crossed his expression. “The Curse took from us so much, will take more… so much more…”

he whispered the last part, and as I watched, he brought his gauntleted fist against his face. As it came away, little drops of water clung to the armour. I looked away, affording what dignity could be afforded in a place like this. But his voice came through, strong and unwavering, when he spoke again.

“I won’t let it. Not while I still draw breath.”

And there it was, the iron determination. An adventurer with a quest. I thought about his daughter, about Sieglind, who would eventually follow him here despite his wishes to the contrary. I had said children, but they reminded him specifically of only one child, a child that, if Seigmeyer was anything like this at home, was weaned on stories of adventure and battle and friendship between noble warriors. No, this Seigmeyer wouldn’t buckle, wouldn’t fall. I just had to keep it that way.

Chrrrrk.

I felt the stare on me, and I looked to Alvina, finding her eyes open and not clouded with sleep in the slightest, her focus on me sharp and searching. Whatever it was that she found, it seemed to satisfy her, as he closed her eyes again with a small sharp-toothed grin.

“Havel!?”

I made a non-committal noise. “I do not believe it ish Havel the Rock himself, but one of his… disciples.” The loam beneath my paws softened my footsteps, though not so much that it wasn’t obvious a creature of my size was moving through. “Regardless, though Hollowed, they have kept much of their s-strength and skill. They are dangerous, and I would see them dealt with.”

One of the Hunter knights, whose name I had discovered was Roland, nodded dubiously. I’d recruited, though it was more like press ganged, him into coming with me on this particular errand. Seigmeyer had followed Celia deeper into Darkroot, where there were the stone knights and the entrance to the Moonlight Butterfly arena. I’d sent them off with directions to clear the area, then wait for me.

I wanted to speak with Witch Beatrice.

Regardless, Roland and I were making our way towards the tower shortcut from Darkroot Basin to the Undead Burg, where I knew the particularly strong Hollow was lurking. Normally, you had to have a key to access the shortcut, but I didn’t particularly believe that a small wooden door could hold up to my brand of knocking. Still, given how insistent the Hollow had been to stick to its post in the games, lying in ambush for the player and refusing to follow them out of the tower and into the Basin, I had brought along Roland to engage the Hollow and lure it out. Once I could reach it, I could yank it into the Basin and squish it while Roland harried it and kept it from retreating back into the tower.

“This is the tower, yes?”

“Mm.”

I gave it an appraising eye, then stepped closer. I raised my paw, then shoved it through the wooden door, shattering its planks… but, funnily enough, still leaving the lock hanging, deadbolt bent, from where it slotted into the frame. I turned back to Roland, lowering my head to be closer to his level. Which… appeared to make him rather nervous.

“Remember. The creature is fully Hollowed, without the wit and cleverness of men, but do not undereshtimate it. It will lie in wait, and attempt to strike you from behind.”

The knight nodded, steeling his resolve. He raised his shield, and I stepped aside, allowing him to step into the tower. Immediately, I heard him make a note of surprise and the clanking of armour against stone, followed by a WHAM, which I assumed to be the Havel pretender’s great weapon striking the floor right where he’d been. Then, there was a sound of steel on stone, and, quite to my surprise, Roland came out. In a moment, I saw that he had actually thrown all his strength behind his shield, perhaps taking advantage of a moment where the fake Havel had been off-balance and hefting their weapon, and had bowled the great mass of rock-armoured Hollow right over and driven them right out the door. Roland rolled to the side, scrambling up onto his armoured feet with his shield raised, as I stepped between the Hollow and the tower door. The figure struggled to their feet and squared off, helmet turning back and forth, glancing between Roland, the tower door, and the giant fluffy obstacle that was me.

After a few moments of stand-off and consideration, the Hollow suddenly heaved their bulk at Roland. The knight lifted his shield and grit his teeth for deflecting the mighty blow of the dragon tooth club, but at the last moment, and in a quite masterful move, the false Havel used the weight of their weapon to change their course. They headed straight for me, aiming for the gap between my legs, and were about to roll- but I growled, bringing my paw down in a strike that shook the ground. They stumbled, and before they could fully recover, Roland was on them, a straight sword in his hand. He attempted to aim for the cracks in the great stone armour, stabbing and slashing as he moved in too close for the Hollow to properly use their giant weapon, but what I had said about their skill held true. More often than not, the strikes were met with a shift that made them spark against the armour’s rocky hide, and from Roland’s grimaces, even the few that got through were most likely stopped by the second layer of armour underneath the rock. Havel’s armour, as mighty and steadfast as the games portrayed.

“Roland, here!” I barked.

The knight twitched, then rolled away from not-Havel, avoiding a strike from the club. They hefted the mighty thing, moving for another strike, only to be faced not by the armoured figure of the knight, but the towering figure that was me. I grinned, fangs on full display, as I watched Roland in the corner of my eye, taking his place in the tower door with both hands on his shield. Going by the inhuman growl the Hollow made, it saw that as well. It seemed to weigh the situation for a moment, before apparently deciding that I was the bigger problem right now. Of course, it decided this by taking a swing with the club.

Unfortunately for it, what was a mighty strike that would break the guard of most humans was not so for me. A paw batted the club to the side, where it struck the ground so hard the loam buckled, forming a small crater. Another paw strike, into its chest, served to drive it back into the ground so hard it formed a crater of its own. However, the third strike was not so successful. It came down, but met only loamy soil where the Hollow’s armour left an indentation, the pretender themselves rolling to one side and grabbing the club once again, hefting it over their shoulder. This time, they were more coy with their strikes, preferring to dodge rather than engage as I swung my paws at them. What swings they did make were horizontal, harder for me to deflect into the ground, and forcing me to backstep each time they did it or risk damage to my leg.

The contest continued in that vein for a time, each of us probing the other with strikes and trying to find an opening. Despite my growing frustration, I found myself some level of impressed- certainly, the incredible stamina and strength of a Hollow, especially one trained to use Havel’s set to its fullest, played into our bought, but still. The Hollow must have been quite the warrior in life, if this was a mere shadow of their strength. Still, however, not enough skill remained. An overextending swing left them to stumble for just a moment, recovering, but that opening was more than enough for me. I batted them with my paw, sending them crashing hard to the ground, and this time, my paw came down before they could get over their daze and roll out of the way. I heard the CRUNCH of bone as the blunt-force trauma from my limb and the strength behind it crushed them inside their armour, and a final exhale that sounded almost… relieved, to my ears.

I remained there for a few moments, paw pressed down on their chest as they twitched their last… then lay still. I waited a few minutes more, then lifted it away, leaving the slightly cracked armour of Havel wrapped around the one that had worn it in life, Hollowing, and, now, final death. Given how they did not show up again once defeated, I guessed that they collapsed into whatever bonfire they spawned at, their bones becoming so much firewood for it to burn.

“Magnificent, Lady Sif!” The awe and praise in Roland’s voice made me huff through my nose, though some part of me appreciated it.

“Not so magnificent, I think… defeating but a shadow’s shadow is no great deed.” I left the disciple of Havel where they lay, moving back towards the path up to Darkroot. “Come. We’ve tarried here long enough.”

Roland gave the body of the Havel disciple one last look, then followed in my wake.

Shattered stone knights were strewn across the small forest at the base of the tower, their remains littered with little bits of wood, which I took as a rather encouraging sign. Sure enough, when I stuck my head through the tower’s door, which was almost big enough to fit me in a strange turn of events, Siegmeyer and Celia were sitting on the stairs leading up. They looked up together as they heard the sound of fur sliding against stone, Celia giving me a pleasant, though hesitant smile, and Seigmeyer greeting me with his usual bombasticity. Celia’s helmet, of the Elite Knight set, lay on the steps besides her.

“Lady Sif! Excellent of you to join us! I take this to mean that your venture was a success, hmm?”

I nodded, much as I could with my neck through the tight doorway. “Indeed. It was not any great challenge.” I glanced up, noting that I could just see the fog wall from here. “I see you haven’t challenged Seath’s experiment quite yet.”

Siegmeye stood with the rattling of armour, hefting his zweihander. “Indeed! I had assumed that if you had directed us to wait beforehand, Lady Sif, then there must be a good reason for it.”

“Mm.” The sound was one of agreement. I, at least, felt it was a rather good one. “Under the stairs, in the bushes, I sensed a summon sign that felt as if it belonged to an Undead with some amount of magical power.”

One of the things that I was realizing, as I picked out the threads of summoning in the world, was that this was true. If you tapped the thread without pulling it, which was the closest comparison that I could make, you could actually feel a little of the temperament and skills of the Undead on the other end. I supposed that this was a version of what the Undead saw when touching a summon sign, though more simplified, a vision of the person who had scrawled it that could inform you more or less what that person’s capabilities were. Tapping Witch Beatrice’s summon sign through the skein of magic created a feeling of magical power, of knowledge, of not particular strength. The other thing that interested me was the fact that Beatrice’s link didn’t pass through the walls of this world, instead feeding back from whence it came, though it felt… it wasn’t on the same plane, as my own signature? It was difficult to quantify in a way that felt like it made sense. I had a theory about this, one that I was going to field to Beatrice herself.

Celia seemed to perk up. “Oh, d’you want me to…?”

I nodded my assent. She levered herself up from the stair, stretching slightly and wincing as she worked out the kinks, then walked down the stairs and turned the corner behind the stairway. There was a rustling of bushes, which I assumed to be her searching, then an ‘aha!’ of victory. A bit more rustling, and then I heard the sound that plays when you accept a summon sign. Observing the thread of summoning through the magic even as I watched closely, I felt the person on the other end tugged through the aether until they aligned with our plane. And then, the sound of a summon appearing.

“Hrm.”

The voice was definitely feminine, high and distinguished. Just listening, I would pin her in her thirties or forties physically, though I knew the Undead were ageless as long as they had purpose driving them. I wondered how much Humanity Beatrice had in her, soft or otherwise.

“Another Undead to challenge the Moonlight Butterfly? Excellent. Come, I’ll tell you what you can expect from it, and we can face it togeth-”

At this moment, Beatrice turned the corner around the stairs. I caught a glimpse of her face, impassive, though with a touch of eagerness, right before she saw me. And, the moment she did, she froze. Calmly, I stared back at her, looking over her robes and pointed hat, as well as the wand and catalyst she clung to. She merely blinked at me, then, after a few long moments, edged back under the stairs to where Celia was still no doubt standing.

“That’s… that’s the Great Grey Wolf Sif.”

“Well, yes.”

“I didn’t- I wasn’t intending to fight her, not for a while- why is she here!?” There was a note of desperation in Beatrice’s voice. Celia just sounded uncertain.

“Ah, well, it’s… she just decided to leave her post. Felt dissatisfied apparently.”

“Dissatisfied!?” Beatrice let out a laugh that sounded just this side of completely hysterical. “Dissatisfied! And just- Sif hasn’t left her arena since I set up shop in this tower! I’ve been here some time, helping out any Undead who pass, trying to figure out the Butterfly’s abilities, and Sif hasn’t budged an inch, and now you tell me that she’s just up and left her arena because she was, what, bored!?”

“Well, I mean, I wouldn’t put it quite like that…” Celia replied, sheepishly.

There was a long moment of silence, then Beatrice poked her head around the stairs, using her wand to push up the brim of her hat and squinting at me. When I didn’t immediately go for her head, she half stepped out of the leeway of the stone structure, though she kept a hand on it and seemed to be ready to dive behind it in a moment. Which was silly, she was a phantom and was incurring no risk even if she started jabbing me in the nose with her magic stick, but it did amuse me.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

I shrugged. “Not unless you attack me, Witch.”

She mulled this over for a moment, then nodded and stepped fully out, examining me closely. I looked her up and down again, frowning slightly as something occurred to me about her… she was here, and her summon sign was, but wasn’t she- ah, right, it also appeared outside the Four Kings fight. And then you find her set on a corpse. She was wary of me, exceedingly so. I wasn’t precisely sure how the boss fights worked vis-a-vis multiple Undead, given that each Undead that entered Lordran would have to be tested, but given that the bosses disappeared after you defeated them each and every time… I had a sneaking suspicion how the game design might relate to reality.

Still, though, she had pushed through all of Lordran to reach this place, may have attempted the Sif fight, but Sif is only necessary to beat for Artorias’ ring, which allows one to fight the Four Kings. In all likelihood, she could have ignored Sif, pushed through Sen’s to Anor Londo, fought Snorlax and Pikachu, then received the Lordvessel. In that version of events, she must have attempted to traverse the Abyss without the Covenant of Artorias, and fallen to it in the process. She might very well not have known about the Covenant in the first place.

“Your name?”

“Ah… Beatrice, Lady Sif. Witch.”

She winced as she realized that I had addressed her as such already, but I pretended to have not seen it. I remembered something about Beatrice not being Vinheim trained, and wondered if her title was related to that.

“Mm. I assume that you have not moved beyond Darkroot?”

“N-no? I don’t suppose so. What do you mean?”

Ah. It should have occurred to me that my understanding of game progression relative to Dark Souls wouldn’t necessarily communicate itself clearly to the people actually living within it, especially not those who had not gone through the events yet.

“Have you rung either of the Bells of Awakening?”

She nodded. “Both. The lower was definitely the more difficult of the two, however. Frampt had appeared, directed me to Anor Londo, but I wasn’t intending to make the ascent through Sen’s Fortress just yet. I wanted to puzzle out the abilities of the Butterfly before I did so- spellwork of such power would be very useful, going forwards.”

I nodded. So, she had access to Sen’s, though she had not pushed through it yet to Anor Londo. She hadn’t fought Sif. I wasn’t sure precisely of the timeline of events, but I didn’t need to be to get the gist of things. This was rather like Iron Tarkus, where, while the man was long dead and lying where the Painting Guardians had put his corpse after his fatal fall, the Undead of the future could still summon him because they weren’t aware of his death and the summon signs transcended time and space. Beatrice, in the proper order of Dark Souls events, had long ago faced the Four Kings and fallen to the Abyss without the Covenant of Artorias to protect her. However, here she was, still alive and whole. The miracles of magic. Heh.

“If I should make a suggestion for your path?” She hesitated, then made an affirmative gesture. “Breach Sen’s, find your way into Anor Londo, and reach the Duke’s Archives. There is stored the entirety of Seath’s works, all of his research. You are present in an earlier time, and we are to reach Anor Londo eventually regardless- we have questions for the gods, should they still sit their thrones.” They didn’t, but even knowing the answer to the question, there was too much in Anor Londo to pass up the trip. “Seath, should he be sane or not, ought to be avoided at all costs. Simply remain in the Archives, and one day, perhaps decades or mere months from your perspective, we will meet with you there.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed slightly, her grip on her magical implements shifting. “You want me to wait for you? I don’t know how long that will take.”

“Neither do I, but I am attempting to gather every sane being left in Lordran, and another sword- especially one so competent and knowledgeable about the ways of magic- is direly needed.” I gave her a wolfy sort of grin. “And besides, you hardly have anything better to do with the infinite time on your hands, hmm? Though…” I tilted my head up. There was something about- no, there it was. That could’ve turned out very bad. “I have heard rumours about Seath’s archival of knowledge driving magi mad. Perhaps it is from the revelation, perhaps from studying alone, or perhaps it is from purposeful traps that Seath placed on his store of knowledge in either moments of madness or cunning. I cannot know, but I will caution you all the same.”

Beatrice nodded, knuckles white around her catalyst. I imagined that she was rather horrified at the idea of trapped knowledge driving one insane; it was rather like being told that your computer could, at any time, rear up and attack you with no provocation or warning. Still, though, it was heartening to see that she took my warning seriously… though, really, there was no reason she shouldn’t. Seigmeyer took one look at her unsure stance, and stood.

“If that is all, Lady Sif?”

The words echoed a bit inside the tower, his voice starting Beatrice slightly. Celia, on the other hand, appeared to be used to it at this point- either that, or she’d just given up being surprised entirely as a bad job. A quick glance at her face said that it really could be either.

“That is indeed all, knight Seigmeyer. If you would like to match blows with the Moonlight Butterfly, then good luck to you.”

“Of course, milady! I certainly wouldn’t pass up the chance to fight such a magnificent creature!”

Indeed, Seigmeyer seemed outright eager, shifting his grip on his Zweihander. The edge of my mouth tilted upwards, and I gave him a respectful nod, which he returned in kind, then began treading up the stairs with Celia in his wake. Beatrice followed after them, gesturing with her wand as she explained how the Butterfly fought, what magic it used and how to avoid being hurt by it. I watched them go for a few moments, then withdrew my head from the door and shook the stone dust out of my fur.

Darkroot was quiet, with the enemies that inhabited this section dead, quiet enough that I could hear the tiny sounds of the start of a drizzle, hitting the leaves above my head and dripping down to the thick grass that grew wild across the forest floor. I tilted my head up, closing my eyes and feeling the little specks of wetness against my face and muzzle. I stood there for a long moment, listening to the soft rain and the faint sounds of Seigmeyer shouting something in his loud, boisterous tone. An explosion sounded, nearly deadened by the trees and the rain, but it was swiftly followed by an equally loud boom of laughter, triumphant. I smiled slightly to myself.

Perhaps, then, things would turn out alright.

I breathed out, then stepped away from the tower and began my walk through the woods. There was an heirloom of Artorias that I would like to retrieve from its resting place, if only to give it the honour it deserved instead of leaving it to rust and rot in the possession of some long dead adventurer.

I leapt to the top of the earthen wall that the tower that led to the Moonlight Butterfly was a part of. To my surprise, I found myself near level with the bridge, and watched as Beatrice raised her catalyst and prepared to throw a Soul Spear at the Butterfly. The magic struck it, and the entire creature shuddered and answered with a volley of its own, which the three Undead on the bridge avoided by ducking behind the small wall on the outside of the bridge. I noted that none of them were even scathed, and that the only spell-caused burn marks were on the bridge itself. I nodded, then stepped down and settled myself on the other side of the barrier.

The secret path that led around to this little ledge was circuitous, hidden by a living tree. Celia hadn’t picked up on the fact that it had existed, and Seigmeyer had been concentrated on fighting another “magnificent creature”- thus, the path remained blocked, and the secret wealth remained hidden.

I paused. Calling it a “living tree” was rather redundant, wasn’t it? Trees lived, it’s what they did, like any organism on the planet. In this case, would it be more appropriate to refer to it as an “animate tree”? Mm, perhaps. I’d have to suss out the proper language later- maybe never, considering that there were all of two of them in Lordran, and both of them were here. Perhaps they were an existent species out in the larger world? I’d have to ask. I made a mental note to do so at a later time, and filed it away.

Regardless, it meant that the Wolf Ring had not been disturbed from its resting place. I approached the ledge, and found, to my amusement, that it was about shoulder height for me. Gently, I raised my paw and touched the tiny band of silver that the corpse there had in its dessicated hand. It grew, as the other rings had, and I took it, slipping it over one of my toes.

I jerked, somewhat violently, and almost fell into the ravine between the two ledges. A rush of emotion- longing, anger, despair, mourning, sadness, regret, a practical storm of feelings washed over me all at once. Without explanation or reason, I suddenly wanted to howl, something I’d never done.

After a moment, however, I felt the ring’s magic link with my own, and I felt a wave of coolness sooth the riot of colours that had sought to drown me. If the emotions were an ocean, the ring was a mountain jutting out of it, steadfast and solid and unmoved by the waves, despite how they crashed against it. It cared not for the rage of the sea, its depth or its strength, it simply resisted it because it was.

And with it came another rush of images and feelings: a man in armour standing before a sword as large as he was, and shunting it to the side with sheer fortitude. A warrior meeting the charge of an animal head on, refusing to be moved, pushing back and matching its strength with theirs.

Poise, I thought, the wolf ring gives you poise.

Except even that didn’t feel accurate. The Wolf Ring gave you steadfastness in all regards, the ability to have all manner of storms break over you, only to find yourself unmoved when the skies cleared. I understood in a moment that Artorias had drawn strength from it, and perhaps this was the answer as to how he could have plumbed the Abyss without falling immediately. This was almost a physical expression of who he was, a will of steel with foundations of hard stone, a structure nothing could topple. Until, of course, it did.

There was wetness in my fur. Annoyed, I reached a paw up to my muzzle, then was startled to find my eyes wet. Had I been… crying? I blinked at the patch of damp fur on my leg, confused and unsettled. I hadn’t known where the emotions had come from, or why they’d had such an affect on me, or even where they’d gone after they’d finished breaking themselves over the bulwark of my mind, shored up as it was by the Wolf Ring.

Whatever these emotions were, I could only hope that they wouldn’t overcome me in a moment of desperation or vulnerability. I was fast and strong and durable, but there were things here in Lordran that could easily kill me, should I be unbalanced by a tide like I had felt now.

At least I have the ring to help now, I thought to myself, as I walked down the path and back towards the faint light of the bonfire.

It didn’t take long for the group of them to return from smiting the Butterfly into oblivion. Seigmeyer and Celia came back together, the large knight gesturing and speaking loudly as Celia walked by his side. She had her helmet under her arm, and smiled at the knight’s words, her lips moving in a reply that was quickly drowned out by a booming laugh.

I stood from where I had been laying in the clearing before the Crest door, and Celia went silent, her face showing the slight hesitancy that she always had when she saw me. Seigmeyer, on the other hand, had no such hangups, and immediately marched right up to me and gave me a bow.

“Lady Sif.”

“Knight Siegmeyer.” I flicked my eyes over the two of them, and the box that Celia held in the hand opposite her helmet, flickers of light shining through the open top. “I trust that your venture was a success?”

“Indeed, milady! ‘Twas a good fight, a magnificently beautiful thing indeed! Ah, the streaks of magic, the light shining through its wings... it was, aheh, quite magical, if an old adventurer might give his opinion of it.”

I inclined my head. “I can understand the feeling. Might I ask what you found beyond it? The Butterflies are a creation of Seath, like the Crystal Golems, and thus it may have been set to guard something.”

Celia hesitated, then held up the box containing the Divine Ember. I sniffed at it, once, and felt the power of the gods and their miracles flow through the thing. It was as if miracles had been given form, an embodiment through which they could work upon steel, iron, stone and wood, elevating even the rudest weapon into something… more.

“Ah… beautiful, really.” I drew my head back. “You mentioned a smith named Andre, yes?” Celia nodded, looking puzzled. “This, my dear Undead, is an Ember. Such things are powerful artifacts, few in number and difficult to craft, that allow a master smith to imbue a weapon with power beyond mere mortal steel. This one is aligned with the energies of the gods themselves, and will strike down many things that make themselves the opposite of the gods. Andre, if he is truly a master of his craft, may be able to use it as it was intended.”

Celia blinked, then looked at the thing in something like awe, carefully tucking it back under her arm. “Of course, L-Lady Sif. Thank you.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No, I don’t-” Celia stopped, then patted down the pouches attached to her armour, before drawing out a rusty key. “Ah, the dead blacksmith that had the Ember also had this on him. Figured that it might be useful for… something.”

“Hrm, let me see.” I leaned my head down again and examined it, then sniffed it. Immediately, I smirked: of course, I already knew where this key belonged, but the smell confirmed it. The boundary between the Undead Burg and Darkroot. “Ahah, yes… I know where this belongs. Come along.”

Celia glanced at Siegmeyer, who shrugged.

“There we are. Now, put the key in the lock.”

Celia stared at it. Then she looked back at me. Then back at the lock. Seigmeyer, for his part, simply stood there and shook with barely contained mirth, one gauntleted hand clamped to the front of his helm as if it would help him keep the laugh inside.

Slowly, Celia approached, and slid the key into the lock. A perfect fit, as I’d imagined, though it was obvious when she turned it that it had seen better days. Indeed, said better day was probably around… yesterday, if my guess was accurate. As she drew back the bolt slightly, as far as it would go, the lock fell right out of the slot that was holding it, the key slipping right out of her hand as the entire thing went ‘clunk’ on the empty stone doorframe.

Seigmeyer howled with laughter, doubling himself up. I simply smirked. Celia glared at the utterly trashed remains of the door that led to the base of the Undead Burg shortcut as if it had wronged her somehow.

“Come now, it was simply a joke! Lady Sif was attempting to lighten the mood, that was all- I’ve certainly done my part in many a group of adventurers myself, over the years.”

“I feel that you may have done quite a bit more than your part, knight Seigmeyer.” I said, a note of teasing under my voice. Seigmeyer let out a good-natured laugh.

“Perhaps, Lady Sif! But, truly, I believe that no man can provide too much levity. Good for the soul!”

Celia smiled a little despite herself, then quickly caught the expression and slipped back to frowning and pointedly not looking at either of us. Which, of course, simply provoked more of the combination of good-humoured ribbing and reassurances that Seigmeyer and I had been tossing her way since we’d left the shortcut.

Without a doubt, the fastest way back to the gargoyles was for the two of them to pass through Andre’s workshop, which was conveniently where they needed to go anyway to drop off the Ember. From there, they’d progress through the Chapel and climb to the Gargoyles, where they would summon me to assist in the battle.

To tell the truth, I wasn’t entirely sure how that’d pan out. I was large, yes, but given the amount of strength that I’d pushed through the link… I don’t know. Perhaps my summon ghost would come out smaller than my actual form? Though, even if it did, I rather hoped that the strength and speed remained. The only reason I was getting away with a lack of fighting style or real training in this body was because I had the brute strength and raw speed to do so. That had been painfully obvious, in practically every fight that I’d been in since waking up here. I would hate to be summoned, only to find out that I’d lost the advantages that made me capable of contributing to any efforts.

I stopped before the entrance to the little arena where the Titanite Demon had been slain. The two of them turned to me, some of the levity evaporating as they saw the serious expression that I took.

“Understand this, the both of you. You are skilled and strong and brave, of this I have no doubt, but the Parish presents threats that you must be wary of. If I know anything of Seath, and I would hazard that I do, he will have most likely placed a sentry of his own before the first bell, if only to guarantee himself a steady stream of captured Undead for his experiments. Watch for them, and for their magic- they are dangerous and wily, and will attempt to use any advantage they see.” I raised my head, looking up towards the Chapel, just visible through the fog. “I know not how the god’s test will function, nor do I know what enemies you shall face, but it will not be an easy fight, of that you can be assured. Take no more risks than necessary, and I will assist you in the end.” I bowed my head. “Good fortune, to both of you.”

They bowed back, Seigmeyer confidently straightening and turning, marching straight into the demon’s hall. Celia lingered for a few brief moments, then rushed to follow him, sliding her helmet on in the process.

“So much like children, aren’t they?”

I twitched, jerking my head to where Alvina lounged luxuriously in one of the trees that stood towards the walls that marked the boundaries of the hall’s exit. She looked lazily after the two of them, but I saw the veiled shrewdness in her gaze. I turned back to the doorway, hearing the echoes of their voices, my ears twitching in response.

“Perhaps. Celia most definitely, young and uncertain, but proving herself time and again.”

“Mm.” I could practically hear the stretch. “You seem to be leaning on that little Undead quite a bit, Sif. Are you certain she can take the weight?”

“I have no doubt. She would not have reached us, or faced me, if she did not have it in her to carry on regardless. With our Catarina knight by her side, and your Hunters, I suspect that she’ll see the halls of the gods by her own merits. She will not have to rely upon ours.”

“You have a high opinion of her.” I glanced at Alvina: she was giving me a deeply searching gaze, making no effort to hide it. I met it for a fraction of a second, then broke it and looked back.

“I think she’s deserved of it. Perhaps Gwyn and the holders of Lord Souls selected her, perhaps it was fate or destiny or what have you, but I feel that she has a part to play in Lordran, and she won’t stop until she’s played it.”

“Perhaps not even then.” Alvina stood, stretching again, then sauntered towards the path back. “Be careful keeping pets, dear Sif. Sometimes, if you don’t feed them, they might… bite.”

“That bite is what I’m looking for,” I replied, but Alvina was already gone.

I sat on my haunches, thinking about what she’d said. Alvina didn’t doubt Celia, I didn’t think- if anything, she might very well think that Celia had enough potential to be a threat, given her comment about pets and biting. But what did that mean? Was Alvina discouraging me from becoming too attached, in case Celia went hollow? Certainly, I could take it that way, but I suspected that, like near everything the cat said, there were more meanings than I was seeing. Perhaps Alvina was seeing something that I wasn’t, or perhaps she was simply warning of a potential for something that she’d witnessed. I didn’t know and couldn’t tell, at least for the moment, so I would have to wait and see.

I don’t know how long I waited there, ruminating, before I felt a tug on my very soul. It was… disturbing, like something was trying to suck me through a straw that was too small, like I was being compressed and yanked along like a toy. I held for a moment, more instinct than anything, then let myself go, the feelings of my body fading as I rode along with the pull.

I heard the summoning, and then I was there, blinking, standing in one of the high rooms of the chapel. Celia stood there, apprehensive look quickly fading to something both surprised and pleased as I came through… and, given that I was looking up at her instead of being squished into a too-small space and pressing her either into the floor or against the walls, I was rather pleased as well. I glanced around, nodding to Siegmeyer guarding the door, who nodded back respectfully.

We were in one of the two small square rooms with doors on either end of the Channeler’s room. Windows on the right hand wall looked outwards on the bridge that circled around to the right side of the chapel, and, looking through them, I noted that I could catch just a glimpse of the green and grey of Darkroot. I stretched, much like Alvina had done, then looked down and examined myself.

I looked much the same as I had before I’d been summoned, though markedly smaller, and I noted that there was some element of… insubstantiality to me. My fur, already silver, now seemed to glow slightly from the insides of each follicle. Physically, I didn’t feel any different- though perhaps I was lighter? Hm. I shuffled in place, then hopped, and was surprised when I nearly went as Celia’s head- who, for her part, jerked back when I did so.

“Ah… apologies. I’ve never had this done to me before, being summoned, and it’s a… rather unique experience.” I looked up at Celia, who crouched slightly to bring her face to my level. “I admit, having to look up at you is a rather novel experience on its own.”

“I could say the same for you, Lady Sif! Having to look down at you without your head stuck through a door far too small for the rest of you is very odd, I must admit!” Seigmeyer, cheerful as ever, spoke up from the doorway.

I shook myself from head to paws, then walked out through the doorway, Seigmeyer carefully stepping out of my way. The room beyond was filled with a variety of the most basic Hollows, the exact ones the Channeler swarms you with the moment you start coming at him. The guy must’ve had something like undead rapport, in order to get that close to and control that many Hollows, but I didn’t think that I’d be getting an answer for how he’d done it. After all, that was his body- or, at least, bits of it- lying on top of a pile of Hollow corpses against one of the walls. I nodded in approval. Seigmeyer kicked at the Channeler’s bits with a noise of disgust.

“You were right, milady, dirty bastard- pardon my language- was waiting here to capture any Undead he could. Tried to get those Hollows to swarm us, but not to worry, nothing that I haven’t dealt with in many a dungeon before!” He laughed, and I nodded again.

“Does this mean…?” Celia asked, hesitant, and I nodded.

“The only thing left now is to face whatever test the gods have left in our path, and ring the Bell of Awakening.”

Celia nodded, grim more than anything else. Seigmeyer shifted the grip on his Zweihander’s hilt, eager to see what test the gods had arranged to determine our worth, and his specifically. Part of me wondered if he actually had to fight his way past the gargoyles in canon, or if he simply followed in the path of the Chosen Undead as they unlocked all the sections of the game that he showed up in.

And, of course, every bit of that dignity and bravado lasted exactly until I found myself staring up at the ladder that led to the roof. Both of them stared up the ladder, then looked back at me, and though I couldn’t see their faces through their helmets, I could just feel the grins plastered all over underneath their visors.

I didn’t whimper. I would need as much dignity as I could hold on to.

“Well!” Celia said, then paused. “That… worked.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I growled.

“Ah, but surely, milady, the graceful ascent-”

“I don’t. Want. To talk. About it.”

Thankfully, and entirely because it was necessary and not because I marched us right up to it, we didn’t have to, as Celia examined the fog wall that blocked the roof exit. Gently, she poked and prodded at it. The fog itself rippled like liquid at her touch, but she seemed more resigned than disturbed. That, at least, I could attribute to her earlier encounters with similar walls on different boss areas.

I stretched out towards the wall, and found myself… reduced? Yes, reduced slightly, as if I was stretching more than I had to before to read its magical nature. Still, though, I could make it out- a marker, a divider, a… flag? Yes, this was actually something linked to a wider network of things. I realized in a moment that this must be how Frampt and Kaathe tracked the Chosen Undead’s progress through Lordran, by feeling the ripples in this sort of magical sensor network. I had no doubt that this was set up to tell someone exactly how far along an Undead was towards the First Flame, though who that person was and what purpose they’d had in mind was a mystery. Such things weren’t written into the magical network that this was but a node of, though…

I concentrated, quashing specific parts of the spellwork, reporting how many people and who came through the doorway. Whoever was reading the output of the sensor, I didn’t want them to know that I was here.

“I suppose this is the marker for the beginning of the test, such as it is.” Seigmeyer mused.

I blinked, pulled out of my reverie, then nodded in return, glancing at Celia. “Indeed. Through here lies whatever obstacle the gods have decided to place in our way, to test whether the Undead seeking to toll the bell is worthy of doing so. Whatever it might be, it will be difficult, and dangerous, but not insurmountable.”

“Well… there is one more summon sign, I suppose? It’s… golden.”

Celia stepped to the side, as much as you could on this narrow strip, and frowned at a patch of ground that- as far as I could see- was blank. Gold-? Oh, Solaire! Yes, he did have a summon sign here, didn’t he? I’d forgotten it, I was so focused on the eventuality of fighting the gargoyles. It would most likely be an excellent idea to summon him, honestly, irregardless of our current party makeup. Solaire was always an excellent addition, and if I intended on averting the entire Sunlight Maggot happening, then it was necessary anyway.

“Golden? A sunlight warrior, perhaps. They pride themselves on cooperation and assisting those with difficult tasks to complete. They, whomever they are, will be quite welcome.”

Celia nodded, crouching down and placing her hands on a part of the floor that, to me, looked no different than the rest. Interesting, that, that the Undead could see the summoning signs and I could not. Was that a result of my being a summon myself, or was it a result of my not being dead? The magic of the soapstones was at least partially linked to that of the First Flame, which is what allowed it to network Undead across time and space, so it might very well be that my connection to the bonfires was altogether too tenuous, if it existed at all, for the magic to work through me as intended. Even my summoning here was my own doing, piggybacking on the network rather than actually being a true part of it.

The sound of a successful summon interrupted my musings, and I focused back in as Solaire’s golden phantom rose out of the ground and settled on his feet, his arms raised in the iconic V. Celia immediately brightened upon seeing him.

“Knight Solaire!”

“Hm? Oh!” He stepped forwards, his hand falling easily on the Sunlight straightsword at his side. “Young Celia! What a surprise, but a welcome one! It’s good to see you’ve pushed through thus far- I hope the Hollow knights in the rest of the Chapel did not give you too much trouble?”

Ah, what a familiar voice. He stood straight and tall, almost imposing, but something about him radiated a sort of warmth. Where Seigmeyer’s was the warmth of a hearth, promising easy friendship and camaraderie, Solaire’s was… I wasn’t quite sure how to express it. It shone forth like, well… the sun, I suppose, a clean and pure aura that felt something like how I imagined Sunlight miracles might feel. Like his very presence purified some of the rot of the Hollows from the very air, the wood itself under his feet repairing itself and filth burned away. This, more than any of the miracles of the Way of White or any other I’d felt glimpses of thus far, felt holy.

Seigmeyer bowed his helmet slightly, gauntleted hand making a quick gesture over his chest that I recognized as a polite martial greeting.

“Knight Seigmeyer of Catarina at your service, sir. I say that I’m very glad to make the acquaintance of a knight of the vaunted Sunlight order- I have not had the pleasure to fight alongside one of your number, but I cannot deny that I’ve heard the stories!”

“Indeed?” Solaire seemed surprised, but pleased, as he returned the gesture. “Well, I am truly glad to hear that word of our order’s deeds has spread to the ears of at least a few. I fear the god’s moratorium on those that choose to join us means that we have no songs of our own, sadly, but I am very satisfied to hear that our deeds speak for us.”

“Ah, they do! I know few stories of those of Sunlight, but would be glad to share them with you, should you happen to need a flagon of ale and a fire to sit beside for a time.” You could practically feel the smile radiating through Seigmeyer’s helm. “Whatever stories I have are yours, if you wish to hear them, and I am always looking for another tale to add to my vast collection!”

“I shall have to see what I can do about accepting your gracious offer, knight Siegmeyer. Companionship is a rare luxury in these lands, and I would be remiss to let this chance at it pass me by.” he turned his head to me. “And what is this? Did you…?” He paused, then leaned closer. “Is-? Well, now, what a shock! Is this the Lady Sif that I’ve heard tell of?”

I blinked at him. I hadn’t expected… Solaire knew of Sif? That truly made me wonder about Solaire’s past, if he knew things that, by all right, should have passed into the dust of history long ago.

“I am. And I feel that I am as surprised as you were, that someone has heard of me. I had thought myself nearly forgotten in this faded age.”

“Ha!” The laugh was jovial, and resounded inside Solaire’s cylindrical helm. “I suppose we’re both old legends, then.”

I frowned at that turn of phrase, but before I could ask a question, Solaire had already turned to Celia.

“So. You are ready to face the god’s challenge, then?”

She hesitated, then seemed to root herself in the floor, nodding decisively. I looked on in fascination- Solaire, for lack of a better term, seemed to inspire something in her. Come to think of it, Solaire was probably the first person you met in Lordran that appeared to be both entirely sane and very competent. He even mentors the Chosen Undead before they try to cross the bridge. If I were to guess, Celia must have latched onto him at least a little.

“Well, now, if we’re all ready, let’s go on out and face it! Not that it’ll be any match for the likes of us, hah!”

Seigmeyer slapped the belly of his armour good-naturedly. Solaire nodded, gesturing Celia forwards. When she looked to me, I gave her a nod, then slid in at her heels. The Undead steadied herself, breathing in and out, then stepped through the fog wall. I followed right behind.

The barrier was cold, but it was almost pleasant, refreshing. It was only an instant, however, before I passed through directly behind Celia, who clutched her sword in one hand and the Grass Crest shield in the other, helmet turning this way and that, scoping out the roof before her. I fell in to her right, eyeing the statues on the roof before turning my attention to the ones on the tower above. Seigmeyer followed behind me, his Zweihander gripped tight in his hands as he moved to Celia’s left, forming something of a line that was completed by Solaire, Sunlight sword and shield in his hands. Our heads jerked upwards and we stopped in our tracks at the sound of shifting stone.

The gargoyle stretched its wings wide from its perch on the tower, looking down at us all. It roared at the sky, stretching out the halberd it held in one hand, then leapt from the plinth. For a moment, it silhouetted itself against the sun, wings and limbs outstretched, and then it brought them close and dove into the roof, shaking the entire building. It stood on all fours like an animal, a predator, its bladed tail lashing across the roof and scraping sparks against the tiles, and the four of us, as one, prepared to meet it.

Chapter Text

There was a moment where everything hung in the balance. We faced forwards, the four of us together as one, half phantom and half flesh and blood. Against us stood the one gargoyle, powerful and dangerous, tail like a halberd, skin like stone, glowering at us with tiny, beady black eyes. The moment hung by a string, fragile and just barely there. And then, Seigmeyer’s armoured boot shifted slightly against the tile, and the spell was broken.

The creature zeroed in on me in an instant, perhaps picking out which of the four of us it thought the weakest, and darted forwards with a flap of its grey wings. It swung its tail like a weapon, spinning in the air to give it deadly momentum. I darted around the strike, the stony axe-like blade sparking against the tiles as the gargoyle bellowed in fury. Its attention was quickly taken away, however, as Ceilia struck against its stony hide, her blade carving a cut with a horrendous rasping noise that dripped fluid that was such a dark red it was nearly black. It swept its gigantic wings at her, but she rolled away, Elite Knight armour clattering against the tiles.

“The tail! Slice it off, deprive it of its weapon!” I shouted, darting in and slamming my shoulder into its gut.

To my relief, I appeared to have kept my strength, as it was sent skipping across the roof, shattering tiles in its wake and causing the chips to rattle. It screeched, clawing for a grip and barely stopping itself from falling off the side of the roof. I wondered if it could truly fly, or if it just glided, then dismissed the thought. Something demanded I growl in return, and, to my surprise, the force of the sound rattled the roofing around me, as if I’d still been my true size. Some little part of the power in my avatar flowed out, and the three others shifted, tightening their grips around their weapons.

“Aye, milady!”

Seigmeyer yelled in return, his voice jubilant and excited, charging forwards with his zweihander on his shoulder, only to stop himself hard and throw the weight of his armour into a roll to one side as the gargoyle swept at him with stone claws. I winced as they bounced off part of his armour, but the faithful Catarina steel held. It turned to track him with a frustrated growl, raising the halberd for a sweep, only to catch a bolt of lightning to the side of its head. It let out a high-pitched screech of pain, just in time for another bolt to blast bits of stone off of its shoulder. Solaire readied a third, his shield ready.

“Now, knight Seigmeyer! I will keep the beast’s attention!”

“My thanks!”

Seigmeyer hefted his sword, edging out of the beast’s line of sight. It began to turn, following the motion, but snapped its attention back as Solaire struck it with another bolt. It held up the weapon in its claw, preparing to charge the Sunlight knight, but before it could, Seigmeyer darted forwards with speed that belied the bulk of his armour and the weight of his sword, bringing the long blade down in a thunderous blow. The weapon sheared straight through the gargoyle’s tail with a shower of sparks, and the thing roared and thrashed, sending Seigmeyer stumbling back in its flailing with a backhanded blow from its halberd. In a moment, Celia was by his side, steadying him.

“Ah! My thanks! I would have been quite annoyed to miss the rest of this particular slaying, haha!”

Celia nodded to him in return, seemed about to say something, but both looked back as the gargoyle focused on them, rage and hatred radiating from it. The knight and the warrior Undead dodged in different directions as the monster brought its weapon down on the surface, sending more tile shards exploding every which way. Seeing my chance, I ran forwards, leaping onto the thing’s back and sinking my teeth into its neck. The skin was abrasive and uncomfortable, but the scream it made was one of pain, so I had to be doing something right. Despite its stony toughness, my teeth sank through it, drawing forth a gout of blood that tasted of dust and stone. It attempted to shake me off, but I held firm, even as it threw itself this way and that.

From the corners of my eyes, I noted Solaire preparing another lightning spear, angling himself for a good shot once I was out of danger. Seigmeyer circled the beast as we tangled ourselves together, adjusting his grip and watching carefully for an opening. Celia, whose weapon was the most fine and accurate of the three, ran in from the side, slipping her shield over her back with practiced ease and placing her gloved left hand on the pommel of her blade. Her armoured boots rattled the pottery roofing of the chapel, and the gargoyle attempted to turn its helmeted head towards the noise, but I simply sunk my teeth deeper and wrenched its head to the side, getting another keening wail for my trouble.

Celia struck with all her might, swinging her sword down on the arm that held the long pole the gargoyle used for sweeping and smashing. The blade hacked at the limb, nearly parting it entirely from the shoulder, and calling forth a gout of the dark red blood and another scream of pain. She made a frustrated grunt, just loud enough to be heard over the beast, and struck again. This time, the sword sliced through what remained, leaving the stony-skinned arm to slam into the roof, halberd still in hand. The gargoyle screamed and made to throw itself onto its back: at the last moment, I leapt from my perch, tearing a chunk from the thing’s neck in the process. Pawsteps took me away from the creature, which cratered the roof as it threw itself into a roll, a move that would’ve smashed me between it and the tiles had I clung to its neck. I spat out the foul-tasting chunk of neck flesh and growled again, moving to Celia’s side.

The creature turned again, focused on me, its legs bunching to push it forwards- only to be stopped once again by a bolt from Solaire, leaving a glowing crater in the center of its chest. Seigmeyer charged forwards, attempting to impale it with his zweihander, much as he’d done one of the hydra’s heads, but it flapped its wings and moved itself away. Seigmeyer brought himself to a halt, then stepped backwards quickly, dodging another swipe of its claws. We readied another assault, but before we could do anything, it scurried farther down the roof.

As we watched, taking up something like our original positions, it raised its helmeted head towards the belltower and howled. The others made to move forwards, but-

“Hold!” I barked. “The creature is summoning another of its kind, be ready!”

The other three didn’t even glance at me. Seigmeyer and Solaire kept their gaze carefully on the gargoyle, making distance from the rest of us, the Sunlight warrior still gripping his talisman. It appeared that he’d decided to make himself ranged with miracles, compensating for the close-range fighters he’d found himself fighting besides. I felt a flash of appreciation for the considerable experience that the veteran knight must have, to make such a flash judgement of capabilities: he rounded out our little group of swords and claws quite nicely. My attention was pulled away, however, with the shifting of stone against stone.

The second animate gargoyle at the top of the tower shifted in place, turning to glare down at us and its wounded brother. With a flap, it was in the air, and we dove out of the way as it sought to crush us with its stony form, slamming itself into where we’d been.

“Celia, with me! Knight Seigmeyer, Lady Sif, remove the foul creature’s head!” Solaire shouted above the racket, sounding clear even through the slight reverberation of his helmet.

I nodded to Celia, and she hesitantly nodded back, before running to join the Sunlight knight towards the tower, where he was harrying the damaged gargoyle with bolts and attempting to pin it in place. I turned to the new threat just in time to see it winding up a strike. I jumped to one side, huffing in aggravation as the monster’s weapon sent up a cloud of fired clay dust. It made to leap at me, but was interrupted by Seigmeyer’s zweihander, which it just managed to deflect with its wing, leaving a long rent in the stone as it retreated. Siegmeyer let out a bellowing laugh, easily shouldering his blade again and stepping to my side.

“We find ourselves side by side again, Lady Sif. Truly, we must stop meeting this way!”

I huffed. “Oh, please, knight Seigmeyer, as if you’d have it any other way.” He laughed his agreement, and we circled the gargoyle in different directions.

Unlike the first time, we didn’t have the luxury of Solaire’s bolts to keep it distracted from Siegmeyers’ blade. The creature angled itself, attempting to keep both of us within its field of vision, but obviously focusing on Siegmeyer. I could wound the things, knock them off-balance or bully them about with my strength, tear chunks out of them, but I lacked the ability to remove their limbs or kill them quickly without the advantage of sheer size. Perhaps, I reflected, Sif had been on to something, even despite how ridiculous wielding a sword in your mouth seemed to me.

Still, the thing was not a patient fighter. Not content to simply sit there and wait for us to make a move, it made the same mistake its fellow did: assuming that I was the weaker, and easier to remove, target. Its tail swept at me in a horizontal stroke, which I easily cleared with a jump, running forwards and slamming my front paws right between its wings as it struggled to recover from its tail missing. It screeched as stone skin shattered under the force of the blow, and I pushed myself off with a growl as it swung its halberd through the space I had just occupied, deflecting the stone weapon off its own wings in a shower of sparks as it did. Seigmeyer was out of position for a swing at the tail, but swung at the thing anyhow, scoring a deep wound in one shoulder as it quickly shuffled back. It threw itself backwards, causing me to curse and dart out of the way. Instead of going back watching us, however, it immediately threw itself into the air, then brought itself down, all its weight and strength focused behind the shaft of its halberd as it attempted to spear Siegmeyer.

I opened my muzzle to call out and warn him, but I didn’t need to. As I watched, Siegmeyer actually PARRIED the halberd, drawing a screech of surprise from the creature as it deflected to one side, the tip embedding itself into the baked clay and the stone beneath. Before it could recover, Seigmeyer brought down his blade, severing one of its wings in a single stroke. Sensing an opening, I ran up and slammed myself into the arm holding its halberd, causing it to screech again as the arm shattered against my charge, leaving its weapon embedded into the roof as it stumbled back a few steps, clutching its mangled arm. I headbutted its chest before it could recover, sending it stumbling back again- which was just enough time for Siegmeyer to make his move.

With a roar that nearly matched the creature’s own, he brought his giant sword down with all his strength. The steel split the gargoyle’s helm in two, bisected down the middle, but even that was not enough to stop the sheer force behind the blade. Indeed, it didn’t stop until it was at the bottom of the creature’s neck, where Seigmeyer grunted, drawing it out with a gout of the deep red blood that splashed itself across the tiles. The body twitched and thrashed in its death throes, growing weaker by the moment, and as one, both I and the knight turned our attention towards the belltower.

Fortunate we did: just in time, we looked to see Celia let out a cry of victory, plunging her sword through the first gargoyle’s chest. Immediately, she braced an armoured boot against the thing’s stony hide, yanking the blade out of its chest cavity with a similar fountain of blood, before bringing it up and then down again in a decapitating strike. The sword nearly severed the head, leaving it to flop and gurgle against the rooftop as she drew back for another blow, bringing it down from on high with something like a warcry.

“Ah, but they do grow up so fast, don’t they?” I could hear the obvious pride in the old knight’s voice, and I couldn’t help but agree. I had been worried about her, but now… I didn’t think I needed to be.

The four of us watched as the bodies dissolved into mist that divided itself between us, settling the power of souls within ourselves. Solaire turned to us, and despite his helm, I could feel the beaming smile behind the faceplate just from the warmth it radiated.

“An excellent showing! What jolly cooperation! I have to say, that was quite exhilarating, haha!” He glanced at his hand, and I noted that it was turning more transparent, the power of the summon sign that had called him fading away as he was returned to whence he came. I could feel myself being pulled away as well, my paws becoming clear. “Ah, but unfortunately, it seems my time is up. Ah, well- long may the Sun shine!” He raised his arms in the iconic pose, and Celia reciprocated, Seigmeyer settling for a marshal salute.

“Before I fade, I must tell you one more thing.” The two turned their attention to me, Solaire entirely gone. While I was fading, I could dam the flow of power, keep myself here for a few moments longer to relay a message- a warning. “I sense the power of gods about- not directly, but the power of a representative… of Velka. Perhaps a Pardoner. Be cordial, for the representative of a god is a powerful one indeed, but step carefully, and do not trust them. I know not what such an underling of Velka could want, and it is best that we let well enough alone, for now.”

Celia seemed confused, but Seigmeyer nodded gravely.

“Aye, milady. Velka’s followers are a thing to be wary of. Justice is never our enemy, but sin is something else entirely.” he turned his helmeted head towards the tower. “After all, who knows if a follower of Velka’s definition of a sin will fall in line with ours?”

I felt a stirring of surprise. Was Velka known to be a fickle goddess, in the world outside of Lordran? Implied to be a rogue goddess she might be, but I didn’t know that the reputation was so entrenched as to be widely known… though, then again, this was Siegmeyer saying this. If anything, I should be more surprised that he hadn’t met a Pardoner already. Then again, given his obvious distrust, maybe he had.

“Good luck, then. Hopefully, I shall see you soon.” I nodded one last time, then allowed myself to fade.

I inhaled slightly as I came back to myself, lying in the grass at the entrance to the Titanite Demon’s hall, and back to what was now my normal size. I inhaled the scent of damp plantlife and mist, pushing myself to my paws and stretching, letting out a huge yawn. As I stood, I considered the ways that I might interfere with Lordran at large.

Access to Anor Londo was going to be very difficult without the ‘in’ that defeating Sen’s Fortress would give our little party- and besides, there was somebody else that I wanted to talk to before we headed upstairs. I narrowed my eyes and made a wolfy frown. Nito was inaccessible at this time, being that his little boss arena and the cult that worshipped him sat behind a barrier that only came down after the Chosen Undead applied Lordvessel to bonfire. Most of the big players that I might be able to make overtures towards were upstairs, in the throne of the gods. Though… I turned myself around in the tiny clearing, barely big enough for my to move around, and started walking down the path. Wracking my brain for any alternatives, I could think of three big ticket items that were currently accessible to me.

The first was Oolicile, which was a huge can of worms that I both did and didn’t want to open. If I wanted to fix the First Flame’s fuel consumption issues, then the Dark-infested city, home to what was left of the Furtive Pygmy, would be vital towards that goal. This, of course, was also ignoring the fact that the place no doubt had a plethora of lost magics and lore that I could dig out. Of course, this came with some pretty huge caveats, that being ‘time travel’ and the fact that Sif being there in the past was something of a plot point. I had absolutely no idea how a younger Sif would react to me, and I really didn’t want to know how such an interaction could influence the events of my past and her future.

The second was Quelana. The pyromancer was most likely the easiest to both access and deal with, given that she was simply sitting out in the open, and would gladly talk to anybody with enough pyromancy to see her, while she whiled the time away outside of her sister’s fortress and prison. There… was also the fact that I felt no little amount of empathy for the Fair Lady, who was in the position she was in because she’d done something incredibly selfless and brave. Incredibly stupid, but brave. The point being that she didn’t really deserve to sit there behind an illusionary wall, wasting away, slowly fading. Should we have access to Oolicile, and the limitless stores of Humanity there… it might be something that we could alleviate, even, potentially, fix entirely. Should I at least lighten the Fair Lady’s burden, the surviving children of the Witch of Izalith would most likely feel indebted to me, which was no small thing. Pyromancy was the foundation of much of sorcery, being a more primal version of it, and chaos magic was undeniably powerful if used correctly.

The third was, admittedly, a two-parter. There were two Black Knights in the Undead Burg: the one guarding the chest just before the stairs up to the bridge, and the second the one standing atop the tower just before the Chapel. If they were as amenable as the one I’d already met, then they would be perfectly willing to hear me out should I either approach them myself, or have their comrade do it for me. Which… was most likely a better plan than doing it myself. Size aside, the Black Knight I’d spoken with would make a much better case to those she actually already knew, rather than me having to fumble my way through two more conversations with things that could kill me.

But, these were relatively short term goals.

I clicked my neck, then walked down the path deeper into Darkroot. In the short term, I needed to gather as many allies to myself as possible, on the assumption that once they caught wind of what I was up to, the other gods might come rushing back to contest my claim to the seat of power in Lordran. Because I was most definitely going to levy a claim for it; Gwyndolin, loyal though he was, was perhaps too much, sticking to his father’s plans to the letter and not actually reaching for some other way out of their predicament. So, I was going to make a claim, and I needed as much power behind me as I could manage in order to make that claim stick.

In the longer term, all of this was in service to one goal and one goal alone: prevent the First Flame from needing sacrifices for stoking. Each time the Flame was kindled once again, it came back a little weaker, not to mention that more and more of the world was burned away. As I’d seen, this had gotten to the point that, in Dark Souls 2, the very cyclical narrative that was Gwyn and his allies had collapsed in on itself and had no longer functioned as it should, though that might partially have been from the interference of the four queens. Irregardless, I didn’t want that, and I didn’t want to live in a doomed world so long as I thought I could do something about it.

The First Flame itself was an issue. A near insurmountable one, to be sure, but it was still a problem, and it might have a solution. The studies of those in Dranglaic were far too late to produce meaningful results, but here? Before the second kindling of the First Flame? Everything was powerful, strong, primal, not so set in the ways of slow but steady decay. The Flame was perhaps slightly dimmer than it had been when Gwyn had first found it, deep underground, but it was still brighter than it was in later, faded ages. If there was a time to discover another path, another way, this was it. But in order to do that… I needed the most powerful swords, the most brilliant minds, and I needed them gathered to my banner as soon as I could get them. As the Flame wound down, it appeared that time itself acted strangely in Lordran, and I suspected that we were experiencing everything in more or less a frozen moment. Time itself both passed and didn’t pass, the entirety of causality from when the Flame began needing a second kindling to however it ended, essentially a large ball of time, where it was possible to move between the parts freely.

I suspected that this might be why multiple different Undead encountered the same enemies, and why enemies that really shouldn’t be restoring themselves did. We were disconnected, somewhat, drifting in time and anchored only by the fading Flame. If this theory was true, this explained why Oolicile was accessible, and why Undead from across the timeline could speak and interact as if they were sharing the same space, and how even those that had already fallen could be called forth as allies in battle.

Iron Tarkus definitely goes on the list. If I can encourage Beatrice to change her intended path, and thereby her destiny, then I can potentially convince Tarkus to camp out somewhere between Sen’s and Anor Londo. Given how famed of a warrior Tarkus was, I had no doubt that he would be a vital addition to our rag-tag little gang.

I reached the clearing before the bonfire alcove and laid down with a huff.

The stone dragon, potentially the last of the truly immortal dragons, was one thing where I would have to be wary about my approach. They truly seemed not to care for anything or anyone, not even bothering with the Chosen Undead when they sliced off its tail for the weapon contained within, most likely because it would grow back anyway. The incredible being, older than time itself, was completely and totally immortal, untouched by the passage of time and the fading of the Flame. Should my attempts to reignite the Flame in a permanent sense fail, there were two alternatives that I could think of: a painting made with the blood of the Dark Soul, not even bothering with the existent painting, and the attempts at the Dragon Monastery to take humans and transform them into true dragons. Sure, a return to a world of fog and trees and a lack of change, a lack of dichotomy entirely, would very much be the final option, but it was a better option than a world burned to ash… or, if what occurred in Oolacile held true, an Age of Dark. And besides, just because people became true dragons didn’t mean that the world had to return to that which it was before the First Flame. Irregardless, the dragon would be a powerful ally, or at the very least an incredibly useful guide for implementing draconic evolution in humans, without producing the same twisted souls that the Dragon Monastery did.

I stared into the flame, then twitched with a start. Griggs of Vinheim! Not even mentioning his master, the genius Logan himself, Griggs was an interesting case. If the implications of his armour set held true, then he was a part of a secret society within Vinheim, sorcerers experimenting with sound. The guess that I remember was that he’d been sent to keep tabs on Logan, but now I wonder if he hadn’t been sent to have a crack at the Duke’s Archives to see if Seath hadn’t tried to develop something along the same lines as their little group. Eventually, like many, he ended up hollow and the player character has to put him down. Well, if I can prevent the deaths of Tarkus and Beatrice, then I don’t see why I can’t do the same for Griggs: for one, he’s a capable sorcerer and researcher in his own right, and for another, his discipline sounds both interesting and different. Irregardless, he served as an escort for Logan, though not a very good one if a bunch of thieves ended up locking him away in a room with… another dead sorcerer. Hm.

Still, though, his group had most likely had a hand in a number of sound-based spellwork, such as the Hush sorcery or the Slumbering Dragoncrest ring. That sort of work… I didn’t know what it would be useful for, couldn’t think of anything specifically, but it denoted some real mastery of spellwork and enchanting. Griggs would be handy in an all hands on deck manner, in the end.

There was one last individual within the Undead Parish, however, the bastard. The follower of Fina, knight Lautrec. Now, the only question in that case was when he should be killed, before his murder or after. I could hardly accuse the man of being a decent enough person to not murder; if the amount of Humanity he drops when he’s killed is any indication of his prior actions, he had definitely murdered before, perhaps repeatedly. And he doesn’t seem the sort of man to be shy about murdering again, considering his most famous (and only directly known) crime. I mean, there might be some implication that he did something to Petrus, but considering said party, I can’t really bring myself to feel sorry for him.

That… is assuming that he’s even there. If what Ceilia said was at least somewhat accurate, Oscar hasn’t fallen to despair and Hollowed, and doesn’t seem likely to in any quick order. Siegmeyer was here, to be sure, but I can’t help wonder if we’re where I think we are on the timeline. Or… perhaps we have a situation where there aren’t just Undead arranged up and down the timeline, but parallel as well? Is time so malleable here at the waning of the Second Age of Fire that it allowed the world to branch out into a multitude of different parallels with different Undead heading the events? I wasn’t sure what was so different between the ‘canon’ of the game, where Oscar Hollows and Sif isn’t, well… me, and this series of events.

Ugh. My efforts to permanently put the brakes on the Cycle are going to be complicated enough without my meta-knowledge being questionable. At least I knew for certain that Fina was not one of the gods that I wanted to be involved with, in any sense.

I narrowed my eyes at the bonfire, gently warding off the tiny golden thread that attempted to draw my… me, into the time dilation effect.

I had a theory. In the game proper, the Chosen Undead doesn’t have access to bonfire teleportation until they reach Gwynevere and receive the Lordvessel from them. At that point, Dark Souls stops becoming a press forwards through various bosses and opens up, with the following bosses at the ends of various areas.

However, this wasn’t the game. The Lordvessel was not a piece of game design, but an actual magical artefact. The question, of course, was thus: did the Lordvessel, in and of itself, create the teleportation between certain bonfires? Or was that network active the entire time, and the Lordvessel essentially allowed the Chosen Undead to fake the soulstuff to let them into the system?

From my earlier observations, I’d quickly realized that every existent bonfire was, in essence, an ember of the First Flame that had been called and pinned in a physical location. Not an incredible revelation, though one that definitely confirmed my suspicions. This, of course, mattered for a very good reason: as it was still a piece of the larger First Flame, it had never lost that connection. The network of bonfires was there, in the background, constantly active- the Lordvessel just allowed the Chosen Undead to access the network.

There was nothing like that restriction for me, or if there was, I’d never noticed. Perhaps it was just a matter of permissions, but I suspected that it was a difference between my somewhat-divine soulstuff and the more mortal makeup of your typical Undead. I wouldn’t know for certain until I got my hands (paws?) on the Lordvessel, but if my theory was correct, the Lordvessel essentially allowed the Chosen Undead to mimic a divine soul and thus allow them access.

Reaching past the bonfire itself, I could feel… a link. The link that tied those in the radius of a bonfire to its inherent magics was thin and tenuous, but this was thicker, a red-gold line of heat that extended outwards towards… something that felt like the sun. Hot, bright, the fire of a world.

It was… it was like standing at the base of a skyscraper, and having to lean back to take it all in. It was huge and complex, powerful and preeminently just there in every sense of the word. I could… feel a little of it, tying the world together, lines of varying thickness from the slimmest thread to thick cables. Some of the beings felt… strong. Stronger than me, perhaps. I can recall something about the gods having directly plugged themselves into the Age of Flame, and being reliant on its continuation to survive, and I think this is what it meant. They were intrinsically linked to the First Flame, their power as much an extension of the Flame itself as it was their own.

Strangely, I could feel no such connection to myself.

I withdrew from the mass of light and heat, pondering that. I was linked closely to Artorias, and through him the divinity of Anor Londo, simply by existing as I was. Thus, if I was divine, as my theories guessed, then I should be linked into the Flame as the rest of them are, should I not? And yet, as far as I could tell, as far as I could feel, no such link existed. My power and my soulstuff was my own, and there wasn’t a lick of the Flame’s warmth about my internal makeup- Sif’s internal makeup.

Let’s… attack that from another angle. The effect of Hollowing is essentially a curse by the gods, to ensure the creation of a mortal champion, who, being anchored to this world, can die again and again in their quest for strength. The reason for this being, of course, that the person reaches a pinnacle of strength, and is subsequently fed into the First Flame to begin the next Age of Flame- slightly weaker and slightly dimmer than the ages that came before it. But Hollowing wasn’t just a curse that affected humans: those animals most closely caught up with humanity, with links to the human species that were engrained in their beings as a species, were pulled into the curse as well. Dogs and rats, most notably.

Dogs co-evolved with humans, at least in my world, and even if it didn’t quite happen that way here, the two still exist in a symbiotic relationship. So closely tied that they were essentially one and the same to the curse of Hollowing. Rats were vermin who spread with humanity, skulking about the edges of civilization, thriving in the castoff and refuse of human cities, being transported by their vehicles, fed by their food. So they, too, had a deep link to humans as a species, and thus the Hollowing spreads to them.

But… Sif isn’t. Perhaps because… Sif is a wolf, though one of divine proportions. The links between wolves and humanity are nonexistent: wolves cannot thrive in human living areas, and they exist entirely independent. Wild. Humans avoid wolves, shove them away both mentally and societally as uncontrollable predators. Did this mean that, while dogs Hollow, wolves cannot? It might very well be that humanity kept the wolves safe by complete accident, shoving them away metaphysically until there was no connection, no way for the First Flame to plug them in, no method for Hollowing to spread.

If… this was so, this meant that… all else failing, so long as I wasn’t killed, I could- potentially- survive the fading of the Age of Flame relatively intact. I might even be able to survive an Age of Dark, though I didn’t want to bet my odds on the Age of Deep Waters. Wolves, after all, are not amazing swimmers. Aheh. Great news for me, not so good for the rest of the world or its inhabitants.

There were some hints that an Age of Dark might not be so bad. The Furtive Pygmy put the Dark into motion, by spreading the Dark Soul across humanity and allowing the power to multiply as the human population grew, but I suspected that the First Flame had been reliant on the presence of the Dark Soul to keep itself going. Without its primary source of fuel, the Flame would slowly die, and the Age of Flame would one day come to an end, one way or another. Still, if I was recalling events correctly, there was some implication that the one occurrence of the Dark essentially rising up and pushing the Flame out of a section of humanity entirely, Oolacile, was caused by the Dark reacting violently to the presence of the First Flame. In the presence of the brightest light, the shadows deepen and dance. Just as the Flame rises to consume the Dark, the Dark rises to smother the Flame. Which was most likely the ying-yang balance that sustained both, before those that received Lordsouls at the beginning of the first Age of Flame unknowingly destroyed the balance by harnessing the First Flame and removing the Dark Soul from the equation.

So, okay, the Age of Dark might not be horrible… for humanity, and those species linked to them. Anything divine, however, will die with the First Flame, and the balance that sustains the world as it is will be permanently broken. Unless, of course, someone figures out how to spark the First Flame anew, in which case they’re either back where they started, or they return the Dark Soul to the First Flame, and we’re back in the Age of Ancients. The First Flame and the Dark give shape and form and life to the world, where everything existed in an eternal state of unformed stasis before. Until someone repeats the process, takes the Lordsouls from the First Flame again, and separates the First Flame and the Dark Soul, starting the Age of Flame all over again.

I flopped into a lying position, letting an exasperated breath out through my nose. There really wasn’t a good ending for this, if I just let events go as they will. Even in the case of the Age of Dark, I would have to assist the Dark Lord, whoever they were, in fending off every petty Undead that tried to relight the First Flame. As well as, most probably, every divine being on the planet.

So… what were my long term options?

The Age of Dark was… perhaps doable. It would be exceedingly difficult, given the forces that I would have to contend with. This is also assuming that my lack of connection to the First Flame would protect me: my lack of connection to humanity means that I’m incapable of Hollowing, but it might also mean that the Dark wouldn’t be kind to someone without a connection to it. A large scale gamble, with the world at stake. A last resort.

I could allow the continuation of the Age of Flame, the beginning of the third Age. This just lead to the problems of the series proper, with the world burning to ash. Though this did open up the option of one day, millenia from now, selecting a powerful Undead to usurp the First Flame, once it was weak enough to do so. Not… quite as much of a risk, owing to me knowing how it went right up to the end, but essentially futile and an incomprehensible waste of time and potential. Potentially tens of thousands of years of humanity trapped in an eternal cycle, stuck in the Middle Ages. I shuddered at the thought.

I could… find a way to extend the second Age of Flame indefinitely. Perhaps feeding Manus’ soul to the First Flame, with as much Humanity as I could gather in one place… that might be enough to kickstart the balance the First Flame existed in during the Age of Ancients, without actually sticking the world back in said Age.

There was one final way that I was sure of, that could be a method of escaping entirely, without resorting to becoming the dragons of a new Age of Ancients, allowing the Age of Fire to wind down, or jumpstarting the Age of Dark.

In Dark Souls 2, by gathering the crowns, one could escape the Cycle permanently. My memories of the process were somewhat hazy, given that I’d played through two less than one or three, but I think… Aldia. Shattering the yoke of fate. Something beyond the Flame, beyond the Dark, something… else. Other. But I didn’t even know if the conditions for such an outcome where met: for all I knew, the ability to shatter the yoke was something that was only allowed by the weakening of the First Flame and the Cycle, the loss of strength that meant that their Age of Flame’s Gwynn failed to fell Chaos.

Ah… I rather think Chaos was off the list. The thing was essentially impossible to control, as far as I knew, and its creations were mad beasts. Maybe I could feed the Chaos Flame to the First Flame, as Yhorm intended to do with the Profaned Flame? Actually, come to think of it, there wasn’t any indicator that the Profaned Flame didn’t exist. Something to watch out for, I think.

Whatever I did, I needed to talk to Patches. The man had… somehow transcended the Cycle, detaching himself from the Age of Flame and surviving the passage of millenia essentially untouched. If Demon Souls was part of the same timeline as Dark Souls, with one of its endings being the beginning of the Age of Ancients, then Patches was the last remnant of primordial humanity, something before the Dark Soul had shaped the species into what they were today. If… humans today were even the same thing as humans before the Age of Ancients, given that modern humans were essentially pygmies changed by the introduction of the Dark Soul.

Mentally, I moved Patches up the priority list. Even if he didn’t have any particularly useful information or insights, I still wanted him where I could see him. If he did have information, though, I suspected that it could shake this world to its core. For the moment, however, I pushed all that aside, and focused on the bonfire.

With no training and no way to really recognize what I was feeling outside of instinct, I was essentially blindly fumbling with the workings of one of the most powerful forces in the world. Which… rather made me nervous, now that I thought about it. Regardless, I could trace the threads and ropes, though I carefully avoided the latter. Attracting the attention of something powerful enough to deserve a cable connecting it to the Flame was something that I didn’t want to attract the attention of.

I could… feel the differences between people and bonfires. The gods drew upon the First Flame through thick connections. Humans, however, where the opposite: a little bit flowed through them to the bonfires, a mix of light and capital-d Dark, flecks of Humanity and soul being fed to the flames through their connection. Bonfires were…

The First Flame was a mass like the sun. But there were smaller entities, such as the one that I was gazing into, that almost felt as if the sun itself was being orbited by dwarf stars, dim reflections of its power. Some of these orbiting dwarves had threads strung between them, forming a network, while others were slightly faded and lacked them. That was the difference between bonfires you could teleport to and bonfires you couldn’t, perhaps: while one might be able to ride the bonfire’s connection to the First Flame and out into the wider network, there wasn’t a way to come back. Some, however, felt dimmed entirely, their connection to the First Flame so weak as to nearly not be there. Perhaps those were the bonfires that hadn’t been lit?

I… supposed, in any case. I was quite uncomfortable with how much of what I was supposing was based on educated guesses, based more on how the magical superstructure felt.

Still, if my guess was correct, could I ride the network to get from place to place? Now, of course, it was a terrible idea to jump to any bonfire contained in a room too small for my full form, but there were plenty connected to the network that weren’t. I could feel how the magical energy flowed back and forth between them, bouncing and fading in ebbs and flows that somewhat matched how the bonfires flickered. I remembered how I’d pushed some of myself through the white sign soapstone and allowed myself to be summoned in a reduced form. What if I tried that again? Maybe, if I had an anchor on the other side, I could pull the rest of me through, like using a handhold to pull myself up.

There was no doubt in my mind, however, that such a thing came with risks. If I was to characterize my relationship with the power within me, Sif’s power, it would be to compare it to a small boat floating atop a huge sea. I could easily, and had multiple times, take cupfulls of that ocean and pour them into whatever I had been doing, but I hadn’t forgotten that it wasn’t really my power that I was drawing on. If Sif slumbered beneath that ocean, with my mind somehow having usurped her by complete accident, drawing more power or attempting to actually move the body wholesale might wake her. If the power flowed more freely through me and somehow recognized that I was not its true master, it might burn me right out of Sif’s soul structure.

I paused, tilting my head. Of course, this was only a potential possibility when I considered trying to move all of Sif’s being through the bonfires. And I was unsure what particular advantages Sif’s larger form had, when constrained by structures not built with demigods in mind. With my experiments with the white soapstone, I knew that I could tease some small part of me out, then have it act independent of the larger mass of soulstuff, with mine being the guiding mind behind it. So, what if, instead of sending all of Sif through, I simply tried to project myself, using the bonfire network as a sort of control proxy? If everything worked as I felt it did, then I should be able to form… an avatar body, essentially, and then pilot it with my mind. It had all of the advantages, with the only real drawback being that I couldn’t bring Sif’s full tank-sized mass to bear on a target. Which, in and of itself, was no great overall loss, given that lacking the size meant that I’d be able to walk through human-sized doors.

And besides, the only real targets for such mass were the more powerful entities anyway, and we wouldn’t be facing such things at the drop of a hat.

I breathed in, then out. I felt the flow of magic around me, and how the divine nature of Sif’s soulstuff interfaced with it. In a way, me affecting physical things was an extension of that magical nature, being that I was near as much Soul as I was flesh. There really wasn’t a distinction between the two, when it came down to it, which might make this… easier.

Reaching outwards, I could feel bits of Soul around me. The Soul of the inhuman creatures that inhabited Darkroot were small and somewhat twisted, stunted in a way that hinted that they went no deeper than their initial appearance. The ent-like creatures and the stone soldiers were not so dissimilar, though the fomer held more depth than the latter. I suspected that it was rather like two different types of golem, one formed naturally in a magically active location and potentially descending from the golems of Oolacile, and the other specifically carved and created as a guardian. In fact… teasing at their sparks like this, I could feel how they were linked to the woods around them.

It suddenly struck me that, with the amount of magical saturation and Soul that inhabited Darkroot, it was entirely possible that the place had actually formed a stable soul. If this was true… then we were all standing within something that was potentially a genius loci, if a slumbering one. Indeed, tracing those little links, I could feel how the ents were both independent little entities, and extensions of the very woods that they protected.

There was a flash of amusement as I felt a Soul that was… silver, and smooth. Alvina, if I had to guess. She felt greater and larger than she appeared, stretching lazily across the forest her Covenant guarded, and I could feel just a touch of how she reached through those who were pledged to her and extended her sphere of influence through them. In a very real metaphysical sense, the Hunters were her fingers and eyes, nudging the world where she could not physically be. Fascinating.

I drew back, focusing inwards on the ocean within. A cup was all I dared take from the mass of Soul inside me. Now, of course, came the tricky part.

I thought of the feeling of the souls of the ents, how the Gargoyles had felt, and even what I’d felt from Alvina’s descendants in the moments I’d had contact with them. Living and not, natural and artificial, crafted from magic and flesh. The way that their internal energies wove in and around themselves, how they affected the world around them in tiny ways just by their soulstuff interacting with it. I needed something with the connection Alvina’s descendants had to their progenitor, but without the independence. The ability to hold Soul of the Gargoyles, and bend it to their physical form’s strength. The independence of form and dependence of Soul of the ents.

When I had done this through the white soapstones, I had slapdashed it, I was not embarrassed to say. The effort had been one of moments, and even then, what I had been attempting was not overly complicated. I had simply placed down a tiny anchor in the exact format that the soapstone had been designed to make, and upon it interacting with an Undead and fuelled by that Undead’s Humanity, it had pulled some small measure of me through and allowed me to fight side by side with Celia. This case, however, was very different.

The physical form that I was creating needed to endure, completely separate from any crutch that would sustain it, such as the soapstone. I needed to be the one controlling it, and it couldn’t just be a copy of me, as I was unsure how that might play out. Completely cutting out a tiny little piece of Sif’s Soul might have dire consequences, and I wasn’t willing to risk it. No, I had to be there in the form that I was crafting as if it was my own- or, ah, at least the body that I’d hijacked. Finally, it needed to hold enough power that it wasn’t useless in a fight.

I plucked at the bonfire contemplatively, then shook my head and metaphysically stepped away from it. Forming the avatar would be difficult enough without having to do it remotely, through a connection that constantly shifted in specific strength and makeup. Instead, I reached out to the grass that covered the ground.

The stuff was everywhere, thick as all get out and practically immune to damage. As if that wasn’t enough, it was absolutely packed with magic, practically humming with the energy that it had marinated in its entire life. Which, of course, made it a perfect starting point. I gradually forced a little of my soulstuff into the magical networks that infused a section of grass, shouldering past the token resistance to being changed that it put up as I did so. As the energy mixed, I began coaxing the plantlife to grow, to shape itself just so.

I started with the skeletal structure and ligaments. Brown roots slowly bleached themselves bone white as the natural magic mixed with my own, replacing its connection to Darkroot at large with a connection to me. The roots slowly transmuted themselves into bones, even as thinner plant matter shifted and changed until they formed the flesh holding them together. It was a slow and agonizing process, helped only by the fact that I was simply copying my own structure in miniature, and all the while, Darkroot’s own magic attempted to force me out, to stop using its mass and energy to form my avatar.

I barely waited for the structure to be done before I started on the next layer of things. I didn’t know if I really needed internal organs, largely due to the fact that I was at least somewhat certain that the only reason I needed to breath was to produce sounds, but I formed them anyway. Another guess in the dark, really, but perhaps the avatar being physically as close as possible to my actual form would make for a better connection.

As the internal organs coalesced out of plant matter slowly changing into meat, muscles started to weave their way up the legs from the ground. These I paid special attention to, binding them and braiding them tight and dense, making them far heavier and stronger than the muscles of a normal wolf. And as the muscles covered skeleton, I started on the fur, several layers of tight hair that was strong as it was thick, my only suit of armour against the wider world.

I lost myself in it, the weaving and teasing, the guiding of the plant-turned-flesh lanced with fading Darkroot and growing me. I used that which was Darkroot to form the structure, and I could feel where the magic and life of the place grew eager, trying to buck my tight control that forced it into shapes and grow wild and free. Like an argumentative mount or a quirky vehicle, I had to make constant corrections, leading it again and again back to the routes that I wished for it to take. It was plant, and it wished to grow like a plant, but I was forcing it to become its anathema of a sort- to take the shape of the systems and gears of a creature of meat.

My own soulstuff followed the Darkroot magic in a wave. I felt the plant matter fight me even harder as I forced it to match the nature of my physical container, not so much transmuting flesh as imposing my own flesh-organic physical form upon the magic and brute forcing it into matching the structure, form and function of my current body. I could feel it rearranging internally as my existence imposed itself, driving out the natural magic that formed the framework and forcing it to become more like me, even as it became part of me. I could almost flex the toes, twitch the legs, swallow with the throat… as the body stopped being plant and started being me, I could feel it more and more as it became me in every way that actually mattered. I very much doubted that I could have done anything like this, were my body anything less than at least semi-divine, and I could feel how the activity was rapidly depleting the power that I had set aside for it, even as I scooped more out of Sif’s Soul and poured it in.

And then the mass of plant matter in the skull converted to flesh.

Quite suddenly, and to my complete surprise, I had the very strange experience of seeing from two different directions, hearing from four different ears, having the scent of two noses. My sensations were doubled as the avatar ceased being plant and entirely became flesh- flesh that was completely identical to my own in every way, because it was me, as much as my leg or my tongue. And I could… I was thinking about how weird it was to be so small again, after so long being large, and I was looking down at the little avatar and thinking about how odd it was to look at something identical to myself but for its size.

I was… both. I was neither? I could feel them, but they- I? I was thinking. I was holding two entirely separate lines of thought simultaneously, one side wondering how it was happening even as the other stepped back and tried to go over what I’d done to get here.

Oh, one of me/all of me/both of me thought. I have two brains now.

Who knows where consciousness came from back where I’d come from. As far as I could tell here, however, consciousness appeared to come from a creature’s metaphysical footprint in the world. There was a difference between what I was referring to as ‘soulstuff’, the metaphysical element to me that actually made me a reality in the world, and Soul, which was… it was difficult to explain. I suppose that, if soulstuff was the resting magical presence which allowed an individual to exist, then Soul was the actual expression of this existence interacting with the physical world and forcing it aside. (did this mean that the Lordsouls were the expression of the First Flame? Did this make the gods something like avatars of the First Flame itself? I filed that away.)

In this case, my soulstuff felt… stretched, between Sif’s body and the avatar. I was connected at both ends, and for all intents and purposes it was the same me in both bodies, but it was a me thinking with two brains, seeing with two sets of eyes, hearing with two sets of ears. And because there were two different brains to process it, there wasn’t any confusion, and I could perfectly operate both bodies and sustain two different lines of thought while being aware of both.

It was jolly weird, is what it was.

Still, this had… potential. If every avatar I made was like this, it meant that they were something of a force multiplier, allowing me to literally be in several places at once. Though, feeling things out… it came with drawbacks.

Obviously, my freshly-made avatar was much weaker than my true self. The size of the body meant that it was saturated with power at a much lower level than my true body was. Less power meant that it had to work harder to impose its will on the universe around it, and it burned that power more rapidly to achieve the same goals. I reached out through the metaphysical existence of both bodies and tweaked the air just so, producing heatwave-like ripples, and felt my smaller body drain at a much higher rate to achieve a lesser effect. That just made sense, I supposed.

The other issue was that producing the avatar had taken a truly horrifying amount of energy. I’d had to dip far deeper and longer than I had wanted to, and I’d severely under budgeted for its creation. What I’d planned to have been a cupful of power had turned into several buckets bailed out of Sif’s soulstuff and into the forming avatar, and even then, I’d burned a lot less than I would have if I’d tried to make the avatar from scratch. Darkroot itself had shouldered roughly half the magical cost of the act, and the toll it’d taken on me was… severe. Severe enough to make me nervous, and as I poked at the magic of Darkroot, I felt how it resisted me even more effectively. I didn’t think that I could pull off what I’d just done again. I could feel the slow turning of Darkroot quicken nearly imperceptibly, and I had a very anxious moment as I realized that if the place truly had a mind, I most likely nearly woke it… right in the middle of stealing from it.

No, a repeat performance was not something I was ready for. A shame.

Still, I had what I’d set out to get. I sat, tail swishing behind me, the smaller avatar barely clearing my paw. As I leaned my head down, getting a better look at the little thing, simultaneously angling my second body for better looks, I noticed things about it. Different patches of fur, slightly different colourations, tiny scars and nicks in visible flesh. My actual body had mirrored itself, bit for bit, in the avatar I’d created. A perfect replica in every way I could see, my existence asserted on another part of the universe.

It was… fascinating. Rather beautiful, really. The swirling soulstuff that I could feel flowing between me and the avatar, my presence in two places. I could see both of myself at once. That was very odd.

I lay down my larger body, looking to rest as my soulstuff recovered. My avatar looked at the bonfire, frowning in a wolfish sort of way at how the flames bent and crackled. Should I…? I shook my head. I had no idea what traveling through the bonfires would do to something like me, with my sort of makeup. For all I knew, it would sever my tentative connection to Sif, causing whatever was left of me to rubberband into the avatar with its much lower power. And then, most likely, I would be hunted by a very pissed off Sif, with Alvina and her Hunters not far behind. That… was not how I wanted this to end.

I turned away from the bonfire, from my larger body, and towards the exit of Darkroot. With this sort of power in my paws… there was a Black Knight that I needed to see.

Chapter Text

“Not an option, then.”

The flickering of the bonfire reflected across the damp cave walls, laden with the moisture that packed the air of Darkroot. My tail swished behind me, my head turned to the left, where the Black Knight sat in a cross-legged position, her spear across her lap as she tended to it. She’d taken her helmet off, revealing raven black hair cropped close- slightly uneven, and I imagined that she’d done it herself with a dagger.

“It is unfortunate, Lady Sif, but in this regard, my intervention would harm more than help. I am already considered one of the more suspect of my fellows, and to approach one of my own order, counter to the orders the gods have handed down…” she shook her head.

“Hn.” I flexed my paws, digging little furrows into the thin layer of pebble-laden soil that covered the cave floor. “Would my appearance be much better, then? I do not imagine that a Black Knight would be much more pleased to see me, away from Artorias’ grave.”

An armoured finger tapped the flat of her spear’s blade, producing a pure, clear ringing noise, as if it was metal against crystal. Considering that the Black Knight’s weapons were almost entirely titanite, I wondered if that had anything to do with the attributes of the material itself.

“It… hm. Not precisely the same, as it were. My place was given to me- that is, I was given orders to be here, to match blades with the Undead, though not to crush them. We are here to test them, not to break them, for that is the god’s will. You, Lady Sif, requested your own position. There are none left that would have command over you, save whomever sits the throne in Anor Londo. The Four Knights swore to it directly, and, sworn sword of Knight Artorias as you were,” she glanced at my muzzle, and the corner of her mouth twitched upwards, “well. They may question you, but they do not have the authority to stop you, or order you back. For once, the lack of gods in these lower sanctums works to our advantage.”

“... I can see why the other Black Knights would consider you suspect. I think the word is ‘devious’.”

A pleased grin spread across her face. “One does not traverse the halls of the gods and reach my position and age without a few shreds of intelligence, Lady.”

Unlike the first time I’d approached it, the entrance to the Titanite Demon’s hall was far larger than I was, and I was easily able to pass through. It was strange, having reverted to such a small size, especially just after I’d gotten used to being so big… except I was still that big.

Both of me frowned. I didn’t think I was going to get used to this double-body thing anytime soon. Still, even as my larger body moved towards the lower parts of Darkroot, to see if the yellow golem was already there or not, my smaller avatar moved through the hall and towards the stairs.

I paused at the base of them, ears twitching at the ringing of metal echoing down the tunnel, and the flickering of firelight shining down the passageway. Andre of Astora, perhaps one of the greatest smiths in the world, sat at the top. He’d… hm.

I distinctly remember Andre showing up in Dark Souls 3, though he made no such appearance in 2. Did this mean that he happened to be elsewhere during the rise and fall of Dranglaic, and the following lead up to the kindling of the First Flame? Given how much of Dranglaic was a ruin and how it was treated as something of a hyper-dangerous frontier that nobody ever went into, I suppose it made sense. Him showing up in three was most likely him huddling close to the exceedingly faded First Flame, clinging onto the scraps of the world that still survived among the seas of ash.

So… I had something of a Patches question on my hands, here. Had Andre actually survived the Ages, watching the First Flame slowly die, withering even as it was revived again and again? Or was it someone who just very much resembled him?

I huffed, tilting back my head a little. That question would be far more relevant if I was in Lothric, rather than having Darkroot at my avatar’s back. As it was, Andre wasn’t even Undead all that long, and hadn’t observed the passing of ages as Patches had. Which didn’t prevent him from being useful, it just meant that he was a little less important to my information gathering, owing to the fact that he most likely didn’t know anything more outside of metallurgy and smithing than anyone else hailing from Astora. It definitely meant that, while I would most likely have need of his smithing skills for one thing or another, he wasn’t the most important of people right now, and was definitely below my current target in terms of my mental ‘to do’ list. With that in mind, I mounted the stairs and passed into his makeshift smithy.

It was hot, in that room, nearly stifling, and I could see why the man had gone shirtless. The first thing that drew my attention was a glow where there hadn’t been one in the games, and I quickly figured out that it belonged to an actual forge the likes of which Andre had lacked in said games- something I’d always wondered about. While it was definitely cruder than the stonework around it, quarried and carved stone blocks compared to fired clay bricks, it seemed to serve the purpose just fine. A chimney was routed out of the thing and up towards a window, where it funneled smoke out into the open air.

The second thing that drew my attention was the hulking smith himself. The man was, indeed, as shirtless as he had been in the games, huge hammer swinging down on a longsword that had his total focus. The metal glowed and illuminated his beard and face, highlighting the burns on his chest from decades working metal at a forge. It also… highlighted the fact that the man was ripped as all hell, and the sweat glistening on those muscles as they moved…

I jerked violently in place, shaking my head and quickly wiping something that definitely wasn’t a little bit of drool from my muzzle. I… really hoped he hadn’t seen that. From the way he shifted afterwards as if just noticing me, I assumed that he hadn’t, but he might be just being polite. Not that I’d mind if he was- even if he’d noticed, I’d prefer if we didn’t speak about it.

Regardless! The mountain of muscle quenched the blade that he’d been working on, then drew it out of the water and examined it carefully. Seeming satisfied, he set it aside, turning his attention to me.

“Ah! Well, now. Are you not the Lady Sif I’ve heard such talk about?” He brought up a hand, stroking his beard. “Rather small, though, aren’t you?”

I padded forwards, settling on the flat stone before him, my tail swishing and knocking a little of the dust from the floor.

“My… true form’s size is inconvenient at the best of times. Given this, I decided to do something about it. However, that is not especially relevant.” I tilted my head slightly. “I trust that Celia gifted you the Divine Ember, as I had instructed her to?”

“Oh, yes.” Reverently, he brushed his scarred fingers across a stone box to his side. “I had not heard from… I’d feared the worst, and it appears that I was right to. Still, I am glad to have this, though I wish t’was not in my peer’s memory.” A sad expression stole across what I could see of his face. “There are so few with the mastery to truly make use of the Embers, and for one of us to fall permanently… even this faded Age is poorer for the loss.”

I hummed. “I agree. Too much has been lost, as the Fire fades and the gods make little effort to preserve what remains. Still, this is why I strive to do what I can: uplift those who are left, gather a core around me that might relight the flame of this world, both in a literal and figurative sense.”
My ears twitched, and I watched him closely. After a moment, he met my eyes, though what emotions he held were masked. “You know…”

He raised an eyebrow at me, encouraging me to go on. It was… a thought. A guess, perhaps, but one that combined a few facts, and perhaps… mm. It was worth the risk. Should I be wrong, I’d lost nothing, regardless.

“There is something I wish to ask you about. Something… sensitive. And neither of us know who may be prying, even here in this near-dead land.”

Something about Andre’s expression turned curious, and grave.

“I understand.” A shift in his seat. “This place, this time… it’s dangerous, and you can’t know who you can trust. If you have something so sensitive as to need to speak to me with secrecy, Lady Sif, I cannot refuse. My hammer is at your call.” He leaned back, settling his huge hands on his knees. “Still! Until then, perhaps this humble blacksmith might ask if there is anything else he can do for you?”

I considered it. Andre was, perhaps, the greatest blacksmith remaining in this land- not to disparage the works of the Giant, Rickert or Vamos, but Andre was something… more. The fact that he showed up in the future indicated that he was more than what he seemed, but still. I remembered how my claws and teeth skittered off the stone skin of the Bell Gargoyles, how I had had some inkling of why Sif would choose to wield the weapon of her master so impractically, especially in her younger age when she had been as small as I was now. Perhaps Andre could fix that issue?

“What do you know of me?”

Andre leaned backwards slightly, frowning.

“Well… mostly, only what those who have fought you have said about you. A wolf of divine proportions, standing eternal guard over a grave, wielding a sword more than twice the size of a man. Though, you seem to be lacking anything of the sort at the moment.”

I nodded. “Quite so. My sword is…” My face twisted slightly as a spark of sadness from… somewhere passed through me. Where had-? No, focus. “It is an homage to my master, Knight Artorias, one of the Four Knights of Gwyn. He… fell, long ago, striving to protect the land of Oolacile- and the rest of the world- from the gaping Abyss.” I took in a breath, shaking my head. “There is purpose in my use of it. In my youth, I was small, the size of the form that you see before you. Without the overwhelming size and strength of my full form, it was difficult to overpower the defenses of those I fought against, and so a weapon resembling Knight Artorias’ blade was forged for my use. When I had grown, I had no use for it, but now it is long lost and I find myself needing a blade of normal proportions once again.”

“Ah! A blade, is it, then?” He rubbed his large hands together, then pushed himself to his feet, towering over where I sat upon the stone floor and grinned. “Well, that’s certainly something I can help you with.” He turned away from me, to the stockpile of weapons behind him, perusing them and sending a glance back in my direction. “Do you have an idea of what you want?”

I stood, nodding, and padded closer.

“Double bladed. Strong, not thin- I need something that can pierce rocklike defense, as well as survive my strength. And not so large that it would be awkward for me to wield.”

“Hmmm… don’t think I’ve ever made a sword meant to be wielded in the mouth.”

I huffed. “I don’t think anyone has. Even my original blade, and the ultra greatsword that replaced it, were meant for human hands rather than the mouth of a wolf.”

“Truth.” He began sorting through his collection of blades, examining them one by one, and setting them aside.

Many of his weapons would be flat out impractical for me to wield, too large or too small- rapiers were right out, I wasn’t using anything bigger than a longsword in this form, and daggers wouldn’t be all that much better than my teeth and claws against the things that infested Lordran. Polearms I didn’t even consider for a moment.

For my weight and size, something like a… an arming sword, or maybe a bastard sword…? No, the latter would be too big. A longsword, just with a bit more weight and size? I mused over it as Andre sorted through his stock, teasing out a few weapons every so often as he did. Casting my eyes over them, I saw that he’d come to much the same conclusion that I had. Blades of middling size and length, and he appeared to carefully weigh each of them in turn, occasionally setting one back into the main pile, until a bare few remained. He carefully examined each of the remaining blades, grunting and muttering to himself, then finally shook his head and stood back, his arms crossed.

“Afraid I can’t narrow it down any more than this, not without ye taking them for a few swings. Have to figure what your choice in blades is, mostly from how they feel.”

I nodded, putting my paws up on the anvil to get a better look at them. The first blade was a longsword with a deep valley down the middle, inlaid with gold and intricate designs. Not a weapon that I recognized from Dark Souls proper, perhaps it was something that Andre had just held onto? Still, the crossguard was a little narrower, the blade slightly longer. It came to a tip that glittered dangerously sharp in the light of the forge. The grip was wrapped in a leather that was unusually bumpy and tough-looking, and I shot a quizzical look at Andre, who chuckled.

“Ancient dragonslaying weapon, this one, from before swordspears like Knight-captain Ornstein’s were developed. The hilt is wrapped in dragon leather, and the gold spine conducts lightning spells and integrates better with the spellwork that sustains them.”

Lightning damage? Something to consider. That had been my favorite damage type in the game- besides sentimentality, damage that could conduct past armour and through weapons was something that could be very useful.

The second was a broadsword. The steel was shorter and squatter, wider along the blade and widening nearly to the width of the crossguard at the hilt. This was more worn than the others, with well-oiled but aged leather wrapping that was ridged for a better grip. It wasn’t as intricate, but what it lacked in looks, it appeared to make up for in strength. Shallow scars were scattered across the flat, but the edge was sharp and smooth, and the steel had a deadly shine to it.

The third and last sword was… huh. I blinked at it. A golden basket hilt around a similarly-golden grip, a steel pommel, and a long, curved blade. A saber? I frowned, thinking about it. Sabers were mostly used for chopping and cutting, if I recalled correctly, a combination of weight and leverage behind a single edge, with a curved blade ensuring that the cutting edge remained in contact with the enemy for as long as possible. Not as good against armour, but… it might work very well for my style. Though, come to think of it, a katana might work better for- no, I dismissed that. Weilding a sword in my mouth was impractical enough for my tastes already.

The saber was… interesting, to be sure, but I’d never been very fond of that particular style of blade. Andre had most likely selected it for the curved blade and ability to slash, given that I would struggle to chop with it, but I doubted that I had the leverage or flexibility to press the entire blade against whatever I was trying to hurt unless they were very large. Which… to be fair, that described quite a few of the creatures native to Lordran. Still, my eyes were turned more towards the first two options.

The broadsword was something that I considered, for a few long moments. The shorter length would make it easier to handle, especially in some of the tiny corridors scattered throughout Lordran, and the fact that it hadn’t compromised on weight for that reduction in length was important to my efforts to swing and stab with it. However, ultimately, it was a lump of relatively ordinary metal. I needed something special, that could close the gap, something that could work with and augment my natural strength.

Really, there was only one realistic option.

The Hollow turned towards me and let out a moan, shuffling and stumbling in my direction, barely holding on to its broken sword or its worn shield. I let it get closer, raise its arm for a swing, but the moment its hand came down I’d darted around the clumsy, mindless blow and was behind it. I leapt, jerking my head, and the hollow screamed, writhing in place as arcs of electricity conducted through its armour from the slash I’d made across its legs. It fell, twitching, and I turned my head to the side, driving my blade through its rotted armour. It spasmed, then surrendered its tiny little collection of souls with a final gasp, falling to the ground. I yanked the sword from its corpse, briefly considered cleaning it with its armour, then reconsidered when I realized that, of the two, my sword was much cleaner.

The three Hollows just outside the little cathedral had been a good testbed for my new sword. I watched through one eye appreciatively as little sparks of electricity arced down the blade; it really was quite beautiful.

Andre had let the blade go practically for a song, just taking a small clump of Soul for it. He seemed regretful about letting it go, but had remarked that it was better for a sword to be used than for it to sit around gathering dust. The sorts of swords that sat on a wall were not the sort of swords that he kept around, and sentimentality or not, he rathered this one being out and about, performing its intended work. My teeth tightened around the dragon leather, but couldn’t pierce it- suppose that was another advantage of using this weapon, versus the others. I still hadn’t quite managed Sif’s little trick with flipping the blade around in the opposite direction, but that was mainly because of the fact that I didn’t want to risk dropping it and looking like a fool. I had a reputation to uphold, after all.

A few quick steps, and I was in the cathedral. Attracting the attention of the Baldur knights hanging out in the entrance area was easy, and they shuffled after me with the clinking of armour and weaponry. One thrust his rapier at me, and I knocked it aside with my blade, causing him to stumble. Before the Hollow could recover, I dashed past him, slicing his side open through his rusted armour- something that I couldn’t have hoped to do with claws and teeth alone, especially not in this form. As the lightning arcing through him made him twitch and spasm, I darted at the other two, moving much faster than your typical Undead and carrying the approximate force behind my blade of a pickup truck. The sheer force and the strength of the blade in my mouth meant that I smashed it right through the thin waist of one of them, slicing them neatly in half before turning on the last, who was pacing and trying to keep their shield between themselves and me. In the corner of my eye, I could see the first knight struggling to his feet.

Rapidly, I feinted left, as if I was trying to sweep towards the side unprotected by their shield. Dangerous, yes, but I’d already demonstrated that I was more than capable of dodging or parrying their blades- not that there was enough higher thought left in there to recognize that. These things were basically automatons, fighting on a combination of instincts and reflexes. Thus, the Hollow’s response to my feint was to move the shield slightly to their right, and prepare to stab me with their straight sword. My claws scraped on stone as I killed my momentum in an instant, springing forwards and slamming myself bodily into the knight’s shield, hearing the crunch of the bones in their arm shattering as I did so. Their shield arm fell limp and useless as they stumbled backwards, and it was a simple matter to dart in close and shove my blade through its chest. It fell with a crackle of lightning, and I yanked out my blade, turning just in time to see the rapier coming for me and duck out of the way.

The last knight was the only one that I was somewhat wary of. While it… okay, what were these things? They weren’t really people, they were Hollows, ex-people, meat robots, and I had no real idea of how to refer to them anyway. No indications of gender. ‘It’ should work, I don’t think these things had enough left in them to be offended. Anyway, while it was alone and somewhat injured, this was one of the two knights in this building that demonstrated the capability to parry. I didn’t know what that would do to me, but I didn’t really want to get stabbed regardless, so I had to be at least somewhat wary. Wait for it to overextend and punish it, the order of the day.

It paced in a circle, and I matched it, watching it carefully. It had its rapier up in a high guard position, pointing towards me, which definitely meant that it was waiting for me to get impatient and try to take a swing. At which point, of course, it would parry and riposte. I ran my tongue along the ridged leather of the grip, watching it carefully as I matched it, step for step. Four legs against two.

In all honesty, I was toying with it. There was no possible way that it could stand up to me brute forcing this encounter: even with it attempting to riposte, I think I could put enough brute force behind the blow to shatter either its arm or its worn and rusted blade. Still, I wasn’t here to force my way through, I was here to try out the blade and my ability to wield it, an experiment that had gone rather well thus far. Plus… I had to admit, this sort of challenge was the reason I’d enjoyed Dark Souls so much in the first place, though I had a little more on the line now than a few soft Humanity and some Souls.

Finally, perhaps reaching the end of its patience- or maybe forgetting that it was waiting for me to attack entirely- the knight stepped forwards and stabbed. In this case, its reflexes served it poorly, as I ducked under the blade, moved closer in a few quick steps, then drove my sword through its side. It let out a rattling gasp, then I twisted my sword and it expired, going limp and breathing out its tiny store of Souls. I drew my sword out, giving a satisfied nod, and continued through the exit gates.

The Hollows in the road leading up to the chapel were easy to deal with, in comparison. Little armour and terrible weapons made them speed bumps, more than challenges, and the archers quickly discovered that having ranged weapons didn’t help them when your target has the sheer strength and agility to leap right up to where you are and tear you apart. Thus, it wasn’t very long before I found myself at the base of the steps leading up the tower.

I took a deep breath, then breathed it out around the hilt. I turned, moving my shoulder to align the half-sheath strapped to my side. It was something that Andre had assembled out of bits of metal and leather he’d had lying around, a sheath that would allow me to press the sword down into it instead of sliding the whole blade into a long metal or leather tube, which would be impossible with my anatomy. Unless tugged, hard, the sword was locked into position by a small mechanism. I was impressed that he’d put it together that fast, but he’d remarked that he’d been thinking about the problem since I was mentioned to him, and this had been a small-scale prototype he’d been tooling around with.

I took a deep breath in, and let it out. Thankfully, in this case, the stakes were lower than the last time I’d crossed paths with a Black Knight- and this time, of course, it was purposeful on my part. If they attacked, I could most likely dodge and run- even if I lost this avatar… well, I wasn’t sure what would happen, precisely, but it wouldn’t be a complete loss. Ultimately, though I doubted I could pull it off again- at least not the same way I’d done it before- the avatar was disposable.

I breathed out, then walked into the tower and began ascending the steps, quietly as I could. Ideally, I wanted to get as close as possible before the Black Knight noticed me, so that I could properly parley without them taking a swing before I was ready. Taking them by surprise was a concern, but I didn’t think that they’d go that far from their post-

“I saw you approach the tower, Lady Sif. You may be sure that I mean no harm so long as you do not.”

I froze, halfway up the tower’s winding staircase. The voice had echoed down from above, deep and most definitely male. He’d seen-!? Argh, of course he had, he had a straight line of sight from up there, had probably been watching me from the moment I came out of Andre’s tower, stupid! I bared my teeth, then stood up straight, taking a deep breath in through my nose and trying to make myself as dignified as possible. Sure, he’d seen me, but he wasn’t chasing me with a halberd and trying to make me a smear on the stone, which I took as an encouraging sign. I could be magnanimous in defeat, and it most definitely served me to. I ascended the rest of the staircase without bothering with stealth, then finally rose through the opening to the top of the tower.

The Black Knight was standing with his back to me, his halberd leaning against the battlements at his side. Far enough that I could clearly see that it was out of his hands, close enough that he could snatch it up in an instant and round on me. A combination of an olive branch and an implicit threat. I resisted the urge to swallow nervously, and turned towards the knight’s armoured back. His helmet turned towards his shoulder, and through the visor, I thought I caught a glimpse of something- a bit of light, reflecting off an eye.

“Lady Sif.”

“Sir knight.” I said back, smoothly as I could.

We were both silent for a long, extended moment. I could almost feel the knight sizing me up, though whether it was as an old comrade he hadn’t seen in some time, as someone who’d heard of me but never met me or estimating how easy I’d be to put down, I couldn’t tell. His armoured hands rested on the stone of the battlement in front of him, the metal scarred and burned black. The Black Knight spearwoman I’d seen once in my full form and once in this avatar, sitting down, and both in the dim twilight that was Darkroot’s constant state. Here, I was so very, very small compared to my full form, and the light was more akin to day than to perpetual twilight.

The knight cut an imposing figure, here, towering far over me. I was perhaps equal with his knees, and I knew that my shoulders were about at the waist of a human. Across a short battlement, even with his back to me, he loomed over me, a solid hunk of black metal and dark leather. I could completely believe that this was one of the ones that dealt first-handed with demons, and fought dragons at Gwynn’s side.

Finally, his helmet turned away from me and towards the Parish below. His hands came off of the battlement, and I tensed for a bare second before he folded them behind his back. I resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief: I wasn’t anywhere close to out of the woods. Not yet.

“It’s been long since I’ve seen anything more than Hollows, and the Undead that harvest them. So, it is surprising to find you here, particularly… not in person.”

He knew-? Hrm. I paused for a bare moment, then opened my mouth to respond.

“I must apologize for that. I fear that there were not many doorways between where I am and here that could accommodate me.” my gaze flickered across his armoured back. If he found the half-joke amusing, he didn’t show it. “Still… I felt it was vital to approach you.”

“Vital enough that you would come to me with a fragment of your strength?”

I paused, examining him. The armour he wore made him entirely impenetrable, and through it, I doubted I could read his mood- even if he didn’t have all of the body language of a steel rod. Was he probing for something?

“I fear that my true body is engaged elsewhere, in other business.”

“Then Knight Artorias’ grave stands empty, for the first time in centuries.” I narrowed my eyes. His tone was casual, but there was something about it I disliked.

“I would not leave Lord Artorias’ grave unguarded.”

“And I would not suggest that the Lady Sif I knew would. But, then again, it has been some time, hasn’t it? Perhaps we should reacquaint ourselves. After all, it wouldn’t do to assume that your presence here is due to a lack of… mindfulness.”

There was a spark of anger in my chest. I pushed it down. “I assure you, sir knight, that I am as mindful of my duties as I have been these past centuries. I have not forgotten my service.”

“Have you not?” He turned towards me. “His gravestone stands unguarded. Who fills the house when the wolf is gone, I wonder? Petty Undead?” Curiosity, idle and passing. I didn’t buy it.

“I dearly hope that you aren’t questioning my courage.”

“Should I?” He inclined his head slightly. “I have seen you but fight a scattering of Hollow in a form not your own. When one risks nothing, how can one say that they are courageous?”

“I risk plenty.”

“You wield Andre’s work.”

I blinked from the sudden topic change. The sword?

“... Yes. The blade from my youth was lost, long ago, and necessitated replacement.”

“Well. To admit such openly… I suppose I cannot say you lack courage, though perhaps of the wrong sort.” He flicked a glove hand, and I had to suppress a twitch. “To carry such a thing to me indicates bravery, perhaps. In some interpretations.” My toes flexed.

“If I have done something to offend, sir knight-”

He held up a gauntleted hand. “It would not be me you would be offending, and thus your apologies are unnecessary.” He lowered his hand. “Now, whether or not you have offended… that is the question, mm?”

Wait, was-? Loyalty. He was questioning Sif’s loyalty. But to whom? Who would be the person offended? Gwynn? Gwynevere? Gwyndolin? For all I knew, the individual I might be ‘offending’ could be Velka, Flann, even Seath. I had to tread lightly, here. The language… offense and offending could indicate a link to Velka. There was even another Velka loyalist in Oswald, practically a stone’s throw away. The question was whether a Black Knight would feel more strongly drawn to the goddess of sin, the Sunlight Throne, or to the service of Gwynn himself. While he tested my loyalties, I would have to test his. I shrugged a shoulder, waving a paw in a motion that would require more manual dexterity than your average wolf possessed.

“... How would one know that I have crossed such a line?”

“You are here, are you not? This is not the place the gods ordained to you, nor have I heard any whisper of new divine direction passed down from the seat of Anor Londo.”

“My place was not one ordained by the gods. My station was one I requested for myself. My loyalties are not what is in question.”

“And yet, you rise from Andre’s tower, with Andre’s blade, and I most definitely saw your phantom fighting besides that of one of the Sunlight heretics.” Casually, he laid one hand on the shaft of his halberd, helmet turned directly towards me. “So, Lady Sif… would you care to explain?”

Sunlight-? The gargoyles. He’d seen Solaire. But why would- no, wait, he was here. Directly behind me was the Sunlight altar, where one could pledge to Gwyn’s nameless firstborn and the Sunlight covenant. The first bell of the Undead’s gods-given challenge, the Sunlight altar, Andre’s tower, all conveniently visible from this spot. None of that was a coincidence. I would have to commit and hope I could pull it out.

“My loyalty, as it ever has been, is to Knight Artorias, and the Sunlight Throne, not the whelp that sits upon it, nor those that abandon Gwyn’s legacy at the first sight of fading Flame.”

His hand tightened around the haft with the sound of straining steel.

“Be very careful now, Lady Sif. Thou art in dangerous territory.”

“Am I? Tell me, sir. Your knightly order, the great Black Knights… are you sworn to the cowards that fled before the demons and hid behind Gwyn’s skirts? Or perhaps to Gwyn’s mewling pups, playing at being rulers in the empty castles the Sunlight Lord left behind?” Oh, this was wild, this could get me killed, but it felt… right. “Let me tell you. When I swore my fealty and strength to Lord Gwyn, perhaps it didn’t mean quite as much as when my master did, but it was meant in every way. You and I, we share a liege lord- test my loyalty in any way you feel you must, but I warn you, do not forget that.”

His thumb rubbed a circular pattern in the metal of his halberd’s shaft, but his hand didn’t move from it. For a few long moments, I fought the instinct to tense, to be ready for a swing, resisting the urge to draw my blade before he went to strike. In these cramped quarters, he would only need one blow to kill my avatar, and I wasn’t entirely certain that I could ward it off.

“What is your intention, then, that you both claim loyalty to our Lord, and yet fight alongside the Undead?”

I glanced at his hand. It hadn’t moved from the haft, but it had stopped making the circular motion, and wasn’t gripping it quite so hard. Perhaps I was making headway, but it wouldn’t do to be overly confident in my position.

“I intend to rally what strength is left in Lordran and march it to Anor Londo, to see what is left of the god’s order. To ask of them if this is what they truly intended, if there was no better way.” Not that any would be there to answer, besides Ornstein, Smough and Gwyndolin.

“And if the throne stands empty?”

“Then I will make a claim to it myself. If the gods will abandon us so, we cannot trust them to lead us.”

He brought up his other hand, finger pointing at me. “Thou art straying dangerously close to rebellion against the gods. To follow in the footsteps of the traitor Havel is a dangerous path that would see us foes, Lady Sif, and neither of us wishes to see that.”

“Is it rebellion when the palace stands empty? If there are no gods left to rebel against, what meaning does rebellion have?” I have to prime this. Gwyndolin, bless his heart, still sits the throne, though he is no divine leader. “And if one lonely god sits in Anor Londo, what then? Who is a ruler with no one to rule? What matter is divinity with no worshippers? Clearly,” I turned my head to the battlements to his side, “whatever plan the gods may have had, if they had one at all, is doing nothing for the fading Fire and the abandoned subjects they left in their wake, those that they promised to protect.”

“And yet, if that lonely god orders me to strike you down for your sedition, Lady Sif, then I will do so.”

“Then perhaps the idea that I am asking you to accompany me at all is an indication of my continued loyalty to the Sunlight Throne. We are not enemies, sir knight, merely in disagreement. All I need know is whether you will follow me into the god’s domain when I ask.”

He stood for a long moment, thumb back to making circular motions on the haft of his halberd. Finally, he released it, his hand falling to his side.

“You are either a suicidal heretic or… hm.” He folded his arms behind his back, helm staring down at me. “So be it. When you ask, I will come. Still, I cannot begin to guess why you would want such strength of arms, but to cast down the Sunlight Throne, as others have tried to do.”

“Simple enough to answer.” I raised my head high. “I intend to prevent the fading of the First Flame, and whether I serve they who sit upon it or make a claim to it myself, all the gods in the world will gather here to Anor Londo, either to oust the line of Gwyn or cast me down and take the throne for their own. I cannot allow that to happen.”

“Brave. Dangerous, perhaps even borderline heretical, but brave. Wielding one of Andre’s blades surely suits you- at least it announces your lack of fear before you open your mouth.”

“I cannot decide whether that is a compliment or an insult.”

He waved a gauntleted hand, turning back to the battlements and gazing down at the Undead Parish. “Take it as a compliment. Few enough are those both brave and ambitious enough to even entertain such things, and I hope that it does not see you on the wrong end of a blade. Call for me when you breach Sen’s Fortress, Lady Sif, and I will see with you what remains of the god’s strength in Anor Londo.”

I shook myself. My avatar walked away from the tower, towards the Firelink Shrine, but I had something else to concentrate on. Specifically, moving my considerable bulk through Darkroot and towards Darkroot Basin, where my goal lay.

Navigating the zig-zag path down the cliff face was only easier than it had been before by dint of experience with it, and even then, there were a couple of moments where I sent gravel and plant matter tumbling into the abyss. Some part of me hoped it landed right on the heads of the drakes down there on the bridge, if only because the idea of annoying them gave me a flicker of vindictive pleasure. They weren’t hard to fight in the game, precisely, but they were annoying.

Still, I made it to the Basin without any real hiccups. There, amongst the trees at the base of the cliff, I noted that the crystal golems that inhabited the area had replenished themselves, perhaps still hunting for female Hunters- or, perhaps, searching for the crystal golem that had trapped the princess. I was never completely clear on why that one had never returned to Seath with its prize; after all, the other yellow crystal golem appears right about Seath’s crystal pit, obviously delivering its prisoner with all speed. This one, however, simply lurked down here in the water, skulking just outside of the notice of the Hydra.

I hummed to myself as I plowed through one of the golems, sending scillanting shards of crystal flying in all directions. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t left? Maybe Seath had given them some sort of self-preservation programming for when they actually had a captive, made them shy away from threats? If that was so, then the Hydra could’ve kept the thing bottled up all by itself, which meant that I might not be able to wait for Celia to kill it. I’d have to do it myself, before the thing skulked off to make its delivery. Though, come to think of it, that could cause some issues; Dusk was contactable in the games because she linked herself to the Chosen Undead by twisting the magic of the white soapstone, allowing her to be pulled into this realm to teach the Chosen Undead lost magic of Oolacile. Without an Undead present for her to form a connection with, she may not be able to anchor herself to me.

I had a theory that the white soapstones used the bonfire network to warp time and space, allow Undead to draw forth phantom representations of people into their worlds and assist them in fighting threats that they could not overcome on their own. If such a theory panned out, that would explain why I was incapable of seeing summon signs myself, and why I had to brute force the one that I’d made. If that was true, then it could be very well that Dusk wouldn’t be able to form a connection with me, and even if she could, I wouldn’t be able to pull her through into this world- if I could even see the summon sign she’d plant, which I very much doubted I would be able to.

I made a frustrated sound in the back of my throat. The absolute perfect time to have Big Hat Logan, interested as he would be in the lost magic of Oolacile, and he’s still stuck in a rusty cage in Sen’s Fortress. Greatest magic genius in generations, rotting away in the funhouse, just out of my reach because of a big door and some high walls. It was infuriating.

The last of the crystal golems fell to pieces under a body slam, and I left the crystals coating the ground as I walked to the shore of the Basin lake. Squinting across the water, I caught a glimmer in the cave opposite in the dim light of Darkroot, something yellow and shiny moving in the darkness. Well, I suppose that meant that I wasn’t too late to kill the thing, but now I wasn’t sure what to do. If I killed it and my theory panned out, then there was no way for Dusk to anchor herself in this time, and I wasn’t sure how that would affect the closed time loop that was the end of Oolacile or Dusk’s fate.

I stuck my paw in the water, feeling the shifting wet sand of the lake bottom, then walked out into the water, making sure to mind the sheer dropoff into water of unknown depth that the Hydra had wallowed in. The shore was covered with chunks of half-rotted scales and flesh, but thankfully, the water itself was relatively clean, the sand under my paws mostly virgin- so far as I could tell. Given the lack of stink the water had, considering that the Hydra had inhabited it not long ago, I had to wonder if there was some kind of magic keeping it that way.

I shook my head. A question for another time.

I picked my way along the rocks and sand of the shoreline until I found a place where I could wedge myself somewhat comfortably among the rocks, then lay down to wait, guarding the only exit to the huge cavern. If the golem wanted to get out, then it would have to get past me.

I walked my avatar down the steps into Andre’s little domain, the comforting ring of his hammer on steel sounding clearly through the entire tower. As I came down into his sweltering little lair, I was surprised to see Celia watching him closely, as Siegmeyer perused Andre’s stock. The sword on the anvil I recognized as Celia’s, Andre using his hammer to work titanite into the blade, improving it as he did. I reached the bottom of the stairs, then cleared my throat, causing Siegmeyer and Celia to glance over.

“Ah!” Siegmeyer put down the stiletto he’d been examining and turned towards me, taking a few steps forwards, seeming fascinated. “Lady Sif- in your new form, as well! Sir Andre had told us that you had inhabited an avatar, but to see it in person is quite something else than hearing about it!”

“Please, m’not a knight, jus’ a humble blacksmith from Astora.”

Andre chuckled deeply, quenching Celia’s blade in a barrel of water, then holding it up and examining the blade closely, before turning it to see the other side. In his huge hands, the thing seemed more like a toy than a real sword, the hilt short enough that the pommel barely poked out from the bottom of his closed fist. After a thorough examination, he nodded to himself, taking a cloth and cleaning the blade carefully before holding it out hilt first to Celia, who took it.

“I’d suggest practicin’ with it again. The blade’s balance has changed slightly- titanite’s lighter than steel, but integrating even just a few shards was ‘nough for me to adjust the weight in the hilt to make up for it.”

“Thank you, sir Andre. I’m afraid I need all the advantages that I can get.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “You paid yer fee, that’s all I ask from ye.” He turned to me, his eyes flickering across the blade at my side, nodding. “I see ye’ve been using the blade, Lady Sif?”

“A beautiful blade it is, too.” Siegmeyer waved his fingers at the hilt, helmetless head turned towards me, his eyebrows raised. “Might I…?” I nodded, and he tugged at the sword, pulling it from its sheath. He hefted it, settling into different stances and attempting some slow moving chops and slashes, before nodding appreciatively. “It’s a fine blade, to be sure. Perhaps one of the finest I’ve seen, and worthy of its wielder.”

Andre snorted. “Should hope so, one of my best works, that is. Well, one of the best I’ve got here, anyways.” He looked towards me. “So, how’s it been working for ye? Looking to swap fer one of the others, see how they do ye?”

I shook my head in reply.

“No, I don’t believe I will. The blade suits my purposes perfectly, and I feel it will for some time- though I would appreciate it if you could improve it, should I gather the titanite to do so.”

“Hm, that one’s a bit complicated. Magic weapons, y’see- they take a special kind o’titanite. Green. Stuff that’s been so seeped in magic tha’ it conducts it like nothing else. Normal titanite will interfere with the spellwork, y’see.” Andre pointed at the blade. “Be careful wi’ it, though. Had to have another blacksmith help me with makin’ it in the first place- lightning ain’t my speciality, divine is.”

Another blacksmith? Ah, maybe the giant, the one that can ascend lightning weapons. Would make sense.

“Understood. I’ll keep a watchful eye out for any I see. Thank you, ‘sir’ Andre.”

He grimaced at the title, even as the edges of my mouth twitched upwards, then took another weapon from his pile and began working on it, studiously ignoring us. I recognized when I was being dismissed, even if Andre would protest that it wasn’t meant in that way, and glanced towards the Undead.

“If you would like to accompany me, there is something that I fear that I need assistance with.”

“Hah, Lady Sif, spoiling us with another adventure. Tell me, what are we to accomplish this time? Perhaps slay a great dragon? Rescue a princess?”

I grinned wolfishly. “Funny you should say that…”

“An honest-to-gods princess.” Siegmeyer shook his head.

“I’m surprised you haven’t rescued any before now, knight Siegmeyer. Protecting vulnerable princesses from horrible monsters seems to me the thing that would be right up your alley.”

Celia grinned. “Maybe it’s because a princess can’t drink ale and share boisterous stories? You do tend to keep a specific type of company, Siegmeyer.”

The knight harrumphed in mock indignation. “I shall have you know that I have heard at least one drinking song with a princess as a victor.” he waved his hand at us. “You both should do well to remember that appearances deceive!”

“Yes, you’d rather be the prime example of that, sirrah.” Celia teased. Siegmeyer made a noise that was almost unidentifiable, bouncing around inside the metal confines of his helmet.

“And what is THAT supposed to mean, young miss!?” He turned his head forwards, muttering. “Perhaps I’ve been going too easy. Think you need a good, solid sword training regimine, teach you to respect your elders.”

Celia just shook her head, putting on her helmet and buckling it down.

Walking down the same way my larger body had just come was rather strange. Everything appeared different when I was this small, and I had a strange, backwards sort of recollection of comparing my childhood memories to a place I was visiting as an adult. I could clearly see the paw prints I’d left in the loam, the claw marks where I’d nearly slipped here and there.

“Whoof, what prints! We should be careful, could be a gigantic beast lurking about, waiting to devour us!” Siegmeyer chuckled warmly as Celia snorted.

I merely rolled my eyes and chuffed. Wasn’t I supposed to be divine? Did divinities always have to put up with this ribbing?

Celia drew her sword and Siegmeyer tightened his grip as we reached the end of the path and the entrance into Darkroot Basin, but it appeared that a fresh wave of crystal golems had yet to appear, and the area was still empty of threats. Still, the two remained on alert, peering between the trees, weapons at the ready. I couldn’t help but feel approval for their readiness: even in the safest portions of Lordran, one had to be wary. There were a multitude of threats disguised as all manner of relatively normal things.

“The golem we are hunting lies in a cave on the other side of the lake. My larger form is guarding the exit, but it only attempted to escape once, before slinking back into the safety of the darkness when it noted that I was there. It is no different from any other crystal golem in terms of its strength, intelligence or otherwise, but I would still counsel caution.” I pointed my muzzle up the rocky shore, to where my large body was peering into the dark cavern. “My avatar will leave you here.”

They nodded to me, stepping into the water and beginning to make their way towards the other me. I watched them for a few moments, then turned and walked off towards the tower shortcut into the Undead Parish.

My larger me’s ears flicked as they approached, but I didn’t take my eyes off the cavern itself.

“So, Lady Sif. I fear that you forgot to tell us why you cannot fight the creature yourself.” Siegmeyer shrugged. “It is no great thing, and if what you said about it is true, it should really be no more of a challenge than the other golems that infest this place.”

“I am afraid that brute strength cannot win this battle- not in a way that has a happy ending.” I glanced down at the two of them. Siegmeyer seemed perfectly comfortable in the water, but Celia was clearly not happy with it, her fingers tightening around her sword’s hilt every time water sloshed around in her boots. “Seath’s golden crystal golems… while I am unsure what truly differs them from their blue siblings, I do know that they- more often than not- contain captured people. It is how Seath imports his test subjects. From glimpses I have had of this one, I identified royal dress, leading me to the ‘princess’ theory, and we cannot allow them to fall into Seath’s grasp.” I flexed my paws. “While I am without a doubt strong enough to easily overcome it in this form, I fear that I might injure or kill the person within as I did so. And while my avatar might have the precision to do so without hurting or killing the captive, I am not especially practiced in swordplay at that size anymore- not to mention the fact that I would be struggling to keep my head above water the entire time, and would be bogged down so as to be completely useless.”

Siegmeyer nodded in understanding. “So, you need the two of us to go in there, defeat the monster in glorious combat, and free its innocent captive.”

“Do you have to put everything in the format of an epic tale?”

I spoke up before Siegmeyer had a chance to reply. “Correct. The two of you are absolutely far more than enough to down this particular beast- mainly, I wanted to ensure the well-being of the person within.”

“We’ll have it done, milady! Come along, Celia, let’s show this beast its place!”

“Ah! Yes, knight Siegmeyer!”

Siegmeyer charged the cavern’s entrance as quick as he could, given the water and sand pulling down his every step, and Celia rushed to follow. The old adventurer’s experience and training appeared to be paying dividends, and as I stepped off of my dry perch and into the water to follow them, I heard her already beginning to huff breaths inside her helmet.

As we approached the cave entrance, I saw the golem farther in retreat slightly, before seeming to realize that it was against a wall with no other way out. I slowed in the entrance, blocking it to prevent the golem from getting past the two of them and making a break for Seath’s domain, while Siegmeyer and Celia moved forwards to engage it, Celia raising her shield and holding her sword out, ready to strike.

The golem hesitated for a bare few moments, the silhouette of a person clearly visible inside its torso. Then, once the two of them had gotten close enough, it suddenly dug one of its legs into the sandy cave bottom and charged forwards, pushing a wave of water in front of it. Its limbs grew crystal spikes as it swung, attempting to smash Siegmeyer where he stood, but the man moved faster than either his apparent bulk or his age belied, rolling into the water and to the side. The golem’s clublike arms smashed into the water, creating a huge splash, making Celia retreat a step or two as the wave hit her. The moment she stopped stumbling, however, she dug her own heels in, pushing herself into a half-run in the water and rapidly closing the distance, swinging her sword at the golem’s arm, part of which shattered on contact with the blad, producing a ringing noise that echoed through the cavern.

The golem let out a strange, ringing shriek, then tried to backhand the offending attacker. Celia had her shield up in a flash, grunting loudly enough for me to hear as it collided with it with a loud CLANG, sending her back a step as Siegmeyer closed from the other side. A thunderous overhand blow from his zweihander shattered the golem’s right arm, sending it plunking into the water with another shriek from the golem itself.

Outnumbered and surrounded on both sides, the golem appeared to realize that things weren’t really going in its favour, and started attempting to run through the water towards me. I slammed a paw down into the water, creating a huge splash, and growled. The golem balked, most likely out of some sort of self-preservation programming rather than actual fear, which gave Siegmeyer and Celia just enough time to catch up to it. A heavy chop from Celia’s sword to its leg brought its attention back to them, and as it stumbled back, its arm extended into a battering ram of yellow crystal that it swung in a wide arc, trying to drive the two back- except that the leverage behind the blow was terrible. Celia braced and met it shield first, causing the club to shatter into shards like shrapnel on the metal surface, scattering the water with a hundred tiny splashes as they landed. The golem stumbled back, now down one and a half arms, frantically trying to regrow what it had, try to buy enough time for it to somehow get past me- as if it could, somehow.

Siegmeyer and Celia, however, were having none of it. They followed it rapidly for every step, though Celia lagged behind a few steps to take a mouthful of her estus flask, making a sound of mixed pain and relief as her shield arm straightened out. As she went to put her flask away, the golem suddenly shifted, throwing itself at her- only to be slammed from the side by Siegmeyer, his little spiked shield penetrating it, his strength and bulk making it stumble and fall to its knees in the water. The knight backstepped, then swung his zweihander again, smashing what remained of the golem’s left, leaving it defenseless. It struggled to stand again, only to have Celia come up swiftly on the other side of it, and for both of them to cut its legs out from under it.

As the golem’s limbless torso fell into the water, it began to crumble, chunks of crystal falling into the water, then followed by a huge splash as the main body fell in. As it slowly fell into smaller and smaller pieces, the figure within began to shift, then shove its way through the thin remnants of crystal and out of the water, revealing a dripping, slightly shivering and, judging from her face, extremely grateful Princess Dusk.

As she got her bearings and began speaking to Celia and Siegmeyer, words that I couldn’t quite make out from here with how soft her voice was, I breathed a sigh of relief. Without Dusk, a lot of things got a lot more complicated- if she died here, I wasn’t entirely sure that she would exist in the past for Manus to kidnap her. If he didn’t kidnap her… well, maybe the pendant would still lure Manus back in, but given that it only appeared after you had rescued Dusk… well, it didn’t matter anyway, Dusk being safe and sound.

The three of them said their goodbyes, the two Undead and the human princess, as she faded out of existence and returned to her proper era. I watched as the last bits of her phantom figure disappeared into the Darkroot mists, then turned and started the process of plodding back through the water towards the shore. I didn’t think there was much my larger body could do, at this point, and thus… well, maybe it was time to figure out how Sif wielded the huge version of Artorias’ blade.

Chapter Text

The Undead Burg wasn’t hard to cut my way through. Ultimately, the Hollows that populated its rooftops and plazas weren’t any more a threat than the ones that I’d cut down in the Parish- less so, honestly. At least the Baldur knights had provided some modicum of a challenge, with the lingering remnants of the skill they’d possessed in life. Here, I was carving my way through them like so many corpses.

I passed the stairs, briefly watching the listless Hollow at the top, before nodding- it wouldn’t bother me unless I attempted the steps. I poked my head around the corner, into the tunnel, gazing down it. There, all the way at the end, looking over the edge of a balcony and into the Lower Undead Burg, stood another Black Knight, the Black Knight Sword, arguably the strongest weapon in the game, sheathed at their side. I glanced down from them, to the corpse that no doubt held the Blue Tearstone Ring, then shook my head. I’d risked my avatar once today to bring a Black Knight nominally to my side, I wasn’t eager to try for two.

I turned around, making my way back to the odd, thin tower that overlooked the courtyard where a number of Hollows stood guard. I made my way up the interior stairs, sinking my sword to the hilt in the back of the crossbowman before it even knew I was there, then coming back down and facing the crowd.

They shuffled as they turned, staring at me a moment, as if their half-rotted brains were attempting to process what I was. After a moment, they appeared to give up, and began shambling towards me, raising their weapons. I didn’t give them a chance to use them.

I darted forwards, and struck the first down with a flick of my muzzle, landing in the middle of their group. I glanced past them, towards the one that drew back, clutching firebombs in its hands, then quickly sidestepped an ax that whistled through the air and collided with the cobblestone, producing a cloud of sparks. I swung, and the Hollow stumbled back, now relieved of both its ax and the hands that had been holding it. I took a single step forwards to finish it, then took two very hasty steps back, as broken straight swords attempted to introduce themselves to my back. The firebomb Hollow seemed to hesitate, swaying in place, and I wondered if some remnant of its training remained, if some spark was whispering ‘friendly fire isn’t friendly’ in the back of its head.

No matter. I cut one Hollow off at the knees, dancing around the second’s clumsy blow and sheathing my sword in its rib cage for a brief moment, before drawing it out, flipping it in my mouth, then stabbing the first through the head. I darted forwards again, and before the firebomb Hollow had time to process that I was right in front of it, I’d bowled it over and was stabbing my sword into its eye. The last Hollow, crawling towards me, I dealt with by simply walking up and batting its head so hard with my paw that its helmet rang, and its neck made a loud crunching noise.

I paused for a moment, eyes on the fire bomb throwers on the roof of the house that made up one of the walls of the courtyard, before nodding to myself when they didn’t move. Hollows appeared to have the same aggro ranges that they’d had in the games, but here, I suspected that it was a mixture of having the approximate attentiveness, intelligence, and perception of a particularly rotted plank. Still, it never hurt to be cautious.

The rest of the Undead Burg wasn’t much more of a challenge. Mainly, the grouping of Hollows themselves were probably the greatest single challenge of the Burg because of a combination of unintentional combined arms tactics and numbers; a fire bomber for range, a few melee fighters with different weaponry, a lot to keep track of. The rest of the Burg was Hollows more onesie-twosie, in smaller groups and less team oriented.

I paused at the T intersection, gazing across the bridge, to where the two spear Hollows guarded the stairway down to where the Undead Merchant was. Briefly, I considered detouring to speak to him, but finally reconsidered. The man was nearly Hollow, speaking to an imaginary dog, and most likely only clung to sanity by the fingers wrapped around the hilt of his Uchigatana. My curiosity over how he’d acquired such a fine weapon wasn’t enough to make me spend the time pushing through the Hollows that guarded him- at least, not yet. Perhaps later, when I had time.

The Hollows between me and the entrance to the aqueduct proved no real challenge, weaker than the soldiers and the group I’d defeated before; the greatest threat was the creaking wooden bridge, which I was certain was going to collapse at any moment until I was past it and at the tunnel entrance. I poked my head through the door, grimacing at the green and slimy stonework under the shallow water, then reluctantly stepped into it with a gentle splash. Thankfully, while the stone was slippery under my paws and I could feel the thin film of plant matter squish with every step, the water itself was clean and gently flowing.

After the dark and damp of the tunnel, short as it might be, the moment of coming back out into the sunlight was a relief… which immediately turned, as I swore and leaped back and out of the way of an ax. Ah, right, the Hollows guarding the way up, I’d forgotten about them. One of those things that you sort of forget about, just because they’re barely a speed bump for experienced players. They’re more of a test of basic awareness and positioning for a new player, after the lessons of the Asylum. I ran out, claws clicking against the stone, sliding myself between the Hollow and the stone wall, before shoulder-checking it into the drop below. I leaned over the edge and watched with satisfaction as it fell, then dashed itself against the rocks far below, before moving on to the other Hollows staking out the path.

As I drew my blade out of the last of them, leaving the smoking corpse to lie twitching on the ground, I glanced over towards the far end of the aqueduct’s arches. There, in the far arch, was the place that would be inhabited by Domhnall of Zena. Trickster, wielder of crystal weapons, and tentatively linked to the plot against the gods- as the one that had betrayed them to Seath. If this was true, then there was little doubt that Domhnall was a dangerous element in the wider world; the moment Celia went down to the Depths, Seath would know what we were up to, assuming that Domhnall was reporting to him.

I shook my head. Things to think about at a later time, bridges we could burn when we came to them. Enemy, ally, or otherwise, Seath would be something we’d have to prepare for, though in such a way as to not tip off my allies as to what was going on. Cold-hearted and self-interested betrayer Seath might be, turning on the dragons for a Lord Soul and a place in Gwynn’s court and destroying the plot entirely for the benefits it netted him, but he would still be viewed as, at least nominally, aligned with the Sunlight Throne. In the end, I will have to kill him or convince him that affirming his loyalty is what benefits him the most. I breathed out through my nose and turned back towards Firelink.

I took stock of what was there as I walked into the collection of ruins, right on the edge of a drop all the way down into Blighttown. There was Griggs, seated on a large stone, leafing through a book and making notes in a journal to one side. Down at the bonfire, close enough for a bit of the warmth but not so close as to form a connection with the shard of Flame, sat the Crestfallen Warrior, staring into the bonfire. Off to the right, I could hear what was even to my ears the barely-audible strains of prayer- Petrus, most likely. Laurentius would probably be sitting cross-legged in his customary spot, though I couldn’t hear or see him from here. I paused and frowned- no, Celia hadn’t been to the depths, yet, that I knew of. If Laurentius was down there, he was most likely still a captive of the butcher.

The first to notice me was Griggs. Clearly catching a motion out of the corner of his eye, he glanced up, then back down to his work, before freezing. Slowly, he raised his head back up, staring openly at me in something that appeared to be shock. Slowly, he began closing his book and reaching for his sorcery catalyst, which lay against the stone he was sitting on. Before he could reach it, however, I interrupted him.

“Well met. By your dress, you are a sorcerer of Vinnheim, correct?”

He started, fumbling his book and catalyst, barely catching the former and leaving the latter to rattle against the moss-covered cobblestone that made up the ground. He cleared his throat in an uncertain manner.

“Um, yes?”

He didn’t seem sure of how to react to a talking wolf wearing a sword, which was fair enough. I had to rank pretty high on the list of strange things he’d seen. After a moment, he seemed to decide that if I was sapient enough to ask him about his clothing, then I was probably sapient enough to warrant a respectful greeting. He stood and gave me a small, polite bow.

“Griggs of Vinnheim, specifically.”

I nodded. “I am Sif.” Felt weird, introducing myself like that. “Tell me, have you run across a woman named Celia? Perhaps she was accompanied by a knight of Catarina?”

He blinked. “Ah, yes? Yes. I was captured by some thieves in the lower streets, and they freed me from my captivity, at which point I returned here.”

“Hmm.” I glanced towards the bonfire contemplatively. If Celia was moving into the Lower Undead Burg, then she might be exploring in the direction of the Capra Demon and the Depths. “Tell me, did they mention their intentions?”

“Well… they did say that they were attempting to explore further. I’m unsure that they noted anything else.”

I inclined my head. “My thanks.”

“... Certainly. Of course.”

Griggs retrieved his catalyst from where it had landed, righting it against his impromptu seat, then settling back down with his book, though his gaze still kept flicking to me. I ignored it, moving into the bonfire area. The Crestfallen Warrior looked up as I entered the circle, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, now, haha, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes? Come for a bit of warmth at the fire, wolf?”

“Perhaps just momentarily. I’m passing through, into the Catacombs.”

His head twitched backwards and he blinked. “Well, now, gods be damned, a talking wolf. Suppose I should’ve expected such, this place being what it is.”

I made to turn around and speak to Petrus, maybe threaten the treacherous Way of White follower into rethinking his orders in regards to Rhea and her band, then hesitated. This man was fated to try… something, against Kingseeker Frampt, something that pissed the serpent off enough to do something to him that resulted in him ending up a Hollow in New Londo. Would seem to be a waste of a perfectly good sword if I let that happen.

“That seat taken?” I asked, twitching my nose towards the step next to him. He simply shrugged in return, and I took that as a no, settling in beside him and gazing at the bonfire.

I sat for an extended moment, drinking in the ambiance of Firelink. The gentle crackling of the bonfire echoed softly off the stone walls, bouncing around in the semi-enclosed ring. Faintly, I could hear Griggs muttering, and the scratching of pen against paper. Occasionally, the huge raven perched far up on the remains of a cathedral behind us cawed, or preened its feathers. It was… peaceful, here, and I could see why he’d chosen to sit here, to while away the time in this quiet, peaceful place.

“So.” I said. “Do you know anything about philosophy?”

“Oh, gods.” He buried his face in his hands.

“-so, ultimately, absurdism would then be the logical extreme of nihilism in that direction, being someone saying ‘nothing matters, so I might as well revel in the purely absurd nature of the universe’ rather than just stopping at ‘nothing matters’.”

“I find myself something of a- what’d you call it?”

“Nihilist.”

“Right.” He nodded his head. “That.”

We’d sat here a while, having this discussion. At first, it’d just been me talking at him, but over time, he’d started responding to some of the things that I’d been saying, offering commentary or asking the rare question. Rodger- “Rodge, if you will”- seemed somewhat perplexed by the idea that the position he’d ended up on had an actual term for it.

“Well… if nothing matters, then why keep going?” I asked, my head tilted. He shrugged.

“See, there’s the rub, yes? I’m waiting to go Hollow, I suppose. Not like I could die, in any real way.”

“But death is, itself, a vital part of Hollowing. If you were truly sitting around and waiting to Hollow, why not drop yourself off the cliff a few times? You’d Hollow much faster than if you just sat here, staring at the flames.”

That question seemed to catch him a bit short. He placed his elbows on his knees and folded his hands underneath his chin, narrowing his eyes slightly at the bonfire as he considered the question.

“I suppose…” he began, then trailed off, frowning.

“From my observations, there are two components to Hollowing. The first is a loss of purpose- a focal point to orient oneself towards keeps sanity intact. The second is repeated deaths, particularly in a single place. A purposeless Undead that cannot overcome an obstacle and continues to die to it, or simply refuses to put forth the effort to overcome it, will inevitably Hollow.” I regarded him out of the corner of my eye. “It’s said that the most effective way to refute the arguments of a nihilist is to kill them. How would you react if I, say, ran you through with my sword?”

“Ah… angry, I suppose.”

“Well, why would you be angry? You were trying to go Hollow anyway. Me killing you would only help the process along, and, as you said, you can’t die. So, if I killed you, all you would get is a tad closer to your goals.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyebrows came together, and his expression changed from a frown to pure consternation.

“What… are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that, if losing something provokes a negative reaction in you, then clearly you must have valued that thing to some degree. People don’t become upset over the loss of things that they don’t consider to be valuable to them, and yet…”

“And yet…” he said, quietly, hesitantly, “I would be… angry.” He blinked several times, in quick succession. “Are you suggesting-?”

“I’m suggesting that how you actually feel might be at odds with your stated goals.”

Rodge tilted to the left, then to the right, then centered himself again and groaned, massaging his temples with his fingers.

“Gods, this is why I hate clerics and sorcerers.” He turned a frown on me. “And I can now add philosophers to that number as well. It’s unfair that anybody should be able to cause someone a headache through words alone.”

I raised my eyebrows. “So you’d prefer a cudgel upside the head?”

He made a noise of frustration and made a halfhearted swing at me, which I ducked under, grinning. He folded his hands again, placing his chin on them again and staring at the fire.

“I think…” He ran his tongue over his front teeth. “I think I’d like to consider this, for a while.”

I nodded. It was a lot to process, I understood that: I’d really left-fielded him with a lot of concepts he’d probably never considered, given that the basis of them wouldn’t exist for… well. Ever? Philosophy wasn’t exactly a focus for the lorebuilding. For everything I knew about the world and the events and locations of Lordran, my information about the rest of the world outside this self-contained bubble of Hollows and fallen gods was sparse, at best.

Griggs had approached at some point during the impromptu- and probably inaccurate to actual philosophical thought- lecture I’d given Rodge, and had listened with rapt attention. When I glanced in his direction, he met my eyes and raised an eyebrow of his own.

“I admit, I am not one to pay much attention to the philosophers- Vinheim has few, sorcerers pontificating on the finer points of the existential nature of magic and Soul. You, however, Sif, seem remarkably informed for a… talking wolf.”

I made a neutral noise. “One picks up these things whether one wishes or not, when you live as long as I have.”

Rodge, at this point, had checked out of the conversation, staring into the flames and in deep thought. My ears twitched as I heard something shuffle lightly behind one of the stone walls- Petrus, I’d guess, listening in and probably trying to decide what he should tell the Way of White about me, the traitorous rat. Not that he’d be able to hear much, at that distance- between the crackling of the bonfire and the low tone of voice we’d been speaking in, I doubted he could discern more than one word in five. Which was fine by me, I was glad for him to waste his time on such a frivolous effort as eavesdropping on a philosophy discussion. Griggs, for his part, brought his eyebrows together, curiosity in his expression.

“How long does a talking wolf live, in any case?”

“Oh, I’m not sure of the exact amount of time to pass, but suffice it to say, I swore allegiance to the Sunlight Throne when Gwynn still sat upon it.”

Griggs out and out startled, eyes boggling slightly as he nearly slipped off the perch he’d found on a short stone wall that followed the edge of the stairs. It was even enough to pull Rodge out of his thoughts for a moment to offer a low chuckle at the sorcerer’s reaction. I cracked a grin of my own, to which Griggs replied with a slightly indignant huff, settling back into his seat.

“Ah, if you think that comes as a shock; this isn’t even my true body. Just an avatar, an extension of my will.”

They both tensed for a moment, then each relaxed. Rodge most likely didn’t really care, as such, but Griggs most likely realized that if there was some chance of me attacking him, I probably would’ve done it when I’d first appeared.

“Lordran is widely known as the home of Anor Londo, city of the gods, but… if you…” Grigg’s face went through several very fast expressions as he connected the dots. “Ah.” He stood, giving me a bow. “I apologize for not recognizing what you were the moment we met, Lady Sif. I had not looked so deeply as to see your true nature.”

I huffed, waving a paw in his direction.

“Oh, straighten up and sit down. Divine I may be, but what good is divinity without followers?” You could, of course, argue that the Hunters were essentially the followers of Sif, but that wasn’t really relevant. “In these forsaken lands, the divine spark is merely a mark of power, something that isn’t uncommon amongst those flocking to this land. Like a pyromancy flame, but much less directly useful.”

“Still, divinity deserves respect, and I have not properly given you mine.” I was unsure if he was more perturbed that he’d somehow missed it, or that he’d then acted as if I was just your average talking wolf.

“Y’know, magic man, if her divine majesty felt slighted, I think you’d already be a stain on the flagstones.” Rodge said.

I gave him a frown, he wasn’t helping. He pretended not to see it, and went back to staring at the fire. I huffed, then pushed myself to my paws, stretching and enjoying the cracks of my vertebrae and joints.

“Well, it was time well spent speaking to the both of you, I think, but I’m afraid I’ve delayed long enough. I have business in the Catacombs, and I’m afraid that I must be off.” Between Patches the Hyena and the Rite of Kindling, I wasn’t sure what was more important. Either way, however, it was high time I got on my way. “Farewell.”

“Ah…” Rodge spoke up, something like concern flashing across his face. “I don’t suppose your weapon is holy, is it?”

“No.” I shifted slightly, causing the metal bits of the sheath to tap against the blade. “I’m afraid that it’s attunement is lightning. Don’t be concerned, I know about the skeletons that haunt the graveyard and the catacombs beneath- not a new scourge, that one. Don’t worry, they can hardly catch me, and if I’m correct about them…” Necromancers, after all, were only human, and thus died to any old sharp bit of metal. “Anyway, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Rodge nodded, then returned to his thinking. Griggs nodded to me, then moved off, back towards where his books and catalyst still sat. Behind the stone wall, I heard the gentle shuffling as Petrus returned to his spot, no doubt intending to pretend that he’d been praying the entire time and hadn’t even realized I was here. Rat bastard. Hopefully, if I timed things right, I could interfere with things in such a way as to save Rhea’s companions by removing Patches from the equation, then dragging them out of the Catacombs and taking a chunk out of Petrus for his betrayal. Hopefully literally, I wanted the dirty Way of White spy out of the way in a permanent sense as soon as possible.

I walked up the steps, glancing to the left at the top of them, to the little alcove where Laurentius sat after the Undead rescued him, but before he went searching for Quelana- should the Chosen Undead meet both and tell him about her. Sure enough, the path of grass was empty, as Celia hadn’t yet plumbed the Depths- heh- and rescued him from the butcher’s claws. Hopefully, one she had, I could shanghai him into a trip down into Blighttown. I wasn’t sure if I’d need him to see Quelana, but regardless of that, he might find that the place reminds him of home.

I walked past it, then through the opening into the area where Frampt appears, carefully avoiding the pool of water in the center and the closed doors underneath it. While the ruins were remarkably sound, overall, I had no desire to test my luck on top of a fall all the way to the entrance of the Kiln, nor did I wish to risk attracting the attention of Kingseeker Frampt. Hopefully, by the time the second bell rang and he awoke, my own plots would have too much momentum for him to derail, which would give me time to turn the others- particularly Celia- off of the idea of the serpents entirely. Kaathe and Frampt would be my primary adversaries in Lordran, if I could interest Seath and Gwyndolin proved amenable. Whatever their game was, I wanted no part of it, and neither did I want them to succeed.

I left through the doorway to the left, giving the sheer drop all the way down to Blighttown below and the crow watching me intently above an anxious glance each, hoping that the soil wouldn’t collapse and pitch me into the former and that the latter didn’t see me as a possible snack. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t beat the crow, should I choose, more that I absolutely wanted access to the Asylum and Oscar. As I came down the steps towards the graveyard, I saw the skeletons ahead of me twitch and rattle, before they began assembling themselves, bones drawing together like magnet toys assembling themselves into forms.

I watched this happen for a second, fascinated by the process of the various parts clicking into place, before I remembered that I didn’t exactly have a permanent way of dealing with them. Maybe I could break their bones, but I wasn’t sure that the necromancy powering them wouldn’t just glue them right back together without an injury, and without holy damage I couldn’t put them down for (relative) good. I growled in annoyance, then dug my paws into the dirt and ran past them.

One of them had formed enough that its skull turned to follow me, its arm snaking out and attempting to score a hit with its blade, but I simply leaped over and ran on. A domino effect of rising skeletons followed me across the graveyard, rattling like alarm bells as they picked themselves up from graves and grass and soil, shaking off the various bits that came with them. Ultimately, however, I was far too fast for them- by the time they’d formed, I was well past them, and none of them had the speed to keep up. I easily made it to the dead tree that marked where the beginning of the catacomb stairs snaked down the cliff face, starting down them as the skeletons came behind me. At the top of the stairs, then hesitated, chattering amongst themselves as they shuffled back and forth at the top stair. I smirked; whatever reason for their hesitation, I was home free to make my way deeper.

I dashed through the room with the shaft, the floating exploding heads not even registering I was there until I kicked the single skeleton guarding the steps down out into the shaft, colliding with one of them and causing it to explode, scattering the bones everywhere like shrapnel. I didn’t bother watching where they went, already moving down and past the second skeleton, leaping over the edge and sliding on the pile of bones, grimacing. I turned, quickly gauging the wall that I’d just leaped from the top of. Short enough that I could make a run at it and scramble over the top, if I couldn’t just leap up onto the lip, so thankfully I wouldn’t have to do something totally humiliating like having Patches help me with the ladder. I shuddered at the very idea, then twitched as the skeleton threw itself down, scattering over the pile of bones and beginning to reform instantly. I turned and was down the hall in a split second.

The room beyond, I barely spent a few moments in, dashing past the two skeletons trying to reform as they realized I was there. I went straight into the opening in the wall to the left, skidding down the passageway and surprising the necromancer in the bonfire room so badly he nearly dropped the lantern he was holding. Before he could even properly look at me, I leaped into the air, my teeth coming down like a vice around his neck. He made a desperate sort of gurgling noise, but I simply bit down harder and shook, causing his spine to give a sad sort of snap. The newly-made corpse sighed out a last breath, and I felt the small amount of Soul being added to my own, dropping the body and turning my attention to the skeletons that had followed me.

One had come down the stairs, and I could hear the two others trying to squeeze down the passage, but this time I didn’t avoid them. They lacked one important thing: the pale white fire that had before suffused their eye sockets was gone, leaving them empty and dark. Now, instead of an eternally resurrecting enemy, they were an animated pile of dry bones. And everybody knows what wolves do with bones.

I tackled the first one straight off. Stupidly, it attempted to raise its shield to ward off the attack, something that might have worked had I been using an actual weapon. Instead, I crashed into the rusted bit of metal and wood, dropping the skeleton to the ground, where I stomped on its skull contemptuously, smashing it. The bones shuddered, then lay still where they were, as I gave a rather dangerous grin of satisfaction. Running up the hallway, I realized that the other two skeletons had somehow tangled themselves together into a mass of bone and weapon at the peak of the steps in their rush to follow their fellow. It made them easy as hell to deal with, as I simply just leapt up and crunched one of their skulls between my jaws, driving my paw through the other, then kicking off the shield one was holding. I landed, watching them fall to pieces with satisfaction, then turned back towards the room.

The mechanism trigger was surprisingly easy: even without the directed leverage of a biped, I was easily big enough to sling my paws over it and push with my back legs, though it took a little bit of doing. Still, the satisfaction of the stone rumbling out of place wasn’t to be underestimated.

I glanced at the dead bonfire and its gently glowing coals, studying it for a moment. I hadn’t encountered a bonfire that hadn’t been lit yet, and it was interesting to feel how it contrasted the others. Its connection to the First Flame felt atrophied, thin, weak, just enough flow to keep it here. Somewhere underneath the fire was a maiden in a rock tomb, blinded, in the dark forever… I shuddered. Some things were better left unpictured. I turned my back to the coiled sword and swept up the stairs, carefully stepping over the skeletal remains.

I came out of the dark passage and into the dim light, glancing skyward to the towering structures far above, then shifting my gaze to the right. There, across a chasm that dropped all the way to the territory of the bonewheels far below, was another necromancer in his black robe. He shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, but didn’t move, obviously feeling unthreatened. After all, there was a drop between him and me, and the only route I could obviously take was packed with his skeletal minions- he was safe as safe could be! I drew my sword from the sheath at my side, and immediately set to proving him wrong.

I packed up a few paces, then pushed myself forwards, hard, running at the chasm. The necromancer took a few nervous steps back, unsure of what I was doing, but by then it was too late. I took a flying leap, rebounded off the rock wall hard enough to crack the stone, then hit him like a pickup truck, bowling him to the ground. Before he could even make a noise of surprise, I twisted and lopped off his head, splashing his dark red blood across the worn stone of the crypt. The skeletons that had moved forwards to protect their master shuddered as the light faded from their empty sockets, leaving them far less of a threat than before, and one I dealt with easily as my paws and blade smashed bone and broke rusted blades.

Emerging into the light again, I huffed as I remembered the spike-coated bridge and the mechanism that powered it. The… woman? Man? Whatever, the necromancer in black smirked at me, folding their arms confidently. With no ranged weaponry and no way to cross the bridge, the spikes impossible to straddle and the gap too far to jump, they were safe as they could be. Once again, I’d have to prove them just as wrong as their colleagues.

Across the way, I could see a man in leather armour holding a spear and shield, bald head prominently displayed. My target, and potentially the source of a lot of answers reaching back to a time before time, as far as this universe was concerned. He appeared to be taking stock of the various threats and enemies that he could see from his vantage point, though my Titanfall trick with the rock wall appeared to have attracted his attention. He was watching me with interest, but didn’t seem inclined to lend a hand, given that he hadn’t moved a muscle and simply leaned on his spear. Ah, Patches, what an altruist.

I ran to the right, dodging the skeletons and trapped statues, trying to time it so that I hit the pressure plates that triggered the spike traps when they were right behind me. The force of the trap firing launched one of the skeletons into the abyss, at least, and I simply ignored the others, and the floating heads exploding behind me as they struggled to catch up. A Dark Souls character is slow and ponderous, even at their lightest and fastest, but I was an awkward and short target with a completely different biological setup than the usual Undead, and I easily skated through the hazards that would have provided quite a challenge for your average warrior.

When I reached the mechanism that would turn the bridge, one nearly identical to the one that opened the passage earlier, I did the sensible thing. That is, I ignored it entirely, because I could see the gap in the rocks through which Patches was just visible. Easily, I jumped to the rather unsteady short wall that separated the narrow path from the fall into the chasm, then jumped again and rounded. Patches, trusty Patches, grabbed his spear and sat up straight, finding himself cornered against the rock obstacle that I had so easily circumvented, with me between him and his escape. He seemed to weigh things for a moment, then broke out into an easy smile.

“Ahhh, well, hello! Ah, I would’ve helped you with the bridge, and all, but I find myself on this side of this little thing.” He knocked against the rock behind him with his leather glove. “And, you see, the skeletons triggered the bridge, so I can’t exactly get back across, can I? Even if I got past that lump and his guards.”

I regarded him for a long moment. While the easy smile and open expression came naturally to the man that would, time and again, goad people into having a look at treasures that he would immediately screw them over for, I could discern the slightest threads of nervousness through the mask.

“Well, now, you’re the first person to try and reason with a wolf I’ve seen.” I mused.

He tensed. It was nearly indiscernible, just a momentary action, but I’d been looking for it. He relaxed a second later, and his eyes flickered to the sword strapped to my side, where I’d returned it to its sheath.

“Not many wolves carry around steel fangs, hmm? Figure it was as good a chance as any that you’d be the reasonable type.”

“Hm.” Well, do or die. “Tell me, would it mean anything to you if I said…” I rattled my brain, trying to remember Demon’s Souls. It wasn’t a game that I’d played myself, damn Sony’s greed, but I knew a little about it. What was the hub…? Ah! “The Nexus?”

He froze. This time, there was no effort to mask the reaction, the way his knuckles tightened around the shaft of his spear enough that I was sure they were white under the leather. He stared at me as if I wasn’t just any old wolf, but something incomprehensible, something that he suddenly found deeply unsettling.

“What?”

“The Nexus. The gathering place. A bunch of people of all stripes, and one person fighting their way through every creature around. I believe there was one called the… judge? No, adjudicator, that was it. And the phalanx.” I tilted my head. “Did you know that there’s a phalanx here, contained within the painted world? Might even be related to the one there.” I huffed. “They may even be one and the same… after all.” I gave him my best piercing stare, and he wilted slightly before it. “Some relics from that time before time are still around.”

“That’s… impossible. Isn’t anyone that should…”

“What? Know about the primordial era?” I shrugged in a rolling motion. “I admit that my knowledge isn’t perfect, but I know that the Chaos Flame wasn’t the first source of demons in this world. Though, I do wonder whether it came from the-”

“DON’T-!” I blinked in surprise as Patches winced at his volume, then dropped his voice to a low hiss. “Don’t mention… that. Clerics and gods’re bad enough without… that thing, coming back.”

I sat back on my haunches, looking smug. For his part, the Hyena grumbled something that sounded like several swear words, rubbing a hand across his scalp.

“Where’d you even-? No.” he held up his other hand, grimacing, leaving his spear leaning against the rock. “I don’t want to know, don’t tell old Patches, you’ll be giving me conniptions already…”

I felt a flicker of amusement at the idea that I was causing such for the guy specifically famous for attempting to fuck over the player character in every single game he appears in. Then, the last word registered- conniptions? Huh, maybe Patches would be the actual origin of that particular line. Go figure.

“Well, regardless, I know a bit. More than that, I know that you, Patches the Hyena, are older than time itself- at least, from the perspective of this modern era.”

He let out a breath through his teeth.

“Fine, you’ve caught me. Not something I ever thought I’d be caught about, but here we are, suppose. Now, what could you possibly want with Trusty Patches, eh?” I narrowed my eyes at that, and he shrank back a little. “Oh, fine, fine. What do you want with Patches the Hyena. There, that better, your majesty? Maybe a little bow?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this era’s faded. It’s not like the primordial time, your time, before the true dragons and the archtrees. The Flame…”

Patches grunted, leaning against his shield and sliding into a sitting position. “Faded, it is. Dying, slowly. Damnable clerics and their…” he wandered back into muttered swear words. From several different languages, if I was hearing correctly, and none I recognized.

“It’s not the cleric’s fault.” Patches fixed me with a glare, which I avoided. “Very well, it’s not ALL the cleric’s fault- I’m willing to admit that it at least partially is. The Way of White is the main driving force for this mad plan of the god’s in the human lands, rigging things so that the strongest Undead possible lights the First Flame.”

“Bastards make it hard to move around and do anything. I’m a simple man, just looking to help people-” it was my turn to pin him in place with a glare, which caused him to stutter. “W-well, m-maybe help them find some treasure?”

“With a boot. To their back. I may not know much about the primordial time, but I know that much, at least.”

He didn’t seem inclined to disagree, resorting to being sullen in response. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, sitting down where I was.

“The point is that this Age is fading, dying. The First Flame is out of First Logs.” He snorted, then looked annoyed that I’d gotten that out of him. “I need to solve the problem, one way or another, prevent the Age of Flame from fading, or carry the world into another era.”

“Not going to like this very much, am I.”

“The world is where you keep all your stuff.”

That, more than anything I’d said, gave him real pause. After a moment, he shrugged.

“Fair. Ol’ Patches can’t deny that one. Still doesn’t give a reason I should be helping any of your lot- gods, that is. Responsible for your own messes, you are.”

“You should help because I’m specifically looking to fuck over the Way of White and any other clerics between me and saving the godsdamned world, so even if it doesn’t work out, you, Patches, should be along just for that.”

He pressed his clasped hands to his lips, then tilted them towards me. “... Go on.”

Well, at least I had his attention, if nothing else.

“Look. The reason I approached you, despite your tendency of sinking knives into any available back, is because despite all that, you can very well keep a secret. Not a word breathed about the primordial time from you. Thus, I think that you’ll realize it’s in your best interests to keep quiet. Mainly, I’m giving you a fantastic chance to put all different kinds of clerics from all different kinds of persuasions into some really sticky situations, in addition to ensuring that you can rest easy knowing that whatever stuff you have scattered around in caches or what have you is safe. No world-changing fog banks that mess with the nature of reality.” He grimaced again. “As if I hadn’t given you enough reasons, you will also be able to keep an eye on me, the only one that could spill the secrets of your actual origins and make some very powerful beings very interested in you.”

“Fine. Fine, fine, all fine, fantastic.” he pushed himself to his feet, grousing, and kicked a pebble over the edge, letting out a ‘hm’ of satisfaction as it rattled off the walls and bounced off the head of one of the bonewheels. “Trusty-” he rolled his eyes as I narrowed mine. “Patches the Hyena gets dirt on you to balance your dirt on me. All’s fair and balanced. Only, problem- what do you get out of this, exactly, your wolfishness?”

“Somebody who hates the Way of White absolutely and will gleefully work to their downfall, as well as someone who has seen the ages pass and may know things that will prevent the slow fading of the Age of Flame. Or, perhaps, the start of a different era.”

“Mm, dunno how much I can promise of the second, but you’ve got me on the first.”

“Right now, however, I need someone to help me push down to the bottom of the Catacombs. If I’m right, there should be something there that will take us a step in the right direction.”

He snorted. “Yeah, not likely, I don’t see why I should.”

“The edge is right there and I’m stronger than you.” I said brightly.

Patches pushed himself to his feet, picking up his spear and shield.

“Alright, where we heading?” he replied, just as brightly.

“Augh! These things! I hate these things! Who MADE these!?”

Patches dove out of the way of another bonewheel, and I tackled it from the side, causing it to tip over. He ran up, driving his spear through its skull, then swore and rolled again as another came barreling through. I jumped out of the way, watching it roll by until it hit the rock wall, sparking against it and coming to a stop, the skeleton driving it immediately reorienting on us, not having an inner ear to be confused by the spinning.

“I have no idea.” My sword was in its sheath, being not very much use against these things, leaving me free to speak normally. “If I were to hazard a guess? Either the necromancers got experimental, or this was some kind of torture visited on them while they were still alive.”

“Yes, well, it’s now a torture visited on us!”

“Ohhh, you really have no idea.” I muttered to myself.

Still, despite the normal terrible nature of the bonewheels, we were doing quite well against them. They didn’t really seem to know how to handle two targets, not even mentioning the fact that one of those two was agile and very difficult for them to pin as they would your average Undead. I could simply move slightly to the left or right as they came, then smash my back paws into the side of their wheen, causing them to overbalance and leave themselves totally vulnerable to a coup de grace from either myself or Patches. As Patches wasn’t the stand and fight type, none of them had managed to corner him, either.

As the last bonewheel threw themselves towards me, iron spikes sparking against the rocks, I drew my sword. Just before it hit me, I sidestepped, leaving it without the time I would need to turn itself back on a trajectory to collide with me. I lashed out with the blade, severing several of the wooden spokes; instantly, the wheel exploded into wooden chunks from the sheer force, smashing the skeleton so hard against the ground that they exploded into pieces of bone like shrapnel. I stood there a moment, blinking, then looked at Patches, who had his eyebrows raised all the way to where his hairline wasn’t.

“Well. One way to do it.” He said, levelly.

“Hn.” I made a careful complete turn, examining every part of the chasm carefully. I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared by one of those unholy mobile blenders. Satisfied I wouldn’t be caught unawares, I nodded and sheathed my sword. “That would appear to have been the last of them. If you’d like to go on ahead to the passage onwards, I have a small bit of business to take care of.”

Patches shrugged.

“No skin off mine if I get to sit down a minute.”

He walked off towards the gap in the rock wall, humming something to himself. I stared after him for a few moments, just to make sure he was going the right way, then padded towards the only irregularity: a bit of stonework, poking through the natural rock of the chasm wall. Usually, the stone was blown outwards from within by Vamos’ pickaxe, the player character coming down from above through a hole in the roof of his little sanctuary. Who knew how he’d gotten there in the first place. I paused, tilting my head slightly. Maybe it was his tomb?

Anyway, usually, Vamos himself punches out the wall, probably in an effort to get the Chosen Undead to go away and leave him alone. Even through the stone, I could hear the faint ringing of his hammer, working away at one of the many weapons that I suppose he had to have been entombed with. Perhaps he hadn’t even noticed he was sealed in until the Chosen Undead broke his concentration? Whatever might be the case, I wanted to speak with him, and I wasn’t going to go through the humiliation of doing it the intended way.

I pushed myself off the ground, pressing my paws against the wall, giving it a sniff. Moisture had wormed its way into the mortar between the stone blocks, softening it and giving this section a slight structural weakness. It was probably this very thing that had led to the hole in the roof, the stone funnel above the tomb concentrating water on that spot until it collapsed. I took a deep breath, braced myself, then pushed myself off and slammed my paws back into the wall so hard that one of the stone blocks that made it up cracked through- but it didn’t collapse inwards.

I was about to pull back and make another attempt, when I realized that the ringing had stopped. Hurriedly, I hopped away from the wall, just in time for it to come tumbling down, the stone blocks scattering themselves like so much detritus. And there, in the dark hole, stood the man himself- and, of course, his magnificent metal beard. Vamos. He peered out at me, pickaxe in hand, actually pausing rather than just telling me off and returning to his work.

“You’re different.” He grunted. “Been a long time since a god has sought me out.”
I sniffed the air again. Vamos smelled of damp, but also faintly of fire, of hot metal… but there was something underneath it. Something somewhat… hot? Cinnamony. Ah, he was the smith that ascended weapons to Fire and Chaos, was I detecting some hint of it about him? I had a hunch. Only one real way to test it, I suppose.

“You smell of Chaos.” I said, levelly. Vamos simply grunted again in return.

“Working for the Witches of Izalith does that to you. Now, little god, you’re spoiling my focus. Tell me if you need something, or get off.”

I blinked. Well, that was… refreshingly blunt? I suppose that must mean that Vamos might have worked directly with the Chaos Flame, way back when, before the fall of Izalith, the corruption of the Witch and her daughters, and the invasion of the demons. Would explain the fire ascendancy, as well.

“I’m gathering like minds above, in Lordran. Eventually, I’ll need to delve into the ruins of Lost Izalith, hopefully to seek out the remaining daughters of the Witch.”

“They still survive?” The gruffness hadn’t gone from his voice, but the impatience had. He lay the head of the pickaxe against the ground, leaning on it as he fixed me with his full attention. “I had thought them all gone to corruption, or killed by Gwynn and his like.”

“I’ve felt threads of power wafting from Blighttown, from the edge of Izalith. Pyromancy, with a hint of Chaos. Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t, but… we may need someone to speak with them. I came following a hint of the power of Chaos, hoping that it would lead me to one who could do so, on my behalf.”

“Me? I lack the talent.” He held up his bony hand, and I started as I realized that there, on his ring finger and displayed prominently, was an Old Witch’s Ring. “Talent or no, though, doesn’t matter to this trinket.”

“Could you make more?” I struggled to contain my excitement. An in with the Daughters, and a way to speak to them on my own terms, was valuable indeed. Vamos lowered his hand, lifting his chin and gazing at the dim crack above us.

“Perhaps. Been a long time, but I could do it.” He lowered his head. “I’ll make one, then pack my smithy. You’ll help me carry it.”

Before I could respond to that blindside, he was gone, walking heavily back into the dark and towards the faint red light of his makeshift forge. I stood there, in the opening, until Vamos’ tools began ringing against the anvil again.

“That was unexpected.” I mused. You’d think I’d be used to people in this world acting counter to my expectations, but it appeared that I wasn’t ever going to be fully acclimated to it.

“So, ah, let me get this straight. The skeleton smith who used to work with the Witches way back before the Chaos Flame decided people looked tasty is going to smith you a magic ring to talk to a giant spider-”

“Two giant spiders.”

“Oh, yes, silly old me, I forgot- two giant spiders. Yes, much better. And all of this is because you… feel bad for them.”

I shuffled as I walked, looking uncomfortably at the walls of the passage.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, per say. I feel bad for the Fair Lady, of course, but it’s not a matter of feeling bad for them. They’re wielders of primeval power, flame sorcery, the precursor to Pyromancy.” I lifted my head slightly, back on more firm metaphorical ground. “They’re powerful, and we’ll need every scrap of power we can get. Petrus will no doubt be relaying the changing nature of Lordran to the Way of White, and they’ll be moving against us soon. And where the Way of White goes, the gods aren’t far behind. Put simply, we’re running out of time, and we need every scrap of power in Lordran to be behind us when the storm finally comes.”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t trust them, though. Monsters are as monsters do, in my experience.”

I gave him a flat look. Funny he should be the one saying that. He, of course, didn’t even have the decency to blush, merely moving forwards and through the fog wall. I followed him, shivering as the silvery almost-fluid caressed my fur, the passage widening into a true cavern. This was the entrance to Pinwheel’s lair, the lid of the gigantic coffin askew, leaving a crack easily wide enough for fifteen to slip through together. He whistled.

“Some coffin! I wonder if the jewelry matches the drapes…”

“Oi. Focus.” He gave me an aggrieved look, but relented, turning towards me. “Down there, is a being named Pinwheel. He was a necromancer once, lost his wife and child.”

“Oh, let me guess, he’s trying to bring them back through dark rituals?”

“No, he brought them back. Specifically, he brought them back fused with himself, making them an amalgamation of all three, six arms and three heads in one combined body.”

Patches was silent, for a long moment. Then, in a low voice, “You know, I’d really thought I’d escaped abominations of magic and flesh after the fog rolled over the world.”

I grimaced. “If you really think that, don’t go looking at the Duke’s Archives too closely.” I shook my head. “In any case, Pinwheel is… not a particularly threatening adversary. It’s relatively fragile, relying on ranged spellcasting to fight its opponents. It's only trick is summoning copies of itself to hide amongst, but I believe I can sniff out the true one easily enough. Keep your wits about you, don’t get hit, and this should be an easy fight.”

Patches cleaned one of his ears with a finger, grimacing. “Dodge the magic and hit the guy. Not exactly high sorcery, is it?”

“Then let’s go.”

We walked together to the edge of the coffin, peering down into the candlelit interior of the huge stone sarcophagus. If you positioned yourself right, you could see clear to the other side, where a figure in black was hunched over a table covered in books, flipped pages and occasionally searching out another from various piles. Patches leaned over the edge.

“So, what, we just jump?”

“I could give you a push, if that would make you feel better.”

He gave me a look, then sighed, gathering his shield and spear close and leaping down into the gap. I rolled my shoulders, which was a rather weird motion for something with four legs, then coiled like a spring, leaping down into the coffin.

I easily landed at the bottom, where Patches was already moving into a standing position, his shield held out in front of him and his spear ready at his side. I drew my sword, staring across the pool of water that filled the center of the coffin, at the dark-robed figure on the far side.

Pinwheel’s lanterns twitched as it straightened up to its full height. It turned, candlelight glinting off the three masks, the skeleton on the table behind it casting ominous shadows over the walls behind it. It regarded us, and the three masks turned towards each other, seeming to quickly deliberate, before all three snapped back to the both of us and it screeched.

“Be ready!” I shouted past the hilt of the blade in my mouth. Patches didn’t deign to answer, merely tightening his grip on his shield.

The creature raised its lanterns high, then surrounded itself with a ribbon of light as it jumped into the air and spun, creating a corkscrew effect with its lanterns that was surprisingly pretty to look at. Clouds of motes appeared throughout the coffin, clearing to reveal exact copies of the figure in black, each of which raised their lanterns as the light from them intensified.

Patches turned sharply to his right, taking a step forwards and thrusting with his spear, impaling one that had appeared nearly directly behind us and causing it to burst in a cloud of glowing specks. I could feel the magic snap back across the room- in fact, I could feel the strings of power linking every copy back to the original, who was drifting towards the back corner of the room, attempting to hide behind a wall of its copies. Tracing the gossamer threads that linked them together in a weak web of power, it occurred to me that it felt, in a very vague sense, like what I’d done to create my avatar, though much less powerful and less… solid, perhaps, was the word? My avatar was a solid physical presence, durable and enduring, but I could feel the power hemorrhaging from these copies and returning to their originator, their presence not strong enough to anchor the power they’d been given for more than a bare few minutes. Still, the idea flashed through my head of a pack of copies of myself- weaker, yes, but making up for their individual weakness with overwhelming numbers.

Hum. I hadn’t thought I’d be getting anything other than the Rite of Kindling out of this fight, but I supposed that I was going to have to go through Pinwheel’s research notes and try to figure out how he’d cast this particular spell. I jumped to the side, avoiding a fireball, and refocused on the figure that was the hub for the network of power. Enough woolgathering, it was time to deal with the current threat.

I dashed through the shallow pool, causing two Pinwheel copies to recoil as the water soaked their fronts and put out their lanterns. I dodged around a third, then slashed at the original Pinwheel. To my shock, it met my sword with one of the long sticks that served as arms, holding its lanterns. Another lantern raised above its head, brightening as it charged a spell, while a third swung down in an attempt to club me with the hot metal. I ducked out of the way, making another slash, only to have it leap out of the way, my sword catching nothing but robe.

Behind me, I could hear Patches engaging the clones, swearing the entire time. I quickly sidestepped a fireball, which sizzled against the water before going out. This was proving altogether more difficult than the boss battle in the game already, most likely due to the fact that Pinwheel here was an actual person under that mask. I dodged, ducked, and darted, avoiding assault after assault as the copies came after me, dispelling one with the lightning damage of my sword every once in a while as the quarters got too close.

My thick fur prevented burns, but I was taking a number of them- too many copies, too many lanterns. I couldn’t track it all, and even though Patches was taking the heat off of me, I had no doubt that the infernal undead monster under that dark cloak could keep this up pretty much indefinitely, whereas we could not. Still, however, Pinwheel’s cloak was slowly shredding itself under the contact of my blade, its arms twitching and writhing involuntarily every time I scored a hit. It's almost-black blood mixed with the water we were splashing through, and I could tell that its jumps were slower, weaker, less high with every stroke I landed.

Finally, the moment of truth came. Pinwheel landed, preparing another spell, and then slipped slightly. It wasn’t much, a momentary little movement, but it was more than enough to dispose of the copy that had been harrying me at that moment with a swing of my sword and close with all the speed I could muster. Its masks snapped to me, but before it could push itself off the ground again or summon another copy to buy itself time, I flicked my head to the side and sank my blade into where I guessed its leg to be.

Pinwheel screamed, an inhuman and deafening noise, as it jerked and writhed, electrical discharge from my blade arcing through it. I withdrew the blade, and before Pinwheel could even collapse, I drew the edge across its entire front before plunging my blade’s tip directly below where the masks were. There was a soft gurgle, black blood dripping down my blade, and I withdrew it, leaving the cloaked figure to crumple to the wet stone floor. As I watched, the cloak folded in on itself, emptying out of whatever horrifying amalgamation of flesh and metal was underneath it and leaving merely the three masks and the ragged fabric.

I glanced to the side, where Patches was panting, but grinning, inhaling his share of the necromancer’s Souls. He saw me staring out of the corner of his eye, turning his gaze on me.

“Well, now, wasn’t that fun? Shall we agree to never do that again?”

I huffed. “No promises. I may need your assistance in the future. For the moment, however, I’d like a look at this creature’s books…” I narrowed my eyes as some part of Pinwheel’s essence came unfixed, something that felt… “Ah. The Rite, I’d forgotten.”

I sheathed my sword at my side, then walked to Pinwheel’s workbench, where a number of glass alchemy supplies joined the modified bones of what appeared to be a human. I selected a vial from the mess, placing it in a wooden holder onto the stone floor, then grasping a cork in my teeth.

I reached out, metaphysically, coaxing the scrap of power. I was not a viable host for it, lacking a connection to the bonfires. In a twist that I really should’ve guessed, Patches seemed to lack the same connection, which meant that with the perishing of Pinwheel, the Rite was left without a host to latch onto. However, my experience creating my avatar had given me some idea of what I could do, here.

Gently, I massaged it into a more physical form, slightly rebraiding a bit of the power. Red and black liquid slowly began filling the vial, gently swirling in the glass container. I pushed the cork in the moment I was sure it was done, then sat back, staring with some fascination at the gently moving and pulsating fluid within. It almost seemed to pulse like a heartbeat. So beautiful was it, that I was distracted from the faint sense that I’d forgotten something.

“Ah, hope you have a plan to get out of here, your wolfishness, because it just looks like the only way out’s a ladder.”

I uttered the foulest swear word I could think of.

Chapter Text

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.”

“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.

Chapter Text

I watched as the little mage drew out a bit of the swirling energy inside of him. I could feel how he coaxed the magic out, swirling the energy around the catalyst that he held in his hand, before raising it and creating a bolt of brilliant blue that struck the somewhat scorched tree he was using as a target. He nodded, satisfied with his performance.

“Soul arrow is the most basic sorcery, but a vital one, and one of the first offensive pieces of magic that Vinheim teaches. It’s simple to shape the arrow itself, and hard to make a mistake that can injure the casting mage, and is thus ideal for apprentices practicing their ability to quickly manipulate magic, particularly in a stressful situation.”

I nodded, feeling out the weak wafts of magic that clung to the impact site slowly dissipating. I wasn’t sure if I could perform the spell myself, not without a catalyst to use as a foundation for the lattice of energy that formed the projectile, but I wondered if… talismans could be formed from the body parts of the divine. If they could channel miracles, could they channel magic?

When I’d marshaled and structured the mana I’d needed to craft my avatar, external and internal, I hadn’t needed a catalyst. In retrospect, as I considered it, I’d managed to structure the energy into complex forms well enough without the crutch of a catalyst. Was that because of my inherently divine nature? Was there some element of myself that allowed magic to flow easier and be molded without hassle? Surely not. After all, Gwyndolin used a sorcery catalyst, didn’t he? But-?

I shook my head. It appeared that, sadly, complex magic may be beyond my reach, if only for the moment. Perhaps I could trouble one of the smiths for a catalyst that I could wield and use, or perhaps sound sorcery wouldn’t require the use of a catalyst from me. However, right now I was stuck with the conclusion that spellcasting was not yet a goal I could reach for.

I nodded to the sorcerer Hunter, thanking them for their time and explanation, and they nodded back and went on their way. Whether or not I could actually cast spells or do things beyond what I was already doing was a question for another day. For the moment, I felt that I had plenty to do, and not nearly enough time to do it all in.

Still… magic, even the basic thing that was the Soul Arrow, was complicated. It was energy, extracted from the physical body of the caster, then forced into a latticework that could sustain itself away from the foundational building block of that latticework that was the catalyst itself. But what if I, say, wanted to achieve a simplistic environmental effect, instead of actually creating and sustaining a complex structure?

On paper, this was simple. I wanted to create frost around me, so, in theory, I would reach out and tweak the magic around me, drawing the thermal energy from the surrounding air and ground to produce extreme cold and frost. In reality, I had no real idea how to achieve the effect. I had known what I wanted with the creation of the avatar, had bent the world to my will in the direction of the effect I wanted to achieve, but that appeared to not be the case here. How does one draw thermal energy from the area around them?

I flexed my Soulstuff, pushing and pulling, experimenting with touching the wider world. If I infused the air with my magic? Maybe if I tried to will it into existence? But each attempt fell short, not even managing a puff of cold air. Ultimately, I suspected that I was going about this the wrong way, that there was some fundamental truth that I was missing. Some part of the universe resisted my attempts to bend it to my will, fight my authority over it.

That sparked frustration, and I glared at a nearby log, lips pulled back slightly from my teeth. Something surged within me. The world, no, the universe would bend. It was not a matter of if, it was a matter of certainty. That it should resist me was inconceivable, impossible- the surge reached up like a wave, and I was standing, snarling, my fur on end-

I shuddered as I came back to myself, suddenly feeling unsteady on my paws. I sat, heavily, and flinched at the sudden coldness underneath me. Looking down, I realized, with surprise, that the ground underneath me had frozen solid. I traced the fresh layer of ice with my eyes, finding that it led all the way to the tree that I’d been glaring at, which was now coated with a layer of rime. The wood was split apart by fingers of frost that had reached into the wood as it flash froze, causing pockets of moisture to rapidly expand. As I watched, there was a loud CRACK as it split, revealing that it was frozen all the way to the core of the tree.

“Magnificent, Lady Sif! Few have I seen who could wield any kind of magic without a catalyst of some kind! Why, I-”

I tuned out the sorcerer, thinking rapidly. In the future games, wolves had been linked with frost more than once. And, once the surge had started, it had been… easy, to push out. If that had been frost magic that had flowed through me with such ease, did wolves in the Dark Souls universe have an alignment with ice? There were many species, in various folklores, that were associated with an element or a concept. Perhaps, then, wolves had an association with frost that went deeper than just happenstance.

I recalled how the energy had flowed through me, the nodes inside me it had touched. The surge itself had come and gone, and now I struggled to dredge up the strength that it had summoned at its call with ease, but there was still plenty for me to summon. I traced the line of magic and thought back, considering the pattern that the magic had taken, and with a thought, wove it around my paw. I reached forwards and pressed it against unmarred soil, then lifted it away, finding in its wake… frost. Rime and frost, the loam of the forest floor frozen in the shape of a paw print. Fascinating.

I flexed the limb, feeling the very light buzz of mana arcing up and down the fur. I could feel how I could shift the world ever so slightly, how I could draw the heat out of things, how I could freeze and coat in ice. Frost wasn’t my favoured damage type, that would always fall to lightning, but I couldn’t deny that it made for some quite terrifying possibilities. After all, it was very hard to protect against an extreme cold with a mind of its own, that wormed its way into every crack and crevice in your clothing. It was far from being utilized, but it was certainly the beginnings of something great. I summoned it together, placing my paw against the ground once again and trying for another wave, but it only spread a fresh coat of ice for a few centimeters in front of me instead of the true wave of cold I’d produced before.

Ah, well. I had plenty of time and space to practice. It was learning to walk all over again.

“Sir sorcerer, I thank you dearly for this, but now that I am across the first hurdle, I would hate to see you or my other Hunters injured in my experimentation. I would appreciate it if you would inform Lady Alvina of my departure, and my thanks for referring such a helpful tutor.”

The Hunter straightened with pride, making a salute of some sort with his sorcery catalyst, then turned and marched off. Presumably, to go see Alvina, as he’d been told. As for myself… I hadn’t been lying.

The small applications of this new frost magic had been… worrying. The initial surge was almost unconscious, and just short of entirely uncontrolled. A wave of frost that could very well have seriously harmed anyone in its path. Even without a wave of power like that, my newly discovered affinity for frost was dangerous- the cold could kill just as well as the heat, and often worse so. It was easy to tell when one was burning, but the damage that the extreme cold did to you was much more subtle. If there was anything that I didn’t want, it was catching one of my precious Hunters in the crossfire of my magical experimentation. I had few enough allies as it was.

Still, in a stroke of good fortune, I had the perfect place to practice: namely, above Artorias’ grave. There, I would be able to flex the power I had managed to call in peace, leverage myself in ways that I would fear to if I was surrounded by vulnerable allies, as I was here. I walked off into the forest, circling around to where I could cross the thin stone bridge again. As I did, it occurred to me that there was one final group of beings in Darkroot that I hadn’t yet met, owing to them being deep within the trees of the second half.

The mushroom people, who most likely descended from Elizabeth of Oolacile, had a small colony in Darkroot just as they had a colony in the Great Hollow leading down to Ash Lake. The latter had light implications of being somehow linked to the plot against the gods, being that they were guarding the only entrance to the rebel stronghold that was Ash Lake. That did make me wonder, however, whether the mushroom people here had any kind of links. Perhaps the colony that stayed here had stayed in order to protect Sif? Did they somehow remember things from Elizabeth’s time, or were they just mindless fungal beasts? I spared a thought to how the largest of their kind could strike a blow that could smash stone and break steel, and I hummed. Such strength wouldn’t go remiss, if they had held onto their ancestor’s capability for higher thought.

As I passed into the area guarded by Alvina’s descendants, I felt their eyes upon me. I could not reach the mushroom colony by myself, not without uprooting a good portion of the trees and leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. However, the cats were lithe and agile, and could easily fit between the trees. The easy solution presents itself.

“Descendants of Alvina.” There was shuffling between them, upon their raised plateau, and one came forwards. Older, scars of battle across their body, and fur lanced with white and gray among the black. “Do the fungal people of Darkroot still hold true to the intellect of their ancestors?”

There was shuffling among their ranks again. The elder silenced them with a flick of his tail, sitting regally before me and raising his head high. Proud as any cat would be, prouder still for his signs of battles fought and won, and I wondered how the hierarchy of the cats in Darkroot worked.

“They remember their pact, if that is what you ask, Lady Sif. They hold true to the agreements between themselves and Lady Alvina, and have not broken their word. As to whether that indicates if they have held the capacity of thought demonstrated by their progenitor, Elizabeth, for all this time…” He made a noncommittal hum.

“I would ask permission to entreat you and yours.” His tail flicked again.

“We are here to serve Darkroot, Lady Alvina, and Artorias’ memory. You need not implore us to follow your word, Lady Sif.”

“Still, you are my sister’s to command, not mine. I give what respect is due, both to Alvina, and to the pride of your race.”

His lips twitched, and I thought I read a bit of a smirk about the expression, though it didn’t so much translate to human analogues.

“Ever the wolf, Lady Sif. A cat would be cunning and clever, but you come to us with honest treatment, speaking of honour and respect.”

“Should I not be?”

His tail flicked again. “I do not think it is a bad thing, per say. Just not the way of my people.” He waved a paw. “Say your piece, and we will listen.”

“My thanks.” I flicked my gaze over those gathered. Not a large crowd, only five besides the elder, but I suspected there were more that I hadn’t seen. “Things are stirring in Lordran. Foul creatures that have made their nests in the dark places are slaughtered by heroes, powers begin to wake, and things begin to move as they haven’t in hundreds of years. There will come a time when we find ourselves in true conflict, though against whom, I cannot say. What I am certain of, however, is that it is inevitable that it occurs. When that time comes, I must be ready with whatever strength I can gather.”

“We would not hesitate to protect Darkroot, Lady Sif.” One spoke up, raising his head high.

“I have no doubts about that. What I am asking of you, however, is more than simple guarding.” They had looked interested before, if only because of the novelty of being addressed by Sif herself, but now they focused on me. “I asked you of the fungal people of Darkroot. I need a representative, one who can go in my place and speak to them, and see if they won’t lend their incredible strength to the task ahead. More than that, I and Alvina both need scouts- ears and eyes beyond the Hunters, and… paws to do our work.”

The elder smirked, the other cats chittering among themselves in amusement.

“I- we, are honoured that you would seek us out for such a question, Lady Sif, but I’m afraid that I do not see what we could offer you that an Undead could not.”

“There are more than just six of you.” I said, simply.

The elder blinked, then grinned a grin full of needle-like teeth. Amusement flickered in his golden eyes, his tail twitching as he flexed his paws, claws scraping against the densely packed loam.

“Perhaps just a few.”

“And perhaps, those few see and hear more than you indicate.”

“They might.”

“If they truly are what I believe they are, then I would ask boons of you.” He nodded, once, and I continued. “First, the fungal peoples. Approach them and entreat them as I have you, see if they possess the intelligence of their precursor, and, if so, whether they will lend their strength to the Sunlight Throne. Second… the latter of the two Bells of Awakening lies deep within Blighttown, though we know not where, nor its condition. I have need of scouts, those willing to plumb the depths, to see what peoples are down there and whether they are amenable to speaking.”

I paused, glancing around the clearing, taking in the walls. There, I realized, something slightly cool settling deep in my stomach, were more cats than I’d ever seen in the games. They lounged upon the raised wall of earth that surrounded the little bowl-shaped area, watching me closely, while some stood or sat here or there among the trees, or behind me. Carefully concealing my surprise, and a sudden spike of anxiety, I returned my focus to the elder.

“The last two are rather sensitive.”

“You have nothing to fear from me or mine, Lady Sif. Those here will keep the confidence of the sister of their ruling Lady.”

I nodded. “Very well.” I breathed in, then let it out as a huff through my nose. “There are rumours, hearsay, that the members of the plot against the gods hid below, in Blighttown. The entrance will be hidden, but from what I have heard, it involves the great tree at the edge of that diseased crevice. The second is that I need reports- I have been caught off guard at least once by the Black Knights placed by the god’s orders around Lordran, and the further my actions take me, the more will shift beyond my control. The Way of White already has an inkling of my existence, I suspect, though I am unsure when or how their agent reports back.”

“It will be done, Lady Sif. Of that you can be sure.”

The elder bowed his head, though the vicious smile never left his face. I inclined my head to him, then stood, glancing over the clearing. The spots that had been taken by cats just moments before were now empty, every single one of the watchers gone entirely. I found myself between a flicker of anxiety and a glowing core of… expectation, perhaps. The Hunters were a force to be reckoned with, there were no doubts about that, but there was no stealth in their ranks. They were sentinels, an army of warriors, and it showed in their tactics and approaches. The cats were closer, for their part, to Shiva’s nameless bodyguard in nature.

The rest of my walk was quiet and undisturbed, moving through the undergrowth towards Artorias’ resting place. For once, there wasn’t anything pressing to distract me, no large issues I was on my way to address, nothing that strictly needed my immediate attention- at least, not from my larger body. For the first time since I’d started moving around, I could take my time a little, appreciate the ethereal beauty of Darkroot. I inhaled the scent of forest, small animals and dense fog mixed with wood and the slightest undertone of rot. Felled trees and dead plant life, dissolving into the ground and feeding the next cycle of life in the forest.

“How would an age of Dark affect Darkroot?” I mused to myself, quietly.

Surely, Dark denoted a lack of the sun. Wildly different the world of Dark Souls was from my own, with magic denoting even the pass of time itself, surely the trees still required sunlight for photosynthesis. In the prospective Age of Dark, would plant life die out? Would the world be left entirely bereft of most life, save for immortal undead, wandering in the darkness?

I hummed. I hadn’t felt hungry since I’d arrived here, and it’s not like Sif left her arena to hunt. It was likely that I didn’t need to eat at all, and if that was true, that most likely meant that I could endure a complete death of the ecosystem. Depressing as it might be, I could survive it, though I had little wish to exist in such a barren world.

Carefully, I crossed the stone bridge back to Sif’s arena, though the crossing was much quicker and easier than it had been the last time I had made it. Practice really did make perfect, especially when some of that practice had been going toe to toe with many of the hostile creatures that called Lordran home. I swiftly came to the other side, then went up and over the wall that denoted the edge of the arena.

Artorias’ grave was left undisturbed from when I’d seen it last. The walls might have been crumbled, but they would be exceedingly difficult to climb for an Undead in armour. If, by a total miracle, one had managed to get past the highly increased presence of both myself and the Hunters, then they would’ve been stumped here. The main doors were still barred by Sif’s… did it count as an ultra greatsword, even? From my perspective, it was relatively the same size as my smaller form’s lightning blade, in comparison to my smaller form’s size. My size. Whatever. Still, that meant that it was so large and heavy as to be completely unusable by even the strongest of Undead. Even those capable of wielding the Berserk reference, that solid hunk of iron, might not even be able to lift the hilt, let alone hold the entire blade. Though, come to think of it, a Black Knight might be able to wield it… though only with extreme difficulty.

I cast my gaze over the blade, then dismissed it with a shake of my head. Practicing with it was a necessity, as my own experimentation had shown my teeth and claws and raw strength to be insufficient to kill many of the larger enemies I’d faced. That, however, would come later, when I was comfortable with my ability to wield my newly discovered affinity for frost. I sat in the center of a path of grass, then breathed in, and out. Little spiderwebs of white reached out from my paws in all directions, while I watched with interest.

Frost was a damage type that appeared in the third game, specifically linked to Irithyll of the Boreal Valley, which, itself, was either modeled from or built around Anor Londo. If proceed, Frost caused Frostbite, which did damage, reduced stamina regen, and reduced your armour’s ability to protect you. It wasn’t very good, for a status effect, and thus was rarely used, but here…

Frost, as a game mechanic, was restrained to status effects and HP damage. Here, however, the insidious creep of cold would be something more like reality. If I could cover a target in frost, I could slow their reaction times, make them sluggish and lethargic, even make their weapons and armour brittle or kill them outright with extreme cold. Assuming, of course, that I could land the hit and make the frost penetrate their body. This didn’t include the ability to make frozen spears, or even battlefield hazards in the form of slippery ground… hmm, potential. Though I felt that I might struggle to direct it, without a catalyst for control. As it was, I was simply projecting uncontrolled frost into the wider world, at best barely directed by my intentions.

I breathed deeply, then settled in to practice. Directing the frost and harnessing the energy in a way that prevented it from flowing where it will would be a lengthy process, but after landing in this body, I was rather familiar with exactly that.

“You don’t have to follow me on the next leg of the trip. In all honesty, I’d rather have you here, keeping an eye on that buffoon, Petrus.”

Patches nodded, his mouth quirking upwards into a smirk as his eyes danced towards where Petrus was still standing. Rodger, for his part, watched on with a sort of vague curiosity. He was interested enough in our conversation that he at least wasn’t sinking back into staring at the bonfire in silence. Anything, really, was an improvement from that, as long as it wasn’t him Hollowing.

“Far be it from me to complain about not having to follow you on whatever suicidal adventure you cook up next, wolfy. Old Patches is perfectly fine staying here.” He reclined back on the stone steps, his shield and spear laying by his sides. They were never very far from his hands.

“No kicking him off any ledges- at least, not yet.”

Patches’ smirk turned into more of a scowl.

“And here I thought we were friends! You don’t trust me, wolfy?”

“Specifically, I don’t trust you not to give in to your hatred of clerics and the intrusive desire to see one take a bit of a fall. You have a way of doing things, and while I certainly wouldn’t argue that the idiot doesn’t deserve it, it would be inconvenient for all of us if the Way sent someone more competent when we weren’t ready for them.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” I looked at Rodger in surprise, who shrugged, his chain mail shirt clinking softly. “I’ll somehow fit it into my packed itinerary.”

I snorted, nodding my thanks to him, a nod that he returned with a thin smile. Patches made a noise of offense and rounded on him, launching into a defense of his honour that I immediately tuned out. I walked away from the circle of warmth around the bonfire, through the ruins of Firelink.

By this time, the Hollows that guarded the way up from Firelink and into the aqueduct leading to the Undead Burg had been restored. I wondered if, rather than being a factor of resting at the bonfire, the restoration of enemies was a factor of time instead? I rammed one of them off the edge, watching it smash itself against the rocks far below, and shook my head. If that was the case, how did the ones that were kicked off ledges and such find their ways back to where they’d stood? A conundrum to be sure.

The last of the Hollows dealt with, I went to step into the clear flowing water, glancing down the aqueduct as I did. The shortcut leading to the tower that let out just above the entrance to the Depths was still closed, so I ignored it. Then I paused, looking down at the water I’d been about to put my paw in.

I stared at the surface of it for a few moments, then, experimentally, my larger body tried sending a thin layer of frost across the surface of the ground in the arena. Several tries finally yielded a success, coating the entire area I’d been aiming for in a thin, but solid, layer of ice. Both my bodies nodded, and then I reached towards the water with a paw, touching the surface gently.

There was a crackling as frost spread from the point of contact, quickly crossing the waterway and affixing itself to the stone on either side, allowing me to swipe my paw. The ice traveled down the surface of the water, making a solid surface on top of it, creaks and groans echoing through the stone passage. Experimentally, I pressed onto the surface with one paw, then two, then settled my entire weight on it. It creaked underneath me, but held. I grinned triumphantly, making my way down the passage and towards the door to the Undead Burg with perfectly dry paws.

I didn’t care how it looked, or whether it was really practical to expend all this effort just to keep from getting wet. In my book, it was a win.

The Hollows weren’t particularly more difficult from this end than they had been coming from the opposite direction. The only real danger came from the crossbow Hollow that looked down on the square barricade area, and even then, I brutalized the Hollows there fast enough that I only had to dodge a single bolt. The Hollows slinging firebombs were slow and didn’t bother to lead their shots in any way, making it easy to dash through and slam myself into the three Hollows guarding the shortcut from the Undead Burg bonfire into the Lower Burg. Speed and strength, as well as a good blade, saw me easily through them, leaving me standing in front of the iron door closing off the shortcut, sheathing the sword at my side.

Celia and Siegmeyer hadn’t been this way, yet. At least, if they had, then they hadn’t bothered to actually open the door that led to the stairway down, as it remained closed. Now, typically, the iron door itself couldn’t be opened from this side, and had to be approached from the Lower Burg side of things. The idea behind this was that it gave the player character the option to backtrack to the Undead Burg bonfire, for the purposes of healing and refilling the Estus flask while exploring the Lower Burg and fighting things like the bandit ambush or the Capra Demon.

From the appearance of Reah and her guardians, and assuming that the order of events of the game still ruled, Celia must’ve defeated the Capra Demon. If that was so, then the two of them had most likely cleared out most of the Lower Burg. The only place left to go was down, down into the Depths, which ultimately led to Blighttown. And, of course, the Gaping Dragon, empowered by another one of Seath’s channelers. Between the channeler, the dragon itself, and Domhnall of Zena, it would seem to me that the Depths were firmly under the control of Seath the Scaleless.

Seath had long undertaken experimentation with the goal of producing more of his kind, offspring with the stone scales that denoted a truly immortal dragon. The Gaping Dragon had once been a true dragon, but had fallen to corruption and hunger, and was now a twisted shell of its former self with a fraction of its original strength. Given its channeler guard, I was more than a little inclined to believe that it was the byproduct of some experiment of Seath’s- perhaps into the nature of the dragons themselves. Whatever it was, it was most definitely something that needed putting down. It was something that would, without a doubt, attract the attention of the Duke. The question became, then, whether the attention drawn would be positive, or negative.

I cast a glance over the iron bars of the door and the moderately rusted lock. It was a simple deadbolt, mounted to the iron of the door itself and the stone doorway, and I could see a bit of the bolt through the thin gap between the door and the stone. It would be difficult, if not impossible, for an Undead to reach through the bars and unlock the door from this side: between the closeness of the iron bars and the iron square that surrounded the deadbolt, I was unsure a human could even reach it. Still, I was in the unique position of not caring in the slightest.

The door buckled at the first hit, my shoulder bending the iron bars in a little with a loud KRANG as I rammed it. The second hit caused stone dust to fall, landing in piles on the ground. At the third, it wasn’t the deadbolt or the door that gave, but the iron driven into the stone that the deadbolt slid through. The bits of iron clanged against the stairs below as the door swung open, slamming against the stonework with bent hinges and ruined bars. I really hoped that we didn’t need that door again, as I think I ruined it pretty thoroughly.

I made my way down the stairs, paws soft against the hard stonework as I padded down to the entrance to the Lower Burg. I reached the second landing, and only spared the doorway to the left a glance before walking to the right, to the stairs down into the Burg. The corpses of those enemies that inhabited the place, dogs and worse, lay scattered about the path. To one side, I saw the open door to where Griggs had been contained, nodding and walking on. Celia appeared to have made easy work of this place.

The various ambushes that littered the way deeper were similarly scattered about, the bandits made nothing more than corpses with one or two precise strikes each. At least a full third were hewn entirely in half, wounds I recognized as having originated with Siegmeyer’s zweihander and near-superhuman strength. The old adventurer appeared to have had no difficulty with anything here, and the two of them had gotten through with nary a hitch, as far as I could tell. I could smell no trace of their blood among the bodies.

The fog wall that normally hid the layer of the Capra Demon was gone, leaving me with a direct view into its small arena, which was scattered with more dogs. Their corpses bore the same wounds as the Hollows that littered the Lower Burg, and I nodded to myself. My assumption that Celia and Siegmeyer had defeated the Capra proved true, and I couldn’t help but feel some flash of pride on behalf of the Undead. Not so long ago, she had quailed in my presence and acted in fear of me, and now she was bringing down demons. They grew up so fast.

My purposes for coming this way fulfilled, I turned right and into another stairway, turning halfway down and coming down a second flight to the bottom of the Lower Burg. Here, the walls rose far above my head, forming foundations for the buildings above, the stone riddled with moss and lichen. It was colder and wetter, down here, and as I sniffed the air, I thought I recognized just the barest hint of something rotten. A whiff of the Depths.

I poked my head around the left-hand corner, nodding to myself as I saw the lifeless body of the bandit that looked to ambush any passing Undead from behind there. Not that I thought that it would’ve ignored the two Undead that had already passed by, but once one was punished for their lack of caution enough times, one learned to double check things and make sure. You never knew where something dangerous might be hiding.

“Lady Sif!”

I turned away from the corner at the excited voice, ears perked, and saw Celia waving at me from the steps up to the shortcut tower. Siegmeyer sat a few more steps above her, cleaning his blade, his helmet resting on a step at his side. He looked up at the sound of Celia’s call, sighting me in but a moment, a huge smile breaking out on his face.

“Well, Lady Sif! This is certainly a surprise. Did you intend to meet with us here?”

I padded closer to the base of the stairs and sat, not bothering to prevent a smile of my own from crossing my lips. “I have to say that I didn’t specifically have any intention of intercepting you here, not in any specific sense, but I’m glad to see you all the same. I saw some of the enemies that you managed to overcome on the way here, and I spoke to Griggs of Vinnheim, the sorcerer that you freed.”

Siegmeyer nodded in recognition. “Ah! Yes, poor Griggs, locked away in that room by those bandits. That we managed to come along in time is a true stroke of luck. He stated that his intention was to make his way back to Firelink- I presume that, if you spoke to him, he made it?”

“Indeed. He was hale and hearty when we spoke, and had interesting insight into some subjects we discussed. He stated that you were intending to move deeper, and I regret that I had other things to attend to and couldn’t join you for your exploration, though you seem to have made quick work of everything here and you seem unharmed.” Celia shuddered.

“Not for lack of effort.” she said, grimacing. “Bandits and Hollows, and there was this creature behind another of those walls of fog- tall. Wore a skull on its head. Had these two huge iron cleavers.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “A Capra demon, one of the footsoldiers of the wild Chaos Flame. Strange, that one should find its way here, so far from its origin. How it came to be, I doubt we’ll ever know.”

“Was an excellent fight, I must admit, and an interesting challenge!” Siegmeyer said, bright as ever. “Close quarters meant that Celia had to cover me, so that I could get room for my sword-” He brought his hands up to begin gesturing, then hesitated and lowered them sheepishly. “Ah, but the storytelling can wait for later, when we are in friendlier environments.” I nodded to him.

“Indeed.” I turned towards the doorway to the Depths, sniffing once, then drawing my lips upwards in disgust. “If my nose is correct, I would guess that that way is the way to the Depths below the Burg. Sewers and worse, and, I would hazard, packed tight with all manner of disgusting creatures.”

“Aye, we had assumed as such. We had just been preparing, and discussing whether we should see where this other door leads.” Siegmeyer waved his hand over his shoulder, indicating the entrance to the tower shortcut.

“Hopefully, a spot we can rest at.” Celia said, cleaning something dark from the blade of her sword with an oil cloth and returning it to its sheath. She then proceeded to take out her Estus flask, swirling the remaining fluid around inside of it. “I think I’m nearly empty, and I don’t fancy exploring an entire new place without a fresh supply, not with how treacherous this place has been so far.”

“If you would like, I would be willing to scout the tower for you. Gwyn willing, perhaps it’ll lead to a refuge that you can rest at, or perhaps a roundabout path to someplace you’ve already been.”

Specifically, the tower was a shortcut at the very terminus of the Burg that led back to the aqueduct, on the other side of the iron door I’d looked at earlier. It opened easily from this side, and would lead one back to Firelink shrine. Not that they knew that, or that I was supposed to know that, but a white lie here was harmless.

“I would not wish to impose, Lady Sif, but if you would be willing, then we would gladly take you up on your offer of aid.”

Siegmeyer shifted himself towards the wall, leaving a gap next to him that was easily wide enough for me to pass through, and Celia did the same. I nodded to the both of them, passing them by and up the steps, then turning into the entrance to the tower.

It was a stone circle, with a staircase spiraling up the inside, much like the tower that the Havel pretender had been contained in. In this case, however, instead of multiple landings, there was a wooden platform on stilts, suspended halfway up the inside. Like many of the more fragile looking constructions of Lordran that were perfectly sturdy in the games, this was one that I was much more dubious about in real life. The legs of the platform looked half given to rot and mildew, and it creaked ominously as the bow Hollow that stood atop it shifted around. I was glad that, unlike the rickety bridge over nothing that was the entrance to New Londo, it wasn’t anything that I would have to walk across.

I padded my way up the steps, making a distinct effort to remain as quiet as possible. Whether my efforts succeeded, or the Hollow itself was so out of it that anything short of an Undead in full plate clanking up to it would go entirely ignored, it had its back turned to me when I reached the same level as the platform itself. This made it simplicity itself to jump up, slam my paws into its back, and send it right over the edge to smash itself against the stone floor below.

“Lady Sif?” The question echoed up from below, and I looked around the edge of the platform to see Celia, blinking at the corpse of the Hollow that had pancaked on the stone floor.

“I’m perfectly alright.” Celia looked up in surprise, quickly finding my face with her eyes. “There was simply a Hollow that I… dealt with.”

“I can see that.” Celia nudged the Hollow’s corpse, then crouched down to have a look at its bow.

I, for my part, turned back to the stairs, mounting the last few and finding myself at the only real landing in this tower. The stairs in front of me had crumbled, and wherever they had led to originally, the way farther up was blocked off by wooden planks. The curiosity that I spared them was passing, at best; whatever was farther up the tower most likely wasn’t worth the effort that I’d spend trying to get there.

Instead, I stepped over the surprisingly well-preserved wood of the landing and through the doorway at the opposite side. The opening smelled faintly of dampness and echoed the sound of rushing water into the top of the little tower, and as I poked my head through, I found exactly what I expected. In front of me ran the water of the aqueduct, and looking left, I could see where sunlight peeked into the tunnel from the two doorways that led out of it beyond the iron gate.

“Vee hee hee, what kind of creature is this, hmmm?”

I twitched and grimaced. I’d always found the moss merchant to be a little bit unnerving, and as I turned to look at her through the iron bars that she hid behind, I winced again. Her tattered clothing did nothing to hide the physical rot of Hollowing, her emaciated form showing through the tears and rips in the fabric. The only way she was even identifiable as a female was by her voice, and even then, only just.

“Haven’t attacked the bars yet, so you must have some sanity about you, eh?”

“... Some.” I said, reluctantly. If she was as surprised by a talking wolf as the rest of the residents of Lordran, she didn’t show it.

“Well, I’ve got moss, and you’ve got Souls. Care to trade?”

I opened my mouth to say no, then paused. The moss that she sold was actually very important for any trip into Blighttown, to ward off both toxin and poison. For the large party that I wanted to take down there, her efforts- and wares- might very well be vital to their success and lack of casualties. After all, if they died in a permanent sense when the player killed them, then what was to say that the horribly toxic environment of Blighttown couldn’t do it.

“Out of curiosity… how much do you have?”

“Ohhh, piles and piles, wolfy!” I grimaced at the nickname. It had been bad enough when Patches had started using it. “I know all the secret places to collect it, oh yes, though I’m not telling you, vee hee hee!”

“I’m not planning to make you tell me. I’m just-” I frowned and swapped gears. “I may be involved in an expedition into a highly toxic place soon, with a large number of allies. If you would be willing, I would like to ask you to gather whatever mos you can find. Ideally, we’ll come to purchase the lot before we head on to our destination.”

“Well, well, a bulk order! I can see that you’re a shrewd buyer, wolfy, and I’ll have it when you get back! Vee hee heee…” Her laugh faded as she walked backwards into the dark, and the last thing I saw of her was her glowing red eyes, before those, too, winked out.

I stood there for a moment in the doorway to the tower, then shuddered at the chill prickling up my spine. I definitely hadn’t remembered her being that creepy in the games, thought that might’ve been because my visits to her were just the rare instances I’d needed to stock up on vital supplies she offered. Optionally, of course, there was the idea that she’d been this creepy all along, and that it never came through the games. While I didn’t doubt that I could put her down with ease, there was part of me that was still glad that she was in there and I was out here.

I shook my head, banishing the thoughts, as I turned back towards my intended goal. It was easier, this time, to step down onto the surface of the water and freeze it underneath my paws, allowing me to walk down the tunnel to the grate. Unlike the shortcut from the Undead Burg, I didn’t have to bull rush this one and knock it off its hinges: it was enough for me to get up on my hind legs and manipulate the deadbolt with my teeth, sliding it into the unlocked position before pushing the door open with an awful creaking noise. I shuddered as it swung open, sticking out my tongue.

“Ugh. Disgusting. I should’ve used my paw.”

The muttered words rebounded off the walls, echoing in the small stone space. The bolt had been slimy and encrusted with moss and… other things, and I most definitely regretted tasting it. Still, with the door open, I turned back and walked across the layer of frost to the tower and down the steps inside. It was something of a relief to exit the dark dankness of the aqueduct and back into the weak sunlight, even weaker for our position in a man made crevice. That particular thought made me glance at the door to the Depths and grimace, thinking about how much worse it would be in an actual sewer.

“Welcome back!” Siegmeyer smiled at me, Celia perking up farther down the steps. “So? Any luck?”

“Indeed. The tower climbs up and meets the aqueduct that runs into the Undead Burg, but further along. There was a deadbolted door that I opened, but besides that, the way is clear to Firelink.”

“Ah! Excellent!”

Siegmeyer stood, grabbing his helmet from the step next to him and fastening it back onto his head. He patted it twice, then turned and took his zweihander from where it was leaning against the wall, resting it back against his shoulder where it typically lay. Celia buckled her own helmet to the rest of her armour, her hands touching the shield on her back and the sword at her side, before she nodded to herself and began climbing the steps. I led the two of them back up the tower and into the aqueduct, where Siegmeyer paused, leaning down to examine the layer of ice that I’d formed atop the surface of the water.

“How peculiar… it looks rather like a river during the deep of winter, when even the slow motion of the water isn’t enough to keep the frost away.” He leaned down and rapped his gauntlet against it, the sound of metal on ice echoing through the stone passage.

“I’ve been experimenting with magic, and found myself to have an affinity for the manipulation and generation of frost. Knowing the places that we might find ourselves in eventually, I figure that practicing making a solid surface to stand on might be a wise decision.”

“Oh, I agree, Lady Sif. I must say, I can definitely count the amount of times I would’ve given much for a frozen river.” He pounded his armoured stomach and laughed. “I’m afraid that all this plate makes it a little too hard to swim!”

Celia laughed, the sound causing her helmet to ring slightly, and I couldn’t help a small smirk. I had to admit, I’d missed these two, even in the little bit of time that I’d been away from them. Being with them was starting to feel… right, like comradeship. The thought came with a spark of wistful nostalgia, vague feelings of close friendship. The feeling lingered for a moment, and then I shook it off, stepping down onto the layer of frost atop the water.

“Whup!”

There was a crack, and my head whipped around to where Siegmeyer had tried to step onto the layer of ice, and his boot had gone straight through it. Sheepishly, he drew it back, shaking droplets of water off of it.

“It appears that I may be a little too heavy for it.”

I frowned, the pelt between my eyes creasing as I concentrated, trying to exert more control over the magic that I pumped into the ice. Instead of making it thicker, I tried to make it denser, the mass of ice pressed into the same space that it had taken before and not damming the flow beneath it, but becoming strong enough to support a human in armour. As I watched, the hole left by Siegmeyer’s boot closed itself with ice thick enough that it turned opaque, that same white opaqueness rapidly spreading throughout the rest of the translucent layer.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble just to keep our feet dry, Lady Sif.” Siegmeyer said, stepping down onto the ice and letting out a satisfied ‘hm’ as it supported his weight. I shook my head.

“Eventually, I’ll need to do this for a group of warriors- whomever we choose to accompany us downwards, when we try for the second bell. It will need to support their weight, even when they fight, or risk exposing them to the poisons infesting Blighttown.” the edge of my mouth quirks upwards. “Congratulations, Knight Siegmeyer, my attempts to keep your boots from getting wet might save lives.”

“Well, then, I suppose that it’s our duty to test it thoroughly!”

By the time we actually reached the bonfire, it was with an extremely wet Siegmeyer.

“Really, I apologize. If I’d known it was that weak-”

He waved me off with a laugh as I hovered by his side, somewhat anxious.

“Worry not, Lady Sif, this isn’t the worst I’ve been. Trust me, I’ve been dunked bodily in pond water in armour, this really can’t compare.” He looked up as we reached the bonfire, unbuckling his helmet and taking it off his head, revealing his blinding smile. “Ah! Here we are!”

I looked around at Firelink. Patches had apparently set himself up to one side, rolling out a heavy cloth of some kind on the grass, and appeared to be servicing his spear. Griggs and Rodger had apparently been sitting together, deep in some kind of discussion that had halted when we’d entered the circle around the bonfire. Petrus has apparently abandoned his vigil away from the others, and was sitting on the exact opposite side of the ring from Patches, the two of them occasionally sending glares in the other’s direction when they looked away. Lautrec, however, was nowhere to be seen, which was to be expected. I doubt he would want to mix with the likes of those that sat here.

“Oh, if it isn’t the Chosen Undead.” Rodger said the words with sarcasm, some of the most animation that I’d seen from him. Definitely the most on Celia’s part, who gave him a startled look. “Just about ready to ring the second bell, then?”

“Ah… not yet? Depths next, I think.” She looked to me and Siegmeyer for confirmation, and I shrugged.

“Far be it from me to direct your path, Celia. Choose your own.”

Though, really, we needed to get down into the Depths as soon as possible to rescue Laurentius. I didn’t know if we were working on a time limit there, but it’s not like I could indicate such a thing. Still, in a place where the order of events was laid down by uncaring gods, most likely before any of the humans save Patches were born, the decisions of a person were something that I wanted to respect.

“I’ve had plenty of my own adventures. This one is yours, and if you think that is the best choice, then I will follow.”

Celia seemed to waver at that proclamation of faith in her for a moment, before nodding decisively. I pretended to ignore the way that her hand flicked something away from her eyes as she did so.

“Yeah, okay…” She stood up straighter. “We’ll rest, then head into the Depths.”

Siegmeyer nodded, satisfied, then ambled off to introduce himself to Patches, who watched the knight approach with a hooded expression. I hummed. In the far future, Patches would trick one Siegward of Catarina, a very similar person to Siegmeyer, into stripping himself of his armour. Somehow, Siegward would end up at the bottom of a well, and Patches would use his armour in his attempt to get the Unkindled Ash killed. Not relevant, except as an interesting parallel, but still.

Celia, for her part, walked to the bonfire and sat at it, setting the Estus flask down in front of her and holding out a hand. As I watched, she seemed to coax a spark from the bonfire, which smoothly settled into the bottle. The liquid inside swirled and surged, and I watched as the amount in the bottle slowly increased as the tiniest of embers flowed from the fire and into the mouth. I padded up and sat at her side, and she spared me a glance before going back to her careful work.

“How did you learn to do this?” I asked, quietly. Celia frowned.

“I’m… not sure I did? It’s instinctive. I… felt like it was the right thing to do, when I first brought the flask to the bonfire. I just followed hunches and experimented, until I had a process for filling it.”

I nodded, fascinated. It felt as if she was drawing the barest golden thread from the bonfire, linking it with the flask and storing the healing fire of the First Flame for later use. The Estus flask contained something like… concentrated time at the bonfire? I wasn’t sure how to put it. It was like the concept of sitting at the bonfire while it healed your wounds, except condensed into a golden fluid that the bottle contained. The Estus flask itself was one of the most mysterious artifacts in Dark Souls, being that it had little linked lore information, but now I wondered if it wasn’t some healing artifact of the gods that had been lost to time. Perhaps one of Seath’s experiments, integrated into the meatgrinder plan of the gods? I hummed.

“Before we leave, have you gone below?”

Celia gave me a curious look. “Down the elevator? I explored to the entrance, but didn’t trigger the mechanism. Didn’t know what was down there, and I was dealing with enough already.”

“A fair conclusion to reach, and you’re most likely the better for it. The ruins of New Londo contain enemies that you just don’t have the resources to fight.”

Celia gave me a curious look, motioning with her hand for an explanation. I shrugged.

“Curse is the only way one can fight the ghosts that haunt New Londo, and, disregarding the few cursed weapons, it comes in two forms. The first… well, I have only heard rumours, but, apparently, if one survives being cursed by a creature known as a basilisk, they come out weakened greatly but possessing the ability to fight such creatures.”

“Weakened? How so?”

I hummed with uncertainty. I really wasn’t sure how chopping off half the health bar worked in regards to real life.

“Weakened. That is all I know. However, the second method is one much more known to me, as it’s one that was commonly leveraged by warriors aiming to fight similar beings. A Transient Curse is an item that afflicts the one who uses it with a weak pseudo-curse, surrounding them with a glowing circle and allowing them to strike blows that land. However, the effect is temporary, and the magic does not last. Without a supply of these items, one might find themselves facing a crowd of ghosts with no way to fight them.”

Celia shifted, looking perturbed. “Is there really no other way?”

I shrugged.

“There are weapons that are cursed by nature, but those are rare. The primary ones that I know of are the daggers and blades carried by the ghosts themselves, but getting them from their hands requires having the ability to strike them in the first place.”

Celia grimaced. “Ghosts. I thought they were only the territory of tall stories and tales, creatures you told children about to scare them into behaving.”

“Not so, unfortunately.” I glanced over and met Siegmeyer’s eyes, who nodded to me, then focused on Celia. “Such creatures are rare things, powerful and reclusive, and few live to tell the tales of their encounters. However, I have fought a few in my time. It is never a happy experience.”

“Should hardly think so.” Patches muttered, his legs folded under him. “Ghosts’re formed by bad things. Always tragic figures, them. The results of drama and terrible crimes.” He gave me a meaningful look, his eyes flicking to Petrus. “Lot of religions tend to keep those trained in fighting them around.”

I grimaced at what that implied. I would put money on the Way of White having quite the supply of Transient Curses, stashed away in basements. I would also bet money on the halls of their holy places needing a clearing every so often by hunters trained in their use. If one needed to break a few eggs to make an omelet, then the Way of White could feed entire crowds.

“It is the duty of any follower of the gods to fight such creatures.” Petrus said, and I resisted the urge to respond. Nothing good could come of that.

“Mm, perhaps, but to produce even one of them is a tragedy.” Siegmeyer looked contemplative. “Lady Sif, how many ghosts would you say haunt the ruins?”

I blinked, then frowned. “Too many to count.”

Siegmeyer sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking the most serious that I’d ever seen him.

“What sort of travesty creates such a place?”

I made eye contact with Patches, who was watching me levelly. He lifted an eyebrow, inclining his head slightly in the direction of Griggs and Petrus, and I shook my head slightly. I wouldn’t reveal that I had such knowledge, not in front of them. Taking my meaning, he shrugged.

“Well, see, way back when,” he started, “during the reign of Gwyn, there were four kings. They each got a piece of Gwyn’s Soul, see, a reward for services to the gods and the Sunlight Throne. They were philosophers as well as kings, and they ruled over a city-state of mages and alchemists- New Londo, the second jewel of Lordran. Playing with magic brought them riches and power, and the city prospered.”

“What happened?” Celia asked, quietly. Patches grinned.

“What happens when anybody gets a taste of true power? They got greedy. Started reaching deeper than they should, started looking at the Dark, not in fear of it, but with greed. Kings wanted to add the Dark to the power they wielded. Idiots.” He muttered the word. “Nobody knows exactly what happened, but when it was all over, New Londo was underwater and ordered sealed. Nobody, far as I know, managed to escape the drowning, and what’s left of them haunts the ruins, attacking anybody who gets close. And, beneath it all, a heart of Dark still beats.”

There was a moment of somber silence, where nobody wished to speak. A recognition of those that died, what small memory of them we could honour. Eventually, I broke the silence myself.

“Thankfully, the ghosts seem loathe to leave the ruins. Whether they are bound to the place that they died or are simply unwilling to leave it, they do not spread beyond it. As long as one does not cross the wooden bridge and into the city, they are perfectly content to keep to themselves.”

Rodger huffed. “At least we can consider ourselves lucky, there. I would hate to have to find a new spot just because somebody who died centuries ago took issue.”

I stood and stretched, hearing my joints crackle as I held out my legs one by one, then shook myself.

“Before we leave, Celia, I would like to introduce you to someone that I found in the Catacombs. An ancient smith of some renown, who I think may interest you.”

Celia sat up in surprise, then, taking my meaning, put the Estus flask back at her belt and stood. Quickly, she checked over her gear, then followed me as I walked away from the bonfire, though I paused and nodded to Siegmeyer, who nodded in return. As I led her down the steps and passed Lautrec, I simply exchanged a stare with the golden man, who merely folded his hands and watched me with detached interest as I made my way by.

“Why a smith?”

“Hm?” I returned my attention to Celia, as I walked her towards and into the elevator, triggering the mechanism in the center.

“Just… Why a smith? I’ve already met Andre, and he seems more than skilled enough for what maintenance I need.”

“Ah, but that’s not the only reason to seek out a smith, Celia.” I smiled a little, my tail lashing as the elevator started down. “Tell me. Have I explained weapon ascension to you?”

Chapter Text

“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.

“... 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.

Chapter Text

“Look up.”

The three of them turned their heads upwards, then made varying noises of disgust as they sighted the thing that I’d been pointing them to. The horrible amalgamation of garbage and sewage burbled and bubbled gently to itself, wriggling like blackish jello as it stuck to the ceiling. Bones stuck out of its gelatin-like flesh at odd angles, mixes of human and otherwise that clashed and contrasted. The horrible stench it gave off blended in with the general rank of the Depths, but when one noticed it, it stood out.

“What is that… thing!?” Celia seemed to be as fascinated as she was disgusted, leaning forwards to get a better look at the horrid thing even as she remained well out of its range.

“Disgusting little creatures. Slimes are formed from detritus and waste, accumulating in the bowels of human society until they gain a measure of sentience and hunger and go hunting.” I felt the knowledge bubble up from the deeper parts of my psyche, things that I just… knew. Strange, somewhat disturbing, but helpful. “They’re slow and their weapons, made of bone, aren’t particularly effective against armour. Often, they become ambush predators, waiting on the ceiling for some unlucky soul to pass underneath, at which point they release their hold on the roof…”

Celia made a totally disgusted noise, Siegmeyer a curious hum. Laurentius, to my surprise, simply nodded.

“They appear in the Great Swamp, at times. The water, you see- it can be filthy in places, bad enough to create these things. As a result, I know how to deal with them.” he gave me an anxious look. “Ah, if you’ll allow me?”

“Of course.”

Laurentius nodded his head to me and flexed his hand, sparks flaring to life as a fireball formed between his fingers. He cupped and molded it with one hand rather like a snowball for a moment, then lobbed it in the direction of the slime. The ball of flame left his hand like a ball, streaking straight for the horrid creature and impacting with impeccable aim. Instantly, the horrid concoction that made up its body went up in flames like oiled tinder, and it let out a burbling screech and flailed at the air as it burned. Brainless as it was, it took it a few seconds to release its hold on the roof, and come crashing down into the water. The splash put out most of the flame, but not enough- within a few seconds, what was left of it was a shriveled and smoking mess.

I wrinkled my nose and shook my head. Even if I couldn’t smell it past the ice in my nostrils, I could taste how burning the damn thing changed the smell for the worse. The difference between raw sewage and burnt sewage, I supposed. I put it out of my mind as much as I possibly could, stepping down and freezing the water underneath my paws, giving the remains of the slime a wide berth. As the crackling layer of white formed across the water, the other three followed me down onto it, Laurentius more hesitant than the others until he saw it bear the weight of both Celia and Siegmeyer without cracking. Figures that a pyromancer would be hesitant about ice.

I came around the bend and into the next room, turning my head upwards and immediately being doubly thankful for my nose plugs. Behind me, Celia retched, and glancing back, even Siegmeyer seemed to be having some trouble. Small wonder why- on the roof of the room were two more of the things, lying in wait for unsuspecting people to pass under them. For a moment I pictured what it would be like to be coated in one of those things, and shuddered. Some things were better left without consideration.

Laurentius, fortunately, had even less issue than me with the air. Laurentius of the Great Swamp, where there were no doubt places that smelled far worse than this. Still, whether he was noseblind or just had a much stronger stomach, he took in the next room and called up another fireball without hesitation. Each struck with surprising accuracy, nearly dead center for both of his targets as they each burst into flame. The first burned up before it could even let go of the roof, falling into the water with a splash and a patterning of ash on the surface. The second, however, didn’t die so easily.

It let go of the roof and fell, hissing violently as the flames that engulfed its form contacted the water that filled the room. It shuddered for a moment, then surged forwards- as fast as it could surge forwards, anyway. Spears made of bone stabbed into the air as it oozed forwards, the thing’s body burbling and popping as it moved.

“I think you’ve made it angry.” I said, levelly.

“I don’t think it can feel emotions.” Laurentius mused, flexing his fingers as he formed another fireball.

“Well, perhaps. I’m certainly not going to check.”

The second fireball did it in. The horrid little creature flailed in the water, making little splashes, but couldn’t put out the fire this time. Seconds was all it took for it to shrivel up and stop moving as the fire burned merrily. I lingered for a handful of seconds to ensure that they were really dead, then started freezing my way across the rancid water and between their lightly smouldering remains.

When we came around the corner into a much longer tunnel, Celia let out something that was almost a sigh of relief when she saw the relatively normal torch Hollow at the end. I felt a flicker of amusement that such an objectively aggressively unsettling creature as a Hollow could be relieving in any sense. Still, when she went to move forwards and into the hall, I stepped in front of her and nodded upwards. There, clinging to the ceiling, was a fourth black slime.

“There are moments like this where I truly wonder how intelligent these creatures are.” I flicked a paw at the Hollow down the hall. “Any Undead coming through here would see the Hollow at the end of this tunnel and rush forwards to eliminate them- holding a torch in the dimness, they are as obvious a target as you can get.”

“Ahh, but up above, just waiting for a chance to strike…” Siegmeyer shuffled into the room, peering upwards at the thing. “The intelligence of monsters and creatures has always been of some debate, among groups of adventurers that I have journeyed with in the past. The majority of the time, such things tend to rush without thinking, but occasionally there is a stroke of incredible brilliance. One really must wonder how much they can really think and plan, or whether such actions are merely happenstance.”

I nodded, contemplatively. In terms of game design, the thing was placed there specifically to leverage player expectations and lure them into a trap, before punishing them for not taking it slow and examining their environment first. In a real world sense, of course, there was intelligent design behind the placement of these creatures, but here? Certainly, the gods may have planned such encounters as the Black Knights and various bosses, but this? The fine manipulation it would require to station enemies like this… I shook my head. Impossible, even for beings that called themselves gods. It was more likely that this placement had evolved from natural occurrence. Primarily, that the slimes had learned that placing themselves on the ceiling and dropping on unsuspecting prey was the best way to go about things. Considering their lack of either speed or subtlety once one knew they were there, I imagined that they struggled to catch prey by other methods.

“Still, this shouldn’t change anything about the tactics we use to approach it. Laurentius, if you will?”

The pyromancer nodded, stepping forwards and flicking a fireball at the offensive ball of sewage goo. It lit up just as everyone before it had, falling to the stone brick that made up the floor. Here, however, there was no water to put out the flame, no way for the thing to save itself, and thus it burned merrily. The torch Hollow down the tunnel let out a screech, stumbling towards us with its torch waving. Laurentius eyed it uneasily and took a step back, but Celia was undaunted, stepping into the corridor and meeting the torch with her shield.

The flimsy piece of wood, wrapped in oil-soaked rags and set alight, bounced easily off of the metal of her shield. The Hollow stumbled backwards even as she took a step forwards, thrusting her sword through its chest, then yanking it back out again. Its body fell boneless to the filthy floor, and Celia stepped over it without a second thought, shield raised and sword at the ready.

At the end of the tunnel were two directions: a diagonal tunnel led downwards, and into the further Depths. To the right, however, there was a rotten wooden door, held together by rusted iron bands that looked only a single good kick away from peeling themselves off of the soaked wood and crumbling into so much iron oxide. Behind the door was the bonfire of the Depths, and perhaps a slightly cleaner place that we could rest, if only for a little. Not that we needed it at the moment, but I knew very well how treacherous the Depths were. Having an easy place to retreat to and heal, rather than pulling all the way back to Firelink through the aqueduct, would help quite a bit with our efforts down here.

“Well, Celia? Which way?” Siegmeyer asked.

The knight was facing backwards, in the direction we’d come, while Laurentius stuck to the center of the group. I noted that Siegmeyer had swapped his zweihander into the two-handed spear grip that he’d shown off before, a nod to the cramped conditions and narrow tunnels. Celia’s head turned back towards him for a moment, then towards the two ways forwards.

“If I may?” I asked, quietly.

“Ah… of course, Lady Sif.” Celia nodded her head forwards. “By all means.”

I nodded my head in return, then stepped forwards, minding the grate that made up the floor at the end of the tunnel. I closed my eyes, my ears twitching as I listened closely. Water, the cries of monsters from deeper in the tunnels echoing up from the right, something shifting… ah. Beneath all the different noises the Depths made, I could just discern a faint crackling noise coming from behind the rotted door. I turned my head backwards towards the other three.

“I believe I hear faint crackling coming from behind the door. Could very well be a bonfire, which may be useful.”

“Well! That would certainly be a welcome feature.” Siegmeyer said from the back, an odd double-echo to his voice as it first caused his helmet to ring, then bounced back at us from the stone tunnel.

Celia stepped forwards, carefully placing her feet on the iron crossbars that made up the grate, sheathing her sword at her side as she reached for the handle attached to the horribly aged door. It didn’t come open at the first try, no doubt from the wood expanding from how saturated with water it was. However, Celia rallied, slinging her shield over her back as well and putting both hands to the handle. With a wrench, a pop, and a small shower of splinters, the door came open with a horrible creak that spoke of rust and complete neglect. Flakes of it rained from the decrepit iron as the door swung wide, revealing the passage behind, and a hint of light from a room on the far end.

“Celia.” She turned in Siegmeyer’s direction quizzically. “You are about to enter a tight room that may have enemies, and are vulnerable to attack from behind, when you cannot easily turn and address them.”

Ah, the gentle prodding of a mentor. Celia paused and thought for a moment, then nodded to herself and spoke up. I noted that she was growing more confident, more aware, which was what I ultimately guessed Siegmeyer’s role to be in this.

“I believe… I’ll go in first, with my shield to take unexpected blows. Lady Sif can easily move or attack around me, so if you’re willing…?” I nodded. “Lady Sif second, then. Knight Siegmeyer, you and… Laurentius are most effective in open spaces, so if the two of you are willing to be our vanguard?”

“Of course. Well thought, Celia, my compliments!”

I could feel the pride in Siegmeyer’s voice, and from the way she straightened in response, I could easily tell that Celia could as well. Laurentius merely gave us an absent nod, watching the passage we’d come from, playing with sparks between his hands. An exercise to train control over pyromancy, perhaps?

I turned as Celia stepped through the doorway and into the tunnel, stepping in behind her and following in her wake. Between her legs, I could see the light of the bonfire at the end of the tunnel, glittering off the slime and water running down the walls. I could hear the faint trickling of water in front of us as the quiet roar of the stream falling into the grate behind us faded some, and mixed with it, the crackling that was so typical. And that other note, the note that differentiated shards of the First Flame from your average wood fire, the slight tinkling of what sounded like ceramic.

“You know…” Celia said, softly, “I’d always wondered what made that noise.”

“The noise of bits of porcelain being shaken against each other?” I murmured. She nodded. “Quite simply, it is the bones of the Undead who have progressed past even Hollowing.”

Celia’s head jerked, giving me a surprised look through her helm. “The… what?”

“You are Undead. So are the Hollows. Have you ever wondered at the difference?”

We stepped through the doorway, Celia turning herself towards the corner to her direct left, examining the tight room. As I thought it would be, it was empty, but one could never be too careful. The safety of the area directly surrounding a bonfire may not be something that reality would respect. Celia nodded to herself, then moved back to the doorway and called.

“Safe! Come on down!”

She turned back to the room, giving the filthy floor a disgusted look. As the other two came in, Laurentius’ light cloth-clad footsteps followed by Siegmeyer’s heavier armour, she scouted around the bonfire for a clean section of stone to no avail. I simply froze a section of ground and sat on the ice, the cold no discomfort through my thick pelt, earning me a jealous look from her. Siegmeyer nearly elected to lean against one of the walls, then took a closer look at the stone work and appeared to change his mind.

Laurentius, on the other hand, traced a quick circle on the floor with his right foot, his left serving as the central point of the circle. As I watched, the interior of the circle caught fire, burned for a moment, then put itself out. He brushed off the soot with his shoe, then sat cheerily in a shocking clean section of flooring. Celia, who had taken her helmet off, raised her eyebrows.

“Ah! That old trick!” Siegmeyer snapped his fingers joyfully. “I must admit, I have seen one or two pyromancers do much the same in my time, though I had quite forgotten about it.”

“How did you do that?” Celia asked.

“Ah. See,” Laurentius held up a hand, fingers coated in a layer of flickering flame that reminded me of some alcohol party tricks, “pyromancers cannot be hurt by their own flame. By outlining a small area, a pyromancer can burn a fire very hot and very quick, to ignite any filth and evaporate water. It can even dry out and harden ground, an important skill for any pyromancer of the Great Swamp.”

“Incredible.” Celia whispered, watching the flames wick harmlessly over Laurentius’ skin.

I had to admit, the look into a surprisingly mundane use for pyromancy was interesting. I suppose that I’d never truly considered it, but most sorceries, and all pyromancies, were directly combat oriented. It made sense, given that one would hardly be learning how to cleanse a dish with sorcery in Lordran, but it was an angle that I hadn’t really considered.

“I have heard the stories of the Great Swamp, but I admit that I have never visited, nor have I gotten the chance to speak at length with the few pyromancers I have met.” Siegmeyer inclined his head to the one in our midst. “Your people are, sadly, too reclusive and isolated. It’s even harder to gather information on them than it is the Sunlight Warriors, and that’s certainly saying something.”

Laurentius nodded. “We tend to stick to our villages, yes, and the swamp tends to be too treacherous for most. Few attempt the swamp, and fewer know how to actually find us- and most of the latter number either live with pyromancer enclaves or are pyromancers themselves.” His lips twitched. “There’s also the fact that pyromancy is looked down on in the outside world. Sorcerers tend to think of pyromancy as a lesser, more primitive art, less refined or respectable than sorcery. One group lives in towers, the other lives in treehouses in a swamp- not hard to guess which has more sway with people outside of the Great Swamp’s borders.”

“That’s.. Unfortunate. It’s a wonderful art.” Laurentius nodded his thanks to Celia, who nodded back.

“Hypocritical, too.” I mused. “Sorcery and pyromancy are both, at their roots, descendants from the flame sorcery of the Witches of Izalith. Siblings, if you will, though pyromancy is closer to that primordial magic.”

Laurentius gave me a look of awe and surprise. “Lady Sif, that is… the lore is closely guarded by the elders, and denied readily by those of Vinheim. How do you know-?”

“Simple.” I straightened, giving him a wolfish grin. “They cannot cite the deep magic to me, those sorcerers. I was there when it was written.”

The look of awe on his face grew, and he straightened. “You were-? How did- are you…?”

“Divine? Yes. I watched the Witches of Izalith weave their flame sorcery, and I witnessed Quelana, founder of pyromancy, shape the magic and traditions that would form the foundation of the art. I was there before Vinheim was founded, when there were but witches and wizards mixing with pyromancers in the earliest days when the lines between them were blurred at best.” I shook my head slowly. “Flame sorcery is a lost art, now. Its practitioners, if they still exist, are few and far between. Sorcery and pyromancy have all but forgotten their shared origins.”

He nodded, sadly, but the shine of awe never left him. “Still, to have witnessed such things…” He shook his head, slowly. “There is much any of my village would give to have memory of that ancient art, Lady Sif. What we know of flame sorcery is a well-kept secret, just a bare handful of techniques and rituals that have survived the ravages of time, and even then… I fear they won’t last much longer.” Sadness twisted his expression as he stared into the bonfire, folding his hands together in his lap. “What little we know is passed generation to generation by oral tradition, and with each passing, it fades a little more. Soon, flame sorcery will be lost to the world entire, and it will be poorer for it.”

“Have hope, Laurentius.” I said, softly. He looked up, meeting my eyes, and I nodded to him slowly. “There still remain pieces of it, scattered throughout the world. Perhaps, in Izalith, there remain fragments- records, or perhaps even survivors of the fall of Izalith.”

“We’ll have to head that way eventually,” Celia mused, “the second Bell of Awakening is supposed to be at the edge of Lost Izalith.”

“Truly?” A small smile lit up the pyromancer’s face. “If you would not mind, I would like to accompany you there. Perhaps… perhaps I can bring something of that old magic back, and reignite its dying spark amongst my people.”

“A noble goal, and an adventure in the making!” Siegmeyer crowed. “I am certainly in favour of someone seeking out both, if neither Celia nor Lady Sif object…?”

“Always welcome more people, though I think four is crowded enough for me.” Celia said.

“Certainly. I have no issue with it.” I smiled, though from Laurentius’ face, he wasn’t quite numb enough to not find that at least somewhat unsettling.

“Excellent! Then we are decided.” Siegmeyer clapped his hands together. “Now, how about you demonstrate that technique again, hmm?”

Laurentius chuckled and stood, walking over. This time, as he performed each step, he explained the rationale and the technique behind it. It was counterintuitive to the things I’d found to work with my frost, which was perfectly sensible, but I noted that Celia paid very close attention to every word. As I watched, her hands tightened and released, even as she inquired about different steps or thought processes.

“And, how does one learn pyromancy?” She asked.

I gave her a somewhat startled look, then played back everything she’d asked up to this point. There was an interest there that I hadn’t noticed. Was she interested? I considered it. To be honest, it made sense; sorcery required a basis of knowledge, a general familiarity with the theory in order to function. Pyromancy only needed the will to learn, a teacher to pass on technique, and a pyromancy flame passed down from mentor to apprentice. Not that she would know that, but…

“Ah. You see-” Laurentius held up his hand, engulfed again in that same flickering flame. “This is raw pyromancy flame. It is different from the techniques or spells that come from it- this flame is the basis for all of them. Everything, for the smallest fireball to the greatest conflagration, find their beginnings in the raw flame of pyromancy. Power drawn from the Soul.” He turned his hand, causing the flames to writhe in response. “In order to become a pyromancer, one must receive an ember of pyromancy flame from a mentor. The ember ignites the power within the Soul of the one who it is given to, giving them the ability to channel their power into the world through the medium of flame.”

“I had heard rumours…” Siegmeyer said, contemplative. “There was this lad I knew once, who got ahold of a pyromancy scroll and attempted to use the spell it described. He attempted a few times before giving up on it as impossible. Last I heard, he’d joined the ranks of Vinheim as a sorcerer, said something about magic he can wield.”

Laurentius nodded. “Without having the Soul slightly restructured by the passing on of the pyromancy flame, you can’t draw on any of its teachings, internal or external. I’m sorry to say, but your friend was out of luck.”

Celia seemed to mull it over for a few moments, hesitating about something. Giving her a sideways glance, it wasn’t hard to figure out what she was thinking of. Pyromancy was an attractive power, a strong one, versatile and useful in many situations. Considering it, pyromancy would work well for her, as something that required only practice and a bit of Soul to reinforce the pyromancy flame to work. Her blade was already on the Flame ascendancy path…

“Would you…” Celia trailed off, seeming to not really know how to ask. Laurentius tilted his head.

“What, teach?” He hummed. Apparently, he didn’t need to be explicitly told Celia’s obvious question. “I admit, I’d considered taking on an apprentice. Eventually, every pyromancy has to take on at least one, pass down their knowledge to the next generation.”

“I’m not that much younger than you, old man.” Celia said, the edge of her mouth twitching upwards.

“Why, the cheek!” Siegmeyer set his helmet in his lap, giving me a look of mock suffering. “Children these days, Lady Sif. Why, in our day-”

I snorted. “You’re not quite as old as I, Siegmeyer.”

He laughed, the sound infectious and bright as it ever was. After it died down, Laurentius, still fighting a small grin, put his hand to his chin in thought. After a few seconds, he nodded to himself and clapped his hands together, producing a small shower of sparks that I suspected that he’d created entirely for show.

“Very well. A moment.”

He pushed himself to his feet, walking around the bonfire to where Celia sat. He positioned himself in front of her, then held out his hands, indicating hers. Celia hesitated, then reached up and took them, her gauntleted fingers meshing with his bare skin.

“Usually, there is an extended ceremony for the induction of a new pyromancer. A vision quest, and a trial, to demonstrate that they are worthy of the power and strong enough to host it. A vision quest would be all but suicidal in Lordran, but I think that anyone that’s survived this long in this place has more than demonstrated their strength.” Celia straightened at the praise, her hands squeezing Laurentius’. “Therefore, do you accept the power of the lineage of flame?”

She glanced at me, then at Siegmeyer, before looking back to the pyromancer. She swallowed softly, but the nervousness was pushed out of her face the next second by something that I was seeing more and more of in her: steel.

“I accept.”

“Do you pledge to respect the strength and power of fire, to not forget its dangers, nor its warmth?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, this time. She’d chosen her path.

“Do you swear to protect home and hearth with this power, and never be swayed?”

“I do.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

As we watched, he placed both of Celia’s hands together, forming a cup. He lifted his right hand, the flame forming around his fingers, and with his left he drew a bare spark from the flame. This was unlike the sparks that he’d produced before, even unlike the fires: it glowed in a way that none of them had.

I reached out with my other senses. It felt… not dissimilar to the bonfires, though instead of a single piece of a larger whole pinned in place with magic, this was a true and unfiltered piece of life itself. The very essence of the energy of the living, of the power of Soul, distilled down to the purest form of energy. There was something deeper, as well, a spiraling structure that suffused every bit of the little ember, something that shaped and guided. It reached out towards me as I was extended towards it, but when it came in contact with my Soul structure, it hissed and spit a little like flame contacting ice. I recoiled slightly, wincing, but there was no real damage. Of course an ember of power like that wouldn’t mesh well with the ice magic that I was even now using to keep the circle under me frozen.

As the ember drifted down through the air, Celia watching it fall in awe, I was reminded of the intro to the game. There, we see a member of the Way create an Undead, by forcing a spark into a corpse and marking it with the curse. This process reminded me of that, but in the opposite direction- instead of cupped hands forcing undeath upon a body, it was a living being giving power to another who willingly accepted.

The ember landed in her cupped hands, and Celia gasped gently as it slowly spread to cover her hands. The flame flickered across her gauntlets, doing no harm to the material nor the flesh beneath, and she watched it with wonderment. Laurentius smiled.

“Good. It takes root well, and your Soul is receptive. Feel that tiny measure of power flicker at the edge of your consciousness, the tiniest expression of Soul within you, a thread to reality. Can you feel it?” She nodded, slowly. “Now. Gently take that, and… close it.”

“I don’t…” She frowned in consternation, the fire on her hands flickering, but refusing to go out.

“Have you ever played with a small stream? Using sticks and stones and mud to change its flow?” She nodded. “Imagine that your power is like that stream. See the fire flow like water, out of your Soul and into the world. Now… gently close it off. Block the flow, and stop letting that trickle of power escape.”

She frowned in concentration. The fire flickered, then dimmed, then jumped back to full brightness. She grunted in frustration, and Laurentius nearly spoke up again, only to be interrupted by Siegmeyer’s hand on his shoulder. My ears tilted towards them, and I barely heard Siegmeyer’s whisper.

“Steady now. She’s a bright girl, she’ll figure it out, have no worry.”

Laurentius nodded and took a step back. Celia didn’t even seem to notice, taking deep breaths in and out. As I watched, I realized that the flame was matching the ebb and flow of her breath, brightening as she breathed in, and dimming as she breathed out. Then, finally, she breathed in, breathed out… and the flames flickered out. Laurentius grinned, Siegmeyer nodding once in approval.

“There you go! That’s the basics of pyromancy. Everything is based on that first moment of control, where you first dam the flow and stop your own flames. More fine control can come later- I’m sure we’ll have plenty of targets to practice a basic fireball on.” He held out his hand, calling forth the flame. “Now, follow my lead.”

She didn’t get it quite right the first try, the flame flickering in and out of existence as she struggled to control the flow of it. Her first attempt at the most basic fireball fell apart into embers and sparks practically the moment that it left her hand, but it was something. I could see how she brightened at the progress, and turned her focus entirely to it.

The wall of the room slowly grew soot-covered and singed from the amount of flame cast against it. Between Celia attempting to perfect basic pyromancy and Laurentius demonstrating it, it wasn’t particularly surprising how fast it occurred, though I was glad for my plugged nose. The slime and filth most likely smelled awful enough on its own, I couldn’t imagine how bad it must smell to burn it bit by bit. Still, eventually, Celia began producing balls of flame that held together more than well enough to splash themselves against the stone work in a burst of flame. As I watched, she held one fireball above her hand, watching it flicker and burn.

“I can do magic.” She whispered to herself.

“Nearly anyone can learn magic.” I said, her head turning towards me. “But the will and the ability to learn it? Those are quite different things.” She smiled, and Siegmeyer clapped her on the shoulder, Laurentius giving her a nod. “Fire might be the opposite of the magic that I wield, but if you’d allow me, I believe I have a thought as to how it could be used.” She hummed, then shrugged.

“Certainly, Lady Sif. I would gladly welcome your input.”

“Excellent.” I pushed myself to my feet and trotted over, sitting next to her. “Your sword is already attuned to fire through ascension. This means that it’s been beaten into its very core, and flame is now a vital part of its nature. You can channel your pyromancy flame, but I wonder, is it as harmless to others as it is to you?”

Laurentius folded his hands, an interested look on his face. “One of the most basic things that a pyromancer learns is that your pyromancy flame in its basest form, without even shaping it for anything, can be used to burn. Whether that’s in self-defense or merely to start a campfire, it still burns.”

“So, then, perhaps, if you are now attuned to fire and your sword is attuned to the same, you may be able to leverage that. If you are attuned enough that you can treat it as an extension of yourself, perhaps you can extend your pyromancy flame over it.”

This was a legitimate technique in Dark Souls 3, a Carthus pyromancy that allowed one to coat their blade in a layer of flame much like charcoal pine resin. Carthus wouldn’t exist for many, many cycles, but I could call a little of its knowledge from the future. Technically, you weren’t supposed to be able to use an enhancement like that on an ascended weapon, though I was uncertain that such a restriction would apply here. Experimentation didn’t harm anybody, and we might get benefits out of it.

Celia’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion, and she drew her sword, inspecting the steel. It shimmered with heat, baking the air above it, and I could feel a little bit of what it radiated from here. Celia, however, took an expression of awe, reaching out… then pressing her hand against the flat of the blade. I winced, but there was no hissing, no cry of pain. After a moment, she looked up.

“It feels… warm.”

“Hm. A side effect of becoming a pyromancer, perhaps?” Siegmeyer mused. “Attempt what Lady Sif suggested. If it does not harm you, then it may be that you’re attuned enough to the blade for it to work.”

She nodded, then frowned down at her blade in concentration. The pyromancy flame leapt to her hand with ease, now, and she reached down, putting it against the handle. It flickered and sparked, but the flame didn’t take hold, not spreading from where her hand wrapped around the grip.

“Hm. Try this.” I said. “Take your pyromancy flame hand, and point with two fingers. Trace them down the spine of the blade to the tip, while attempting to push it out as if you were creating a fireball. Imagine the sword flaming, the steel surrounded by your fire, as if it was simply an extension of your hand.”

Celia nodded, taking her hand and flexing her fingers, then pointing with two of them and folding the rest. Holding the hilt with her other hand, she traced her fingers up the flat, frowning at it as she did. As her hand passed, flame spread across the heated steel in its wake, and her frown changed to a look of awe as her hand completed its travel. She held the sword up as the steel burned gently, lighting the space even more like the brightest of torches as it flickered and crackled.

“Incredible…” Laurentius muttered, staring at the blade. “I don’t believe that technique is one I’ve ever heard of.”

“Perhaps it requires a flame-ascendant weapon to practice? It may be that mundane weaponry cannot attune itself to the pyromancy flame well enough to act as a conduit for the power of fire, or perhaps someone has experimented with it in the past and decided it too damaging for the weapon involved. Red and green titanite, let alone normal titanite, cannot be common in the outside world.”

“They are not.” Laurentius gave. “Perhaps you are right, Lady Sif.” He rubbed his chin with his hand in thought, watching as Celia began practicing forms and swings, starting over and reigniting the blade whenever it went out. “Maybe I ought to look into procuring flame weaponry of my own, if I wish to do the same.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea, I think. Do you know the location of Firelink Shrine?” He nodded. “Well, after we finish with the Depths, we can make the trek back and I can show you to Vamos’ current workplace. He may have stocks of weapons that you can choose from, and might ascend one for you, if you ask nicely and pay well.”

“Ahhh, merchants… save me from the whiles of those who buy and sell.”

Laurentius held his hands to the sky dramatically. I let out a small chuckle, Siegmeyer laughed, and Celia snorted, breaking her concentration enough that the flame around her blade wavered. She bit her lip and focused, stabilizing it, then grinned when it came back strong as ever. I examined the flames, then nodded.

“Seems that you have enough of an understanding of it to use it, at least. Only thing for it is to practice against actual enemies.” Laurentius clapped his hands. “What do you think? Lady Sif? Siegmeyer?”

“Ready enough! I hardly think that Celia will struggle against anything we may come up against.”

“I have to agree.” I said. “Even without new tricks, Celia is easily competent enough to deal with the denizens of the Depths. Should the fire flicker out, I don’t imagine that it will be too much of an issue, and this will be good training.”

There wasn’t anything particularly threatening in the Depths for the aware and competent, save perhaps the Gaping Dragon or Kirk, and the latter could be useful. If we could speak to him, he may be able to relay a message to the Fair Lady, perhaps even Queelagg. It would be particularly useful if, instead of fighting one of the few remaining children of the Witch of Izalith or relying on Quelana to talk her sister down, we could reach an accord. It would be a monumental waste if we had to kill such a potentially powerful ally.

Regardless, the point was that there wasn’t anything in the Depths that the four of us couldn’t deal with between us. The giant rat was in a distant third place slot, but ultimately, it was a half-rotted and giant rat. I hardly thought that it would be more of a threat than, say, one of the crystal golems.

I stretched as I stood from my circle of ice, the others following suit. Siegmeyer and Celia buckled their helmets back onto their armour, securing straps and checking equipment. Laurentius touched each of the pouches at his waist, then nodded to himself. There was his hand axe sheathed in a loop at his belt, and the round wooden shield slung over his back, but he’d made no effort to remove or use either since we’d met him. I supposed that he was focusing on being a ranged fighter, what with the enemies we’d faced and the people protecting him.

Celia went first down the hall and back towards the door, shield in hand. I followed directly behind her, then Laurentius behind me, with Siegmeyer bringing up the rear. When we opened the door and stepped out into the passage, it was to find the torch Hollow still lying like a pile of broken twigs on top of the grating. I still wasn’t clear on what the threshold for recovering enemies was, though I knew from the Hollows on the stairs up from Firelink that they did reappear.

Celia stepped to the right, peering down the steps into the Depths. Looking past her legs, I could see all the way down to the landing at the bottom of the stairs, and the iron grating next to it. It wasn’t so dark as to be completely without sight, but it was dim. Between Laurentius and Celia’s firesword trick, I didn’t think light would be that much of a problem, so long as both or either of them kept up the effort. Still…

“Watch yourselves.” Siegmeyer intoned seriously. “I have explored my fair share of sewers in my time as an adventurer, and they are, to a number, confusing and treacherous in nature. Mazes of passages and corridors, all shrouded in darkness. Stay on your guard, and don’t fear to call out anything you see. I have no doubt that the sewers of Lordran are more dangerous than most.”

“Indeed. Watch yourselves carefully, especially your footing. The sewers below will only get worse as we go deeper, and a slip at the wrong time could be deadly.” I said, Siegmeyer nodding in agreement.

“We’ll just have to take particular care.” Laurentius replied brightly.

Celia nodded, swallowing softly. I nosed her leg, making her look down, making eye contact and inclining my head to her. She let a breath out, took it in, then started down the steps. The stonework was actually cleaner on the floor than it had been in the bonfire room, though there were still lines of slime or fungus on the edges of the steps or the walls. It was especially bad at the top of the stairwell, where small stalactites had collected in little groupings, occasionally dripping water that I had no desire to touch. Occasionally, I would hear the patter of it against the metal of Celia or Siegmeyer’s helmets, the sound echoing slightly against the stone underneath our shuffling.

We reached the bottom of the stairwell without incident. Celia moved forwards and out of the way, watching her step as she walked towards where the bars gave a view into the larger room to our left. I looked directly left, making a noise of disgust at the ladder that was there, then shuffled out of the way of Siegmeyer and Laurentius. The pyromancer held his hand high, wreathed in flame, while Siegmeyer kept his gaze on the opening on the far end of the little room we’d found ourselves in. Before we could get it in our heads to move on, however, Celia made a noise of revulsion. I jerked my head in her direction, then looked past her, past the bars and into the room beyond. I sucked in a breath, and I heard Siegmeyer mutter “by the gods…”

In the games, the giant rat is disgusting, this is true. It’s not hard to see how it’s diseased and half-rotted from the fetid sewers that it dwells in, and it being so large just highlights the state it’s in. But for all that it’s disgusting in the games, none of that can hold a candle to how bad it appeared when it was sitting in front of me. Pus leaked from horrible wounds, its eyes were gray and clouded, the pervasive sight of rot all across its body. Clumps of fur had fallen out, leaving entire patches of flesh bare, and when I looked closer, I had to look away and retch. Parasites and insects openly wriggled in the open wounds, chewing at the necrotic flesh.

Celia stripped her helmet off and turned away, breathing deeply and making little noises that I recognized as the precursor to vomiting, though she held it back admirably well. Laurentius had a look of pure disgust and horror on his face, and was purposefully trying not to look at the thing. Siegmeyer, however, seemed the least affected of all of us, and was staring at the creature, though I couldn’t make out what emotions he was feeling through his helm.

“What a horrifying creature.” He muttered.

I got my rebelling stomach back under my control, breathing out and looking back at the thing. At a second glance, I was very glad that I couldn’t smell it, as the scent of rot and decay would most likely be enough to tip me over the edge. As it was, even just looking at the damn thing made my stomach clench and do somewhat sickening things inside my body.

“Ugh… whenever we reach it, I would suggest plenty of fire.” I muttered in return. Siegmeyer simply nodded.

The others moved away from the bars and towards the door at the opposite end, eager to move on. I lingered behind a few seconds, however, staring out at the giant rat and really taking it in. This was one of those moments where I realized that I was somewhat… ah, what was the term? Adapted, perhaps, to how the enemies looked. I didn’t really think about it in the game, but here, looking at it, the vile nature of the creature I was observing came through without the filter of a screen between it and myself. No, I had the privilege of observing it in all its pestilent… I wouldn’t describe it as glory. I hissed a breath through my teeth, then turned to follow the others down the passage.

As we each exited the tunnel, one at a time, we fanned out, with Celia and Siegmeyer forming a wall to the right. Past them, I could see the gaggle of ROUS’s, hissing at the two warriors, like the giant rat in miniature and only less disgusting because of their reduced size. Just as diseased and rotted, but now fun sized for your convenience.

“Careful. Don’t let them overwhelm you.” Siegmyere said. Celia nodded, and they stepped forwards.

The first rat leaped at them, drawing a small cry of alarm from Celia, who raised her shield. The horrid vermin impacted against the metal with a ringing sound, and she drove her flaming sword through its side and then yanked it out. The rat fell to the floor, screeching and writhing, as Celia stepped around it to deal with the others. Another was impaled like a piece of meat on a spit as Siegmeyer stabbed it through and through with his zweihander.

I danced around Celia’s feet, water freezing before me as I made to attack on the rat’s flank. A jab of ice froze the paws of one of them in the water they’d been standing in, and it shrieked, desperately attempting to pull itself free as I drew the sword from my side. The dimensions of the tunnel we were in were much wider and more open than the earlier passages, and it allowed me to swing and manipulate it properly, slashing another rat that jumped at me open and causing it to writhe from pain and electric shock.

The rats were rapidly dealt with from there, the disgusting creatures not getting in a single attack through our defences. The last one was lit on fire by Laurentius, and I was once again desperately glad for the ice in my nose as its corpse did… horrible things, while on fire. With the last of them dealt with, and no way to move forwards to the right, we turned left.

Celia kicked one of the strange, slimy-looking stalagmites sticking up from the water, making a noise of disgust as it came apart at the contact. Some of it stuck to her armoured boot, and I stepped forwards, touching it with a paw and freezing it solid, allowing her to kick a wall and shatter it. Clean again.

“What are these things, anyway?” She asked.

“Hmm…” Siegmeyer crouched next to one, giving it an inquisitive look. “In form and in makeup, they somewhat resemble the slimes that we fought earlier.”

“I would guess that they’re a protean form of them.” I said, not too eager to look at them closely. “The slimes may feed off of the ambient filth for some amount of time before finally becoming ambulatory, and moving off to seek larger prey.”

“Disgusting.” Celia said. I nodded.

There were a few more rats, the horrible little things dying easily to our blades and pyromancies. We encountered no issues, however, and after quite carefully ignoring an opening that allowed us to see out into the giant rat’s chamber, we moved into another square passage that was just big enough for one of us at a time. We considered the side passage to the right for a moment, then dismissed it, Celia instead electing to move forwards.

I noticed that a faint breeze flowed from the passage ahead of us, and, after a moment of thinking, remembered that this led to one of the upper little balconies around the edge of the Gaping Dragon arena. Specifically, this was the one with the Channeler, who would buff the Gaping Dragon during its boss fight if you didn’t kill them. I tuned my ears, listening, and with concentration, I could hear the faint jingling of their armour from here.

“Hold.” I murmured, and everyone came to a stop. They looked warily back and forth, then up at the ceiling, and I felt a moment of appreciation for their situational awareness. “I hear a sound coming from up ahead. From what I remember, it resembles the sound that the outfit of Seath’s channelers make when they move, so be ready for spells and minions. They rarely ever fight alone, and they typically have an entourage of weak creatures that they’ve charmed into fighting for them.”

Celia nodded grimly, flexing her left arm and putting her shield in front of her, creeping down the passage with myself directly behind. After a ninety degree turn to the right, the passage opened up in a tunnel that was the size of the one we’d just exited, and we fanned out again. There was a wooden platform at the end of the tunnel, obviously rickety and rotted even from here. Between the supports of the railing, I could see the triple tip of a channeler’s trident, and I nodded forwards, Celia nodding in reply. We paused for a moment, where I’d guess the range of vision of the channeler was just low enough that he couldn’t see us. Siegmeyer held up three fingers, then two, then one.

The moment the last finger was down, Celia charged ahead, shield at the ready. The moment she hit the wood, it gave a horrible creaking groan. I heard the characteristic sound of the channeler beginning the buffing, the ‘werk-oo, werk-oo’ noise echoing against the stone. Laurentius moved towards the banister, lobbing a fireball over it and producing a screech as it hit something on the lower level. Siegmeyer leapt down from the rickety wooden stairs as I moved with Celia to engage the rats.

There was an almighty CLANG, and as I looked back, I saw the channeler stumbling, his trident out of control. Siegmeyer had his zweihander against his shoulder, and his left arm raised, the little buckler shield shining. In a moment, I realized that Siegmeyer must have parried the trident’s jab, and as I watched, he lowered the zweihander from his shoulder and ran the channeler through!

The being screamed, writhing on his blade, and Siegmeyer simply kicked them off. They twitched and shuddered on the ground for a few seconds before going still. The rats, who had been emboldened by the channeler’s control over them, now retreated slightly. There wasn’t enough intelligence in them for them to weigh the situation they’d found themselves in, but I could see how their instinct drove them backwards, away from the weapons and fire of the newcomers. All in all, they were dealt with swiftly and easily.

“Excellent work, everyone!” Siegmeyer called. Celia nodded to him, and even Laurentius smiled at the praise. Siegmeyer was morale on two legs.

We took a moment to rest, after that. Laurentius took a swig of the Estus, gasping a little as it healed scratches along his leg where the wood of the platform had gotten him at some point. He said something to Celia, who grinned, taking the bottle back and taking a mouthful herself before tucking it back into the pouches at her belt.

“She’s doing very well.” I said to Siegmeyer, who’d ended up sitting against the wall next to me. He nodded.

“Exceedingly well. I’d say that she has quite the talent for adventuring, hah!” He folded his legs underneath him, digging an oiled cloth out of a pouch and cleaning the blade of his sword. “She was right to take that offer of pyromancy. I imagine that it won’t be long before she’s just about unstoppable.”

I didn’t mistake the brilliant strokes of pride in those words, nor the way that his eyes sparkled through the slits of his helmet. I nodded as I turned back, watching as Celia summoned her pyromancy flame, attempting to mimic Laurentius’ demonstration of the trick that he’d demonstrated back at the bonfire.

Her armour, her weaponry, even her body language- she’d come a long way from the scared little warrior that I’d pinned back in Darkroot. She was confident now, determined, focused. If I was to use a metaphor, the people that I’d brought together with her were putting an edge on her, and Lordran was the stone that was honing that edge. She was sharper, more aware, more skilled. Siegmeyer was the primary influence on her, just as she was for him, and they’d both been fantastic for each other.

I spared a glance in the old adventurer’s direction, a glance he missed, focused as he was on his cleaning. Most might not have noticed it, but I’d been there when he fought the Hydra, and for many moments after. Just as Celia had improved rapidly, he had as well, getting faster and stronger. The rust had fallen away from the knight, and he’d left behind the uncertain old man that he’d been to be a shining example of unstoppable strength and skill. I could not for a second imagine this Siegmeyer jumping into a pit, attempting to give his life to protect someone just because he wanted it to matter in the end. No, he was far more now than that.

There wasn’t an agreed upon end to the break. Rather, Siegmeyer finished cleaning his blade, inspected it, nodded, and stood. Celia, seeing him stand, followed suit, and Laurentius after her. I pushed myself to my paws and stretched, and the four of us collected together and marched towards the next passage. Immediately, and much like the previous passage much like it, it branched forwards and to the right. Celia stared down the one to the front, then looked right and let out a small ‘tch.’

“There’s a rat in the right passage.” She said, low and quiet.

“Mm…” Siegmeyer hummed. “We could gamble that it would ignore us. However…”

“I’d prefer to deal with it now, when we know where it is.”

“Watch your step.” I muttered back. “There may be holes to drain the water to lower levels. We wouldn’t want to fall down one.”

She nodded, then hefted her shield and turned down the right hand passage. Around her, I could see the rat sight us, then retreat down the corridor. If we’d chased it, it would be easy to miss when it hopped over the hole in the floor, landing on the opposite side and slowing to a halt. Rats were intelligent, yes? Even in this diseased and somewhat Hollowed form, perhaps this was how they hunted. Luring people or Hollows over the hole in the ground, then swarming them on the level below when they were disoriented and most likely hurt by the fall.

Celia, however, heeded my warning, and stopped just before the hole. She stared down at it, and I could feel the grimace through her helmet as she tilted her head up, staring at the rat just out of the reach of her sword. She paused for a few moments, then sheathed her blade, raising her right hand back up. Her pyromancy flame leapt to life on her fingers, and she pulled back, before throwing it forwards as if she was lobbing a ball.

The fireball that left her palm impacted the rodent, making it squeal as its fur caught fire and its flesh burned. It struggled and slammed itself against the walls, and it took one more fireball to do it, but it finally stopped moving. Celia nodded to herself, satisfied, then waved us back.

“We could jump the hole one by one, but I’d rather not risk it. Let’s see if we can’t find another way around.”

We retreated back into the corridor, then moved forwards behind Celia again, turning to the left and down the passage that we’d passed on the way here. No rats and no enemies, all the way to the end. When we reached where the passage terminated in a T-junction, Celia looked left and made a noise. Poking my head around the corner, I looked to where a trickle of water fell into a hole that was larger than the one that the rat had hopped over, blocking the passage. Instead, we turned to the right passage, which skewed upwards even more than the slight tilt of the tunnel we’d just come from.

Celia was the first to reach the entrance to the next chamber, which seemed large from what I could see around her. The moment she reached the doorway, she halted in her tracks and swore under her breath. Poking my head around her legs and looking around the corner, I took one glance, then uttered an ugly word of my own.

Over in the corner of the room, munching on something that I really didn’t want to know the identity of, was the giant rat that we’d seen from the upper level. It was huge, taller than any of us, and the disgusting nature of the creature was even worse when there weren’t bars between us and it. Celia moved over to the side, carefully and quietly, so that the rest of us could follow her into the room.

“That…” Laurentius trailed off, and swallowed. “That is a big rat.”

“You know, it seemed somewhat smaller when we were above it.” Siegmeyer said, examining it with interest.

“Worried?” I asked, glancing at him.

“Oh, heavens no. I’ve fought bigger, though I have to say, not much bigger.”

He shifted his sword on his shoulder, turning his head slightly in Celia’s direction. Celia’s head twitched as she noted the motion, then she nodded.

“Knight Siegmeyer, if you and Lady Sif would keep its attention, I believe Laurentius and myself can pelt it from afar.”

Laurentius cracked his knuckles. “I’ve got larger spells than I’ve shown so far. Perfect time to demonstrate them.”

We hung for a moment, then Siegmeyer and I rushed forwards. Ridged ice coated the ground where we stepped as I drove it before us, ensuring that there was no chance of either of us slipping. The rat’s head jerked up at the sounds of our approach, even without the splashing that running through the water would have produced, and it screeched loud enough that I barely stopped myself from putting the brakes on. It turned towards us, hate in its beady little eyes and its steps shaking the ground slightly.

The line of ice surged ahead of us, meeting the rat’s paw right when it took a step. Much like the rats we’d faced in the upper passages, it found itself trapped in solid ice, and it screeched as it pulled against it. The ice spread rapidly underneath it as I drew my blade, and Siegmeyer let out a warcry that I swear shook the ice underneath my paws.

The ice freezing the rat in place gave the two behind us the perfect opportunity to aim for a completely still target. Small fireballs, glowing in the dark and casting shimmering red light across the walls and floor, impacted the rat’s coat in a rapid-fire sequence. It screamed and struggled harder against the icy shackles holding it to the floor, but before it could pull free, I closed the distance and slashed it across a shoulder. The electrical discharge of my blade coursed through its muscles, causing it to lose control of them and twitch and writhe. At the same time, Siegmeyer slashed across its opposite shoulder, severing the leg entirely and leaving it to crash down against the ice.

“BACK!”

I leaped away from the downed rat, glancing back in the direction of Laurentius and Celia. The Great Swamp pyromancer had gathered flame between his hands, a huge ball of it, and as I watched, he thrust his arms out towards the rat with a loud grunt of effort. The huge ball of flame spiraled in the air, baking the moisture out of it and turning any stray drops of water into steam instantly in its passage, before it impacted the rat’s head like a mortar shell. The resulting heat washed over me like a shockwave, and I grunted in displeasure, forming ice over the top of my fur to protect me from it.

The rat made horrible noises, writhing and struggling. As the steam cleared, I realized that much of its face and the upper neck was gone, the flesh twisted and charred and melted. Bone stood out stark white against the black and red, the coat either gone from much of its front or set alight. It thrashed back and forth, scrabbling with the stump of its right leg, its other three still caught in cracked but holding ice. Over its head, I saw Siegmeyer spin in place, huge zweihander whistling through the air and reflecting the bright red of the firelight off of the steel. With pinpoint accuracy, it smashed the skull of the creature, causing it to explode in a shower of red and gray and chunks of white as he drove the steel into and through the bone and into the matter beneath. The sword stuck deep in the thing’s head, and Siegmeyer extracted it with a grunt, causing the newly-made corpse to twitch as the steel crossed wires in what was left of the rapidly dying brain matter.

Siegmeyer flicked his sword with surprising dexterity as he stepped away from the still-burning corpse, the gray and red and chips of white sliding from the blade before he returned it to his shoulder and held up a single fist. In the back of the chamber, I could hear Celia let out a triumphant shout, and I nodded in satisfaction. I just hoped that we would do as well against the greater threat I knew to be coming.

Chapter Text

Celia gave the humongous, highly singed rat corpse a wide berth. I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel the look of disgust from here- and it wasn’t even directed at me. Laurentius peered over the edge of the stone and down the wide ramp made of slick stone that led downwards, towards Domhnall and the gate that led to Blighttown. Siegmeyer paced the room, investigating alcoves and poking bricks, peering through the bars to one side that looked back into the area we had just come from.

“Knight Siegmeyer?” I said, an eyebrow raised. The knight’s helmet turned towards me, then he shrugged.

“It’s a labyrinthine sewer, Lady Sif. Such things are rife with false walls and secret passageways, and I would think this one no different.” His head turned in the direction of Laurentius, who was holding out a hand wrapped in pyromancy flame. “However, it seems that we may not have much of a choice, in this regard. With no alternate paths, we may have to attempt the ramp.” I could hear the grimace in his voice. “I am not looking forward to it. Perhaps Celia and our pyromancer friend may manage it, and you will be as graceful as ever, Lady Sif, but I am too old to be navigating such terrain.”

“Well, we may not have to, not like that.” I mused. “If the stone is coated in water, and I make ridged ice…”

“Aha! Brilliant!” He gestured towards the opening in the wall, shifting the sword on his shoulder. “By all means!”

“Age before beauty, hm?”

I smirked a little, flicking my tail at him as I passed. Siegmeyer simply laughed, the noise rebounding off the stone walls. Celia glanced over from where she was poking at the rat’s corpse, offering a little huff of laughter before going back to her investigations.

“Ah, you said it, Lady Sif, not me.”

With that, he returned to prodding the walls. I stepped past Celia, padding up to where Laurentius stood, freezing the water under my paws as I went. He afforded me a glance as I sat next to his feet, peering down into the darkness, to where the tunnel flattened out again. Squinting against the lack of light, I could just about make out the treacherous portion of the slide where the ramp gave way to a hole, leading down and into another rat’s nest of tunnels and creatures. Somewhere, down there, were a handful of basilisks, and Kirk. The former I would rather not see at all, but the latter I intended to speak with.

“What do you think?” I asked the pyromancer. He shrugged.

“Lobbed a fireball down there, most of it seems to have collapsed besides the far left side. Stone’s pretty slick with slime and detritus, I don’t imagine any of us could get a real grip on it.” He gave me a look. “Except you, of course. Imagine you could anchor yourself with ice.” He hummed, rocking on his feet. “Useful ability, that. Would’ve been welcome in the swamps. You probably could’ve walked right across things that most people would need boats or bridges to navigate.”

“It’s certainly come in handy, at that.” I traced the left side into the darkness with my eyes. “The plan is that I go first, freeze a layer of water over the stone and affix it. I believe I can manipulate the ice, give us a good surface to walk on provided we’re careful about it.”

“Provided Siegmeyer doesn’t find us another way around.” Laurentius replied. He turned his head back towards the wider room behind us. “Any luck!?”

“None, unfortunately!”

The knight joined us at the edge, Celia not far behind him. The Undead was holding something small in her hand, frowning slightly at it. I focused on it, which was a difficult task, as it continually shifted and changed its shape. As I watched, it seemed to turn towards me, revealing two little spots of white in the ethereal darkness that it was made of, and I realized that I was looking at a Humanity sprite. Celia, noting my attention, tucked the thing away in a belt pouch, shrugging. I’d somewhat forgotten that, disturbingly, the rats could spawn Humanity as a drop. Not all that out of line, given the whole very large scavengers in a sewer thing, but still.

I turned my head back to the slope. I could see the light from the fire reflecting off the water cascading down the stone surface, and the deposits of slime and various other things under it. I was thankful that there weren’t any actual humans living in the Undead Burg, or I suspected that this place would be even more disgusting than it already was. I breathed out, and the frost began spreading from my paws, following the cracks in the stone and forming an anchor. Gentle manipulation allowed me to make the surface of the ice into frozen ridges, something that could be easily gripped by a foot.

The angle of the ramp was steep, but not so steep that one would just slide down it without the slime and water. With the water frozen in place and the slime underneath the ice, walking down the ramp instead of sliding down uncontrollably was a test of patience and balance, more than anything. We edged down slowly, carefully, a single file line behind me. The light from Laurentius’ pyromancy flame was more than enough, flickering off the floor and walls, giving the place an almost eerie beauty- if one could forget where they were. When we came level with the drop into the square pit, I turned my head and glanced over the edge, then paused for a second.

“What is it?” Celia asked, nervously, then turned her head and balked. “What… what are those?”

Giant fake eyes. Scales. Essentially giant lizards. I could see the set of real eyes underneath the gigantic fake ones, beady and black. I knew exactly what they were.

“Those are basilisks.”

“Oh- hang on, you mentioned them, didn’t you?” Celia studied them, leaning forwards slightly and sheathing her sword before calling her own pyromancy flame for a better look. “Cursing, and the ability to fight ghosts.”

“Creatures are rare indeed. I’ve not seen more than a few, though-” Siegmeyer nodded to the frozen statues lining the room. Spikes jutted out from them at random angles, and they were caught in moments of distress. “Usually, you can tell when they are about. Their lairs are filled with the petrified.”

“Those were… people?” There was a nervous quiver to Celia’s voice. I could understand the sentiment.

“We get them occasionally in the swamps, the ones less traveled by humans.” Laurentius said. “They have their own territories that they occasionally wander out of, and we have to kill them or drive them back in. We can never wipe them out, though- too many, too dangerous. Besides, they make a wonderful defense.”

They hissed at us, and the light we were shining on them. Their huge, glowing false eyes bobbed in the dark, and I felt vaguely sickened by the display.

“Maybe we should kill them from here, just to be safe?” Celia asked. “We’re most likely going that way, anyway. Might as well wipe them out before they can threaten us.”

“Excellent plan.” Laurentius held up his hand, a fireball forming in his palm. “I’ll take the left, you take the right. Understand?”

Celia nodded, summoning her own fireball. They waited for just a moment, then threw together, the fire sending flickering reflections across the stone chamber as each of the fireballs arced towards their targets. Laurentius’ hit dead on, the basilisk he’d been aiming for shrieking as the flame burned into its body. Celia’s, however, splashed harmlessly against the stone, and she swore as the basilisk she’d targeted merely skittered back. Immediately, she called up another, and this time landed the hit.

With the limited room and only one exit, the four basilisks that had been huddled together were quickly burned to death. None of them managed to make it out of sight, though they’d definitely tried. I was mostly just pleased that we wouldn’t have to fight them later on more even ground, where their petrifying breath- their primary defense- could reach us.

“That should be the last of them, but remain on your guard.” Siegmeyer said, scanning the room. “They travel in small packs, and it wouldn’t do for us to be taken off guard by a group of them later, having thought we’d slain all there was.”

I turned from the room and made my way down the last of the stone ramp. At the end, it dropped a little, then evened out with the stone floor. I hopped down, wrinkling my nose slightly in disgust as my paws landed on the spongy surface that coated the stone floor. I froze it in a moment, nodding in satisfaction at the much better- and cleaner- walking surface the ice provided. The rest climbed down after me, Laurentius and Celia helping Siegmeyer down, grunting under the weight of his armour.

“More of those black slimes.” I said to them, my voice low.

Peeking around the pillar revealed a handful of them, milling about in the layer of water in the center of the room. Looking upwards, I saw two more clinging to the ceiling, shivering slightly in a manner that reminded me of gelatin. Disgusting thought, but I wasn’t sure there was a better comparison for them. They did remind me, in the vaguest of senses, of gelatin packed with various food items, though the analogy made my stomach curl in disgust.

Laurentius and Celia stepped around the pillars, already summoning fireballs to their hands, while Siegmeyer followed close behind. The knight and I hung back as the two pyromancers made quick work of the slimes from a safe range, the noxious gasses and detritus they were made of easily catching fire and burning merrily as they moved from slime to slime. The flames made quick work of the ones that were there, but I did wonder what they’d do against the much larger slime in New Londo. Supposed we’d have to see. The moment the last slime burned out, Laurentius’ head turned to Celia.

“Where to now?”

She opened her mouth, but I didn’t let her speak, walking past them and towards the end of the hall. There, a rickety iron fence had been erected to close off the area behind it, but the center had given out to rust and corrosion. The three followed me until I stopped just before the gap, giving each of the three of them a grave look, which seemed to confuse Laurentius and Celia. Siegmeyere, however, tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, turning his head upwards and towards the gap in the bars. I followed suit, turning towards the gap, and taking a deep breath before walking through.

The other side was no different from the rest of the sewers, save for the rotten wood and iron door that closed off the far end. The hall behind us had tunnels going in many different directions that we could follow, but here, there was only the gap in the fence and the door. However, I barely spared the door a glance, before turning right.

“Aye, siwmae. And good day to you. I'm-”

“I am aware of who you are, Domhnall.”

The man’s golden helmet tilted to the right slightly.

“Well, I fear that I am at something of a disadvantage! Have we perhaps made a deal in the past, little wolf?”

I didn’t dignify that with a response. “No. But, tell me, do you still serve the same master?”

He stilled.

“... And what master would that be?” My lips twitched.

“Do not think to try and mislead me, Domhnall. The channelers remain scattered about Lordran, working against me. Is the scaleless still handing down orders from on high, or have you all been set adrift?”

“Those are dangerous questions! Hm. Tell you what. I’m amenable. If you have something to trade-”

“I can trade you your life.” I growled, my claws making furrows in the stone. He gazed at me a moment in silence, perhaps attempting to gauge my seriousness.

“... Hm. I am not in the habit of giving out tips for free, gray wolf. You can kill me, no doubt, but then what will you gain?” I scoffed. “No, really. I know your threat is an empty one. You will not kill me without having received the information that I have, and thus it has no hold on me.”

“There are things worse than death, collector. And we both know the price of betrayal, even against those I find myself opposed to.” I padded closer, my head held high, my eyes piercing. “The rock once stood by Gwyn’s side, and his vengeance is not yet complete. If your master is still sane, then perhaps I will turn my attention away. That is the trade that I will propose. And if you won’t tell me, well, I can get that information elsewhere. You are not the only one in Lordran who knows things.”

The helmet tilted left, then right. The many medals on his chest jingled against each other quietly. Finally, he hummed.

“Oh, very well. He will most likely want to see you, anyway.” He cleared his throat. “Hmm, now, let me think… Seath is above in his archives, and hasn’t been seen personally in years! However, as you have observed, his channelers still walk Lordran. He has ordered me here, to keep track of those who pass through the Depths to Blighttown, and to keep a watch on…” He chuckled. “Well, there’s information, and then there’s an unfair bargain. You asked me your question, Lady Sif, and if you have another- well. I am always open to trade.”

I huffed, then turned and walked away. Back through the fence, with the four of them following me, and then down the hall and right at the large opening there.

“Lady Sif.”
I paused, tensed for a moment, then forced myself to relax. I turned my head to regard Siegmeyer, who had unbuckled his helm and was giving me a worried look.

“It’s fine, Siegmeyer. I was merely…” I trailed off, then sighed through my nose. “There is history, there. Betrayals and plots. But when I realized he was here, I had to be the one to speak to him, to see if he possessed information that we could use. And he did.”

“Seath. Seath the scaleless.” He mused. “It was not a coincidence that we ran into a servant of his, here in this place, let alone two. The channeler, and now this Domhnall fellow.”

I sighed again. “Once, he would, and did, do anything to put himself in the good graces of the gods. Supervising their tests, ensuring that certain things played out in certain ways. With the gods perhaps long gone from Lordran, however, his loyalties are suspect at best. He was ever the fair-weather friend, first to the dragons, and now to the gods that he betrayed the dragons for. If his servants are still actively moving under his orders…”

Celia leaned around the corner, looking back in his direction. “He said something about being placed here to watch something.”

“There is a foul presence here.” Laurentius muttered. “I had thought it merely the reality of such a dank sewer, but it has the feeling of some of the more dangerous portions of the swamp. Territories of things that are, if you’re lucky, rarely seen.”

I breathed out, extending my sixth sense. Past the festering poison of the sewer itself, and disregarding the far worse toxic feeling below our feet, I could feel… something. Huge and twisted and twisting, changing in horrible ways even as I looked at it. Shifting and mutating, a mass of magic that roiled and snarled at me.

“Yes. I can feel it, something both great and terrible. I know not why Seath would be interested in it, whatever it is, but it is something that we may have to come up against. I doubt that it will let us go without a fight.”

“Hm! Well, unfortunately for it, fighting is what we do best!” Siegmeyer rapped his armoured knuckles against his breastplate. “What is all this armour for, eh?”

Celia nodded once, confidence in her stance and displayed in how she held her blade and shield. Laurentius smiled, his earlier nervousness all but gone, as a little snake of fire wormed its way between his fingers. I couldn’t help but smile a little myself, marveling a bit at how well we’d come together. I hadn’t planned for things to play out like this, but was intensely glad that they had. Celia moved towards the front of our group again, and I stepped aside to let her.

We came down the steps on the right and onto the lower level. Unlike many of the other sections of passage just like this that we had walked through, there was no doorway that led underneath the floor we had just walked upon. Instead, the only way forwards was, well, forwards, down the passageway in front of us. The first rat to leap out of the gloom was easily spitted on Celia’s sword, then tossed aside, even as she blocked a leap from another. Laurentius, from his position at the top of the steps, directed a ball of fire at one of the rats towards the back, while I leaped down on another. Its rotten spine shattered under my paws, leaving it limp as I snarled, frozen spikes made from its blood shredding through its skin and impaling the rat next to it. In moments, Siegmeyer beheaded the last of them, leaving the gaggle of rats as so much rotten meat.

“Were they gathering at the bottom of the stairs?” Celia said.

“Most likely. Drawn by the sounds, I would guess.” Siegmeyere flicked the blood from his blade, then returned it to his shoulder.

We kept forwards, turning around the first corner, only to be faced with a second. Something about this particular section of the sewer tingled something, deep in my head. I frowned, turning and examining the walls carefully. The stone looked much like that in the rest of the sewer, no particular changes from the norm. The rats weren’t what I remembered specifically, they were everywhere in this wretched place. As a rat burst out of some crates lying against the wall, only to be bisected by Siegmeyer, I sat with my brow furrowed.

My ears twitched backwards at a sound. A very familiar sound. My eyes widened, even as the rest of them turned, and I leaped to the right! It was the only thing that prevented me from being impaled by the thorned sword, which rang against the stone and produced a shower of sparks that lit the figure holding it. I swung myself towards them, hackles raised, feet planted, teeth bared.

The figure in armour was wrapped in wisps of red, glowing faintly in the dimness of our surroundings. In one hand, he held a sword covered in wicked metal barbs, sharp and cruel. In the other, a shield, coated with spikes, many of which were stained with something that appeared black in the low light of pyromancy flames. His armour was much the same as his weapons, covered in spikes where it wasn’t bound with cloth, iron spearheads jutting out at random angles from the steel.

The Knight of Thorns. Kirk.

He wasted no time. In a moment, he was on me, shield up and sword jabbing past it. I was ready, however, darting away from the strike again. He went to follow a third time, only for his head to jerk to the left. He flicked his shield up, the metal ringing as it rebounded Celia’s strike, her sword radiating heat. Kirk quickly sidestepped Siegmeyer’s swing, attempting to capitalize on his overextending, but the experienced knight used the momentum of his zweihander’s swing to pull him out of the way, deftly twirling in a surprisingly graceful move. Celia slammed her shield into his, unbalancing the knight for a moment, Laurentius holding a fireball in the back and waiting for his opportunity.

I leaped for him, Kirk’s head jerking around as I landed right next to him. His shield had been batted out of position by Celia’s, but his sword wasn’t. It snaked out for me like lightning, edges glittering cruelly in the low firelight. My head flicked, and sparks of electricity mixed with the sparks of a sword against a sword as my blade met his. There was a brief moment of surprise, from him, and then it was gone when Siegmeyer slammed the pommel of his blade into the knight’s stomach.

His blade trapped by mine, he lost it as he stumbled back and away, letting out a grunt of pain as he slammed into the stone wall. I circled around to his right, my pawsteps leaving frosted prints in the damp environment, while Celia circled around to his left. In the center, clutching his zweihander, Siegmeyer stood crouched and ready. Kirk shifted his shield in front of himself, taking in each one of us in turn and obviously searching for a way out.

“Knight Kwurk.”

Ugh, it was hard to speak around the hilt of a sword in my mouth. Wasn’t so long ago that I was struggling this hard regardless. Still, he jerked his head in my direction, so he must’ve understood what I’d said enough for it to register. I watched him for a moment, and he watched me in return, ensuring that he kept the other three in his peripheral vision. I imagined that the knight knew he was outmaneuvered; his best hope here would be to use our numbers against us, to get us in a situation where we tripped over each other and gave him openings that he could use. However, he had dedicated too much to that first strike, seeking to catch someone with too much awareness off-guard, and had been immediately back footed by Siegmeyer’s experience, Celia’s burgeoning skill, and Laurentius’ unwillingness to engage closely and tangle himself with the rest of us. He’d underestimated us, and now he was in a very disadvantageous position.

That would be why he stiffened in surprise when I moved my sword to its sheath at my side, and left it there.

“I know who you are, Knight of Thorns Kirk. Your service to the Daughters of Chaos these many years since the fall of Izalith has met my ears. If you still serve, then certainly, there are still powers left in the ruins of Lost Izalith, powers that command shreds of the authority and power of the Witch.”

He shifted his shield in his hands. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly deep, and it called to mind a predator, perhaps a great cat.

“You are well informed, for one I do not recognize.”

“Truly? What other wolves with swords are there in the world that I have heard nothing of? Perhaps we could establish a covenant.”

Siegemeyer let out a chuckle of amusement. Kirk’s head tilted slightly, and then snapped back to me as he stiffened again.

“... Sif?”

“One and the same.”

He lowered his shield a fraction. “I had heard that you had fallen with your master.”

My claws scraped slightly against the stone, and I found myself having to blink a bit of wetness from my eyes.

“I fear that such news is exaggerated at best, false at worst. After the fall of Oolacile and the containment of the Abyss there, I requested from the gods a dispensation, that I might guard his grave from those who would seek to disturb it.” I stared squarely at the eye slits of his helmet. “It was my duty, Kirk, as was yours to the Daughters.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then lowered his shield entirely. Siegmeyer and Celia relaxed some, Laurentius’ fireball calming to the more typical pyromancy flame, but they remained wary. Celia sent me a questioning look, but I ignored it.

“Duty, huh. I can understand that.”

He set his shield leaning against his leg, glancing at the sword that sat just underneath me. Catching his glance, I hooked it with a paw and flicked it towards him, the knight catching it by the hilt. He tightened his fingers around it, glancing at each of us in turn. We’d spoken, but I could see the gears turning in his head, the thought: how could he turn this back on us?

Wordlessly, I pressed a little more of my power into the world. The ice underneath my paws spread, crackling quietly as it subsumed the stone. Kirk’s head turned towards me, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes through the slits in his helm- determined. The moment hung, the tension in the air nearly electric.

“Duty. Yours to the Sunlight Throne, mine to the Witch. Those who lived in Anor Londo would not draw a distinction between the demons and those few survivors of Izalith. Tell me, Sif, are you different than they are?”

“I see no reason to make a conflict over events long over and people long dead. There are more important things than a non-existent grudge against the victims of the Chaos Flame, Knight Kirk.”

He stood for a moment more, turning his sword this way and that. Finally, he nodded to himself. I tensed slightly ready for him to make a move, but instead he pressed the blade into the sheath at his belt. He folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the stone wall.

“So. You wish to parley, then?”

Celia gave me a questioning look, and I inclined my head. She let a breath out, then retreated a few steps and lowered her sword and shield, though I noted that she put away neither. Laurentius moved to look down the tunnel ahead, while Siegemeyer kept his eyes on the Knight of Thorns. I turned my head back to him.

“Indeed. There are few enough left in Lordran that are sane enough to speak, let alone add their swords to a cause.”

“A cause? Pah. There are plenty of those here. Lordran is rife with religions.”

“Is your Lady’s need for Humanity one of them?” His shoulders stiffened. “I mean no threat by that, Kirk. I am aware that her condition makes her… fragile. That she has been made a firekeeper, that the Humanity is needed to sustain her. Your loyalty to her is commendable, as is your determination to do that which you think is right.”

“... She gave everything for those people.” He said, so quietly that I barely heard it.

“So. We find ourselves in a situation where both of us have need, and our goals and desires align.”

“Do we?” He tilted his head. “Pardon me, Lady Sif, but if your goals align with those of the gods, I don’t see how we find common cause.”

“Lady Sif believes there to be no gods left in Lordran.” Siegemeyer said, my ear twitching in surprise. “If the gods have abandoned us to our fates, to their supposed test, then perhaps we should not find ourselves so at odds as you think, Knight Kirk.”

He glanced at the other knight, humming in thought.

“Still. If Lady Sif is working in their stead…”

I shook my head. “I’ve sworn my oaths, and they were not to the gods, nor to their plan. I have no desire to play along with something that I have no relation to, not for the sake of individuals that have left me long abandoned.” My gaze turned upwards, hardened. “It does not escape me, either, that there is implication of the gathering of Lordsouls. Tell me, if Nito is one, and Seath holds a piece of Gwyn’s Lordsoul, then where are the other two?”

He thought for a moment, then closed his gauntleted hands into fists. “Ah. I see the game of the gods. Did they consider you a threat, then?”

“I don’t know.” I said tiredly. “The plan was created after Gwyn went to rekindle the First Flame, after Oolicile. I was not in the circles of the gods then, and I wonder if they were nervous about leaving someone who could very well lay a claim to the Sunlight Throne- no matter how flimsy- so close to the seat of power when they left. Placing me on the path certainly accomplishes two goals. Another stage of their test, and the elimination of a potential rival. Certainly, I would be at least weakened.” My voice turned grave. “I have spoken to the champion of Fina.”

Kirk practically shoved himself off the wall. “Fina’s chosen? Here? Does she intend-?”

“I don’t know. I don’t believe so. If she were to make an attempt, wouldn’t she have more than just a single representative in Lordran? There is no evidence of a covenant of Fina, not here. The Sunlight Warriors have more of a presence, and the Firstborn certainly isn’t making a play for the throne.”

His fingers tightened again. “Things are moving at a faster pace than we had believed.”

He grasped his shield from his side, slinging it over his back, then reached into a pouch at this side. From the leather container, he drew a black thing wrapped in cloth, which I recognized as a black separation crystal. It glittered in the firelight, faces reflecting the light of the pyromancy flames.

“Before you go.” Kirk’s head turned to me. “Relay a message to your mistress. We will be there before long, and when we come, I wish to ensure that she knows that we don’t intend harm. Instead, I wish to discuss how we might ensure that our goals align. There are too few in Lordran for there to be fighting among us, and the embers of both Izalith and Anor Londo are better directed outwards, towards those who would see all of us dead.”

“Mm. I can do that. Whether the Lady aligns with you and yours, well… that’s up to her.”

“I don’t ask you to convince or force her. I merely ask that she listens when we speak of peace.”

He nodded, then tapped the black crystal with an armoured gauntlet. It rang, and his figure blurred for a moment before vanishing in his entirety. I waited a few moments, tenseness in my muscles and thought, then finally let out the breath I’d been holding and settled back on my haunches. Suddenly, I felt weary in both body and mind.

“Lady Sif, what…?” Celia asked. Her question trailed off, and I could hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“It is… a long story.” I said, tiredly. “I would prefer to tell it in better circumstances and better surroundings.”

Siegmeyer nodded easily enough, shifting the blade on his shoulder. Celia seemed uncertain, still, but she didn’t seem to find any issue with what I said. Laurentius, however, was glancing back and forth between myself and the spot that Kirk had vanished from.

“Izalith? The birthplace of flame sorcery?”

I nodded. “Ruins, now, and infested by demons, but some of the Daughters of Chaos still live. The original pioneers of flame sorcery, under the tutelage of their mother, the Witch of Izalith, one of the holders of the Lord Souls. I had thought them still alive, and it is good to see that their servant still acts in their name.”

“You’re scheming, Lady Sif.” Siegmeyer said. There was a note of teasing in his voice, but I could hear the question in it all the same.

“Mm, maybe. But what I’m scheming is, potentially, the salvation of the world and all who live in it, if I am not being too ambitious in saying so. I think that a little scheming is allowed, in such circumstances.”

“I don’t begrudge it! Your plans have done naught but benefit us thus far, Lady Sif. This is just the logical progression of your planning, I should think.” He tapped his fingers against his chestplate, producing a faint rattling, like rain on a metal roof. “Still. Strange, that there were so many that had old ties with you, in this place.”

Being completely fair, it was a little odd. The main Chaos Servant and the person who gave information to Seath that ensured the downfall of the plot against the gods, practically right next to each other in the Depths? Strange to think about. Not that any of this was something that was particularly obvious, per say; it wasn’t as if the games were explicit about the placement of either in the overall lore. Still, from a meta perspective…

“Yes, I find it… odd. It makes one wonder what other sorts have survived the years, and still linger in Lordran.”

Sigmeyer hummed, and we moved to follow Celia and Laurentius, who had moved forwards to explore further into the tunnel. As we came around the bend and looked forwards, I recognized the corpses of a few basilisks lying on the sewer floor, covered in soot and burns. Glancing up revealed a hole in the ceiling, through which poured a steady stream of water.

“This must be the hole in the ramp.” Celia muttered.

She glanced at each of the corpses in turn, deciding that they were dead when none of them moved to attack us. She moved to the next corner and peered around it, then swore quietly. Poking my head around her legs, I could see why: a number of basilisks were taking up the end of the tunnel. The lizards crawled in the muck and filth that covered the bottom of the sewer tunnel, hissing at each other, eating, the usual things that I imagined lizards did. Still, none had noticed us, and that was a boon. I wasn’t particularly eager to fight an entire crowd of instant death area of effect lizards. From the way Celia edged back from the corner, I didn’t think that she felt much different.

“Lot of lizards down there.” She whispered to the rest of us, as I kept watch on them. “I’m not sure I want to fight those things in close quarters- not that many, and not in these cramped conditions.”

“We can if we must, but I would suggest finding another way around.” Siegmeyer said, voice low. “We can try the doors above, next to that Domhnall fellow, perhaps. And I believe there were at least two other tunnels that we could try from that same hall.”

“So, we go back?” Laurentius was toying with a bit of fire in his hands, watching the corner that I was staring around with some anxiety.

“It is your call, Celia. Do we continue forwards and fight them, or turn around and find another route?”

She hummed, inspecting her sword as she thought. She nodded to herself after a moment, raising her head again and hefting her shield.

“Back. We look for another way.”

Siegmeyer nodded, taking the lead as he walked back the way we’d come, with Celia behind him and Laurentius third. I brought up the rear of our motley crew, watching the corner in case any of the lizards heard or saw something and took interest in it. Thankfully, none of the basilisks seemed to have, and eventually I turned and threaded my way through the legs in front of me to Siegmeyer’s side. His helmet turned slightly in my direction, and I offered him a nod, which he returned.

We found our way back to the hall we’d come from without incident. Across the way from us and on the opposite side, there was an indentation in the wall. From here, you could just see the stone archway that led into it. We approached it, Siegmeyer looking up the flights of stairs in front of us. He stared for a moment, then snapped his fingers, a surprisingly deft movement, given that they were wrapped in steel and leather.

“Ah! No, I know where this leads.”

“Are you certain?” Celia’s voice rang within her helm, sounding surprised.

“Of course! I am a veteran dungeoneer, I’ll have you know. I was presented with a cape for it and everything… ah, but that’s besides the point.” He gestured to the stairwell in front of us. “These steps travel parallel to the ramp that we just came down. Now, remember that when we entered the area, there was a room with the floor made of iron bars? Had a ladder that led down to a lower level?”

Laurentius nodded. “Yes, that’s where we saw the rat from.” He moved to Siegmeyer’s side, squinting up the passage. “That certainly looks like it.” Siegmeyer nodded.

“This may be a shortcut to the beginning. Ah, but if we’d just taken the ladder, we may have skipped this whole mess, haha!” His head turned to me as I growled. “... Or not.” I huffed.

“We’ll keep it in mind, I suppose.” Celia said.

We turned back, Celia moving to the fore and leading us down the tunnel and towards the door at the end. She paused when we came to another stone archway just before the broken iron fence, which led into a straight hallway that terminated in another stairwell. Eventually, however, she ignored it and moved on. As I stepped through the iron fence, I noted that Domhnall’s customary spot next to the wall was empty.

“Gone, eh?” Siegmeyer asked, helmet turned towards where the collector had been sitting.

“I suspect that he’s gone off to report to his master.” I replied. “We haven’t seen the last of him, of that I have no doubt.”

“Ungf!”

We both turned our heads to where Celia was attempting to move through the aperture at the end of the hall. The doors rattled slightly in place, rusted hinges creaking horribly, but the entire thing barely moved. Though the wood was saturated with water and slightly rotten, and the iron banding and nails that held the door together were rusted, it was thick and strong. It didn’t give in to her attempts to open it.

“Hm.” Laurentius touched the doors, face contorting into a frown. “Wood’s soaked, and the iron is protected by it. Would probably take less time to melt the bars around it and get through that way, using pyromancy.”

“If I had brought my larger body…” I mused, testing how much give the doors had. “I can’t even freeze the hinges, they’re on the other side.”

“Knight Siegmeyer, what do you make of this?” Celia called over her shoulder.

The older knight walked over, handing his sword to Laurentius, who stumbled under the weight of the weapon and let out a strained sound. Siegmeyer looked them over, testing them with his own hands and feeling their give, then examined the edges. Finally, he leaned down, taking his helmet off and having a good look at the lock. After a few moments, he straightened, then placed his helmet back on his head as he spoke.

“So far as I can tell, it’s not worked by a mechanism, nor does it appear magical in nature. I suspect that these are a mundane pair of doors, though particularly strong ones, and may simply require a key. Where that key is, however…” He shrugged.

“We still have one direction left to go, and I’d rather not tangle with those lizards, if it’s all the same to you.”

Laurentius gave the archway we’d passed a meaningful look. Celia followed his gaze, then nodded, moving past him and towards it. The pyromancer shifted in place, a grimace on his face, then held out the zweihander to Siegmeyer. I noted that his arms shook from the effort.

“Kn-Knight Siegemeyer, if you please?”

“Ah, of course. Apologies!” He took the sword from the pyromancer with ease, who let out a relieved sigh. He shouldered the piece of steel with ease. “Come along, Laurentius, Lady Sif. More sewer to explore!”

“That man… isn’t human.” Laurentius huffed, between breaths. I grinned in reply.

“Ah, but you see, mine’s even bigger.”

He gave me a completely bewildered look, but I merely chuckled as I walked past him. He lingered for a moment more, catching his breath, then followed behind me as we walked towards the stone archway. Through it was a tunnel, narrow enough that we had to walk single file through it. Abruptly as it started, the flat tunnel ended with a staircase up, Celia mounting the steps without a moment’s hesitation. I slipped past Siegmeyer’s legs and followed her up, remembering that this led to an overlook for the boss arena for this area. The stairwell let out through a stone archway onto a platform with what looked like battlements around the edges, though they didn’t make much sense being underground like this. Unless they were intending to fight some kind of sewer creature? Maybe the denizens of the sewer had built them, once upon a time. Celia inhaled, moving to the edge of the battlements, and I followed, placing my paws onto the raised stone wall.

The chamber was huge, the ceiling towering above us from where we stood, halfway up the side of the room. Looking up and to the right, I could see the wooden scaffold that marked the place where we'd fought the channeler and his escort of rats. Huge stone pillars, one of which we found ourselves next to, held up the ceiling far above us. Several of the thick pillars of stone brick towards the center of the room had collapsed or been broken, their presence signaled only by their remains on the chamber floor, or the huge upper portions paradoxically hanging from the ceiling like huge stalactites. Water pooled in the center of the chamber floor, creating almost a pond that shimmered in the low light. A huge crack in the ceiling at the far back allowed the golden light of the sun to shine through, lighting the chamber better than pyromancy flame or torch could do. In a word, it was quite beautiful- or, it would be, if it wasn’t for its location.

“Incredible.” Siegmeyer intoned. “I wonder what this chamber’s purpose was?”

“Perhaps a reservoir of some kind?” I said, more to myself than in reply.

“Might be a drainage chamber.” We both shot Laurentius sideways looks. “Eh? I’m not allowed to know anything about city design? Look-” he pointed across the chamber. “The water would drain there to lower areas. And there, that’s an inlet. There are high water marks, all the way up the walls, and there’s no passages leading out of the chamber on the lower levels.”

“... Hm. You may be onto something.” Siegmeyer said, a touch of surprise in his tone. The pyromancer nodded.

“I would put money on this being some kind of overflow chamber for a drainage system. Too much water in the rest of the depths, or coming down from the Burg above, and it all comes here, where a large amount of it can sit until it drains away to other areas.”

Celia pushed away from the edge, making her way right and around the corner, following the wall. I shoved myself off of the battlement and back onto the stone brick of the floor, padding in her wake. We turned a corner, and there were the stairs to the next lower level, lit by a torch that sent shifting shadows through the entrance to the stairwell and across the damp walls. We navigated the steps carefully, one after the other, and then made another right turn at the bottom. However, I had to come to a halt as I nearly ran into the legs of Celia.

“Celia?”

She twitched, then turned to look down at me, before looking forwards again.

“There’s a summon sign, Lady Sif. Golden.” She pointed to what was, as far as I could tell, a bare patch of stone. “There.”

“Golden?” I asked.

“Ah! Another Warrior of Sunlight!” Siegmeyer turned towards the wider chamber and hummed. “I wonder… Lady Sif, can you feel anything?”

“A moment.” I closed my eyes and concentrated, reaching out for the thing that I knew was there. Sure enough, I could feel it, that same twisted and dark presence that I’d felt before, but stronger. Closer. Practically right in front of us. I nodded. “Whatever it is, this is its lair.”

Laurentius shuddered. “I’m no coward, but this place feels… deeply wrong.”

“Best summon whoever they are, Celia. Maybe they know more about whatever is squatting in this horrible place.”

She nodded, stepping forwards and sheathing her sword, then crouching down and placing her hand against the stone. She made a small noise of surprise, then flicked her finger across the stone and stepped back. After a moment, the sound of a phantom being summoned rang across the stone walls, and a figure rose out of the floor in the classical pose of the Warriors of Sunlight- and a familiar figure, at that.

“Knight Solaire!”

“Hm? Celia again! Hah, you look excellent!” He rotated his arms in his sockets, stretching, and turned his helmet towards me. “And you, Lady Sif, you look more… permanent?”

“This body is a fair bit more solid than a summoned phantom, Knight Solaire.” I replied, giving him a respectful nod, which he returned. Finally, he turned his attention to the last member of our group.

“And I believe you are new. Ah, Celia, it appears that you’re growing quite popular!” he offered a proper half-bow, one I noted to be textbook correct. “Pleasure to meet you. I am Knight Solaire, of the Warriors of Sunlight.”

Laurentius nodded in return. “I am pyromancer Laurentius of the Great Swamp.”

“Ah, a pyromancer! I should’ve guessed from your garb, it is the traditional guise. It has been far too long since I’ve visited. How fairs your enclave?”

He shrugged, looking troubled. “Struggling, somewhat. The Curse has hit us hard, and, to make matters worse, the Way and Vinheim are conspiring to press us harder, each for their own reasons. Many of us had fled the swamp, by the time I fell to a creature and reawoke as…” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Ah… I am sorry. It cannot be easy to lose one’s home, especially when they are in dire need already.” Solaire clapped his hand on Laurentius’ shoulder. “But we came to this land to find a way to end the Curse, didn’t we? So, to lift it, to end the sorrow and suffering that it’s shed on the world, we must move forwards. Don’t lose hope, for then your home has one less defender.” Laurentius stood a little taller and nodded, and I could feel Solaire’s smile even if I couldn’t see it. “Excellent. Now, let’s speak about the creature that calls this place its home…”

He moved to the battlements of this level, the rest of us following behind. He glanced to his sides, checking to see that we were paying attention, then gestured to the entire chamber.

“You’ll notice that the pillars are gone, leaving the area wide open. I would guess that the creature did this, either on purpose or as a result of it fighting first the denizens of the Depths, then whatever Undead happened along.” He pointed across the chamber, to where the pool drained into a chasm. “It hides down there until it senses prey move through the fog wall and into its territory, then reveals itself and attacks them.”

“Hrn.” Celia leaned forwards, scanning the room, then turned her head upwards to where we’d come from. She pointed up to the battlements that surrounded the archway, leading back to the hallway we’d come from. “Laurentius, do you think you could hit most of the chamber with pyromancies from there?”

He leaned out, squinting at it, then nodded. “Might need a little arc to get it done, but I could.”

She nodded, then turned her head to Solaire. “Knight Solaire, if I could make a request?”

“By all means!”

“Perhaps the four of us- myself, Siegmeyer, Lady Sif, and you, could go down and fight the creature on foot. We can keep it from attacking Laurentius while he rains fire down on it from above.”

“Hm, not a bad plan, though it doesn’t account if it decides to go for him anyway.”

“No, I can see it.” Laurentius nodded. “The archway and the stairwell are right there. If I feel I’m in danger, I can just run down the steps and back to the hall, and safety. There’s far more risk to the four of you.”

“I don’t believe we have anything to worry about! Nothing could be a real match for the five of us working together!” Siegmeyer said, upbeat and all smiles. He leaned over and bumped shoulders with Celia. “And you’re becoming quite the tactician! Making a man proud in his old age.”

“I thought we agreed that all of you were practically children relative to me, Knight Siegmeyer.” I teased.

“And yet, Lady Sif, you are still lovely as a moonflower in the snow.” He replied back without missing a beat.

Okay yeah he probably didn’t mean that but oh man am I glad there’s fur on my face and they can’t actually see my muzzle turning red. I did not need these kinds of complications.

Thankfully, before I could make some stuttering and awkward comments, Celia finished whatever prep work she’d been doing and nodded to Laurentius. The pyromancer nodded back, then turned and moved off towards the stairs to the upper level. She waited a few moments more, until he waved to us from the upper level, then moved to the next flight of stairs. She paused at the fog wall, waiting for each of us to line up behind her, then turned towards us.

“We can only go through one at a time, so let’s be careful about this- I don’t want us to trip over each other on the other side.” She paused, giving Siegmeyer a slightly nervous glance. He gave an encouraging gesture in turn, and Solaire nodded. She swallowed. “We’ll each move to the side to make room for the next, then move out towards the center to meet the creature head on.”

“We don’t want to be caught underneath the stone roof, or against any of the walls. The creature is large, but with enough room to move around it, we should be able to avoid each of its attacks.” Solaire said from the back. “It’s large, and it’s quite a shock to see, but don’t let it surprise you out of thinking on your feet. Its size may be its downfall in this fight, but only so long as we remember to keep an eye on it and ensure that we are not caught by any of its limbs. Two will distract and two will strike- we play it safe, and we come out unharmed.”

Each of us nodded, then we turned and faced the fog wall together. Celia hesitated for a moment more, shifting her sword and shield, then took a deep breath and pushed through the veil of mist. I was next, feeling the urge to shake the water off of my fur despite the fact that the mist didn’t actually make my fur wet. Celia had already moved forwards and out of the way, so I stepped to her right side. Siegemeyer followed behind me, arranging himself off to her left, and then Solaire behind him. The Warrior of Sunlight ended up at my side, his large round shield emblazoned with the sun facing me. Celia lingered for a moment more, glancing left and right, then tightened her grip on her sword and shield and stepped forwards and through the pillars.

The moment we were beyond them, as it had been alerted by us crossing some invisible line, I heard the creature shift at the far end of the chamber. The sound of scales rasping against stone echoed in the huge space, and after a moment, I saw the bare tip of its head poke over the edge of the stone drop. It seemed to survey the chamber, before finally moving back to us. Across the distance, I could barely make out the beady eyes that broke up the scales, though I didn’t doubt that each of them was as big as my head. The sheer size of the thing, and the distance of the entire chamber, merely made them look small. Then, one of its limbs came over the stone lip.

It was huge, each of its fingers the length of me, and covered in scales as black as night- though the colour was muddled somewhat by a smattering of sewer filth and mud. It shook the stone as it landed, and I noted that it had six finger-like appendages, splayed out like a lizard’s foot. It pulled itself up over the lift, and Celia made a noise of disgust. It wasn’t hard to see why.

The entire chest of the thing, from the bottom of the neck down, was one huge giant mouth. A hole, ringed with teeth meters in length, gums rotted and black. It hauled itself up and onto the stone floor of the chamber, a second pair of legs appearing with the spherical abdomen in tow, and then a third pair, right at the base. The scales were rotted and gangrenous, entirely falling away from the festering flesh at multiple different points. As we watched, it pushed with its front legs, rearing up. Suddenly, we were faced with an incredibly tall wall made entirely of teeth. Huge spires of bone, thick around as a person and many meters long, jutted out around the edges. Closer to the center, the teeth grew smaller, until it was simply clusters of much smaller teeth all ringed around a huge, horrifying hole in the center. The hole pulsated and clenched, and I felt my stomach turn as the teeth around it rippled and clattered against each other. The huge creature stretched its arms and four wings towards the ceiling, then let out a huge roar that shook the entire chamber, causing stone dust to rain down from the ceiling in lines.

It pushed itself forwards the moment its roar was done, impacting the stone floor hard enough to shake us. Collectively, we sprung into motion, splitting up among the large pillar stumps that still remained. The corrupted dragon charged, screeching, but only succeeded in missing Solaire, who danced out of its reach with a speed and nimbleness that I found nothing short of remarkable. It swung an arm at him, seeking to catch him with its fingers, but he rolled underneath them and they missed entirely.

I darted towards its side, keeping myself in the blindspot created by one of its front arms. Up its side, and towards its second pair of legs, when I slammed my shoulder into the scales and grimaced. Ice exploded from the point of impact, reaching up and around the limb as well as down and into the stone bricks that made up the floor. The pond of water gave me plenty of material to work with, after all, so why not use it? The dragon screeched in rage, tugging on the limb, and I danced up the frozen surface to open a cut in its shoulder that crackled with electricity just for good measure.

That seemed to piss it off, more than anything. It slammed one of its huge paws into the pillar of ice I’d formed around its limb, the ice suddenly run through with cracks. Before it could strike a second blow, however, it screeched again as a huge fireball impacted on its back. Scales were blasted away from the impact site, and flesh was instantly cauterized by the sheer heat, setting it somewhat alight in the process. Forgetting the ice around its limb, it spun- only to find itself far out of range of striking at Laurentius, up in his perch atop the wall and forming another fireball of similar size. I could see the process of thought: I am hurt, that little insect hurt me, I need to kill him, the ice is preventing me from moving. Finally, it turned its attention back to the ice. Only, it screeched and started writhing, as one of Solaire’s lightning bolts impacted it right in its gigantic toothy maw. Furious, it turned on him and swiped again, only to find him just out of reach.

Celia and Siegmeyer hadn’t been idle while we drew the gaping dragon’s attention. The two had moved towards the back, where its huge tail jutted out of the abdomen. I assumed that they’d learned from their previous fights against tailed creatures: you don’t leave them weapons that they can use against you at any time, at least not unnecessarily. The tail itself was much thicker than the tails of the bell gargoyles, more akin to the thickness of the hydra’s necks, but the glances I sent their way revealed them to not be perturbed by that fact. Instead, Siegemeyer tightened his grip around his zweihander, then spun in place- before whipping the huge blade over his head and into the tail! The dragon screamed again, some of the half-ruined pillars coming dislodged and shattering on the stone floor. The dragon’s tail jerked and slammed into Celia’s chest, driving the wind out of her lungs in a huff I could hear from here, and sending her rolling across the stone!

“CELIA!”

I watched her tumble away, then turned my gaze on the dragon. Rage bubbled up inside me, hot and cold, a volatile mixture. I threw myself at the dragon as it made another swipe for Solaire, impacting its side as hard as I could. An explosion of ice crystals, and the temperature dropped rapidly; the entire side of the dragon was covered in frozen water, which had even reformed the shackle around its leg. I rebounded, skidding to a stop on the wet stone floor, then stumbled a bit. Suddenly, I felt woozy, my larger form concentrating on funneling power through the connection to refill the stocks that I had nearly just exhausted.

The dragon was screaming and screeching, flexing its chestmaw and teeth in an attempt to struggle against the partial icy prison it found itself in. Its arm clawed desperately against the ice crystals, which gave slowly and reluctantly before the draconic strength in the arm. I flicked my gaze to Celia, fearing the worst, and let out a sigh of relief when she sat up and fumbled out her Estus flask, taking a large slug of it.

The issue with the Gaping Dragon was just that it was so big, had so much mass. Siegmeyer looked to make another attempt at the tail, which was half-severed at best, while Solaire and Laurentius rained ranged strikes down on it in a constant and furious tempo. However, we weren’t making all that much progress. Certainly, we were doing damage: cauterized and still-burning sections of the creature attested to that. The issue was that we weren’t doing enough damage fast enough, and this thing could most likely wear us down bit by bit faster than we could wear it out. With no convenient health bar to rely on, we had to actually land killing blows on the damn thing. I stared directly at the small head, only for it to writhe- Siegmeyer had succeeded in severing the tail, which rapidly withered, leaving a huge greataxe behind in its place.

If I could get up on its back, then I could make my way to the head, stab it through the brainpan. The arm that was free, the one that it had been using to peel away the ice containing it, had become a target of fixation for both of our ranged fighters. Taking hits like that, it couldn’t spend long enough to pry the ice apart enough for it to start escaping. With its tail severed, it lacked its main offensive and defensive abilities while it was still tied down by my explosion of ice. If I could-

All my thoughts were interrupted as something leaped up onto the dragon’s abdomen. I slashed at its arm, severing a finger, then darted back and stared as Celia ran full-tilt up the thing’s spine. At some point she’d abandoned her helmet, a streak of red blood running down the side of her face from a deep cut on her forehead. Her face was locked in a snarl of determination, and as Siegmeyer and I dueled with the arms and their hands, I watched her rapidly navigate the dragon’s spines and the craters left by Solaire and Laurentius’ efforts.

We ran interference as best we could. I wasn’t entirely sure that the dragon could feel Celia attempting to climb its back as quickly as she could, but it certainly wasn’t blind to the fact that we were trying something. It may have lost its sapience a long time ago, corrupted by the Abyss, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t have a sharp sense of animal cunning. I leaped to the side as a paw slammed down where I’d just been, grunting in pain as chunks of stone struck me across the side through my fur. Even with the practical armour coating me, some of the force of a blunt hit still came through.

The dragon bucked, attempting to shake itself free of the ice, but it only succeeded in making a few more cracks run through the crystal. Celia stumbled, waving back and forth, then stabbed her sword into the dragon for a grip. That was a mistake: the dragon screeched, so high and loud that I tucked my ears against my skull and whimpered, then tried to slap her away. Instead, Siegmeyer was in place to slash at the arm, preventing it from getting a good angle at Celia, even as he cut and slashed and dodged. Solaire peppered the thing’s gigantic maw with lightning bolts, and fireballs rained, striking randomly across the thing’s body. Celia grit her teeth, then started climbing again.

I jumped and slashed and dodged, the electricity and cuts of my blade mixing with the ice magic I was using. Wherever I made a slash, I froze the blood, pushing the ice inside and stabbing it into the flesh beneath. Already, the dragon’s reactions were slower, its strikes weaker as it struggled to fight the lethargy and slow responses from its muscles. It slapped at its neck one last time, screaming, in an attempt to kill or dislodge Celia; for its trouble, I bounced off of its body, severing the arm right at the elbow with my sword. It writhed as electricity crackled around the fresh stump, but that was the least of its problems.

Celia had climbed up to its head. As I watched, cutting at the dragon’s lower body, she shouted something that was immediately lost in the dragon’s screams and cries. She lifted her sword high above her head, shield on her back and both hands on the hilt, then screamed something else- before driving the blade into the dragon’s head to the hilt.

It gurgled one last time, twitching, then fell to the chamber floor, so much meat and nothingness. A corpse. As I watched, hackles still raised and sword in my mouth, it began to dissolve. It turned into mist, which flowed to each of us in turn, though I noted that none appeared to go to Laurentius. The corpse rapidly vanished into nothingness, leaving Celia to stand up where the head had landed heavily enough against the stone to create a crater of its own. In one hand she held her sword, sparkling and hissing. In the other, she held a black, rusted steel key.

She looked at each of us in turn- Siegmeyer, Solaire, me. And then she held up the black key in her hand, and she grinned.

“I’ve always wanted to slay a dragon!”

Chapter Text

“I was told you wished to speak with me, sister mine?”

My ear twitched in Alvina’s direction, and my eyes followed. The cat was stretched luxuriously across the crossguard of a greatsword thrust into the moist soil, though how that possibly worked I didn’t want to know. Still, the ever-present sharpness in her eyes was no different as she watched me closely.

I set my mockup of Artorias’ greatsword down, rolling my shoulders and neck to get out the kinks. The greatsword was quite a bit different from the longsword that I’d obtained from Andre; even though it was around the same relative size to my larger body as the longsword was to my avatar, there were a lot of differences in the wielding. More mass, more weight, more momentum- it toyed with my reactions, made me respond in different ways. I also had to remember that I was wielding a piece of steel that could probably kill through sheer mass alone, something to track that my smaller body didn’t even have to think about. Thus, practice with the blade.

“I do, yes.” I’d sent Roland with a summons to my arena. The Forest Hunter knight had been hanging closer to me since we’d fought the false Havel, for reasons I wasn’t sure of yet, but it had proved useful. “There are things that we must discuss, things that aren’t for just any ears.”

“Oh, well, when there is gossip, sister, I am all of them.” Alvina grinned at her own joke, tail slowly waving back and forth underneath her.

“Seath sits in Anor Londo and remains active in Lordran at large.”

Alvina tensed, smile vanishing and eyes narrowing. Her tail paused in its metronome-like motion, then picked it up again, though the tension didn’t go out of the rest of her body.

“Art thou certain?” Her voice was hard and serious, none of the usual whimsical tones that I’d come to associate with her.

“There is no doubt. One channeler and the crystal golems means nothing, the former could just be a representative keeping an eye on things- Gwyn knows the gods have sent plenty. Even Velka has placed a Pardoner before the first bell. The latter could simply be the golems continuing in their orders despite lacking their master.” I turned fully to face her, sitting on the moist grass, my own tail swaying. “However, my smaller form accompanying Celia and Siegmeyer has fought a second channeler watching over a corrupted dragon- a true dragon, or, at least, what was left of it. And then, there was Seath’s agent.”

“Domhnall?” There was an amount of surprise in her voice. “Certainly not- ah, but tricksters are as tricksters do…” Her face turned contemplative. “Truly, would not have been the greatest sleight of hand to ensure he survived the fall of Havel’s plot, even as he twisted those within to their deaths. I had thought- ah, but if he was there…”

“There, and explicitly there for Seath’s purposes. Guarding the gate from the Depths into Blighttown, watching for those who would challenge the dragon. It’s no coincidence that he was placed at the crossroads of the Depths, where he could track every route in and out of it.”

“And your response, sister? I am sure you would not leave such a loose end unbatted. It is not in your nature to play coy with those you think oppose you.” She smirked toothily. “The nature of a wolf, I suppose.”

“He confirmed that Seath is still directing his agents, albeit indirectly, if what he said can be trusted. The duke hasn’t moved against us, not in any visible way, but I think it’s only a matter of time. He’ll watch and see what cause benefits him the most before deciding who to side with.”

“Unreliable.” She muttered.

“You’re one to talk, Alvina.”

“Oh, but sister, you wound me with your uncharitable words!” She held a paw over her chest, but that did nothing to address the grin stretching her lips. “Still, I will step up the vigilance of the Hunters. Seath has many fingers, and many of his agents are cunning and subtle. Perhaps we won’t find all of them, but I am sure that any crystals will stand out among our number, ripe for the plucking.”

“Havel’s compatriots must have thought that as well.”

“Do you mean to imply that I have all the subtlety of a man who believes he’s a stone golem? For shame, sister mine! And here I thought that you might have faith in me!”

“I do, only-” I hesitated. “Watch out for yourself, Alvina. I don’t wish to guard your grave as well.”

The cat gave me a look that was reserved, thoughtful. She nodded slowly.

“I can do that at least, Sif, so long as you do the same for me.”

With that, she vanished into the mists of Darkroot. I sat alone in Sif’s arena, accompanied only by the many swords and Artorias’ grave. I sighed, pushing myself to my feet and padding forwards across the grass, to the slab of stone in the center of it all.

The rock was worn by weather and time, but I could still pick out where Artorias’ name was inscribed on its surface. What was left of the man, one of the greatest knights in history, lay beneath my paws. It wasn’t a bad place to rest, save for the occasional invader of the silence and peace, and I wondered if Artorias would approve of it. To be laid to rest in the same arena in which he fought his final battle. I lay a paw on the foundation of the stone, and felt something prickle in my chest.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, Kn- Artorias. I don’t know if there’s an afterlife here, if there is something after death, a place where we go after our bodies expire.” I paused, hesitating slightly. “I’m not Sif, but I hope that this will stand in her stead… I’m doing my best, sir. There’s… there’s a lot out there, arrayed against us, and I don’t know if there’s enough strength in Lordran to meet it all.”

I hadn’t said any of this, hadn’t even really thought of it, because every moment I’d had was spent on something. Constant business meant no time to process, to think about things. But now, my smaller body was plumbing the Depths with Celia, Siegmeyer, and Laurentius, and my larger form had nothing to do but wait. Time I could kill with practice or training, but nothing that would distract me from my thoughts, from my fears.

“I’m… scared.” I chuckled a little bit at that. “Possessed of more physical power than I’d ever dreamed of, and magical power to match, and I’m still frightened of the future. I suppose I haven’t changed all that much.” I let that hang in the misty air for a moment. “I’d like to think that I’m living up to your legacy. That, if you were here and watching, you’d approve of my efforts, though you might not understand my motivations. I want the world to survive, I want its people to thrive, and not under a collection of so-called gods that would make them suffer for their own gain. I want to see this world, and its people, become all they can be, not suffer under an eternal cycle that slowly reduces the world to ash in a cold hearth. I just… fear that I’m not strong enough to see it through.”

I fell silent, tracing my eyes over the faded writing on the surface of the stone. The greatest of the four knights, the captain of their number, and in the end he fell to the Abyss trying to save people from their own mistake. I wonder who he’d been, that man, that famous knight. The lore wasn’t too specific about him, and I’d never met him in person. What I knew of many of the characters of Dark Souls had guided my knowledge of the people they represented, and had allowed me insight into their characters that let me guide them some. But for Artorias the Abysswalker, I knew precious little.

Would he see my fear, and comfort me? Would he understand its origin? Had he ever felt that fear himself, fighting against the dragons, the demons of the Chaos Flame, or in his final battle against the Abyss? He’d given his shield and his amulet to Sif in his last moments, to protect her against the Dark, despite the fact that it left him open to the very storm he sought to shield her from. Artorias was ever a fighter of greatsword and shield, stalwart defense and attack. To give up one and allow himself to be harmed, simply because it protected someone he cared for…

I raised my head a little. Perhaps he would approve of what I was doing, my quest to protect those that needed protecting. There were few in this world that I truly valued the thoughts of, individuals beyond parity that were as close to paragons as this world could produce. I would like to count Artorias among them, a figure of wisdom and quiet thought.

“But… I don’t think being afraid of lacking strength matters, all that much. It must be done, and therefore it will be, right? What else can I do, but stand in the way of the tide? If I can break the wave, even if it costs me everything… then wasn’t it worth it, for the world that would follow? To break the cycle, perhaps the sacrifice would be worth it. I know better than anyone else how it ends, the choked furnace filled with ” I pressed my forehead to the stone, feeling its coolness even through my fur. “Maybe that was your last lesson, to Sif. That sacrificing yourself for the good of others is the best thing that one can do.”

I sat there for a long moment, feeling the coolness of the stone and listening to the silence of the forest. I knew that, at some point, I would penetrate the Duke’s archives, and we would deal with those in Anor Londo. Retrieving Manos’ pendant would lead Celia back in time, to Oolacile, and I would follow. I would have to avoid interacting with Sif’s past self, but at least I could assist in putting Artorias to rest. It was the most that I could do for him, besides doing what good I could do now.

But that was the future, and we were nowhere near that yet. Right now, it was more important that I practice, because war was coming to Lordran whether we liked it or not. I aimed to interfere with the cycle, with the plans of the gods, and they would take exception to that. They had to, it would be a direct challenge to their power, power that they would seek to shore up through controlling Lordran and directing the process themselves, potentially even from the Sunlight Throne. I held no illusions that Flan and Gwynevere would attempt to depose Gwyndolin the moment they had opportunity and motivation to, and Gwynevere’s claim to the throne was stronger than her brother’s. And they were just the most obvious: each and every god may make attempts on their own or together, and we had to be ready.

I would have to speak to Solaire, when we saw him again. Old family feuds could not be tolerated, not when we were teetering desperately on the edge and needed every blade we could get. Hopefully, given that he was the closest thing to a leader of the Sunlight order as I could find in Lordran, he would be able to relay a message back to Gwyn’s firstborn son. If I could convince Gwyndolin to drop animosity against his elder brother and ask him to return to Lordran, then I could go myself and speak with Gwyn’s eldest as the closest thing to a neutral third party that we had. His strength, the strength of his followers, and the strength of Midir the storm drake would be incredible tools to defend Lordran. While I might have issues with Gwynevere laying claim to the throne, I would not contest a claim from Gwyn’s eldest nearly as hard, given the alignment in our goals.

For now, however, I pushed myself to my feet and made my way back to where I’d left the huge greatsword lying, stabbed into the grass. I pulled it from the ground with ease, the leather feeling familiar to my mouth as I gripped it with canine teeth. Right now, the most important thing was working to make my larger body battle-ready, to prepare for when the gods’ patience ran out and they made their plays. I swung the blade, the steel whistling through the air, and nodded in satisfaction.

I would be ready.

“Lady Sif?”

I blinked and shook my head, looking back at Siegmeyer, who looked somewhat concerned.

“Ah, I apologize. Alvina came to speak to my larger form, and I was distracted by the conversation.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded in satisfaction, clearly satisfied with the answer.

We were gathered around the Depths bonfire, and attempting to decide the way forwards. Celia had used the key she’d retrieved from the corpse of the Gaping Dragon on the key to the back entrance to Blighttown, revealing the long ladder down. I, of course, had refused to climb down the ladder, and we had retreated in order to decide what to do.

“Blighttown is famous for its disease, yes? Even worse than the worst sections of the swamp.” Laurentius wove his fingers together in his lap. “I have a pyromancy technique to clear myself of poison, and Lady Sif’s waterwalking technique may save us from much exposure to the toxic muck, but that will only mitigate some of the risk.”

“I know of two entrances to Blighttown itself: this, and one from the Valley of the Drakes.” I said. “Both are fraught with their own dangers, to be sure, but I am uncertain which is the less desirable.”

“I imagine both have ladders.” Siegmeyer said levelly. I gave him a mournful look in reply, and he couldn’t help but chuckle in response. The bastard.

“Regardless of… other issues, I anticipated the problem posed by the poisonous nature of Blighttown itself. There is a merchant in the Undead Burg that I asked to retrieve a large amount of moss clumps, the best-known treatment for poison. Red is also quite useful for treating bleeding-” I suspected that it contained naturally occurring coagulents, but this wasn’t the time for speculation, “- but the purple breed is extremely useful for treating exposure to poison when consumed. The flowering type can even treat the worst kinds of poison, though it is rarer and more difficult to procure. Given that the merchant’s main trade seems to be moss, however, I had little doubt that she has access to stocks and breeding grounds for the stuff.”

“Ah, an excellent idea! After all, any adventure might go awry, and it’s best to plan for such from the outset. You have excellent foresight, Lady Sif.” Siegmeyer nodded. “We shall pool our Soul to purchase moss from this merchant, as much as we can carry. Hopefully, we will be able to use it to deal with any unforeseen issues or challenges that we might face.”

“Our goal is to reach the entrance to Lost Izalith at the far side of Blighttown. There, I imagine, lie two of the Daughters of Chaos, potentially allies that we could desperately use in this dangerous time. I would also like to visit Vamos before we go- I had asked him to produce a magical artifact for me, a ring that would allow the wearer to understand the speech of Izalith. With any luck, between my interaction with Kirk and the ring, we will be able to negotiate our way past Quelaag without a fight, and potentially secure an ally for the future.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Celia said. “Where is this merchant, anyway?”

“In the aqueduct that leads back to Firelink, behind bars at the near end, from our perspective. It should be easy; all we have to do is leave the Depths, climb the tower, and she’ll be right there. Firelink is practically right there, and I can take the elevator down to see Vamos. We can decide what entrance we wish to take into Blighttown from there.”

Celia nodded. “I think that, perhaps, you should go on ahead down to New Londo and Vamos, Lady Sif. We will haggle with the merchant, purchase the moss, and meet you in Firelink. Once there, it should be much easier to decide our eventual path.”

“For future reference,” I said, “there is an entrance to the Valley of the Drakes through New Londo. Firelink is an approximate midpoint between the two entrances, the other here in the Depths.”

“Why is it called the Valley of the Drakes?” Asked Laurentius, a curious look on his face. Siegmeyer answered the expression with a grin.

“Why do you think? It’s the roosting place of drakes, I imagine!”

I nodded, and Laurentius grimaced.

“There are a number of drakes that make their homes there, now that there is no one to drive them out anymore. If we decide to take that approach to Blighttown, then we may have to deal with them, though I believe their roosting grounds are at the opposite end of the valley. They prefer to nest near the New Londo seal.”

“Seal?”

I nodded again. “As part of its sealing and isolation, New Londo was flooded. There are great doors in one of the walls, leading out into the Valley of the Drakes, which are operated by a great mechanism. The mechanism is sealed by a number of locks, which the Sealers possess the keys for. Opening the doors would allow the waters of New Londo to flow out into the valley, draining the city and breaking the seal, allowing the lower reaches to be explored for the first time in centuries.” I tilted my head to the side. “We shall have to deal with it eventually, I suspect, but it’s not our problem at the moment. We should focus instead on Blighttown, and ringing the second Bell of Awakening. If my guess is correct, that will open the path into Sen’s Fortress, and, ultimately, the way upwards into Anor Londo.”

“You’re quite confident about this?” Celia asked, frowning in thought. I nodded my affirmation.

“This test of the gods is rigid and designed to elicit a certain process. One location to the next, to the next, to the next. I suspect that the bells can be rung in either order, but that the intention is to ring the Parish bell first, then descend into Blighttown and ring the second there. Once that is done, I believe that the portcullis blocking the entrance into Sen’s will raise, allowing us access. On the far side of the fortress, if I am recalling it correctly, there is a great stone arch, an entrance to a tunnel that climbs upwards towards Anor Londo. No doubt there is some manner of guard blocking the way, but I have every confidence that we will deal with it swiftly and easily.”

The three members of our little party nodded decisively. Celia’s face was set in determination, none of the fear that I’d seen when I first pinned her to the ground of Darkroot. Siegmeyer seemed somewhat excited, no doubt enthused by the idea of finally being able to see the seat of the god’s power in Lordran, no doubt a place that was the subject of many stories and myths. Laurentius seemed somewhat uncertain, but he glanced towards his pyromancy student, and his expression firmed some; I was confident that he would stand by us for as long as he thought he could keep up, and given his look, I imagined that would be for quite a while.

With our path decided, to the point that we could decide it from here, there was little reason to hang by the bonfire any longer. Siegmeyer and Celia retrieved their helmets from where they’d put them and buckled them on, Laurentius pushing himself to his feet and checking his various pouches at his belt to ensure that he had everything he’d brought. With little prep to do myself, I simply shifted the sheath of my sword slightly and stood.

We made our way back through the Depths faster than we’d come, navigating the explored path with speed now that we knew what to expect. A couple of slimes had found their way into the tunnel while we had been deeper in the Depths, fighting the Gaping Dragon, but they were easily and swiftly dealt with, Celia’s fireballs more than enough to cause them to burn to nothing. The third dog, the one that had run when we’d dealt with its fellows, took one look at us and bolted into the backroom where Laurentius had been trapped. Wise choice.

The archer in the tower had reappeared, or perhaps it was a different archer altogether? Regardless, Celia dealt with it with barely a pause in her stride, dodging the first arrow and smashing it with her shield before it could loose a second. The skeleton shattered on the stone floor below as her shield bash knocked it off the platform, but she didn’t stick around to watch, simply continuing up the stairs.

By the time I reached the entrance of the aqueduct, being at the back of the group as I’d been, Celia was already speaking with the moss merchant. The Undead woman was rambling about the different types and how to tell slightly more effective moss from the normal stuff, and Celia wass looking somewhat distressed and put-upon in body language. However, she was nodding along to what the merchant was saying, and I guessed that the information was valuable enough that she was putting up with the merchant’s somewhat Hollowing-influenced eccentricities for it. I nodded to Siegmeyer and Laurentius, who nodded back and went to stand by Celia’s side, the merchant looking enthused to see that her audience had grown. I turned and padded down the aqueduct, freezing the water as I went, until I reached the exit.

The Hollows that guarded the way to and from the aqueduct were back, wandering around the exit and generally making a nuisance of themselves. It was quick and easy work to dispatch them, one after the other, knocking them off the edge to break on the rocks far below rather than bothering to draw my sword. I pushed the last of them off the edge, wincing as it fairly splattered itself on the stone pathway that traced the edge of the canyon far below. I raised my gaze towards the underside of the stone bridge, thinking about the fact that Domhnall had disappeared from the Depths.

In your average game, one where you didn’t kill him in any case, Domhnall would leave his post by the entrance to Blighttown and come here. He would set up underneath the aqueduct, in the farthest arch, a place that was somewhat awkward to reach for your average player character. It required you to jump a gap between the ground and the stone surface under the aqueduct’s arches, then walk down a narrow little path to the farthest arch, where he would be sitting. Now, however, I could see from here that the arch was empty. No Domhnall, which meant that he’d absolutely broken his usual sequence.

I had very little doubt where he was, in particular. I had no doubt that he had his own way to the Duke’s Archives, up to Anor Londo, where he would be reporting to his master. Seath either knew of my presence and action now, or he would shortly, though I didn’t think that would affect my plans in the short term. Rather, it was more something to worry about in the long term, when I began my overtures to Gwyndolin.

Seath was a controversial figure at best, and an amoral mad scientist kidnapping random young women for his experiments in refounding his race, but let it never be said that he wasn’t cunning. With the knowledge that Sif was moving in Lordran and appeared to be Anor Londo bound, I had little doubt that he’d begin planning around my plans, or at least whatever he guessed my plans to be. However, he wouldn’t want me to know that I was doing so, and he would want to feel out what my intentions and plans were before he made a decision about what to do about me. The question was, how would he go about it?

Seath wouldn’t risk any of his real assets in any direct sense. Domhnall had already been outed, and he might assume that I would take action if I believed him to be sent by Seath specifically to spy on me. The trickster would not be easily replaced, so Seath wouldn’t send him. A channeler might work, but the last two any of my group had encountered had been as enemies, so unlikely. Even if Seath hadn’t known about their deaths in a direct sense, it wouldn’t be hard to put together both that they were dead and who had done it.

So, then, who? If I was to hazard a guess, I would say that it would be a silver knight- if there were any still remaining in Anor Londo among the illusions- or perhaps Seath would convince Gwyndolin to send… Ornstein. Smough seemed to me the smash first and ask questions never type, while Ornstein was most likely the closest thing to an honourable person in Anor Londo. Not to throw shade at Gwyndolin or his Darkmoons, but there wasn’t much honour in blindly following a plan that called for the deaths of untold numbers of people every time the end of a cycle rolled around. In Ornstein’s case, at least he eventually left in disgust to attempt to pursue something different, becoming a follower of the Firstborn. If there was anybody in Lordran that would be simultaneously expendable from Seath’s perspective and have a decent chance of poking me to figure out what I was doing, it would be Ornstein, provided that the scaleless could convince Gwyndolin to part with one half of Anor Londo’s greatest test.

All of this, of course, hinged on the idea that Seath took a proactive response and directly sent someone to sound me out, rather than taking the complete wait and see approach. It might just be that Seath took no action where I was regarded at all, instead retreating into his archive and keeping an eye on events from afar. It wasn’t that far a leap to think that he might do so, especially regarding the fact that any attempt to use something disposable and outside of his direct influence might be taken as him siding with one side or the other. If he thought that I was going to contest the throne, he may not want to implicate himself with Gwyndolin until he was sure which one of us would be better aligned with his goals. Or, failing that, he would at least wait until he was sure which one of us he could side with to maximize gain and minimize loss.

In the end, it was a lot of speculation for not a lot of actual answers. Seath would act, or he wouldn’t, there wasn’t much I could do about it either way. As much as it rankled with me, and as much as I wanted to be proactive rather than reactive with how little I had to spare, in this case I was forced to be the latter. Without knowing how Seath would move, I was stuck waiting for something to respond to. At least, in the case that he was waiting for the same from me, it kept him in his archive while I gathered strength out here. Ideally, he’d stay out of it until I was in with Gwyndolin and had enough strength to force the issue, though I doubted that Seath would do that. He hadn’t made it this far being stupid, that was for sure.

I made my way down into Firelink. Patches gave me a half-hearted wave, while Griggs didn’t note my presence, buried in a series of scrolls as he was. Rodger was reading them over his shoulder, and then immediately swapping to pretending that he was staring at the sky or the bonfire when Griggs turned around. From the barely restrained grin on his face, I suspected that he was doing it more to annoy the sorcerer than because he was legitimately curious about the contents of the scrolls themselves. Still, he gave me a nod when he saw me. I passed through the bonfire area and onto the steps down, then stopped for a moment as I peered down.

Lautrec was seated in his usual position in the arch, but that wasn’t what surprised me. What surprised me was a very nervous looking Petrus, who was staring down the steps leading farther down to the New Londo elevator, while sending the occasional nervous glance in Lautrec’s direction. From what I could make out, this was highly amusing to him. The cleric eventually glanced my way, his nervousness intensifying slightly.

“Ah, hm, you’re… the wolf, correct? That they were… speaking with?” I could tell from his expression that he didn’t really like that idea. Big surprise. “I don’t suppose you’re headed down, are you?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if you might do me a favour?” He looked down the steps again. “I fear that Lady Reah and her compatriots have not returned from New Londo, and I’m uncertain as to what their status is. Could you perhaps go down and find them for me?”

Coward. You don’t want to go down there because you overheard what manner of creatures like to make their homes among the ruins of New Londo, and you don’t want to be anywhere near those things if you can help it. The only loyalty you have is to the Way of White, and even that isn’t enough to compel you to actually go out of your way.

“I’m not against the idea.”

He hesitated. “Does that mean…?”

“If I find them, I will tell them that you’re looking for them.” I shrugged. “New Londo is unsafe even as far as Lordran is concerned, however. I am unsure that I will find much of anything.”

Petrus seemed conflicted about that. It made sense, given that he was supposed to guide them to their deaths regardless, but it still filled me with a sense of disgust. His own compatriots, and he had not a single second of hesitation over purposefully sending them to their demise. Giving him over to Patches’ tender mercies the moment his usefulness was up was too good for him. I spared a glance for Lautrec, who had been simply enjoying the show, but the golden knight didn’t acknowledge the look or deign to comment. I sighed through my nose, pushing past the cleric and onto the steps down to the elevator.

The elevator itself was at the top of the shaft, meaning that no one had ridden it down since I’d ridden it back up from my meeting with Vamos. Meant that Reah and her two companions hadn’t been back since I put them down there, and I didn’t imagine Vamos would have any sort of interest in Firelink, either the location or the people. No reason for anybody down there to come back up, so long as Reah actually believed what I’d told her about the organization that she’d put so much faith in. Even if her doubts kept her in New Londo, then that was enough to keep her safe until Patches dealt with Petrus and we could dedicate the three of them elsewhere.

The stone button in the center of the elevator compressed under my weight with the grating of stone against stone, and the elevator began the descent down the long shaft that led to New Londo. A long few seconds of waiting, and the stone circle came to a stop at the bottom of the shaft, the chains that held it up clinking and rattling against the stone. I stepped through the arch and into the cool darkness of New Londo, leaping down onto the lower level without bothering with the stairs.

Unlike before, where the space had been entirely dominated by the gentle lapping of water against the stone and the occasional wails of the ghosts in the ruins themselves, the sounds of smithing echoed out over the water and bounced back from the cavern walls. Far away, I could see the ghosts swirling around the ruins, much more agitated than they had been before, but still unwilling to cross the wooden bridge to where the sounds originated. If I were to guess, I would say that they were bound to the place where they’d died, unable to move too far from wherever they had expired when the city was sealed.

Against the wall that formed a barrier against the drop into New Londo proper, I saw Reah, Nico, and Vince. Reah was seated on a piece of stone, a large tome in her lap, and I could see her mouth moving silently as she read through each page. Nico was caring for a shield, while Vince was sitting cross-legged on the ground, his head against the stone and his eyes closed. I looked closer for a moment, and saw that his chest was slowly rising and falling. Asleep, then. Did the Undead need sleep? I didn’t imagine that they did, being tireless things, but it was not so strange to think that they might still enjoy it. The need became more psychological than physical. As I watched, Nico noticed me, his eyes making contact with mine. He nodded to me, respectfully, and I returned the gesture. That done, he returned to working on his shield, and I turned to the right and rounded the corner towards Vamos’ workspace.

“Here. Feel the tingling in your fingers?”

“Yes?”

“That’s the essence of flame. Keeping that feeling makes you able to work it into a weapon.”

“... Different than magic or enchanted.”

“Fire’s more intrinsic to life. Interacts with the smith’s own body more.”

I stared in surprise as Rickert was guided by the skeletal hands of Vamos. As I watched, the skeleton took a hammer and struck a blow against a red-hot length of steel, then a second that caused fire to leap from the blade with the hammer blow.

“Feel how I manipulated the essence of flame for the second strike?” Rickert nodded, staring intently at the point of impact. “Fire is eager to come when called. Fire shapes the steel regardless, melts and forges and strengthens, so the steel is already aligned with it in a way.”

The skeleton handed the hammer to Rickert, who took it and the length of steel in hands encased in leather gloves. A look of concentration came over his face, and the blacksmith struck the steel, producing a small shower of sparks and a flicker of flame. He let out a frustrated ‘tch’, then struck again, producing a slightly larger flame, though not as large as Vamos’. Still, he nodded in satisfaction, then kept hammering at the blade, tongues of flame rising from the steel with every blow.

Vamos took a few steps back and folded his bony arms, watching his fellow blacksmith work. I padded to his side, and he turned his head slightly, giving me the feeling of being observed despite the fact that his eye sockets were empty. An extremely odd feeling, being able to tell somebody was looking at me despite their lack of eyes. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the other blacksmith, and I sat at his side.

“Freed him?”

Vamos snorted. “Weak bars. Shoddy iron. He’s a half-decent blacksmith, could’ve freed himself if he chose.” His fingers flexed slightly, bone against bone. “I didn’t give him the means to escape, just the will.”

“Interesting to see you teaching, Vamos. Would have thought you would be satisfied with your little corner, despite what you said about him before.”

He shifted, and I experienced a strange moment as I realized that he lacked the vast majority of the body language I relied on to tell me what someone was thinking.

“You’ve begun to move in the world, Sif. Dunno, maybe you shook something loose. I haven’t had a student in many years, but here I am.” He shrugged. “One or two things to learn from him, as well.”

I raised my eyebrows. “The mighty Vamos doesn’t know and see all that is blacksmithing?” He snorted, an odd and almost flute-like noise.

“Day I stop learning is the day these old bones finally turn to powder.”

“Not anytime soon, then. We have need of smiths.”

“No, not soon.” A shrug. “Much as you all distract me, I suppose being needed is… tolerable.”

“I’ll take that to mean that you’re enjoying yourself, then.” He gave me a look, which I ignored. “Still. There’s the matter of the item I asked you to produce.”

He shifted, though it was impossible to tell what emotion was behind the action. “Planning on moving forwards?”

“Soon. I’ve spoken to Kirk-”

“Kirk? Still alive, then?” Vamos’ fingers mixed with his metal beard, causing it to jingle softly. “Armour and weapon better be holding up. Don’t suppose you asked him about his upkeep.”

“Apologies, but no, I didn’t. Still, the sword he was wielding and the armour he was wearing looked to be matching sets, and well-maintained, without patchwork repair. I doubt that he’s letting your work rot into uselessness.”

“Good. Custom orders like that are a bother to make, I might have to march down to Izalith and box his ears if I have to make him another set.” He hesitated for a moment, then his voice softened for the first time since I’d met him. “Good to know he’s alright.”

“I’m determined to help them, Vamos. Whatever I can do for them, whatever is in my power, I will. And not just because I need them, though I think I do, but because what was done to them was unjust. They did not deserve it.” He grunted, which I took as his way of saying thanks without actually saying the words, and I nodded. “Still. In order to do what I can, I need the item.”

“Mm.”

His bone fingers went into a pouch secured around his hip bone, held on by a leather strap, and fished around for a few moments. I tried not to stare at the container too much, or the way that the leather strap was tied tight around the naked bone. I supposed that without flesh, it was much harder to wear any kind of storage space or bag of any kind. Eventually, however, he slipped a small black ring out of the bag, and dropped it in front of my paws.

“Been a long time since I made one of these things. Was almost worried that I’d forgotten how, until I got started and fell back into the rhythm.”

“I doubt you could have ever actually forgotten your craft, Vamos. True masters never really forget how to produce their greatest works.”

He grunted again, folding his arms in front of his rib cage and watching Rickert as the magesmith experimented with getting the best response from the flame he was attempting to beat into the steel. I leaned closer to examine the ring that he’d dropped in front of me, my head going down as I looked at it.

As I got closer, I realized that it wasn’t black, but a deep, rich brown. In the dimness of New Londo, it was difficult to tell the actual colour, but once I was really looking at the metal band I could see the difference. In my faint memories of the picture of the ring from the game, I remembered it being scratched and damaged, a reflection of its age and it's no doubt tumultuous past. Here, however, the band was pristine, the metal sparkling gently in the low light and the flickering flames of the forge. Unmarred, undamaged, and probably the only magical item to actually be produced in Lordran in centuries. The script on the front was carefully inlaid with a white material that I didn’t recognize, painstaking attention paid to the tiny details of the complex series of lines and markings.

When was the last time a ring such as this had been produced? Perhaps before the fall of Izalith, for there was little reason for their existence afterwards. No one to speak to but demons and the Daughters, who were seen as no better in the eyes of the gods. A true expression of the dissolution of communication and the breakdown of diplomacy that had eventually led to the end of the First Age, I thought. The fading of the First Flame had simply been the thing that finally ended it, the age was truly ended by the slow decay of the societies that lived in it.

I slipped it onto one of the toes of my front paws, where it joined the other four rings. The hornet ring, the ring of a knight who failed her leader, and faded into history, never to be seen again. The Covenant ring, the result of an unspoken bargain between Artorias the Abysswalker and some being of Dark, and symbolic of his eventual fall to that which the ring was supposed to protect him from. The wolf ring, Artorias’ steadfast will like a mountain, but a mountain that still eventually fell before the corruption of the roiling Dark. And, finally, the Old Witch’s ring. Each represented a failure of the past, those who fell short of their goals and ultimately couldn’t hold against the forces of the world that sought to tear them down.

Lord’s Blade Ciaran. The two sides of Artorias, the Abysswalker and one of the four knights of Gwyn. The Witch of Izalith. Each of them fallen, to time or to enemies, and each of their dreams long lost to the grinding sands of the ages. In a moment of melancholy, I realized that I was one of the very few individuals left that remembered them, that could recall their names and their places in history. All these moments, lost to time like tears in the rain. And one of the few that could still attest to those things ever existing was one that had never met a single represented individual personally.

There was something deeply and abidingly sad about that, things forgotten and lost to time. I felt like a historian specialized in something that was hugely significant, and completely forgotten. Eventually, even the things that were remembered now would be lost to the grinding of the Age of Flame, the past burned to power the fading future. But wasn’t that what this was all for? To prevent the decline of the world, one way or another, and begin an age where people could aspire to be more than firewood for the benefit of the gods. Because even the gods would one day fade, and the entire cycle would be for nothing at all.

I shook my head. I could get philosophical later, when I’d done what I set out to do. Dismissing the thoughts that swirled around my head, I turned back to Vamos, who was patiently waiting with his arms crossed. Gently, I pinched out just a bit of the Soul that had flowed into me from the various creatures that I was party to defeating, and pushed it his way. The Soul flowed around and into his bones, and his metal beard rattled slightly as he nodded to me.

“Hn. Now, if you don’t have anything else you need?” I shook my head. “Good.”

With that, the smith turned away from me and back to where Rickert was examining the hot piece of steel in his hands. I suppose that was a dismissal, then. I couldn’t help but be amused that Vamos seemed not to care in the least about positioning, and I wondered if that was a result from years of working in Izalith and no doubt having almost continuous contact with the Daughters.

I turned to find Reah watching me, the book still in her lap. Her eyes skittered away when I looked in her direction, then snapped back with something like determination. Did she not want to show that she was intimidated by me? Admirable, I suppose. I turned in their direction, padding over and sitting myself down in front of her. Nico turned his head from where he sat, shield in his lap, but seemed content to merely watch me.

“Petrus is searching for you?”

“He is?” Her eyes went to the elevator, then back to me, the obvious question in her eyes. I huffed.

“The man is far too much of a coward to come down here after you, not with the ghosts across the lake. He won’t dare risk his life, not even to confirm whether you’re alive or dead.” Several emotions flashed across her face before she seemed to eventually land on confusion. “If I were to guess, it’s because he needs to confirm your death to those in the wider Way of White. With you down here, in a place that he’s never gone and not returning, he’s not eager to follow. Suspect he’s led enough people to their deaths in the Catacombs that he’s far more confident in their twisting tunnels.”

Her hands tensed on the book in her lap. “That’s… extremely uncharitable of you, Lady Sif.”

I shrugged. “It’s the truth. You heard what I’ve said, and I’ve not told you anything that wasn’t true. The Way of White has used Lordran as a dumping ground for the inconvenient since its abandonment, and there were other places before that. It’s not so much a matter of the Way having dirty hands as a question of whether or not they’ve ever been clean.” I shook my head. “But that’s irrelevant at the moment. The matter at hand is the fact that Petrus is searching for you, and asked me to look while I was down here.”

“What matter does that have?”

“Well, it’s mostly a matter of what you want me to tell him.”

I gave her a meaningful look. Reah stared back at me for a moment in confusion, then I watched as her eyes widened in realization, then her mouth stretched slightly in anxiety. It must not have been an easy thing, to realize that I was asking her what lie she wanted me to tell to the person that she was supposed to have trusted to guide herself and her companions towards their goal. She shifted uncomfortably, staring down at the book still open in her lap, but her hands were tensed on its binding and her eyes were unmoving. She seemed to look through the pages, not at them.

“You don’t have to tell him a thing, of course.” I said softly. “There is no demand for you to feel guilt for contemplating a lie told to someone who planned to betray you, nor is there any reason that you have to instruct me on what to say. Guiding him towards a false conclusion about your fate would be easy all on my own, and there is no reason for you to say anything.” Her fingers twitched and her face tightened. “I am simply asking if there’s anything specific you want me to say, before I go up and tell him that I couldn’t find you and imply that you were lost deeper in New Londo.”

“... Say what you must, Lady Sif.”

I paused for a moment in thought, then leaned closer to her. She looked at me with a complex mix of emotions, all of which converted themselves to surprise when I licked her hand. I nosed under it, pushing it into my head between my ears as I lay my muzzle on the pages of her book. I felt the shaking in her fingers, even as they buried themselves in my fur, and even as I felt the small wet droplets landing on my head, I chose not to comment on them.

“It will be alright, Reah.” I whispered to her. “I promise you that. It’ll be alright.”

She took in a breath, her chest shaking slightly, then pushed the book off her lap and onto the ground, where it landed with a heavy thump. She wrapped both arms around me and buried her face in my fur, sniffling softly as she squeezed me. I stood there, doing my best to be steadfast for this poor girl in this horrible place.

There was only one individual that I felt worse for than Reah, and that was Anastasia, the firekeeper for Firelink. Reah would’ve been destined to be betrayed, left alone, saved by the Chosen Undead and fated to either die at the altar in the Parish or be taken by a minion of Seath’s to the archives and left to Hollow. Even with the tragedy of her story as averted as I could make it, I realized her constant struggle. She was still betrayed by the organization that she had dedicated her life to, for the reasons of being Undead and being a descendant of Havel, who had attempted to rebel against the cold machinations of the gods. It was needless to say that she didn’t deserve the fate that had been bestowed upon her, and I had little desire to let it come to pass.

I placed my head on the shoulder of this poor girl left to a horrible fate, and I tried to give her what assurances I could give. I thought for a moment about all the people that had suffered as she had, betrayed by the gods or the organizations that were meant to look out for them, and I pushed down the anger that such a thought sparked. Anger was useful when I finally judged those who had played party to these schemes, when I finally brought swords down on those who had ensured a continuation of the abuses of the gods and the cycle that perpetuated it through the ages. Anger was not useful here, not where compassion and understanding would help.

I felt a hand on my back, and I looked up to see the face of Nico, peering down at me. There was something deeply sad in that face, in those eyes, and I wondered how much Nico knew of the exact things I spoke of. After all, if everything I’d said was correct, then Nico and Vince would be individuals that were just as politically inconvenient to the Way as Reah was. When he absorbed what I’d said before, he must’ve come to that conclusion much as Reah had, though she had struggled against the conclusion rather than accepting it as he must have. His eyes went to Reah’s arms, squeezing around my chest as tight as she could as she gently cried into my chest, and he nodded once in approval. I silently nodded in return.

I sat for as long as Reah needed me, acting as an anchor in the storm of emotion that she must be experiencing. The fur of my front was damp with tears and salt, but I didn’t mind. If that was the cost of being here, of being able to help someone in such a desperate situation, then I gladly paid it and without a moment’s hesitation. Eventually, the soft sobbing calmed into slow breathing, and I realized that she’d fallen asleep against me. I felt something in my chest twist, sorrow and sympathy for this misbegotten child of uncaring gods. But there was something else under that emotion, a bedrock of certainty and determination. A vow. A promise that no others would suffer at the hands of the uncaring divine as she had, disposed of without a thought the moment she ceased to be useful.

I shrugged carefully, loosening her hold on me, moving a paw around her back to support her as I did. Nico came from the side, helping to take her from me and lay her on the grass-covered dirt, where she slept peacefully. I cast a sympathetic eye over her, wondering how long she’d kept her uncertainty and fear in that releasing them had exhausted her so. I nodded to Nico again, who nodded in return before setting to work making his charge comfortable, then stood and stretched. Joints popped and properly stretched, I turned in the direction of the elevator.

“Vanished?”

I nodded, and Petrus seemed… entirely uncertain how to react. There was something underneath that expression of bumbling concern, a cold calculation that I could see peering through the cracks at me. Was I telling the truth? Was this reliable enough to report that she was dead to his superiors, the problem handled? After a few moments, it seemed to weigh the issue and decide that that was satisfactory for his purposes, even as Petrus’ face fell in pretended consternation and mourning.

“Oh, but that’s… I will have to tell the Way of White of this. The loss of such a young and shining flower… it is a tragedy.”

A flicker of anger licked at the inside of my chest, my heart accelerating for a moment before I grasped it and pushed it down. Petrus would be easy to kill, simply wrap my teeth around his throat and pitch him over the edge and into the valley beneath, but this wasn’t the time. He was still useful, I reminded myself, and I still needed him.

“Yes, it’s a shame. A true tragedy, to lose someone so young, but Lordran is the grave of many such people. Fools and champions alike, many fall here.”

Petrus seemed uncertain what to make of that comment, even as he nodded along with it. Though, of course, he wouldn’t recognize himself as either mentioned category. He really was a fool. Still, he didn’t seem eager to hang around the steps down to New Londo, not with his goals achieved. He nodded to me, then walked back up the steps into Firelink proper and out of sight.

“Mm, yes, quite a shame that the young cleric was lost in the ruins beneath.” Commented Lautrec from the side. “A shame indeed, especially when accompanied by two companions and a blacksmith, all going to such a dangerous place.”

“Sometimes something needs to be lost in order to keep it out of the hands of those who would do terrible things with or to it. Sometimes, the fate of something needs to be ambiguous for it to never be mistreated or misused again.” I turned my head in his direction, staring at the faceplate of his helmet. “Wouldn’t you agree, Lautrec?”

He shrugged lazily. “Far be it from me to criticize your aims, though I admit that I have some inkling of concern over their target. A representative of the Way of White, Sif? Tut tut.”

“If one belongs to an organization without an understanding of the true actions and intentions of that organization, can one say that they’re responsible for them? If there is no way for one to discover the reality of a situation, do the consequences fall to their feet?”

“Perhaps. Debatably, it’s more about how much they assisted in those ends, and whether they move to stop them if they realise the truth.”

“Then is not every human responsible for the actions and crimes of the gods, by nature?” Lautrec hummed, and I took a step closer. “Give me the truth, servant of Fina. What do you know of Gwyn’s lastborn child?”

He tensed, then relaxed, the movement happening so quickly that I’d nearly missed it. Would have, if I hadn’t been staring straight at him when it happened.

“I’m unsure what that has to do with the child drawn in by the Way.”

“It’s not about her, Lautrec, it’s about responsibility. Humanity, by its very nature, plays into the schemes of the gods. If Fina has told you the truth of humanity itself and the nature of the god’s plans for them as a whole, then you know what the Curse truly is, and you know that any Undead that doesn’t look Hollow plays into the god’s plans, intentionally or not. And if you are aware...” I narrowed my eyes. “Tell me, Lautrec. What do you look like under the helmet?”

He sat for a long moment in silence, his faceplate angled towards me, and his fingers still woven under his helmet. Finally, he sighed, unlacing his fingers and placing his hands on the ground as he leaned back on them.

“You are as frustrating as you are interesting, Lady Sif. Luckily for you, both I and my patron are much more fond of those like you than not.”

“I’m satisfied that I could be a source of amusement for you, Lautrec.” I said, words with a sarcastic edge to them.

Lautrec didn’t deign to respond to my barb, simply huffing and waving his hand in a dismissal. I lingered for a few moments longer, making eye contact with him through his faceplate just to show him that I wasn’t his to command in the pettiest way possible. The moment I felt I’d lingered long enough, I broke eye contact and turned away, following Petrus up the stairs.

The cleric, it appeared, hadn’t settled into the ring of warmth around the bonfire, instead presumably returning to where he normally stood. Given how Patches was not so subtly glaring at the arched doorway to the area Petrus could normally be found, I didn’t think it was so much of a leap of logic to assume that. I stood for a moment, casting my eyes around Firelink, then sidled up to Patches. The primordial human finally turned his attention from the archway, raising an eyebrow at me. I leaned closer.

“Perhaps you’d be willing to do me a favour?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the favour, Wolfy. If you want me to fight more of those skeleton wheels, I can offer to pitch you off the cliff behind us, if that’ll help.”

I snorted. “No, not that.” I nodded towards the archway, and his eyes flickered to follow the gesture. “If that rat bastard looks as if he’s going to go down to New Londo, then forget the plan. Put a boot up his ass and pitch him over the edge.”

Patches sat up slightly in surprise, hsi gaze suddenly much more intent than it had been.

“Really? Well, far be it from trusty Patches-” he held up a hand as I frowned at him- “to question a change of heart, but still, what brought this on?”

“I’m not letting anyone of the Way anywhere near their victim.” I growled.

“Hmm… and would this have anything to do with the salt water staining your front?” I ignored the comment completely, and he shrugged. “Well, in any case, I’m certainly not one to argue when given permission to slay such a cancerous growth on the world as a cleric. You’ve got the word of Patches, Wolfy- if he looks to be making a go for the elevator, I’ll deal with it.”

I nodded. “Excellent.”

With that, I stood up, nodding my farewell to him and getting a lazy sort of salute in return. I nodded to Rodger and Griggs as well, who returned the gesture with their own, then turned back towards the aqueduct.

Chapter Text

I entered the aqueduct, glancing back and forth down the dark tunnel. I took a breath of the cool, wet air, and padded down the sheet of ice that I’d made of the water, refreezing the layer of ice as I went. It took only moments before I came up to the small mound of moss that Celia had stacked atop the layer of ice that I’d left behind in my wake. Celia appeared to be haggling with the Undead merchant over a clump of flowering moss, while Siegmeyer stood to one side. He nodded to me as I approached, but neither Celia nor the merchant even glanced my way.

“Negotiations going well?”

He shrugged in reply, his armour shifting around him.

“Well as can be expected. The moss comes at a good price, and in good amount- she has impressive stock at such short notice.”

“Ah…” I tilted my head. “Might be my doing. I advised that she stock up when I passed by the first time, and she seems to have taken my words to heart, if the amount that you’ve purchased is any indication.”

“Mm, that it is. You should have seen it, Lady Sif- she kept pulling entire new bundles of the stuff from practically nowhere! And then she and Celia would immediately be off, arguing about the quality, the quantity, the wilting of various leaves…” He huffed a laugh. “Forget the dragon, I believe I will be telling stories about the battle between the brave knight and the worst, most powerful beast of all… the merchant attempting to get the best price for their product.”

“A terrifying match, to be sure.” I glanced down the tunnel behind me. “Where’s Laurentius?”

Siegmeyer nodded towards the exit. “Just inside the tower, there. Preparing for the trip downwards towards Blighttown, he said.” I nodded in acknowledgement. “Have you decided which of the entrances to Blighttown you prefer?” I raised an eyebrow at that.

“I thought we had put the choice to Celia.”

“Mmm, we did. And Celia made the decision that in this, she will follow your decision.” An amused tone entered his voice. “I think that she’s not particularly willing to lose your accompaniment to something as simple as a series of ladders.”

I growled softly at the thought. “Not like she really needs me for anything more than the negotiation at the end.”

“I believe she simply enjoys your company, Lady Sif. More than that, you’re a skilled and powerful combatant, one whose presence and participation she values greatly. We all collectively increase each other's chances of survival, and an adventuring party is never complete with one person alone.” He examined the armoured form of Celia, her arms crossed over her chestplate and helmet set to one side, grimace on her face as she grappled over Souls. “I think, perhaps more than anything, she missed the company of comrades during her journeys in Lordran. To have a group that stands at her back and fits well with her is more valuable than their actual effort in combat, especially given how she’s most likely able to stand on her own now. Though I’m sure that our capabilities don’t go unappreciated.”

“There’s only so much a single person can do, after all.” I muttered, then shrugged. “I’ll go and see Laurentius, see if he’s ready to leave. I believe we’ll be taking the route in from the Valley of the Drakes- less ladders, you see.”

“Ahhh, of course. By your leave, Lady Sif.” Another note of humour.

I shook my head in exasperation, then gave Siegmeyer a nod, which he returned. Our conversation over, I stepped past him and towards the door to the tower. Celia didn’t even spare me a glance, taking the flowering moss from the merchant and immediately grimacing when faced with another clump of it. Just as vital, just as important, needing just as much bartering. I watched her sigh, then wade right back in for it. I couldn’t help the small smirk of amusement on my face; she was far too responsible for her own good. I slipped by her, earning barely a glance before she focused back on the battle of wits, and stepped through the door exiting into the tower.

The interior was exactly as I left it, save for Laurentius, who was sitting at the edge of the wooden platform with his legs crossed. His hands were on his knees, his eyes closed and his breath slow and steady. A flame hovered before him, small and flickering, barely more than a candle. Was this a kind of meditation for pyromancers? I could feel the energy cycling between himself and the flame, maintaining the small fire at precisely that size, no smaller and no greater.

“Practicing control?”

The flame guttered for a moment as my question reverberated against the stone, his concentration shaken for but a moment before he got the flame back under control. He turned to give me a glance, then focused back on the tiny candle.

“Mm, something like that. This is a control exercise, yes, but it’s also useful for calming the thoughts and bringing a restless mind into line. Restless thoughts make for restless flames, and restless flames have killed more than a few pyromancers consumed by their emotions.” He held up a hand, cradling the tiny flame in his palm. “When you wield a power such as this, it’s easy to forget that its destructive nature can easily turn against you in a moment of lost control. It’s not the fault of the fire, which simply seeks to burn what fuel it finds, but the fault of those who cannot manage the fire. If they can’t keep the flames in check, then they aren’t ready to wield them.”

“Ah. I suspect it’s about patience, as well- perhaps being methodical? Attention to what you’re controlling at all times, given its danger.” I said, moving to his side and sitting down. He nodded.

“True. In that, you’re lucky, Lady Sif- frost is not so eager to spread and consume as flame is.”

“Frost has its own dangers. Even more because it’s treacherous- too much exposure to the cold numbs the senses and dulls reactions. Muscles become harder to move, and responses take longer. Too much can even make one fall into a sleep that they will never wake from.” Hypothermia was just as dangerous as hyperthermia, just for different reasons. Your standard organic form wasn’t designed to withstand extreme temperatures like that.

“Really?” He stroked his beard, looking contemplative. “I hadn’t thought of it, I suppose. Cold isn’t something a pyromancer tends to have to worry about, especially when one lives in the Great Swamp. Mild winters and hot, muggy summers have been my experience for most of my life. I hadn’t seen snow until I came here, and even then, I didn’t feel much of the cold. Is that part of what makes frost useful in a fight, then?”

I shrugged. “Ice is useful for many reasons- a restraint, a hazard, a way of containing something, even as a way to create weapons out of nothing. However, yes, the numbing effect of frost is very useful against something that requires muscles to swing weapons and responses to threats. Enough cold being forced into a body might mean that they slow- enough to be nearly imperceptible, but enough for, say, a sword to pierce through their defenses. Slowing someone in combat, even by just a few degrees, can mean the difference between defeat and victory.” I smirked. “And, well, I could always just resort to making them an ice sculpture.”

Laurentius snorted in amusement, his hands returning to his knees and the candle flame floating in front of him. I watched the flame flicker before slowly returning to its perfectly shaped state, then closed my own eyes and felt out the power inside of me.

It jumped to my call, flowing in and through my two bodies, cycling back and forth as the energy and Soul equalized constantly between the two. My larger body went through a series of feints and strikes against an imaginary opponent, sword whistling through the air at a rapid pace that I couldn’t have possibly kept up when I’d first occupied this form. Now, however, using Sif’s strength to bully around a hunk of metal was beginning to feel like second nature.

Part of me was somewhat worried by that. Was it possible that I was being subsumed by the body that I inhabited? There had been moments, particularly earlier when I still struggled to shape my tongue, where I had not felt entirely like myself. Those moments had become fewer and fewer as time went on, but was that a good thing, or a sign that I was integrating? I didn’t think I felt any different than I’d felt when I’d first woken up in this form, but that was the trap, wasn’t it? I felt a flicker of irritation that I had nothing objective to compare it to, no measuring stick that I could use to determine my mental contamination- assuming that there even was any.

I sighed and let the thought go. Even if I was right and there was some kind of influence or contamination, what was I to do about it? I couldn’t exactly leave this body, which would be the entire source of it. I might be able to pull myself to one side as much as possible, severing the small avatar completely from the larger body and leaving me in it, but that would leave me in a position fraught with danger and uncertainty. Until I knew more, I couldn’t be making drastic moves like that, especially when it would remove much of the power that I relied upon to do anything.

Instead, I focused on the alignment with frost that anchored part of my soul, and the body. I suspected that wolves in general had an association with the cold and frost, though I wondered if that was a result of humans associating them with the far north. Perhaps it was a side effect of them being native to northern, colder regions? Could be both. Regardless, debating the origin of the power wasn’t particularly useful when I already had it.

The power within me felt intrinsically linked to it, though it was not frost itself. It was… easier, I supposed? Simpler to pull unformed frost magic into the world, where it could be manipulated. I suspected that I could do sorcery just fine, provided I had a catalyst, but that was forming magical energy in an exterior sense. If a catalyst functionally filtered the energy, did that mean that your average human could more or less do what I do, and simply never discovered either their alignment or how to bring it into the world? I filed those thoughts away for later, when I could plague Logan or Seath with them. Ultimately, as curious as I was about it, I was here to fight, not research.

When I coaxed the power up from the core of my being, I could feel the moisture in the air around me. I could sense how the damp space behind me bled into the tower, water-laden air finding its way into the space through the open archway with nothing to stop it. With a thought. I turned a number of them into ice crystals, drawing the water together into patterns. When I opened my eyes, it was to see snow landing softly all around me, the air suddenly much drier than it had been.

There was a perfect circle of bare stone around Laurentius, who had stopped with the candle flame exercise and was now looking about in interest. Everywhere else around us, however, was blanketed with a very thin layer of soft snow, pure as if it had freshly fallen from the clouds. I pressed my paw into the powdery stuff, listening as the ice crunched and compacted under the pressure I put on it. It made the interior of the tower quite pretty, if I was being perfectly honest, the white surface reflecting the torchlight and covering up the rotted wood. Perhaps I could turn this into a hazard technique? A layer of snow could very well be dangerous to an unprepared opponent. I filed that away for later as well.

“Lady Sif, you didn’t have to summon up a coating of snow just for me.” Laurentius joked, and I smirked in return.

“Please, I did it for myself. This place needed something to make it at least look passable.”

“Well, that’s certainly something!” Laurentius and I turned towards the archway, where Siegmeyer stood, surveying our surroundings. “How fascinating! Did you just discover how to do this, Lady Sif?”

I nodded. “Just some experimentation with wielding my power. Perhaps something that might be useful at some point, but for now it’s just rather pretty.”

He nodded. “Still, we have the moss, negotiations are finished. I don’t think Celia was happy about it, however.”

“Oh?” I asked, curiously. Siegmeyer huffed in amusement.

“Well, I think it was rather obvious in how she grabbed whatever she could carry and stalked off towards Firelink, muttering a dark streak the entire way. We’d best meet her there, sooner rather than later, or she might find some poor monster to take her frustration out on!”

“Ah, yes, and wouldn’t that be terrible?” I replied, amusement written across my face.

There was an amount of moss that had been left behind when Celia had left. The merchant waved us off happily as we gathered the plant matter into various bundles and bags, practically whistling to herself as she saw us off- or, at least, much as she could from behind the grate. The medicinal material gathered, we made our way back down the aqueduct towards where it exited towards Firelink.

“She did seem best pleased, didn’t she?” I mused quietly. “I wonder if we were taken for something of a ride there. Celia certainly didn’t seem happy with the results.”

Siegmeyer shrugged. “I’m unsure that it matters. After all, surely the souls required were a mere fraction of what we received from the various creatures we’ve fought?” He paused for a moment before the exit, humming in thought. “Then again, perhaps it’s a matter of pride? May very well be that she’s dissatisfied that she didn’t acquire a better deal, feeling that she should’ve with her capabilities.”

“Or,” I said, exiting the door directly behind the knight and following him down the stairs, “she got a good deal and wanted to act frustrated as a way of not cluing the merchant into it.”

Siegmeyer paused on the last step, tilting his helmet up. “Ah. You know, I hadn’t thought of that. A rather clever play, if that’s what she was aiming for.”

As we walked into Firelink shrine, one look at Celia told me that I was most likely right. Notably, the Undead was smiling like the cat that had caught the mouse- given my experience with Alvina, I believed I was the one here with the most authority on the subject. As I watched, she packaged the moss into tighter bundles wrapped with pieces of cord. Siegmeyer settled himself next to her and began helping her with the packaging, which I assumed was to make them more easily consumed for poison treatment in combat. The piles of medicinal moss were too large for us to entirely take with us, and to one side, Laurentius was stuffing the extra into a chest that I recognized as a bottomless box.

I regarded the construction of wood and iron warily. In the lore, the bottomless box was essentially a nascent mimic, a physical representation of the greed that spawned those creatures. Its magical nature, and its ability to hold an unlimited number of items, was a side effect of the avarice of the mimics. There was a half-remembered hint that one could become too obsessed with their bottomless box and become a mimic themselves, but none of the people here seemed particularly fascinated by the box. Something I’d have to watch for, though given the occasional wary glances both Siegmeyer and Patches kept throwing in the box’s direction, I wasn’t the only one who had some idea of the storage chest’s true nature.

Still, it was plenty useful for these purposes, though I wondered how it worked. It hadn’t been here before, had it? Certainly not, or I would’ve noticed it. Perhaps it was linked to the person who’d purchased it, and could be summoned through the bonfires? Would certainly be another way of linking the Undead to the bonfires. I wondered if it was intentional, then; if so, how many Undead had become mimics? Was… every mimic in Lordran a former Undead? That was an intensely uncomfortable thought. I pushed it aside, moving to where Celia and Siegmeyer were sitting.

“You know, I hadn’t thought about how those moss bundles would work for me, given my lack of hands.” I said, sitting in front of them. Celia glanced at my paws, then up at my face, frowning.

“Maybe across the belt securing your sheath? Could stuff one or two in the bag attached to the strap…”

“Mm, sounds like a good enough option to me. Could simply ask one of you for a refill if I start running low.” I turned in Laurentius’ direction. “Laurentius, since you have a pyromancy technique that can clear the poison, do you think you could carry the moss for the rest of us? You’re a ranged combatant, so the extra weight shouldn’t affect you in combat overmuch.”

He shrugged. “Sure, I can do that. Nothing against carrying some supplies for an expedition.”

“That technique…” Celia tapped her gauntleted finger against her thigh plate, producing a ringing noise. “Do you think you could teach it to me in the time we have?”

He leaned back and frowned in thought under his hood, rubbing his beard again. With more downtime, I was starting to notice that habit of his more and more. Eventually, however, he shook his head.

“Not without more time. It’s a more advanced technique than a simple fireball, takes time and self-awareness to pull off. I could teach you, sure, but it wouldn’t be quick or easy.”

I shrugged. “Blighttown isn’t going anywhere in the meantime. It isn’t as if Quelagg is suddenly going to vanish from her post, either. The entire place has waited centuries, it can wait a while more.” I tilted my head. “Celia, you said that there was a man in the Asylum, correct? What was his name again?”

“Oh. Er…” She tapped her fingers against her thigh plates in a rapid series of pings, frowning to herself, then brightened slightly. “Oscar! That was it, Oscar of Astora. Freed me from my cell. Seemed fine when I left. Why? What about him?”

“I was just wondering. If I’m aiming to gather every intact body that I can find, then he falls under that number, does he not? I imagine that even a single sword more, especially if he’s a true knight, will not go amiss.”

“Ah, I’m not sure how to get back, though.” She craned her head back, looking up at the pitch black bird atop the ruins of Firelink. The giant crow stared back with one of its black eyes, silent and observing. “That bird carried me here the first time, and now I’m… well, I’m not sure how I’d even get back.”

“Well, perhaps I can convince it to carry me through a return trip, hmm? I’m sure it can’t be that difficult. And in the meantime, while I’m gone, Laurentius can train you in the technique. With that secured, our stocks of medicine will last much longer, and we won’t be in any danger of a shortage. Might be useful for later challenges we must overcome, as well.”

“Hm!” Siegmeyer pushed himself to his feet. “Well, Lady Sif, if you can convince it to carry one passenger, perhaps you could convince it to carry two? I admit that if I hung around, I’d most likely wander off just to find some bit of adventure, haha! Might as well take advantage of access to a place that I can’t normally get to, hmm?”

I blinked. Could the bird even carry two people? I admitted that I was unsure. Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure how it had carried one, but I assumed that it was just because it was magical. Most likely, the birds here and at the Asylum were either the parents or the relatives of Snuggly. There were also hints that they were somehow related to Velka… the crow people that appear in later ages had much the same link. Was that Velka’s token of participation in the plan of the gods? Transportation to and from Firelink ensured that the Undead would base themselves out of it. Having the nations gather their Undead at the Asylum gave a ready pool for certain Undead to escape the metaphorical crab bucket, ensuring a higher grade of candidates reaching the end of the Asylum and being transported to Lordran…

I really needed to confirm where Velka fell on things. I thought of the Pardoner in the Parish, just before the first Bell of Awakening. Speaking with him would reveal my presence and movements to the gods, insofar as I hadn’t already- I doubted Fina would reveal a potential ally to the gods that she’d aligned herself against. Velka, however, was a complete wildcard, and I had absolutely no idea where she stood or for what. Something I’d need to confirm before moving forwards with a large number of my plans. I quickly weighed the things I needed to do against each other- I’d need to pass by the Parish on our way to Sen’s after we rung the second Bell of Awakening, which would make it the perfect time both to have a talk with Oswald and to have that discussion I’d promised with Andre. For now, however, the Asylum was our priority.

“Well… I’m not sure if it could carry two, even if it’s willing, but we can certainly try. Nothing prevents us from experimenting with it, after all.” I turned to Celia. “How did you get the bird to pick you up in the first place, anyway?”

She hummed. “They just sort of grabbed me off the ledge at one end of the Asylum, I don’t think I did anything specific to get them to do it, they just… did.”

No hints there. I knew that if you did the curl up emote in the nest, the birds would pick you up and carry you to the Asylum. Without any hint, however, I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to come to that conclusion. I supposed that I would just have to try things until I ‘accidentally’ landed on what I already knew was the correct trigger. Provided, of course, that it even worked like that here.

I nodded, then walked towards the ruined cathedral-like structure, thankful that there were at least no ladders to climb. Just a leap of faith across a fall that I could easily make, after triggering the elevator. Siegmeyer hoisted himself to his feet and followed behind me, checking over his gear as he went.

“So, Lady Sif, how do you plan to reach the nest?”

“I saw ways up, stairs around the outer edges of the tower. There’s no way to reach them from here, but I figured that if I could ride the elevator up a little, I could perhaps find or see another way.”

He nodded, electing not to comment further. We moved past Petrus, who was sitting on a large piece of rubble in his customary room, giving us a mirror of the same wary looks we were giving him. We moved to the elevators that led up to the Undead Parish, and I noted that, as luck would have it, the right hand elevator was up, the left hand down. That meant a slightly easier transition to the top of the structure we were standing in, where slightly more of the roof was intact. I walked into the elevator, Siegmeyer right behind me. I raised a paw to press the button on the floor and trigger the mechanism, then paused and glanced Siegmeyer’s way.

“Be ready to jump, I don’t think the elevator’s going to stop to let us off.” He nodded, once, then hunkered down a little.

I pressed the button. Chains rattled and metal groaned, stone dust cascading from above as the mechanism began lifting the stone plate up the shaft. I waited for just a few moments… there! My paws propelled me into the open air, then I landed with a huff on the stone roof of the structure, a thin area where one could walk. Siegmeyer landed beside me with the heavy sound of armoured boots on stone, then stuck out his arms as he almost fell forwards into the room directly below our feet.

“Ah! Well, now! Huff, this is… I’m too old for such shenanigans, Lady Sif.”

“Seems to me that you handled it just fine, Knight Siegmeyer.” I returned, already looking forward.

When you approached the crow’s nest, it was a matter of lining up a jump so you landed and rolled on a support buttress that was low enough that one could jump from a ledge to it. Here, however, with no armour and a true jump that far exceeded that of the Chosen Undead, I was looking left to where another support crossed most of the gap. It ended more or less even with the stone surface we were walking on, and led right up to the stairs that formed a path to the top of the structure.

“What do you think, Siegmeyer? Do you think you could make that jump?”

I pointed with my nose towards what would be in the games the intended approach to the tower. Siegmeyer leaned past me, staring at it, then nodded.

“Hmmm… bit tricky, but I’m sure I could. Do you have a different route for yourself in mind?”

“I can make the jump to the other support, and not be in your way.”

“And I’m sure that it being safer has nothing to do with it at all, of course.”

I chuffed. “Of course not. Such snark, Knight Siegmeyer- very ungentlemanlike.”

“Ahhhh, wounded! My pride, injured so! I shall have to make the jump now, to redeem myself in the eyes of milady!”

I gave him an exasperated look over my shoulder, though he looked wholly unrepentant. I shook my head, then moved around, hopping over where the stone dipped towards the ground. There was a larger flat surface here, part of one of two supports that ran a ways up the sides of the elevator shaft. I paused, gauging the distance to the stone support, then backed up a few paces towards where the flat surface took a sharp angle upwards. I checked the distance again, then gathered the energy in my legs, before springing forwards.

My paws slapped against the stone, and right as I reached the edge, I bunched myself up and slammed my back paws against the surface. The force launched me out into the air and over the gap, stretching my paws out towards the stone support on the other side. For a moment, I felt a flicker of anxiety, of uncertainty- was I going to make it? My paws collided with the flat stone surface, and I slowed myself, feeling rather confident that I’d managed to actually cross the gap. Not exactly the most impressive feat that I’d accomplished, to be sure, but personal physical feats were always something I took some amount of pleasure in.

Looking to the right, I caught Siegmeyer sprinting towards the ledge, then throwing himself off. He hit the stone buttress with the shoulder of his armour with a grunt, rolling forwards and onto the thin piece of stone after it, up on his feet with a huff the moment he had the stable ground to do so. He glanced over, meeting my eyes and giving a thumbs up, which I responded to with a wag of my tail. I ascended up the stone support in front of me, settling atop the stairs, and Siegmeyer came up the side of the tower not a minute afterwards.

“Phew! An impressive jump, I wasn’t sure whether either of us was going to make it for a moment, there!” He tapped his chestplate with a finger. “Just about thought my heart was going to stop for a moment, that was far too stressful for an old adventurer.”

“A dragon or a hydra are just interesting foes, but I suppose that we’ve found an enemy that gives even you pause.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

“Obviously, physical effort.”

Siegmeyer laughed, ruffling my head fur. I poked my tongue out a little, fixing him with a look, and he gave an apologetic wave of his hand.

“Sorry, Lady Sif, I just couldn’t resist. If you didn’t want to be petted, I suppose that you shouldn’t have been in petting range.”

“Ah, I see.” I said, voice filled with mock indignation. “Yes, truly my fault, I really should’ve considered the consequences of my actions.”

He simply laughed again, then held up a hand, indicating the stairs in front of us. I gave him another exasperated look, then started climbing them towards the top. A doorway halfway around the outside led into the completely crumbled away interior of the tower, and I completely ignored it, moving forwards instead and around the half-cylinder that made up what was left. On the other side, on a ledge that poked out towards Firelink, was the nest. However, I couldn’t help but pause for an entirely different reason.

To our left, Firelink clung to the side of the cliff. Figures arranged themselves around a bonfire, and I could just make them out from here. Before us, a view more unrestricted than it had been before, lay the entirety of Blighttown in its sunken manmade valley of carved stone blocks. Far in the distance, the petrified and hollowed out Archtree rose into the sky and down into the poison swamps, all the way down into the depths of Ash Lake. To my right, the graveyard sat against the side of the mountain, skeletons roaming between the gravestones.

Far in the distance, the sun hung over green valleys and hills, lakes, a horizon gilded with the white of clouds. Far off in the distance, I could see a mountain range, green giving way to the gray of stone, which turned into the white of snow. The air smelled clean, the scents of Blighttown contained far below, the Undead Burg and the graveyard both unable to reach this high and this far. The scent was crisp, and I could help but inhale it, pinned in place by the sheer majesty of the view.

“For all that is wrong with this world,” Siegmeyer spoke from my side, “There is still much beauty in it.”

I found myself nodding silently. I had to admit, for everything terrible about Lordran as a place and all the awful things that lived in it, it could be quite beautiful at times. Having moments to realize this was putting it more into perspective, that this place was more than just locations linked together in a labyrinth of enemies. I supposed that it was important to remind oneself sometimes that there was more than what could be directly perceived, a world out there touched by Flame. Our actions here were for the good of every species under the sun, not just ourselves. Sitting here, with this view, it wasn’t hard to imagine how the gods in their walled garden had forgotten that fact in its entirety.

“You! You!”

All of my fur instantly stood on end, and I wheeled around to stare directly into a solid black eye the approximate size of a dinner plate. It blinked, the head it was attached to twitching as the crow shuffled its feathers.

“Sif! You bring- news?”

The damn thing could-!? I reached out with my essence, my sixth sense, and I picked up a hyperdense core of pure Soul. In the center gleamed a spark of unyielding gold, and after a split second, I recognized it as the spark of divinity that others must recognize within me. I supposed that, given the trends, it really should’ve occurred to me that other giant animals in Lordran might share the same anthropomorphic features as Alvina and Sif. However, I hadn’t thought about it too hard, and, for the first time, I was at the receiving end of what it must feel like for people that interacted with me for the first time.

It was an odd experience. I didn’t think I liked it.

Siegmeyer, on the other hand, had doubled over laughing the moment I’d reacted to the crow’s words, leaning desperately against his zweihander as he tried to hold his pure mirth in. The crow itself jerked its head around, staring at us with its other eye, something like curious confusion coming over its avian face. I shook myself, trying to get my fur back in order, then sent Siegmeyer a dark look that he entirely ignored. Then, I turned my slightly anxious attention back to the crow.

“Greetings. I am sorry to say that I bear no news- there has been no contact with the gods, nor any word from Anor Londo, for… decades, perhaps.”

The crow seemed annoyed at this, clacking their beak and fluttering their wings, chest feathers somewhat fluffed.

“Ahh! Why come, then? Bring no news, bring no gifts!”

“Well, I came seeking a way to the Undead Asylum. There is a potential compatriot there that I would like to see, perhaps more than one if I recall the deployment of Black Knights correctly. I’d heard that you bring Undead from the Asylum to Firelink?”

“Difficult, difficult, Undead heavy, but job well done!” They fluffed their feathers in pride. “Velka be proud, yes!”

I twitched at the direct mention of the goddess of crows and sin. I’d not spoken her name since warning Siegmeyer and Celia about the pardoner, and had to fight down the urge to look around nervously, just to make sure that someone hadn’t magically appeared and was listening in. As it was, I still exchanged a somewhat wary glance with Siegmeyer.

“Yes, you’ve done a wonderful job thus far, and I’m sure that Velka would be intensely proud of your work.” Somehow the crow’s feathers fluffed even farther. I hadn’t been sure that was possible. “Still… you should most likely return to the Asylum, yes? If only to check that more Undead don’t need to be transported here.”

The crow nodded in thought. “Yes, bring Undead to Lordran… Sif wishes to go? Take knight with?”

I twitched in surprise. Not that it was hard to figure out, but I realised that I had no way to tack down how smart this crow actually was. The speech patterns had put me off the mark, and now I had no idea where I stood. It was the sensation of suddenly coming to the realisation that you were standing in the middle of a swamp with no idea what directions led into an underwater pit or where dry, solid land was from here. I’d had at least a rough idea of what I was getting into with earlier encounters, but here? It wasn’t like I was guided by the lore, there wasn’t some great explanation for the whys and wherefores of the transport crow. Even Snuggly is just… there.

“... Yyyyyes. Yes, actually, I would like to go to the Asylum. My friend, Knight Siegmeyer, would also like to accompany me there. Is that acceptable?”

The crow swapped eyes again, head jerking around in ways that, while perfectly bird-like in a way that would look totally normal on an average sized crow, here unsettled me some. Perhaps it was the movements being magnified by the size of the one making them, perhaps it was the speed of them, but regardless…

“Hmmm- yes yes, can carry two!” The crow nodded and flared their wings. “Velka gave strength, exactly for this! Glad to help friend Sif!”

On the list of things that I didn’t know how to feel about, I really didn’t know how to feel about this.

The crow flapped their wings once, lifting their body into the air. I had a moment to connect the fact that this was happening right now, right this second, with basically no prep or warning or trigger from an emote. As the black claws swept towards me, I had a brief moment of panic- and then I was snatched up by the crow’s talons, and lifted into the sky.

The first few seconds were absolutely terrifying. I hadn’t exactly been a fan of heights, and that hadn’t changed when I’d swapped forms. After several seconds of not falling immediately to my doom, I managed to start glancing around.

The vista that I’d seen from the top of Firelink was even more majestic from a bird’s eye view. The land stretched out before us, greens and blues and browns, stretching all the way to the feet of the mountains far in the distance. Sunlight glittered off of the water of lakes and rivers, and I watched as wind caused the forests to sway. I craned my head around the foot that grasped me tight, looking backwards.

Behind us, Lordran was quickly shrinking away. From here, I could see the high towers of Anor Londo high above the rest of Lordran. There was the sweeping green and fog of Darkroot, and I could see the stone gray of Firelink, the cleft that was the Valley of the Drakes just below it. To the left was the high tower atop the Duke’s Archives, studded with faintly glowing crystal growths. The splash of stone that was the buildings of the Burg and Parish sat above and behind Firelink. Towering above it all, somewhat separate but still linked by the crevice in the earth that was Blighttown, was the bone white wood of the Archtree.

The view was awe inspiring, but more than anything, it emphasized how small Lordran was in the grand scope of things. The home to the most powerful beings in the world since the end of the Age of Dragons, and as it shrank into the distance, it felt so much smaller than it had when I walked through it. I supposed that the constant tempo of battle against the many enemies that studded Lordran stretched the distances, making them feel farther and longer. It didn’t look so great from here, it looked like a city that had been built into a mountain. Majestic and regal, certainly, especially when the distance hid the monsters and Undead that roamed its streets and hid in its cracks, but still.

I turned my gaze away from Lordran as it became smaller and smaller, looking forwards towards the horizon. We traveled at a speed that was frankly incredible, the crow’s great wings propelling us forwards with a heavy ease that spoke of long practice and great strength. I could feel their essence enveloping the air around them, directing currents, and with a start I realized that it was shockingly similar to the methods that I used to direct frost.

Looking across, I could see Siegemeyer clutched in the crow’s other talon. The knight had slipped off his helmet at some point, holding it secure against his chest, his head swiveling rapidly as he tried to take in everything that was happening around him. He caught my eye and grinned, wide and wondrous, mouthing something that I couldn’t make out over the wind that whistled in my ears. Even despite that, I still caught the noise when he laughed, a sound of pure and unadulterated joy. I couldn’t help but grin in return, feeling my stomach lift like it was weightless, and I watched as the ground far below sped by.

It didn’t take long before we began approaching the mountain range. There, atop a lonely peak and rapidly approaching, a gray and black building stood. Rising in front of the building and pointing directly in the direction of Lordran, a point of stone jutted out from the range that supported the building. On its slopes, I saw tiny pinpricks of light that I recognized as torch bearing Hollows, wandering the outside of the Asylum now that the demon was dead and the doors had been opened. A stone tower rose to the right side, and in the center, a great curved roof hid the central room that had once held the Asylum Demon that had guarded the exit. Huge doors marked the end of the room, wide open now, the only way we could see them being that we’d perfectly lined up with a straight clear path through the ruined walls that stood all over the outcropping of stone.

Behind the Asylum, to the left and right, the stone surfaces fell away in sheer cliffs from the base of its block walls towards green valleys below. In the distance, the land rose up once again into the mountain range that this particular mountain must be an outcropping of, reaching towards the sky. The Asylum was at the end of a pass, a gap in the range that no doubt was the path through which Undead were carted to the Asylum. From there, they would be tested by the threats that dealt within, and either surrender to their fate or forge onwards to Lordran. Even here, I could feel the influence of the gods and their plan, designing and guiding.

Did this mean that they had intended for Undead to return to the Asylum? Surely they had, given that you could only get the second floor key in Lordran, and the fact that the crow had been ordered to take up station at Firelink and await an Undead looking for passage back. In that case, how much of what was here was intended as further tests for returning Undead? How deep did the plan of the gods go, and how much was happenstance that aligned perfectly to make the task more difficult? I couldn’t guess, not without one of the gods to interrogate about it. Perhaps, if Velka or Fina was amenable, I could one day try and construct a picture of how much of this was directly intended.

The crow slowed with huge flaps of their wings as we approached the point of stone. They brought us nearly to a stop, hovering just over the point, then gently dropped us to the mix of dirt, moss, and carved block that formed the surface. They settled atop the point, ruffling their wings before folding them at their side, looking at us.

“That was… very well done.”

“Well done!?” I twitched slightly at Siegmeyer’s boisterous exclamation, ears flicking backwards. “That was incredible! Ah, in all my years, I had perhaps once or twice dreamed of flying as a bird would- truly, what man has not? But, oh, those mere dreams could not have been a pale shade of the true thing! You, my feathered friend, were, in but a word, majestic in the extreme.”

The crow puffed themselves up in pride, strutting a little as they took steps upon the stone, leaving claw marks into the moss beneath their talons.

“It is good! Good appreciation! Do not forget, yes? Perhaps bring nice thing? Soft?” They tilted their head at us, clacking their beak once.

“I’m sure I can find something.” I promised.

I wasn’t sure precisely what that thing should be, but I wasn’t precisely worried about it. Honestly, I’d stuffed a bit of moss into my satchel from the piles that Celia had purchased from the Undead merchant, and I was perfectly willing to give every bit that I had on me to the crows just to ensure a ride home. Besides, I wasn’t so hard of heart that I couldn’t admit that it had been very enjoyable, once I’d gotten past the surprise and the paralyzing fear of heights. I turned towards the path down to the entrance, and immediately grimaced.

“Knight Siegmeyer, I don’t think the locals appreciated your praise of our corvid friend very much.” He turned to look in the direction that I was, then tightened the grip of his hands on the hilt of his zweihander.

Torch-bearing Hollows were streaming up the path- much as Hollows could stream, anyway. Really, it was more a slow tide of stumbling and rasping groans, the occasional hiss when a torch came too close to a Hollow’s face. I recalled that Hollows tended to not like flame, perhaps a hint at the Dark nature of Humanity, but these seemed to tolerate the torches well enough- provided, of course, that the sources of light were a good distance from their faces. Certainly, if it did hinder them, then it certainly didn’t prevent them from moving to attack us in the slightest.

“Ah, well. I suppose that we couldn’t have sat here admiring the scenery all day, could we?”

I snorted at the note of lament in Siegmeyer’s voice. “I’d heard that all old people want to do is look at the scenery, Knight Siegmeyer, but I think you’ll find that I’m still capitalizing the title of ‘old’.”

“And I maintain that you carry your age very well.”

There wasn’t any time for banter after that. The first Hollow swung a torch wrapped in wire, the crude steel heated to red hot by the flame that burned on oil-soaked rags wrapped around a wooden core. Siegmeyer chose to sidestep the clumsy swing rather than parry it, I assumed because of the heat of the thing, easily ramming his sword through the midriff of the Hollow. It screeched, but didn’t have time to make another swing before Siegmeyer kicked the desiccated thing off of his blade and off the cliff.

Another stumbled forwards in the gap created by its brother vanishing over the edge, eye sockets focused on me. I felt a note of amusement as it artlessly swung its torch in my direction, then gathered a breath in my lungs before blowing as the burning rags and hot wire swept the air in front of my face. There was a splash of steam, the Hollow stumbling back a few steps, then holding up its torch and staring at the tip in bewilderment. What had previously been a hot torch reinforced with wire was now something of an ice mace, a chunk of frozen water stuck to the end of a stick. In its confusion, It was practically bowled over by the Hollow behind it, who made to push past with abandon. I leaped up and slammed my paws into the first, driving them backwards and into the second, sending them both toppling over. The first landed directly on the torch of the second, screaming and writhing as the hot metal seared its back, while its torch-turned-mace smashed the second Hollow directly in the face.

Siegmeyer stepped right up and finished the job with a hammerblow from the pommel of his blade, then walked right over the two Hollows. A swing of his sword forced three more to back off or be bisected by the steel, but that had been what Siegmeyer had wanted them to do. In a wonderful show of skill, he began using the sheer advantage of reach afforded to him by his ultra greatsword to pick the Hollows apart one by one without a single singe of torch on his armour. As he harried them, cutting them to pieces one by one and driving them back, I went low. I knocked Hollows off of their feet and to the ground by attacking their legs, where I quickly bit out their throats or smashed their skulls.

Surprisingly, the taste of Hollow flesh was not precisely unpleasant? There was an edge of rot about it, to be sure, but it mostly tasted how jerky smelled. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that particular revelation, so pushed it away into the back of my mind to think about never. My paws, claws, teeth, and occasionally my sword snaked out to deal with Hollow after Hollow.

There were more Hollows out here than there were in the game, likely owing to the fact that the area was larger. Perhaps, as well, more Hollows and Undead had been dropped in the Asylum since Celia had left. With Oscar still around and freeing Undead in an attempt to encourage them to chase a destiny in Lordran, a larger number of roaming Hollows made some degree of sense. Truly, I wondered whether the larger number was really all that surprising: really, I thought that what was more surprising was that more Undead hadn’t tried to come to Lordran while we’d been there. Perhaps that was a result of the crow being at Firelink, rather than ready to pick them up here? I doubted that most Undead with only starting equipment and not very much skill or power at all could fight their way through the hoard of torch Hollows that guarded the way to where the crows roosted.

It wasn’t even that the Hollows petered out in the end, so much as Siegmeyer sliced his way straight through two stragglers at the back of the group and suddenly there were no more. Behind us, their bodies slowly caught fire and burned from the torches they’d been carrying. I huffed out a breath, then went about forming a barrier of ice between the rest of the hill and the mound of Hollow corpses, so that the fire wouldn’t spread any further than them. Who knows, maybe it would finally put these particular Hollows to rest… though I didn’t know how restful collapsing into one of the bonfires and having your bones become its firewood was. Just another reason why refusing to lose yourself to Hollowing was a much better option, all told. Siegmeyer huffed as he used a rag stripped from one of them to clean the blood and viscera from his zweihander, leaving the steel whole and unblemished.

“A true nuisance. Weak enough to individually be nothing, strong enough to be a real threat as a group. Reminds me of the rats, they also rather like to attack in packs.”

I hummed. “The rats might actually be smarter, they tend to use ambush tactics and luring to attempt to secure meals or disable enemies. These Hollows simply swarmed the first non-Hollow they saw without real decision making behind it.” I gave the nearest one a contemptuous frown. “No strategy at all, just mindless rushing.”

“Still, at least it was quite the easy introduction! Now we’ve had a taste of what the Asylum can offer, and I find myself craving more.” He shouldered the zweihander cheerfully, walking towards the doors that formed the front entrance to the Asylum proper. “Come, Lady Sif, adventure awaits!”

I sighed, stretching my legs before following him down the slope. Looking around the edges of the ruins as we passed them, I sighted the small nest that belonged to Snuggly to the left, though it seemed bigger here outside of the game and relative to me. I considered approaching, then dismissed it and continued on down the slope in Siegmeyer’s wake. If I wanted to trade, then I could do so at a later time. It wasn’t as if there was anything to prevent me doing so.

We entered through the front of the Asylum, to the slightly dimmer interior. Light cascaded down from cracks and holes in the block stone roof, lighting an internal space that was filled with cracked stone, footprints, and a variety of large ceramic jars of unknown purpose. I sniffed the air, my nose wrinkling both from the lingering smell of the Asylum Demon, and the Wandering Demon whose steps still rattled the structure slightly from below. My eyes traced where the larger cracks in the stone ran through the center, the blocks looser, the mortar damaged. Siegmeyer made to step farther into the room, but stopped when I moved in front of him. Immediately, his sword was at the ready, his eyes sweeping the room.

“What is it, Lady Sif? What did you see?”

“There.” I pointed with my nose to where the floor was crumbling. Siegmeyer’s eyes followed the pointing, his sword hand relaxing slightly as he gave me a puzzled look. “The floor is damaged severely. Feel that?”

We focused, the floor shaking slightly under our feet. As it did, a block in one of the cracked sections fell loose, plummeting into the space beneath. Siegmeyer hummed.

“What is that, do you think?”

“Some kind of large creature, obviously, and one that I imagine we’ll have to face eventually. Still, I imagine that it might be directly underneath us. If the floor is that damaged, and we walk over it, we could be falling directly into its arena.”

“Ahhh, a cunning trap indeed… though not so cunning as to outwit you, Lady Sif.” He leaned forwards, examining the room in its entirety. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to skirt the edge and hope that it, too, is not so damaged that it collapses under our feet.”

“I don’t believe we have to worry about that. The stonework around the edges seems intact, so far as I can tell- or, at least, it doesn’t exhibit the cracking and fatigue of the center.” I nodded to the support pillars that ringed the edge of the room. “I suspect that there was enough reinforcement that it was able to hold against whatever creature stomped across it and caused such damage.”

We hugged the wall and moved towards the right hand side of the room, where a doorway led out and deeper into the Asylum. Past the door, I eyed the portcullis built into the ceiling with some amount of wariness, recalling how it came down and trapped you in the bonfire room. I knew that anything beyond your second pass through it didn’t trigger it, but I still had a moment of nervousness passing it by. I knew what was at the end of the next corridor, and I had little desire to be trapped with them.

The bonfire was slightly to our right, lighting up the small, square room. The quiet crackling and clinking that was typical of bonfires echoed throughout the space, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and reflecting inwards. I wasn’t sure what the true purpose of this room had been, empty and unadorned as it was, but if I had to guess… perhaps some kind of antechamber for processing people entering the Asylum? Maybe there had been a time when this building was actually staffed by people, and not simply packed with the milling Undead, left to rot unwatched and uncared for. Once, perhaps, this building had had a purpose beyond being a dumping ground for the unwanted Undead… perhaps that purpose had been as a dumping ground for other desirables, or maybe a prison given the bars that closed off the many cells branching off of the hallways. Whatever it had been, it was a place of Undead now, emblematic of the rot that infested the world.

Siegmeyer merely gave the bonfire a glance before scanning the room, finding the exit and not much else. There wasn’t precisely much to the blank stone room for him to focus on, and thus he was drawn to the second doorway, looking around the corner before pulling himself back. His helmet turned to me, and he spoke in a low voice- not panicked, but wary.

“Lady Sif, at the end of the hall there is a great knight in black armour. Large sword, as well.” He turned his head slightly back towards the door, thinking. “I do believe we can match them with ease in these tight confines- their large weapon will be limited greatly by the stone walls, and they will be unable to maneuver it correctly.”

“Ideally,” I muttered back, “We won’t have to fight them at all.”

Siegmeyer’s head turned back to me, slightly tilted in curiosity. “How so?”

“I’ve run into others of their order, and they were surprisingly reasonable, even amenable to a discussion. I suspect that it was because I was the one doing the talking; the Black Knights have served all the way back to the reign of Gwyn, to the war against the dragons. Much of their order knows who I am, by reputation if not personally, and are thus willing to speak under a banner of peace.”

“Well! Let it be certain that I wasn’t looking forwards to fighting such a skilled and armoured-looking knight in such surroundings, especially given that my sword would be near as limited as theirs. Please, Lady Sif, by all means- if you think you can get us by them peacefully, then be my guest!”

He stepped back and waved a hand towards the open and unoccupied doorway. I nodded to him, stepping around the knight and through, into the hall beyond.

To either side of the hall, doorways marked the entrance into the various cells that ran up and down the corridor. Hollows, completely gone and wearing nothing but the rags customary for the truly insane and broken, sat or stood aimlessly in the doorways to cells that had once held them, too far gone to realize that the doors had gone and freed them. Some clutched weapons, horribly rusted and broken, while others simply curled up silently. And watching over this, all the way at the other end of the hall, stood the Black Knight.

The moment I’d come around the corner and stood in the doorway, their helmet had turned to me, and I saw the grip on their sword and shield tighten slightly. The slight rattling of their armour as they shifted echoed down the hall to me, and I could see how the wrapping of black steel and titanite shifted around their form. Having met other knights, I wasn’t so intimidated now, especially with the distance between us, but still. It was hard to forget what these knights truly were, even if I knew them to be open to peaceful discourse under the right circumstances.

“Greetings, sir knight! I am Sif, sworn of Artorias and the Sunlight throne, guardian of Darkroot. I would like to speak with you, if you are willing- I have spoken with your brethren in Lordran, and have no desire to cross swords with you.”

The knight stood straighter in surprise, and their weapon lowered somewhat, their shield coming out of the ready position. When they spoke, the voice was male, and surprisingly young sounding for a demigod that I knew must be centuries old at least.

“Ah! Is that truly you, Lady Sif? I haven’t seen you in ages- there’s naught but the Hollowed Undead here, no news from the seat of the gods travels all the way back to the Asylum. I had thought I was forgotten here in my post, but it’s excellent to see a friendly face for once! Here-”

He sheathed his sword, walking down the hall and stopping at one of the cells, whose door hung off of its hinges- though it was still attached to the wall. With titanic strength, he brushed away the heavy stone blocks as if they were made of air, pushing them out of the way and opening the cell itself.

“I apologize- it’s not much, but it’s at least a small fire and some hot drinks, perhaps some bread. I fear that there hasn’t precisely been much in the way of friendly conversation here, and I find myself lacking good company in a rather unfortunate manner. Perhaps you and your knight friend might be willing to speak over a hot cup of something comfortable?”

I shared a glance with Siegmeyer, who shrugged.

“I can’t say I’d ever refuse an offer of hospitality from a knight that is a member of such a legendary order. Regardless, I doubt that such a figure would violate guest rights once bread is broken.”

I nodded my agreement, and stepped into the hall, towards where the Black Knight waved me forwards before stepping into the cell.