[WIP] Dark Souls 3: Kings and Vagabonds

Count Dorku

Renegade librarian
Validated User
#21
Every breath becomes a prayer.
- Sia, To Be Human


PART TWO: THE MERCY OF THE FIRE

Excerpted from Wayfarer’s journal:

It is with heavy heart that I must record that Horace the Hushed is no more.

Once the Abyss Watchers fell, it turned out that they had been guarding a passage into the underworld: a staircase leading down to the Catacombs of Carthus. Said catacombs were possibly the most accursed region I have encountered so far, a convoluted tomb thronging with malign spirits and relentless skeletal assaults.

Within the mouldering confines of the tomb, I met Anri once again. She told me that Horace had been separated from her by a trap, and I resolved to be vigilant for him as I travelled into the depths.

Beneath the tomb, I managed to locate an accursed pit, swarming with Ghrus and home to scattered demons and a mighty sandworm. This Smouldering Lake is one of the most torturous ordeals of my campaign so far: its corridors are twisted and almost impossible to navigate, the beasts that dwell within it are almost without exception menaces to engage, and the lake itself is under the malignant eye of a vast and destructive war engine, which appears capable of remarkable accuracy.

In a side corridor, I encountered Horace the Hushed – but learned that he had succumbed to the curse of hollowing and lost all identity, left only with the urge to kill. When he attacked me, there was only one mercy left to him.

I could not tell her. I could not confess that it was my blade that ended him. All I could do was direct her towards the Lake, and hope that she could find her fallen companion.

Spoiler: Show
Okay, so. Smouldering Lake is basically the worst thing ever for me. I hate it more than I hate even Farron Keep.

One, I don’t have a great sense of direction. So a giant, convoluted mess where every corridor looks the goddamn same? Basically hell for me.

Second, given the sheer number of Ghrus, whatever those fire-summoning things are, and basilisks in the place, not being able to find where I’m actually going is a big issue. Take one wrong turn, get ganked to death by Ghrus. Take a different one, torched to ash.
 

Naxuul

Emo hair power!
Validated User
#22
There is a reason.

The reason is that the giants in the cathedral are bound and cannot move far from their location, and whatever drainage system the lower floors may once have had have long since stopped functioning.

Those are pools of giant shit.
I actually think they're supposed to be pools of Aldritch. There are slimes in the area that are leftover bits of Aldritch goop too.

-Naxuul
 

DareDaemon

The Daemon who Dares
Validated User
#23
I actually think they're supposed to be pools of Aldritch. There are slimes in the area that are leftover bits of Aldritch goop too.

-Naxuul
Only in one of the giant pits, not in the other. It also doesn't visually match the pool of Aldritch we do encounter.
 

Count Dorku

Renegade librarian
Validated User
#24
So, as an update: I've had a weird couple of weeks and haven't gotten as much done as I'd planned. Hopefully I'll be able to get some more done and have a proper, written update for you fine folks Soon (TM).
 

Count Dorku

Renegade librarian
Validated User
#25
My blade has once again tasted the blood of Lost Izalith, with the demons’ king falling before its wrath. It is a tragic thought, in a way; the fire of Izalith has long been extinguished, and most, if not all, of its spawn have fallen. It seems likely that the end of demonkind is near, and while this may make it safer for the few to journey through the Lake, there is a certain sorrow to the end of an entire kind, even one so dangerous.

Once the demon was slain, I journeyed back to the Catacombs and fought a great skeletal creature, a vast skull-faced tyrant. While my blade could not do much harm to the monster itself, my strikes at its wrists shattered its jewelled armbands; when the third and final one broke, it descended into the shadows that pooled below its waist and was gone.

My current challenge, however, is the maze of corridors and alleyways that is the settlement of Irythill, in the Boreal Valley. While the snow-covered spires of this realm are certainly glorious, the creatures that inhabit it are far from wholesome: withered, undying creatures, herded into battle by towering pyromancer knights – frost and flame working in unholy harmony.

So far I have encountered but one friendly face – Sirris of the Sunless Realms, a warrior who passed through Firelink some time ago. She requested my aid against a treacherous warrior named Creighton, and I was eager to assist. While the monster fell before our wrath, I fear I have not seen the last of him.
 

Count Dorku

Renegade librarian
Validated User
#26
My quest, it would seem, cannot help but seek out the deepest, darkest pits of iniquity and cruelty in this dying land, with only the most incidental moments of light.

My battles in Irythill led me once again to the encampment of Anri of Astora, who claimed that she was unable to locate the fallen Horace the Hushed. I can only assume that the vicious beasts of the Smouldering Lake had made off with his corpse; an unworthy end for such a noble warrior. I attempted to broach the prospects of an alliance with longer duration – as much out of a desire to spend more time in her company as for the strategic advantages – but my accursed tongue failed me at the last moment.

My assessment of the vile assassin Creighton proved correct when he ambushed me in a graveyard within Irithyll. Despite his considerable skill, I successfully drove him off; I subsequently located his corpse on the bridge where I had fought him alongside Sirris. Perhaps I had only battled his malign spirit, or perhaps he fled to the bridge and perished from his wounds; either way, I have claimed his stolen breastplate and tabard as a trophy.

My subsequent forays into Irythill’s depths have led me to a vast, monstrous dungeon complex, a treacherous warren haunted by the malign wraiths of its jailers – masked, withered nobles, their corrupted hearts thrilling to the tortures they inflict. Their devotion to pain leads them to wield heated brands rather than swords or shields; brands, moreover, which are capable of inflicting horrific injuries, as I have learned from grim experience. Worse, however, is their other gift: a corrupting gas that weakens the body, leaving one vulnerable to their strikes. How these twisted ghouls acquired such powers is beyond my understanding, but it makes an already grim ordeal even worse – especially with the return of Aldrich’s vile leech-monsters.

The worst part of the dungeon is not the wandering hollows, the leech-haunted ghouls, or even the twisted jailers, however; it is the difficulty of navigation. Finding one’s way through this pit is almost impossible.

I must return to the fray, however. Even though my sword drips with gore, there are ever more nightmares that must be cut aside for what little salvation we can find.

OOC: Just as a warning, in a couple of weeks I'm going to be away from my laptop for a while, which is going to move my update schedule from "slow" through "glacial" and all the way to "don't expect an update for a month or more".
 

Count Dorku

Renegade librarian
Validated User
#28
This forsaken pit goes deeper than I had expected, and each layer is worse. So far, I have been crushed, gassed, thrown from high places, bludgeoned, bitten and branded to death, and the few fragments of glory I have clawed from its depths are scant reward for the punishing ordeal.

There appears to be little ahead and below but death: countless vile creatures thronging in the depths, from misshapen horrors bearing strangely luminous clubs, to withered and wasted undead, to another of the large and fearsome giants from the Cathedral of the Deep. Worse, it appears that the next bonfire is always slightly further ahead than I had hoped, and locating it has proved difficult indeed.

I shall take some time and rest, come at these fiends refreshed. The sleep of temporary death is less restful than it would seem, and fatigue still weighs down my limbs.
 
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