Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's been a long time. The deserter thought as he entered the mausoleum. He could see the corpses of his former brethren scattered about, and bowed his head. He supposed that he would’ve considered himself lucky not to share their fate, but not anymore. He would be craven no longer.

He tossed aside the weapons that had carried him so far. The weapons of a coward. He wouldn’t need them anymore. Instead, he picked up one of the Watchers’ own weapons, the greatsword, and dagger. Hawkwood wasn’t among them anymore, but he had found purpose once again. He would follow the Path of the Dragon, and these weapons would aid him. He would honor his former brethren one last time.

He took out the Twinkling Dragon Head Stone and considered it. Such a small little rock, but it held the power of the everlasting dragons of old. He’d fought alongside that Unkindled up Archdragon Peak to gain it, and now his path was almost over. He knew that the Ashen One had received the counterpart to his headstone, and had sent them a challenge, through the blacksmith. Soon, one way or another, Hawkwood would be free from this cycle of Fire. A dragon was not bound to the Firelinking curse, but neither was a dead man. 

He shook his head out of his thoughts. He needed to focus on preparing for the duel. All he could do was practice, and hope that the Unkindled One had received his message. He remembered his training with the weapon, training that had gone unused after his first few fights. Still, it was there, and he relearned the weapon after a few hours. 

He rested in the middle of the arena. He wondered if the champion had really received his message, but he doubted it. That Unkindled had proven Hawkwood wrong when he’d returned three of the Lords of Cinder to their thrones. They needn’t bother with a deserter who had only just regained his confidence.

However, the sound of a bonfire flaring filled the room, and Hawkwood smirked as he rose from his position. The Unkindled had proven him wrong once again. He folded his arms. “I should have known,” he called out, and the smirk faded as he saw the knight with weapons ready, a sword and shield. He could sense the Unkindled’s distaste, mixed with wariness as he looked at Hawkwood’s own discarded weapons. 

He exhaled as he unsheathed his blades. There was no turning back now. His voice became harsher. “Well, I've decided to stop running from my fate. Loathe me all you like, I shall take what makes you dragon." With that, the two warriors charged toward each other, Hawkwood swinging his blade down in a jumping slash.

The Unkindled visibly shook as they withstood the blow and attempted to capitalize on his opponent’s opening, but Hawkwood was ready. He dodged under the retaliating slash, then used the dagger to pivot as he swung straight for his opponent’s legs. They staggered back before the blow could connect, and the deserter could only chuckle as he saw the surprise in their posture as they recognized the fighting style he was using. He would honor his brethren one last time.

He didn’t let up, dashing forward with a swing that was stopped again by their shield. This time, the distance between them meant that there would be no attempted retaliation, and Hawkwood rolled forward and slashed with both sword and dagger, overpowering his opponent’s guard and biting through their armor, but they remained standing. He backstepped away before they could abuse the opening, but they anticipated the move, rolling after him and scoring their first hits, a slash to the arm, then a swing to the midsection.

Hawkwood grunted from the pain, but he would see this fight through to the end. He swung his greatsword back to keep them at bay, then took out his flask, drinking only enough to heal his wounds. The Ashen One didn’t follow suit, instead of charging forward with another slash, but Hawkwood caught the blow with his dagger and tossed it aside. He could almost see the shocked look on the other undead’s face as he slammed his blade into them once, making them fall to their knees, then again, sending them sprawling. 

“Loathe me all you like, but I am the true dragon.” Hawkwood declared as he watched them fade, sheathing his weapons. He was surprised if he was honest with himself. He hadn’t expected to win, not really after the Unkindled had slain the Lords of Cinder, while he had only just begun regaining his confidence. 

Still, those thoughts left him as he walked over and took the stone left behind. He could instantly tell that it was the counterpart to his stone. Its power was fundamentally similar, but its feeling was completely different. The final step to the Path of the Dragon was right in his hands.

It was time to begin again. He took out his own stone and held it together with the torso stone, and Hawkwood grinned as they began to glow. He would be free soon. However, he was snapped out of his ecstasy as he heard the sound of a bonfire flaring once more. 

He sighed as he turned around to face the Unkindled once again. He should have expected this after they had no doubt died again and again to achieve their goals. With his new purpose, Hawkwood did not have that luxury. He called out once again. “Ahh, there you are.”

He put the stones back into his pockets, then unsheathed his blades. He would not let them stop him from becoming a dragon.“This shall be no petty theft. As the true dragon, I shall take what is rightfully mine." He frowned as they unsheathed their own weapons, a parrying dagger and a blackened, corrupted, greatsword. It appeared that they were out to give him a taste of his own medicine.

This time, they took the initiative, opening with a low spinning slash.  Hawkwood rolled through the first rotation, but he wasn’t expecting them to spin a second time and took a gash to the front. Gritting his teeth, he kicked them away, then used the dagger to pivot again into a spinning combo of his own, slashing through their limbs and even puncturing their armor on one occasion, but they escaped before he could finish the combo, his greatsword hitting the bare ground as he brought it down in a flip.

He watched them back away, attempting to reach for their estus, and snarled. He wouldn’t let them get away that easily. He leaped forward with a plunging swing, but in a fraction of a second their posture changed, and Hawkwood’s eyes widened as they raised the dagger. He struggled to stop himself, but it was no use. That single mistake had cost him dearly. 

He was knocked off balance as the Unkindled parried his attack, then, not missing a beat, ran him through with the sword. The fighting had been long, but just as Hawkwood’s brothers had been humbled, Hawkwood collapsed on the cold, dirty mausoleum floor, watching his blood leave from the fatal wound to the heart. A faint smirk breached his face. The Unkindled was a true warrior, worthy of the power of those wonderful stones.

“You are a dragon,” he breathed, as his body became extraordinarily heavy. “More dragon than I…” As he faded away, he reflected. He had lost the duel, but he was satisfied to have fallen at the hands of such a worthy being. And now he could join his brothers in the beyond.

But it was not meant to be.

Hawkwood was suddenly plunged into darkness. He could not move. He could not see. He hurt everywhere but somehow could not feel if he had a body or not. Still, even robbed of most of his senses, he could feel his souls being twisted, yanked away from their resting place at the mausoleum. He panicked, fearing that this was his punishment for abandoning his brothers, an eternity of torment.

Then, suddenly, he felt the wind on his cheek and became aware of coarse clothes against his skin. He realized he had eyes, and opened them. He was lying on a faded red carpet with golden edges. 

He took in a deep breath, then groaned as he struggled to a sitting position. He looked around. He was in an old chapel, worn books and debris littering the floor. The carpet led from an altar on one end of the chapel to a pair of doors on the other. Light filtered down from a hole in the ceiling. It was daytime.

What is this place? Hawkwood thought. Why am I still breathing? He sighed. No point in thinking about it now. He checked his wrist and grunted. No Darksign. At least he didn’t have to worry about his undeath anymore.

Still, he felt different. His souls had been changed. He could tell that they were still there, but the energy was different. 

He shook his head out of his thoughts. He couldn’t dwell on every little thing now. He needed to find answers. He struggled to his feet, then nearly tripped over a weapon on the ground. He frowned. It was the Farron greatsword. 

It appeared that even in death, he had never left the Legion, neither in thoughts or gear. He considered the weapon. Did he even deserve it? He had fallen to the Unkindled while fighting as a member of the legion, after all. He snorted. They had failed, just as he did, in the end. He’d take it.

He strapped the greatsword and dagger of the Abyss Watchers to his back once more, and he moved forward. He shoved open the heavy doors, and he was temporarily blinded. When his vision adjusted, his jaw dropped. 

It was a tree. A great, golden tree.

“The bloody hell?” 

It was blooming with life, and he could feel the power radiating from it. Even more jarring was the fact that there was no sun at all in the sky. Not even the eclipse in its horrid majesty could compare to this. Still, if he had had any suspicions before, it was abundantly clear to Hawkwood now that he wasn’t in Lothric anymore. 

He tore his gaze off of the tree and turned his eyes to the surrounding area. He was alone on a windy summit, fog shrouding the view. If he strained his eyes, he could see a place shrouded in the distance, far away. Still, from where he was, there was nothing but the church and a set of wooden stairs.

He descended down the steps, then crossed a bridge, finding himself in a graveyard. At the end of the clearing, he could see a statue of a crucified woman

“Now, who are you?” Hawkwood muttered as he approached. He’d seen many statues before, but this was a new one. Whoever the woman was, she must clearly be someone important, going off on the long gown and size of the statue. Hawkwood’s curiosity was piqued, and he drew closer.

Only for his hand to immediately fly to his sword.

“It’s too quiet,” he muttered. He may have stayed in Firelink Shrine for a long while, but he had never lost his instincts. His eyes darted left and right as he gripped the sword tightly. Nothing.

But Hawkwood was no fool. He knew it would reveal itself eventually, and sure enough, as he made his way forward, a giant shape leaped over the statue and landed in front of him.

Hawkwood grunted as some dust was thrown in the air, then his eyes widened as the being’s features came to light. It had enough flesh for ten men attached to it, and he could hear the bones cracking in the thing. Many limbs moved about haphazardly, and throughout the confusion of its many appendages, he could see a face. It was carrying two swords as tall as Hawkwood, and a shield. 

The deserter gritted his teeth. He refused to die again. He gripped the greatsword in both hands and leaped forward, slamming the blade down onto one of its arms before it could get its bearings, severing it. It screeched in agony, but Hawkwood did not stop there. He swung the blade lower this time, slashing through one of its many legs.

The being staggered, but then got its bearings, blocking Hawkwood’s next slash with a cross of its swords, and he was thrown back as a golden light burst from it. He managed to use the greatsword to catch himself, and he found himself surprised as he found it in a stance, slowly approaching. It was evidently wary of him, judging by how it seemed reluctant to attack. 

Hawkwood smirked. Expecting easier prey, I see. He drew his dagger. If his suspicions were correct, this would be simpler than he first thought it would be. He took a stance of his own, and the two circled each other.

Eventually, the beast grew tired of the waiting game and leaped forward, stabbing rapidly. The deserter rolled through most of the slashes, but still found himself pierced in his midsection more than a few times, and he staggered back, panting. It began to press on, screaming and throwing him further away, towards the archway where he had first entered. 

Heart pounding, he rummaged through his belt for anything and cursed. Where had his flasks gone? Still, he had no time to worry about it, and he was forced to roll away as the thing dashed toward him. He gripped the dagger tightly. This would be close.

As it came forward with a swing of its sword, Hawkwood swung the dagger and knocked it away. Gods. He could hear the bones in the thing's arm crunching as it was thrown off by the unexpected maneuver. Even then, he didn’t miss a beat as like before with the Unkindled, he slammed the blade into the thing’s head once, causing it to screech in agony, then again, knocking it over.

It struggled to get to its feet, but Hawkwood did not stop. He jumped forward and rammed his blade into the thing's back. It continued to scream as it struggled to rise, but Hawkwood gritted his teeth. He would not let it get its bearings again, jerking his blade and twisting it until it stopped moving.

He panted, as he watched it fade away from underneath him. Not the cleanest kill, but it would do. He made to leave, then grunted as he heard the clink of a sword across the ground. He looked down. The thing had left behind its sword and greatshield.

He ignored the weapons with a disdainful sniff. They didn’t work with his fighting style, and regardless, even if they did, they were clearly not made for combat. Still, he stumbled. Combat-made or not, they had done a number on him. It had taken all his power to slay the beast, and he was reminded that if he had not gotten cocky, he would have gotten away with less.

He shook his head. Still, what was done was done, and he needed to move on. He sheathed his blades, then continued through a second archway, crossing a bridge onto one last island of rock. He frowned. This was a dead end. Nothing but a long drop stood in front of him. He stepped forward, trying to see if there was any way to get down, then heard a crumbling sound.

Fuck. 

The ground collapsed beneath him, and he fell to his death.

His eyes fluttered open as he heard the sound of hooves clopping across the ground. He could see that he was on the floor, in a dark place. He groaned. He was fairly confident that he was definitely not supposed to be alive now that he no longer had the Darksign seared into his flesh, yet here he was. 

Body aching, he struggled to rise, eventually managing to do so with the help of his greatsword. He was still unsteady, but now he could see who was in front of him. It was a woman on a horse. She was dressed in a black traveling cloak, and Hawkwood could not make out her features under the hood she wore..

"Interesting," spoke the woman. “You recovered faster than most." 

Hawkwood studied the woman in front of him. She was cloaked possibly concealing weapons. Though he felt no ill intent from her, he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

 "Don't come any closer." Hawkwood gasped out. He could barely breathe after that fall, and speaking was no easier.  

"You have no reason to fear me, tarnished, I mean you no harm." the woman tried assuring him. 

"Tarnished," Hawkwood panted. “What kind of insult is that?” He'd been called many things in his life:  fool, bastard, failure, but this was new. 

The woman cocked her head. She seemed confused by his remark. She opened her mouth when all of a sudden Hawkwood fell to his knees.

It seems that fall did a bigger number on me than I had guessed , Hawkwood thought to himself, struggling to stay conscious. Everything was starting to get blurry, but he could see the cloaked woman dismounting, and a single eye staring at him in a mix of worry and fascination. 

She then grabbed two flasks, one crimson and one blue, from the horse’s saddle. She forced them into his hands.

“Drink the flask of crimson tears,” She instructed, and Hawkwood did so, picking the red flask up and downing it in one go. He grunted. It wasn’t enough to completely alleviate his weariness, but breathing came easier at least. 

“Do you feel restored?” The woman asked upon seeing his condition somewhat stabilized.

Hawkwood grunted. “A little, I suppose, but not nearly enough.” He gripped the empty flask. “I need more.”

“That’s all, I’m afraid.” The woman replied. 

Hawkwood sighed. “It can’t be helped.” A thought came to him. “You said flask of crimson tears?”

“Indeed,” The woman replied. “They are used to heal Tarnished.”

The deserter frowned. This seemed too familiar. “Just what are the Tarnished? You never clarified.”

Melina raised a brow. “You must be new to this. Just who are you?”

Hawkwood grunted. “My name is Hawkwood, and I hail from a land called Lothric.” He raised his greatsword. “But what is your name? You have avoided my questions about this place so answer my questions about who you are at least.” 

“Forgive me. I should have gotten to this sooner.” The woman replied, and lowered her hood, causing her features to come into view. She was youthful, and her hair was a light shade of red. Hawkwood had apparently not hallucinated her having one eye either, and a tattoo ran over the lid. “I am Melina, and I am afraid that I have not heard of this place you speak of.”

“Okay then. What about the First Flame?” Hawkwood pressed, and Melina shook her head. 

The former watcher stared at her. “Then where the hell am I?”

“You are in the Lands Between. The land of Queen Marika and the Elden Ring.” Melina answered plainly

“Never heard of it.” Hawkwood said with a shrug. 

Melina cocked her head. “You do not know of the Elden Ring? Even those from beyond the fog know of it.”

Hawkwood said nothing, and she frowned. “Well, your appearance here is most mysterious. But perhaps there is a reason for your presence. I offer you an accord, Hawkwood of Lothric.”

Hawkwood raised his eyebrows. “Oh? For what purpose?”

"To seek the Elden Ring." Melina said.

Hawkwood’s eyes narrowed. “And what do you get out of this?”

“You will take me to the foot of the Erdtree.” The brunette replied.

Hawkwood stroked his chin. The Erdtree must have been what he’d seen upon exiting the chapel, but still, there were many questions left unanswered. “Why search for the Elden Ring? You never told me of this.”

Melina sighed. “It's the purpose of a tarnished to search for the Elden Ring. The Lands Between are currently in chaos, and only one who is chosen by the Ring and the Greater Will–an Elden Lord, so to speak–may restore order.” 

The gears turned in Hawkwood’s head, and he adopted a pensive look. He wondered what god would be desperate enough to make a failure like him a Tarnished. While he knew this was his chance to redeem himself, something nagged. “I assume that there will be a great many challenges ahead?”

The woman nodded. “You are right . Yes, there will be a great many challenges ahead, some even seeming impossible. Still,” She looked him up and down, and at his greatsword, still painted red with the blood of the creature. “You appear capable enough. I have faith in you.”

Hawkwood blew out a breath. He doubted faith alone would carry him through the day, but he would try, at least. If he could not become a dragon or a Lord of Cinder, then he would pursue his new purpose with as much zeal as he could muster. “I can’t promise that you’ll get the results you want, but I’ll try.”

Melina gave a slight smile, then offered her hand. “Then we have an accord?”

Hawkwood sheathed his blades, then accepted it. “We do.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Hawkwood asked. “What is my first task?” He looked around. There wasn’t much to see in the graveyard, only stairs leading up to a doorway…and a dim pool of light. 

Melina waved her hand. Her beast had mysteriously disappeared, but Hawkwood did not care.“ First, before you set to your duty, do you see the light?” She pointed to the circle on the ground.

The deserter grunted, “Yes, I do.” That light was the exact same shape and size of a bonfire. “This place is starting to remind me of Lothric.” He muttered.

“Come again?” The brunette said. She had evidently not heard, and Hawkwood saw no reason to tell her of what it was like, being Unkindled. She didn’t need to know.

“It's nothing.” He replied. “It's just that I was reminded of my homeland. But that doesn't matter. What is it?”

"Well that is what is known as the guidance of grace.” Melina explained. “It helps guide Tarnished to their objectives, so that it may lead to them claiming the mantle of Elden Lord.”

“I see,” Hawkwood grinned. If that was the case, things would be easier than he’d thought. He’d never gotten any sort of guidance when he was undead. “Does it serve any other function?” 

Melina nodded. “Touch it. You will feel rested.”

So my suspicions were right. It does function like a bonfire. Hawkwood thought as he made his way over. He rested his hand on the light, and it flared to life. He looked back at Melina, and she nodded, motioning for him to rest at it.

He sat down and sighed. Despite his original assumptions, this grace pool was different from a bonfire in one key way. The bonfire's warmth was pathetic for the most part but it was slightly comforting, while this grace seemed to practically radiate power and practically reinforced his soul. He smiled as he lay there, soaking in the rays, but alas, all good things must end.

 Melina approached him and kneeled at his side, the horse behind her. “I see that you feel much better than when I found you.” He nodded in assent, and she continued. “Later, if you collect runes, then I can convert those to strength. However…” She frowned.

Hawkwood cocked his head. “What is it?” 

“You said that you were new to the Lands Between, yet I can sense an abundance of runes on you already, converted into strength.” The brunette answered. “But your behavior shows that you have become tarnished only recently. Who were you, before coming here?”

“That,” Hawkwood growled. “Is a story for another time.” She had yet to earn his trust enough for him to reveal the details of his past life. For now, he would keep it under wraps to anyone else he came across.

Melina was unperturbed. “I understand. You need not share any information that you are uncomfortable giving. ” She turned her head to the stairs leading out of the graveyard. “For now, let us press on.” With that, the two rose from the grace and ascended the stairs.

Not long after, Hawkwood found himself in a hallway, next to a fog wall. A gargoyle with a lit candle lay in front of it, and it appeared to have a sort of hole in it. A keyhole?

He turned to look at Melina, and she clarified. “That is a hidden area. You’ll need a stonesword key to access it.”

Hawkwood grunted. “Well, as I have nothing of the sort, I think I’ll move on.” The two walked on, then reached an elevator. When they reached the top of the shaft, Hawkwood found himself in front of a set of double doors, and he gritted his teeth as he shoved them open.

His jaw immediately dropped as he found himself on top of a hill in a lush expanse. He’d been through many places. Poison swamps, a frozen city, even a mountaintop of drakes, but this was new. 

“I've never seen so much green before,” whispered Hawkwood. He could feel the lush grass cushion his feet, and smell the flowers scattered across the fields. He could even see a forest in the distance, as well as a lake further away. “It’s…marvelous.

“It is.” Melina spoke. He jumped in shock, he'd almost forgotten she was there too. “This is Limgrave, but do not let it's looks deceive you, there is danger at every corner.” Hawkwood almost didn't believe her. Almost.

Still, he sighed. She was right. In all his experiences as an undead, even beautiful places were dangerous. This was no exception. He turned to her. “Where do I need to go?”

Melina reached her hand out and pointed to a distant Castle, shrouded in fog. “Right now we are south of the capital, where the Erdtree lies. However, blocking our path is the Shardbearer Godrick the Grafted, King of Stormveil Castle.”

Hawkwood frowned. He understood most of her response, but there was something that bothered him. “What do you mean by shardbearer?”

“A shardbearer is one who has taken a piece of the Elden Ring, shattered by Queen Marika.” Melina replied.  “The ring is not just a ceremonial tool; It is an extremely powerful relic, capable of giving one godlike power. When Marika shattered it, the Shardbearers, mostly demigods, took pieces of the remains and used them to wage war on one another, alongside any who they view dangerous, tearing a bloody swathe across the Lands Between.”

“I see.” Hawkwood muttered. So gods, or at least godlike beings, still existed in this world. He wondered if they would be as strong as the lords of cinder, or even the old gods of Lordran. He steeled himself. If they were, then he’d be ready. “And these demigods, they are her children?”

“Indeed,” Melina confirmed. “They all bear divine power, and although they are weakened by war, each one retains their forces. They will do anything to make sure that you do not claim their runes.”

“Interesting,” The deserter mused, mentally filing the information away. “What can you tell me about Godrick?” If the demigods would do anything it took to keep their runes, then he’d need whatever information he could get on the first one he’d encounter.

“Godrick is completely insane," Melina warned. "He uses grafting to empower himself, and his soldiers are all over Limgrave, hunting for the tarnished. Be on your guard.” 

“I can deal with any soldiers I come across,” Hawkwood replied confidently. He had not lost his edge enough to fall to some Lord’s foot soldiers. “Is there anything else?”

Melina shook her head. “The other threats of Limgrave should not block your path to Godrick, although you are free to explore. You seem enthralled by the land.”

“You’re right.” Hawkwood returned. He couldn’t hide the slight smile on his face as he looked at the plain. “Forgive me, but I have never seen a sight like this before. Dangerous as it may be, I want to explore.”

“In that case, I won’t stop you,” Melina said, nodding in understanding. She took off a ring from her finger. “Take this.” 

Hawkwood accepted it, turning it with his fingers. He looked at her quizzically, and she clarified. “Use it to summon Torrent. He’s a stalwart and reliable companion, and he will help you traverse these lands.”

Hawkwood put the ring on his finger, then cocked his head. “How am I supposed to call for him? He is a normal horse, correct?”

“No,” Melina answered, “He’s a spectral steed. It is why he disappeared earlier, when we had our accord. Whistle into the ring to call for him.”

“Interesting…” Hawkwood muttered. Even if they had their similarities, this land was still very different from Lothric. However, as he blew the whistle, nothing happened. 

He frowned, then blew into it again. Still nothing.

Melina cocked her head. “It appears that Torrent has not accepted you as his new master. Strange. Usually, he is more accepting of tarnished like yourself, but still…” Her eyes narrowed. “Torrent’s judgment is usually correct. Just who are you really, Hawkwood of Lothric?”

Hawkwood hesitated. He could not tell her of his original homeland, for fear of being shunned as a madman, but the look in her eyes told him that she would have nothing but an answer. 

He sighed. If that was the way things were going to be, then he had no choice. He still refused to tell her of the situation back in Lothric, but he could at least tell her a piece of his past. 

“I was a deserter.” He answered, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Of what group?” She pressed, and Hawkwood frowned. He did not need to tell her of the specifics, but he supposed he could tell her a little more, seeing as she was still giving him the look.

“A legion.” He replied pensively. “Dedicated to protecting the land, fighting as a band of wolves.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “They scorned me for not always following their tenets, nor unflinchingly follow them into death. I could not keep up with them, and when we were all needed, I lost my stomach, and left.” He looked at her, ready for the sharp reproach that others had given him.

“So in deserting, you showed yourself to be dishonorable.” Melina understood. “That explains why you have yet to summon Torrent.” She swept her hand aside, and he was surprised at her next words. “No matter. Dishonorable or not, I am still willing to work with you, and Torrent can be of the same mind. Build up his trust, and I am sure he will appear for you when you need it.” 

She walked to the side. “For now, I will also take my leave. I will be accompanying you on your journey,” She cut Hawkwood off as he opened his mouth to object. “But I will not be making a physical appearance until you need me again. Now go, I trust that you can deal with what is to come.”

“Alright then,” The deserter said as he stood up, satisfaction bubbling in his chest. Finally. Someone who did not judge him for his past mistakes. Someone that had faith in him after so long. “I look forward to working with you, Melina.”

“And I, you Hawkwood,” The brunette returned, standing up and disappearing into blue mist.

Hawkwood exhaled as he looked out across the plateau. He was about to begin again, and this time, he would not fail. Not when someone had faith in him once more. He knew that the dangers ahead would be long, but after what he’d been through in Lothric, he would gladly face them head-on. As he collected his thoughts, he realized just exactly what his death and rebirth in these new lands meant.

Nothing was being plagued by the curse of undeath. No firelinking was needed to keep the land alive either, from what Melina told him. It wasn’t in danger of falling to that cruel cycle of Fire and Darkness, so he was no. Greatest of all to Hawkwood was the realization that his worst fear was gone. With no Darksign, he was no longer in danger of hollowing. He laughed. He was finally, truly, free! There was nothing here that could bring his spirit down. 

All that was left was to begin his journey. He yanked the greatsword from his back and gazed at the valley below. The way forward was clear. With a grin, he jumped.

Shortly after, a golden light flared around a bush, and a white masked man took off his mimic’s veil as he rose from his crouching position. He wore white robes, and he smelled of blood. A mace resembling a bouquet of roses hung at his belt. 

That was close. Varré thought as he brushed the other bushes' leaves off of himself. He had barely arrived at his usual position when that tarnished had come along with his maiden. The surgeon had only just been able to disguise himself in time. When he’d seen them, he was glad he did.

That Tarnished had appeared to be a seasoned fighter. and his maiden appeared to have been around for a long time. Varre knew that she might have recognized him, even though the other man seemed to be as green as grass regarding the Lands Between. Still, Varré knew the look of a skeptic when he saw one, and even if the man was maidenless, the surgeon doubted he could have convinced the other man to join his cause.He still needed a bit of a push, and something about him piqued the surgeon's interest.

Varré had seen plenty of tarnished throughout his long life. Most of them had amounted to nothing, although a small amount had managed to rise above the usual standards, become more than a statistic. More than a corpse in a ditch. 

He smiled to himself. Hawkwood was the man’s name? He was no ordinary tarnished. Varre knew the scent of blood far better than most could ever hope. He was after all, Luminary Mohg's most loyal and faithful follower. And Hawkwood was practically bathed in it.

The surgeon chuckled. This one might be worthy of watching, if only to see how far he got before his inevitable demise. 

Chapter Text

Lake Agheel

It was not long before Hawkwood came across another tarnished.

He had come across him after a short walk and a new acquaintance, under a structure near a shore. A bonfire was crackling, and the man was wearing a metal hat that was unfamiliar to Hawkwood, as well as a set of traveling clothes. A particularly long sword lay nearby, one that was familiar to Hawkwood at least. That fool sword master outside of Firelink Shrine had used a similar weapon. That meant that this man was an Easterner.

The man looked up from his fire as Hawkwood approached.

“Well. Another tarnished eh?” He mumbled, rising from his position. “You look well prepared, but you’d do well to steer clear of Agheel lake.”

“What’s so dangerous about Agheel Lake?” Hawkwood asked, cocking his head.

“A dragon roosts there.” The man replied gravely. “It is as fearsome as it is majestic. No man would be foolish enough to take it alone.”

“A dragon you say?” Hawkwood stroked his chin, eyes narrowing. Could he still fulfill his goal? “This could be worthwhile.” 

The man sighed, then grabbed his sword. “You’re a fool. But if you’re confident that you can fight it, then I won’t stop you.”

“It’s not foolish if you can back it up.” Hawkwood pointed out. He hefted his greatsword, then turned toward the lake. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

With that, he walked toward the dragon’s roost.

As he walked through the shallow lake, he passed by a burnt ruin with praying beggars inside it. He frowned. If he didn’t know better, he would have mistaken these poor sods for hollows. He grunted, then wondered just what would mandate their condition. There’s no Darksign to hollow them.

Regardless of his thoughts, the undead had their fire sending smoke billowing high into the sky as they chanted.

“Agheel. Oh, Agheel. Feral flame of Agheel, burn true.”

The deserter’s eyes widened as he realized just exactly what they were trying to do, leaping for cover as a dragon shot from the sky and landed right on top of the bonfire, crushing the worshippers into a fine paste.

As Hawkwood got his bearings, the dragon’s features came into view, and he snarled. This so-called “dragon” had only two legs, and its wings were attached to its arms. This was a wyvern, and a small one at that.

He was going to slap some sense into that metal-hatted idiot when he was done.

Still, he could do that later, as Agheel screeched as it took notice of him. He cursed, then readied his greatsword. The dagger would be of no use to him now.  

Agheel took the first move, rearing its head back to spew out a gout of flame that Hawkwood rolled through, then swung his blade in a heavy two-handed blow to the head. The greatsword cut deep into the wyvern, but it wasn’t enough to kill, and the beast roared in both pain and rage at its wound.

It swung its head aside, sending Hawkwood flying across the water until he rolled to a stop. He groaned as he rose to his feet, then saw the drake flying in the air, staring at him.

“Damn it!” Hawkwood cursed as it swooped down, trying to crush him under its massive talons. He rolled through the attack, then found himself in between Agheel’s legs. He smirked, then took his chance and began swinging his blade, cleaving through the scales on its right leg.  After a few swings, he managed to cut deep into the beast’s joints. 

The wyvern bellowed in pain as it staggered forward but then swung its tail at Hawkwood, slamming him a few hundred feet away. and he found himself panting as he struggled to his feet. That last blow had hurt like hell. Still, he wasn’t near his limit, so he would conserve that flask of his.  

He could see the beast staring at him from afar, eyes burning with hatred. Hawkwood could see a clear tightness in its posture, and he knew that he still had quite a bit to go before the beast would be vulnerable. Still, from what he knew, it wouldn’t be taking off anytime soon. 

He charged forward, and its throat lit up once more as it shot out fire toward him, but he avoided the attack. Agheel, seeing him unscathed, shrieked its annoyance, then charged forward to meet him, swinging its head and wings madly in an attempt to hit the annoying pest.

Hawkwood managed to avoid its first few swings, but he was caught by surprise as it tossed its head into the air, goring him with the horn resting on its snout and tossing him straight up. He gritted his teeth as he watched the wyvern open its jaws below, ready to devour him. He needed to act fast. 

He twisted in the air as he fell, barely managing to avoid the wyvern’s following bite, but he got the wind knocked out of him as he slammed into the beast’s horn instead. He only narrowly managed to wrap his free arm around it before it was too late. Still, he wasn’t out of the woods yet. 

He looked down. The beast’s eyes were filled with rage, and Hawkwood’s eyes widened as it began to swing its head from its position, shaking him around like a ragdoll. His arm screamed from the effort of holding on, and his greatsword didn’t help matters. 

Still, he knew that it could not do this forever. The longer it swung its head around, the more disoriented it would get. The only question would be whether he could endure all this to land the finishing blow. Personally, he doubted it. The wounds that the wyvern had inflicted on him were putting a severe strain on his endurance. He shut his eyes tight as he continued to get tossed around. It looked like he would suffer death again.

But suddenly, the shaking stopped, and he could feel a stumbling motion from the reptile. then felt his feet land on solid ground. He opened his eyes, then saw that his foe had finally tired itself out. He was standing on Agheel’s head, and while he wasn’t as high off the ground as he was before, he wasn’t exactly close either.

He panted. Now was his chance, before it could recover. He dragged himself to the spot where he knew the wyvern’s brain was to be, then raised his greatsword, arms screaming from the effort. He had only barely managed to outlast it. With the last slivers of strength he had left, he drove the blade down into its head.

 It screeched in rage and pain, tossing its head about one last time, but it was over. Hawkwood thrust the sword deeper, and this time, he could hear a squelch as he rammed the sword further through its head. The beast collapsed, finally throwing him off.

He landed flat on his back, groaning as he heard the wyvern disintegrate. It had fought like hell, but it was finally dead. Melina had been right about Limgrave. Even if it looked beautiful, he had not been expecting that thing to be as strong as it was. He felt something squishy in his hand and turned to see the thing’s heart in his hand.

He struggled to rise, but his attempt was thwarted as he immediately collapsed back into the muck, coughing up blood. Remembering his flask of crimson tears, he let out a shaky breath as he grabbed it, then drank it up. He tested his movements, then winced. It hadn’t been enough to completely heal all of his wounds. I’ll need to avoid any more fights until I can get to another bonf–site of grace. He corrected himself mentally. He was still getting used to this land. Still, before he moved to one, there was something he was curious about.

Hawkwood raised his prize to eye-level, then considered it. So this was the heart of a wyvern. It was a savage-looking thing, riddled with strange stones, but still pulpy to the touch. Still, it had quite a bit of a peculiar beauty to it. It might be useful later on. Still, he stowed it away for the time being. He had no idea what he could use it for, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it would be useful later. For now, he needed to find a site of grace.

Fortunately, there was one nearby, and he began the long crawl back to the first place he had emerged in. He went back to the first step and touched the grace before passing out. He woke up a moment later with all his limbs healed and the blood from the dragon had disappeared.

He chuckled as he let the glow warm him. I was wrong. These grace pools aren’t like bonfires. They’re even better. He supposed that they still filled the same function, but the grace felt far more comforting than the embers that fueled bonfires. He rose to his feet, then turned back to that liar’s ruin. It was time to pay him a visit

A short walk later, he found himself entering the warmth of the man’s bonfire once again. The owner of the little campsite was on his feet, and Hawkwood could tell that he was impressed, despite the hat obscuring his features.

“Good work on felling that dragon.” The man said, and Hawkwood coughed loudly. The easterner cocked his head. “What is it?”

Hawkwood sneered “That thing wasn’t a dragon.” 

“What do you mean?” The other man asked.

“A dragon has four legs and two wings,” Hawkwood said through gritted teeth. “A wyvern has two legs and two wings.” He finished, throwing the a glare.

“Wyvern, dragon, it doesn’t matter.” The man grunted. “You have its heart, don’t you?”

“Yes,” answered Hawkwood. “What about it?”

“No, I've no need for such things, but you may see use for it.” The traveler declared. “The hearts are used for dragon communion, and will grant the power of a dragon to those who deign to do such a thing.”

Hawkwood glanced at the heart in his hand, and excitement bubbled within him.  It looked like he could become a dragon after all. Even if he had only taken the heart of a wyvern, the existence of the creatures gave him hope that there were dragons in this world. He could finally achieve his goal.

But the man wasn’t finished. “I must inform you though, power is not without price.” He warned. “Those who perform such a ritual are destined to eventually lose their humanity, becoming nothing more than a rabid beast in the end.”

“Surely you're exaggerating?” Hawkwood wasn't going to take advice from a man who couldn't tell the difference between a dragon and a wyvern.

“If you doubt me, then very well.” The easterner shrugged. “One more thing. Seek the decrepit church, on the little island off the western coast. That is where you will undergo dragon communion, and reach a new height of power."

“I'll remember that.” Hawkwood would be going to the church as soon as time allowed. "Thank you" 

 The traveler nodded, and soon saw his fellow tarnished off. “May you find success in your travels.” 

“The same to you.” Hawkwood responded before walking away, smiling. He was one step closer to his goal.

Chapter Text

Limgrave coast

That must be it. Hawkwood thought as he peered at the small island from the beach. It was tantalizingly close, within swimming distance even, but he knew better than to try going for it. He had no idea how to swim, and even if he did, his gear would just weigh him down. He was not going to risk anything being hostile on the island.

He turned and walked down the beach. There had to be a way to it, or the old man would never have told him of its existence. Sure enough, after some trekking, he found a cave hidden in the cliffside.

As he walked in, he found another one of those sites of grace Melina had told him about. This was slowly becoming more and more convenient for him. After a short rest, he moved into the cave.

It wasn’t long before he found hostility within, as he could hear the mutters and screeches of creatures inside. He could not see them completely, due to the darkness that the cave provided, and he cursed himself for not getting a torch in Limgrave. Regardless, he could still see that they were short, and they fell easily to his greatsword.

It was not long before he found himself in a well-lit clearing, the creatures scattered around, resting in the sand and rocks. They were grey-skinned and bore savage leather clothing. Their weapons were made from wood, some with pieces of bone added to them. 

Their faces were unlike anything Hawkwood had ever seen. Their eyes were pure black, and their ears reminded him of a beast’s. Their noses appeared to be smashed into their faces as well, and in general, they resembled thralls more than humans.

Hawkwood exhaled. There was a new type among them as well, but it was larger and bore more wolfish features. It was also wearing some sort of bone necklace alongside more reddish clothing. It was clear that this was the chief.

The deserter frowned. He was confident he could take these things on, going off of how the others before had gone down, but still, one couldn’t be too careful, especially with these numbers. He unsheathed his dagger, then charged forward, aiming straight for the chief. 

It took notice of him and roared, alerting the attention of its comrades, but it was soon cut off as Hawkwood tore a gash across its torso, sending it reeling back. The other gremlins made to defend their comrade, but they were quickly dealt with, as Hawkwood used the dagger to pivot on the ground, lashing out with his greatsword as he did so. The result was the total evisceration of the creatures.

However, as Hawkwood turned his attention back on the chief, he was sent reeling back as a fist collided with his head. He looked up, then saw the chief jeering at him, fists at the ready as more demihumans came forth, alongside another chief. He cursed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

The creatures, confident in their numbers, surged forward, surrounding Hawkwood in a hooting, screeching cacophony as they banged their weapons on their shields. The chiefs entered as well, roaring at Hawkwood. It was clear that they intended to double-team him themselves. They were going to make him an example.

Hawkwood sneered. That would be their downfall, in the end. He readied his blades as they charged forward, slashing with their claws, but Hawkwood was faster. He dodged left, then slammed his blade into the first chief’s arm, severing it. It squealed in pain, attempting to lash out with its other arm, but it only impeded its comrade’s attempt to help it, forcing it back as the first chief panicked in a wild frenzy.

Still, its fear did nothing to help it, and Hawkwood easily blocked its flurry with his greatsword. It tried to grab his blade, but with only one arm, it only succeeded in slowing down his blade momentarily as it slid into its gut. Heavily wounded and with no way to stop Hawkwood, it let out one final screech as it died.

The other chief gave Hawkwood a terrified look as he yanked his blade out of its partner, and in return, the deserter shot him a look that was less a smile than a wolf baring his teeth. Nothing would stop him on his path to become dragon. 

The chief staggered back, then barked for its comrades to attack Hawkwood, but the creatures were hesitant. They had seen how easily his sword had cleaved through their chief, and now they were shuffling about, unwilling to attack despite the snarls of their chief. Some were even breaking away, racing to the cave’s exit.

Hawkwood chuckled as he leveled his blade at the remaining chief. “It’s just you and me now.” The chief snarled in return, then leaped forward, swinging its dagger at the deserter.

Predictable.

The deserter swung his own dagger aside, and the chief staggered to its knees as it was thrown off balance. Its eyes were wide with fear as Hawkwood loomed over it with his greatsword, and he considered it for a brief moment. It was clear that it was not a threat to him anymore, but he didn’t care. It offered him no mercy, and so he would do the same. The hunter would not pity.

It let out a terrified screech as he raised his greatsword high into the air, but there was nothing it could do as he slammed it into the thing’s face, splitting its head in half. With their leader dead, the remaining demihumans broke ranks completely, screaming as they raced out of the tunnel the way he came. Hawkwood watched as they left, then turned to the way they had come. It appeared that there was more to the cave then he had thought, and so he continued down the way they had come from.

A short while later, he found himself on a grassy islet the sound of the waves echoing in his ears. He smirked. He had reached his destination. After touching the nearby site of grace, he continued walking, and eventually found a temple at the top of a hill. This must be the place the old man had been talking about. He made his way up to it, passing by the fauna of the island, but upon entering the church his breath hitched.

It was a dead dragon. A dead stone dragon. With four wings.

An archdragon.

Hawkwood’s mind immediately began to run wild with possibilities of what could have killed it. Was it a storm? No. That was far too mundane to be the case. That left the possibility of someone killing it.

He moved in, greatsword at the ready in case whatever had killed it was still lurking nearby, but nothing came. He turned to the corpse and investigates further. The dragon’s jaw was open in a silent roar, and its eyes still gazed emptily. By its position, it appeared to have been sacrificed, which explained the altar at its chest, smoldering with red flame. This must be where he could achieve Dragon Communion.

He chuckled to himself. Finally, the time had come. Even if he had failed in Lothric, his path was about to continue. He took out the heart of the wyvern, then dropped it into the fire sacrificing it. The smell wafted into the air, and Hawkwood could feel an arcane magic emanate from the altar, and he grunted as he could feel a sharp pain flare in his palm. When the pain had faded, he could feel a strange weight on his hand. It was a seal, one that made a symbol. Dragon Communion. 

Still, the altar’s magic whirled around him, and he could sense that the heart had allowed him to take one of the aspects of a dragon. Maw, claw, or flame. He grunted. He’d take flame, for now. He still needed a good ranged option, and the other two were of no use to him the way he was currently.

In response to his choice, the energy surged into him, and he was caught off-guard as pain flared throughout his body, sending him staggering to his knees. He could feel his heart-rate spiking and his senses sharpen, but when it was all over, only one thing was left.

Hunger.

Chapter Text

Agheel Lake South.

No. Hawkwood thought as he dragged himself to his feet.  Not yet. He could not lose himself to madness so soon. Ever since he had left that church he had been plagued with an otherworldly hunger that hit him in waves.

It was staggering, to say the least. Literally too. He had fallen three times so far and quite frankly, he was losing his patience. He knew he wanted to follow the path of the dragon, but this hunger was beginning to get in the way of his other goals. He still needed to explore the land before finally making his way to Stormveil.

The problem was,  this hunger was becoming annoying at best and dreadful at worst. He knew he needed to find another drake sooner or later, but he had no idea where to even find one. This hunger would continue to plague him until then.

He sighed. The best he could do was ignore it. For now, he would finish investigating this area. After some walking, he passed the old man’s ruin, but something caught his eye. 

Further away, across the lake, he could see an opening for a river, a bridge passing over it. He grinned. It had been a long time since he’d seen something like this. It’d make for a suitable distraction from the hunger.

He approached the bridge, but as he did so, he saw the skeletons hanging from its bottom. He frowned. Undeath still persisted here?

His suspicions were soon proven correct as the bones dropped down, then flared to life, reassembling the skeletons. They grinned as they drew their swords out of decayed scabbards, then faced Hawkwood.

The deserter drew his sword uncertainly. This wasn’t his first time dealing with skeletons, thanks to the Legion’s foray into Carthus to kill that bastard Wolnir, but he was still disturbed. How in the world did the undead exist in this land? This place was thriving with life. It wasn’t subsisting on the waning power of fire.

Still, he had no time to ponder it, as the skeletons leaped forward, swinging their swords. It was no use however as a single swing of his greatsword reduced them to piles once more. He stared for a moment longer, expecting the skeletons to reassemble themselves, but something different happened. Instead of the bones moving independently, a cold, whitish-blue flame had risen from the bones, slowly giving them life.

He grunted. That answered his questions at least. Still, what was this strange flame? He could sense that it was different from the embers that had fueled him and the other Unkindled, a cold, icy chill emanating from the flame instead of the warmth that the embers had granted. However, the flame began to fade away as the skeletons began to stir, and he swung his greatsword once more, dispelling the fire. He’d seen enough. 

Still, he couldn’t put the thoughts of the flame and what it could be out of his mind. It just didn't make sense. He knew this place was not Lothric–the surrounding plains attested to that–but how could the concept of death itself be so different? 

He shook his head. He couldn’t bother himself about this for the time being, not while there was still more to be done. He could ask Melina about this later anyway. He hefted his greatsword, then continued to trudge through the water, until a familiar scent greeted him.

Blood.

He inhaled sharply. He had a sneaking suspicion that he was being watched, and he turned around and leveled his greatsword. Sure enough, a man was standing a few paces behind him, clutching a pair of bloody daggers. He wore black robes, and his face was hooded. He said nothing, but the way he carried his weapons told Hawkwood all he needed to know. This man was a killer.

He dashed forward, unsheathing his dagger as he did so, but as he drew near, something curious happened. Blood seemed to grow around the man’s dagger as he swung his blade, and Hawkwood’s eyes widened as a blood blade shot out. 

He only barely dodged to the side, then gritted his teeth. Just what kind of forces filled this world? First, a flickering flame that resurrected the dead, and now blood magic? He knew of partaking in blood to give one strength—hell, he’d done it himself—but this? There was no shortage of surprises for him, was there?

Still, this man’s little tricks wouldn’t help him any longer, not at this close a distance. The man attempted to cast another blood blade as Hawkwood swung his greatsword forward, and the man couldn’t roll out of the way in time, hissing in pain as the sword dug into his side. 

He staggered back from the deserter, panting from the wound, then raised his daggers in a stance. Hawkwood almost laughed. He recognized that posture. The man was trying to parry him. 

Well, that’s not happening this time. The deserter thought as he pressed his advantage, two-handing his greatsword and swinging it down onto the assassin. 

Unfortunately, this left him wide-open as the assassin sidestepped the blow, and he gritted his teeth as he felt a knife plunge itself into his side. Gods. It hurt like hell. 

Still, he was not going to be brought low by this amateur’s attack: He backhanded the assassin across the face, sending him to his knees. The deserter did not stop there, and kicked the other man onto his back. He raised his weapon to finish the duel, but paused as the sound of footsteps filled his ears.

“Well. It seems your cessblood ends here eh Nerijus?” A man’s voice said.

Wait a minute.

“You.” Hawkwood grunted as he turned his head, seeing the old man from earlier.

“Yes.” The easterner replied. “But let’s save the pleasantries until after the bastard’s dead.”

“Agreed.” Hawkwood returned, and he rammed the greatsword into the assassin’s heart.

The old man turned to him. “Well done, although I doubt that he was much trouble for you, given that you felled that dragon.”

Hawkwood sighed. Not this shit again. “That was a wyvern. I thought I told you this, you old bastard.”

The traveler chuckled. “You did, but what you don’t know is that that was a second-generation dragon.”

The deserter clenched his teeth. This was giving him conniptions. “Yes, but that’s why we call them wyverns. They are not true dragons themselves, only their descendants..”

The man waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe we got each other’s names back at the lake?”

Hawkwood frowned. He was still irritated at the man’s adamance at calling the wyverns dragons, but he got the feeling that he would meet this man again. “Hawkwood. What’s yours?”

“Yura,” the man said, offering his hand, and Hawkwood shook it. “I am a hunter of Bloody Fingers. Tarnished enthralled by cessblood who stalk their own.”

Hawkwood gestures to the assassin’s corpse. “Like this one here?”

Yura nodded. “Yes. You can stay the path if you like. I see that you’re not one to let sentiment or emotions get in the way of killing your enemy.”

Hawkwood grunted. “For now, I think I’ll pass. I made an accord—one that I intend to fulfill.”

“I see.” The man replied. “I take it that you’re out to become Elden Lord?”

“I have.” Hawkwood confirmed.

“Then in that case I would assume that you've turned to some alternative method of strength? I can tell by your eyes. Something is different about you.” Yura deduced.

“That’s because I’ve eaten the heart.” The deserter replied, then grimaced as the pain in his belly flared once again. “Although now I find myself hungering for more.”

Yura sighed. “I feared this would happen.” He folded his arms. “Well, if you’ve kept your wits about you, then you should be fine. Just don’t get too carried away with that hunger of yours.”

You don’t even know how hard this is. Hawkwood almost said, but kept it to himself. He stood up and flicked the blood off of his sword. “Well this has been pleasant but I’ve got places to be.” He offered his hand out to shake. “Farewell, Yura.”

Yura took the hand and shook it. “Farewell. Perhaps we will meet again, if fate permits.” With that, the old man watched as Hawkwood made his way to the nearby cave. He sighed. I hope you know what you’re doing, boy.

Murkwater Cave

“Well, what have we here?” Hawkwood muttered to himself as he walked inside the cave. A site of grace illuminated the room, and he chuckled as he sat down at it, taking in the golden light. He would never get tired of this. 

He lay there for a moment, then rose to his feet. It was time to explore. He hefted his greatsword, then began to walked to the next room of the cave.

It held two people, highwaymen by the appearance of their clothing. They were chatting, both of their backs turned to him, and the deserter grinned. This would be easy.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

A loud crack was heard as he stepped towards the chatting thieves, and he cursed as he looked down. He’d stepped on a sound trap. He should’ve known better.

The two men turned around to face him, and they snarled, brandishing their weapons at Hawkwood as he walked forward, unfazed. This wouldn’t be much trouble. 

As he drew closer, the bandits decided that they’d had enough of this fool who approached them, and they attacked, jumping forward as they swung their swords. Hawkwood blocked them easily with a quick swipe of his blade, then jabbed his dagger deep into one’s throat.

The other bandit stepped back from Hawkwood hesitantly as he watched his partner gurgle and fall to the ground, and the deserter grunted as he advanced. He understood that kind of fear, but that wasn’t going to stop him from finishing the job. A swipe of his blade, and the other bandit’s head was left rolling on the ground.

Then he heard knuckles cracking and turned to see five more highwaymen standing and looking very angry.

Well I’ll be damned  Hawkwood thought, taking a low stance and getting ready to lunge at them. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised though. Killing those two was too easy.

This time, the deserter made the first move. He knew that he could probably take them all on, but he was not going to risk the off chance of getting overwhelmed. He went for a particularly beefy one first, dashing forward with a quick stab that easily broke through the bandit’s wooden shield. He staggered backward in shock, but Hawkwood did not let him get away, slamming his blade into the man’s skull and cleaving it in two.

Seeing what had happened to their compatriot, the bandits attacked Hawkwood from all sides, and he grunted as he began taking hits. His legionnaire armor protected him from most of the blows, but every now  and then, they managed to penetrate it with their low quality weapons.

Unlike their blades however, the Farron greatsword was a far more deadly weapon, and he began to ignore the pain. He lashed out with his blade, chopping one man in half, and the man’s comrades did not take it well. Their attacks began to grow increasingly frantic, and that only made things even easier for Hawkwood. He soon cut them all down like wheat with the Abyss Watchers’ signature technique.

He panted as he looked down on the brigands. That had been surprisingly close, but he’d managed to come out alive. He took a quick swig from his flask, then continued throughout their hideout.

 Eventually he came across a large room, with nothing but a chest and some containers inside. Some pools of water littered the ground alongside some plants, but not one person was in the cave.

He chuckled. This must have been what the bandits had been keeping. Well, I suppose to the victor goes the spoils then. He walked over to the chest, and kicked it open to find…

Laundry. Freshly washed too, by the smell of them. He had a brief moment to scoff in disappointment before a familiar voice called out:

“Well, well, well? Thought you'd just help yourself to a man's personal belo--Hawkwood?” The deserter whirled around, and saw a very familiar, very punchable face at the entrance to the chamber, clad in black leather armor and clutching a spear and greatshield. The weapons were lowered to the ground as the man’s face was twisted in shock.

“Patches?” He muttered. There were quite a few questions to be asked at the appearance of his fellow undead, but there was something important to be done first. 

He charged forward and decked the man right in the face.

“Bloody hell man! What’d you do that for?!”  The thief shouted at the deserter from his position on the ground.

Hawkwood chuckled. He’d always wanted to do that. “Because you’re an asshole. Knew it the moment I laid eyes on you. That Unkindled wasn’t exactly quiet about you either.”

“That one always liked to talk a lot, did they?” Patches snapped as he managed to get to a squat.“Well, I suppose there are a few questions to be asked. How are you here?”

Hawkwood looked at him incredulously. “How are you? What sort of cruel sense does fate have to bring two failures like you and me to this place?”

“I don’t know mate.” Patches shrugged honestly. “This has happened to me around Six times now. Got to meet quite a few colorful figures while I was at it.” He wrinkled his nose “Didn’t expect one of them to follow me on my way out.” .

Hawkwood paid him no mind. He was busy trying to wrap his head around what Patches had said. Six times? How? And why? 

He grabbed Patches’ shoulder, then sat down. “We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

“So you’re telling me,” Hawkwood said in disbelief as he and Patches sat, cross-legged in the cave. “That you of all people got to see the end of the world?”

“Yep.” Patches replied as he bit into a piece of jerky. “It was quite a sight too, the Ringed City. Pity I was in a bad spot when I reached it, but it all turned out fine in the end. Except for, you know, the world ending.”

Hawkwod shook his head. He new that the flame had been dying, it had been for a while, but it was clear he had not given this man enough credit, if he survived to the point where it died out completely. There was only one question left that gnawed at him. “How did you even manage to survive that long?”

Patches sighed as he rose to his feet, walking over to a little nook in the corner of the room and yanking out a chest. He dragged it over to Hawkwood, then opened it. “Here you go, you old hound.”  Inside the chest was a set of heavy plate armor, alongside a large, glaive-like weapon and round greatshield. 

Hawkwood frowned. These were the tools of a warrior, not a lowly thief like Patches. Still the weapons’ presence was enough to tell Hawkwood that the bandit had to have become a skillful warrior, to wield these tools with efficiency.

He grunted. “You know, if these weapons came with you here, then why didn’t I see you carrying them when I saw you? I would have thought twice on decking you if you were carrying this shit.”

Patches shrugged. “I just didn’t feel like carrying them around everywhere.”

Hawkwood stared at him for a moment, then decided to change the subject. Arguing with Patches was useless. 

“Well, what have you been doing out here then?” Hawkwood asked.

“Been teaching the other chaps in the cave the ways of thievery." Patches chuckled. "They've been chased out of Godrick's army and want revenge. Something I am more than happy to facilitate.” Patches said with a hint of pride.

“Ah shit,” Hawkwood lifted a hand to his head.

“You killed them all didn't you?” Patches sighed.

“Yeah…” Hawkwood said, looking down at the floor.

“Oh, come on!” Patches snapped. "Now I have to wait another day for them to come back!"

“Wait, we're not the only ones who can be revived?” Hawkwood asked, frowning. “I know about the undead, but everything?”

“Yeah, about that…” Patches said with a nervous chuckle.“Someone made sure that death doesn’t stick to anything around here. I don’t know how, but every time we kill those shiny old bucketheads, we always end up seeing them the next day.”

I suppose this’ll be a question to ask Melina over later. Hawkwood thought. He rose to his feet. “Well, it’s time I take my leave. I’ve made a promise, one that I intend to keep.”

“Going to go for the throne, Hawkwood?” Patches smirked. “Good luck on that. No one has succeeded yet, and not for lack of trying, from what I’ve heard.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hawkwood grunted. “What will happen to you?” 

Patches thought for a moment, before speaking up again. “I think it’s time I moved on to greener pastures. These bandits don’t need me, and I haven’t gotten any new salvage anyway.”

“So you’re coming with?” Hawkwood asked, cocking his head.

“Oh gods no.” Patches said quickly. “I’m just saying I’m going to set up shop elsewhere. I’m going to need a moment to scrounge up all the stuff in this cave anyway. They never used it.”

Hawkwood shrugged. “Alright then. I suppose we’ll meet again later, in that case.”

“Probably.” Patches said. “Farewell.”

And with that, Hawkwood turned to leave.

As he retraced his way back he heard Patches chuckling to himself, no doubt rubbing his hands as he took everything not nailed down in the cave. Hawkwood, for his part, only rolled his eyes. He’d definitely be trying to sell him something the next time they met.

He made his way out of the river, then out of the lake, the hunger of the dragon heart still burning in his chest. As he passed through a bridge, he saw a small group of soldiers, clad in green and red, lying down at a campfire, alongside a man on a horse clad in a northerner’s armor, patrolling the bridge while his comrades rested. 

Hawkwood frowned. So these were the soldiers of Godrick. They were certainly a ragtag band, going off of some of the brown-coated warriors among them, but they were still his enemies. He unsheathed his greatsword, then walked over to them.

However, as he drew closer, something caught his attention. The soldiers’ faces…they were ashen and grey, their eyes an unnaturally milky white, gazing emptily at him. They were completely silent as well, not even muttering so much as a whisper as they rose to their feet, drawing their weapons as they did so.

Just what the hell’s wrong with them? Hawkwood thought, unnerved as he stepped back. There’s no way hollows exist here, with no darksign, but there’s no other explanation other than undeath. Did they die that many times for something like this to happen to them?

He shook his head as he unsheathed his greatsword. Whatever it was, he had no time to think on it, as the group of four charged at him, bearing swords and daggers. They came at him with an almost frenzied pace, slashing even before they reached him, but he smashed their blows to the side with a quick whirl of his greatsword. He then lashed out at the four, and while two had shields that they almost robotically raised, two others did not, and they fell like marionettes with their strings cut, groaning as they fell. So they weren’t completely silent after all.

The two remaining had been shoved back from Hawkwood’s blow, and he growled as he slammed his blade into their shields again, shattering their guard. He sliced one final time, puncturing through their rusted plate and mail, and they joined their comrades on the ground. He gazed at them on the ground, but another distraction came in the form of the sound of charging hooves. 

He turned to see the northerner rushing towards him on his horse, a warcry rustling through the man’s mask, and the deserter grunted. At least this one seemed more sane than his comrades. 

Regardless, he was still the enemy, and Hawkwood gripped his blade in two hands as the warrior made a pass on him, then swung with all his might as the man’s own sword rushed down to meet him. He gritted his teeth as pain flared in his chest, but his own pain was far less in comparison to his opponent’s, who was almost completely unhorsed from his swing, nearly cut in half. 

He checked over his wound for a moment, smirking as he realized that it was nothing serious, but it soon faded as his hunger flared again. He’d need to find another heart soon, hopefully in his path. Maybe Godrick would have one in his castle.

He continued across the bridge, but suddenly he heard a querulous voice ring out at him as he passed by some trees. “Oi! You there! Could you help us out, cully?”

“The hell?” Hawkwood muttered as he whirled around looking for the voice, and in response, the voice called out again.

“You, yeah, you there! Stop pretending you can't see me!"

Am I hearing things? Hawkwood thought as he suddenly focused on the trees. There is no way that the trees of all things are talking, but… The voice rang out a third time.

"Why won't anyone look me in the eye?” It said sadly. “I'm not that ugly…"

Hawkwood sighed. Whatever this was, he probably ought to go investigate. He walked over to the trees, and as the voice muttered about to itself, the deserter saw where it came from. It was a small tree, and the deserter frowned. Just what kind of asshole would turn someone into a tree of all things?

Regardless, it was time to break the spell, and he kicked it , the spell collapsing into fog as he did so. Unfortunately, however, he had kicked too hard, and the subject to the spell was launched back a few feet. Still, now Hawkwood could see that it belonged to a demihuman in aristocrat’s clothing.

"Ow! What'd you go and do that for!” He complained.

Hawkwood frowned. “You were a tree .” 

The demihuman raised an eyebrow. “Hm? Oh, yes, I remember. Some clod turned me into one. You were just breaking the spell, weren't you?” 

At Hawkwood’s nod, he continued. “Thank you. The name’s Boc.” He looked down on the ground. ”I was pushed out of the cave. Told not to come back, not ever. Then I ended up as a tree.”

“Damn.” Hawkwood said, grimacing. Looks like fate dealt you a bad hand as well.

“Lucky you came along, really.” The demihuman continued morosely, but Hawkwood’s eyes widened as he suddenly offered his hands. “Boc the Seamster, at your service, Master.”

“Hold up there!” Hawkwood said, panicking. “I’m no one’s master, least of all yours. Don’t you have something to do now that you're free?”

“No…” The Seamster sighed. “The only other thing for me would be to go back, but I can’t do that again. Even if someone already killed them, the other demihumans will still reject me. I don’t have any other way of giving thanks, so please. Let me be your Seamster.”

Hawkwood shook his head. “Look, I’m glad to have helped you, but I can’t take you with me. The road ahead is too dangerous for your kind."

Boc bowed his head. “I understand…Still, there is one service that I can do for you here. Back in the cave, they stole everything I owned, so I can return there if you like, take some of it back.”

The deserter grunted. He was not about to have this poor sod return to his tormentors for him. “No. I know exactly what it’s like to be cast out, and I don’t want you to return to them. Besides, I already paid them a visit.” He took out a sewing needle from his pocket. He had found it on the corpses of the chiefs. “This yours?”

The demihuman’s eyes widened. “My sewing needle! What made you go and pay them a visit…” He shook his head, then gave Hawkwood a sad smile. “My mum was a seamstress...and that sewing kit was all I had to remember her by. I always wanted to be just like sweet old Mum, so I suppose I-I can’t just wander off on my own, can I?”  

Hawkwood blew out a breath. This poor fool was way too trusting. The fact that he had poured out all these details about his life was proof enough. He leaned down to him. “Look here, I get that you’re glad that I helped you, but you are far too naive. You don’t even know what kind of man I am, and even if you did, I am being entirely truthful with you when I say that the road ahead is far too dangerous for you.”

Boc’s face fell at that. “Alright Master. I–I understand. Where should I go then? I have no home.”

The deserter grunted, then pointed in the direction of the first step. “Go to the church over there. The fellow there is nice enough. Sold me some wares and a few tips after I dropped by. He would probably be glad for the help.” There had also been something called a “sacred tear” there, which Melina had told him to drop in his flask. Its power had been increased, but Hawkwood knew that it was nowhere near the level he had had in Lothric, and the detail didn’t even matter to the demihuman in front of him anyway. 

“Thank you master.” Boc said, then ran off. Hawkwood suspected that he’d be seeing him again further down the line, but for now, he was out of the deserter’s hair.  He turned to further down the road, where he could see a giant gate alongside a group of soldiers camping in the ruins nearby. He knew where he needed to go now.

He continued down the path, and a soldier at the gatefront ruins blew on a horn as they saw him, and Hawkwood grinned to himself. They were ready for him.

He leapt forward and cleaved the man’s head in two before he could draw his sword, but was soon faced with another man who came at him from the right, bearing a hammer that slammed into his arm, but his armor dulled the pain of the blow. Taking the reprieve, he elbowed the man, then rammed the blade into his gut, a groan rising from the victim’s dead lips as he died. 

“Is that all?” The deserter said as he yanked his blade out of the man, then grinned as more soldiers poured out of the ruins. He could even see a couple of wolves among their ranks, memories of the Legion instantly coming back to him. This would be fun.

He unsheathed his dagger, then charged towards them, blade gleaming in the waning sunlight. They swung at him as he reached them , but he slammed their blows to the side with a quick swing of the sidearm. He moved to capitalize on the opening, but the sound of heavily armored boots suddenly filled his ears. He rolled away just in time as the spear of a knight jabbed into the air he once occupied.

As he righted himself, he turned to see the other soldiers rally behind their leader. This was just getting better and better. 

He blocked the next spear thrust from the knight, then retaliated with his own swing that was blocked by the knight’s greatshield, which held under the blow surprisingly well. He made to slam harder, but his attention was diverted as a pair of wolves came at him from both sides. He cursed as he kicked one away, but the other sunk their teeth into his leg, making him stumble, and that was when the knight took his cue. Pain flared in Hawkwood’s gut as the spear drove into him, knocking him to the ground as he roared in agony. 

He struggled to rise, but he was given no reprieve as three wolf jaws suddenly came right into his face snapping and salivating as he only barely brought up his blade in time. They strained to get at him, their fangs inches away from his face, but he drove all his remaining strength into shoving them back, his muscles screaming as he did so. The wolves’ snarls turned into a choked whine as his blade dug into their necks, and he shoved it all the way, severing their heads before immediately rolling away from the soldiers standing over him

He panted as he drank from his flask of crimson tears.  He needed to be more careful. Perhaps it was time to test his new dragon abilities. He sheathed his dagger, instead pulling out the seal he had gained at the temple, and suddenly his hunger crested to its highest. He roared, a wild, guttural cry, then tapped into the dragon’s fire.

The head of a wyvern suddenly appeared around him, and he grinned for a moment before unleashing the flames that were welling up inside. Only a few soldiers raised their shields in time to protect themselves from the onslaught of flame as he roasted everything in front of him. When it was all said and done, only the knight remained completely unburnt, the rest weakened from the flames of the wyvern. 

The deserter unsheathed his dagger once again. The flames hadn’t killed any of the soldiers, but he didn’t need them to, as they were all left wounded and sluggish from the blaze. He leapt among them, then began swinging, using sword and dagger in concert with one another as he chopped heads and cleaved through armor, a whirlwind of Watcher techniques and Farron steel. 

When the slaughter had ended and the last soldier fell, only the knight remained to face him. Hawkwood might have found it unnerving that they showed no reaction to the slaughter of their comrades, but adrenaline rushed through him, making him slightly euphoric as the knight charged. 

He met the attack head-on, slamming his sword against the other warrior’s shield right after he sidestepped the expected thrust. They remained locked in a stalemate for a few moments, struggling to overpower one another, but the knight’s relative freshness won out over the deserter’s adrenaline, shoving him backward and slashing him across the chest. The legionnaire armor protected him from the attack being worse, but Hawkwood was losing blood quickly. His wounds hadn’t entirely been healed from the flask, and he was getting tired. His adrenaline spree wouldn’t last forever, which was why he would make the last of it count. 

He gripped his dagger. His mistake had been trying to fight the knight on his terms, but that would change now. He would school him as he had the rest; With Watcher techniques. 

As the knight went in for a thrust, Hawkwood thrust his dagger into the ground, then pivoted behind him, slashing his legs. The knight’s armor held, but Hawkwood did not stop there, pivoting around again, and attacking his side right as he turned around. This time, they stumbled for a moment, and tried swinging his spear only too late as Hawkwood finished his combo, flipping into the air and slamming his sword hard into the knight’s helm, sending them staggering to the ground. The deserter pressed his advantage, slamming his greatsword once, then a second time in the knight’s armor, and this time it finally gave way, crumpling as the deserter attacked the points weakened from before.

They struggled to rise once again, but Hawkwood did not let them, stomping his foot onto the knight's chest hard, then plunging his greatsword down with all his might into the knight’s less armored joints, and they instantly stopped struggling, life fading away with a dying groan.

The deserter yanked his blade out of the knight’s corpse, then fell to his knees, drained. He had bitten off much more than he could chew here. Defeating the knight had used up the last of his adrenaline, and now he sat there, struggling to stand as his wounds weighed him down.

Idiot. He chided himself. Next time, don’t be so cocky. Just because you’re stronger than most of the things around here doesn’t lower their danger. 

He shoved himself to his feet with the greatsword, then looked over to a site of grace near the gate. He almost smiled at that, but stopped himself. Don’t expect yourself to always be this lucky. 

He limped over to the pool of light, panting as he activated it. As it flared to life, he borderline collapsed, finally allowing himself to grin the rays washed over him, his wounds closing as the light rejuvenated him. He closed his eyes, laying there for a good while, but then frowned as he sensed Melina’s presence near him.

“Alright, come out, you.” He grunted as he opened his eyes, the woman appearing out of blue mist at his call.“What is it?”

“You’ve reached Stormgate.” The kindling maiden said, her voice betraying a mild hint of praise. “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Hawkwood replied, nodding his head. “But I doubt that’s what you’ve really revealed yourself for.”

“Correct.” Melina returned. “You’ve accumulated enough runes to grant yourself strength.”

“Good. I needed more arcane power anyway.” The deserter grunted. He raised his hand as Melina made to explain. “I know how this goes.” He gave her his hand, and gold light washed over her own as she began enhancing his magical power. 

“You should know.” The woman said as she finished the job. “You can do this at the site of grace as well.” Hawkwood frowned at that, and she elaborated. “Just rest your hand on it, and think of what you want to put your runes into. That should be enough.”

“Huh.” Hawkwood replied pensively. “That’s good to know. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” Melina nodded, not betraying a hint of emotion. “Now go. It is time for you to fulfill your accord.”

“Then I will be on my way.” Hawkwood said, and the kindling maiden faded away into blue motes once again. He rose to his feet, then faced the open gate. 

It was time for his journey to truly begin.

Chapter Text

So this is Stormhill. Hawkwood thought as he exited the forest. He was on a large plain, and winds blew around him everywhere. The cold bit at him, and he could hardly see a settlement in sight. In contrast, the wildlife seemed to be thriving, as he could see eagles flying around in the air, as well as a herd of goats grazing on the plain. Still, none of that caught his eye like the small golden sapling ahead of him.

He grunted as he walked over. Now, what could this be?  He could see a tiny seed at the bottom, and he picked it up. He had a feeling that this would be valuable later. Hopefully, Melina would be willing to explain it to him at the next sight of grace.

He continued up the path, but a loud howl rose through the air, a whirlwind surrounding him. He looked around warily as a whirlwind surrounded him, then gripped his sword tightly as three wolves dropped down around him. He had not forgotten what had happened at the Gatefront.

One of the wolves leaped out at him, and he did not hesitate, lashing out with his greatsword and cutting it neatly in half. The other two circled hesitantly, and he did not give them the opportunity to attack as he swung, using the dagger as a pivot to catch them out of their dodges.

He grunted as he looked down upon the corpses. First strange many-limbed abominations, then weird blood magic and necromancy, and now wolves dropping down from the sky. He wondered what was next for him. At this rate, nothing was going to surprise him with this escalating level of absurdity. 

He shook his head. Best not to jinx it, or he would find himself in even more ridiculous situations. He continued his route, but then stopped as he saw a thread of light. It was leading to a rundown shack on the roadside

He frowned. Who would erect a shack in these conditions? Regardless, it was here, and as he entered, he could see a girl dressed in traveling clothes and a red hood leaning on the wall. He recognized the look on her face, one that he’d worn one too many times himself. She was crestfallen.

“What’s the matter, lass?” He asked, keeping a distance from her to make her not feel threatened.

"Everyone's...been grafted. Everyone who came with me.” She choked out as she looked up at Hawkwood. “They crossed the sea for me. They fought, for me.”

Hawkwood's mind was immediately flung back to his days of camaraderie with the Watchers but snapped out of it immediately. “I'm sorry. I too know what it's like to lose one's comrades.”

“It’s beyond that sir.” The girl said shakily.  “They had their arms taken. Their legs taken. Even their heads...taken. Taken and stuck to the spider.”

Hawkwood grew confused. Taken? Stuck? What kind of spider was he dealing with? He had to learn more, and the girl continued.

“Did you know? If you're grafted by the spider, you become a chrysalid.” She said with a sobbing laugh, “It's quite the lark, when you think about it.”

“I suppose so,” Hawkwood said, playing along until he could figure out just what the hell she was talking about.

"You're all on your own, are you? And heading to Stormveil Castle?” The girl asked.

And with that Hawkwood put the pieces together. This spider lived in Stormveil castle. No doubt that Godrick fellow he had heard of. If he’d had any doubts about Melina's words, he believed them now. This demigod truly was a madman.

The girl continued, the look on Hawkwood’s face not giving away anything. “Did you meet a man in a white mask?

“No,” Hawkwood muttered, and the girl mistook his reply massively.

“Oh, you've come to be one with the spider?” She said hopefully. “Well, that makes us two peas in a pod. But I don't have your courage.”

Hawkwood opened his mouth to speak, but she continued, oblivious to his words.  “It's scary, you know. Having your arms cut off. Or legs. Or your head. I want to be like everyone else, but I'm just too scared. I'm nothing but a craven."

“No,” Hawkwood muttered, shaking his head. “I was exactly like you, once, and I know one thing for certain. This is no way to live.”

“You were craven too? But…what made you change?” The traveler asked, bewildered.

“A man far beyond anything I could have ever been.” The deserter said. “And that was because he had never given up as I had.” 

The girl lightly laughed. “That sounds like something impossible for me.”

Hawkwood blew out a breath. He was not good at this. “I suppose you’ll never know until you try.” He said slowly.

The girl said nothing at that, and the deserter could tell that she was thinking it over to herself. He stood up and walked over to the site of grace. He supposed it was time to give her a little breathing room, and he had some business with it anyway. Melina materialized in front of him as he rested over at it, a strange look on her face. 

“You are a far different man than what your first impression gave Torrent and I.” She said.

“In what sense?” Hawkwood said, frowning.

“You helped her and the Demi-human, or at least tried in her case.” She replied,  gesturing over to the girl, still lost in thought. 

“Your point?” Hawkwood growled. “Just because I took pity on those two doesn’t mean I’ve changed. I’m still a deserter.”

“That is true.” Melina nodded. “But it’s enough. Torrent is willing to give you a chance now.”

Hawkwood smirked at that. “So the old steed has had a change of heart?”

“Yes.” Melina said gravely. “But you have not completely won his trust yet. If you lose sight of your goal once again, and prove yourself dishonorable, then he will not hesitate to abandon you.”

“I see,” Hawkwood said as the smile vanished from his face. He clenched a fist. “Then we shall get along just fine then. I have no intention of straying the path now.”

“Good,” Melina replied, then gestured to the open plain. "I recommend you do some exploring now, then. You have your first real test ahead of you.”

“Then I’ll be ready,” Hawkwood said firmly. She made to rise, but he stopped her. “One last question.”

“What is it?” Melina frowned, and Hawkwood raised the seed from earlier.

“What is this for?” He asked, scratching his head. “I found it by a golden sapling.”

“That’s a golden seed.” Melina answered with a sigh. “ It increases the number of crimson tears in your flask.”

“Good,” Hawkwood said, and he dropped it into his flask, instantly feeling it get heavier in his hand as more of the draught inside accumulated. It still wasn’t close to the amount of his old estus flask, but it was still one step closer. 

“Is that all?” Melina said as she rose to her feet.

“Yes,” Hawkwood said, rising as well. “Thank you.”

 “You’re welcome.” The kindling maiden replied, and with that she left, disappearing into blue mist once again.

“Now that that’s done with…” Hawkwood muttered as he looked around. The girl had clearly paid no mind to their relatively short conversation, still lost in thought. He took out the ring. “It is time to test this out once again.”

He blew into the whistle and was suddenly raised a few feet as a horse–goat hybrid suddenly appeared underneath him out of fine blue motes, snorting as it stamped its feet.

“So, you remember me, eh?” The deserter muttered as he grabbed the reins. He quite frankly had no idea how to ride a horse, but he supposed now would be a good time to figure things out. “I don’t suppose you know what I want to do now, huh?” 

At that, the steed tossed its mane, as if to say what do you think?  Hawkwood only smirked.

“Good.” He said, then snapped the reins. “Alright then, let’s go.”

 With that, the horse began to gallop up the path, and Hawkwood grinned as the winds rushed through his face. It was honestly quite exhilarating, the speed taking him past the Godrick soldiers easily. A single swing of his greatsword sent their heads rolling to the ground, although it was a little difficult to bring it back onto his shoulder once again. He had to remember that mounted combat was different from foot combat.

He spied the tops of a few trees as he ran through the path, and his eyes narrowed. This could be interesting. 

He galloped over to them, and after a quick leap down, found himself in front of another shack, this one in slightly better condition than the last. At least, it had an intact roof. He spied a man dressed in ornate armor, holding a Zweihander at his side. He stared at Hawkwood for a few moments, before calling out a greeting.

“Hello there, fellow Tarnished!” He shouted, raising a hand. “What is your business here, at my humble shack!”

“I’m just passing through!” Hawkwood called back, before walking over. “On my way to Stormveil, you see.”

“Going for a Great Rune, eh?” The man chuckled. “Well, I wish you luck on that, but for now, why don’t you train with me for a while? I’ve been looking for someone to hone my battle arts with.”

Hawkwood hesitated for a moment, then shoved it down. He could tell there was something behind the man’s eyes, but if he was going to play friendly, it was best to play along until he learned more– or left.

He shrugged, then extended his hand out. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”

The man grinned as he shook it. “Perfect. The name’s Bernahl, by the way.”

“Hawkwood.” The deserter replied, and they broke apart, readying their weapons.  “Shall we begin?”

"We shall.” Bernahl grinned, and they began to circle each other, blades occasionally touching as they sized each other up, until finally, Hawkwood took the first move, swinging his greatsword in a low sweep. Bernahl easily jumped over it, then brought his Greatsword down onto Hawkwood’s face, the deserter only barely avoiding the attack with a roll. He stared at the man, heart pounding before they continued.

He leapt forward in a jumping slice, but the knight was ready, taking a stance and enduring the blow. He was quick to retaliate as well, as an armored foot knocked the wind out of Hawkwood as it slammed into his ribs. He staggered back, gasping for air, and the knight pressed his advantage, stamping his foot before following through with an upward cut that finally knocked the deserter off his feet.

“You’re pretty good.” Hawkwood panted as he rose to his feet. “But now it's my turn.” He unsheathed his dagger, before dashing forward. 

The knight readied himself once more, taking a stance as Hawkwood went for a long slash as he reached him, but it was no use. The blow was a feint.

The deserter slammed his dagger into the ground and pivoted, lashing out with his greatsword and catching Bernahl in the gut. He staggered back, his armor protecting him, but it set him up for Hawkwood’s next blow, a second slash that he only barely blocked in time. He raised his sword to block an expected third blow, but Hawkwood rolled to the side instead, slashing out with dagger and greatsword in tandem, sending him staggering with a cut on his cheek, armor still instact from the blow..

The knight stared at him for a moment, frowning as he regained his bearings, then a grin formed on his face. It was clear that he had a trick up his sleeve, and the deserter raised his guard as he .

He unleashed a guttural yell as he slammed his foot into the ground, a red glow appearing around him. He readied a slash, his sword glowing as he did so, and Hawkwood only dashed forward. He knew something was up, but he had the sense he did not want Bernahl to complete that attack.

He rolled forward just in time as Bernahl unleashed the attack, a slash of air blowing his hood right off his head, but then smirked as he made eye contact with his foe, slamming his blade down—

Only for it to be blocked.

His eyes widened as he saw Bernahl catch the sword with the crook of his own blade. He appeared to have done it effortlessly, as his eyes gleamed with confidence as he knocked Hawkwood’s blade to the side, then slammed his pommel into his face, knocking him to the ground. The deserter made to rise to his feet, only to see the Zweihander’s tip pointed at his throat, Bernahl grinning as he held it.

“Not bad.” He said as he lowered the blade, offering a hand out. “In fact, you can even teach me a thing or two.”

“Thanks,” Hawkwood muttered as he accepted the hand, rising to his feet. “You’re not too shabby yourself.”

The knight nodded. “I’ve been spending years perfecting each art, as a Warmaster, and I came here to learn a wider variety. I can teach you them if you like.”

“Interesting.” Hawkwood grinned. “But I don’t think I could use those arts the way you do. I already have a fighting style that I’ve been using for a bit, and I have no intention to change it.”

“Your loss then.” Bernahl shrugged. “I hope it serves you well into your journey. ”

“Thank you,” Hawkwood replied as he whistled, Torrent appearing under him once again.. “I suppose it’s time I took my leave then.”

“Indeed.” The Warmaster returned. “May our fates cross paths once more.”

Hawkwood nodded, and he turned, speeding off back to the path again. It took him a few minutes, but with Torrent’s speed, he made it. It was not long before he found himself looking at a heavily guarded passageway.

He sighed as he saw a ballista right in front of his destination. This was going to be simply delightful. At least there were no knights or dogs this time.

The godrick soldiers took noice of him as he approached, and he immediaely was forced to roll out of the way as a ballista shot out. The blot exploded beside him, taking out a few of his pursuers, and he easily slaughtered the men on the side he was on. Some had greatshields to try and stymie his assault, but they were no use, as he dodged around and killed their bearers.  

Still, he was not out of the woods yet, as he was knocked off his feet from a ballista bolt, only barely rolling away as the damned thing exploded. He cursed as he rose to is feet seeing the troops charging towards him. Their attacks may have been slow, but the sheer numbers were enough to make him pause before meeting them, unsheathing his dagger. 

He leapt forward as they charged, cleaving one in half as they surrounded him. Spears and swords cut across his armor as he whirled around slashing and stabbing. He knew the ballista would not fire in these conditions, for fear of risking their own men, and it gave him perfect impunity to slash and stab his way through the horde, not letting any of them take advantage of his openings. When the carnage was over, he found himself panting, covered in blood, both his and theirs. His armor was torn in several places, and he could feel the wounds across his body, but they were worse off than he was, throughly bisected, decapitated, or simply cut down.

Still, his job was not done yet, as he immediately was forced to duck at the sound of a ballista bolt.  He snarled. He hadn’t exptected them to be that ready once the fight was done, but here he was. After a quick couple of drinks from his flask, he dashed forward as they reloaded, firing again right as he reached them. He dodged to the side one last time, then slashed the operator and his two guards down. That had been a pain in the ass.

He turned to the passageway in front of him, then grinned. This must be the passage to Stormveil. He was getting ever-closer to Godrick.

His smile widened as he saw a nearby site of grace on the side of the tunnel, just before the passageway. His flasks had needed a refill, and his armor had as well, going off of the various cuts it had. A quick rest solved both of those problems, and he moved on to the exit.

He found himself on a beaten bridge out in the open, the winds whirling around as he spied battlements ahead. Spears and swords were littered around the area, and he instinctively found himself raising his guard as he felt the sensation of being watched. Someone was here.

As he continued to walk, cautiously pointing his greatsword around as he progressed. All these weapons scattered about told him that something had happened here, potentially a big battle, but he had no idea what. His anxiety mounted when he heard a loud voice call out to him.

“Foul Tarnished.” It echoed through the area, and Hawkwood heard the sound of magic forming. “In search of the Elden Ring.”

The deserter looked around, then spied a large being atop one of the battlements. He was wearing a brown mantle, and although Hawkwood couldn’t see much from where he stood, his skin was grey.

“Emboldened by the flame of ambition.” The being continued, and by the way he stood, it was clear that he was carrying a staff. He stepped closer to the battlements, Hawkwood backing away as he jumped, throwing up a large cloud of dust as he landed. When it cleared, he rose in front of the deserter, an expression of disgust upon his horned face.

“Someone must extinguish thy flame.” He snarled, raising his staff. “Let it be Margit the Fell!”

Hawkwood wasted no time.

The horned being met him with equal measure as he dashed forward, blocking a leaping swing from the deserter with his staff, then deflecting another blow as Hawkwood persisted, two-handing his greatsword. He deflected every hit with an experience that belied many years of fighting, and seeing an opening in Hawkwood’s defenses, he swung his staff in a quick slash that took the deserter in the shoulder, but was soon caught off guard as Hawkwood ignored the pain, returning the favor with a blow to the leg.

He leaped back as the former Legionnaire went for a follow-up, and the look on his face was one of surprise. It wasn’t rare to find aggressive tarnished amongst his opponents, but few could shrug off a blow from him that easily. Fewer still exhibited the ruthless look on Hawkwood’s face.

“Extinguish my flame?” He mocked scathingly. “No. The only thing that will be extinguished is your life.”

“Such bravado from a dead man.” Margit retorted, dispelling his thoughts, and the melee recommenced. The Fell Omen leaped high into the air, and the deserter rolled away in time for Margit to shatter the stone where Hawkwood once stood. The Tarnished attempted to stab forward, but Margit countered, forcing a blade lock.

“Enough.” He muttered in Hawkwood’s ear before lifting a hand from his staff. The deserter’s eyes widened as he saw a yellow sword form in the guardian’s hand, and he only just grabbed his dagger in time to sloppily parry the blow. He paid for it though, as Margit’s staff swung down, sending him staggering as it connected with his side.

Not missing a beat, the Fell Omen swung his staff once again, only to frown in confusion as Hawkwood blocked the blow, grunting from the effort. The blow he’d taken had left him with more than an ache in his shoulder, but regardless, he couldn’t help but grimly smile at the guardian’s surprise. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting an opponent of equal measure.

“Is something wrong, Margit?” The deserter sneered, forcing the blow back, and the Fell Omen’s eyes narrowed.

He opened his mouth to say something, raising his hand for perhaps another strike, but Hawkwood did not give him the opportunity, lashing out in an underhand blow that dug into the aged guardian’s stomach. He heard a pained grunt escape Margit’s lips, but Hawkwood was not done, dragging the blade up out of the torso.

This time, Margit screamed.

Better. Hawkwood thought, grinning as he watched Margit stumble back from the blow. He raised his blade overhead for a follow-up, but the Fell Omen was not done for, not yet. He stepped back as the Deserter brought his blade down, a growl rising on his lips, then pivoted.

Hawkwood had time to comprehend a large, thorny tail before he was sent flying, the wind getting knocked out of him as he slammed into a stockade on the side of the battlefield. He stumbled to his feet, cursing, but the words soon died in his lips as he looked up, eyes wide.

Margit was descending on him with a massive hammer.

A panicked yell escaped him as he threw himself to the side, the maneuver soon proving to be just in time as the Fell Omen crashed down onto where he had stood seconds ago, smashing the stockade into splinters. Margit did not stop there either, as a heavy cane swing sent Hawkwood staggering to the ground as he attempted to block the hit, and the guardian seized his chance. In a flash, Hawkwood’s torso was slashed open by both sword and staff, and he was knocked to the edge of the path, the ocean's blue expanse greeting him.

He cursed himself as he struggled to his feet. He had been foolish, letting his emotions over Margit’s words get in his head, and he had paid dearly for it. The wound in his chest only healed halfway as he drank the crimson flask dry, and his sword was growing heavy in his hand. The only saving grace to his predicament was that Margit seemed to be in no hurry to continue, free hand clutching the gaping wound that Hawkwood had given him, but the deserter doubted that the wound would slow down the Fell Omen for long. He knew he’d need to do something soon.

He took a stance, unsheathing his dagger as he walked slowly toward Margit. The aged guardian eyed him warily as he began to walk as well, free hand a deep crimson color. He showed no sign of the wound slowing him down, proving Hawkwood’s doubts, but regardless, his posture remained cautious.

They stopped a few paces from one another, locking eyes as they did so. The wind rustled through the desolate battlefield as they stood off until finally, each made their move.

Margit roared as he swung his staff in a wide arc with all his might, but Hawkwood was ready, sliding under the blow before lashing out, using the dagger to pivot. The Fell Omen hissed as he tanked the blow, forming a golden dagger to eviscerate his foe, but the deserter only circled, slashing at Margit’s side. He flipped into the air, intent on delivering the final blow…

Only for his sword to meet hardened wood.

Hawkwood’s eyes widened as Margit’s hand shot out instantly, an oppressive force suddenly cutting off his air. His hand instinctively raised the dagger into the air, stabbing into the Fell Omen’s arm again and again, but it was useless, as Margit slammed him in the gut with the butt of his cane. What little air he had had after the initial hold vanished as his weapons clattered to the floor.

Still unwilling to give up, Hawkwood grabbed at the Fell Omen’s hold, clawing at the thick arm desperately as Margit’s grip tightened, but he wouldn’t budge. His mouth opened for a millisecond to scream, but only a sick gurgle escaped his throat. With blurring vision, he watched Margit lean in, an almost bored expression on his face.

“That will be all, Tarnished.” He said impassively as if he had done this a thousand times before. He relinquished his hold slightly, allowing the deserter his last words.

“Not…yet.” He wheezed. Strangely, his arms had dropped from clutching the Fell Omen’s arm.

“Then I must break you further.” Margit growled, facade dropping. He made to raise the deserter high into the air, but a rasping chuckle stopped him.

“As if…As if you’ll get the chance.” Hawkwood panted, and Margit’s eyes widened as a dragon head formed around the tarnished scum before him, fire bursting from its mouth. He gritted his teeth as the fire licked away at his skin, the layer becoming burnt under the heat, but it was a mere annoyance to him. It was time to end this farce.

He roared as he slammed the treacherous fool into the ground face-first, making sure to hold back to keep him alive. He wanted to break him, and it appeared that he was well on his way, because as the dust settled, a shocked look was on the bastard’s face. He recovered quickly, grabbing his weapons, but the Fell Omen had planted the first seeds of doubt. All he needed to do was water them.

He almost immediately swung his staff as the deserter made to disengage, and the man cursed as he was forced to block one-handed, the blow no doubt sending vibrations up his arm. He tried to retaliate with his blow, swinging sword and dagger in tandem, but Margit simply caught the weapons on his staff.

“What’s the matter, tarnished?” He mocked, then threw the deserter’s words back at him. “I thought you were going to ‘extinguish my life.’”

“Shut up.” Hawkwood snarled, but Margit could see him beginning to waver. It was time to finally break him then.

“As you wish,” He replied, then summoned the sword once again. He slashed down at the other man once more, but he managed to parry more cleanly this time, breaking off the blade lock and deflecting the following staff blow.

“That trick won’t work on me twice.” He growled, shooting the Fell Omen a glare. “You can’t rea–”

He was cut off as Margit summoned the great hammer, eyes widening as the guardian lashed out. He only barely rolled away, but the Fell Omen could see that this maneuver was less out of skill than fear, and that was all he needed. A very audible CRACK was heard as he caught the man hard in the arm with his staff, sending him tumbling to the ground with a cry of pain.

The Fell Omen curled his lip in disgust as he began to crawl away, abandoning his weapon as his composure finally cracked. To think that this runt had actually caught him off guard. Pitiful.

Regardless, it was time to finally administer the killing blow. He began to slowly walk towards the man, calling out to him as his staff thumped on the ground. “I will admit, thou hast surprised me at first.”

The neophyte tensed, turning back with eyes wide in fear, and at that moment, the Fell Omen realized that he hadn’t been expecting failure in this fight. His gaze hardened even further. Arrogant fool.

“Now I see you for what you truly are.” His voice began to fill with venom as he continued. This was the true final blow. “A pretender. Not a warrior. You are a pathetic shadow of a man. You shall amount to nothing.”

At that, a look that Margit knew intimately well crossed the miserable little tarnished’s face. He blanked out, staring off into the distance as his shoulders slumped. His face had simply lost all emotion, and Margit knew that if he even had the guidance of grace, he would be losing it soon. This was the look of a man who had given up hope.

The Fell Omen had won.

As he raised his cane to administer the final blow, a touch of bitterness crossed the man’s face. Margit frowned. Something amounting to that was to be expected—many he had faced before had been the same–but not from a man such as this. He wondered, for a brief moment, what he could have been before becoming Tarnished, but banished the thought as his weapon reached its apex. Whoever the man was mattered little to him.

The tarnished did not cry out as Margit rammed his staff into his heart, the same apathetic look remaining on his face, but he did not die immediately either. The Fell Omen cocked his head as the man remained alive for a few brief moments, then his eyes widened. The stench of this blood…he hadn’t recognized it before, having been caught up in the fight, but something was off about it. Like someone had corrupted it, tainted it.

He growled. Whatever this was, it did not matter. This battle was over, in all aspects, and he would see it to the end. He yanked his cane out, tearing it through the deserter’s torso in assurance to make sure he died, then watched in satisfaction as the man finally disintegrated. Some doubts and questions remained in his mind, but he kept them at bay as he turned to the gate.

It was over.

Castleward Tunnel

…

…

…

Hawkwood gasped awake at the site of grace.

“Still alive, huh?” He muttered bitterly as he checked himself over. His sword was back on his back, not a single wound remaining on his body, but that mattered little to him. He had lost again, and worse, he had died crawling away and begging for mercy like a coward.

He slumped over. He truly had been the worst kind of fool going into that fight, and it showed. The string of easy victories had left him brash and arrogant, throwing his former caution to the winds on promise of this new land. The moment he’d killed that dragon, he’d been drunk on his own power, throwing himself into fight after fight and becoming even more idiotic as he came out on top. The fact that it took Margit to snap him back to reality disgusted him all the more.

Gods, I really haven’t changed, have I? He thought bitterly. Just became the same cocky fool eager to join the Watchers again.

Everything he’d attempted so far had been met with failure. Linking the flame, following the path of the Dragon…hell, even his journey for Lordship looked like it’d be fast ending. He rose to his feet, moving to face back the way he came, only to be faced with Melina, arms folded.

“Are you finished moping?” She said, then frowned at the deserter’s expression. It was a look she knew well, but she would not let that stop her, not this time. “Come. I know of a place you can get stronger.”

“No,” Hawkwood growled irritably. “I’m done.”

At that, the maiden’s eyes narrowed. “I did not take you for a man who gave up so easily in the face of a single defeat.”

“Well then, I suppose you knew less about me than you thought you did,” Hawkwood replied sharply.

“That may be so, but I do know that the Fell Omen was wrong,” Melina said calmly. “You will certainly amount to something.”

“No, he was right.” The deserter snapped. Why couldn’t she let this go? “I have been through this path before, and I have no intention of going through it again. I know that I am not fit for that little accord of yours.”

“If that were the case, you would not have dealt with Limgrave’s threats so easily,” Melina retorted firmly, and Hawkwood recoiled as she grabbed him by the arm, eyes blazing. “I am not lying to you when I say you have been the best chance I have had in a long time. You are more than capable of becoming lord."

The deserter stared at her for a moment but finally grumbled out a “Fine.” as she returned it with three times the intensity.

“Good.” She nodded, adopting her usually emotionless expression once more as she clasped his hand. “Now, let us begin. We shall go to the Roundtable Hold”

“And that is?” Hawkwood frowned, and the Kindling Maiden sighed.

“It is a meeting place for Tarnished, whether they be out to seek lordship or to find their own purpose.” She explained, then gave his arm a tug. “Do you have any more questions?”

At the Deserter’s shaking his head, a small smile touched her face. “Then we shall take our leave.”

With that, a small orange glow enveloped her hand, and Hawkwood felt a warm feeling before the world went black.

Chapter Text

Traveling through grace was a strange thing.

It wasn’t turbulent—in fact, if Hawkwood were to say one thing about it, it was the fact that the transition was relatively smooth—but the feeling of his very essence being dragged away left him quite uncomfortable as he made the journey. It almost felt like someone was carrying his very life, and if they dropped it, he would drop too. 

As he was dragged along, he cursed himself, for taking Melina's wretched accord. He should’ve known that it was not so simple as taking her to the damned tree, and yet off he went, expecting this world to be any different than the one he had left behind. Oh sure, it was relatively more pure, not dying, but what did that matter when—

He opened his eyes.

He almost stumbled to the ground as he found himself in a crouching position, forcing him to get up slowly. As he got his bearings, he was greeted by the sight of a large round room, filled with light by a large pool of grace resting on a similarly circular table in the middle. Several different corridors lined the walls, and he could see a ring of swords surrounding the grace. 

So this was the Roundtable Hold.

There was no sign of Melina, but he could see several people observing his arrival, like a man in a blindfold, wearing linens, who strangely cocked his head at the deserter as he looked around. Another man, this one wearing armor, was looking him up and down before finally losing interest when a third man strode into the room.

“Ah, another newcomer,” He said. He was wearing a strange set of armor, covered in eye motifs, and was clutching a gnarld staff in the shape of a hand. “I can’t remember the last time we got this many visitors.”

“Visitors?” Hawkwood frowned, stepping back. 

“Yes, visitors, newcomer.” The man said, evidently annoyed. “Three others came before you, and I must say, they appeared just as odd as you are now.”

“What do you mean by that?” The deserter raised an eyebrow, but the man shook his head

 “It doesn’t matter. Two already left a while ago, and the third is still finding her purpose.” He said, then rested a hand on the deserter’s shoulder. “But I suppose I should introduce you anyway. As your senior, I bid you welcome. It is safe here, and you may lower your guard.”

Good. Perhaps I can stay in he– His thoughts were cut off as the man continued.

“But be warned, newcomer,” He said. “You are a mere visitor to the Roundtable, nothing more. A house guest, yet to earn their keep. Remember your place.”

Never mind then. Hawkwood grimaced, then sighed. “Very well. How do I do that?”

The man shot him a strange look. “Well you’re certainly a downcast fellow, but I’ll tell you anyway. Find the Shardbearers, take their Great Runes, the old song and dance.”

“Great.” The deserter said sarcastically, and the man appeared to notice.

“There’s nothing left to say. Be at your leisure.” He said, then turned to leave. “I have little time to babysit newcomers.”

“Well, you’re certainly pleasant,” Hawkwood muttered as he watched him leave the room. “I wonder where you got that self-righteous demeanor from.”

“So you’ve met old Gideon then?” A voice was heard behind him, and he turned to see a man in a strange set of gold and silver armor looking up at him from a chair. “You shouldn’t be bothered. He was like that with the last three newcomers.”

“Who are you?" Hawkwood frowned, and the man rose to his feet, offering a hand. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” He replied, and Hawkwood would have scoffed if the man’s tone wasn’t strangely careful for all its cordiality. “The name’s D, hunter of the dead. What’s your name?”

“Hawkwood.” The deserter grunted as he shook the man’s hand. If this man was going to play cautious with him, then so would he, especially if this man was a supposed ‘hunter of the dead’. 

“Not very talkative are you?” D mused, then dragged out a second chair from the table. “Well, it doesn’t matter. What brings you to the Roundtable Hold?”

“I’m sure you heard,” Hawkwood replied as they both took a seat. “I’m just another Unki— Tarnished , searching for Great Runes like the rest of you.”

“I see,” The hunter said, not taking note of the legionnaire’s slipup. “Well, it matters not. I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, but the dead serious gaze the man was giving him made him return the look. “What is it?”

“Have you ever heard,” D said slowly, and Hawkwood could see his hand nearing a large sword on his back. “Of Those Who Live in Death?”

“No,” The deserter answered honestly, then adopted a guarded expression. “What were you planning on doing if I diid?”

Hawkwood could not see the man’s expression behind his mask, but his silence said all. “You’re sharp, for a newcomer.”

At that, the Deserter slammed his hand on the table. “Answers. Now.”

D sighed. “Forgive me, but you positively reek of Death . Its even worse than the vestiges of their presence, Deathroot. I needed to know whether you were a threat or not.”

“Death…” Hawkwood muttered, then looked down at himself. He knew the Wolf’s Blood coursing through his veins made him tougher than most, but had the taint of Lothric and the Abyss carried? “Oh no.”

“If it helps, two of the newcomers had a similar smell, but both were far fainter than yours.” D said as the Deserter buried his head in his hands. “One even took up hunting the roots herself.”

Her? Hawkwood thought for a split second, but the thoughts of the possibilities consumed him again. He had thought that Margit was being sadistic when he killed him, with how long he’d lasted, but what if this was the alternative? The Abyss pulling him away from Lothric to spread it further, to other worlds. Unleashing it would doom this land and all its inhabitants, and he had no idea whether he could go through what happened on Lothric.

Dear gods…what have I brought upon this land? The deserter thought as he felt D rest a hand on his shoulder, but it was ignored as Hawkwood sank deeper into his thoughts. Undeath, from the hints of the man’s words, already existed in this land, and if he let his taint—no, his corruption spread, things would become as bad as they had in Lothric. Worse even, for he had no idea what else could be lurking, from the amount of surprises he’d gotten over the past day.

“I can’t be here,” He suddenly said, shooting to his feet and catching the other onlookers by surprise. “If I stay here for too long, things could get even worse for you all.”

“No, it won’t,” D snapped, yanking him back down to his seat. “This is the Roundtable Hold, an area under the protection of the Two Fingers themselves. They won’t let any hint of corruption spread.”

“Are you sure?” Hawkwood replied nervously, but D held his gaze.

“As an acolyte of the Golden Order, you have my word.” The man said calmly. “And so long as you don’t leave undead in your wake, you should be fine.”

“Very well,” Hawkwood said reluctantly, then frowned. “What do I do now?”

At that, D waved his hand. “Go get yourself acquainted with the rest of the Hold. Its important that you learn who you’ll be working with.”

“Alright,” Hawkwood said, and when he rose to his feet, D didn’t stop him. “For gods’ sake, I hope you’re right about me.”

“Oh don’t worry,” The man replied confidently. “I usually am about people. Now begone.”

However, the deserter was not so reassured as he stalked off. If the man was wrong, not only did it mean that he risked far more than the man could imagine, it also meant he could not lose another fight, lest his corruption spread. 

Still, for now, he would need to put faith in D’s words as he made his way to the first man he saw in the Hold, the blindfolded man, who smiled as the deserter approached in spite of the blindfold. “Welcome to the Roundtable Hold.”

“Thank you,” Hawkwood bit out. He had little patience for optimism now. “You are?”

“Brother Corhyn, my friend, a man of the cloth,” The man replied, keeping the smile on his face in spite of Hawkwood’s demeanor. “I teach incantations, the strength granted us by the Two Fingers, and explore the secrets of the Golden Order.”

“And why is that?” Hawkwood grunted. So this man was a cleric. That made him like him even less. “To what end would that be?”

“It is so that one day, if a Tarnished of the Roundtable Hold should become Elden Lord, I might counsel them,” Corhyn replied instantly. “Ensuring order regains its proper form, righting rule over men.”

What a ridiculous goal. Hawkwood sneered. “You’re a damned fool if you really believe you can do that.” 

“What do you mean?” Corhyn frowned, and the deserter laughed mirthlessly.

“The way I see it, if someone is to take the throne, they’ll be out for themselves.” He replied. “Sure, they may be a righteous warrior, or a mage, or even a right and proper cleric like yourself, but I’ve seen many fall to their own pride and hubris. ”

At that, the grin on the man’s face was replaced by a growl. “That is true, but no one can rule alone. Rulers need advisors to prevent their fall”

Hawkwood sighed. This was growing tedious. “If that is the case, then trust me when I say they won’t listen to you, boy. You are far too foolish to be an advisor.”

“Is that so?” The man retaliated. “One of the newcomers was perfectly willing to listen to me.”

“Then he is a fool as well.” Hawkwood replied, then stalked off. He really was wasting his breath on the cleric. Perhaps the curious man would make for better conversation, though the deserter doubted it, going off his armor.

“Ah, hello there,” The man said as the former unkindled approached. “I’m…well, just call me Diallos. The honor of one’s house matters little in these lands. I’ve already overheard your name. Hawkwood, right?”

“Yes.” The deserter nodded, eyes sharpening in interest. This man’s words belied a far less naive man than what the deserter had been expecting upon first seeing him in his ornate armor. “What brings you here?”

“A young woman, by the name of Lanya.” The man replied, and a frustrated look told hold over his features. “She's my servant, but fickle as the wind. Take your eyes off her for but a moment and she's good as gone.”

“I see,” Hawkwood said carefully. Perhaps he had not had this man’s measure after all, for coming all this way for a single servant was rather foolish. “Why is she important to you?”

“She’s been my companion since childhood,” Diallos replied coldly, and the deserter's eyebrows shot up in surprise

“ Oh .” He mumbled, then recollected himself. “Forgive me for prying.”

“Its fine,” Diallos sighed. “Just let me know if you find her. Honestly, I've lost count of the number of times I've had to find her like this. She's such a little tomboy.”

“I’ll let you know if I do,” Hawkwood replied, then turned to leave. “Until then, good luck.”

“Thank you,” Diallos nodded, and with that, the deserter returned to D. 

“Done with this room. Is there anyone else in those corridors?” He said, and the man grunted.

“Yes, there are.” The hunter replied, then folded his arms. “In fact, I have a feeling that these will be your most important conversations.”  

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood frowned.

“You’ll see,” D said, then waved his hand. “Just go.”

“Alright,” The deserter returned, and with that, he walked over to the right corridor…

Only to be greeted by the sight of the girl from earlier.

“Well I’ll be,” Hawkwood muttered, quicly stepping back out of sight. She was talking with a strange, scaly being hunched over an anvil. “She took my words to heart.”

“Who’s there?” The deserter froze as he heard a gravelly voice call out. “I know you’re here.”

“One of you may find me familiar,” Hawkwood replied, and he stepped into the corridor once more. The girl gasped in recognition as he stepped forward, but the being only growled.

“So he’s the one who brought you here?” He said, and Hawkwood noticed the chains on his legs.

“Yes,” The girl nodded, then turned towards Hawkwood shyly. “My name is Roderika. I should have told you sooner.”

“It's fine. I haven’t told you my own name either,” The deserter replied. “It's Hawkwood.”

“Yes yes, all very well,” The being said impatiently, then pointed the hammer he was holding at Hawkwood. “Shall I get smithing for you?”

“Smithing?” Hawkwood frowned, then unsheathed his greatsword, considering it. It hadn’t suffered much in the way of damage at all from the battles he went through since arriving, but perhaps it could become more powerful. He shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“Alright then,” The scaly creature replied. “Lay out your arms.”

Once the deserter had done so, the smithing master looked up at him. “Do you have any smithing stones?”

“You mean these things?” Hawkwood grunted, offering out a handful of stones, and the smith nodded. “I got these off of Godrick’s men.”

“Very good,” The smith chuckled, and with that, he swiped the stones out of the deserter’s hands. “My name is Hewg, by the way.”

“Well, thank you then,” Hawkwood said carefully. This man was far different from Andre, and he would rather not alienate another smith, in spite of the question of the chains.

“Come back in a bit,” Hewg replied, then jerked his head toward Roderika. “I suspect you and her have much to talk about.”

“Thank you Hewg,” The traveler replied, and with that, the two left the room. “Let’s go to the main hall.”

“You know her?” D said upon seeing them. 

“Yes,” Hawkwood nodded. “You were right.”

“Well, that’s good at least.” The hunter replied. “Talk at the fireplace. That should give you enough space.”

“Thank you,” The deserter grunted, and the two crestfallen Tarnished sat down in front of the fireside.

Once the two were situated, Roderika began. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you are here, but what brought you over?”

“My maiden brought me here after I lost to a creature by the name of Margit,” Hawkwood grimaced. “As for you? My words seriously couldn’t have had that much of an effect.”

“They didn’t,” The girl admitted. “But it was enough to let me start thinking of my own purpose. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

“Its not a problem,” Hawkwood replied, then frowned. “What do you think of this place?”

“The Roundtable Hold?” Roderika asked, and at the deserter’s nod she continued. “Well, its pretty impressive. ”

“How so?” Hawkwood grunted, and the girl raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it is the covert quarters of the Two Fingers, and gathering place of champions who vie to become Elden Lord.” Roderika answered, and a thoughtful look took hold over her face. “I never knew the guidance bestowed upon us Tarnished had such fantastic roots.”

“Well, neither did I.” Hawkwood replied, and at the girl’s questioning look, he elaborated. “I’m new to these lands, you see.”

“Well, I suppose we are alike in that then,” Roderika said, then sighed. “Although, it's all a bit much for me, in truth. I'm still looking for my own purpose." 

“I see,” Hawkwood replied. “Perhaps I can help with that.”

“Thank you, but I think you’ve done enough,” The girl smiled warmly. “You don’t have to do any more for me.”

“Well, I won’t fault you for that.” Hawkwood replied, then rose to his feet. “Still, if I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright,” Roderika returned, then stood up as well. “Hewg should be done by now. Let’s get back to him.”

“Agreed,” Hawkwood replied, and with that they returned to the smith.

“The conversation went well, I assume?” He replied, not looking up from his work as they approached. 

“It did.” Roderika nodded. “Thank you for the time.”

“Well, I should be thanking him for getting you out of my hair for a while.” Hewg grunted, then pointed at the Greatsword lying behind him. “Your weapon is over there, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Hawkwood replied as he picked up the weapon, fastening it onto his back once more. “I suppose I should be off then.” 

“Leaving already?” The girl asked, and at the deserter’s nod, she sighed. “Stay safe.”

“Thanks,” Hawkwood replied, and with that, he turned to leave.

Only to hear a voice call out to him. 

“Come, deserter,” It was feminine, and Hawkwood suddenly stopped in his tracks, the two other people in the room looking at him curiously.

“Who are you?” He muttered, and the voice laughed. 

“Come into the room and see,” She replied, and the deserter noticed an open room, the sound of a fireplace crackling within. 

“Very well,” He replied, then walked over. Once he was inside, he was greeted by the sight of a roaring fireplace, as he’d heard, and more importantly, a cloaked woman sitting on a bed. The deserter could see a grin on her fac, but that did not worry him as much as another fact did.

She reeked of taint.

“Who are you?” The deserter said cautiously, and the woman clasped her hands.

“My name is Fia,” The woman replied. “Circumstances have compelled my stay at the Roundtable Hold.”

“And those are?” Hawkwood replied, but Fia shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter. Great champion, would you allow me to hold you, but briefly?” She said. “Perhaps you might share with me some of your lifely vigor, and your stout-heartedness.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t think that’d be safe.” The deserter stepped back nervously. “I’m corrupted, you see.”

“Nonsense,” Fia shook her head. “You’re not corrupted, merely blessed.” 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” Hawkwood grunted,, and the woman sighed

“It doesn’t matter,” She waved her hand. “Doing so will grant me the warmth of a champion, and you, I am sure, will bear a baldachin's blessing.”

“I…” The old legionnaire faltered.

Do you think it vulgar, perhaps?” Fia replied warmly. “Where I come from, it is a sacred act.”

“I see.” Hawkwood replied quickly. “But now I must go.”

“What do you mean?” Fia frowned, but the deserter was already gone.

Chapter Text

“Alright D, would you like to explain to me just who the hell was that?” Hawkwood demanded as he strode into the room.

“You’ve met Fia, I see.” The hunter sighed. “She told you the usual pitch, I presume?”

“A hug in return for my vigor?” Hawkwood replied, and at the hunter’s nod he continued. “Yeah, but there was something additional. She said she didn’t care whether I was corrupted or not.”

“That’s to be expected.” D said resignedly. “She’s an acolyte of Those Who Live in Death.”

“Then why don’t you deal with her?’ Hawkwood replied angrily. “Putting an end to her seems right up your alley.”

“As per the rules of the Hold, I cannot, unless I challenged her to a duel, which she will inevitably refuse.” D returned, then waved his hand as the deserter spoke up. “And that’s what I would have done with you as well, had you not told me more of yourself.”

At that, the deserter gritted his teeth. “Still, is there nothing that can be done? Surely Gideon won’t care that much if we rid the Hold of some taint.”

“Gideon is impartial,” D replied sharply. “As long as one strives to become lord, all are welcome to the Roundtable Hold, and Fia is no exception. Just count yourself lucky that you have prior experience with Death. I’ve se—no, lost friends from this curse.”

His voice surprisingly shook at that last bit, and Hawkwood frowned. There was clearly something underlying the hunter’s stoic demeanor, but it was not his business to push. 

“I understand,” He replied slowly. “In fact, I’ve experienced that myself more than once. Still, what then? If we’re not going to deal with her, what are we going to do?”

“I could introduce you to Gurranq, the beast clergyman, but I doubt he’ll take your words as easily as I have.” D said pensively. “Even if you have deathroot, he’d probably strike you down where you stood.”

“I see,” Hawkwood replied nervously. He knew the answer to his question, but he did not want to be the one to answer it. “What then?”

“Its probably for the best if you return to your journey,” D sighed, and Hawkwood flinched as the words he did not want to hear came spilling out of the hunter’s mouth. “Get a Great Rune, get one step closer to becoming lord, like Ofnir wants.”

“I can’t do that,” The deserter shook his head. “That’ll only end in failure.”

“So you’re going to end up like all the other Tarnished despite being new to this.” D replied flatly. “Why would you want that?”

“Because I have been on this path before, and I have no intention of going through it again.” Hawkwood growled, echoing what he said to Melina earlier. “It only ends in more pain and suffering. There’s no point in it at all.”

“Is that so?” D retorted. “Well then, tell me what Gideon will do if you don’t find your purpose here? You’re clearly no good at any magical art, and the Hold is a safe location, so there’ll be no need for you to work as some sort of guardian. Ensha has that role anyway. as Gideon’s bodyguard.”

“I can follow the Path of the Dragon.” Hawkwood shot back. “That might be the answer to my corruption.”

“Dragon cultism?” D scoffed. “Either strain may be your answer, but know that you will not end up in a much better state than you are now.”

“Nonsense,” The deserter snarled. “Back in the lands where I come from, dragons were capable of outlasting it all.”

“Well that may be so, Hawkwood, but pursuing dragon communion practically forces you to go to the lands of the other demigods,” D retorted, then folded his arms. “And I do not know of your dragons, but the ones here are not immune to corruption.”

“I…damn it.” Hawkwood sighed. “Still, I can’t do this. I am no ruler.”

“Well regardless, you’re damned if you don’t follow through on this,” D said firmly. “ Your journey will rid you of your corruption.”

“How do you know that?” The legionnaire frowned, and D raised his eyes to the nonexistent heavens.

“Just trust me. Now stop moping around and continue on your quest,” He said, then grabbed the deserter by the shoulder. “I don’t want to hear you’ve given up again when you get back.”

“Alright,” Hawkwood said reluctantly, and a thought came to him. “How do I get back to where I was?”

“Just think of the location and touch the grace,” D said, recollecting himself. “You’ll be there in no time at all.”

“I’m going to hate this, aren’t I?” Hawkwood muttered, but the hunter just chuckled.

“You’ll get used to it. Now go.” With that, he sat back down in his seat as Hawkwood rested his hand on the table, and the deserter disappeared.

Stormhill Shack

Unsurprisingly, Melina chose to reappear once he formed again. A serious expression was on her face.

“How did it go?” She asked impasively.

“Fine,” Hawkwood sighed. “I’m willing to take your accord to the end now, if you’re happy about that.”

“Perfect,” The maiden smiled. “All you need to do now—”

“Is go fight Margit again, yes.” Hawkwood finished. “Well, I was thinki—”

“Actually, I was going to say that you should explore,” Melina frowned. “You certainly have strength and skill in spades, but you’re much too reliant on that sword and dagger. Go improve on your defense, accumulate enough runes to enhance your dragonfire, and you should be able to challenge him again.”

“Alright.” Hawkwood replied. “Any particular suggestions?”

“There should be a coliseum around here somewhere.” Melina replied. “There’s also that warmaster you encountered, but there’s something off about him, and I don’t like it, so leave him for last. Otherwise, I suggest finding yourself a shield.”

“A shield ?” Hawkwood sniffed. Using one of those things again would be like sliding back into his old ways. He hadn’t sunk that low. “I’m not wielding that.”

“Suit yourself,” Melina replied dismissively. “Just so long as you learn how to defend yourself with that big sword of yours.”

“Oh I know how to do that,” Hawkwood growled. “I’ve just been playing cocky. You’ll see when the time comes.”

At that, the maiden rolled her eyes. “I sure hope so.”

“Just trust me,” Hawkwood snapped. “Anyway, enough talk. You want me to follow your instructions, correct?”

“Correct,” Melina nodded. “I look forward to seeing the results.”

“You and D both,” The deserter muttered as he watched the kindling maiden fade. He considered the whistle. “I suppose its time you got a little more riding time then.”

He blew into the tool, and Torrent appeared in front of him with a disdainful snort. 

The deserter frowned. “You’re not too pleased with me, I see.”

The beast only replied with an annoyed toss of its head, and Hawkwood sighed. “Let’s just go. I agreed with her in the end anyway, didn’t I?”

Torrent only stared at him for a moment, before he suddenly felt the wind knocked out of him.

“What the…you…” The legionnaire panted, clutching his stomach, before the steed kicked him again, this time in the crotch. “GAH!”

“Torrent, what is the meaning of this?” Melina demanded as the deserter keeled over, and the steed whinnied. 

The kindling maiden only sighed, then addressed Hawkwood. “He wants you to apologize.”

“For what?” The legionnaire wheezed, and Melina turned to Torrent, who nickered.

“Your attitude toward me, apparently,” Melina said, then sighed, turning back to the horse. “You don’t need to do that, you know.”

The steed snorted, but Melina folded her arms. “You are allied with him now that the accord is made, and I can keep him in line myself.”

“Both of you act as if I’m not here,” Hawkwood groaned, and both mount and maiden looked at him.

“Shut up.” Melina said sternly, then turned to Torrent. “Let’s have this conversation in private, shall we?”

At that, the hybrid chuffed, and the two faded away, leaving Hawkwood to pick himself off the ground with a moan. 

“How humiliating.” He muttered, then blew out a breath. “Well, no use in complaining about it now. Guess I have to walk around then.”

With that, he stumbled off into the plain.

—----------------

This was getting annoying.

He had been walking for a half hour now, and all he’d found were the same animals scurrying for protection from the wind. He couldn’t blame them–the gale was relentless, and the cold doubly so–but still, it was very irritating when he was on the hunt for runes. Oh sure, a few patrols of Godrick’s men were here and there, but they were few and far between, and as he passed by the ridge of the Warmaster’s Shack, he considered it. 

He’d probably be willing to teach me, but… The deserter grimaced. I’d rather not listen to Melina after what her damned steed did to me. I’ll check on him after I’m done with this forest.

He hopped down into the wood, then looked around. He could hear the sound of armored feet and work somewhere, a sure sign of a camp of Godrick’s men being nearby. Useful, but more interesting was the cliff that lay ahead of him. It no doubt had a way up, and he would be sure to find it, after he dealt with the camp.

He went in the direction of the sound, then found a large stockade, guarded by a pair of soldiers, wielding spears and greatshields. They shouted at his approach, charging forward, but he sidestepped their thrusts, then decapitated one with a single swing. The other, seeing his dead comrade, screamed in rage, stabbing forward in a frenzy, but the deserter merely grabbed the spear and ran him through.

“Now that that’s dealt with…” He muttered to himself, then entered the camp. “Time to see what this holds for me.”

He almost instantly rolled his eyes up to the heavens when a pair of dogs came racing out of the tent, jaws slavering. They leapt at him in a biting manuever, but he was wise to their tricks, backstepping away, then bisecting them. Unfortunately, the racket of the dogs aroused the rest of the camp, and he soon was faced with seven more men, led by a knight.

“It’s certainly not a good day for me, huh?” He muttered as three of the group rushed him, and he grunted as he slammed their blows to the side, then followed up with a long, arcing cut, sending their guts spilling onto the earth. Maybe that’d show Melina.

The remaining group, however, was not deterred, and he soon found himself rolling away as the throng charged. The knight yelled out a warcry as he stabbed ahead of his comrades, likely confident in his ability, but Hawkwood swung his arm out, parrying the blow. One of his fellows came running, perhaps to save his comrade, but the deserter only kicked him away, then finally capitalized.

He slammed his blade once, then twice into the man’s armor, and he was sent flying back into his comrades in a crash of metal. The deserter grinned, ready to bring this fight to an end, then whirled his blade, decapitating the man from earlier. Walking up to the pile of soldiers, he raised his blade, then dragged it through the bodies of every man knocked down, bringing an end to each’s life.

“Very good,” He heard Melina appear behind him, and he grunted.

“I take it you’re done chatting with Torrent?” He said, turning around to look at her. “That hurt, you know.”

“Well, you won’t need to worry about it again.” The maiden replied. “He’ll appear to you with no issue now.”

“He’d better,” The deserter muttered. “Still, thank you. I’d rather not have that happen to me again.”

“And neither would I,” Melina said with a light smile. “Anyway, I suggest you go do some looting. That knight has a nice helmet, if you want.”

“I’d rather not wear something that obstructs my vision,” Hawkwood replied, then turned around. “Thank you anyway. Let’s see if there’s anything good.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Melina returned, and she disappeared, leaving Hawkwood to sigh as he looked around.

“Alright then, what do we have here?” He said, then began to walk off into the camp. “Something useful, hopefully…”

Chapter Text

He did not find something useful.

In fact, he hated what lay in front of him.

“You have absolutely got to be kidding me,” He hissed as he looked down at the small metal shield in the chest.

“Oh good, you found a shield.” Melina said, appearing beside him. “Now you can—”

“No,” The deserter cut her off with a look. “I am not using a shield. ”

At that, the maiden frowned. “Why not? They are useful, and one would fit with your style well.”

“You’re right,” The deserter conceded, then bared his teeth. “But consider this. They are the epitome of cowardice. ”

At that, Melina raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think that?”

“That’s personal.” Hawkwood grunted, and her demeanor shifted. “Now, can I continue exploring?”

The maiden tipped her head. “You shall.”

“Thank you,” The deserter growled, and with that, he moved on. It was not long before he found another, longer, chest, and this time, he approached with far lower expectations.

“Please, not another shield,” He muttered as he rested his hand on the lid, then grunted as he yanked it open. “Well, this is new.”

A long silvery lance lay inside, the kind used for tournaments and games. It clearly had a sharp end, and the deserter considered it for a moment. The range the weapon gave would certainly be useful, but on the flipside, he had little idea how to use it. Better to leave it here.

“Well, maybe the cliff will have something better.” Hawkwood muttered, and with that, he called out. “I wouldn’t suppose your steed would be willing to give me a ride?”

There was a brief silence before he got an answer. “Yes, he would.”

“Appreciated.” Hawkwood said, before whistling. This time, Torrent appeared under him with an irritated snort. “Now, let’s try not to render each other dickless, shall we?”

The beast gave an amused neigh at that, and Hawkwood frowned. “I like my nether regions, thank you. Still, if you’re not doing it to me now, then that means she got through to you, did she?”

Torrent abruptly clammed up at that, and Hawkwood grinned as he patted his head. “Good. Now, let’s go.”

With that, he rode through the forest until finally reaching the entry to the plain once again. A coliseum was in the distance, and he could see several burning slugs on the ground. 

Well that’s familiar. Wonder what heated them. He thought as he passed them by, then grinned as he saw a knight on horseback. Now here’s something interesting.

He dashed over to the warrior, sword at the ready, and the man noticed. He raised his blade high into the air, and a golden light surrounded him. No doubt it was some kind of healing miracle, but Hawkwood cared little for that now. He slammed his greatsword into the man’s leg, and his steed bucked at the unexpected force. Always one to press the advantage, Hawkwood made to swing again, but the knight got his bearings faster than expected, blocking with his own blade before steering his steed away.

Not bad. The deserter thought as he watched the man disengage. It was clear from the way he handled his horse that he was far better at this than Hawkwood was. He’ll provide a good first test then.

When he charged toward the knight again, the man was ready. He easily parried the deserter’s strike, before countering with a blow that sent pain singing through the deserter’s side. Still, not one to be deterred, Hawkwood struck again, slamming his pommel into the man’s helm and unbalancing him.

Got you. He thought as he swung again, and this time, the man’s horse screamed as he fell off. Sure in his victory this time, the deserter dismounted, then slammed his blade through rusted plate and mail, ending the man’s life—if only temporarily, if Patches was to be believed.

“Now that he’s dealt with…” He muttered, before turning in the coliseum’s direction. “Let’s see what you have in store for me.”

With that, he made his way over to the building, until suddenly, he stopped. A familiar presence was nearby, but it was shrouded in a less familiar one. Fire, but something was…different about it. Most curious.

He wasn't given much time to think on it, however, as he whirled around just in time to clash with a man in full body armor. An eye symbol was on his chest, and it was clear from the mace he carried that he meant business.

“Now, who the hell are you?” The deserter grunted, but the red glow was hint enough. This man was an invader, and if the eye symbol on his chest was anything to go by, he worked for the old man at the Roundtable.  “What does Gideon want with me?”

The man gave no reply as he swung his mace again, and this time, the deserter retaliated with his own blow, slamming his opponent’s weapon to the side and sending him staggering back with a swing to the shoulder. Pressing the advantage, Hawkwood swung once again, but the man blocked just in time.

Well, it was worth a shot. The deserter thought as he blocked the man’s counter, then kicked out, causing him to stumble. I’ll just ask the man himself when I’m done here.

The man raised his mace high into the air, and the deserter frowned as the head burned red. It was obvious he was preparing an attack, and he was not about to let himself get hit by it. He rolled away as the man slammed it down, moving back in to capitalize, but he was not ready for the explosion that blasted out of the ground, sending him flying back.

“Damn it…” Hawkwood muttered as he rose to his feet, but the man was not about to let him regain his bearings, as a blow to the head sent him reeling back, disoriented. The man jumped at the opportunity immediately, swinging once into the deserter’s gut and sending him falling to his knees. Sensing the end to the battle, he raised his weapon one final time…

CLANG.

…only for a dagger to swipe his weapon aside.

“Enough.” Hawkwood snarled as he rose to his feet, and he heard the man gasp as he grabbed him by the shoulder. It seemed to dawn on him, in the few moments he had to comprehend the greatsword heading his way, that he had bitten off more than he could chew. Still, it was too late for him to regret his invasion, as the deserter slammed his weapon once, then twice into him, ending the fight.

“Annoying bastard.” Hawkwood muttered as he watched him fade away. Those were some nasty tricks, but at least the man hadn’t been too powerful. His blows were a far cry from the Consumed King’s Knights, at least. At any rate, he was now free to continue on his way.

As he walked up to the main building, he frowned. It appeared abandoned, with only a shade remaining at the gate, and Hawkwood sighed as he walked up. He didn’t have any proof yet, but he was getting a sneaking suspicion that he had come all this way for nothing.

Well, maybe the shade has some information. He thought as he walked to the apparition. “Hello? Do you know what happened here?”

The shade gave no sign of acknowledgement, but the deserter could hear a few faint words from its mouth. “All I wanted was to fight. To fight, as a warrior, to the last... So, Why? Why, oh guidance of grace, will this door not open?”

“Well, you’re useless.” Hawkwood muttered as he turned away from the shade, then summoned Torrent. “Guess I’ll head back to Bernahl then.”

With that, he raced down the plain,  back to the Warmaster’s forest. None of Godrick’s forces harassed him as he made his way over to the shack, and it was not long before he made it back to the site of grace.

“Well, we meet again.” The warmaster said as the deserter walked into the shack. “What brings you back?”

“I need you to help me,” Hawkwood grunted, then unsheathed his blade. “You said you taught battle arts?”

“I do, but there is something I require first.” Bernahl replied, rubbing two fingers together. “Your runes.”

“My runes?” Hawkwood frowned. “Aren’t they the way you gain more strength?”

“They are for the few with that privilege, but they are also a currency among us Tarnished,” Bernahl explained. “Even a warmaster such as I has to make a living somehow.”

“I see,” The deserter said hesitantly. A question was on his mind, but he put it off in favor of addressing the matter at hand. “So you want me to give you them up front?”

“Yes,” Bernahl returned. “It may seem a suspicious gesture, but think it a mere precaution in the event that…other matters interrupt us.”

“What do you mean by that?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, but Bernahl only waved his hand.

“Its nothing, hopefully.” He said, but his eyes darted about nervously. “Just know that there is danger lurking about these woods, something a lot more dangerous than Godrick’s men.”

“Alright,” The deserter said slowly. Bernahl was opening up a lot of questions, but for now, there was nothing he could do about it. He had the man’s goodwill, and for now, that would be enough. He pulled out a pouch of runes from his belt. “How do we begin?”

“From what I’ve seen?” Bernahl considered as he took the pouch, before the two walked outside. “I have a few in mind, namely this one.”

He took a stance, zweihander at the front, then gestured for Hawkwood to hit him. “Hit me with your best shot.”

“Are you sure?” Hawkwood asked, but the knight showed no sign of backing down. “Your funeral.”

With that, he gripped his greatsword with both hands, before swinging with all his might. However, to his surprise, the knight stood his ground, only being shoved back a few steps before taking up a combat stance again

“That, my friend, is the art of Endure.” The knight said, before gesturing to him. “Now you try it.”

“Alright.” Hawkwood replied warily, before taking his own stance. This was awfully like using a shield, but he’d go with it for now.

“Good, now then…” The knight immediately lashed out with his greatsword, and the deserter gritted his teeth as he felt the blade connect with his side, forcing him to drop the guard.

“Hmmm, not bad, but you could use some work.” Bernahl mused, then retook his stance “Again.”

“Alright.” Hawkwood sighed. He had a feeling this was going to be a very long day.

A few hours later

“Alright, that’s good!” Bernahl shouted as he watched the deserter slice a tree in half with a wind cut. “I think you’ve mastered all that you needed.”

“Finally.” Hawkwood muttered. That had not been enjoyable at all, but training rarely was. “I take it we’re done then?”

“Yes,” Bernahl replied, then frowned as he looked to the sky. It was turning into night. “Although that did take longer then expected. What kind of weapon is that?”

“A useful one,” Hawkwood returned cryptically. Goodwill or not, there was no way he’d tell Bernahl of the Legion. “It just has some...choice qualities.”

“I see,” Bernahl said, then shrugged. “Well, I won’t fault you for not giving all your secrets. I take it you’ll be going?”

“Yes,” The deserter replied as he strapped the greatsword onto his back. “I’ll be re—wait. Do you feel that?”

“Yes,” Bernahl tensed. “It took him long enough.”

“ What ?” Hawkwood said sharply, but the knight shot him a look.

“I warned you, didn’t I? Get ready.” He said, before taking a stance, Hawkwood following suit as a void opened up inside the shack, a blood-red figure emerging.

He was large, clearly taller than most people the deserter had met, and he wore heavy armor, the kind that an executioner would use. A large greatsword was in his hand, with a long, rectangular blade, but most striking to the deserter were the thorns wrapped around his body. Just what had happened to him for those to be there?

He wasn’t given much time to think on it, as almost immediately the man threw his weapon. The deserter’s eyes widened as he only barely ducked in time, before seeing Bernahl charge forward, no doubt having rolled under the attack.

However, the thorned warrior wasn’t done, as his blade turned around in midair. Hawkwood’s heart quickened as he watched it get coated in the same red aura before flying back to the man, the Warmaster in its trajectory. The deserter grimaced, fully expecting the blade to tear the knight in half…

Only for his jaw to drop as Bernahl sidestepped the blow without so much as a glance. He only continued to stare as the knight brought his blade down in a leaping slice, his opponent only barely blocking in time.

“Took you long enough.” He snarled before lashing out with an upward cut. “You should know by now that those tricks don’t work on me.” 

The warrior gave no reply, as he lashed out with his own blow, a heavy cut that Bernahl ducked under before retaliating with his own blow to the leg. However, the stranger was undeterred, sending his armored victim staggering with a kick to the gut. 

It then occurred to Hawkwood that he probably should stop staring at the battle and join in before Bernahl got in more trouble, and he did so, lashing out with a wind-powered slice that caught the executioner in the shoulder, just enough to get his attention. His blade glowed red once more, a sign that he was going to levitate his sword once again, but Bernahl sent him staggering with a heavy blow to the head, and that was all he needed. The deserter watched in awe as Bernahl ran the man through, kicking him off his blade.

He went in for a second blow, but the executioner had had enough. His sword glowed bright red once more as the knight raised his blade, and Hawkwood could hear a pained grunt as it knocked the knight off his feet, slashing through his leg armor. The deserter charged forward as the executioner went in for the kill, but this time, he was ready for the deserter’s interference. Hawkwood only barely had time to comprehend the man’s glowing red fist before he was levitated into the air, the man sending him flying with a swing of his blade.

“Bastard,” He muttered as he regained his bearings. The man hit hard, but he understood most of his tricks now. He just needed to save Bernahl.

However, the Warmaster did not need much saving, as when the deserter arrived on the scene, he found the two engaged in a tense swordfight. The warrior was throwing blow after blow,  occasionally mixing up with that strange red magic of his, while Bernahl dodged each blow and returned in kind. However, the warrior’s armor was clearly protecting him from most of the blows, and Bernahl’s reflexes didn’t save him from occasionally taking some blows of his own, in spite of his frequent use of his stance.

I have to end this. Hawkwood thought as he approached the raging fight. There’s no way he can go on forever.

And he was right. The hunter had finally managed to knock him down with a blow to the chest, and he was only barely managing to hold a bladelock with the man now. It was time to act.

As the executioner finally overpowered Bernahl, Hawkwood dashed forward. The man only barely turned in time to take a greatsword to the leg. He staggered back, a growl on his lips, but Hawkwood only continued his attack, pivoting behind him and slashing again. He backstepped away as the hunter snarled, lashing out with a whirl of his red greatsword, but was still caught regardless as the man pulled out an unfamiliar shield and slammed into him.

“Damn it,” He muttered as he spat out blood. This hunter was a lot more durable than he’d anticipated, and it showed. Both he and Bernahl had laid into him with everything they’d had, but he just wouldn’t go down. Something had to give

He looked up to see the hunter take a stance, his blade beginning to spin in place, and Hawkwood had a gut feeling that this would be the final blow if he did not do something soon. He dashed forward, greatsword in hand as the blade began to spin faster and faster. However, right as he managed to reach the executioner, it was too late. He thrust out the spinning blade in a giant red line, the deserter only barely managing to roll to the side in time, before stabbing him in the gut. Once again, the man showed no sign of pain, grabbing the blade with seeming ease, but Hawkwood was not done. With a snarl, he tore the blade out of the man’s grasp, causing him to lurch forward as blood spurted out.

The man tried to grab him, fist glowing red, but the deserter sidestepped, then brought the greaatsword down on his arm, severing it. That got a reaction out of the man, sending staggering back as he cradled the arm, but still, his hand glowed red. Hawkwood gritted his teeth as he was forced to sidestep the incoming greatsword.

“Just fucking die already. ” He growled as the man rose to his feet unsteadily, but the deserter had had enough. With a single whirl of his blade, he decapitated the hunter, and he faded away.

“You finished him off.” He heard Bernahl walk up behind him. “Well done.”

“You showed me how to fight him.” Hawkwood replied. “Although, how did you know him? You talked like you’d fought before.”

“That’s because I have.” Bernahl grunted. “I’ve killed him multiple times, but each time he comes back, ready to invade again. Its very annoying, I must say.”

“I suppose so, if you have to fight that juggernaut every now and then.” Hawkwood grimaced. “How do you do it?”

“Its a secret,” Bernahl winked, and the deserter sighed. “At any rate, thanks for the aid. He’s upped his game.”

“I see,” Hawkwood said, before frowning. “I suppose I should get back to my journey then.”

“I suppose you should. You’re ready, as far as I can see,” The knight replied, then patted him on the back. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“Thanks,” Hawkwood returned, and with that, he returned to the site of Grace. He sighed before touching it once more. “Here we go again.”

Castleward Tunnel

Almost immediately after he rested at the grace, Melina materialized in front of him.

“You can’t trust him, you know.” She said, and he blew out a breath.

“To be honest, I’m not so sure,” He said carefully. “He’s been as good as an ally, from what I could see.”

“He has,” Melina conceded. “But he can be trying to lower your guard.”

“You’ve clearly never met Patches.” Hawkwood scoffed. “I know how that looks very well, and I know that he’s not trying that.”

“Even then, something’s wrong with him,” Melina pushed. “I can’t place what, but he’s hiding something.”

“Definitely,” Hawkwood grunted. “But until then, I say we give him a chance. At any rate, there was a question I was hoping for you to answer.”

“What is it?” The Kindling maiden cocked her head, and the deserter exhaled.

“He said something about only the privileged few being able to convert runes into strength.” He replied. “What does he mean by that?”

“It means that only those with the guidance of Grace can do it,” Melina said honestly. “Not many have it now, though.”

“Why not?” Hawkwood frowned, but he suspected he already knew the answer.

“Most Tarnished have simply given up on becoming Lord.” Melina sighed. “They’ve lost their way, and even those that haven’t are not exempt from losing their grace. Only a very rare few remain now with the strength to use Grace.”

“I see,” The deserter said pensively. “Why am I able to still use it then? I’m certainly unwilling.”

“Its likely because our accord remains intact,” Melina replied. “Its all the more reason why we must continue working together, but for now, go on with your journey. Do not let Margit break you again.”

“Right,” The deserter growled. She had struck a nerve. “Its time for some revenge.”

“Good,” The maiden replied, and she began to fade. “I look forward to seeing the results.”

“I’ll bet,” Hawkwood muttered, but it was soon replaced with a growl as he faced the fog wall.“It’s time for a rematch.”

Chapter Text

Here we go. Hawkwood thought as he crossed through the fog. Margit was standing in the middle of the battlefield, and he looked up as Hawkwood stepped onto the bridge.

“Well, well.” He called out, forming a blade in his hand. “It appears that the foul tarnished hasn’t learned his lesson. Art thou here for another?”

“No, I’m here for your head.” The deserter replied, then unsheathed his sword. “How are the wounds?”

“Healed, in spite of thine

fruitless efforts.” Margit said disdainfully. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Yes, enough talk.” Hawkwood growled, and a wave of fire came surging toward the Fell Omen, who grunted as he was forced to guard against the heat. He dispelled the flames with a simple swing of his staff, then frowned as he saw the deserter charge forward with blades in hand.

“Beginning with the tricks already?” He muttered, then switched his sword for a handful of daggers. “No matter.”

He lashed out, throwing the daggers as the man crossed the bridge. He managed to deflect most of them with a swing of his sword, but the Fell Omen noted with a satisfied grunt that one had managed to penetrate his arm. However, it did not seem to hinder him, as he dashed towards Margit with an overhand strike.

This is new. The Fell Omen noted as he blocked the strike, then forced the man back with a conjured sword.  He attempted to follow up with his own overhand swing, but the man rolled aside, then cut deep into Margit’s calf with the dagger. The being frowned, lashing out with his tail, but the deserter ducked under and cut deep into his hip.

Noting the damage he was taking, the Omen leaped back, tossing a dagger that the man rolled past, but that only proved to be a setup for Margit’s next move, as he grabbed Hawkwood and threw him towards the edge. The deserter only barely caught himself in time to prevent certain doom.

That was a dirty trick. He thought as he dodged Margit’s follow-up, a jumping slam, then gritted his teeth as he blocked a swing from his spectral blade. But judging by how he was fighting harder, it's clear that he was bothered. That’s progress.

He swung again right as he dodged another of the Fell Omen’s strikes, this time cutting into his forearm. Margit grunted as he formed the dagger once again, but the deserter managed to recover in time to step back from his riposte. He went for another swing, but his luck finally ran out as the Omen reversed the grip on his cane, slamming its handle into his forehead. 

He staggered back, stunned, and that was all Margit needed. He summoned the hammer, and Hawkwood’s eyes widened as the Fell Omen slammed it into him, sending him crashing into the gate wall. He groaned as he felt his ribs bruised, but thankfully nothing was broken. However, when he looked back at the Fell Omen’s position, he was no longer there.

“Not this time, you bastard.” He muttered, then threw himself forward as Margit crashed down where he was seconds earlier. The Fell Omen’s tail came thrashing about almost immediately, but the deserter ducked under once again, then drove his sword into Margit’s back. The result was immediate. The guardian howled in pain, stumbling forward as Hawkwood withdrew his blade.

Its time. The deserter thought as Margit turned to face him, then jumped forward, blades poised for the Fell Omen’s chest. He tried to raise his cane in defence, but it was no use, as the blades slid past him and plunged right through his sternum. Hawkwood growled as he rammed the blade all the way home, tearing right through his heart.

Or at least, where his heart should have been.

“Enough!” Margit roared, then yanked the deserter from his chest, slamming him into the ground.

“What the hell are you?” Hawkwood demanded, but the Fell Omen only sneered.

“Wouldn’t thou like to know?” He snarled, before slamming his fist into Hawkwood’s face. The deserter felt his nose fracture, but that was only the beginning, for he gasped as Margit slammed his fist into his gut. The Fell Omen began to lay into him, blows raining down all over his body, and it was all Hawkwood could do to stop himself from blacking out. If he didn’t do something soon, Margit would reduce him to a bloody smear.

He spied the hilt of his sword in between the blows, still buried within the Fell Omen’s chest. He did not appear to be too bothered by the wound, but maybe, if he yanked it out…then maybe he could still salvage this. He only needed to bait him closer, for the Fell Omen’s long arm kept the sword just out of reach from Hawkwood.

He fumbled for his seal as Margit raised his fist again, and the Fell Omen sneered. “Oh, I don’t think so, Tarnished.”

He leaned in, and Hawkwood cried out as Margit slammed his fist into the arm, cracking it. The Fell Omen’s face was locked in grim finality as he looked down on the deserter, and he formed a blade to finish the duel. “Its over.”

“Not yet.” Hawkwood panted, and Margit cocked his head.

“Defiant to the end, I see. Then perhaps thou needs to–HGH!” He was cut off as Hawkwood grabbed his greatsword, then yanked it out with all his might. Margit staggered back once again as blood burst forth from the wound, Hawkwood seizing the opportunity to heal with his flasks, 

That was way too close. He thought as he regained his bearings. That exchange had costed him far more then Margit, for his flask was empty, and his body still ached from the onslaught. The fact that Margit was now looking at him with pure hatred did not help matters.The only saving grace appeared to be that he was hurt as bad as Hawkwood had been, for his hand was clutched right over his chest.

Then I have to move now, while he’s still recovering. The deserter thought, then dashed forward with blades in hand. The Fell Omen snarled as he slammed his cane down, but Hawkwood sidestepped, then slashed out a line across his gut. Growling, he was forced back as he blocked the deserter’s other strikes, but was wounded nonetheless as Hawkwood slipped into his guard, taking advantage of his present wound to land another blow to the leg, forcing Margit to his knees. The Fell Omen cried out as Hawkwood slammed his blade into him, once, then twice, forcing him to the ground.

“You’re through.” The deserter hissed as he jumped up, blades aimed at the neck, only to hit raw stone as the Fell Omen rolled aside. His breaths were labored, but he had finally removed his hand from the wound, now slick with blood as he took a stance of his own.

“Not quite yet.” He said calmly, and Hawkwood couldn’t help but growl in frustration.

“How are you even able to stand at this point?” He demanded. “I’ve dealt enough damage for any creature to be on the ground dead, but you’re still standing just fine with all those wounds. It’s not right.”

“Thou catcheth on well, for a Tarnished.” The Omen panted, then leveled his staff at Hawkwood. “But it matters not. Shall we end this petty duel, then?”

“Yes.” Hawkwood snarled, and the melee resumed. Hawkwood ducked under as Margit swung his cane in a horizontal arc, then had his own strike blocked as Margit summoned a golden sword. He growled as he broke the bladelock, rolling aside as the Omen went for a slash of his conjured blade, but took damage anyway as Margit switched to a dagger and stabbed him in the gut. He staggered back, clutching the wound, but had no time to dwell on it as he sidestepped a staff swing. 

The Fell Omen pressed his advantage, flipping around and lashing his tail at the deserter, who couldn’t duck in time as he was sent stumbling back further. He switched styles, from offense to defense as Margit gained momentum, swapping from staff to sword to dagger as if all were the same weapon and they were extensions of him. He got in blows with his own dagger when he could, but the Fell Omen did not seem too bothered by them, for Hawkwood soon found himself at the edge of the cliff, the staff leveled at his throat.

“Yield.” He panted, arm pressed once more on his chest wound.  “For this is thy end.”

The deserter swallowed. He’d gotten so close, but this was it. Either the sea, or Margit’s cane, but he doubted it would matter either way. His own wounds matched the Fell Omen’s, and unlike him, he couldn’t push on. He didn’t like it, but the only thing he could do now was not die like a dog.

He lifted his chin in defiance. “I refuse.”

The reaction from Margit was simple. 

“Then die ignobly.” He snarled and thrust forward. Hawkwood sank to his knees as the staff went through his chest and out his back, and the Fell Omen shook his head as he looked down on the corpse of his dead foe.

“Stay down this time, Tarnished.” He said, then groaned as he turned to leave. Even if he’d won the fight, that man had done a number on him, and he would need to find another host soon. He had been lucky to possess a troll this ti–.

What was that sound?

He turned around to see a flare of energy from the tarnished. It was nothing really, just the faintest glow, but Margit would not have minded it as much had it not been for one thing.

It was not grace.

He was sure he could have imagined it, but a dark, reddish glow had flared from the man for the faintest moment. It was not anything he had ever recognized before, for his brother’s own blood had taken a far different color than this, as had that infernal communion magic the man had used earlier. 

Still, if not either of them, then what was this? He stared at the corpse for a while longer, but nothing more came from it. It was only when he heard the sound of an eagle’s cry that he finally took his eyes off it.

“It must have been nothing.” He muttered, then began to walk back to the Stormveil pathway. “More tarnished have been coming around here as of late. I should—”

He was cut off as he heard a sword stab into the ground behind him. The Omen turned around to see something that even made his cursed blood go cold. 

The Tarnished, although he had been positive that he’d run him straight through the heart, was now hunched over, wounds seemingly healed. He seemed to growl upon seeing the Fell Omen again, and he rose to his feet, taking up the stance with dagger and sword again.

“What in the Erdtree’s name…” Margit muttered, before raising his staff once more. “Thou should be dead right now. How?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The deserter snarled, before dashing forward. The Fell Omen staggered back as the tip of the Farron Greatsword stabbed him in the gut, then stumbled further as Hawkwood swung upward, dragging the sword through his innards. He growled as he swung out, but the deserter slapped the blow aside, then roared as he slammed the greatsword into his legs, forcing him down once more. 

Margit hissed as he formed a dagger one last time, then rammed it into the deserter’s gut, but it might as well have been an irritant, for Hawkwood picked up the blade, then swung for the neck. The Fell Omen howled in rage as he swung his staff to block, but the deserter was fresh, and he overpowered the blow with ease, decapitating the aged guardian.

I shall remember thee, Tarnished. He whispered as he began to fade into golden dust. Smoldering with thy meagre flame. Cower in fear, of the Night. The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter.

“That didn't kill him. Perfect” The deserter muttered as he watched the dust get blown away. “Still, it's done. There’s no way he could have survived that.”

"Very good," He heard Melina appear behind him, then turned to look at her. "But we have more pressing matters to discuss.” 

“Please, after I touch the Grace." Hawkwood sighed.  "I don’t know what happened there, but it helped me some–” 

He stopped himself as he noticed the concerned look on the maiden's face. "What is it?"

“That wasn’t Grace.” She said, and the deserter’s look changed to one of dismay as she continued. “That was…something else entirely. I’m not sure what.”

“You…you can’t be serious.” He said, then stumbled back. “I can’t really have taken that with me here."

"What do you mean?" Melina frowned, but the deserter ignored her as he sat down.

"The Unkindled took their cinders, for Gods' sakes!" He rambled, then frowned as he came to a realization. "Unless…that dirty little rat.”

"Would you like to tell me what you're going on about?" Melina demanded, and the deserter gave her a grave look.

“Take a seat. It's time I tell you of my homeland.”

Chapter Text

“Your homeland,” Melina noted as she took her seat. “You speak of it like a curse.”

“For it was cursed, centuries ago.” The deserter said grimly. “But the details are for later. You know that I served in a legion, correct?”

“Yes,” Melina nodded. “But you never stated its purpose.”

“I didn’t.” Hawkwood conceded grimly. “And perhaps I should have, considering the mess we are in now.” 

“What do you mean by that?” Melina frowned, and the deserter sighed.

“They were hunting something.” He said. “Something that could affect even gods. The Abyss.”

“Affecting even the gods?” The Kindling Maiden said in confusion. “Do you mean something like the Blackflame?”

“I don’t know what that is, but I suspect it's different from what I say,” Hawkwood said. “In my homeland, Fire is sacred, the soul of the world. What I speak of is the opposite, pure darkness. Its driven only to consume and corrupt.”

“So it's not like the Blackflame.” Melina mused. “More the Frenzied Flame.”

“Chaos? That faded out in Lothric ages ago.” Hawkwood scoffed. “And besides, even demons feared the Abyss.”

“Demons?” Melina frowned, before shaking her head. “No, the Frenzied Flame is different. It enslaves and bends to its will all who turn to it, turning them into kindling for itself.”

“Then it is more like the First Flame then.” Hawkwood said. “Centuries of gods, heroes, and fodder were fed to it to keep the world alive.”

“What do you mean?” Melina frowned, and Hawkwood grunted.

“I need to explain the whole story. Centuries ago, perhaps even longer, a god sacrificed his soul to fuel the First Flame.” He said. “Whether to fuel his age or because he feared the Dark, it's too far back to ever learn the whole truth.” 

“I see.” Melina said pensively. “Continue.”

“One thing we do know is that the Abyss was an ever-present threat.” The deserter said. “One of the earliest times it awakened, it completely annihilated the region it was in, corrupting its inhabitants and destroying the city. It would never have been stopped had it not been for the Wolf, the greatest of the god’s knights.”

“The Wolf?” Melina said in interest, and Hawkwood nodded.

“It was said that he could walk the Abyss himself.” The deserter said with a tone of reverence. “He was a master with the blade, and from him, the Legion arose. The Abyss Watchers.”

“And this is where it leads to the present?” Melina asked.

“Yes,” Hawkwood said. “They were dedicated to stamping out the corruption, even reducing kingdoms to dust at the slightest hint. Complete masters of the offense, fighting like the Wolf they strive to emulate.”

“So that’s where you get your fighting style from.” Melina noted.

“Yes, but I wasn’t always like this.” Hawkwood said, then chuckled mirthlessly. “They used to scorn me for using a shield.”

“You?” Melina said, a light smile tugging at her lips. “Ironic.”

“Well, I had made my own choices to take up their legacy before finding my own.” Hawkwood said, before frowning. “I didn’t know it would be a permanent arrangement.”

He shook his head. “But enough of that. You wish to know more of the Legion, correct?”

“Yes,” Melina nodded. “What happened to them?”

“They fell,” The deserter said “Perhaps they were doomed from the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” Melina raised an eyebrow, and Hawkwood sighed. 

“They partook in blood from the Old Wolf of Farron.” He said grimly. “It empowered them, emboldened them. When they were called to submit themselves to the flame, they all listened.”

“Except for you.” Melina concluded.

“Correct.” The deserter said. “I couldn’t take it anymore by that point. Even with the blood, we were still susceptible to the Abyss. You could never know whether your friends would turn on you tomorrow or the day after. I did not want to compound an eternity of flame to that as well.  On the night we were supposed to leave, I disappeared”

“And so they fed themselves into the Flame without you?” Melina frowned. “A cowardly action, to be sure.”

“Perhaps I was one.” Hawkwood said before shaking his head. “But at any rate, they burned, and with them, their blood dried up.”

“And that lead the Abyss to ravage Lothric?” Melina surmised, and the deserter nodded.

“I won’t lie to you when I say that I did not stamp it out after they threw themselves in.” He said not without a hint of regret. “It took it some time to muster after the Watchers went in, leaving me to wander, but when it did arise, it was terrifying. The Undead Curse worked itself into overdrive,"

“And you ran?” Melina frowned 

“Yes, I did.” The deserter said honestly. “And perhaps I didn’t stop running. People came for me when they found out that I was a former Watcher, cursing me for not doing my duty, but all I was concerned of was myself.”

“Were you killed?’ Melina asked, and Hawkwood shook his head.

“No. I tried sacrificing myself to the Flame instead.” He said. “Out of shame or out of a desire for glory, I do not know, but I failed regardless.”

“Did that bring you here?” Melina guessed.

“No.” Hawkwood shook his head. “The curse upon Lothric worsened.”

“Elaborate.” Melina said simply. 

“It was the First Flame,” Hawkwood sneered. “Even though it kept the world running, that did not stop it from causing a slew of problems. The Undead curse, the scouring of the world, and the Unkindled.”

“The Unkindled?” Melina frowned.

“Those who failed to link the Flame, reborn after Prince Lothric refused to link the Flame.” Hawkwood said. “Any more gods or heroes that remained had already fled by that point. They were smart for that. By then, the world was a corpse feebly clinging to life. We failures were all that remained.”

“And you were one of them?” Melina raised an eyebrow, and at the deserter’s nod, she seemed surprised for once. 

“Yes, little more than Ash.” The deserter said with an empty smile. “Others who had sacrificed themselves to the Flame and succeeded had been spat out as well, as our targets. Mine was the Abyss Watchers.”

“What had happened to them?” Melina queried.

“They had been corrupted by the Abyss.” The deserter grunted. “With their blood dried up, they had been left susceptible, and so had their home, Farron Keep.”

“I see,” Melina said, and her voice became level once more. “And what about you?”

“I did nothing,” Hawkwood replied. “What was the point to it all, when the Dark would be coming soon? Better for another to do it.”

“And did someone?” The maiden asked.

“Yes, someone did.” Hawkwood said hardly. “Someone who ended up becoming the death of me.”

“What do you mean?” Melina frowned, and the deserter growled.

“After some time, some Unkindled showed up, and unlike the rest, actually seemed to be succeeding at killing the Lord of Cinder.” He said. “I became inspired by them, and we ended up following the Path of the Dragon.”

“Like Communion?” Melina pressed, but Hawkwood shook his head.

“No,” He grunted. “in Lothric, Dragons were everlasting, and I wanted to survive what was to come by emulating them.”

“Very well,” Melina said. “Continue.”

“We got to the top of the mountain, and each of us received a stone, bearing the dragons’ power.” He said. “I received the head, and I wanted to get the other, so I challenged them to a duel.”

“One that you lost, evidently.” Melina observed.

“I won at first,” The deserter growled. “But then they decided to come back and try again.”

“And that brings us to where we are now.” Melina said, then cocked her head. “But that doesn’t explain what happened against Margit.”

“It does,” Hawkwood snarled . “Because the bastard was wielding a sword covered in tainted blood. One made from the corrupted soul of the Watchers.”

Melina made the connection instantly. “Wait, so you mean…”

“Yes,” The deserter said grimly. “The blade must have fragmented, and I took it with me here.”

“That is…” The maiden rose to her feet. “That is not good.”

“It isn’t.” Hawkwood said. “If I let it spread…”

“The Lands Between would be at risk.” Melina agreed. “I have a question.”

“What is it?’ 

“Do you know of the Outer Gods?” 

“No.” Hawkwood shook his head. “What, do you think that my corruption is one’s work?”

“Perhaps.” The maiden said pensively. “But we need more time to know. For now, go on.”

“Wait, go on? ” Hawkwood frowned. “Did I not just tell you why I can’t?”

“There may be a way to burn your corruption away.” Melina said calmly. “But it is only accessible if you deal with these trials.”

“What do you–its not that simple!” Hawkwood snarled. “This is much too big of a risk, and the Abyss is too powerful to be contained by any mere solution. Centuries attest to that.”

“I think you will be surprised as to the contents of the Lands Between.” Melina said firmly, then pointed toward the gatehouse. “Now then, you have a job to do. Enter Stormveil Castle.”

“But–” The deserter started, but was cut off as Melina disappeared. “Damn it!”

He gritted his teeth as he rose from the site of Grace, then walked over to the aforementioned gatehouse. A tall old man was inside, and he perked up as Hawkwood walked in. 

“Ah, you’re Tarnished aren’t,” He grinned. “I would advise against taking the main gate into the Castle, for its guarded by hardened old hands.”

“Great,” Hawkwood said sarcastically. “Do you know anything else?”

“Well, this opening here should be fine for entry into the Castle.” The man said. “The guards don’t know about it, so you should breach in undetected.”

“Good.” The deserter said, before walking outside, hopping down to an overgrown clearing. Other than a few birds that were slashed down, nothing was around, and a site of Grace lay in the center.

“This will be useful.” He noted as he touched the grace before looking further ahead. A series of wooden platforms lay on the castle walls, and he noticed a few guards standing in strategic positions.

“Not guarded, huh?” He muttered, and he unsheathed his greatsword as he began his excursion into Stormveil.

Chapter Text

That felt too easy. Hawkwood thought as his blade cleaved through the Banished Knight’s neck. He had been inhumanly fast, but that had mattered little when Hawkwood had spent half his life alongside men of greater caliber.

He looked around. That had been the last opponent in his ascent through the tower, and now all he needed to do was head up. With a short climb up the stairs, he soon found himself near a site of grace. After a short rest, he went outside.

You can’t be serious. He frowned as he saw the pair of birds ahead of him. Some barrels littered the area around them, but that mattered little as he yanked out his seal. Who trained all these birds anyway?

The answer was lost to him, as with a quick burst of dragonfire, the pathway was reduced to a patchwork of holes, the birds screeching in agony as they died. With nothing more to impede him, the deserter strode forward, slashing aside the next birds before he realized something.

The sky was dark. 

That’s…not supposed to happen. He thought nervously as he looked around. If it’s Dark then that means the Age-

No.

He shook his head. No, it doesn’t mean that. It just means that the tree has dimmed. Its nothing more than that. It cannot be anything more than that. 

He hefted his greatsword. All that’s left is to continue. I have to–

“Tarnished, may I have a word?” A voice snapped him out of his reverie, and he whirled around to see a blue-skinned woman sitting on a crate, dressed in white robes. She had two faces.

“Who are you?” Hawkwood said warily, readying his sword. A strange presence was about her, and he did not trust it. 

“There is no need for thy roughness, Tarnished.” The girl said calmly “I am the Witch Renna. May I have thine name?”

“Hawkwood.” The deserter said carefully, sheathing his blade. “But to what purpose am I owed this visit? Surely not for a mere social call.”

“Correct, Hawkwood.” Renna replied. “I have been hearing…tales of newcomers to the Lands Between. Some speaking of a land where the sun never sets. . I presume you’re one of them?”

The deserter tensed. “I thought I was the only one brought here.”

“As did the others I visited.” Renna said, then cocked her head at the sound of a clash of metal on metal. “One may even be nearby.”

“ What? ” Hawkwood demanded, but the woman only gave a cryptic smile.

“I suspect thee and she will be acquaintances soon, if not allies.” She said, then pulled out a bell. “But regardless, you ought to have this, as Torrent’s new master.”

“What is this?” The deserter grunted as he took the item. “And why?”

“I was entrusted it by Torrent’s former master, to give to their successor.” She said. “Tis a bell for summoning spirits. Summon them with it, from ash unreturned to the Erdtree.”

“This sounds familiar.” Hawkwood muttered, and the woman chuckled as she took out some ash from a jar.

“I suspect it would, to one such as thou.” She said amusedly. “These are of three wolves, they will obey thine command but briefly as they recall battles past.”

“Thank you.” Hawkwood said, and his eyes narrowed. “But something still feels off about this.”

“Perhaps it is because we shall not meet again.” Renna said plainly then rose to her feet. “Forgive mine intrusion, Hawkwood. I doubt we shall meet again. But all the same, learn well thee Lands Be–.”

“You’re not who you say you are, aren’t you?” Hawkwood said suddenly, and the witch blinked.

“Perhaps I am not.” She said, expression unreadable. “But regardless, you ought to be on your way. How long will it be, I wonder...before the Tarnished tire of obeisance to the Two Fingers?”

And with that, she was gone.

“Strange woman.” The deserter muttered, before hefting his greatsword. “But there’s nothing I can do now.”

He began to walk through the path, descending down a set of stairs to see a rooftop to the next area. He crossed over, but a cursory look down showed him the bodies of a dead patrol.

That must be where the other undead was. He thought, and he walked over to a hole. Best find out whether they’re friend or foe.

He jumped down, then passed by the dead bodies of the patrol. He could see the trademark touch of magic upon the bodies of the red-cloaked soldiers, although it was clearly not as destructive as the old magics of the Vinheim school.

However, what really caught his eye was the banished knight. They had been cut down by what seemed like expert swordsmanship, for the one who no doubt killed it was cleaning the blood off of her blade, nary a scratch on her. 

The figure was feminine, and her attire marked her as a knight of Mirrah. Her blade was slender, the same length of a claymore, and she pointed it toward him, features inscutable under her mask. A companion at her side, a mage who was no doubt the culprit of the magic attacks.

“Who are you?” She asked cautiously. “Another of Godrick’s hunters?”

Oh, how the tables have turned. Hawkwood thought before speaking out loud. “No. Here to kill him, actually.”

“Then we can trust you.” The woman’s companion said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “The name’s Rogier, and as you can see, my friend is a little high-strung. Apologies for that.”

“It’s fine.” The deserter grunted as he shook hands with the sorcerer. “The reaction’s natural, in a place like this. I’m surprised you warmed up that easily.”

“Well, for one, you’re clearly different from the usual mercenaries Godrick employs.” The sorcerer said practically. “And for another, if you’re here to kill Godrick, then chances are you can see the guidance of Grace, like my friend here. That is reason enough to trust you.”

“I see.” Hawkwood said pensively. “Well, I’m known as Hawkwood. May I know the name of your friend?”

“Lucatiel.” The woman said hesitantly as she sheathed her blade. It was clear that she hadn’t anticipated her companion’s action, but there was nothing she could do now. “Sellsword for hire, at least as of now.”

What’s a knight of Mirrah doing hiring herself out as a mercenary? The deserter thought, but kept it hidden as he plastered a grin over his face. “A pleasure. Now then, would you like to come along?”

“Appreciated, but no.” Rogier replied. “I’m here to find something at the bottom of this castle. Something a little…private.”

“And you’re helping him?” Hawkwood turned to the knight, and she folded her arms.

“At the request of a friend of his, yes.” She said curtly, before turning to Rogier. “Now then, I believe it’s time we went.”

“Very well then.” Rogier said, before tipping his hat to the deserter. “A pleasure seeing a friendly face around here. Good luck with Godrick.”

“Thank you.” Hawkwood returned. “Good luck in your own endeavours. I suspect you’ll need it.”

“I see,” The man frowned, but turned to leave regardless. “Farewell.”

With that, he left, leaving Hawkwood alone in the alleyway. 

“So Renna wasn’t lying.” He muttered as he left the alleyway himself. “I’ll need to learn more about this later.”

It was not long before he found where he needed to go, as he found a building, entering to see a darkly lit room. A rancid smell was in the air, and he frowned as he saw a lit fireplace. Whoever stayed here had left recently. Trouble was likely to be found soon, especially with the heavy footsteps he could hear from across the hall.

Best be ready then. He thought as he drew his sword. Taking up a stance, he moved across the hallway, only for his senses to be overloaded as the rancid smell of before magnified. Dear Gods, what is that smell?

His question was soon presented before him as he saw various corpses, strung up from the ceiling. Down below, he could see a messy dining hall, more of those dismembered parts strewn about, and he hissed as he saw an abomination much like the one he’d fought before patrolling the room. If Godrick was feeding on these corpses and using them to create such beings…

It’s almost as if Aldrich took his cannibalism further. The deserter thought disgustedly. This is the stuff of nightmares for nightmares. He has to die.

He jumped down, ramming his sword through the Grafted Scion as he landed. The thing screeched in agony as the greatsword cleaved through it, and the deserter leapt off before it shook him. He took a stance, ready to parry a blow when he noticed something.

Its face was young.

No. Not young.

Childlike.

He did not…he could not have…no…

The thing screeched in agony as it slashed forward, but was easily blocked as rage overtook his features. No. No. No no no no no no.

This would not stand.

He’d seen many things, but for someone to stoop as low as to do this to a child… cannibalism was one thing, but this… 

He will wish death truly exists when I’m through with him.

He broke the bladelock as the creature screeched, then chopped off its arm as it tried to slash forward. The deserter gritted his teeth as its shriek grew louder, but it did not stop him from putting the creature out of its misery. With a single heavy cut to the head, it fell dead.

For a brief moment, he considered it, before shaking his head. There was nothing more that could have been done. All that he could do was move on.

However, as he turned to the door, something caught his eye. It was a painting, one that was comically out of place with the surroundings he had. A regal-looking man had been rendered within, a white lion at his back as he clutched an axe. 

Must be the monster’s taste in decoration. He thought apathetically before turning to see a woman at the door. “Who are you? I don’t have time for mere talk.” 

“Or perhaps you do, if you’re out to kill him.” The woman folded her arms. She was dressed in the clothing of a barbarian, with a matching build. “I see you haven’t taken well to his works.”

“How long have you been standing there?” The deserter demanded. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

“Pushy now, aren’t we?” The woman frowned. “But if you insist, my name is Nepheli Loux. Tarnished, and warrior like you. I’m here by decree of my father.”

“Who is?” Hawkwood pushed, but Nepheli shook her head.

“That doesn’t matter, for the time being." She said, before her voice became thick with disgust as she looked around. “To think that I thought the stories had exaggerated. He’s tainted the very winds.”

“How did this bastard even come into possession of all this?” Hawkwood growled. “Half his followers don’t even seem to be truly alive, and the other would be fools to follow him.”

“That painting may give you your answer.” Nepheli said, pointing up. “He has the fortune to be the blood of Godfrey, First Elden Lord.”

“Who is?”  Hawkwood said, and the woman stared at him.

“Father said you were new, but not that new.” She said, with a mild hint of surprise. “He’s a hero of the Golden Order. A living legend of the battlefield, and the first to brandish the Elden Ring.”

“So Godrick is using all that to get this?” The deserter waved his hand around, and the woman nodded.

“Even has the shamelessness to take pride in the lineage.” She said scornfully. “Little wonder why he’s hated by all.”

“Agreed.” Hawkwood said before hefting his greatsword. “I think it’s time I paid him a little visit.”

The woman nodded grimly as she drew own axes. “If you intend to challenge him, then I will aid you. The winds run cold with his deeds.”

“Very well,” Hawkwood said, and they walked out of the dining hall to see what appeared to be  a storage room. Boxes were stacked on shelves, some still bearing the same rancid smell as before.

“More of this...he’s no lord.” Nepheli murmured as they passed through. “This bastard deserves death.”

“A long one,” Hawkwood grunted, and they stepped outside to see an army, fortified with contraptions and stockades. “Well I’ll be damned.”

“Stand down!” A banished knight shouted as he stepped outside the defenses. “You are surrounded!”

“Stand down?” The deserter chuckled mirthlessly as he slipped out his seal. “No. Let us pass and we may let you live.”

The knight wasn’t amused. “Come. I’ll even try bargaining with Godrick if you go quietly.”

“Like he won’t graft us into another abomination.” Nepheli snarled, before slowly stepping forward. “No. The only thing to bargain for is a quick death.” 

“Look, there is no other way around this.” The knight said, growing frustrated. “This is the best option, and you are sur–”

“Oh, but I don’t think you understand.” Hawkwood cut him off, and the banished knight realized with creeping dread what he meant. “We’re not the ones surrounded. You are.”

“No!” The man shouted as he jumped forward, but it was too late. A dragon’s head surrounded the deserter, dragonfire spewing forth as the oil within the contraptions was set alight. The soldiers manning the defenses were collectively immolated as their tools exploded, only a few scattered remnants remaining to face them, and the knight growled in rage.

“You’ve killed my men.” He hissed, unsheathing his blades, and Nepheli only just intercepted his blow as his voice rose. “For that, you die .”

“We gave you the option to stand down!” Nepheli retorted as winds surged around the knight, and Hawkwood did not bother to watch the ensuing fight as he noticed the remaining troops attempting to regroup.

Oh, that won’t do at all. He thought, switching his seal for a dagger, and he dashed over to the men as he engaged in his own bloody melee. In their weakened state, none were a match for him, and he soon saw Nepheli finishing off the knight, axe dealing a mortal blow as she overpowered him. 

“Be proud. You were a fine warrior.” She said, voice filling with respect as the men bled out. “Your only mistake was your choice of master. Let the winds lift you, to a higher place.”

“If you are done with the epitaph, we have a demigod to kill.” The deserter said as he walked up. “What’s next?”

“We go forward.” She said. “You’re not harmed, aren’t you?”

“No,” Hawkwood shook his head, but staggered as his hunger spiked. “Damn it.”

“You’re sure you’re not injured?” Nepheli frowned, but it soon gave way to amusement as she realized the deserter’s symptoms. “Ah I see. You’re partaking in Dragon Communion, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” The deserter said in annoyance. “It’s a bit of an…interest of mine.”

“Well, not my place to judge.” The warrior shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” The deserter said, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves at the bottom of a stairwell, a strange creature at the top. “What is that?”

“An Omen,” Nepheli said simply, but sighed as she saw Hawkwood’s confusion. “Dear gods, how long have you been here?”

“Not long enough, it seems.” The deserter muttered. “But it matters not. Nothing shall get in the way.”

“Not quite.” Nepheli replied pensively. “They’re cursed creatures, pitiable really. No need to add more suffering.”

“Alright.” Hawkwood said reluctantly, and they snuck past the creature to a nearby site of grace, which he lit. “I presume Godrick is ahead of us?”

“Correct.” Nepheli grinned. “A troll should be guarding the way with two other knights, but I believe we can deal with them easily.”

“I see,” Hawkwood said. “And how large is this troll?”

“Large enough.” She said absently. “But first, I have a little trick to show you, so you won’t have to deal with that hunger whenever you want to use fire.”

“What do you mean?” The deserter grunted, and she pulled out a crafting kit and pot.

“Give me a moment.” She said, and Hawkwood watched as she fashioned a makeshift explosive, much like the firebombs back in Lothric, standing satisfied as she finished. “Consider this a gift from a fellow warrior. Are you ready to go?”

”Yes, and thank you.” Hawkwood said, taking the firebomb, but stopped as he noticed a lift. “Wait a minute. There’s an elevator right here.”

“And?” Nepheli raised an eyebrow. “We’re close as it is. Don’t tell me you want to take the coward’s way to him.”

“No.” Hawkwood shook his head. “Just feels like it would be easier to not have to deal with a troll before fighting a demigod.”

“True enough, but only his loyalists are ahead of us now.” Nepheli returned. “Don’t you want to deal with the bastards before we take him out?”

“Yes,” The deserter said, doubt giving way to anger as he remembered the dining room. "They all die.”

“Perfect.” Nepheli replied. “I want to see what you can do firsthand.”

And with that, they walked out.

Chapter Text

He did not disappoint.

Nepheli whistled as she watched Hawkwood carve a chunk out of the troll’s leg, then rolled aside as the troll stumbled, failing to hit him as it swung out. It roared in pain as the deserter took the opportunity to swing at its hand, and the warrior grinned as she watched it move back. This was something to watch indeed.

She hefted her axes as she watched him roll under its next blow, then stabbed it in the leg, forcing her to move back as its legs gave out. The two Banished Knights that had been at her feet were sent flying as the troll crashed to the ground, being avoided by deserter and warrior alike as he ran up to the beast’s head, severing it with a single blow.

“Well done.” Nepheli said as she walked over. “Not many can fell a troll like that.”

“I've seen a lot worse.” Hawkwood grunted, then pointed to the door. “But that doesn’t matter. We have a demigod to kill.”

“Right on task I see,” Nepheli replied, then readied her axes. “Let’s go then.”

With that, the two Tarnished moved up ahead, soon finding a Site of Grace near a cell. As the deserter sat down to rest, Nepheli grunted.

“I hadn’t asked earlier, but you can see it, can you?” She said. “The Guidance of Grace?”

“Yes, I can.” Hawkwood replied as he rested. “Although I’m not sure why.”

“What do you mean?” Nepheli raised an eyebrow. “Every Tarnished has had the Guidance of Grace at some point or another.”

“That’s not what I’m getting at, but it doesn’t matter.” Hawkwood said, rising to his feet. “We’re right at our destination.” 

“.Indeed we are.” Nepheli nodded, but it was clear to the deserter that she was not done with the subject. “But we should talk later. You have my interest.”

“Fine.” The deserter replied curtly as he hefted his greatsword. “But until then, how about we give Godrick what he deserves?”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Nepheli smiled, and they walked into an open courtyard, surrounded by gravestones.  A large wyvern lay in the center, hunched over a pillar as a gargantuan old man extended a hand to it. 

“Mighty dragon, thou’rt a true born heir.” He rasped delusionally, an embroidered cloak covering his body as he rubbed the wyvern’s head.  “Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto…greater heights.”

So this was Godrick the Grafted.

“Hey fool.” Hawkwood called out with a sneer. “That’s no dragon.”

The demigod turned towards them, the mantle falling off to reveal a grossly misshapen body, limbs covering it as if stuck together by a mad sorcerer. A pair of axes were at his side, and his expression was one of indifference as he picked them up.

“Well, a lowly Tarnished…and a foolish warrior...” He mused, contempt thick in his voice. “Playing as lords, and disparaging my prize?”

“Your prize is as true as your strength.” Hawkwood spat, then swept his hand aside. “But enough talk. You die here.”

Godrick tensed, his face contorting in rage as he pointed an arm at them.  “Ye miserable little dog. What little runes ye call strength art nothing in comparison to a demigod. I command thee, KNEEL!”

“I am the lord of ALL that is golden!” He roared as his axe slammed into the ground, the earth shaking in his fury. “Foul Tarnished! Unfit even to graft! Both of thee shall be ground into my meals, remembered only as offal!”

“Come on then!” Nepheli shouted as they charged down the stairs. “You pitiful excuse for a lord!”

The demigod only howled in rage as he leapt forward to meet them, forcing them to roll to the side as he swung with both axes. He growled, whirling to lash out at Hawkwood, but the deserter slid under before slashing out at the demigod’s gut. Long settled blood came spilling out of Godrick’s body, but the demigod ignored the blow as he swung with his axe, forcing Hawkwood to block as he was forced back.

Resilient bastard. The deserter thought as he retreated quickly, then grinned as he saw Nepheli moving behind the mad demigod. But if I keep his attention on me…

He leapt forward as Nepheli drew closer, sidestepping Godrick’s next blow before swinging again, this time toward the arm holding the demigod’s shortaxe. The demigod hissed, making to raise his greataxe once more, only to suddenly grunt in pain as Nepheli leapt onto his back and began swinging.

“Get off me, ye vile wench!” He shouted, trying unsuccessfully to get her off as she hacked away at his back. “Enough!”

He swung his axe into the air, and a whirlwind blasted her off mid-swing. He turned his gaze back to Hawkwood, rolling clumsily before leaping into the air with axe raised. The deserter only barely rolled in time as the axe sent cobblestones cracking into the walls of the arena. 

He began swinging as he found himself within Godrick’s guard, but much to his annoyance, he found the Grafted Demigod ignoring most of the hits and attempting to retaliate with varying degrees of success. Most hits ended up throwing up more earth into the air, but the deserter occasionally found himself thrown back as he was hit by the axe.

He grunted as he was forced to retreat, taking a quick drink of the flask as Nepheli returned to the battle. She had evidently recovered from the wind blast, for she carved into Godrick’s arm with little difficulty as he made to follow Hawkwood. The demigod snarled as he swung out, but it was avoided easily as she swung her axes into his upper body, eliciting a gasp of pain before she rejoined the deserter.

“I think I’ve found where his true body is.” She said as her comrade readied his greatsword. “Its buried within the bits around his chest.”

“Simple enough then.” Hawkwood grunted, and they split up once again as Godrick leapt forward, swinging once again with both axes. He whipped around to face Nepheli this time as she readied her axes, but Hawkwood jabbed him in the leg, sending him staggering as he attempted to swing.

With little resistance in the way, both warriors began swinging, carving out chunks of flesh as the demigod struggled to rise. His rage gave way to a brief flash of panic as Nepheli swung her axes into his neck, Hawkwood stabbing into his body as he attempted to rise, and he was sent crashing to the ground. 

They moved in for more, but the demigod roared in defiance, slamming his greataxe down to cause massive quakes, sending both flying into the air. Hawkwood groaned as he regained his bearings, only  to see him hunched over his arm as he raised his axe high into the air.

What the hell is he doing? The deserter thought, but his eyes widened as he remembered the wyvern. “No!”

But it was too late.

Godrick slammed his greataxe into his arm, sending it flying in the air as he raised the stump high into the air, blood spurting. He panted, labored breaths filtering in and out before he turned to the wyvern. 

“Ahh, truest of dragons…” He said, mania filling his voice as he raised his stump high into the air. “Lend me thy strength.”  

Hawkwood could only look on in shock and dismay as Godrick rammed his stump into the wyvern’s neck, yelling as he dragged it out with the head on the other end. The demigod cackled madly as the head lay on the floor, and for a brief fleeting moment, Hawkwood hoped that it had been for nothing, that the demigod would not be able to access the terrible power that lay within the head.

But it was not meant to be.

He stepped back as the head suddenly jerked to life, flame bursting from its mouth as Godrick raised its hideous maw to the sky. Determination filled his voice as he roared to the sky.

“FOREFATHERS ONE AND ALL! BEAR WITNESS!” 

With a mad cackle, Godrick swept his new arm about, flames bursting from its maw as the deserter only stared at him. He–he didn’t really…

“Get down!” Nepheli shouted, tackling the deserter as flames passed inches over his head. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“That bastard.” Rage began to take over from shock as Hawkwood got to his feet. “That foul, vile, bastard .”

“What?” Nepheli frowned in confusion, but the deserter only answered her with an enraged scream as he charged the demigod, yanking out a crooked dagger. “Wait, don’t–”

But it was too late. Godrick laughed as he met Hawkwood’s blow with his axe. “A knife? Hath that all the Tarnished hast to sh–hnngh!”

He growled as the dagger went slashing across his gut, then forced him back with a shove of his axe, doing little to deter the deserter as he dashed forward, slashing the demigod in the leg. The grafted limbs held, but Godrick still snarled as he began to meet Hawkwood’s strikes. This Tarnished would be put down soon enough.

He raised his axe into the air as winds began to surge once more, but the deserter merely dodged back before he could be touched, the wyvern pouring fire regardless into the tornado. Godrick laughed as he sent two brief gales of fiery wind at him, but he dodged both before rejoining Nepheli.

“New plan.” He snarled. “We’re getting rid of his legs first.”

“Have you completely lost it?” Nepheli demanded as Godrick blasted flame once more, forcing them to duck. “Those things are as thick as pillars!”

“You think it’s about that!” Hawkwood retorted. “I want him to suffer!”

“And he will if we–.” The warrior stopped as the deserter’s actions registered fully in her mind. “You can’t seriously be mad about that! ”

“After everything, you’re not? ” Hawkwood retorted incredulously as Godrick began moving towards them. “Tainting that wyvern is the last straw!”

“What’s it to yo–” Nepheli was cut off as the deserter charged back to meet the demigod. “Oh, gods damn it!”

She made to follow as Hawkwood once again began clashing with the demigod, Godrick cackling as the blade’s sent sparks flying across the arena. He swung out with his dragon quickly, the deserter barely ducking before cutting into the demigod’s leg once more. Godrick took little mind of it, sending the deserter staggering back with a quick strike, then laughed as he began to swing both dragon and axe to force the deserter further back.

“It’s over!” He shouted as he caught Hawkwood with the dragon, then raised his axe high into the air to finish the battle. “Great Godfrey, didst thou witness?”

I doubt it. Nepheli thought as she finished moving behind him, then raised her axes to cut into the demigod’s partially damaged leg. No time for the torso.

She slammed the twin blades into Godrick’s tendons, sending him staggering to the ground midswing as he made to finish the battle. “What?”

Nepheli didn’t bother replying as she swung harder into the demigod’s legs, Hawkwood recovering quickly before Godrick slammed his axe into the ground, forcing Nepheli to jump before rejoining her comrade. It appeared he wouldn’t allow himself to take so much damage again.

“We have to deal with that axe.” Hawkwood muttered as Godrick got to his feet. “Or he’s just going to keep on abusing it whenever we get an advantage.”

“Agreed.” Nepheli nodded as she readied her axes. “You want me to take the offensive this time?”

“No,” Hawkwood replied as they began to move back to meet Godrick. “We do this together.”

The demigod laughed as they approached, blasting fireballs that both dodged before meeting his axe. Hawkwood growled as he blocked a blow, the vibrations rattling up his arm as Nepheli attacked in his stead. Chunks of flesh were carved out of the demigod’s gut as she swung, but Godrick growled as he broke off from the deserter, forcing her back before Hawkwood swung straight for the legs. 

The Grafted hissed as he felt the blade cleave deeper into his flesh, then slammed his blade down to force it away. Undeterred, the deserter swung again, and the demigod howled once more as he started swinging with all his strength, hissing as the deserter stopped bothering to block and began dodging. 

“Face me, coward!” He snarled as Hawkwood slid under yet another blow and struck his legs once again. He whirled around, lashing with the dragon, but at this close range it was little help, only unbalancing him as Nepheli swung into his back. “Enough!”

He whirled his axe into the air once more, throwing both back as flames poured into it. He rolled to the side, then leapt into the air towards the one with that infernal greatsword. He would die first.

He swung right as the deserter rose to his feet, intent on chopping the man in half with all his might. With these conditions, the grafted demigod could not possibly miss, and he laughed as it bore down on him, sure in his victory.

Only for laughter and contempt to turn into shock as dagger and greatsword intercepted him.

Wh-what? He thought as the man held firm, pure hatred in his gaze.”How?”

“I’m not dying yet.” He spat, and he shoved the axe back as Nepheli snuck up behind the demigod. “But you sure as hell are.”

“No!” Godrick screamed, and he swung his axe down, the deserter pivoting around the blow to slash the demigod’s legs. The grafted armor was beginning to wear thin, but that was of little concern to the demigod, swinging his axe madly as the deserter dealt blow after blow. He did not even care when Nepheli began hacking into his back once more, only screeching in rage as he was blocked time and again.

“Enough, damn you!” He roared as he swung his dragon with all his might, but the deserter merely slid under before uppercutting him in the jaw with the dagger. The demigod’s eyes widened as the greatsword came next, flipping to slash open the armor surrounding his torso. 

“KNEEL!” He shouted panickedly, raising his axe high into the air, but Nepheli slammed both axes into his arm. Godrick screamed in agony as the twin axes burrowed into his flesh, the sudden shock preventing him from finishing his attack as Nepheli dug in deeper. In a last ditch attempt to survive, he tried spewing fire from his dragon arm, but even that was soon ended as Hawkwood sliced through his weakened leg, the pain ceasing the attack immediately as Nepheli chopped off the arm.

“It’s over.” She said as she hopped off the demigod’s back. “Good work.”

“Not yet.” Hawkwood growled as he sheathed his dagger, watching Godrick attempt to crawl away. “I’m not done with you, you miserable pile of parts.”

“Mercy, please…” The demigod begged. “I beg of you. Have merc–GRAH!” He screamed in pain as the deserter slammed his sword into his back.

“There is no mercy for scum like you.” Hawkwood snarled as he clutched the seal of dragon communion. “Die at the hands of the power you abused.”

“No,” Godrick said weakly as a wyvern’s head surrounded the deserter. “No, STOP!”

He was left to scream in agony as the flames surged from the dragon’s mouth, washing over his entire body as Nepheli watched. The grafted limbs resisted at first, but they soon caught flame as the demigod screamed.  Godrick was left to wheeze one last haggard breath before his lungs were flooded with smoke and fire.

"...I am Lord of all that is Golden.... ...And one day, we'll return together...To our home, bathed in rays of gold..."

The wyvern head faded from the deserter, and he took a deep breath as he watched Godrick’s remains burn. “Good riddance.” 

“Indeed.” Nepheli said as runes flowed to both of them. “He deserved no less for his crimes.”

“Good, we agree.” Hawkwood grunted as he lit the grace. “Now what?”

“Now, we head back to the Roundtable Hold.” Nepheli said, then pointed at his hand. “But before that, you have something.” 

“Hmm?” Hawkwood frowned, then saw the outline of a large rune branded into his palm. “What’s this?”

“His Great Rune.” Nepheli said. “One of the shards of the Elden Ring, as you may have heard.”

“I see.” The deserter mused. “You said you wanted me to go to the Roundtable Hold? What for?”

Nepheli looked at him incredulously. “You don’t know?”

“What?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow as she grabbed his arm.

“You have just become the first person to kill a demigod in a very long time.” The warrior said earnestly as a golden light surrounded them. “Father’s going to want to hear of this.”

Chapter Text

Roundtable Hold

As they entered the hold, Hawkwood wrenched his arm away from Nepheli.

“Wait,” He cut her off as the warrior opened her mouth. “What do you mean, a demigod hasn’t been killed in a while?” 

“Keep quiet, will you?” Nepheli hissed as the other members of the Hold turned to look at them. “I meant exactly what I said. Did your maiden not tell you?”

“No,” The deserter grunted, eyes narrowing. He and Melina would need to have a chat soon. “But…how? Godrick was far weaker then many things I’ve seen. Any skilled tarnished should be able to beat him, if not another demigod.”

“Not quite.” Nepheli murmured as the other hold members returned to their business. “Godrick had lived a long time, and his hunters regularly search for them. He’s not exactly someone you’d call an easy opponent.”

“I know that,” The deserter replied irritably. “But in comparison to the last foe I’d faced, he was a much more manageable threat.”

“What do you mean?” Nepheli frowned. “I wasn’t aware anything in Limgrave was stronger then Godrick.”

“Well, someone is.” Hawkwood retorted. “He was at the gate, and he humiliated me before I came to the Hold. I only barely killed him the second time.”

“I see. Father will want to know about that.” Nepheli said pensively, then smiled. “I think he’ll be quite pleased with you when he hears this.”

“Say, who is he anyway?” The deserter frowned as he looked at the warrior. “You keep on talking about him as if–”

“-He’s the leader of the Hold, yes.” The man finished as he walked out from the hall. “Nepheli, you’re back with the newcomer, I see. I heard the noise.”

“You…” Hawkwood said, before shooting Nepheli a look. “You never said he was your father.”

“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves.” The man said before offering a hand. “Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing.”

“Hawkwood,” The deserter grunted as he shook. He evidently had a high opinion of himself. “You’re the leader of the Hold?”

“Indeed I am.” Gideon replied impassively. “I see you’ve made something of yourself, if you’ve found my daughter.”

“Yes, I have.” Hawkwood said evenly. He had not forgotten the chilly reception he’d received, but he could not show that, not now. “In fact, I think you’re going to be surprised at what your daughter has to say.”

“Oh?” The leader said with mild interest as he turned to Nepheli. “What is it?

“Godrick is dead.” The warrior said informatively, then gestured to Hawkwood. “He was the one who killed him.”

“Did he now?” Gideon replied impassively. “How much did he contribute?”

“He had most of Godrick’s attention.” Nepheli replied. “And he seems to have a good deal of experience, for he held his own pretty well.”

“Impressive,” Gideon mused. “I suppose congratulations are in order, then.”

Hawkwood frowned. “I’m surprised you’re taking her word at face value. I am a mere newcomer, after all.”

“Newcomer you may be, but my daughter has respect for skilled warriors.” Gideon grunted. “If you were not a skilled fighter, you would not have her praise.”

“I see,” The deserter muttered, and the All-Knowing turned. 

“We must talk later, but for now, you have an audience with the Two Fingers.” He said, then beckoned Nepheli. “Come. I want to hear your report.”

“Good luck.” The warrior murmured, looking back at Hawkwood as they left, and the deserter sighed as he saw the large double doors at the Hold opened. The Two Fingers had to be in there.

Gods damn it, Melina. He thought as he walked up the steps, slipping off the chain hood. Best at least look presentable. Couldn’t you have told me more? You’re giving me–

“Are you the new Tarnished?” His thoughts were cut off as he saw a wizened old crone, clutching an oversized staff. “You've done well."

“Who are you?” Hawkwood frowned, noting a large hairy lump next to her

“My name is Enia, finger reader.” The old woman replied, then smiled widely at the deserter. “I interpret the words of the Fingers, as you see here. Tall aren’t they?”

It took Hawkwood a moment to realize what she meant before he saw it. The big lump sitting next to the old lady was not just a lump.

It was a giant hand with two fingers.

He found his hand reaching for his sword as he took a few steps back toward the exit. “Okay, what the fuck.”

The crone laughed. “That is simply the envoy of the Greater Will. You have nothing to fear.”

“I’ll bet.” Hawkwood muttered, but lowered his guard regardless as he got used to the crone. “I presume you get this reaction a lot?”

“Oh, many Tarnished have had a similar one, but it remains amusing regardless, in these trying times.” Enia said warmly before the Two Fingers shuddered, “Look there, the Fingers tremble. To welcome the new undead who became Shardbearer.” 

“ Undead? ” Hawkwood started, but Enia simply gave him a neutral look.

“I simply transcribe their words. What they mean is up to you.” She said, before the Fingers began to move once more. 

Great Elden Ring, root of the Golden Order. 

Anchor of all lands, giver of grace, wellspring of all joy. 

Until it was shattered. 

The tragic corruption of the Order has taken its toll. 

Across the realm, life lies in ruin. Fallen to pieces.  

Foul curses and misery spread, unabating. 

But the Greater Will has not abandoned the realm, nor the life that inhabits it. 

So it is that the Tarnished are guided by grace. Called to act.

But they have proven unfruitful, and now the Undead return.

One last time, to fulfill duty beyond their ashen lands.

Deserter of an extinguished legion, you remain accursed. 

The last Undead to arrive Tarnished, and one of the least.

Your blood may spell the doom of us all.

But this can be prevented.

Your Great Rune is a handsome shard of the Elden Ring. 

Seek the remaining shards remain scattered amongst Marika’s children. 

To stave off your affliction.

To become Elden Lord, 

And to restore the Golden Order

Seize this final chance. 

Only then will you become purified.

The Fingers went still after that, and Enia turned to Hawkwood solemnly. “Let the words of the Fingers guide you, Undead. For it is willed, your suffering may decide the fate of the Lands Between.”

The deserter only stared at her.

So it's true.

The Undead had returned.

And he had been correct to worry about his blood.

He had long considered himself the least of the Undead, but for this to be confirmed…

It meant that pain was all but guaranteed now.  

The Wolf, the Watchers, and Farron were all evidence of that.

But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

He smiled mirthlessly as he looked at the hag. “Of course that’s what has been ordained. Why wouldn’t it? I’ve only just been told that I was an accursed failure.”

“You are bitter of the Fingers’ words?” Enia frowned, then gave him a sympathetic look. “You would not be the first. Many have come away frustrated with the–”

“Frustrated? Oh you misunderstand me.” The deserter laughed bitterly. “It just seems that there’s no running from my fate, is there?”

His face began to twist into a snarl as his rage grew. “I  have set on this path before, and I have failed before. Forced into a thankless task to hunt down legends. I have been ridiculed, and beaten down, and toyed with like a dog. I have had victory within my grasp and had it snatched away. What more is to be asked of me? What more is left to take?”

“I—“

“Tell me this, Finger Reader.” Hawkwood sneered. “What makes these Fingers think that I shall be the one to bring change this time? Is it because I was the one to get a Great Rune? That I made a demigod look like an amateur? Or was it simply because I am ahead of the other undead?”

Enia was silent for a long moment before giving him an uncertain look. “All of these are true.”

“As I thought.” The deserter growled. “I—“

The Two Fingers clapped, and Enia gave him a panicked look. 

“It appears your audience with the Two Fingers is at an end.” She said quickly. “Go now, before you risk provoking them.”

“Fine.” Hawkwood snapped, and he stormed out of the room to find D, Diallos, and Corhyn all staring at him. “What?”

“You just mouthed off in front of the Two Fingers.” D began. “Are you mad?”

“You don’t know what mad looks like, boy.” Hawkwood retorted. “Just know that I’ve been staving it off for a long time.”

“How?” Corhyn sputtered. “An audience with the Two Fingers is one of the highest honors! You–”

“Shut it, you blind fanatic.” The deserter snapped. “I’ve already heard enough from you.”

Diallos raised a hand to his head. “Look, I don’t know why you’re angry, but if you have an issue, surely it could be taken out downstairs or outside. Not in front of the literal envoy to the Greater Will.”

“I don’t give two damns about the envoy or it’s feelings.” Hawkwood snarled. “It can go straight to the Abyss for all I care. Just leave me be.”

“No, because this is the common room .” Diallos shot back. “Just because you’re in a foul mood, doesn’t mean–”

“You want a word of advice, lad?” Hawkwood interrupted with a harsh grin, an idea coming to mind as bitterness consumed him. “You should give up your search. She’s probably already dead.”

“Why you–” The noble’s face reddened as he strode toward the deserter, and Hawkwood reached for his dagger, D getting to his feet as–

Lucatiel and Rogier stumbled out from the Table of Lost Grace.

Both looked positively beaten, for Lucatiel’s shoulders sagged as she carried Rogier, clothes covered in blood as she propped him up in a chair. The mage’s breath was labored as he struggled to hold onto consciousness, and all rage in the room evaporated as they saw what had happened to the duo. 

Black growths were sprouting from Rogier’s legs.

D was the first to react as he strode over to them. “What happened?”

“I lost sight of him.” Lucatiel replied wearily as she sat down in the chair. “We had gotten attacked, and we were separated. He’d gotten excited, but–”

“Damn it.” The Hunter of the Dead swore, then slammed his fist against the table. “DAMN IT!”

“That almost seems like…” The deserter muttered, but was cut off as D shot a finger in his direction.

“Not one word.” He snarled. “Not one fucking word, or I’ll gut you myself, rules be damned.”

Hawkwood believed him.

“Not a word.” Hawkwood reiterated, then sat down as Diallos stepped up uncertainly, Corhyn letting him go as he stepped up.

“I…won’t pretend to know what happened,” He said hesitantly. “But should we take this up with Gideon?”

“What will he do?” D said bitterly. “It’s not like it’s his problem, given that he allows that whore to remain here.”

“Maybe.” Corhyn spoke up. “But he is the leader of the Hold. It is his responsibility.”

The hunter said nothing as he stared at the cleric, but broke it off as Corhyn returned it, walking out of the room wordlessly as he shot one last look at Lucatiel. The former knight slumped in her chair as Corhyn and Diallos shared a brief look of concern, leaving Hawkwood alone with her and the unconscious mage.

A brief silence persisted before he managed to speak. “What happened?”

“What’s it to you?” Lucatiel replied grimly, shooting him a look. “I’m sure you can draw the conclusions.”

“I know that, but…he is probably my first acquaintance at the hold, so I’d like to know.” Hawkwood said carefully. “I take it he hired you?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “They had split up over a disagreement, but he’d wanted someone to watch over his friend. As you can see, I failed.”

“Clearly.” The deserter muttered, and another silence carried on before he spoke once again. “What did it?” 

“This… thing at the bottom of the castle.” Lucatiel said bitterly. “It was this strange face, but when I’d found him, some sort of black thorns had lifted him in the air. Only barely stopped it from going through his heart.”

“Strange.” Hawkwood replied pensively.  “It’s almost as if he’s been…cursed.”

The woman tensed. “What do you mean?”

Hawkwood blinked before he had realized what he’d just said, then frowned. Might as well get acquainted now. “I’m sure you know. Dozens of little spikes sprouting all over someone’s body after too much, as if they were turned to crystal.”

“I…I’m not sure what you mean.” Lucatiel said uncertainly, but her tone grew suspicious. “But why did you bring this up?”

“No reason at all.” Hawkwood replied plainly. So she was pretending. “Just seemed similar.”

“Well, there’s no denying that.” Lucatiel muttered. “But something tells me that’s not your motive here. Why are you talking to me?”

“Because I know where you’re from.” Hawkwood said clearly. “Have you ever heard of Lothric? Mirrah?”

Almost instantly, the woman’s hand flew to her sword, but the deserter rested a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. I intend you no harm.”

“Do not talk of… those lands. Not here.”Lucatiel hissed as she shook off the hand, then rested a hand on her blade. “Or the curse. Who are you really?”

“A former Undead, like you.” Hawkwood replied, then looked toward the exit as he heard a door opening, D talking rapidly as Gideon attempted to calm him. “Perhaps its best if we spoke in a more…private area.”

“Perhaps.” Lucatiel said reluctantly, and they moved downstairs past Roderika, who spoke up as she saw them.

“Oh! You’re back!” She exclaimed from Hewg’s side. “What happened?”

“Nothing Roderika.” Hawkwood replied with a quick smile. “We’re just going to have a private conversation.”

“Then I won’t pry.” The girl said, then turned back to Hewg, leaving Hawkwood and Lucatiel to walk down the stairs.

“A friend of yours?” The knight muttered as they reached the bottom.

“Yes.” The deserter replied. “And one who’s been through the wringer. That’s all.”

“I see,” Lucatiel said, then dragged out a chair as they entered the room. “Now, before we begin, can I trust you?”

Guarded I see. Smart. Hawkwood thought before he nodded. “I have no intent to harm you. Just recognized another former Undead and wanted to learn.”

“Interesting.” Lucatiel replied. “And understandable, I suppose. You’re the only other one I know, so let’s begin. Where are you from?”

“Farron.” The Deserter pulled out a chair of his own. “Have you ever heard of the Abyss Watchers?”

“I might have.” Lucatiel grunted. “Although from your description of yourself earlier, you deserted.”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Hawkwood tensed, but the knight shook her head.

“No, your choices are your own.” She said openly. “Although I will admit to some curiosity. I wasn’t …completely put together when I came to Lothric, you see. Some details remain foggy.”

“Hollowing?” Hawkwood guessed, and the knight’s flinch told him all he needed to know. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…It’s fine.” Lucatiel took a deep breath. “I’d had a hard time accepting it, but…I managed. With some help.”

“A nameless undead?” The deserter pressed. and she paused for a moment before staring at him.

“I thought that they would be forgotten. Just another undead in countless ages.” She muttered. “How did you know?” 

“Oh, I didn’t.” Hawkwood chuckled. “It's because one just the same helped save me from hollowing. Gave me purpose, they did. I just had the misfortune of getting on their bad side.”

“Fool,” Lucatiel snorted. “If they fought anywhere near as well as the one I knew, then you practically signed your own death warrant.”

“I know,” Hawkwood replied ruefully, but the seriousness returned to his face. “But regardless, how did you get here?”

“I don’t know.” Lucatiel admitted. “I’d come to a settlement, and encountered a man. I don’t remember the finer details…but we joined together for something. I’m not sure, in my madness, but the next memory I have is when I found myself being shoved toward a gargantuan tree. Then everything was foggy once more.”

“I presume you woke up here after? Unhollowed?” Hawkwood asked grimly, and she nodded.

“Yes, I could think clearly.” She said. “I still don’t have everything, but my body does not bear the Darksign any longer. We’re Tarnished now.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood replied, then frowned as he remembered the words of the Two Fingers. “Although it seems we’re not the only Undead who were brought here.”

“What do you mean?” Lucatiel cocked her head, but Hawkwood only gave her a grim look.

“As it turns out, the Tarnished were revived by a god to fix these lands, mend the Elden Ring and all the other drivel I’m sure you have heard.” He said, waving his hand dismissively. “But they were failures, so we Undead were brought here to fix the mistakes.”

“I…see.” The knight said bemusedly, then scratched her chin. “But if that’s the case, why pick a hollow and a deserter?”

“I don’t know.” Hawkwood said bitterly. “Just that the god here seems dead set on finding someone to fix the mess, be they legend or not. Gives me conniptions.”

“How do you know this, anyway?” Lucatiel asked curiously. “You seem to have learned a lot more than I have from here.”

“I killed a demigod.” Hawkwood grinned mirthlessly. “Then got an audience with two giant fingers as a reward. The Greater Will’s ‘messenger.’”

“...Okay.” Lucatiel scratched her head. “That’s…rather strange, even for Drangleic standards.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Hawkwood grunted. “I even–”

“Ah, there you are.” Nepheli’s voice cut him off as she strode into the room. “Talking with the other newcomer, I see.”

“What is it, Nepheli?” The deserter replied impatiently. “Now’s not exactly the time to have that chat.”

“It’s not that.” Nepheli shook her head. “Father wants you.”

“What? Why?”

“He says that he knows something about you.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, what do you want, Gideon?” Hawkwood grunted as he walked into the All-Knowing’s study. It was surprisingly cozy, in spite of its sole occupant, books lining the walls behind the man himself as he flipped through a book, looking up as he saw the deserter.

“Ah good, you’re here.” He said, then put the book down. “The Two Fingers have told me of your…state.”

“You know how to deal with it?” Hawkwood frowned, and the man nodded.

“Temporarily yes, according to them.” He replied, then cleared his throat. “Although it may come at a may cost something from you in return.”

The deserter’s face hardened. “Don’t extort me on this, Ofnir. It is to our mutual benefit that I alleviate my curse for the time being.”

“Oh, I know that.” Gideon waved a hand. “But the fact that the Two Fingers have withheld the existence of these lands from me has…given rise to some very important questions. Questions that must be answered, if I am to become All-Knowing.”

“Well, I have the answers.” Hawkwood smiled mirthlessly. “But I am afraid your quest is impossible.”

“Hardly. I desire to unearth and record all the secrets and knowledge there is to know.” Gideon replied evenly. “Simply think of it as a duty you must provide as your senior and the leader of the Hold. As the first among the… Undead who gained a Great Rune, we are to work closely regardless.”

“I suppose so.” Hawkwood conceded. “But tell me, how am I to alleviate my curse?”

“The Divine Tower of Limgrave.” Gideon replied. “There, you will be able to activate your Great Rune and stave off the curse. As an Anchor Rune, it should have enough power to counteract it, long enough for you to collect more.”

“I see. Where do I find this tower?” Hawkwood pressed.

“It’s at a side path in Stormveil.” Gideon answered. “You may have seen it on your way through.”

“I have.” Hawkwood grunted. “It’s well defended from what I’ve seen, but I think I can get there.”

“Good.” Gideon nodded. “Well, you know what to do. All that is left is to tell you of your next objectives after. You’ll be after more Great Runes, eh?”

“Yes,” Hawkwood grunted. “It’s not like I have any other choice.”

“Oh, chin up.” Gideon grunted. “You’ll be having help.”

“Nepheli?” The deserter guessed.

“No, although I understand you’ve been speaking to her.” Gideon replied. “She is my daughter, and I took her in when she lost the guidance of grace.”

Hawkwood raised an eyebrow. “So you wish her not to partake in helping another member of the hold?”

“Hardly.” Gideon snorted. “Though a mere axe-wielding barbarian, her youthful credulity suits my purposes, and by extension, yours. It’s simply that there are matters that I desire her to deal with, for the time being. A private one.”

“Very well.” Hawkwood frowned. “Who is it then?”

“That woman you were talking with earlier, Lucatiel.” The All-Knowing replied. “She is Undead like you, although I suppose you already know that. She ought to be a good ally for your efforts in finding the Great Runes.”

“I see,” Hawkwood replied, then grinned. “Well then, it appears I will not have to work alone anymore.”

“Indeed.” Gideon nodded. “Now then, go. I will give you the debrief of the demigods later, but the Two Fingers have decreed that activating your Great Rune is your greatest priority for the time being.”

“Clearly.” Hawkwood muttered bitterly. “Get Lucatiel now?”

“Yes. I have some questions for her as well” Ofnir returned. “Oh, and Hawkwood?”

“Yeah?”

“Do well not to die any time soon.” Gideon said. “I have been in need of someone who can see things the way they are, not cursed fools who let their anger get the better of them.”

“Oh, I won’t Ofnir.” The deserter grunted. “But do not expect me to follow through with this journey happily.”

“I don’t expect happiness, I expect efficiency.” Gideon said plainly, then pointed toward the door. “Now leave. We have much to speak of later.”

“Fine.” Hawkwood grunted, and he left to see D talking in a low tone with Corhyn and Diallos, Rogier sitting beside them. 

“–so there’s still hope–”

“–I’m not sure we can believe it, I’ve never–”

“–Please, D, Gideon said we hav–”

“–Shut it, Diall–”

“What’s the matter?” Hawkwood interrupted, and all three turned to him.

“None of your business, Undead .” D snapped, but growled as Corhyn spoke up.

“Gideon thinks Rogier might be healed.” The cleric said. “Its just that–”

“It requires the help of…of…” D slammed his fist onto the table. “I will not further the heresy that drove us apart!”

“Come now, D, your friend is more important then your beliefs.” Diallos said placatingly. “I don’t like Fia either, but–”

“Stop.” The hunter growled. “Just…stop. I–”

“Perhaps we do need more input on this.” Corhyn frowned. “Now, I know you aren’t the biggest fan of the Order, but what do you think?”

“You want my advice?” Hawkwood said incredulously. “Even–”

“The Noble Goldmask advocates for tolerance, even for doubters of the Order.” Corhyn interrupted with a smile. “Tell us.”

“I…damn it.” Hawkwood exhaled. “Alright. D, if you have a chance at saving your…friend, then I suggest you take it.” 

“I can’t.” The hunter growled. “Giving him warmth from that witch is heresy in the eyes of the Golden Order, and technically, you’re part of this corruption . I—“

“Look here, friend.” Hawkwood leaned in. “Do not let yourself be blinded by something as petty as an organization’s codes. It is foolish to just leave your friend like this when you can easily save him.”

“But…”

“I will not pretend to know of the past between the two of you, but if you care for him, ask yourself this. Which is of higher value to you, your friend’s life or your evident adherence to a code?”

D said nothing.

“I’ll leave the answer to your own common sense,” Hawkwood said as he turned to leave. “It is not my business, but as an acquaintance, I hope you make the right choice.”

He walked off, Hewg turning to see him as he entered his room.  Roderika was noticeably absent.

“The girl’s gone downstairs.” He called out as Hawkwood passed by. “Talking with your new friend.”

“I was headed down there anyway.” Hawkwood said, but the blacksmith raised a hand.

“Wait,” He grunted. “There’s something I want to speak to you about first.”

The deserter tensed. “What is it? I don’t exactly have time when I–”

“Have to deal with a curse.” Hewg cut him off. “Yes, I am aware. You have that look about you.”

“How?” Hawkwood frowned. 

“I saw it when you first arrived at the hold.” The smith answered. “The girl is fooled, but your face tells a story just as these chains do. The information that’s come to light only proves me right.”

“I’m that bad, huh?” The deserter muttered. “Who else knows of its true nature?”

“Aside from Ofnir, his daughter, the cloaked lady, and the Two Fingers?” Hewg snorted. “No one.”

“Good. I’d like to keep it that way.” Hawkwood replied, before his eyes sharpened. “No one else can know of how bad this can truly become, or it will throw the hold into chaos.”

“Oh, I know, but I don’t think you’re in as deep as you believe,” Hewg chuckled, lowering his hammer. “Your curse may be a grim thing, but you were a beaten man even before we learned of it. Now look at you. Those eyes tell a story, of a challenger, who’s felled his mark."

“And I have.” Hawkwood sneered. “Godrick. What a pathetic excuse for a demigod.”

“Heh. You have that right.” Hewg grinned. “Fine and well. Now lay out your arms.”

“Already?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted a word with me.”

“That can come after this.” Hewg grunted. “There was something I want to confirm about that blade of yours.”

“What about it?” Hawkwood frowned as he unsheathed his sword. “There’s nothing unique about it, other than its value to me.”

“You’re no skilled craftsman, I can see.” Hewg grumbled. “There is definitely something unique about that blade. It’s different from what I usually work with.”

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood asked, but Hewg shook his head.

“We’ll find out soon enough.” He said, then offered his hands. “May I see it?”

“I…don’t see why not.” Hawkwood said uncertainly before handing the blade over. Andre never got this involved. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Hewg rested the blade on the anvil. “It’s just like that knight’s. The blade has been tempered and improved well enough, but…there were different materials used. But what, I can’t seem to place…”

“I think I have the answer for that, although I doubt you’ve heard of this before.” The deserter frowned. “It’s a material by the name of Titanite.”

“Titanite?”

“Yes. It’s what the people of my homeland use to craft weapons and armor. The origin has been lost to me, but the materials were usually found on crystal lizards.”

“Interesting…it’s a different material the what I’m used to working with. However, this may be what I am looking for.”

“It’s unobtainable, I’m afraid.” Hawkwood said plainly. “My homeland is cut off from this one.”

“Oh that won’t be needed.” Hewg muttered absently. “This blade is very well made, so if this material is good to work with…I just need to figure out how to combine…and maybe…”

“What?” Hawkwood frowned, and the smith shook his head.

“It’s nothing, it’s nothing.” He grunted. “Just bring me more somber smithing stones, and we will be fine. Now, then, it’s time for you and I to have a word, one beyond our situations.”

“What is it?” 

“That girl you brought here…she’s aimless, and can scarcely swing a blade, but she has a gift for spirit tuning.”

“Spirit tuning?”

“You don’t know? The power of enhancing the ashes of spirits so that they may fight along one’s side.”

“Ashes…like these?” Hawkwood took out the ashes of the three wolves.

“So you have them already.,” Hewg nodded. “Good. She can help you then.”

“Wait,” Hawkwood raised a hand. “How do you even know she has this gift?”

“I saw another one like her, long ago.” Hewg replied. “Their eyes share the same hue."

“What does that…whatever.” Hawkwood shook his head. “This place is real strange, you know.”

“That wasn’t clear to you from the start?” Hewg groused. “Every one of you newcomers seem to be surprised by this.”

“It doesn’t matter.” The deserter said impatiently. “You want me to tell her?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Hewg said indifferently. “I told you this because you seem to care about her well enough.”

“I won’t deny that.” Hawkwood nodded. “But at any rate, I should be going.”

“You have any more stones?” Hewg asked. “I can work on that blade while you head down.”

Hawkood checked himself, then came up with only a couple. “I don’t think this will be enough, in all honesty.”

“Well, it can work as a small improvement. I won’t be long.” Hewg returned, then swiped the stones from his hands and getting to work, finishing the blade a minute later. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” The deserter returned, sheathing the weapon once again. “I’ll see you later.”

Hewg only mumbled a response before Hawkwood walked downstairs to find Lucatiel and Roderika talking. The knight’s mask rested on the table, revealing her face, which was concerned as she listened to the traveler.

“...Thank you for the advice, but I still don’t know what to do…” Roderika was looking down on the floor. “You and Hawkwood have been a great help, but you don’t have to do anything more. Look at what happened to everyone else who tried.”

Her voice quivered a bit at the last part, and Lucatiel rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “This will be different, I promise you that. We can help.”

“But how? I’m naught but a craven.” Roderika replied. “You don’t need to waste your time on someone who has nothing, or can do nothing.”

Hawkwood took that moment to step into the room. “But you can.” 

“Oh! You.” Roderika looked up, then shook her head. “But you’re wrong, I doubt that I could ever–”

Her face paled as a decoration clattered out of Lucatiel’s pouch.

The Two undead exchanged glances as Roderika picked up the memento almost tenderly, then looked at them. “What is this? I recognize it from somewhere.”

“I found it in Stormveil’s kitchens.” Lucatiel said grimly. “Amidst a pile of…I think…”

She hesitated, but Roderika connected the dots as she clutched the memento. “You found them.”

The two said nothing, but to their surprise, she smiled sadly. “Oh, goodness me... I can't... They all...believed in me. They all thought I'd make something of myself. Me! Who can't do anything…”

Should I leave her be? The deserter thought uncertainly, but the girl looked up with some newfound hope in her eyes.

“Maybe I was right to come here after all…” She said, before standing up. “Thank you both.”

“It’s nothing.” Hawkwood smiled. “But I think I can still help you.”

“What do you mean?” Roderika pushed. “I think I may find it, but…”

“The blacksmith told me you might have a gift.” The deserter replied. “For Spirits. I’m not entirely sure of the concept myself, but–”

"You're telling me I possess some kind of gift?” Roderika frowned. “I don't believe you. But…”

“It’s best to try.” Lucatiel replied, and she nodded.

“If I do have this talent, and goodness knows it would be my first…” The traveler took a deep breath. “I suppose I should try to hone it. Shouldn't I? I'll ask Master Hewg to teach me. Certainly, he does appear intimidating, and holds no love for us Tarnished.” She replied.  “But I know he's trapped here, at the Roundtable Hold... So…”

“It would probably be for the best.” Hawkwood nodded. “Go.”

She walked to the door, but looked back one last time. “Thank you both. For everything.”

“Glad to help.” Lucatiel replied, and Hawkwood nodded.

“Good luck, Roderika.” He said, and she smiled before leaving the room, leaving the two undead to themselves.

“Now then,” Lucatiel sighed. “You’re back.”

“Yeah.” The deserter grunted. “I take it she came down into the room?”

“Yes,” Lucatiel returned. “She told me of how you knew her. Good work, but why’d you help her? A deserter doesn’t strike me as the type to help someone like hert”

“She was crestfallen, and I’ve had to deal with that more then enough.” Hawkwood said honestly. “But how did you come to know her? Passed by?”

“No, she just came by for advice, in spite of the mask.” She frowned. “I think seeing us pass by prompted it.”

“Figures.” Hawkwood shrugged. “Well, I talked with Gideon, and as it turns out, I have to activate the Great Rune at the tower.”

“Already?” Lucatiel raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’ll help with the journey.” Hawkwood lied. “But you can come along if you like.”

“I don’t see why not.” Lucatiel replied. “I’m not doing anything around here, not after what happened, but…why me?”

“Some familiarity and some help would be nice,.” Hawkwood reasoned. “And you’re Tarnished as well, so we might as well see how one of these runes works.”

“Fair enough.” Lucatiel nodded before she stood up. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“Alright.” Hawkwood grinned. “I look forward to working with you.”

“Likewise.” Lucatiel returned, refastening her mask. “You know where it is?”

“Yes.” Hawkwood replied, and they walked out of the room.

Chapter Text

“Good work.” Hawkwood grunted as he watched Lucatiel finish off the last of the golems. She had performed better than he had expected for a knight of Mirrah, but if she’d been enlisted by D that made all the more sense.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” She replied as she sheathed her blade. “Interesting fighting style.”

“So I’ve been told.” Hawkwood deadpanned before turning to the waygate and the broken bridge. “I take it this will get us across?”

“In my experience? Probably.” 

“Alright then.”

They walked to the blue portal, and a few moments later, both found themselves on the other side of the bridge. A site of Grace lay some feet away, and both activated it before turning to the tower.

“Alright, how willing are you to bet that the tower’s filled with more guardians?” Hawkwood asked dryly.

“Heh. If outside is any indication, then very willing.” Lucatiel chuckled before motioning to the doors. “Would you like to do the honors here, or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” Hawkwood said before stepping forward. They were stone, and heavy stone at that, but the runes and souls had given him more then enough strength to shove them open. He gestured to Lucatiel. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” The knight replied before they moved up the stairs, to find an elevator. “Huh.”

“Strange.” Hawkwood frowned, before looking around. There was nothing else. “Is this some kind of trap?”

“I don’t think so, but…” Lucatiel scratched her head. “It can’t be that easy, can it?”

“I doubt it, but…” Hawkwood stepped onto the platform, and at the sign of nothing, shrugged. “Huh. Well, I’ll take it.”

“I suppose.” Lucatiel replied uncertainly, then stepped on herself, activating the pressure plate. 

As they ascended, Hawkwood sighed. He wasn’t willing to call it out yet, but it looked like, for once, things were turning in his favor. A goal fulfilled, an ally, and now, some ease for once.

“Are you ready?” Lucatiel asked as they reached the top, and he nodded.

“I am. Let’s see what these runes can do.” He replied, and they stepped out to the stormy skies once more, climbing the stairs to find a giant pair of fingers atop a pile of sand.

The knight turned to him. “Were the fingers you talked to as shriveled as these?” 

“No,” Hawkwood grunted, and he saw a faint outline of a rune identical to the one he was carrying in between the two digits. “The ones I talked to were taller. And alive.”

“Hmm. The more time I spend in this world, the stranger it becomes.” Lucatiel mused, then shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Activate the rune.”

“Right,” He said, then walked to the desiccated fingers, the imprint of the rune on the back of his palm. “Now then…if this is anything like Lothric, then…”

He reached out to the imprint, but to his surprise, the outline shattered, his body suddenly surging with power.

Power that he had perhaps not felt a single time in his life.

The outline’s parts flew into the rune, and it flared with life as he felt a rush, one more pleasant then the agony from when he’d taken the blood. The hunger was but a faint memory to him now.

But the rush did not leave him. 

“This…this is amazing,” Hawkwood said breathlessly as he stared at the shard. “To think…this rune…”

“Are you okay?” He heard Lucatiel walk up behind him, then hum as she saw the rune’s power outline his form. “Hmmm. Interesting.”

“I’ve never felt better.” Hawkwood replied. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve felt this good, with the curse and my souls. For such a pathetic man to have something like this…”

“Well, he was a demigod for a reason.” Lucatiel replied sagely. “But still, if this is what it’s like to have a Great Rune…I suppose this quest may be different than what was for us in Lothric and Drangleic. Perhaps it is better to work together.” 

“Indeed.” The deserter said impassively. For a brief moment, he considered turning her loose the next time they fought another demigod, but almost instantly shot it down. The last time he’d tried taking power for himself had not gone well, and he had been lucky to find another from Lothric to be amiable enough to work with him. Not everyone would be so lenient.

The knight didn’t appear to pick up on the thought, for she gestured to the exit. “Shall we leave?”

“Yes,” Hawkwood nodded, but a thought came to him. “We ought to give this rune a test. We still don’t know what it does.”

“Hmmm. That is true.” Lucatiel nodded, then lifted a hand to her mask. “Well…I think there might be something we can do for that.”

“Oh? Enlighten me.” Hawkwood said eagerly, and she took a deep breath.

“Have you been to east Limgrave before?” Lucatiel asked, and Hawkwood shook his head. “Alright well, I may not have told you this before, but during my time adapting to this place, I spent quite a bit of time exploring the region.”

“I sense you found something?” Hawkwood pressed.

“I did. Not everything went according to plan, so to speak.” A brief edge of regret bit into the knight’s voice, but she continued firmly. “But during my travels, I found this…wolfman, I suppose you could call him, at the top of a church. I learned how to get to him–”

“But you forgot to return?” Hawkwood guessed.

“No, D came to me with that job. I’d been at the hold for some time by the time I had found the secret, and his interest piqued after he saw that I had some strange root.” 

“A root?”

“It doesn’t matter. He has to deal with his friend, for the time being.” Lucatiel replied impatiently. “Now are we going or–wait. You feel that?”

“Yes, I do.” Hawkwood’s hand flew to his blade. “It looks like we may not need to wait so long to see what this does after all.”

“Indeed,” Lucatiel drew her own weapons. “It never was that easy, was it?”

“Nope,” Hawkwood grunted, and two red outlines appeared at the entrance to the platform.

One was dressed similarly to an Easterner, with armor composed of metal squares and thin blades of the same strange curve. A grisly mask was on his face, and he stared wordlessly at the two former Undead as they took in his compatriot, a woman dressed in chain and leather armor, bearing a twinblade with the same curved blades. A strange helmet was on her head, but that wasn’t most striking to Hawkwood.

It was the fact that her armor appeared to be crafted with the remnants of dragons.

“Stay back, I want to test something.” Hawkwood muttered as he readied his seal. “Be ready to fight if it doesn’t work though.”

“You know these people?” Lucatiel murmured, and Hawkwood shook his head. “What then?”

“Just follow my lead.” The deserter growled, and Lucatiel stumbled back as a dragon’s head formed around him, a torrent of flame being unleashed upon the two. Both dodged to opposing sides, but he did not let them get past him, as he focused on the woman, an onslaught of flame blasting towards her. 

To his surprise, however, she withstood the flame and continued to rush forward, and Hawkwood only barely switched to his blades in time as she met him in a clash of blades. Distantly, he could hear Lucatiel clashing with the man somewhere to the side, but as it stood he had to focus on the matter at hand. 

He gritted his teeth as she whirled her blade with blinding speed, forcing him to defend with his considerably heavier weapon as she attacked relentlessly. He whirled his blade, but she withdrew her blade before swinging in a blow that would have taken his head had he not ducked. He swung out with the dagger as she made to follow up, a move that was stymied by the chainmail before he was forced to take a swift strike to the ribs.

Damn it! He snarled before trying to force her back, the endeavour proving useless as she backflipped away, holding her blade in a guard as she pulled out a seal. Hawkwood recognized the symbol almost instantly as she rose into the air.

“Son of a–” His curse was cut short as he threw himself to the side, a stream of flames that were much higher in intensity than his own jetting across his arm as he hissed in pain, growling as she turned for another blast. He likely should have guessed her arsenal from her attire, but with the rush of the rune he hadn’t had the time to connect the dots.

Enough. He thought as he dodged another jet of flame,  then dashed forward to her in a darting thrust akin to the one preferred in Watcher techniques. He never could master it back then, but his time using the greatsword and dagger had given him time to pick it up and learn once again.

Now it was her turn to be on the defensive as she was forced to disengage her flame breath and roll to the side, the deserter not letting her regain momentum as he swung for her legs with a pivoting sweep, forcing her to jump before blocking her attempted retaliation. He could hear a brief snarl from her as he swung again, slamming his sword down again and again in blows that were meant to break her guard  He could sense that he didn’t have the advantage of experience here, for she met his blows quickly, each block designed to deflect instead of matching his own strength with her own, but that mattered little when his relentlessness allowed little opening for retaliation.

As the Watchers intended.

He sent her staggering back as he planted a foot in her gut, then swung again with both hands on his greatsword. Regardless of the experience equivalence, he was stronger, and it showed, for he beat down her guard and sent her staggering to the ground with a blow to the leg.

“Is that all?” He muttered as he slammed his blade down, but she rolled out of the way, deflecting another strike as he lunged. She returned the favor with a strike that he was forced to block, but used the opportunity to force her into a bladelock. 

A growl rose in the woman’s throat as Hawkwood forced the blade further down, and he suddenly felt a further resistance as her posture hardened. Hawkwood snarled as he eased more strength in, but her posture held. How was that thin blade holding up to this punishment?

He pulled out his dagger to end this farce, but that soon proved to be a mistake as the brief ease of pressure allowed her to draw her own seal and break it off. They clashed once, then again, but Hawkwood rushed forward, taking advantage of her wounded leg to swing straight for her legs once more…only for the knight to rise into the air. A dragon head much bigger then before began to manifest around her.

Hawkwood almost scoffed. Fire? Does she really intend to use fire from this ra–

RRRROOOOOOAAAAARRRRR

He was wrong. He was so wrong.

Hawkwood felt an excruciating amount of agony surge through his body as the roar shattered his eardrums. His eyes rolled back, and he felt his organs rupture as a brief weightlessness took hold, bones shaking before landing on something hard. 

His eyes flickered open momentarily, struggling to his feet as he used the wall he’d landed on as leverage. He fumbled for his flask dimly as he saw the woman charging towards him, Lucatiel and the man still wrapped in bloody battle. The man was wounded form several injuries, but Lucatiel wasn’t unscathed either, for she was holding what Hawkwood guessed was a nasty stab wound, several wounds lacing her arms.

He couldn’t track the fight further as he drained the flask dry, the result not being enough as he only barely managed to dodge the woman’s jumping slash, hardly being able to hear as his organs had barely repaired. His hand fastened around his sword as he knocked aside her next blow, but the other blade of the sword came whipping across his chest. He couldn’t even draw the strength to cry out as the blade cleaved through the armor, a cold burning feeling erupting in his chest as he staggered back, the other dragon communer following up with a slash that he barely managed to match with a bladelock that was quickly shoved back before he took another hit.

“You…” He managed to force out as he gripped his sword with two hands. He could not do any more Farron manuevers in his state, but he could at least fight to the end. He swung out in an attempt to gain distance, but the warrior ducked under before stabbing him in the gut. He sucked in a breath as agony screamed across his body, the blood threatening to surge as his blade fell from his nerveless fingers. For a brief moment, confusion sparked in his mind as he looked at the rune. What had happened to it?

It doesn’t matter. He thought through the pain. He had lost this fight, but he’d damn well make sure to give this easterner something to remember him by. Leather and chain gave way as he drove his dagger into the less protected space below her neck.

She let out a snarl as she staggered back, Hawkwood falling to the ground as she yanked out the pole blade. He reached out for his blade as he saw it to the side of him, but before he could rise to his feet, he saw the warrior standing in front of him.

“What're you waiting for? Do it.” Hawkwood bit out at the woman, and she obliged him, wordlessly raising her blade above his head before stabbing him straight in the heart. The world went dark…

Until, unfortunately, it didn’t.

A burning feeling in Hawkwood’s stomach rose as he opened his eyes. An extremely faint, dark red haze clouded his vision, one that he hadn’t noticed before when he’d killed Margit, but that mattered little to him as he grabbed his blades. He could feel his bones mend and organs recover as he saw the woman step back in surprise, then ready her blade as he hissed.

“You were expecting this.” He said slowly, the scared part in him being drowned out with rage at the realization. “You bloody fool.”

At that, the knight laughed. 

Laughed. 

You rotten whore.

Hawkwood lunged.

She deflected the blade with a smile. “To think you would be another one to fall at my blade. That fool was right, for once.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The deserter snarled before kicking her back, swinging again in a rage-fueled strike that she ducked before retaliating. This time, however, Hawkwood was not so injured, and he blocked the blade before shoving forward, prompting the woman to hum as she sidestepped his next blow.

“Strange.” She muttered as she stabbed forward, the blade being beaten aside with excessive force. “The more this takes, the more I notice your blood smells…foul.”

“Shut up and die.” Hawkwood growled as he switched to dagger and sword, swinging both in a whirlwind of steel that she met with her own bloody strikes. He swung for her legs, but she jumped and retaliated in a blow that he caught and threw off, meeting her in a bloody bladelock.

“How did you know of my blood?” Hawkwood demanded as he forced the blade further down, and she chuckled.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She replied as she kicked him back, then clashed blades with him once again. “I haven’t had this much fun in the longest time.”

“Fun? This is fun for you?” He replied incredulously before flipping into the air in his own strike, gritting his teeth as she backstepped. “You are absolutely mad, woman.”

“Hardly.” The other warrior scoffed before feinting to the side, swinging out in a cut that left his cheek singing in pain. He hissed, momentarily caught off balance, but the damage was already done, as she moved to follow up–

CLANG

Only to get thrown completely off balance as the dagger parried her strike.

Hawkwood’s blood roared in his ears as he slammed his greatsword into her midsection with all his might, sending her staggering to her knees as his sword came away red with blood, then raised his blade once again to finish the fight. This would be a nice, clean, decapitation.

But it was not meant to be.

He howled in pain as he felt a burning pain pierce through his left shoulder, a blade protruding out of it as his greatsword dropped from his fingers. He almost lost consciousness right there from the pain, but the tainted blood roiled within him as he remembered with piercing clarity of the other easterner.

He must have killed Lucatiel then. 

He could do nothing but fall to the ground as the man kicked him off the blade, a low growl in his lips as he looked down on the deserter. “Idiot.”

“I had that.” His comrade said, and the swordsman grunted. 

“You sure seemed to, seeing as he was ready to take your head.” He said unimpressed. “You’re lucky this wasn’t your normal form.”

“If this was my true body, I wouldn’t have let him get up.” The woman bit back. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, it doesn’t. That chatterer was right.” The man grunted. “This blood is…foul.”

“I thought all blood was sweet to you.”

“Not this. It’s strange…but this one’s tainted. Not like the Reedlands.” He said before noticing Hawkwood trying to rise, kicking him down. “Still trying to fight? Impressive.”

“Shut up.” The deserter panted, but he went on ignored as the woman continued

“It’s strange. It’s like he can resurrect, but…not like we know.” The other easterner replied. “The master will want to know about this, Okina. Maybe even see this himself.”

“Then we leave now, Eleonora.” Okina replied. “We cannot capture him like this. Let the other oni find out himself, or the coward draw him in. Who knows. He may even join in on the slaughter.”

“That would be interesting.” Eleonora replied before drawing her twinblade. “I’d like to do the–”

“No.” Okina said before pulling the deserter to his knees by the now-tattered hood. “I will kill him myself.”

“But–” The knight protested, but it was no use. Okina slammed his blade into Hawkwood’s neck, and once again, the world went black.

Chapter Text

When he came to, Hawkwood found Melina sitting at the side of the grace.

“Those fools have no idea what they’ve done.” He said bitterly as he looked down, before noticing the lack of his companion. “Where’s Lucatiel?”

“She had gone inside to go help you.” Melina replied quietly. “She’ll be back soon, but we need to talk.”

“I agree. She doesn’t need to hear of this.” Hawkwood grunted, then frowned. “Wait, you saw?”

“I could not help you in your fight, but yes.” She said grimly. “That was…quite the unnerving experience. They talked as if they knew of it.”

“I know.” Hawkwood grunted. “It doesn’t make sense, in all honesty. The only ones who should know are you and I, but…”

“Those two somehow knew.” The maiden finished. “It’s unnerving, is it not?”

“Indeed.” He replied, then tapped his chin. “Hmmm. I never thought I’d consider this for a man like me, but…maybe we were spied on when I told you?”

“Maybe.” Melina returned. “I do remember something being off when we first met, but…”

“We have no real way of knowing, yeah.” Hawkwood finished before he smiled mirthlessly. “Well, in this case, I have a question.”

“That is fair.” Melina said impassively. “Given what you have experienced in recent times.”

“Oh I agree. Now then,” Hawkwood gritted his teeth. “Why in hell did you not tell me no one had killed a demigod in a long time?”

The maiden was ready. “The answer to that is simple enough. With your disposition and background, I doubted at the time that you would have taken the news very well. And by your reaction, I was right.”

“That is true, but the news certainly would have helped.” The deserter retorted. “It makes me wonder, have I been taken for a fool on this journey?”

“Hardly,” Melina replied sharply. “I will admit that I had been testing you at the time, to see whether you were truly guided by grace, but you succeeded the moment you reached Margit. You thought you had been crushed then? Few others have done as well, and fewer still have dealt with the prior threats with your skill.”

Hawkwood almost laughed. “Lass, I fumbled through a good chunk of those encounters by the skin of my teeth.”

“Have you?” Melina raised an eyebrow. “You’ve made merry with Godrick’s men and the Demi-Humans, and in spite of your troubles, the dra– wyvern was dealt with in a manuever few had managed. If that is the skin of your teeth, I dread to wonder what your standards are for success.”

“Okay, I see your point,” Hawkwood replied grudgingly. “But still, you can’t really expect an accursed fool like me to become lord. My blood is tainted, and I have little knowledge of how to lead.”

“And yet those in worse circumstances have been put in more dire situations.” The maiden replied. “The demigod Malenia had her blood rotted and her body deteriorated and still remained undefeated.”

“I doubt her blood had the potential to cause the fall of the world.” Hawkwood scoffed, and Melina frowned.

“Actually…” She cocked her head. “It did.”

At that, the deserter stared at her. “What.”

“You will need to head to the Caelid Wilds to see, but…it is not a pleasant sight.” The maiden winced. “Her rot caused the destruction of that region.”

“Gods…” Hawkwood whispered, blood churning as he looked at the maiden nervously. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to take her down?”

“Not if you so choose.” Melina said reassuringly. “She hasn’t been seen in over a century since then.” 

“Good .” The deserter replied with mild relief before hearing the elevator land. “I think it is time for you to leave.”

“Not yet.” The maiden said evenly. “There are two more matters to be dealt with. The Two Fingers and your blood.”

“You know how to take care of it?” Hawkwood said hopefully, and she nodded. 

“You didn’t know what it was at the time, but you have a rune arc in your possession, one that will allow you to activate your Great Rune. Use it, and I believe it will be stymied, for a time.”

“So that’s why it didn’t work on the tower…Very well then. Thank you.”

“It is nothing.” Melina returned. “Use it first, the matter of the Fingers can wait.”

“But what the Two Fingers said relates to the–.” The deserter cut himself off as he saw Lucatiel exit the tower. “Oh, damn it all.”

He took out the Rune Arc from his old bottomless pouch from Lothric, then looked at Melina quizzically. “I take it I just crush it to activate it?”

“Yes,” The maiden nodded, and he sighed.

“This is a very similar process to what had happened before.” He said, then looked up as Lucatiel reached them. “Oh, hello there.”

“You died before I could reach you, I see.” The knight noted before turning to Melina. “Who is this?”

“Melina. My maiden.” Hawkwood replied evenly, and the knight chuckled as she removed her mask. “What?”

“Heh. Didn’t take you for the type.” She said, then extended her hand to shake before the deserter could reply. “My name is Lucatiel. Yours?”

“Melina. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The maiden smiled briefly as she shook, and Hawkwood’s eyes narrowed as he saw the mischievous look in Lucatiel’s eyes.

  Gods, we just start working together and she’s already messing with me. He thought with a twinge of annoyance before a thought came to him. Still…how am I going to handle this matter when it inevitably comes to light? I won’t be so lucky next time.

He wasn’t given time to consider it as the knight took a seat at the grace. “How did you last that long up there? I’d waited for a couple minutes and you still weren’t at the grace.”

“The man didn’t join his comrade until I’d nearly killed her, and that took me a while.” Hawkwood grunted, then raised the rune arc. “On the bright side, I figured out how to use the rune.”

“Really?” Lucatiel’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Does it function like a soul? Convert for power?”

“I don’t…think so?” Hawkwood frowned, then looked at Melina. “It won’t do that, right?”

“No, it is much too powerful for that.” The maiden replied informatively. “However, that arc can share its power with you, for a time.”

“How long?” Hawkwood asked.

“Until your next death.” Melina replied easily. “Although considering your own martial skill, I doubt that will be for a while.”

“Good.” Hawkwood said grimly, then looked at the rune etched into the back of his hand. “Now then…let’s see what’s different about you.”

He crushed the arc, and almost instantly, he felt a surge of vitality pulse through him, his rune flaring with life as he felt his attributes enhance. Strength, dexterity, intelligence, and even…could it be?

He smiled.

“No wonder that fool was able to graft so much onto himself.” He said blithely. “I have yet to test it, but…I’m fairly certain this rune’s power is regeneration.”

Lucatiel raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

“I’m not entirely sure.” Hawkwood frowned. “The Rune itself conveys some meaning to it, bridging and mending, an anchor, but…hmm. I guess the vigor’s just the way of showing that.”

“Alright then.” Lucatiel said evenly. “As long as you don’t let it go to your head, I’m fine.”

“Good.” Hawkwood nodded, then turned to Melina. “You wanted to hear of my conversation with the Two Fingers?”

“Yes.” The maiden nodded, and Hawkwood took a deep breath.

“In short, I am not the only one who is from Lothric or the other ashen lands.” He said. “Other undead were brought here by the Greater Will, like Lucatiel here.”

“But why?” Melina frowned. “The Tarnished are meant to repair the ring, why risk others?”

“The reasoning the fingers gave me was that the Tarnished have proven impotent, so they decided to put forth those experienced in a different kind of duty as a new kind.” Hawkwood sighed wearily. “Why, I don’t know, when many of us weren’t the best ourselves.”

Melina was quiet before she spoke again. “If that is true…then it seems the Greater Will desires more and more to the point the Tarnished are no longer enough for it.”

“Clearly.” Hawkwood scoffed. “It almost feels like we’re being toyed with, experiencing whatever we’ve faced in Lothric, or Drangleic, or wherever else these Undead come from, only to deal with this rubbish.”

“Hey, chin up.” Lucatiel cut in before Melina could speak. “I won’t pretend to know everything about your journey, but this is still a second chance. We can make things right.”

“How?” Hawkwood almost laughed. “I am no lord, and I am fairly certain neither are you.”

“We’ll see.” Lucatiel returned levelly. “Regardless, we ought to continue.  You still want to investigate the wolf?”

“Yes.” Hawkwood grunted. “Although this issue isn’t over. We can agree on that.”

“For now, that doesn’t matter.” Melina replied. “Do you wish for me to convert your runes into strength?”

“Yes,” Hawkwood replied, then turned to Lucatiel. “You have mine, correct?”

“Yeah.” She said honestly, then handed over his allotment. “You did good for yourself, going off the amount you had.”

“I did,” Hawkwood replied pensively before turning to Melina and offering his hand. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.” Melina smiled amusedly, and the deserter felt his own arcane power grow stronger once more. 

He heard Lucatiel snicker, then gave her an irritated look. “Do you always act like this when your acquaintances are around women?”

“Okay, fine.” The knight conceded but continued to smile as she continued. “You did say she was your maiden, but I doubt you want to hear that. Mind if I grow stronger myself?”

“Is that possible?” Hawkwood asked, and Melina nodded. “Go ahead then.”

Once the knight had finished gaining her own strength, he turned to Melina. “Alright, I suppose we’ll talk later then.”

“Yes, we shall.” The maiden said, resuming her demeanor. “Farewell.”

“Goodbye.” He said, and Lucatiel almost immediately burst out laughing as she disappeared. “What now?”

“Good gods, you are bad at this.” She chuckled as she refastened her mask. “Is that how you talk to women normally? Even those who can disappear like that?”

“I think your interactions with me go to show that–”

“Oh please. That’s because I’m the only one who has some level of familiarity with your experiences. Really, do you?”

“...Maybe?”

“By the Sun, if Aslatiel could see you. This is too good to miss.”

“Look, let’s just go.” Hawkwood's face reddened as he turned to the grace. “You wanted to go find that Wolf?”

“Yes, yes of course.” Lucatiel said, but the mirth still rife in her voice told the deserter enough to know that she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “Alright, I’ve set up a grace some distance from there. Long as you’re coming with me, you should be able to access it.”

“Good.” Hawkwood replied before resting his hand on the light. “Now then, after you.”

“Please.” The knight snorted as she grabbed his arm, and they disappeared.

Chapter Text

Hawkwood materialized to find himself in darkness.

“Underground?” He muttered as his eyes adjusted. “Really?”

“Well, we’re underneath some ruins for the time being, but yes.” Lucatiel said easily. “Don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t.” Hawkwood muttered. Another reminder, this time of Carthus and the Legion. “But that doesn’t matter. We have a wolf to find.”

“Agreed.” Lucatiel replied, tone tinged with distaste as muffled chatter from behind a heavy iron door was heard. “In all honesty, I hope he’s better then the woman who lives here. Sorcerers are fairly arrogant, but that one is a special kind, for them.”

“I doubt it.” Hawkwood snorted as the chatter petered out, then resumed. “Every mage, with few rare exceptions, always thinks that they are the best in their craft. This one is simply no different.”

“Hmmm. I suppose so,” Lucatiel replied pensively, then cocked her head. “Although she seems to be enjoying herself right now.”

“Of course. Mages always are delighted to find those of equal, or even greater, arrogance. It’s quite pitiful, really” Hawkwood said derisively, then frowned. “Hmmmm.”

“What?” Lucateil asked as he turned to the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hawkwood replied distractedly. “But there’s something familiar about one of those voices…”

“What do you mean?” Lucatiel asked, but she was ignored by the deserter as he slowly walked up to the door. He knocked once, then twice, and the sharp noise rendered the occupants completely silent.

“Who is it?” A level voice spoke, male, and Hawkwood smirked as he replied. He knew who this was.

“So you got brought here too, didn’t you, Orbeck?” He said smoothly. “To think an intelligent man like you would wind up no better then I.”

“Hawkwood?” The voice grew confused, much to the deserter’s growing amusement.

“You know him?” A woman’s voice spoke out, likely the person Lucatiel spoke of, and the voice sighed.

“Yes, I do,” 

The door was pulled up, revealing a dark-haired man who looked very unamused as he laid eyes on the deserter, dressed in the robes of one of Vinheim’s assassins.  “Hello, deserter. Still chasing dragons?”

“Of course” Hawkwood replied steadily. “Still thirsting after knowledge?”

“Yes, although I see you remain as uneducated as ever,” Orbeck replied dourly, but extended a hand regardless. “Still, I suppose it’s good to see a familiar face.”

“Likewise,” They shook, and Hawkwood took in the woman behind him, a stone mask enshrouding her features as her arms were folded. “Who’s she?”

“I am Sellen.” The woman said haughtily. “A sorcerer, quite plainly, much like your rather interesting acquaintance.”

“How’d you come across him?” Lucatiel asked as she walked up, and Sellen sniffed.

“That is none of your business, knight.” She replied derisively. “I’m surprised that you’ve returned here at all.”

“Well, I was hoping to avoid you.” Lucatiel retorted. “Coming here was a matter of convenience.”

“Agreed.” Hawkwood replied, then turned to Orbeck. “But in all honesty, how did you come here? Learned too much?”

“No,” Orbeck said coolly. “But if you must know, I died in peace, fulfilled.”

“Then that explains why you’re here,” The deserter grunted. “Awoke in a chapel?”

“No, actually.” The former assassin shook his head. “I arose in a town of ghosts, within a rotted land.”

Lucatiel inhaled sharply. “Caelid?”

“Yes, I’ve heard that’s the name,” Orbeck said pensively. “Unpleasant place, but I was at least compensated for my trouble. The town had knowledge, and I learned much from my exploration.”

“Of course you did,” Hawkwood said, non-plussed, and Sellen huffed.

“In any case, he has done quite well for himself in learning the existence of Night sorcery.” She said plainly. “His sorceries are rather intriguing, although in their basis...he would be branded a heretic by those in the academy. Or killed.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, but I suppose that only makes us kindred spirits,” Orbeck chuckled. “You’ve shown me new magics, ones that even the sorcerers of my homeland have never discovered. I intend to unearth them all.”

“And become Lord?” Hawkwood guessed, and the mage shrugged.

“Perhaps. Knowledge will certainly be required for this undertaking.” He said plainly. “Although I care little for the pomp and arrogance that comes with the title.”

“You would be better then the Carian fools, at least,” Sellen replied. “Although…if you intend to further your pursuits in Glintstone magic, you would do well to go to the Academy. A Great Rune lies there, and if it is knowledge you desire, I would be able to teach you any scrolls you find.”

“Good.” The former sorcerer grinned. “I suppose that means our lessons to one another will continue.”

“Indeed,” Sellen said ardently. “I have the sense that you’ve only shown me the surface. With the potential you speak of…hmm. I look forward to exchanging theories with you.”

“That settles it.” Hawkwood said dryly. “You two are perfect for one another.”

“You have no right to talk, deserter.” Orbeck replied drolly. “I take it your trying to become lord again?”

“Yes, at the behest of others.” Hawkwood replied with a tinge of bitterness. “I suppose that means that we’ll see each other again for that rune.”

“Perhaps.” Orbeck said simply. “The first one to reach her takes the rune, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” Lucatiel nodded, and the sorcerer turned to her. 

“Pardon me, but I didn’t catch your name,” He said tactfully, offering his hand. “How’d you come across him?”

“A chance encounter that turned into a partnership when we met again.” She shook. “My name is Lucatiel.” 

“Well then, in that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Orbeck said cordially. “Although I’m surprised a knight would align with a deserter.”

“It’s out of familiarity, mostly.” Lucatiel replied genially. “And he’s decent enough, in comparison to what I’ve encountered in the past.”

“Fair,” Orbeck conceded. “Although I will tell you in advance, he was quite crestfallen, so–”

“That’s enough from you.” Hawkwood cut him off with a glare. “I believe we’re both bound to our own destinations?”

“...Yes,” Orbeck replied slowly, then smiled, to Hawkwood’s surprise. “Whatever they may be, good luck, deserter. I was not expecting to see others from our…homelands, and I am glad.”

It was quite some time before the deserter managed to reply. “...As am I. It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” Orbeck replied, then sighed. “But I suppose it’s time we parted ways.. You have your pursuits and I have mine.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood turned away, Lucatiel watching impassively. “May our paths cross again.”

“Yes,” Lucatiel added. “Farewell.”

The deserter and the knight exited the room, and Hawkwood took a deep breath as he walked out of the ruins, the night having come along as he walked to the cliff overlooking the forest.

“You knew him before you died?” Lucatiel walked up behind him as he sat down, face inscrutable as he looked over the forest. “A friend?”

“I wouldn’t call him that.” Hawkwood snorted. “But we did talk.”

“He said something about you being crestfallen.” Lucatiel said slowly. “And you spoke of that at the hold after we helped the girl. I know it’s probably not my place to talk when we only just started working with one another, but…did he help with that?”

“He did. Somewhat, as he learned more.” Hawkwood admitted. “But I’m not going to give you anymore at that time.”

“Entirely fair.” Lucatiel shrugged. “But what did you do?”

“Mostly? Exchanged stories.” Hawkwood said evenly. “Passed by the boredom, do some favors occasionally.” 

“Like?” Lucatiel pushed, and Hawkwood sighed.

“Sold him a soul, once.” He reflected. “I had no use for what it held, but I knew he’d probably want it, and I was right. Man was overjoyed the moment he realized what it held. Old, dangerous spell, apparently, and he had the chance to learn it without going mad.”

“Huh,” Lucatiel stroked her chin. “So you were friends.”

“You could call it that,” Hawkwood grunted. “Are you finished?”

“Yes. Sorry.” Lucatiel said apologetically. “Now then, shall we?”

“Yes,” Hawkwood replied as he rose to his feet. “How far away?”

“Not too far, although we’ll have to take the long way.” Lucatiel said thoughtfully. “He should be down in those woods, but we’ll be on foot.”

“No, we won’t.” The deserter took out the ring. “Don’t kick me this time, you tricky bastard.”

“Why are you talking to a ring?” Lucatiel asked, and Hawkwood groaned.

“You’ll see. He’ll probably like you.” He blew, and Torrent materialized in front of him. “Hello there, Torrent.”

Lucatiel stared as Hawkwood approached the steed with strange caution as it snorted, then took a bite of the grass. “What is that?”

“I have no idea.” Hawkwood replied carefully. “Just that he’s a spirit...horse-goat-gorse, and seems to enjoy messing with me. Don’t you, boy ?”

“Messing with you?” Lucatield scratched her chin as the hybrid threw Hawkwood what she could only call a derisive look. “How?”

“You don’t want to know,” The deserter grunted. “But Melina did tell me something when I was going through the castle.”

“What?”

“He likes these raisins.”

At that, the steed looked up almost immediately. 

“Ah, so now your listening.” He grinned savagely. “Well, before you get them, first, you’re not going to kick me again.”

Torrent flicked its ears.

“I will take that as you saying yes.” He said, then took out the raisins from his satchel, the hybrid’s attention snapping to his hand. “Secondly, this is Lucatiel. She’s going to be coming with us.”

The steed flicked its ears again.

“Good. Now eat up.” The deserter walked forward, and the steed gobbled the fruits out of his hand. It took a couple minutes as Hawkwood let him eat some more helpings, but by the end Torrent let him on happily. “Come on.”

“Thanks,” Lucatiel replied as he helped her on. “You’ve ridden before, right?”

“Yes, I have,” Hawkwood replied. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Lucatiel snickered. “Well, ride on and I’ll provide directions.”

“Right.” 

With that, the two streaked down the hill, going deep into the forest as Lucatiel provided guidance. Mist surrounded them, but that mattered little as Torrent directed itself away from any obstacles. 

In short, it was not long before they found themselves at their destination.

“That’s it,” Lucatiel said plainly as the ruin came in sight. “He should be up–.”

The wolf howled.

“There, yeah, I see him,” Hawkwood replied sardonically as both dismounted, Torrent dissipating. “You know what to do?”

“Yeah,” The knight replied. “It’s actually really simple.”

“Simple is all we can hope for at this point.” Hawkwood said grimly, then frowned. “But wait. Something’s off.”

“Like the runebear droppings right there?” Lucatiel asked, but Hawkwood shook his head.

“No,” He drew his blade. “It’s something–”

CLANG

“Different, yes.” The newcomer said as his shotel was caught on Hawkwood’s greatsword, mere inches away from his neck as he had crept from behind the ruins. “Long time, no see, deserter.”

Hawkwood snarled. “You .” 

“Yes, me.” The man said levelly. He was dressed in dingy, yet decorated armor, and he recoiled as Lucatiel swung for him, taking a stance away from both. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before I met another undead, as the witch said.”

“Witch?” Lucatiel asked, not taking her gaze off of him. “Who is he?”

“Leonhard,” Hawkwood snarled. “A man who tried killing me and several others at one point before that Morne knight threw him out of the Shrine.”

“At one point?” Lucatiel asked, but didn’t receive her answer as both were forced to dodge a slice of energy from their opponent’s shotel. “What is he?”

“Merely a man looking to be a servant to another mistress.” The invader replied simply as he sidestepped Hawkwood’s retaliation. “But I must say, I wasn’t expecting this encounter on my business.”

“Then why bother attacking us?” Hawkwood retorted, and the man hummed as he batted aside Lucatiel’s strike. 

“Old time’s sake,” He said evenly. “And I do not like interference on my–.”

“Enough.” A rough voice growled as a dark shape jumped down behind Leonhard, rising to reveal a towering wolf. “They won’t interfere.”

Leonhard, to his credit, kept his composure as both fighters kept their weapons at the ready. “Are you certain of this?”

“Positive.” The beast replied. “I know that bloody busybody Kalé sent one of them, and the other must have been brought along. Aside from that, however…I know my mistress has already approached both.”

“Hmmm. Very well then.” Leonhard said, then sheathed his blade, turning to them. “You can relax now.”

“How do we know you won’t stab us in the back?” Hawkwood demanded, and the man shrugged.

“If all is well, we have both been approached by the same woman.” He said simply. “Although my acquaintance has not introduced himself yet.”

“The name’s Blaidd,” The Half-Wolf said resolutely. “And I’ve heard that there’s quite the new breed of Tarnished in the Lands.”

“Undead?” Lucatiel guessed, and Blaidd nodded.

“Yes,” He growled. “Although the one who’s accompanying me is…a rather unique sort, for his tendencies. Forgive him.”

“That’s difficult, considering who it is.” Hawkwood muttered. “Are you sure you wish to trust him?”

“Fairly certain, although he is a rather churlish sort.” Blaidd smiled, teeth gleaming. “But the task we’re on has already assured him what betrayal will get him, in any case.”

“Indeed,” Leonhard replied pensively. “It would be…quite foolish to attempt what I had done in my prior life.”

“Good, you got smarter,” Hawkwood replied acidly. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Your wit is as worn out as your uniform.” Leonhard returned. “But in any case, I have the information, Blaidd.”

“Good,” The wolf chuckled. “Darriwil will be brought to justice soon enough then.”

“Darriwil?” Lucatiel asked, and Leonhard supplied.

“A traitor, you see.” He said plainly. “And one befitting of true justice. He’s rotting in a cell near the peninsula.”

“Good,” Blaidd said earnestly, then addressed the duo. “You can come with, if you like.”

“If this Darriwil is a criminal…” Lucatiel hefted her blade. “Then I don’t see why not? Hawkwood?”

“Sure,” The deserter grunted. “Not every day you see the term ‘wolf knight’ taken literally.”

“Ah, so you know of them?” Blaidd asked mirthfully, and Hawkwood nodded.

“Yes, quite so.” He smiled slightly. “I used to be one myself, until things happened, as you’d have it.”

“Yes, you deserted,” Leonhard said bluntly. “Then decided to turn back and pick up their legacy, if your weapons are any indication.”

“Oh shut up.” Hawkwood retorted as a bemused Blaidd and Lucatiel looked on. “At least I didn’t kill my last mistress over paranoia.”

“You didn’t,” Leonhard conceded. “But that won’t happen this time. I intend to go beyond.”

“Those two are going to be going at it this whole time, aren’t they?” Lucatiel muttered as Hawkwood shot back a retort of his own, and Blaidd nodded.

“Likely. They’re lucky the runebear that slumbers here is out for the time being. Although…” He mused. “Your friend intrigues me. Only heard of one tarnished who wanted to be a wolf knight around here, but if he was part of a legion of them in his homelands…he’s quite an interesting character.”

“Fair enough.” Lucatiel replied, then stroked her chin in thought. “But what of your ally?”

“He’s an interesting one himself.” Blaidd murmured. “He’s a bit pompous, but he has potential. Been decent enough conversation as well.”

“I see,” Lucatiel returned. “Well, shall we be off?”

“Yes, best stop them from tearing each other apart before they get there.” The beast returned, then stepped in between them.  “It’s time.”

“Good,” Leonhard said sourly. “I had just grown tired of arguing with this coward.”

“Fuck you too, you hopeless fanatic.” Hawkwood snarled, then blew into the ring, causing Torrent to appear from underneath him. “Try to keep up.”

“Oh I will.” The Ringfinger replied acridly as Lucatiel clambered on. “I’ve discovered quite the ability from those Nightriders, and I can use it quite–”

He hadn’t even finished before Hawkwood shot off into the distance.

“...Craven scum.” He muttered as he drew a second shotel, and Blaidd coughed.

“If you’re done, mate…” He said as he began to move. “We have a Bloodhound to kill.”

He bounded off, leaving the Ringfinger alone in the ruin.

The man only said nothing, only disappearing in a flash of wind as he left the ruin abandoned.

Chapter Text

SLAM

“There’s your reward, traitor.” Blaidd spat as he slammed his blade onto Darriwil’s neck. “A fitting end for you.”

“That was easy.” Lucatiel noted as she sheathed her blade. “Although I suppose starving in prison could leave anyone weak.”

“Little more then a craven dog, then.” Leonhard said, tone dripping with venom. “Naught but bloodied remains, befitting a vile little quisling such as he.”

“Ironic words coming from yourself,” Hawkwood said wryly, then shrugged. “But regardless, he’s dead and that’s all that matters, doesn’t it?”

Leonhard looked ready to reply, but Blaidd cleared his throat. “Yes, it does. Good work, mates. Had to make us work to find him, but it’s done.”

“Any reward?” Hawkwood asked, and the wolf chuckled.

“Tight little mercenary, are you?” He mused, then pulled out a pair of somberstones. “Here it is. You both earned it, after that fight.”

“Thank you,” Lucatiel said graciously as they accepted the prize. “Although you were fairly impressive yourself.”

“Thanks, mate.” The Half-Wolf grinned as he put the severed head of the bloodhound knight into a bag. “Although it looks like I was right about your friend. Man fights more shadow then human when he gets that dagger.”

Hawkwood frowned. “Shadow?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Blaidd shook his head, then cocked his head in thought. “Oh yes. I owe you both for this.”

“What is it?” Lucatiel asked, and Blaidd grunted.

“If you venture north to Raya Lucaria, and come across a venerable blacksmith who's a little on the large side…” He said pensively, sheathing his blade. “Tell him I sent you. And he'll be sure to treat you right. I owe you all one, I reckon.”

Hawkwood frowned. “Large side…like a troll?” 

“Something of the sort.” Blaidd coughed. “At any rate, that’s enough chitchat for now. It’s time we’ve parted ways.”

“What about me?” Leonhard asked, and the Half-Wolf grunted.

“Well, since you seem so interested in serving….” He chuckled, hefting the bag. “You’re coming with me. New help is always needed, and you…well, I think she’ll be quite interested in you.”

“As an undead?” Hawkwood muttered as the Ringfinger was silent, and Blaidd shook his head. 

“More then that, although you’re quite the enigma yourself.” He shrugged. “But you have your duties to tend to, and I’m not going to waste your time any longer.”

“Good,” Leonhard said, but his voice was filled with what Hawkwood could only call excitement as he turned to the Half-Wolf. “Thank you.”

“No trouble, mate. Long as you don’t get it in your head to betray us, she’ll like you.” Blaidd said deftly. “Don’t be a muppet though, we already have one.”

“I…very well.” Leonhard said, then tipped his hat to Hawkwood and Lucatiel. “I suppose this is farewell then.”

“Indeed,” The knight replied, then looked up. The night was still on. “I suppose it was…nice working with you.”

“The same cannot be said for your friend, but right now, that does not matter.” Leonhard replied. “So long.”

“Yes, goodbye,” Hawkwood muttered before blowing into the whistle. “Come on Lucatiel.”

Once the knight clambered on, they shot off away from the evergaol.

“Well, where to now?” Hawkwood said over the wind as it howled past them. “We’ve met your Half-Wolf, and found that asshole.”

“Yeah,” Lucatiel mused. “In all honesty, that man is strange.”

Hawkwood laughed humorlessly. “Which one?” 

“Both of them.” Lucatiel replied pensively. “Although at least the Half-Wolf seems decent. I don’t know what to make of the spellsword.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I before he decided to invade the Shrine.” Hawkwood replied bitterly. “Now you didn’t answer my question. Where to?”

“In theory?” Lucatiel wondered. “We could just go to Liurnia tonight. We don’t need sleep, and between us, I think we’ve done a lot. But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a good sleep. You?”

“Same,” Hawkwood grunted. “Shrine’s floors weren’t exactly comfortable to sleep on.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Lucatiel replied, sitting down as Torrent disappeared. “I was traveling at the time, thought I could sleep in any terrain, but with the Darksign…”

“You too?” Hawkwood asked with mild surprise. “That damn thing’s burning made sleep practically impossible.”

“You get it!” Lucatiel said eagerly. “That thing made me worried every time I’d get up I’d find myself hollowed!”

“I know the feeling,” Hawkwood returned. “Had no purpose myself, so I thought I was going to wake up each time hollowed. That masked swordswoman seemed to be keen on it happening.” 

“What kind of person would want that?” Lucatiel replied sharply. “It’s not a pleasant experience, I can tell you that much.”

“Oh she claimed it to be in service to some place called Londor, but that doesn’t matter.” Hawkwood smiled then. “I believe it’s time we both caught some well-earned rest?”

“Yes,” Lucatiel said, enthusiasm clear. “We can do it here, in theory.”

“Yes, but…” Hawkwood’s smile widened. “I have a better spot.”

“Oh?” 

“Yes. Come on, I have a grace there, it’s comfortable.”

He grabbed her hand, and they disappeared into the grace, reappearing in the midst of a church a few minutes later. A crackling fire was to the right of them, and sitting at it were a merchant and a demi-human,the latter of whom was sleeping as the former looked up.

“Ah, it’s you.” Kalé spoke. “Been a while.”

“Yes, and I see you took in the little runt.” Hawkwood noted, then smiled. “Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” Kalé replied. “Boy’s good with a needle, and he’s been a great help. Met any of my kin?”

“Some,” Hawkwood deadpanned. “They’re a fearful bunch, but I’ve gotten some stuff.” 

“Indeed,” Kalé replied. “And you’ve met another customer of mine. How do you do, Lucatiel?”

“Good,” The knight spoke, taking off her mask. “And you?”

“Fairly well, considering the usual,” Kalé replied evenly. “Business has been a bit better.”

Lucatiel grinned. “Oh?” 

“Yes, I’ve procured quite a few goods. This cape is one.” Kalé pulled out an ornate blue one from his wares. “Quite ornate.”

“Isn’t that…” Hawkwood’s eyes narrowed. “Bernahl’s?”

“Ah, so you’ve met him!” Kalé chuckled. “And here I thought you were a bit of a surly fellow. Yes, he came by and sold it to me. Said he was on his way up north.”

“I see,” Hawkwood muttered. What is he up to? 

“Well, in any case, what’s brought you here?” Kalé yawned. “I was about to turn in for the night.”

“We were going to do the same, actually.” Lucatiel replied. “We’d just finished tending to our business and figured it was time to rest for a bit.”

“Reasonable enough,” Kalé replied. “Most Tarnished do the same out of familiarity, even if they don’t require it.”

“Smart,” Hawkwood replied, grabbing bedrolls from Torrent after a quick summon. “Been a while since I had a good rest.”

“Which is why this is gonna feel good,” Lucatiel sighed as she caught the bedroll. “Night, Kalé.”

“Night,” The merchant said, and the temple’s inhabitants turned in.

A few hours later, Hawkwood woke up to a very ecstatic Boc.

“Master, you’re here!” The demi-human said in surprise. “I never thought I’d see you!”

Hawkwood groaned. “Wha–”

“Oh yes, your sleeping.” Boc said apologetically. “Master Kalé had said to let you rest, but…I got a bit too excited.”

“I can see that,” Hawkwood sighed, blinking blearily as the temple was bathed in light. “Whatever, it’s fine. That was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Thank you, master.” Boc smiled. “Since you sent me here, things have been looking up for me.”

“Have they now?” Hawkwood muttered, then looked to see Kalé trying to hold in his laughter as Lucatiel remained asleep. Very funny. “Family hasn’t been bothering you?”

“Not at all!” Boc replied excitedly. “Master Kalé has been great!”

“It’s no trouble, Boc.” Kalé chuckled. “You’ve been of great help.”

“Thank you, master.” The demi-human grinned, then turned to the deserter. “We’ve been improving on people’s clothes, helping them! I was wondering…”

He stopped, almost looking uncertain as he realized something, and Hawkwood frowned. “What?”

“Would it be possible if you…let me work on your clothes?” He said uncertainly, then looked at the still sleeping Lucatiel. “Your friend too. Her clothes are rather nice, and it’s only fair that I repay you.”

Hawkwood thought about it, then shrugged. “Well, long as you don’t call me master, then I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you, mast–,” Boc caught himself, then smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Hawkwood grunted. “You’re naive, but you’re not a bad fellow.”

“No, he’s not.” Kalé called out. “Boc, don’t forget to charge him his runes.”

“Oh yes, Master Kalé,” The Demi-human replied, then looked at the deserter apologetically. “It’s all in the name of the business.”

Hawkwood sighed as he reached into his satchel pocket. “How much?”

“Five hundred runes each.” Kalé supplied, and the deserter nodded.

“Tidy little sum your packing, aren’t you?” He mused, then offered up the runes. “Oh well. Not like I can do much about it.”

“Maybe we can offer a discount?” Boc asked, but Kalé shook his head.

“Unfortunately no, those are reserved for veteran customers,” He said apologetically. “Sorry.”

The deserter’s eyes narrowed. “You’re an annoying fellow, you know that, right?”

“It’s just business.” Kalé shrugged. “Now then, Boc, take the runes.”

“Apologies,” The Demi-Human said as he did so. “Now, I need you to stand at the ready…”

An hour later, Hawkwood was sitting down as Boc finished modifications to Lucatiel’s armor.

“Alright, that should be good, miss.” He said as he finished threading the last of the damage shut. “All better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Lucatiel replied, nturning to him. “You’re pretty fast.”

“You’re very kind milady.” Boc nodded. “My mum taught me how to work a needle, and it’s something I’ve always remembered her by.”

“I see,” Hawkwood mused. “Still, this is good work.”

And it was indeed. Boc’s work had outdone any attempted repair Hawkwood had tried before. Patches had been replaced so seamlessly that he could have mistook it for the original, and it had even be reinforced somewhat by what they had in stock. 

“Thank you,” The Demi-Human said warmly. “We’re going to be moving soon, but if we ever meet one another again, don’t hesitate to come along.”

“Oh I won’t,” Hawkwood replied wryly. “We have to go soon ourselves, but I suppose that’ll mean we’ll meet again.”

“Hopefully,” Kalé said. “I take it your leaving?”

“Yes,” Lucatiel nodded as she packed up her bedroll. “This was a good time, but we’re going after the next Great Rune.”

“Hmmm. That means you’re probably headed for Liurnia then,” Kalé mused. “Be careful.”

“We will,” Hawkwood returned, summoning Torrent to let his comrade stow the bag. “Gonna do a bit of poking around as well.”

“As expected,” Kalé chuckled. “Let me know if you find anything. I’ll gladly buy it off your hands.”

“Always the merchant, huh?” Lucateil noted, then shook his hand. “Well,farewell.” 

“Stay safe,” Boc said, and the deserter nodded.

“You too,” He shook hands with both. “So long.”

The two undead exited through the grace once again, walking out into Godrick’s grafting grounds to find–

“–What a pathetic excuse for a Lord you were. Craven to the bone.” Gostoc sneered as he stomped down on Godrick’s corpse. “Pushing me about like that. And after all that grafting? Where did that get you?”

Hawkwood only stared. “What the…”

“What…” Lucatiel finished uncertainly, but the commoner paid them no mind. “Isn’t he the guy from the gate?”

“Yeah, but…” Hawkwood didn’t even finish as the commoner continued his rant.

“Look down on me, would you, Godrick?” He snarled as he stomped again pitifully on the grafted lord’s remains. “You filthy slug. Feel it! Feel it! Feel my bloody wrath!”

“Should we stop him?” Lucatiel whispered, and Hawkwood pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I have no idea,” He muttered. “He seems to be wrapped into it well enough. Maybe–”

He was cut off as a familiar voice spoke behind him. “Ah, there you are. Good to see you again.”

“Hmm?” Hawkwood turned around to find a warrior walking out of the door. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah. Father wants me to head north to check in on something.” Nepheli replied easily as she walked up. “You two are working together?”

“Yes,” Lucatiel returned. “Things have been going well, so far, although I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”

“Nepheli Loux.” The warrior shook hands. “Yours?”

“Lucatiel,” The knight said. “You work for Ofnir?”

“Yes,” The warrior nodded. “Helped kill Godrick with your comrade. Good fight, that was.”

“It clearly must have been, if that’s all that remains of him,” Lucatiel raised an eyebrow. “What did you do ?”

“Chopped his limbs and bathed him in dragonfire.” Hawkwood answered acidly. “Man bloody deserved it too.”

“No doubt,” Nepheli said, then snapped her fingers. “Oh yes, I have something for you. Found it here.”

“Thank you” Hawkwood grunted as she handed him a charm, burgeoning with strength. “Hmmm. Curious thing.”

“Make good use of it.” Nepheli folded her arms. “I don't intend to make a habit of scavenging corpses."

“Wise choice,” Lucatiel noted, and Hawkwood grunted.

“Maybe…” he frowned. “Although useful things sometimes turn up.”

“Perhaps,” Nepheli replied strangely. “Although that reminded me of something. You still haven’t explained yourself in regards to things.”

“What, your father didn’t tell you?” Hawkwood frowned. “Doesn’t he share information?”

“He does, actually,” Nepheli replied. “He wanted  to tell you some information after he found you’d left, but you didn’t make it easy to find you.”

Hawkwood frowned. “Were you following us?” 

“No,” Nepheli said honestly. “After I couldn’t find you at Limgrave’s divine tower, I didn’t know where to find you. Preparing for the mission took precedence.”

“Alright then,” Hawkwood grunted. “Well, what is it?”

“It’s on the demigods.” Nepheli replied, then looked at the self-absorbed Gostoc. “Although maybe this information would be better dispensed on the way out.”

“Yeah,” Lucatiel agreed. “I take it this means you’re joining us?”

“For the moment? Yes.” Nepheli grinned. “Hell, the help would be appreciated if you can spare the time.”

“Maybe…” Hawkwood shifted. “But we’re in a bit of a hurry. Another’s going after the runes.”

“Another undead?” Nepheli asked, and Hawkwood nodded. “I see.”

“We’ll check in after we’ve made progress.” Lucatiel said quickly, throwing a look at the deserter. “Help out if you need it.”

“Fair, I suppose.” Nepheli said. “But until we part ways, we have quite a bit of time to catch up. Shall we?”

“Very well,” Hawkwood sighed. “Try not to ask too many questions.”

“Oh I won’t,” Nepheli grinned. “Now let’s go.”

With that, the three walked out of the arena. 

Chapter Text

“So we need a key to get into the academy?”

The bald man nodded quickly under the deserter’s bemused gaze. “Y-yes. Without one, you can’t pass through the Academy, and you’ll never reach the Erdtree Capital.”

“Really?” Lucatiel frowned, but Nepheli cleared her throat.

“If you like fighting your way across the lake to miss out on a rune, then yeah, you can make it.” She shook her head. “No, he’s right. A key would make things much easier for you.” 

“And we don’t know where to find one,” Lucatiel noted. “That’s a problem.”

“One that needs to be fixed with information.” Hawkwood returned, not taking his eyes off the man. “Any idea?”

“Unfortunately no,” The man sighed. “I was on an errand for my studies and had forgotten my own key, but…hmmm. I suppose you could try near the Gate Town’s ruins? You will have to deal with some territorial Albinaurics, but it is my best guess for where you could find one.”

“Albinaurics, hmmm?” Nepheli muttered. “Interesting.”

“Oh?” The sorcerer raised an eyebrow, but the warrior shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter.” She replied distractedly. “I’ve tarried long enough.”

“You’re leaving?” Hawkwood said quizically, and she nodded. “Huh.”

“Want to come with, for a bit?” She asked. “Just up till the lake.”

“What for, more information?” Hawkwood frowned. “You’ve already told me of the Shardbearers and their dwellings.”

“Yes, but you know little else.” Nepheli replied urgently. “You’re newcomers, and...look, I’ll tell you more on the way there.”

“Just go, Hawkwood,” Lucatiel cut in. “I’ll finish up and see if I can get anymore with Thops.”

“Very well,” The deserter grunted. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Lucatiel replied, and they walked out of the church.

“Alright, so what is it?” Hawkwood began as they began to make their way down to the lake. “You seem dead set on a conversation.”

“It’s for my father,” Nepheli retorted. “For a former soldier, you and Lucatiel seem to be borderline neophytes when it comes to these lands, and none of what you’ve told me earlier really matches up.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Hawkwood sneered. “Because if we told you the full story of the lands we hailed, we’d be derided as madmen. The notion would simply be ridiculous.”

“Oh?” Nepheli raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

“You would if you knew,” Hawkwood gritted his teeth. “It really doesn’t matter, but–”

“Well, father wants to know, so you pretty much have to by Hold law.” Nepheli cut in. “And even if what you say is nothing but dirt, I’ve been in need of a good yarn anyway.”

“Well, you’re not going to get it,” Hawkwood said sharply as the lake came into view. “I’ll make this quick. The lands we came from had been dying for centuries, and we were both soldiers who fought for them.”

“You’ve said that before,” Nepheli said slowly. “But what do you mean by dying?”

“Oh, it’s a much similar case to here, in all honesty.” Hawkwood smiled hollowly. “Some god decided to sacrifice the world on his ego to persist the age. Only for much, much, longer.”

“No one was able to fix things?” Nepheli frowned. “Fix the god’s mistake?”

“No, because if you did so, you either doomed the world or continued it’s slow death,” Hawkwood replied bitterly. “I was one of the failed candidates to continue, you see, and if she hadn’t lost her way, she likely would have been as well.”

“And that explains why your here?” Nepheli asked as they began to enter some ruins, and Hawkwood shrugged.

“Something like that, yes.” He said grimly. “But now then…you wanted to help me learn more of the world?”

“Yes, but one last thing.” Nepheli frowned. “Why did you snap so badly about Godrick grafting the dragon?” 

“That?” Hawkwood laughed. “That was simply out of disgust for his lack of respect to the wyvern. They’re not their kin, but they are still majestic beasts.”

“So you admire them?” Nepheli raised an eyebrow, and at Hawkwood’s nod she shrugged. “Well that explains things.”

“Good.” Hawkwood muttered. “Anything else?”

“No,” Nepheli replied. “But I will tell you this. If you are partaking in dragon communion, be wary of it. A grim end is in store for those who let their hunger consume them.”

“So I’ve heard,” Hawkwood replied. “How many of them remain in the world?”

“Quite a few,” Nepheli replied. “Although father’s said most of their ancient kin have long returned to their home.”

At that, Hawkwood perked up. “Ancient kin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Nepheli shook her head. “At any rate, Liurnia and what comes after will be much different from Limgrave. You’re going to have to deal with the academy’s experiments, and there are many of them throughout the lake.”

“Like the albinaurics?” 

“Yes. Them, and the few Abductor Virgins who remain. That’s not even mentioning the Fire Monks and Knights of the Cuckoo–”

“Excuse me,” Hawkwood said slowly. “Knights of the Cuckoo ?”

“It’s an amusing name, but they are the most sadistic bastards you’ll come across.” Nepheli replied. “Even if they’ve long lost their minds in the war, they haven’t forgotten their cruelty in service of the academy.”

“What do they use?” Hawkwood snorted. “Armor bedecked in bird feathers?”

“No,” Nepheli replied unamusedly. “They’re mercenary knights who use magic and got through the Shattering with the least conflict. Be wary of them.”

“Alright, fine.” Hawkwood said, although his grin remained. “What else?”

Nepheli sighed. “Aside from that? They’ve got marionette automatons loose in the lakes, and if I remember correctly, they’ve taken care to experiment with some of the plants here. There’s also the creaturs that Deathbed Companion had informed Father of, like the Reve–”

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

“Wha–”

Hawkwood didn’t have time to finish his sentence as he could only barely comprehend a many-limbed thing crashing into him. He hit the ground hard as it slapped him to the ground, but as son as he reached for his greatsword, it disappeared, reappearing twenty feet away with a screech.

“What…the… fuck? ” He panted as he rose to his feet, and Nepheli chuckled as she flourished her axes.

“I see an example has come to display itself,” She grinned, and Hawkwood saw several hunchbacked humanoids make themselves known amongst the ruins. “That’s a revenant, and those are the wraithcallers.”

“You know, for a barbarian, you sure don’t talk like one,” The deserter muttered, and she shrugged as they both dodged the revenant’s next charge.

“Blame my father,” She said plainly as they were both forced to dodge spirits summoned forth by the Wraithcallers’ bells. “You handle this thing, I’ll go after his support.”

“But–” Hawkwood was cut off as he was forced to block the revenant’s next blow, leaving him to curse as he forced it back. “Oh, bloody hell!”

The revenant screeched in kind as it struck forward with it’s copious amount of limbs, Hawkwood being forced to retreat as they scrabbled all over where he once was, then vanished away to hock up poison all over the ruins. He could hear Nepheli reaching the first of the wraithcallers, but it hardly mattered when the thing was barreling towards him to dunk him in its poison.

To hell with it. He thought as he grabbed his seal, and the creature screeched in agony as dragonfire washed over it, the water doing nothing to alleviate its pain as Hawkwood dumped every single bit of magical power he had into cooking it. When he finally stopped, it was covered in burns, and the rags it had been adorned in had burnt away as it struggled to stand.

“Well aren’t you an eyesore,” The deserter sneered as he lunged forward before it could recover, greatsword chopping its head in half. “Annoying.”

“Good work,” Nepheli replied as she finished her own work. “Annoying, aren’t they?”

“Yes, they are.” The deserter stumbled as his hunger struck him again. “Now then, any more threats you’d like to inform me of?”

“Hmmmm.” Nepheli stroked her chin, then shook her head. “No, that should be all, aside from the dragons you’ll probably enjoy seeing.”

“There are dragons here?” The deserter asked hungrily, and at the warrior’s nod, he frowned. “Huh. They seem to like lakes.”

“Maybe. I haven’t thought about it much,” Nepheli replied absently, then shrugged as she handed him a cookbook. “By the looks of you, you’re gonna need that more then me.”

“That obvious to you, huh?” He muttered. “Well, any tips against the creatures here?”

“Yes, I do,” The warrior nodded. “Healing will slaughter those revenants easily enough, for one.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, D showed it to me once as a ‘personal example.’ Their bodies are messed up, so the healing tries to forcibly fix it, which mutilates the thing in the process.”

“I see,” Hawkwood mused. That might come in handy later. “What else?”

“If you want a risky move, crystal darts will cause marionettes and golems to go berserk.” Nepheli added. “Although beyond that, I’m afraid that’s all.”

“That’s fine,” Hawkwood grunted. “I can deal with a horde of jumped up knights and sorcerers.”

“I can believe that,” Nepheli replied evenly, then turned to the nearby waygate “Although I believe this is where we part ways.”

“Where do you think that leads?” The deserter frowned, aand she shrugged.

“I don’t really know, but I don’t think you have much to worry. This was former academy ground.” She said simply. “Should lead you closer to your goal.”

“Very reassuring.” The deserter said sarcastically, then turned to see Lucatiel walking up. “Hello again.”

“Good to see you too,” The knight replied, looking him down. “Judging by your appearance, you got into a fight?”

“Yes, he did.” Nepheli snorted. “Did quite well though.”

“I see,” Lucatiel noted. “Well, I talked with Thops a bit more, and he told me something about this place. More specifically, that waygate.”

“You know where it leads?” Hawkwood asked, and she nodded.

“Yeah. He said it takes you straight to the academy gate.” She explained. “Used it to get to where he is now.”

“Then that settles things.” Nepheli said, hefting her axes. “We both know where to go now, and I believe it’s time we parted ways.”

“Yes,” Hawkwood replied, then shook her hand. “Farewell.”

“Good luck,” Lucatiel added.

The warrior nodded as she turned to leave. “You too.” 

The two waited for her to leave before Lucatiel began. “Now what?”

“We have two options ahead of us.” The deserter grunted. “Either we take this waygate and try to find our key from there, or we try to find the key here, then come back to this gate.”

“Hmmmm.” Lucatiel hummed. “I like the former idea more, but what do you think?”

“I agree with you.” Hawkwood replied pensively. “I’d rather not go through the whole lake to get to our destination.”

“Then that settles things,” Lucatiel said, walking up. “Let’s go then.”

The two entered the portal, and sure enough, they found themselves standing near a grace, a massive gate stretching out in front of them.

“Hmmm. Convenient.” Hawkwood noted as he lit the site. “Well, there’s our gate.”

“Yes, although we’re still stuck without a key.” Lucatiel said as she did the same, then frowned as something caught her eye. “Hmmm. Wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon.”

“What?” Hawkwood frowned, then followed her gaze to see a very familiar face absently looking over a map. “Orbeck?

“Hm?” The former assassin tensed as he looked around, only to relax as he saw them, pocketing the map. “Ah, hello Hawkwood.”

“What was that map?” Hawkwood asked, and the other undead sighed. 

“It’s for a meeting place.” Orbeck replied. “Apparently, it details the location of a few select keys…you know them?”

“Yes,” Lucatiel nodded. “Met a sorcerer in a church?”

“Why yes,” Orbeck nodded. “Swell fellow, needs more confidence in himself.”

“I figured you’d like him,” Hawkwood noted. “But at any rate, it appears we have similar goals for the time being.”

“Getting into the academy,” Orbeck finished. “Well, I’m not one to withhold information, although I do seem to remember we three are all in a race for that Great Rune.”

“Maybe,” Lucatiel replied. “But wouldn’t it be a bit easier to have help on the way there?”

“I can handle myself.” Orbeck returned sharply, then sighed. “Still…I don’t suppose it’d hurt to get some aid for this. The keys have quite a guardian, from this map.”

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow. “From what I know of you, you’re not one to back down from a challenge.”

“And I’m not, but consider this a favor, because I think you’ll like this.” Orbeck said firmly. “It’s a wyvern. One infused with glintstone, from…eating a bunch of sorcerers.”

“And you're getting my help because you don’t want to join them.” Hawkwood smirked. “A magic wyvern. Who would have thought?”

“Not me, certainly,” Orbeck snorted. “It’s west of here, and we shouldn’t have much resistance. I cleared the academy’s men when I got here.”

“Good,” Hawkwood grinned. “Have you heard their name?”

“Yes,” Orbeck snickered. “Cuckoo Knights.”

“Pitiful naming.” Hawkwood chuckled in front of a bemused Lucatiel. “They give much trouble?”

“Not at all,” Orbeck replied simply. “But now then, shall we go?”

“You have a mount?” Lucatiel asked, and the sorcerer nodded.

“Grabbed myself a horse on the way here,” He said plainly as they walked down. “Irritable sort, he is.”

“Similar to mine then,” Hawkwood returned. “Let’s go.”

With that, the three Undead made their way out of the academy.

Chapter Text

“Alright, stop here.” 

Hawkwood wheeled Torrent to a halt as Orbeck stopped, a rocky outcropping in view as he joined the sorcerer. His face was grim.

“Well, that’s our wyvern.” He said gravely, checking his staff as he looked over his memory stones. “Our keys should be behind it, if the map’s right.”

“Good,” Hawkwood grunted, dismounting first as he grabbed his sword. “It’s been some time since I’ve been able to pursue the path again.”

“Going to kill it?” Lucatiel said bemusedly as he joined him. “Well, it needs to be done, but I don’t think that was how the path worked.”

“Eh, an old man spoke of Dragon Communion,” Hawkwood shrugged. “Consume wyverns’ hearts, take their power. Become dragon, I suppose.”

“Maybe,” Orbeck murmured. “Speaking of, when I was leaving that hellhole, I came across something similar. This cathedral with these knights.”

Hawkwood tensed. “What do you mean?”

“They were capable of using dragonfire.” The sorcerer replied. “And some ways up north was a dragon, a nasty one.”

“Did you kill it?” The deserter said hungrily, but Orbeck shot him a look as he licked his lips.

“I’m not a fool.” He replied sharply. “I don’t go looking for a fight senselessly.”

“Ah,” Hawkwood said with mild disappointment, but it soon faded in favor of a look of eagerness in the face of the Glintstone Dragon.  “But now then, shall we kill this one? I’ll check out your location later.”

“You seem awfully eager for this,” Lucatiel noted. “This is a magic wyvern.”

“And?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, and Orbeck sighed.

“Just don’t let your desires get to you.” He said pointedly. “I have little doubt the two of you could take it on alone, but I can make things much, much easier. Just draw its fire.”

“Can’t you just sneak in and out?” Lucatiel asked prudently, and Orbeck shook his head.

“The water would alert the dragon,” He explained. “Although I respect the effort to find an alternative, we will have to let Hawkwood indulge himself with you while I make preparations to bring it down.”

“Long as you don’t destroy the heart.” Hawkwood hefted his weapon. “Although I’m curious to see what little spell you’ve picked up to defeat this thing.”

“It’s a good one.” Orbeck replied plainly. “Now go. I want this to be done quickly and without any trouble.”

“Alright then,” Lucatiel sighed as she sized up the dragon. “This is not gonna be fun.”

“Never taken down a wyvern before?” Hawkwood replied quiziccaly, and she shook her head.

“No.” She replied as she fastened on her mask. “A demon, yes, but not one of the dragons’ descendants.”

“Well, a demon will have to be close enough, if it comes down to it.” Hawkwood replied as he walked forward. “Try to get the keys while I do this, they are what we’re here for, after all.”

“You’d best keep his attention then,” Lucatiel returned. “Good luck.”

The deserter only nodded in reply as he made his approach quietly, focus now entirely on the wyvern. The water was an issue, a clear one, but he had not let his hunger get the best of him yet. If he wished to make his approach, he’d need every single advantage, and the wyvern began to stir as he stopped near its head. He took a deep breath as he raised his greatsword.

Alright then, you big bastard. Here goes. 

SLAM.

The wyvern let out an earsplitting shriek as the greatsword cut deep into its head, Hawkwood’s blood beginning to pump hard as he tore it out. That had been a good hit, one that he doubted would be so easy to land next time, but that mattered little to him as it rose to its full height. It was time to consume another heart.

The wyvern took the first move, raising one foot high into the air before slamming it down, but it proved much too slow as the deserter dodged away, then into its leg. The greatsword cut deep once again, but the wyvern by now knew to be wary of the weapon, for it shot into the air almost immediately after the blow. Hawkwood grinned as he looked up at it, following it to see it move to a different part of the lake, but in response he whistled for Torrent, the steed not balking as it saw the beast.

“Let’s go,” The deserter muttered under his breath, and the gorse shot toward it easily as he hefted his greatsword. The dragon unleashed a fiery jet of blue flames toward them, but that only made the deserter laugh in amazement as he banked left, then swung again toward it’s face as he dismounted, cutting deep once again. The beast screeched in anger, whipping its head around once again and sending gorse and rider staggering to the side, but Hawkwood did not stop dismounting to slam his greatsword down again onto its head.

Only a little more now. He thought as the dragon backed away to attempt a bite, one that he ducked before sending it staggering to the ground with a heavy handed blow to the skull. Checkmate.

The wyvern roared as Hawkwood slammed his greatsword into its jaw, then plunged it into its eye. He grinned, blood thrumming in his veins and hunger peaking as the dragon stumbled back, unsteady as it screeched in agony. It’s over.

But Smarag did not fall.

Hawkwood’s eyes widened in surprise as flames suddenly filled the glintstone dragon’s mouth, scrambling for cover all too late as the dragon flew into the air. He roared in pain as he was bathed in the magical flames point-blank, falling to the ground as steam surrounded him, losing sight of the dragon. He groaned, reaching for his flask and silently thanking Melina as he drank once again, the Great Rune doing its work on whatever that hadn’t been healed. It had been upgraded a bit further, to the point where he didn’t need to drain it to fully recover, but still nowhere near what his old estus had.

Still, it’s enough. He thought as he gripped his blade, seeing the dragon still balefully watching him on the other side of the lake. Blue power pooled within its mouth as the deserter approached once more on Torrent. More fire. He wouldn’t be caught off guard by that little tactic again.

But once again, the wyvern surprised him, as a powerful bolt of magic launched him clean off of Torrent, landing hard in the water as Smarag capitalized. Jaws snapped viciously as it barreled forward, flames brimming within its mouth as he made ready to cook the deserter. Hawkwood had only barely managed to rise into a sitting position before it slammed him to the ground with a single wing, knocking the wind out of him. He closed his eyes, ready for another death, but–

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

He opened his eyes in surprise as he suddenly felt the weight suddenly shift off him, the dragon screaming in pain as a giant laser bored a hole into its wing, sending it staggering to the side. Flames brimmed in its mouth as it tried to finish its meal, only to choke as the laser fired again. Hawkwood could only watch in awe as it tried to put one foot forward, then another, before finally falling dead right next to him.

“What the… hell ?” He muttered, eyes wide as he stared at it, the body beginning to dissipate as the lake was quiet once again. It was almost too good to be true, and yet…the heart was right next to him.

No way. He thought, drinking his flask and blinking rapidly, but the heart remained. There’s no way that a spell like that exists.

“Surprised?” Orbeck observed as he walked up, staff still smoking from the attack. “You cut it close.”

“What was that spell?” Hawkwood demanded as he picked up his prize. “And how did you learn it?”

“No thank you for the save?” Orbeck raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. “It’s called Soul Stream. I had been plundering it when I died.”

“Fucking hell…no wonder you died right after.” The deserter muttered. “That spell turns fighting anything into a joke.”

“Indeed, although I care more of the knowledge then the application.” Orbeck replied pointedly. “I only know how to use this efficiently because of my work for the school.”

“Maybe,” Hawkwood grunted. “Well, thank you anyway. To think that magic would work on a dragon like that…”

“Indeed. Your lady friend got the keys easily, by the way.” The sorcerer replied. “You did your part well.”

“Of course,” Hawkwood said sardonically. “Well, I have my heart, so let’s go.”

They found the knight sitting at a shore nearby, rising to her feet as they approached. “Well…that was impressive.”

“Thank you,” Orbeck smiled. “I’ve spent a long time honing my craft.”

“And I can see that,” Lucatiel replied, then turned to Hawkwood. “You did pretty good yourself.”

“Not one word,” The deserter growled, but she shook her head.

“No no, you were doing well enough when you were fighting him. Just got bad luck.” She replied. “Now then, shall we head back to the academy?”

“Not yet,” Hawkwood grunted, holding the heart. “I’m hungry.”

“Really now?” Orbeck frowned. “We have better things to do then–”

His stomach growled, and Lucatiel chuckled. “I see that spell appeared rather draining on your stomach, sorcerer.”

“Maybe…” Orbeck said slowly, stroking his chin. “Hmmm. I know a place we can head to, if you both want. I was headed that direction anyway.”

“Good,” Hawkwood replied, then frowned. “When was the last time either of us have had a proper meal?”

“I don’t know.” Orbeck shrugged as he mounted his nag. “But I get the sense that you’ll like this man just fine.”

“Then this will be good,” Hawkwood returned, then mounted Torrent, although not before feeding him a healthy helping of seeds. “Let’s go.”

A short while later, they were riding through the lakes, the three riders silent as they moved on. The hunger had ebbed to a dull pain as Hawkwood rode, and the heart was safely in his bag as he continued to ride. He would need to head back to that church, but perhaps that cathedral Orbeck had talked about would be worth investigating. But for now…

Hmmm. I can use a sacred tear. He thought as they passed by a church. They usually had them, if experience was anything to go off of, and he needed some form of easy respite from this pain when he wasn’t eating. It’ll do.

“I’m stopping here!” He called out to Orbeck as the sorcerer rode on ahead him. “I want to check this place out!”

“Then I’ll wait.” Orbeck replied as he banked to a stop. “You can’’t find thi place without me anyway.”

“Stay here,” The deserter muttered to Lucatiel as he hopped off Torrent, slipping her the ring. “I’ll be quick, hopefully.”

“What are you looking for?” The knight asked, but the deserter shook his head. 

“It’s nothing important, really.” He replied. “I’ll be back.”

With that, he walked up the island, the church coming into starker relief as he approached. A white-masked man was at the door, and he called out to the deserter as he proceeded. “Ah yes, Tarnished, are we?”

“Hm?” Hawkwood frowned as he stopped at the entrance, then pointed at him. “Is this your church?”

“No,” The man said simply. “I am simply one of its faithful. May I see your hand?”

“...Yes?” Hawkwood replied uncertainly, offering it. “Don’t try anything funny.”

“I would never,” The man returned smoothly, and he scrutinized it before taking a deep breath. “Ah, you’ve done well for yourself, I see. You possess one of the demigods’ Great Runes!”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” The deserter retracted his hand all too quickly. “Why are you covered in blood?”

“This? Simply a sign of the church’s blessing.” The man said easily. “I fix others in my line of work, and as you might expect it leaves me rather…unclean.”

“Alright…” Hawkwood replied, the explanation doing little to quell his unease. “Would you happen to know if I could…receive the church’s blessing? A tear of sorts?”

“Unfortunately no,” The man replied easily. “The Church’s blessing is something much different, but allow us to introduce ourselves to one another first. My name is Varré. Yours?”

“Hawkwood.” The deserter said reluctantly, backing away slowly. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Varré said, voice dripping with kindness. “Unnerved? You shouldn’t be. This will be worth your while, believe me.”

“Alright…” Hawkwood replied, tense. “Let’s hear it.”

“Have you visited the Roundtable Hold, perchance? Received the wisdom of the Two Fingers?” Varré began. “You have clearly slain Godrick the Grafted, I can tell,”

“...I have.” Hawkwood grunted. “What of it?”

“You’ve done well for yourself, very well for yourself indeed.” The surgeon said merrily. “But regardless, what was your impression?”

“My impression?” Hawkwood frowned. “Well…they essentially called me a condemned wretch.”

“Really now?” Varré’s tone was laced with genuine surprise. “Whatever for?”

“You don’t need to know,” The deserter bit out, and the man nodded.

“Yes, your secrets are your own.” He replied simply, thenn sighed. “Well, I suppose that’s another point of credibility to my doubts then. They’d been piling up, you see…”

“You don’t say,” Hawkwood muttered, and the surgeon nodded.

“Your intuition has served you well, thus far.” He replied. “The words of the Two Fingers cannot be trusted. Truly, naught but rambling, senile delusions.”

Clearly they must be, if an airhead like you is aware of this. Hawkwood thought, but held his tongue as Varré continued.

“I believe, that when the Elden Ring was shattered, the Two Fingers were corrupted, their guidance; skewed.” He said bitterly  “Even worse, the Fingers harbor no love for our kind. That's the part that irks the most.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood smiled mirthlessly. “Gives you conniptions, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Varré replied, and a thought came to him. “Oh, I have a gift for you, something fit for only the wise. A means for circumventing the draw of the Two Fingers.”

“Oh?” Hawkwood replied, interest mildly piqued, and the surgeon pressed three bloody fingers into his hand.

 Give it a try, won't you? And if it please you, may we meet again.” Varré replied as the deserter’s eyes narrowed. “You have more sense then most, my lambkin. I have high hopes for you.”

“You…” Hawkwood frowned as he considered them. They were steeped in the same power as the old red eye orbs. “You wish for me to kill others?”

“If you wish,” Varré said plainly. “They’ll show you to those who slavishly follow the Two Fingers’ will, and one in particularly vexes me to no end. He’s a blasphemer to my faith, lurking around to deface our sites whenever he can find them.”

“I see…” Hawwood replied, then sneered. “Well, I’m not going to do your dirty work. Kill him yourself if you wish, but I’m not going to stain my hands for you.”

You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I can promise a great reward.” Varré said easily. “One that would benefit you much.”

“I doubt anything you could offer would make it worthwhile,” Hawkwood scoffed. “I’m not a fool.”

“And I haven’t taken you for one,” Varré replied. “But know that what I promise may…purify you.”

At that, the deserter tensed. “ What.”

“Oh I can smell it off of you clearly.” Varré continued. “Your blood is quite foul, is it not?”

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood demanded, and the man looked at him in surprise

“I suppose it’s not obvious to the layman, but we of the anointed can…get a sense, for one’s blood.” He said carefully. “Now, your blood is foul, and from your reaction I can sense that that’s a foul thing. However, in our terms…you have great capacity to be blessed.”

“Blessed.” Hawkwood said flatly.”In what?”

“Well, I suppose you shall find out, shall you?” Varré replied in a sickly sweet tone. “Just know that no matter the case, your blood will be purified.”

The deserter hesitated. This was almost too good to be true, but…

What the hell.

“Where’s the target?” He spat. “Come. I don’t have all day.”

“Hasty, are we?” Varré noted. “He was last seen on the Altus Plateau. If I had to guess, you’d find him at the ruins in the north of there.”

“Thank you,” Hawkwood replied, and he was gone.

Lucatiel was the first to see him as he ran back up to his companions. “What happened to you?”

“You look like you’ve swallowed that heart.” Orbeck noted. “What did you see?”

The deserter only smiled weakly at his companions.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Chapter Text

“Hmph, you again.” 

The steel-masked man looked up from his steaming pot of prawn as the three Undead rode up.

“Yes, me.” Orbeck replied as he dismounted. “You’ve been well since our last meeting?”

“As well as anyone, I suppose.” The man muttered, considering his acquaintance’s three companions. “You’ve brought friends too…this better be worth my while, spook.”

“Oh, you can trust them.” Orbeck replied plainly, then turned to his companions. “Although I suppose introductions are in order. Hawkwood, Lucatiel, meet Boggart. Big Boggart, he likes to call himself.”

“Hello,” Lucatiel spoke first, offering a hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Hmph.” The man shook. “You’re fine.”

“Is something wrong?” Lucatiel cocked her head, and the man grunted.

“Nothing,” He bit out. “Just don’t start shit.”

“Alright…” Lucatiel stepped back, and Orbeck gave her an apologetic look.

“He’s like that,” The sorcerer replied, then frowned at his other companion. “Hawkwood?”

“What?” The deserter snapped out of his thoughts, then looked to see a non-plussed Boggart. “Oh…hello there.”

The man turned to Orbeck as he shook hands. “You’re a right strange bunch, you know.”

“Apologies, something’s been on his mind for a bit.” Orbeck replied, shooting a look at the deserter. “Although he won’t say what.”

“Well, I’m not one to pry into anyone’s business.” Boggart grunted, then sighed as he rose to his feet. “Now then, tell me, do either of them like prawn like you?”

At that, Hawkwood frowned. “Prawn?”

“I’m afraid I’m a stranger to the subject myself.” Lucatiel added. “What are you talking about?”

The man just stared.

“Oh boy.” Orbeck muttered as he turned to him.

“Okay, where the fuck did you meet these two blokes?” Boggart demanded. “How do they not know of prawn?”

“Crayfish are…a rarity, where we come from,” The sorcerer sighed. “I don’t think either of them have really had the chance to try it.”

“Hmph. Maybe…” Boggart grunted, then looked over his pot. “Although I am running a bit low on the good stuff. Think you can put that magic to use?”

“Of course, although for this endeavour…I think it’d be better to apply force instead.” Orbeck replied. “I’ll make this easier for you, but expect nothing but ashes if you want me to kill one of these things.”

“That’s very well,” Boggart replied, then snorted as he slipped his hands into a pair of iron balls. “Alright, you clods. I’m going to show you real food.”

“Night’s coming in,” Orbeck noted as he saw the sky dimming. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” The masked man grunted as they began to walk. “Although we only need a couple down for this. Ought to be quick.”

“I’d hope so,” Hawkwood muttered, and the man shrugged.

“If you want your food, then come with me.” He replied plainly, then broke into a run. “Come on, you can usually find some this way.”

Twenty minutes later, they were crouching with him in a few bushes, three giant crayfish sleeping near a gazebo. A fourth one was patrolling around, and Boggart audibly licked his lips as he watched it move around. 

“That’s our meat.” He said hungrily. “If we’re lucky, we can bag all four before they catch on.”

“Hopefully they don’t.” Orbeck replied. “I’ve seen what their spit does to things, I don’t want to share that fate.”

“Oh, you won’t, you have the guidance.” Boggart replied distractedly. “But anyway, which one of you wants to take out the awake one?”

“I will,” Hawkwood grunted, gripping his greatsword. “Can’t promise that it’ll be quiet, but it will be fast.”

“That’s all we need.” Orbeck replied. “Go.”

The deserter nodded as he crept over to the crustacean, the creature not taking care to notice him as it patrolled the area. It was a curious thing, much similar to a crab had it not been for the massive tail protruding out of it’s back and the more horizontal shape its body took. He’d never quite seen anything like it.

Well, regardless of the case, it’s my meal. He thought cravingly, creeping up behind it. And it must go down quickly.

He gripped his greatsword with both hands, then swung with all his might. Thick carapace was no match for heavy steel, and it stumbled to the side as three of it’s legs were sliced clean off. It tried to turn tgoward him sluggishly, but his Greatsword lashed out again, and it collapsed entirely as all of its right legs were gone. 

Apologies mate. He thought with a twinge of remorse as he watched it flail in a frenzy to get him. It was quite pitiful, really, but all that was left was to put it out of its misery, and he did, as its upper carapace gave way under a couple more slams of the greatsword. A stab later, and it fell dead.

He heard the rustle of leaves then, and much to his satisfaction, he saw his companions dashing toward the sleeping lobsters, Boggart giving him a respectful nod before dashing on. He sighed, his part of the job being done as his allies began to take out the sleeping lobsters, until–

REEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“What in the–” He whirled around, only to get sent staggering back by a pair of crossed swords, the lobster’s corpse gone. “Another one of you? Are you kidding me?”

The Grafted Scion only shrieked in return as it lashed out, forcing him to block before slamming the arm to the ground. However, before he could sever it entirely the shield came over it, prompting him to curse. How the hell is this thing here?

He drew the dagger quickly and pivoted below its shield, sending it stumbling forward as it’s front feet were chopped off. It shrieked as its arms were taken next, but its misery was soon ended as it’s head was split in half, leaving him panting from the rush.

“I knew I should have killed that bastard slower,” He muttered as the runes flowed to him. “To think…a lobster would turn into that…or that another child would have been–hm?”

He frowned as he noticed a strange silvery tear amongst the remains of the scion, and he picked it up. It was strange to hold, malleable almost. Like it held a memory. “What’s this?”

His brief discovery was disturbed as he heard Lucatiel call out to him. “Hey are you alright?” 

“Yes, I’m fine,” He replied absently as he put the tear in his bag. Maybe it had something to do with the lobster turning into the scion, but he’d need to learn later to get any sort of answer. “I was caught off guard is all.”

“Well, we got all three.” Boggart replied, carrying three large chunks of meat with each arm. “Weird that that thing is there though.”

“Came out of the lobster, I think.” The deserter grunted. “And this weird tear came out of it.”

“Well, I won’t pretend to know of it.” Boggart said plainly. “Although I did hear the queen around these parts was messing with rebirth.”

“Rebirth?” Hawkwood frowned, and the man shrugged. 

“Just heard of it is all.” He replied. “Now let’s go. You’re hungry, right?”

“Right,” The deserter replied, and they returned to the shack with their prize.

“Alright, so I have the eggs.” Boggart began. “But I’ll need time to work with all this grub. You three did well.”

“I’d hope so,” Orbeck muttered. His front was covered in a white stain that Hawkwood had not bothered to ask after. “How long?”

“Maybe a few hours,” Boggart replied. “However, as a tradeoff, you three get to eat what I had left in the meantime.”

“Great,” Lucatiel replied, then took off her mask. “This’ll be new.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood replied, and the three began to eat with gusto as they finally sated their bellies. The prawn tasted better then Hawkwood expected, the meat tasting slightly sweet as he devoured it. The hunger for dragon still remained, but it was now hardly noticeable as the prawn sated his natural hunger.

A short while later, all three were sitting backon the wall of the shack, Orbeck speaking first. “Good as always, Boggart.”

“Yes,” Lucatiel grinned. “I thought it would be normal, but tasting things again…that was good.”

“Agreed,” Hawkwood replied absently. “Thank you.”

“Heh, you like it?” The blackguard replied. “Never met someone with a taste for prawns I couldn’t trust.”

“So we’re reliable now, are we?” Hawkwood muttered. “Well, I suppose there is some honor among folk like us. Criminals.”

“A deserter, a former assassin, and a prisoner,” Lucatiel mused. “I’m the only one who doesn’t belong, am I?”

“Eh, you’re fine anyways.” Boggart replied, intent on cooking more prawn. “We’re Tarnished all the same, and that means–for the last fucking time, I don’t have the stupid necklace!”

“Then why doesn’t she have it yet, you rotten scamp?” The point of Boggart’s attention was revealed as Patches walked out of a nearby bush. “Clearly, you are a liar!”

“Is that…Pate?” Lucatiel muttered. “What’s he doing here?”

“You mean Patches, right?” Hawkwood murmured. “Why is he complaining about another man’s theft?”

“I have a guess,” Orbeck groaned. “But good grief, I didn’t know he was with her…”

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood grunted, but Orbeck shook his head, leaving the two criminals to square off as Boggart rose to his feet.

“Trying to start something, eh?” Boggart snarled as he rose to his feet. “If you don’t piss off right now , I’ll crack you in half!”

“You can try, you rascal!” Patches shot back. “I’m unbreakable! What kind of dirty little rat robs little girls?”

“It aint my fault she’s stupid enough to get duped!” Boggart retorted. “She’s lucky she aint died on the bloody roadside!”

“You filthy scoundrel! I’ll teach you a right lesson, I will!”

“Then let’s go, you eggheaded cunt!”

Orbeck cleared his throat.

“That’s enough.’ He said sharply. “I have the damn thing, no need to kill one another over it.”

“You?” Patches turned toward him suspiciously. “How’d you come across it, mate?”

“I sold it to him, you bloody idiot.” Boggart replied irately. “But evidently he didn’t bother returning it, hm?”

“Apologies,” The sorcerer took a deep breath. “But I forgot.”

“Fucking great,” Boggart muttered. “Well, can’t say I haven’t made an honest mistake myself in my time. Just don’t pull something like that again.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Orbeck replied firmly before turning to the other man. “Now then… you. ”

“Yes, me.” Patches smiled widely. “Good to see you haven’t forgotten that, Orbeck, old friend. All’s good in the end, right?”

“I’d hope so,” The sorcerer growled. “You’re here the same way as us?”

“Something like that,” Patches shrugged. “But anyway, why don’t you come with me to return that necklace? You did try helping her, after all.”

“I suppose…” Orbeck’s eyes narrowed. “Actually, you know what, Hawkwood, come with me.”

“Why?” Patches frowned. “You don’t trust me?”

The answer was instantaneous from everyone present. “No!”

“Shame.” Patches shrugged, shaking out a lantern. “Well, just know that you can completely trust me on this one.”

“I’d hope so,” Hawkwood muttered before turning to Lucatiel. “You’re fine staying here?”

“I don’t mind.” Lucatiel shrugged. “I doubt the night’s friendly here, and if the ruckus has attracted anything nasty, then I can help him out.”

“I’d hope so,” Boggart muttered as he resumed attention on boiling his prawn. “Well, thank you anyway.”

“She’ll be a good help,” Hawkwood grunted. “I won’t be long, hopefully.”

“You won’t,” Patches replied. “Now let’s go.”

He walked off, leading the deserter and the sorcerer into the previous woods as he walked off. His face had lost it’s smile as they left the shack behind them, and Hawkwood did not care to ask why it was now in a look of uncharacteristic seriousness as he lead them on into the night fog. More confusing still was that he was completely silent through the whole walk, up until they reached a gazebo.

“Alright, here we are.” He whispered. “Be quiet, she’s probably sleeping.”

“In this place?” Orbeck frowned. “That’s a bit foolish, isn’t it?”

“Which is why she has me to watch over her.” Patches replied. “Now go on, I can’t be seen.”

“Why not?” Hawkwood frowned, but the thief shook his head.

“I can’t say, now go.” He said quickly, then shoved the other two toward the gazebo. “My work here is done, and if you want more of my wares, come find me west of the shack tomorrow.”

“But–” The deserter was too late. Patches was gone. “Asshole.”

“Well, not much we can do now.” Orbeck replied, taking out the necklace. “Let’s just do this and get back to the shack.”

“Agreed,” Hawkwood grunted, and he stepped inside with the sorcerer to find a girl snoring on a wall, dressed in green. “Hmmm. She familiar?”

“Yes,” Orbeck sighed, then snapped his fingers. “Girl. I have your necklace.”

The girl stirred as he snapped again, blinking groggily as she looked at him, but soon smiled as she noticed the necklace. “You’re back!”

“It took some time, but I managed,” Orbeck replied gently as he handed it to her. “Here it is.”

“Thank you kindly,” She replied, rising to her feet. “I see you’ve brought a friend too. He helped with the deed?”

“Uh…” Hawkwood shifted uncertainly before nodding. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“I am in both of your debt then.” The girl beamed, then frowned. “Oh, did I forget to announce myself? I am Rya, in the service of Lady Tanith of the Volcano Manor.”

“The Volcano Manor?” Orbeck frowned, and she nodded.

“I seek stalwart Tarnished who might join our house.” She said fervently. “Both of you are very brave yourself. Not only a steady hand, but a steady heart, merciless, even to your own kind.” 

Wait, Hawkwood thought, stepping back. She can’t mean…what have you gotten yourself into now, Orbeck?

The sorcerer was uncertain himself as he tried to speak. “I see, but…”

“Such strength is precisely what my mistress seeks.” She continued on, oblivious to the uncertainty of both men as she took out a pair of letters. “Please, take this.”

The room was silent briefly before Orbeck sighed. “Very well.”

Both sorcerer and deserter reluctantly took the letters, the girl continuing on. “Seek the Altus Plateau, the realm of the Erdtree. Most Tarnished are doomed to wander the outskirts of the Lands Between, but neither of you are ordinary Tarnished. Once that is proven, the Volcano Manor will fully extend its invitation.”

“For what?” Hawkwood asked cautiously, and she gave him a pointed look.

“To fight, amongst a family of champions.” She said simply. “Oh, and one more thing, only for the two of you.”

“What is it?” The sorcerer asked pensively, and her face was ominous.

“This land of Liurnia is connected to the Altus Plateau by the Grand Lift of Dectus, beyond the High Road, ” She said warningly. “But the lift has been defunct for an age, meaning there's no simple means of passage.”

“Then that’s a problem.” Hawkwood noted. “What do you suggest?”

“You must seek the old ruins in the cliff.” She replied. “At the base of the valley near the Grand Lift, there's an old tunnel. It was excavated from both ends, linking Liurnia to the Altus Plateau. I have faith in you both. Champions, through and through, and I do hope that we can meet again.”

“Indeed…” Orbeck replied calmly, beginning to step out of the gazebo. “A good night to you.”

“Yes, good night!” She replied as both began to walk off. “May we cross paths again!”

With that, the two men walked out of the gazebo, heading back to the shack. It was when he was sure they were out of earshot that Orbeck opened the letter, staff providing an illuminating light as he looked over it. He read it once, then again.

And then tore the note in half.

“What are you doing?” Hawkwood frowned as the sorcerer sneered, dropping it into the water. “Not going to hear her out?”

“No,” Orbeck said derisively. “I’m not being taken for a fool again.”

“Good,” The deserter replied grimly. “How did you come across her?”

“Just thought that she was a lost girl,” The sorcerer muttered. “Wanted me to confront Boggart. Hoped that I had no qualms fighting him. I didn’t, but I didn’t think she’d want me to kill him.”

“Well, it’s happened to the best of us.” Hawkwood grunted, opening his own letter and reading through it. “Hmph. These folk seem to have a rich opinion of themselves, hmm?”

“They do indeed,” Orbeck snorted. “At least Rosaria’s Fingers and the Dragon School never sugarcoated what they were doing. This is just…self-righteous babble.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood replied, then stuffed it into his bag. “Still, might as well see what this is about. I get the sense that leaving this unattended will come back for us in the future.”

“Smart play,” Orbeck noted. “But take this from a veteran in the business. Don’t slip too far.”

“You know I won’t. This is between us.” Hawkwood said firmly. “Now let’s get back to the shack.”

When they returned, they found Boggart still hunched over his prawn, Lucatiel resting at the grace. She tensed as she heard their approach, grabbing her sword, but relaxed upon seeing them. 

“You’re back.” She began. “How was it?”

“FIne,” Hawkwood grunted. “Patches ditched us, but we returned it.”

“For little reward,” Orbeck muttered. “But anyway, how much longer do you think this will take, Boggart?”

“Couple more hours, but…” The former convict yawned as he put out the fire. “I’m tired. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Go or stay, I don’t care, but I’m going to sleep.”

“Night then,” Lucatiel said, Boggart only muttering a reply as he walked into his shack. She rose to her feet.  “Now what?”

“Now? I think it’s high time I returned to the academy gate.” Orbeck grunted. “It’s been nice working with the two of you, but I have my own priorities. Getting a key for that sorcerer and procuring knowledge, for a couple.”

“Always hungry for more, hmmm?” Hawkwood mused, then shook his hand. “Alright then. May we cross paths once again.”

“Indeed,” The sorcerer replied, then turned to Lucatiel. “I wish you luck in your partnership with him.”

“And you in your pursuits.” The knight nodded, and they shook. “Farewell.”

Orbeck tapped the grace and disappeared, leaving the other two alone. 

Lucatiel started first. “Think we should follow him?”

“No,” Hawkwood shook his head. “I know him, he won’t go for the Great Rune until he’s taken all he can from the place.”

“I see,” Lucatiel mused. “That gives us a bit of time then.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood returned. “What do you want to do?”

“Me?” The knight snorted. “Well, I suppose we can explore a bit more. This is a new place, and we might find something.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” Hawkwood summoned Torrent, and both clambered on before riding off. The wind was cold tonight, but that hardly bothered either of them as they rode into the gate town. It was not long before their attention was gained as an anguished cry split the air.

Diallos was standing over a corpse dressed in chain, tear-streaked face illuminated by a lantern as he whispered to the body. The clear lack of blood on him told Hawkwood that he had not been the culprit, and he did not immediately look up at them as they dismounted near him.

“Lanya... Lanya... It's me Diallos.” He whispered fruitlessly to the corpse.  “Answer me, would you?”

His servant. Hawkwood thought gravely as they approached. He found her.

The nobleman stopped his mutterings as they approached, and his face drew into a bitter snarl as he looked at them both. “Hello. Come to mock me for being right?”

“No, I had no reason to wish her death.” Hawkwood replied grimly. “I am sorry.”

“Well, tell me this then,” Diallos said, face twisted by grief and rage. “If you know the whereabouts of the hidden house of those despicable fiends.”

Hawkwood tensed. “ What ?”

“The recusants who hunt their fellow Tarnished!” Diallos hissed, venom filling every inch of his voice. “They laid hands upon my servant Lanya, and I refuse to let the insult stand.”

Hawkwood raised his hands. “Boy, wait–” 

“The tale of House Hoslow is told in blood.” The nobleman declared venomously. “I, Diallos, swear to deliver the message.” 

“Stop, Diallos.” Hawkwood grabbed his shoulder. “Or you will regret it. Believe me when I say I know these kind of men.”

“So you were once a recusant?” Diallos replied angrily, reaching for his whip. “Your friend too?”

“No, but–” Hawkwood stopped, then took a deep breath. “Look, if you try to fight these men, they will kill you just as they’ve killed your friend, and no one will know.”

“I don’t care,” Diallos retorted. “This will not stand.”

“You’re right, it won’t.” Hawkwood replied firmly. “But for gods’ sakes, don’t throw your life away on this. Seek help.”

“With what, the Hold?” Diallos scoffed. “They’re all wrapped in their own matters right now, I can’t expect help from them.”

“Then…” Hawkwood sighed, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh bloody hell, I’ll help you.” 

At that, all anger vanished from Diallos’s face, replaced now with confusion. “You?”

“Yes,” Hawkwood groaned as both present looked at him in surprise. “You’re being foolish, but I’ll help you if it means you don’t get yourself killed like this.”

“I…” Diallos swallowed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” The deserter returned, then took out a letter. “Now, for this to work, you’ll need an invitation.”

“Like that?” Diallos’s gaze sharpened. “Where did you get it?”

“A girl, some ways south of here,” Hawkwood replied evenly. “She’ll want you to do something, I’m sure of it, but she’ll give you the location afterward.”

“I see,” Diallos said as he picked up Lanya. “I’ll make my way there after burying Lanya.”

“Just don’t lose track of yourself.” Hawkwood said sharply. “Part of them or no, she is only a girl, and you will have to follow through with whatever she says.”

“Alright alright,” Diallos replied absently, beginning to walk off. “I’ll see you at the hold.”

“Farewell,” Hawkwood grunted, and he was left alone with Lucatiel as the noble walked off. 

The knight spoke first. “You know, for a deserter, you’re a better man then you let on.”

“No, I’m not.” Hawkwood snorted. “A better man would have talked him out of it, not offered to do this.”

“It’s still a good thing to do,” Lucatiel folded her arms. “He has help now, in a task that would have left him alone.”

“He’s going to get himself killed,” The deserter retorted as he began to walk. “And I figured I might as well meet him halfway there.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucatiel replied plainly, joining him. “You’re a good warrior, what I’ve seen of you is proof enough of that.”

“Ah yes, a good warrior,” Hawkwood said flatly. “That and a coddled nobleman against a whole house of murderous champions.”

“You don’t have to fight them all,” Lucatiel returned simply. “If you’ve been invited amongst their ranks, then why don’t you work from within? It’s been done before.”

“Hmph.” Hawkwood grumbled. “Maybe, but I didn’t see you offering to help him.”

“Changing the subject, are we?” Lucatiel noted, then shrugged. “I didn’t know much of the matter, and I still don’t know much of you. I just wanted to see.”

“Gauging my actions?” Hawkwood said dryly as he hopped onto a bridge. “Well, let me tell you this, knight. Actions are not everything. Nor is character. Both are easily fallible so long as–”

He was cut off by the sound of galloping hooves.

Both undead whirled around to see a tall knight in black armor galloping toward them, a glaive in his hand as he rode a black-veiled horse. He was different in appearance from the other knights that they’d seen, dressed in a different armor style then most, but the black scheme…the time…

The three combatants readied their weapons. The message was loud and clear.

The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter.

Chapter Text

True to Margit’s words, the Nightrider seized the initiative.

Hawkwood cursed as he was forced to sidestep a stab from the glaive, the cavalry man dancing just out of reach before he could retaliate. He swung his weapon in a wide arc, Lucatiel managing to raise her shield in time for the clash of metal to sing through the ruins. The deserter seized the opening immediately, summoning Torrent, who once again did not balk at the enemy as he appeared.

In fact, he seemed rather incensed.

Don’t like him, do you?  Hawkwood muttered as the gorse bared his teeth, shooting forward with no hesitation as the cavalryman forced Lucatiel back. He raised his glaive high in the air to shatter the other knight’s defense, but was soon interrupted as Hawkwood slammed his greatsword into the man’s side. Unsurprisingly, his armor withstood the blow, but it gained his attention as the deserter banked to face him again, clashing blades with him as he made another pass.

“Get on!” He shouted at Lucatiel as he fast approached her, and she didn’t hesitate when he sheathed his blade, scrambling on as he faced the Nightrider again. "I’ll need you to defend us both while I control Torrent.”

“What about your sword?” The knight replied quickly, but Hawkwood shook his head.

“He holds the advantage in this cavalry fight,” He said briskly as he charged back toward the knight. “Every swing I make forces me to unbalance myself, and if he capitalizes once, it’s over for us both.”

Lucatiel wasn’t given the chance to reply as the deserter’s assumption was proven right, forcing her to block a lower strike from the cavalryman. She retaliated quickly, but the man’s armor allowed him to shrug off the blow again, retaliating with a swift elbow that she blocked off the flat of her blade.

“We need to knock him down.”  She said urgently. “Move into the lake, the ground’s too even here for us to have a chance.”

“Then that will be remedied.” Hawkwood grunted before urging Torrent off the ruin and out of the gate town, the Nightrider giving chase with further zeal. His horse was surprisingly able to stay reasonably close with Torrent, but it mattered little as he was drawn into the more patchy terrain, leaving him to face off with the deserter and the knight.

This time, it was Hawkwood who seized the initiative first, urging Torrent forward quickly as Lucatiel readied her sword. The black-clad Cavalry dashed to meet them, lashing his halberd only for Lucatiel to deflect the blow, feinting a blow to the enemy before striking his horse’s flanks instead. The veiled equestrian screeched in pain, and the knight was forced to switch his attention to his steed as Lucatiel struck the face, rendering it all the harder to control as it bucked away from Torrent. It slammed into the wall of a sunken building, losing balance as the rider only barely stayed on his horse, working all the more to try and calm it.

That would not happen.

It’s time to finish this. Hawkwood thought as he urged Torrent forth, the steed shooting forward all too willingly as the knight looked up all too late. The spirit steed slammed into his beast horns first, the shawled mount’s screams rising higher in the night as it was pinned into the wall. The Nightrider let out an audible curse, lashing out with his glaive, but it was no use as the deserter ducked, the blade clanging against Lucatiel’s sword behind him. 

They clashed once, then again, but Hawkwood was not one to stay idle, grabbing the haft of the blade as it retracted once again, and the knight’s reaction was immediate, yanking back with surprising strength. Hawkwood gritted his teeth as he almost felt himself lose his own grip immediately, but barely managed to wrest back a good amount of length back, the wall of the ruin saving him as it didn’t allow the nightrider to regain total control in spite of his impressive strength. 

However, this did not mean that the job was easy, for Lucatiel was unable to help him as they struggled for control, Hawkwood trying to maintain a firm grip with the help of the dagger but the man’s strength making matters difficult. Any attempt to reach for seal or greatsword was met with the risk of losing his grip completely, and the man soon grew fed up with it all, punching him in the face. The deserter felt his nose shatter as he was sent reeling, trying to recover as he grabbed hold of Torrent’s reins, but it soon proving no use. The man yanked back his halberd, and the shift in momentum was all he needed to send the deserter crashing into the water with a left hook to the jaw, knocking him out cold.

And with his body unconscious, Torrent’s form lost focus as well. 

“What the–” Lucatiel started as the steed suddenly disappeared with a dismayed whinny beneath her, falling flat on her back as she splashed in the water. The cavalryman was much the same, the death of his steed and the sudden loss of Torrent’s force sending him careening forward to fall flat on his face, leaving both to regain their bearings..

Lucatiel was the first to rise, reaching for her sword as she glared at the knight. He was only beginning to drag himself to his feet, the fall from his horse evidently not impacting him in the slightest as he managed to rise with help of his halberd, albeit his armor’s encumberment meant the movements were sluggish.

That will make things easier then, Lucatiel thought as she lunged forward. She was willing to bet that he had the normal gaps in his armor, and was soon proven right as her sword slashed into a gap in his shoulder, blood spurting from the wound as he finally rose to his full height. He was massive, probably as tall as a mounted rider, but it only meant that she’d need to outpace him in skill, not strength. They’d attempted to do so before, and it was clear that trying to outmatch him in strength was a fool’s errand.

So she aimed for mobility instead.

She ducked as the knight swung his halberd out wide, blade passing harmlessly over her head as she moved to the side of him. He turned faster then his weight would have suggested, but her blade was quicker, cutting into the back of his leg quicker then before. However, the pain did not bother him, and he swung out again in a blow that she was forced to deflect into the ground as the shock sent vibrations up her arm. He struck out with a punch, but her shield came up, the force still sending her skidding back a foot.

Can’t let him gain momentum. She sidestepped a thrust, then struck another chink near the elbow. On horseback, his plate armor protected him well, but on foot, she was more then capable of spotting the gaps and capitalizing, and the wounds were beginning to pile up as she continued to bleed him. He whirled his blade twice, but the attack was much slower then his previous strikes, allowing her slip behind him and cut open his other leg. He stumbled forward then, falling to his knees just momentarily, and that’s when she saw her opportunity to end the fight, lining up her blade to swing straight for the neck.

That was her first mistake.

The man’s forearm shot up as she swung down, her blade being stopped easily with a loud CLANG. Her reaction was immediate, switching her swing to an underhanded blow, but he shifted in spite of his wounds, blocking it off his plate armor before grabbing her wrist. She gritted her teeth as she dropped the sword, the man’s grip absolutely crushing as she lost her grip. Her shield slammed against him again and again, but it might as well have been punching a wall, for he shrugged off the blows easily as he rose to his feet.

You’ve got to be kidding me. She  thought as she heard a growl rise in his throat, looking at her balefully. What the hell is this guy?

She wasn’t given an answer as he slammed down on her arm hard, breaking it easily. She bit back a cry as the pain sang through her body, but soon found the wind knocked out of her as he kicked her in the gut, her armor mitigating the actual damage but sending her staggering back. She panted, waiting for a third blow, but strangely, the man stopped paying attention to her as he picked up his halberd, beginning to walk away. 

It was only when she saw who was in his path that she realized what was going to happen. 

No! She thought desperately, fumbling for her flask to mend her destroyed right arm, but it was no use as the bone was still fragile. It was nothing compared to her old flask, and even as she rushed forward to grab her sword, she knew it was no use. She was too far, and even with the deserter beginning to stir, there was nothing to be done. 

The glaive plunged into Hawkwood’s back once, then twice, the man kicking him in the ribs for good measure. A moment passed, then another, before the man stepped away satisfied.

“That’s all, hmm?” He spoke for the first time, staring at the deserter’s corpse as Lucatiel approached. “I suppose the Fell Omen has nothing to fear then.”

“Who are you?” He turned to see Lucatiel behind him, pointing her blade at him. “And why did you come here?”

“Hmph.” The man grunted, then stood his halberd against the ground.  “That’s none of your business, lass.”

“It never is, isn’t it?” Lucatiel retorted, stepping forward. “Well, it doesn’t matter. You attacked us, and that’s reason enough to deal with you.”

“Hmmm. One of those new Tarnished are you?” The man noted, a purple circle forming around him. “All the more reason to finish the job the– GAH !”

He screamed a rush of dragonfire blasted straight into his back, stumbling forward as the torrent engulfed him. Lucatiel’s eyes widened as it came towafds her, throwing herself to the side just in time as it came on, causing steam to erupt as it ran across the water. She stared, heart pounding, but as soon as it came, it stopped.

“You shouldn’t have done that, you son of a bitch.” Hawkwood coughed as he drew his sword, covering. He looked absolutely murderous, blood staining his chin and teeth as a faint darkish red tint was around him. “Now I’m really going to kill you.”

“What the hell?” The Night’s Cavalry struggled to rise, but Hawkwood was faster, plunging his blade into the gap between the man’s shoulder and slamming the already staggered man into the ground. “What are you?”

“What is the meaning of this, Hawkwood?” Lucatiel demanded, but the deserter shook his head.

“Forgive me, Lucatiel, I have not been truthful with you, but I will be soon.” He replied, with a twinge of guilt, but it soon faded as he sneered down at the man. “But now then…to answer your question dog, I am a coward and a liar, one that has had the misfortune to be cursed.”

“Clearly, if you don’t even tell your companions of this so-called curse.” The man replied contemptuously, only to cry out as Hawkwood twisted the blade. “Stop it!”

“No,” Hawkwood said coldly. “Margit sent you, didn’t he? How?”

“You’ll never kill him,” The Nightrider scoffed. “No matter how many–”

“Shut up and tell me how.” Hawkwood stabbed him in the other shoulder with the dagger. “I’m not interested in dogged fanaticism, mutt.”

“You’re not getting anything out of me.” The man snarled. “Just kill me.”

“No, I want to make you suffer.” Hawkwood growled. “What purpose does this avail you? Simply seeing it to confirm what happened to Margit?”

The cavalry stuttered. “I…” 

“It’s useless, you damned fool. You just run the risk of making things worse then they already are.” The deserter sneered, then gripped the seal. “Now then, I am going–”

“ Hawkwood...” Lucatiel warned. “This is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not.” The other undead snarled. “He deserves it as good as any.”

“Why?” The knight pressed. “He should die, but this is just savagery.”

“Yes, savagery, as he asked for,” Hawkwood laughed hollowly. “You think I can revive easily like this just as normal? Like the undead curse?”

“What do you mean?” Lucatiel demanded, and Hawkwood was all too willing to oblige.

“Think, knight. What has driven those afflicted by it to aggression?” He smiled mirthlessly. “Corrupted? Spread?”

“You can’t mean…” The knight staggered back,

“Yes, the Abyss.” Hawkwood returned. “What was that you said earlier? I am better than I think I am. What do you say now?”

“I…” Lucatiel stopped, and Hawkwood nodded.

“Yes, you see.” He chuckled. “But in any case, I’ll do your request, our black-clad friend has heard enough anyway.”

He yanked out his greatsword, then slammed it into the man’s neck, killing him instantly. “Happy?”

“Not much no,” Lucatiel replied slowly, voice filled with something approaching betrayal. “Why didn’t you tell me of this?”

“Because as I said, I am a coward.” Hawkwood replied grimly, smile fading. “I feared that you would leave, and as things are, you probably should.”

A very long silence persisted, and the deserter thought his assumptions correct as she turned away. He sneered. "I bloody knew it. Damned fool I-"

He was cut off as the knight spoke. "No,"

“ What.” Hawkwood stared at her dumbfounded. “Are you mad?”

“Perhaps, but I’m not leaving.” The woman replied firmly. “In fact, I cannot leave, with this now.”

“Why not?” Hawkwood growled. “Why the hell not? You know what the Abyss does if this spreads….”

“All the more reason to make sure it won’t.” Lucatiel retorted. “You lied to me, but I’m the only one who knows this and I’m the only one you can trust right now, can you? If the other Undead finds this out, they’ll make things worse.”

“Lass, the more you work with me the more easily you can be infected,” Hawkwood hissed. “I can hide this myself, with or without you.”

“And you seem to be doing a fine job of that if there is any indication.” Lucatiel replied, her voice slightly cracking. “The divine tower too, if this happens every time you die. Look at yourself, if you hadn’t managed to cover yourself you probably would have spread it all over. You need a helmet.”

“I’ve little doubt of that.” Hawkwood snarled. “But this is your honor, isn’t it? Don’t be a fool, this doesn’t need to happen.”

“Trying to use honor against me?” The knight raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one trying to insist we separate out of not wishing to infect me.”

That left Hawkwood at a loss for words as he struggled to reply. “You…”

“Well, I suppose some part of it is,” Lucatiel replied, eyes flinty. “You can believe me when I say a good part of me wants to stay far away from you, but at the same time, you intrigue me.”

“Lucky me,” Hawkwood said bitterly, but she shook her head.

“You are better than you think, I still believe that.” She replied grimly. “I’m not exactly happy with you hiding this from me, but I can understand why. This just means we need to find a way to purify your blood.”

“And how do we do that?” Hawkwood snarled. “It’s claimed the whole legion and all I inherited was their tainted blood from that wretched Unkindled.”

“There is a way.” A voice spoke, and they both turned to see Melina standing, face inscrutable as ever. “Grace still guides you, and as the Two Fingers permit, they wish for you to alleviate your curse. I’m sure it’ll show you the way.”

“So cast my hopes on naught but a prayer. Very reassuring.” Hawkwood said sarcastically. “The Great Rune didn’t even last long enough for this point, in spite of what you said, although I doubt you could be infected, with how you are.”

“I likely cannot,” Melina replied. “But as you are, you ought to trust her, for the time being. The more companionship you have the less likely you’ll die.”

“Thank you, Melina.” Lucatiel smiled. “At any rate, we’ll need to find Orbeck or another. Having one more person on this that can help you will make this all the easier.”

“Orbeck…is devoted to his knowledge.” Hawkwood sneered. “I have little doubt he would help me if he knew my situation, but he would much rather pursue all that there is to know. I would not burden him.”

“You’re only proving me more right in regards to my belief, you know.” Lucatiel noted. “But if that’s the case, then we’ll have to find someone. There was a man I knew, a good one, but anyone who has the chance to tamp it down will do at this rate. Those we can trust.”

“And there’s a healthy load of those among the Undead if we find any others.” Hawkwood muttered. “It’s a fool’s errand.”

“No, it’s not,” Lucatiel returned. “We can find them as get more Great Runes. If you have another Rune Arc to activate your current one, then use it now.”

“Done.” Hawkwood grunted as he crushed it, the pain wracked from his blood fading instantly. “Now then I suppose if we’re hunting Great Runes, there’s no point in beating around the bush. We have to go to the academy.”

“Agreed,” Lucatiel replied grimly. “We can’t rest now, it’s time.”

“Well, it was good while it lasted.” Hawkwood sighed, then turned to Melina. “Is there a grace nearby, since you’re here?”

“Yes,” She replied, pointing to one nearby. “Take it, you must go to your next destination soon enough.”

“Alright then,” Hawkwood replied. “Is there anything else I ought to know?”

“Yes,” Melina warned. “Under no circumstances should you tell Gideon the All-Knowing of your curse.”

“He’ll view me as a liability?” Hawkwood guessed, but she shook her head.

“Worse. He’ll begin looking for ways to dispose of you properly.” She replied. “He’s…a very ambitious man, and he’s been trying for a long time. Don’t think he won’t use you a stepping stone for his own ascent.”

“Oh I can believe that,” Hawkwood grunted. “But I suppose I should do the same to him?”

“Yes,” Melina replied. “You’re still a relative newcomer to the lands, and he has more knowledge than most, including myself. For what’s to come, you’ll need him.”

“Yes, and to be rid of him by the end of this,” Hawkwood muttered. “I have no personal grudge against him, but if what you say is true, there is a chance it will come eventually.”

“Indeed,” Melina replied. “But for now, go. Your first priority is to get inside the academy.”

“Yes, and get that Great Rune,” Lucatiel replied, walking up to the grace. “Let’s go.”

“And hope this goes well.” Hawkwood muttered as he joined her. “Farewell, Melina.”

“Farewell.”

The two Undead disappeared in a burst of light.


And with them, the Omen watching the encounter.

Chapter Text

When they entered, Hawkwood was greeted by a familiar sight.

“Yura?” He muttered as he saw the samurai fighting a crowfeathered assassin, reaching for his sword. The old man’s armor was scuffed with punctures, and it was clear from the fight that he was having trouble keeping up with the assassin’s swift movements. The superior fighter was clear, and the play was obvious.

Hawkwood dashed forward with greatsword in hand, the assassin being caught by surprise as the greatsword came flying his way. He only barely managed to dodge swiftly to the right, but that only gave Yura the opportunity to drive his long blade through his shoulder, eliciting a pained cry from the man as he drove it through the other side. 

Black feathers spread from the man’s cloak as he suddenly escaped the blade, leaping in the air with claws outstretched only to suddenly be sent flying to the ground as another greatsword flew into his chest. Hawkwood and Yura looked back to find Lucatiel dusting her hands.

“For a knight, that was rather unorthodox.” Hawkwood frowned as she walked up. “Throwing your sword like that.”

“Unless you happen to be a briar-wearing thug.” Lucatiel returned as she yanked her sword out of the man’s corpse, then offered her hand to Yura. “But now then, my name is Lucatiel.”

“Yura,” The samurai replied bemusedly as they shook, then looked to Hawkwood. “I see you’ve taken a companion, friend.”

“Yes, I have,  unfortunately” Hawkwood replied, muttering the last bit under his breath. “What brings you to Raya Lucaria?”

“Another mark, this one deciding to ditch his old masters for cessblood.” Yura replied wearily, gesturing to the man’s corpse. “It doesn’t matter. Managed to get in here on an old favor.”

“I see,” the deserter grunted. “Well, in any case, we’re here for the next Great Rune. Tight little bit of business we have.”

“Clearly, if you’re out to fulfill your duty as Tarnished.” Yura replied plainly. “You have a long road ahead of you. I, on the other hand, may not have much time…”

“Old man?” Hawkwood said sharply as the man stumbled, forcing the deserter to steady him. “Are you well?”

The samurai did not answer him as he had a faraway look in his eyes.  “I'm dying to see you, Eleonora... Violet Bloody Finger…”

“Yura?” Hawkwood repeated as he looked the old man in the eyes, and he started at the worry in the deserter’s gaze.

“Ah, sorry. I drifted off for a moment there.” Yura said apologetically, breaking away from Hawkwood. “But now then…I’ve been tracking Eleonora for quite some time. She is the deadliest of all Bloody Fingers.” 

“The deadliest?” Lucatiel frowned, and Yura nodded.

“Yes, she’s a proud knight, in spite of her cessblood zealotry.” He replied pensively. “She’s felled many an old hand already, a true dragonslayer.”

“A true dragonslayer?” Hawkwood’s eyes narrowed, remembering his encounter on the Divine Tower. “She wouldn’t happen to wield a double-bladed weapon, would she?”

“Yes, why?” Yura asked, then started in realization. “You’ve run across her already?”

“It would appear so.” Hawkwood said grimly. “Fought her at the Divine Tower of Limgrave alongside Lucatiel. She was with a man in a mask.”

“A masked man…” Yura tensed. “That would be Okina. He’s an unknown quantity to me, but I’ve heard rumors. Of ascension to a higher plane, of brutality, the like.”

“Well, he lives up to them.” Lucatiel replied dourly. “I did a number on him, but his own fighting style was…savage. Just a whirlwind of chaos.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” Yura replied. “I haven’t had the pleasure to meet him in the field myself, but…tell me, did either of you win, or not?”

“No,” Hawkwood shook his head. “I nearly killed her, but the man, Okina, intervened.”

“Because your friend lost.” Yura finished. “Well, you have done better than expected, but if they come for you again, do not think twice. You must flee.”

“That is something I will not do,” Hawkwood snapped suddenly, taking both of his companions by surprise. “Skilled warrior or no, I will not be taken off guard next time. Nor will I run again.”

“You’re a fool for it, but I can’t stop you.” Yura replied. “One more thing, two actually. I take it your hunger still remains if I’m not mistaken?”

“Yes, and my hunt has continued.” Hawkwood grunted. “Why?”

“It’s not much, but…I have smelled the scent of a dragon in the blood before,” Yura mused. “Yours…is different. Quite so.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re speaking of,” Hawkwood replied, but the sharpness in his tone betrayed him. “What do you mean?”

“Now, I am not certain of this,” Yura began. “But I have seen the call of cessblood and communion lure others, and you…you have quite a similar look about you, but different. The hunger and something else.”

At that, Hawkwood chuckled nervously. “It’s probably nothing.”

“Yes, I agree.” Lucatiel replied quickly. “It’s not what you think it is.”

“I’d like to think that.” Yura sheathed his blade. “You two helping me against that Finger does assuage my doubts, but…still, you do have something about you.”

“And I cannot tell you what.” Hawkwood replied firmly. “Just know that it does not tempt me like the cessblood you speak of. Quite the opposite, really.”

“I see,” Yura returned, then turned to the gate. “Well, I suppose your business is your own then. I won’t press.” 

“You’re leaving?” Hawkwood asked, and at the hunter’s nod, he spoke. “Well, I have one more thing for you, Yura. You don’t intend to hunt this Eleonora down, do you?”

“As your personal business is your own, so is mine,” The samurai replied sharply, then sighed. “But I suppose there is no shame in it, given how I must have sounded earlier.”

“There’s nothing, but if you end up needing help, tell me.” Hawkwood said seriously. “I’ll gladly help you on this hunt.”

“I’ll consider it,” Yura offered his hand. “But now then, I suppose this is farewell.”

“Yes,” The deserter shook. “Farewell, Yura.”

“Until next we meet, Hawkwood.” The samurai replied, shaking with Lucatiel next. “May you find success in your endeavors.”

“And you yours.” Hawkwood replied, and Yura nodded to him before exiting through the gate, leaving the two remaining Tarnished alone.

Lucatiel spoke first. “How’d you come to know of him? He seems a rather odd fellow.” 

“He was the first person I met here, after Melina.” Hawkwood replied, then hefted his greatsword. “Now then, shall we get down to business?”

“Yes, we shall.” Lucatiel replied, grabbing her shield. “That was too close, you know.”

“I’m sure I’ll have to tell him eventually.” Hawkwood muttered, stepping onto the elevator with her. “He’s probably one of the few people I could trust not to panic on this matter.”

“Maybe,” Lucatiel replied. “But that can be saved for another time. We need to get that Great Rune and find Orbeck.”

“Agreed.” Hawkwood replied, and they reached the top, the deserter’s eyes narrowing as he laid eyes on the place. “What the hell’s up with these cages?”

“No, idea, although I suspect that this academy’s obsession with cuckoos might have a hand in it.” Lucatiel replied, pointing out the bird statues lining the rails. “If there was any doubt those soldiers Orbeck killed work here, then it's gone now.”

“I suppose so.” Hawkwood snorted. “I still can’t believe they seriously took that name for themselves. Knights of the Cuckoo.”

“How they expect anyone to take them seriously definitely puts their intelligence into account.” Lucatiel chuckled. “In spite of, you know, working for an academy .” 

“Clearly lacking in intelligence then.” Hawkwood grinned. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the promenade, passing by a fountain to climb up the stairs to see two scholars wearing odd stone masks. They were evidently visages of someone, although Hawkwood didn’t care to guess who, for they were reaching for their staffs already as they looked up from reading.

“Look here, gentlemen.” Lucatiel began, sheathing her sword. “I hope you have your sanity intact because we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“The hard way entailing, outsider?’ The sorcerer on the right spoke, and she shrugged.

“Me and my friend here run up to you and yours, and kill you both.”

“The easy way?” 

“You let us pass. Not like we have any personal business against you when all we want is that rune.”

The two sorcerers looked at one another, then nodded. “Go on. Not like the academy can use the damn thing anyway even with that witch locked away.”

“Alright then.” Lucatiel began to move up, but the right sorcerer cleared his throat.

“One last thing. We’re reasonable enough people, but don’t expect others to be so forgiving of outsiders.” He chuckled darkly. “Just know that it's not our fault if anything bad…happens.” 

“...Okay then,” Lucatiel replied bemusedly. “Can we pass?”

“Yes, sure.” The sorcerers opened the doors, and both deserter and knight made their way through the room to a hall, finding a site of grace.

“That was surprisingly…easy.” Hawkwood frowned as they lit it and rested. “For scholars, they were definitely…”

“Reasonable?” Lucatiel offered, and he snapped his fingers.

“Yes, exactly.” He said, intrigued. “Rather odd, considering everything else we’ve encountered.”

“Well, this place is locked off for a reason.” Lucatiel mused. “They must have been spared from whatever drove the other stuff mad.”

“Maybe,” Hawkwood shrugged, rising to his feet. “But let’s go.”

“Right,” Lucatiel nodded, and they both walked outside to find a graveyard filled with shambling corpses, greenery about as it rained. A mild fog was about.  “Huh. This place is actually…quite nice.”

“Indeed,” Hawkwood grinned, but it soon faded as he saw the copious amount of shambling corpses ahead of them. “Hm. How are there more undead?”

“Many factors, I’ve heard.” Lucatiel answered as she readied her sword, beginning to walk down. “Something called Scarlet Rot, the Deathroot that D no doubt told you of, but here? My guess is this is these are some experiments that the academy’s done.”

“With the dead?” Hawkwood grunted as he followed her down. “I wouldn’t be surprised, knowing sorcerers.”

“Indeed,” Lucatiel returned, and she began to cut her way through the undead with surprisingly low resistance. “Hm. Still works as well as it did against hollows.”

“That’s what you used your sword for, back then?” Hawkwood frowned, and she nodded.

“Yes, I was quite terrified of going hollow before I met that curious undead.” She replied evenly. “But that doesn’t matter. Split up for loot?”

“Sure.” Hawkwood replied, and he began to make his way forward, soon finding some dried liver before following a sidepath, reaching some marionettes. They fell easily, in spite of their frantic movements, and he soon found more ashes, much similar to the enemies he killed.

I’ll need to check back on Roderika soon enough. He thought as he pocketed them with the wolves from earlier, then went on to find more loot, grabbing a fowl foot before decapitating a larger undead who stood in his way, finding a gravestone that belied more ground below.

 He dropped down, finding a rune as he heard Lucatiel kill more of the undead, then managed to make his way further up to the entrance after gaining another of those ashes Bernahl spoke of. Dogs were among the corpses’ number this time, but he managed to kill them well enough before waiting for his comrade to finish, soon seeing her walk up after a few minutes.

“Hey, I found a helmet for you while I was going down my route.” She said, dragging her bag up the steps. “Found a bunch of them kneeling to this knight’s corpse.”

“You looted the dead?” Hawkwood frowned, and she shrugged.

“He looked decorated enough, and I figured with how this place was leaving it would be both waste and disrespectful to whoever they were in life.” She replied, pulling out the helm. “You want it?”

“Hmmm.” Hawkwood considered the helmet, before shaking his head. “No, it's not quite what I’m looking for. I’ll just ask Hewg to fashion what I’m looking for.”

“Alright then,” Lucatiel returned, then looked at the set longingly. “It is rather nice though…”

“If you want it, wear it.” Hawkwood grunted. “The magic protection would be good here anyway.”

“It does belong to someone else…but I suppose…” Lucatiel shifted on her feet, then grabbed it. “Oh, what the hell, I’ll do it.”

“You need a moment?” The deserter asked bemusedly, and she nodded. “Alright, I’ll wait outside the corridor for you then.”

“Thank you,” She replied, and they walked through, Hawkwood going on to see a large waterwheel out of the gates. An altar was ahead, one crackling with energy, and he spoke aloud as he didn’t look back.

“There’s something ahead.” He called out. “I’m going to go check it out.”

“Feel free,” Lucatiel called back, and he walked forward to the altar, a purple wormhole opening on approach. An all too tall, inhuman man clad only in a loincloth walked out, and he pointed at the deserter.

“Another outsider?” He said in surprise, then snarled. “Leave. The Queen is not to be disturbed by the likes of you or the Academy’s ilk.”

“What happened to her?” Hawkwood frowned, and the man gritted his teeth.

“They betrayed her, in spite of what she’s done for them.” He growled. “And you, Tarnished, seek to take more from her.”

“What?” Hawkwood raised an eyebrow, only to be yanked forward by a gravitational force as the man plunged his sword into the ground. He only barely rolled to the side as the being stabbed his sword forward, then clashed blades with him. “What even are you?”

“Your kind call us the Alabaster Lords.” The creature snarled, Hawkwood staggering back as the man’s fist collided with his jaw. He backstepped away before the blade could take his head, then whirled his blade up to break the man’s guard, sending him staggering back as the deserter pressed his offensive.

“Enough.” Hawkwood slammed his blade into the man’s leg, sending him staggering to the ground. He screamed as the deserter plunged his blade into his arm, kicking his own sword away before kneeling down “Surrender now.”

“Not so long as you will harm the queen.” The lord retorted, only to get kicked in the side by the deserter. “Torture will avail you nothing.”

“Yes, but I don’t intend to torture you.” Hawkwood gritted his teeth. “I just want to know what’s going on. For starters, what’s the matter with the queen?”

“You don’t know this?” The Lord asked in surprise, and when the deserter shook his head, he sneered. “Since Lord Radagon left, she’s been spiraling downward. Not the same as she was before.”

“I see.” Hawkwood said slowly. “And how was she before?”

“She was the champion of the Academy, the one who treated our races fair.” The Lord growled. “But now, she’s been maddened by rebirth and loss, leaving the academy to commit these atrocities. I’m certain you saw the graveyard behind you. That was a small taste of what they’ve done.”

“I believe you,” Hawkwood nodded, remembering back when they were traversing the lakes. “But what has she been doing now? Where is she?”

“I will tell you, so long as you spare her.” The Lord said grimly. “And you must release me.”

“You will not attack me?”

“So long as your intent is not to kill her, I will not.” 

“Then very well. I only desire her rune anyway.”

The deserter tore out his blade from the Lord, and the man grunted as he got to his feet. “Uncouth brute. The last one was much more civil.”

“You struck first.” Hawkwood grunted, then turned to see Lucatiel walk out of the hall, dressed in armor sans the helmet. “Ah, nice of you to join us.”

“I see you’ve made another acquaintance.” The knight noted, and the lord bristled as he saw her.

“You stole the armor of one of the Carian Knights!” He roared. “Have you no shame?”

“I do, given that the armor was rotting in a graveyard.” Lucatiel said bemusedly. “Who are you?”

“An Alabaster Lord,” Hawkwood cut in before the being could reply. “Apparently he knows the location of the queen, and he’s going to tell us.”

“Yes...” The Lord nodded coldly. “Now then, if you must know, she’s in the library, rebirthing students.”

“I see.” Hawkwood nodded. “Thank you then.”

The lord only grunted in reply. “Just remember not to kill her majesty.”

“For the last time, I won’t.” Hawkwood growled, turning to leave. “Now farewell.”

The Lord did not even bother to reply as the deserter stalked off, Lucatiel joining him as he jumped onto the wheel. “What was that about?”

“That was what I wanted to check out.” Hawkwood grunted. “And he seems to have found Orbeck as well, by the sound of things.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lucatiel replied as they ascended. “Your sorcerer friend did come before.”

“Yeah, although this place does seem to have two factions if that pompous bastard was any indication.” Hawkwood returned. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. The objective remains the same.”

“Grab the Great Rune.” Lucatiel sighed. “For the record, I really wish you told me of your curse sooner.”

“We both know you never would have allied with me.” Hawkwood replied plainly as they stepped off. “Let’s just go.”

“Fine, but you’re going to have to figure out how to tell him.” Lucatiel replied as she joined him, beginning to walk up the steps. “This problem of yours–”

“What problem?” The knight froze as a familiar voice cut her off, the one it belonged to walking out to see them, holding a book. “And tell me what?”

Orbeck.

Well…shit.

“Uh…” Lucatiel stepped back. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”

“Really.” The sorcerer folded his arms bemusedly. “Hello there, you two.”

“Hello Orbeck,” Hawkwood sighed. “I see you’ve been spending your time at the academy well.”

“I have,” Orbeck returned, holding up two keys now. “I’ve gotten that other key for the sorcerer as well.”

“That’s good,” Hawkwood nodded. “Been reading up as well, I see.”

“I have,” Orbeck replied. “But at any rate, what did you want to tell me? I recognize when someone’s holding something to themselves, and it's written all over your face right now.”

“Yes, that.” Hawkwood massaged his forehead. “Well, I’ll keep it simple. You know of Farron’s blood?”

“The Undead Legion? Yes.” Orbeck nodded. “What about it.”

“As you may know, I partook in it at a time.” Hawkwood grunted. “Things were all fine and dandy, as you know, it did not make one infallible.”

“Yes, the watchers were corrupted after they burned.” Orbeck said plainly. “What of it?”

“Now, as you know of me, I was mostly exempt when I tried linking the flame.” Hawkwood explained grimly. “But I could not run from my fate. I became corrupted myself.”

“What do you mean?” The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed. “Unless…”

“Yes,” Hawkwood nodded. “When I died, you see, I was corrupted by a small fragment of the Abyss myself, and now it runs through my blood.”

“But that can’t…” Orbeck stepped back. “Wait, what do you mean by that? How can you be so sure?”

“He picked himself right back up in front of my eyes, even when he had been stabbed in the heart.” Lucatiel confirmed gravely. “And he had a darkness about him. I’ve heard the stories.”

“Okay, maybe, but…” Orbeck’s gaze sharpened. “Why did you tell me of this?”

“Because I need help in getting rid of it, and I know you’d understand.” Hawkwood gripped his shoulder. “And I do consider you my friend. Keeping this from you was a mistake on my part, and I apologize.”

“I…” Orbeck looked at him but did not take the hand off. “You do know what this means, do you?”

“I do,” Hawkwood sighed. “Apparently the rune here specializes in rebirth, if I had to guess, but–”

“You have to rebirth yourself the first chance you get.” Orbeck interrupted. “There is nothing else to do. And you definitely cannot become lord without being purified.”

“Agreed. My maiden says she has a way, but we’ll see then.” Hawkwood nodded. “Are you retaining your ambition?”

“With this? Yes, if only to stop others with worse intentions or situations from taking it.” Orbeck replied sharply. “Now then…good gods, Hawkwood, if you were not my friend, I would have made sure there was nothing left of you right here. How did you even make it this far?”

“I still had my soul, and it seems to be progressing with my deaths.” Hawkwood explained. “My rune is a temporary measure, for the time being, but I don’t want to think of what’ll happen if I die a few more times.”

“Then you’ll need help…” Orbeck replied. “I think I know someone who can help you, he’s gotten pretty far in this place, but…damn it.”

“You’re not helping?” Hawkwood asked, unsurprised.

“I cannot,” Orbeck took a deep breath. “What was back in Lothric here…is something I do not want to fall victim to. I am sorry.”

“I don’t blame you.” Hawkwood replied grimly. “But you will help, right?”

“I’ll try.” Orbeck said. “I make no promises, but I will do what is within my power to help you, especially when our paths cross.”

“Like now,” Lucatiel interjected. “Do you know what’s ahead of us?”

“Yes, I do.” Orbeck replied. “There’s a bunch of students around there, and upstairs lies a Red Wolf that happens to belong to Radagon.”

“Who was he?” Hawkwood frowned, and the sorcerer cleared his throat.

“He was the consort to the head of the academy here, and was a powerful holy warrior in service of the Golden Order.” He gestured to the book. “Or at least, that’s what I gathered from the books. Those here seem to loathe him.”

“Interesting.” Lucatiel hefted her sword. “Well, I suppose that leaves us to try and get past it then, or at least fight it.”

“Indeed,” Orbeck returned. “Nice armor, by the way. I take it you found it in the graveyard?”

“Yeah,” She nodded. “Figured it shouldn’t go to waste, especially when some people won’t wear a helmet.”

“I have only one in mind,” Hawkwood replied placatingly. “Patience.”

“She is right, you know.” Orbeck cut in. “You do need one, although I can guess what you’re looking for. Can’t let go of the past, can you?”

“What?” Lucatiel frowned as the two exchanged a look, and Hawkwood shook his head.

“It’s nothing.” He replied. “Now then, shall we go fight a wolf?”

“Of course,” Orbeck snorted, and they entered the building once again, ready to continue onward.

Chapter Text

BOOM

“It’s…impossible.” A scholar stepped back as smoke steamed from the sorcerer’s staff. “This magic, I’ve never seen it so intertwined with the Glintstone before.”

“Thank you,” The wizard chuckled. “This place is a most curious area indeed, a far cry from the school of which I hailed.”

“Indeed,” Another sorcerer replied, this one a bearded, similarly white-haired man. “I will admit, I never would have expected to meet you in my time, but it is a pleasure, Master Logan.”

“And you, Master Carhillion.” The Big Hat replied, and they shook as a third man spoke. 

“Master Logan, you still have an audience.” He said plainly, dressed in a black coat, then turned to a group of assembled sorcerers, plus one warrior jar. “Apologies.”

“This is nothing.” One scholar stepped out from amongst the rest. “But you three men…how do you know these sorceries? You have intertwined our own Glintstone with…something else.”

“These are magics of the soul,” Carhillion replied as he created a soulmass. “Powerful magics, and ones that have availed many.”

“Then perhaps you could teach us?” Another scholar called out, but Logan raised his finger.

“However, there is a greater level to Soul magic then you’d think.” He spoke, walking forward in a demonstration space. “Crystal.”

Five soulmasses burst from his staff around him, and he fired off a blast of similarly enhanced energy to annihilate a decoy Griggs crafted for him. However,what really left the scholars in awe was when white breath burst from his staff, surrounding him in crystals as they erupted around him.

“...That breath…” One breathed. “Its like that of a dragon’s, and its created crystals much similar to our own…how have you managed to master such a spell?

“Time, magic, and a little insanity.” The wizard chuckled.  “However, I shall spare you the risk of that, and will create a text.”

“But be warned.” Carhillion said seriously. “Only the most highly capable of sorcerers should attempt mastering this spell. Delving into this research is costly, and even I have not mastered such a spell.”

“That concerns us little.” The lead sorcerer replied. “However…you three are highly knowledgable, and we are willing to learn.”

“Perhaps a conspectus could be made?” Another added. “If you’re willing, of course.”

“I see you’ve gotten yourself well situated, Big Hat.” A new voice called out, and Logan turned to see Orbeck standing to the side with Hawkwood and Lucatiel. “You’ve well earned your reputation, of course.”

“Ah, welcome back, Master Orbeck.” The sorcerer smiled, then raised his hand as several sorcerers reached for their staves. “ Do not attack, he is an acquaintance of mine.”

“Thank you, master,  although I would be delighted to learn from you at another time.” Orbeck returned warmly. “You are a legend, after all.”

“Thank you,.” Logan nodded. “Although we have discussed that you know sorceries even I do not.”

“Perhaps we could trade, later.” Orbeck smiled. “But as of now, I see you yourself are rather busy with your teachings.”

“And you have comrades waiting on you, by the looks of things,” Logan noted. “So I suppose this is farewell.”

“Indeed,” Orbeck returned, and they began to the stairs. “Farewell, Master.”

“Goodbye.” Logan waved, and Hawkwood cleared his throat as they got out of earshot.

“He’s a famous sorcerer?” He began, and Orbeck stared at him incredulously. “What?

“A famous–no!” The sorcerer’s voice rose a bit higher then intended. “Big Hat Logan is a legendary figure, in Vinheim. He was one of my inspirations!” 

“Ah,” Understanding came over Hawkwood’s face, and he frowned. “But how did he become a legend?”

“He followed the Paledrake, in his pursuit of knowledge, and he succeeded,” Orbeck replied, voice more controlled upon seeing the deserter take in his words. “He paved the way for many crystal sorceries, many of which were used by your Sage.”

“The one of the Legion?” Hawkwood frowned, and the sorcerer nodded.

“Yes, they were his spiritual successors.” He replied, and his brow furrowed as a thought came to him. “Although I am surprised you didn’t beg to learn of the Paledrake’s breath when you saw it demonstrated.”

“I have no need of it, and by the sound of what happened to him originally, I have little intent of learning.” Hawkwood returned. “I don’t need madness on top of what I already have to deal with.”

“That’s reasonable enough,” Orbeck sighed as they walked up the stairs. “But at any rate, I believe its time we fight an unnaturally colored wolf.”

“Right,” Hawkwood snorted, and they entered a parlor to find it sitting in the center, rising upon seeing them. “But let’s see if we can pa–”

The wolf cut him off with a growl, and he frowned as it began to pace towards them. “Evidently not.”

“Clearly.” Lucatiel replied sardonically, and all three scattered as it lunged, drawing their weapons as they recovered. Orbeck proved the least idle as he raced away, the other two charging for it, but all three soon found that distance did not matter as it leapt for him, glintblades flashing into existence in its wake. 

Hawkwood rolled out of the way, face incredulous as he recovered. “It can use magic?”

“Well, its not swinging around a sword!” Lucatiel retorted as she blocked the hit. “Why are you surprised by this, you were in a legion inspired by wolves!”

The deserter opened his mouth to reply, but both found their attention drawn as Orbeck shouted, backing away as the Red Wolf swung a sword at him. “Hey, some help maybe?”

“What in the–” Lucatiel started at the sight, but Hawkwood slapped her on the shoulder as he raced to the fight.

“Come on!” He shouted, and he managed to reach the fight in time to block the Red Wolf’s next strike, the blow revertebrating throughout his arm but remaining unbothered as he retaliated, the Wolf dodging back. “Tricky bastard aren’t you?”

“I got him.” Orbeck cut in, and a soul spear scored itself on the Red Wolf’s flank as it tried to bite him again, the beast being halted but unbothered as they both dodged back. “Hm. Resistant to soul magic as well.”

“In spite of you blowing a hole through the dragon.” Hawkwood returned, clashing with the Red Wolf once again as it formed its blade. “Come on, you can still cover me.”

“I got it.” Lucatiel said as the Red Wolf suddenly faltered, her blade slashing its flank, the beast staggering back as Hawkwood followed up with a blow to the face. “Normal attacks still seem to hurt it well enough.”

“Still fast as all hell though.” Hawkwood returned as it leapt back, mouth brimming with magic as it formed more glintblades, then rained a comet onto them, all of which Orbeck blocked with a spell shield. “Good work.”

“Finish the duel.” Orbeck replied, and they scattered again as it slammed into where they were with sword in mouth. This time, it targeted Hawkwood, clashing blades with him once again as he deflected its strike. Its eyes were wrapped in controlled fury as it followed up, the deserter soon coming to the conclusion that playing defensive was not going to work as he was sent sliding back a few feet. 

He drew his dagger as Lucatiel moved in once again, and the Red Wolf was forced to take its attaention off of him as it clashed blades with her. With her armor and shield, she had a much easier time defending against its blows then the deserter, although the Red Wolf remained elusive to her own attempts to hit it, Orbeck’s own spells being dodged or sparking off its hide easily. 

However, that changed as Hawkwood rejoined the fight, pivoting under the Red Wolf’s legs as he swung his blade, catching it by surprise. It stumbled as the blade cut deep into one of its forelegs, but managed to leap back, magic brimming with its mouth to unleash more glintblades. However, that only gave Orbeck the opportunity to hit it within the expected manuever, slamming it into a wall with a barrage of boulders, where it lay.

“What spell was that?” Hawkwood furrowed his brow as it tried to rise, but couldn’t. “Glintstone?”

“No, gravity,” Orbeck replied plainly. “Picked up some of it during my stay in that hellhole.”

“Well, its a good spell.” Lucatiel replied as she walked up. “Put it out of its misery?”

“No, that’s unnecessary.” Orbeck replied. “We’re only after the Great Rune, no need to take lives unnecessarily.”

“Agreed,” Hawkwood lifted a hand to his chin. “And if this was left behind by the Queen’s husband…then wouldn’t it be defending her?”

“Wolves are intelligent beasts, and this one seems more so.” Orbeck nodded. “It makes sense.”

“Yeah.” Lucatiel nodded as he walked up. “What then?”

“Well, I suppose we leave him to recover his injuries.” Hawkwood replied, looking at the wolf apologetically. “Forgive us, but we have little intent of killing the Queen.”

The wolf looked up at him balefully, but the growl faded away as it considered its own wounds, and Hawkwood spoke. “May we pass?”

The beastt only rumbled in reply, but did nothing as they backed away, Lucatiel sheathing her blade. “I suppose that’s a yes.”

“Good,” Orbeck replied, and they walked out of the door to find a rain-filled courtyard. Crustaceans milled about, and two odd automatons were patrolling at the far end, not having taken notice of them yet.

“What are those?” Hawkwood frowned, and Orbeck shrugged.

“I don’t know, but I doubt we want to find out.” He said, taking a look over the railing. “Hm. It seems we have a path available to us.”

“Please tell me it doesn’t involve reavweing down to that broken staircase.” Lucatiel said as she looked down with him. “ I do not like our chances of making it down there in this weather.”

”Nor mine, really.” Hawkwood added, then saw the look on the sorcerer’s face. “Not everyone is as nimble as you, you know.”

“I suppose…” Orbeck sighed, then looked around to see a hallway door near a sorcerer playing with a group of jars. “Well, in that case, I suppose we can go through there.”

“Thank you.” Lucatiel beamed. “Now then, let’s go.”

They walked over, not bothering with the sorcerer as they reached their destination. Orbeck wiping his hands as he readied some picks. “Hmmm. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

 He set about to work, smirking to himself as he set about to work. A light click was heard after a couple of minutes, and he chuckled as he swung open the door. “After you.”

“I see you haven’t lost your love of sneaking since dying.” Hawkwood noted, and he shrugged.

“Doing the Dragon School’s dirty work was not one of the better parts of my life, but there were some thrills.” He said as he followed them in. “The thrills of uncovering secrets and going where one was not supposed to go being among them.”

“Sounds like you alright.” Hawkwood snorted, and they walked in to see a knight dressed in Astoran armor fall to the ground before a Carian Knight. 

“You fought well, but this is enough.” The Carian leveled his blade at the Astoran’s throat. “The Queen will not be disturbed.”

“I commend your honor, Sir Moongrum, but I will not yield.” The knight coughed as he struggled to stand, inching away. “I have failed one journey and I shall not fail again.” 

He grabbed for his sword, but the other knight kicked it away. “No. You may have more character then most Tarnished, but I will kill you if I must.”

“That must be one of Rennala’s guardians.” Orbeck muttered as he walked forward. “I’ll end this."

“No, I will.” Lucatiel pulled him back, voice grim, and the sorcerer frowned

“Why do you say that?” He asked, but received no answer as she walked into the courtyard, the knight poising his sword for the neck.

“Very well. If you will not cease, then–hm?” Moongrum looked up from his position over the knight, then leveled his blade toward Lucatiel. “Another pillager. After the Queen’s Rune, I take it?.”

“I won’t kill her if I have to.” Lucatiel replied, but the knight shook his head.

“Rich words coming from a grave robber.” He replied, her two comrades stepping out behind her. “And I see you keep the company of criminals as well. A true lowlife, then.”

“Hardly,” Lucatiel retorted, Orbeck dragging the Astoran back. “I was–no, am a knight myself, and it was more honorable to take the armor then to leave it to rust away at the whims of corpses.”

“A deserter, then.” Moongrum replied, then readied his weapons. “Very well. I am Moongrum, last Carian Knight, and you will not pass . ”

Hawkwood drew his blade, but Lucatiel raised a hand, voice hard. “No. I’ll do this alone.”

“Lucatiel...” The deserter warned, but she shook her head.

“No Hawkwood,” She drew her weapons. “This is a duel. One that will let us pass with less trouble.”

“Good,” Moongrum replied as his opponent drew her own blade and shield.. “At least you seem to still retain some honor.”

Lucatiel said nothing as she walked forward, the knight moving to meet her as he summoned several glintblades around himself, firing off at her on approach, only for her to dodge each with little effort. They clashed blades as they met, the Mirrah knight’s greatsword allowing her more reach as Moongrum was forced to dodge blow after blow, his own attempts to retaliate manuevered aside or blocked expertly before they clashed in a bladelock.

“Hm. I will admit, you are better then expected.” He said pensively as he was forced onto the backfoot. “But I am not finished yet.”

His blade glimmered with magical energy as he suddenly let Lucatiel win the lock, sidestepping the blade as it slammed down before swinging wide. The Mirrah knight’s only barely managed to dodge back in surprise as it dug into her armor, the knight pressing his advantage as he swung again, slamming her across the courtyard as she tried to block with her shield.

Not letting up, the man dispelled his greatsword, then charged forward, meeting Lucatiel once again in a clash of metal. This time, he managed to get in closer with his blade, and she was forced onto the defensive as his blade allowed him for faster manuevers, switching his shield for a staff to allow for broader range of attack.  Lucatiel felt herself soon beginning to lose ground as Moongrum began to overwhelm her defense, and she gritted her teeth as her shield was suddenly sent clattering to the ground

“Cease this,” The knight said grimly as he leveled both blades to her throat, but she shook her head as she switched to a two-handed grip.

“This duel’s not finished until one of us is on the ground.” She retorted, and Moongrum’s swords were both slammed aside near instantly as the battle recommenced. The Carian Knight was forced to jump as her bade went flying at his legs next, and they clashed once again, the Hollowslayer Greatsword withstanding the magic of the Carian slicer with ease.

“She’s doing well.” The Astoran panted as he watched the battle continue, Lucatiel regaining the advantage as she forced the knight back with a kick. “That man is…something else.”

“How long were you fighting him?” Orbeck asked. “He seemed to respect you.”

“He’s an Astoran Knight, they’re respectable people.” Hawkwood cut in, but the man laughed.

“I suppose you could say that, but it was really just my refusal to give up,” He replied. “After what that sunlit knight told me…”

“You were Undead?” Orbeck guessed, and the knight nodded.

“Yes, my name is Oscar.” He replied. “I was going to be the Chosen, but…I wound up here, instead.”

“The Chosen…” Orbeck tensed. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Oscar replied, then pointed ahead. “Let’s just watch, shall we?”

The three looked on as Lucatiel pressed her advantage, Moongrum being forced into his evasive style once again as he switched back to a shield. Blows rained down by Lucatiel were expertly diverted or blocked as he swung out, but she eventually sent him staggering back with a hard blow to the shoulder. He swung out, trying to recover, but she ducked under the predictable move, then swung for his chest…

But it was a feint.

CLANG!

Lucatiel was sent staggering back as Moongrum slammed her blow aside, and he did not hesitate. Magic wrapped around his blade as he swung straight for her legs, sending her crashing to the ground with a pained grunt. The knight’s blade poised to strike her throat then as she made to rise, but she slammed the blow aside before regaining her bearings.

“Enough!” Moongrum shouted as she reached for her flask, and Lucatiel gritted her teeth as she was forced to redirect his next blow to her shoulder, blood spurting out as the blade plunged through. “This fight is over, Tarnished.”

“I wouldn’t say that yet,” She panted, then suddenly grabbed the sword’s hilt as the knight made to draw it out, gripping her sword. “Given that you can’t dodge…”

“What are you doing?” Moongrum demanded as he made oto let go, drawing his staff, but it was too late as she grabbed his wrist.

“This duel is over.” She said with grim finality, and she slammed her blade into his shoulder, forcing him down with shoulder screaming from the pain. The knight grabbed for his staff, but she soon kicked it away as she drove it in all the way through. “Enough.”

“That was a foul trick, Tarnished.” Moongrum spat. “I will not let you harm the queen.”

“And I have little intent to, upon my honor as a knight.” Lucatiel replied, taking off her mask. “You fought well, and I do not wish to kill you.”

“And I understand this, knight.” Moongrum replied hardly. “By laws of our duel, you may pass, but…you do not understand what you will find, when it comes.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lucatiel frowned, but he only chuckled bitterly.

“Just know that there are some fates worse then death.” He replied, and a blue light began to wrap around him. “Ah, she’s come for me.”

“Who?” Lucatiel made to grab him, but only passed through his fading form. “What is this?”

“You will see, if fate allows us to meet again.” Moongrum returned as the energy coalesced. “Farewell!”

He disappeared in a flash of light, and Lucatiel stumbled back. “Damn it!”

“You did it.” Oscar called out to her as he managed to stand. “Very good, as expected for a knight of Mirrah.”

“That doesn’t matter when he got away.” Lucatiel replied grimly. “Who are you?”

“Oscar of Astora. Here for the Great Rune, like you.” The knight replied, then sighed as he took in his empty flask and injuries. “Although it seems my chances of gaining this one are rather unlikely.” 

“There’s no shame in losing this one when there are others to be taken.” Hawkwood replied, then turned to Lucatiel. “Drink, you need to heal your wound.”

“Right,” Lucatiel replied as she drunk her own. “Still…damn it. We could have learned a lot more from him.”

“Well, this will have to be enough.” Orbeck replied, then looked at Oscar apologetically. “Forgive us, sir knight, but we are in desperate need of that rune.” 

“It’s nothing.” Oscar sighed. “We are all out on our own goals, and I suppose its not a total waste. That waygate may be worth checking after all…”

“Waygate?” Orbeck frowned, and he nodded.

“Yes, there’s one not far from here.” He replied, then began to walk away. “But you all have your own duties, so farewell.”

“Farewell.” The group replied, and they turned to the elevator.

Orbeck spoke first. “Odd man.”

“Unlucky one too, by the looks of things.” Lucatiel replied. “Sounds like he’s been going after the great runes for quite a bit.”

“Well, we’ve all had our shares of bad luck.” Hawkwood replied, walking to the elevator. “Let’s just get to Rennala now.”

“Right.” Orbeck nodded, and they joined him on the elevator, reaching the top. “Only a little more to go now…”

“And we’ll have another Great Rune.” Lucatiel replied, walking forward to shove open the doors. “After you.”

“Thank you.” Hawkwood nodded, and they entered the library.

Chapter Text

The room was dark as the three walked into the library, the area being uncannily silent as they walked inside. Shelves were arrayed out in a circle as their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and as they grew closer, Orbeck frowned.

“Where’s the queen?” He murmured as he looked around. “She’s supposed to be here, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Lucatiel replied as she drummed her fingers on her sword, eyes flitting about beneath her mask. “But she isn’t here. Were we tricked?”

“No, I doubt it.” Hawkwood muttered. “That knight being down there wouldn’t make sense otherwise.” 

Orbeck frowned. “Then where–huh?”

A small hand grabbed his foot,, and he looked down to see a misshapen young child in scholar’s robes grinning crudely at him.

“The hell?” The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed as he yanked his foot away from the child, only for laughter to fill the room as candles lit, all three turning to find a whole host of similarly dressed children.

He felt a grip on his shoulder pull him back as Lucatiel spoke, unnerved. “What happened to them?”

“You think I know?” Orbeck replied, tone on edge as he looked around. “They’re obviously young scholars, but why would they be in the queen’s library?”

“I have no idea.” Hawkwood said slowly. “But I think we have company.”

He pointed up, and all three looked to see an abnormally tall woman floating in the air, clutching an amber egg.

The Rune.

“Hush, little culver.” She spoke, eyes captivated as she stared into the shard. Her voice was off. “I’ll soon birth thee anew. A sweeting, fresh and pure.”

The three stared at her, then at the children around her, then back at her again.

Lucatiel spoke first. “ That’s Rennala?” 

“It seems so.” Orbeck sighed as a shield flashed into existence around her, and the children began to sing. “Hell…this is not going to feel good.”

“But it must be done,” Hawkwood replied bluntly, drawing his sword as he saw a child with a golden aura. “Come on, I think I know how this fight works.”

“You think we’ll have to kill the lot of them?” Lucatiel asked, but the deserter shook his head as he pointed to his objective.

“No, just the glowing one,” He returned, tamping down the disgust turning in his stomach as he looked at his comrades urgently. “I know its horrible, especially to you, but we three know what’s on the line here.”

“I suppose...” Orbeck replied hesitantly, and his staff glowed as he pointed it at the glowing child, magic ending its life instantly. “Okay, it’s done, tell me that we don’t have to murder any more children for the damned thing.”

“No,” Lucatiel said grimly, pointing at another, and the sorcerer looked sick as he saw that it glowed as well. “Look, I’ll–”

“No, this falls to me.” Hawkwood replied, voice hard as he readied his blade. “The two of you should not have to deal with this.”

A book came flying in his direction at the words, and he chopped it in half. Let this be ended quickly

He dashed forward and slammed his blade down onto the glowing scholar, its song being cut short as he chopped it in half. He tried to ignore the child’s blood spattering his leggings as he looked around for the next quickly, and found them behind a bookshelf. It was all but a simple matter to end their life with a swing to the neck.

He looked back to see Rennala’s shield shatter as she fell to the ground, the woman not even making a sound as she smiled at her egg. The object rolled out of her grasp as she was forced to keep herself aloft, however, and she reached out to it as Hawkwood stood in her way, looking down on her.

This isn’t right.

“Ahh, my beloved…” She spoke as the other two joined the deserter, reaching out to her egg. “Have no fear, I will hold thee. Patience.”

“Why is she so dedicated to that thing?” Lucatiel muttered as the queen crawled forward, and Orbeck’s face was grim as he replied.

“It was her gift from her husband.” He said hardly. “And when he left…this is what became of her.”

They turned as a black haze emerged from the void, the queen’s voice suddenly becoming cold as she reached past them. “Ye will be countless born, forever and ever.”

“But if she’s a broken shell….” Hawkwood muttered as it rose into the air, coalescing into a bluish cloud. “What the hell is this?”

“Our comeuppance.” Orbeck returned, and an oddly familiar voice spoke out to them.

Upon my name as Ranni the Witch. The cloud spread, and blue light filled the center of the room. Mother's rich slumber shall not be disturbed by thee.

“I know that voice…” Hawkwood frowned as the black void spread through the room, an illusion forming. “But from where…”

Foul trespassers.  Send word far and wide. The room shifted into a moonlit lake as the illusion walked forward. Of the last Queen of Caria, Rennala of the Full Moon.

And the majesty of the night she conjureth.

Before them stood Rennala.

Tall and regal, and nothing like the addled and beaten woman of before.

And she was pointing her staff right at them.

“Move!” Orbeck shouted as power surged through her staff, and all three scattered as a turquoise beam of energy shot forth, the three not even bothering to look back as they charged forward.

Rennala jumped back, firing five stars at them, but Lucatiel blocked with her shield before Hawkwood lunged forward, the queen matching him almost instantly with a magic greatsword of her own. He gritted his teeth as vibrations shook his arm, but swung out, the queen dodging effortlessly back as she blasted him to the ground with a comet.

This is going to be annoying, isn’t it? He thought as he rolled to his feet, his Great Rune doing its work to regenerate his wounds and armor before he saw Lucatiel dodge to the side, ten glintblades firing off after her before her feet were suddenly frozen by a bolt of ice. She cursed, hacking at her feet, but that only gave Rennala the opportunity to send her sprawling across the lake with a blast of crystal.

“So it looks like it falls to me.” Orbeck muttered as he watched her fly by, then readied his staff. “Very well.”

He summoned five crystal soulmasses around him, then fired off darts at her, the queen taking notice in time to dispel them and convert them into her own glintblades. Soulmass and sword clashed in the air as Orbeck dashed forward, Hawkwood reaching her first as he swung out at her. She clashed once more with the deserter, greatsword to greatsword, but it was of little use as Orbeck casted a shower of crystal soulmasses, forcing her back as Hawkwood’s sword sailed through where she once was again.

Got you. The sorcerer thought as he blocked her next spell with White Dragon Breath, crystals erupting to absorb her stars before he fired off his own soul spear. It clashed in midair with her comet, the power bursting as it collided, and it gave enough time for Hawkwood to land a proper blow as he caught up to her, pivoting and slashing her legs with his sword. She stumbled back as Orbeck moved in close, casting the rain again before readying another soul spear, but it was to no avail as she curled up in midair, a moon absorbing all the spells.

Ah hell. Orbeck thought as Hawkwood was blasted point blank, the deserter being sent sprawling as he had no time to dodge. Rennala turned to him imperiously as she recovered, readying her staff once more, but Orbeck was ready as power surged through her staff, souls building in his own before both fired off.

WHOOOOOOOM

The lake exploded into a flash of light as the two beams collided, the power proving too much for either to overcome as both mages stumbled back, Orbeck’s ears ringing from the noise as both were burned from the feedback. He had no idea what kind of spell Rennala had used, but it was apparently Soul Stream’s equivalent, for that had definitely taken a bit out of him to match. His magic reserves were nearly drained.

He drank both flasks as he heard noise somewhere off behind him, Lucatiel running past him as she charged toward Rennala. The exchange had evidently hurt her less than it had Orbeck, for she had the presence of mind to fire off three more bursts of stars at the knight, forcing her to divert her path to avoid. Power charged within Rennala’s staff as she pointed it at Lucatiel, and Orbeck drew just in time to explode the crystal shot in Rennala’s face, sending her stumbling back as the other undead charged forward. 

The queen fumbled, creating a magic greatsword, but Moongrum had evidently left Lucatiel wise to the trick, for she avoided the strikes easily, the illusion crying out as she was stabbed in the gut. Orbeck smiled as she coughed, blood seeping into the waters as he moved in for the kill himself…

But Rennala was not done yet.

“Come, Oathsworn Giant!”

BOOM.

Orbeck’s eyes widened as a troll knight suddenly manifested, sending Lucatiel flying as it slammed its fists into the ground, leaving her stunned on the ground. Rennala wasted no time then, icy mist freezing the knight as she lay face down in the water, and Orbeck cursed as the troll knight moved to defend her from his counterattack, the illusion remaining untouched as she easily blasted Lucatiel into pieces.

“Damn it!” The sorcerer hissed as he watched her remains fade away, and Rennala turned to him with the same look of superiority as she clutched her staff, pointing at him. The troll roared in response, charging forward with sword in hand as the sorcerer made to cast a spell, only for there to be no need.

 The troll’s roar turned into an agonized yell as it fell over, Hawkwood revealing himself to be the culprit as he swung again, chopping its foot clean off. Similarly to the queen, he wasted no time in ending its life, plunging his blade into its heart with a jumping stab, leaving it to dissipate into ghostly flames.

“Took you long enough.” Orbeck said sharply as the deserter turned to him. “Lucatiel’s down.”

“I know.” Hawkwood grunted as the sorcerer threw up a wall of light to defend them against the witch. “The rune needed some time, but I saw it when I recovered.”

“Great.” Orbeck replied sarcastically. “Do you have a plan for her new spirits then?”

“Yes, actually.” Hawkwood returned as he took out an odd bell. “I never really thought I’d need to rely on these, but here I am.”

He rang, and three wolves took shape as Orbeck’s barrier dissipated, taking notice of the witch and their new master quickly as they howled. Hawkwood grinned as they charged forward with all fervor, and he shouted to his friend as he made to follow. “Come on!”

Not to be outdone, Rennala slammed her staff into the lake once more as she saw the five approach. “Come, Oathsworn Dragon!”

A Glintstone Dragon took shape in front of them as the group neared her, but the two Undead were ready, Orbeck firing off Soul Stream as it fully manifested. The dragon screeched as it stumbled back, reeling as the blast tore through its leg ,and Hawkwood did not hesitate to lunge for its head, ramming his blade through its skull. The wolves, on the other hand, went straight for the queen, and she cried out as they tackled her to the ground. She slashed their throats in an instant with a magic blade, but that was all the two Undead needed as they reached her. The two slammed their blades into her with equal force, and she only barely managed to stop herself from dissipating as she slammed her staff into the ground, a familiar looking Red Wolf taking shape.

“Not this again.” Orbeck grunted as she recovered, floating away as he was forced to fend off the Red Wolf’s magic sword with one of his own. “Hawkwood, deal with this mutt, I can handle her!”

“Done.” The deserter replied, and he took over, dragonfire washing over the wolf as he slammed his greatsword into its side. It growled, dashing to the side, and he charged in hot pursuit as the two sorcerers were left to face off with one another.

“Just you and me now.” Orbeck said grimly, and the witch did not reply as she casted a phalanx around herself, Orbeck mirroring the gesture with his own soulmasses. He dashed forward right as she made to cast another spell, deflecting a comet with a wall of light before being forced to dodge her own spinning weapon. She made to float back, casting those dark blue stars once again, but he slammed each one aside with a magic greatsword before clashing with her. 

He ducked a wide slash as she lashed out, the witch barely managing to sidestep his own retaliation before he got in closer, switching to a flashsword before she could match. He slashed thrice across her chest before she retaliated, spinning her staff in front of her to block and sending him stumbling back as it tore a magical gash across his arm. He hissed, the witch floating back and casting another group of stars point-blank, sending him staggering back with an array of burns, but he was not done yet. A rain of preemptive soulmasses sent her falling to her knees.

She’s nearing her limit. The sorcerer thought as he drank his flask. Unlike his comrades, he had less vitality to restore, but that would mean nothing until he was comfortably at an advantage. Comet and Crystal Soul Spear once again clashed in the air as she recovered, and she curled up into the moon once again as he swung out with a faster barrage of Farron darts, draining them easily. This time, however, Orbeck was ready, and he reflected it to the side as it fired off at him.

Thank goodness for Oolacile sorceries. He thought as she was forced to recover, and he unleashed White Dragon Breath once more, immobilizing her legs as crystal encased her, charging up his staff once again. This will be the end.

But Rennala would not go quietly.

She waved her staff almost instantly as she saw Orbeck’s staff aglow with energy, and stars burst into the air to form a dark cloud that enveloped the battlefield. The Vinheim assassin took little notice of it as his staff completed its power, certain that she could not charge up another one of those beams that Sellen had told him of, but his eyes widened as she took another option. A black hole of darkness drank up his beam like it was nothing, and he stubled back in surprise, dread mounting as the sky above turned dark blue.

And stars rained.

He screamed as they tore through his coat, body burning as he was forced to his knees. The barrage was as relentless as it was powerful, his clothes being rent to tatters by the attack as the attack burned into his body, beginning to lose feeling as the Queen looked down upon him coldly. The attack did not seem to affect her as it did the rest of the battlefield, for while the Vinehim sorcerer could distantly hear Hawkwood and her hound’s cries, not a single piece of her form was touched.

“”Thy fate lieth under my moon.” She said imperiously as  the attack finished, the sorcerer panting as his body steamed. She pointed her staff at him, azure light beginning to charge. “Farewell.”

“Not…yet.” The sorcerer gasped, picking up his staff once more as he forced himself to his feet,. “I…”

But it was for naught. His staff had nowhere near the amount of power needed to cast Soul Stream again, and anything below that would be useless against her. Any wall of light he could craft would be incapable of redirecting an attack in this state so…

That left only one thing left to do.

Orbeck vanished into nothing as a massive beam left Rennala’s staff, turqoise light engulfing where he once was as Rennala poured her power into it. Nothing remained of him when she was finished, leaving her to only blast apart the crystals that held her legs as she looked around for her last opponent, and he was there in the form of a battered Hawkwood. The deserter’s face was grim as he pointed his sword at her

“You’ll pay for that.” He said stonily as he began to walk forward. His armor had mostly protected his body from the damage, albeit it was torn from the deluge of stars she’d casted, the wounds from the Red Wolf visible.

The queen gave no reply as she pointed her staff at him, and the battle recommenced as he charged forward, dodging aside as she cast a comet at him. She floated back, staff spinning towards him as he neared her position, but he easily slid under before deflecting its return route, continuing his charge. Glintblades flashed into existence around her as he finally approached, and they clashed, true to magic greatsword. 

Their greatswords slammed against one another once, then twice, the wounds of both slowing them down, but Rennala proved to be the more resourceful opponent as she narrowly avoided a slice that would have taken her head, then froze his legs. She floated out of reach as the deserter cursed, staff charging as he fumbled for his seal.

Only to gasp as she suddenly felt two blades of magic and steel stab her in the back.

“I wasn’t finished.” Orbeck hissed as his form became known once more, shoving his dagger and flashsword into her back further. Too close

The queen attempted to grab at him as she choked on her own blood, but he only growled as he dragged them further up, sending her falling to her knees. “Its over.”

“Oh little Ranni…my dear daughter…” The witch said as he withdrew his blades once more, aiming for her heart this time as she outstretched her hand to the moon. “Weave thy night into being.”

She began to fade away as he stabbed her once more, finally succumbing to her injuries as she collapsed, and with her finally gone, so too was the sorcerer’s adrenaline. Orbeck fell to his knees as the moonlit plane fading away, panting hard as Hawkwood was freed from the ice. He had never been pushed that far in a fight before, nor used near as much magic. An influx of runes went into both as the Great Rune burned itself into his wrist, but he cared little as he sat back, drained.

“Thank you” Hawkwood said wearily as he walked up to him. “Thought you were dead after the damned laser.”

“Understandable.” Orbeck groaned, then tried for a weak smile. “Couldn’t have won without me, eh?”

“Probably not.” Hawkwood grunted. “That illusion was something else…”

“Well, we can reflect upon it after we rest.” Orbeck panted, then outstretched his hand. “Help me up, will you?”

“Ran out of stamina, huh?” Hawkwood replieds the light bemusedly, but he pulled the sorcerer up regardless, the two men turning to see the Queen sitting in a chair, eyes dilated as she clutched her egg. “Hmmm. None the worse for wear, I see”

“Good.” Orbeck replied heavily. “But…Grace first, please?”

“Right, right.” Hawkwood said absently, and they walked over to the pool of light, sighing in relief as they rested. “Never gets old, doesn't it?”

“Hardly.” Orbeck snorted, injuries now healed as Lucatiel walked in. “Oh, welcome back.”

“Thank you.” The knight said as she walked over to them. “I see you finished the fight without me.”

“It was close, but yes.” Hawkwood nodded. “Would have lost if this man didn't somehow learn to make himself near invisible.”

“Please,” The sorcerer snorted. “The sorceries of Oolacile are not so simple.”

“Well, simple or no, we won.” Hawkwood replied, before turning to the queen. “And…my blood can be purified.”

“Right.” Orbeck replied, and magic flared as he rested his hand over Hawkwood’s wrist, the Great Rune imparting itself. “Now go.”

“Thank you.” Hawkwood replied, and he walked over to the dazed woman, Great Rune in hand. “Rennala?

“Where did ye flee, my sweetings?” The queen said, not paying to him at first as she called out. “ Come out, from whence ye hide. There are books and light aplenty. ”

Hawkwood sighed. “Rennala–”

“Dither not; come out say I!” She cut him off, growing agitated with no response. “Or will ye be gravestones? To be better born anew?”

“ My queen. ” Hawkwood snapped. “I come to you with a request.”

The woman stopped as she finally took notice of him. “Ah...thou...Is it thy wish to be born anew?

To become a sweeting, reborn of my beloved egg?”

“Yes,” The deserter nodded, and she sighed.

“Then I shall take thine larval tear anew.” She replied, and Hawkwood suddenly felt a weight pull at his chest as the tear he’d taken from the scion surged into the egg. “Do not be alarmed, nor afeard.”

“Huh. So that’s what it was used fo—“ Hawkwood was cut off as darkness flared on the edges of his vision. “The hell?”

“What’s the matter?” Lucatiel called out as he staggered, but soon saw the issue.

The blood had returned.

And its aura was wrapped around the rune.

“Stop him, now!” Orbeck shouted, making to cast a spell as Lucatiel rushed forward, but it was too late.

The egg burst into bright radiance, and the world went black.

Chapter Text

Darkness.

“Hawkwood!”

Silence.

“Wake up!”

Humanity.

What happened….

“Take him to the Grace!”

Hawkwood blinked as he looked around. Where was he?

He was surrounded by darkness, hardly anything living around as he began to walk.  Dark shades stared at him, outlined in white, and he felt a chill as they seemed to pose a silent question. 

Will you become one of us?

He shook his head as he walked on, the light of his runes faintly guiding him as he progressed further, to a precipice. Within, he could see countless bodies, draped in armor from ages past. Darkwraiths?

What had killed them all ? 

He suddenly felt a shock from his chest as he squinted down. It was hardly a care, something ignored in his curiosity as he discerned a shape. A blue veil, silvery armor…

Wait…

It was staring right at him.

He stumbled back as he suddenly felt the light from his runes fade, leaving him trapped in darkness as only the light of the shades remained. His heart leapt in his throat as he reached for his blade, only to find it not there as the shape dimly grew closer. A growl rose in its throat as it unsheathed a familiar greatsword, gathering to lunge–

And then Hawkwood screamed.

Lucatiel and Orbeck moved back as he gasped awake, panting in a cold sweat as he looked around wildly. He was at the site of Grace, and both looked at him in concern as he regained his bearings.

“What happened?” He asked hoarsely, and his two companions looked at each other. 

“You collapsed.” Orbeck replied uneasily. “The Blood…I think, was too much for the rebirth to handle. Or your runes.”

“What do you mean?” Hawkwood replied, and Lucatiel pointed at the back of his hand.

“Look.” Her face was grim as Hawkwood silently obeyed, a pit opening in his stomach as he saw it.

Both runes were covered in darkness.

“No.” He muttered, shaking his head as he took off his glove, only to see his hand entirely blackened. “No no no no no.”

He backed away from them, eyes desperate as he searched both of their expressions. “This cannot be true.”

“I’m sorry,” Orbeck said quietly, and the deserter laughed hysterically as he looked at him.

“Oh, you’re sorry ?” He said incredulously. “I’m a dead man, and we all know it.”

“No, you’re not.” Melina appeared then. “You can still become–”

“Become lord?” Hawkwood doubled over, laughter renewing. “ Become Lord? I’m nothing but a coward who couldn’t even die right.”

“None of us could die right.” Lucatiel grunted, but Hawkwood shook his head.

“But none as wrong as me.” He shook his head. “We’re all damned.”

“Not yet.” Melina stepped forward. “As far as you have Grace, you cannot–”

“Girl, I have no idea how long this will last.” The deserter retorted. “We undead died when we lost purpose. How can I be certain that this is any different?”

“So long as you’re driven to cure your affliction…” Melina said slowly. “You will retain it. If what you say is true, it’s in the Two Fingers’ best interests for you to retain it.”