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No-Man's Wharf

A woman leaned against the wall of a dark cave. The only light came from a small fire just a few feet from where she rested. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, she hated how clouded her mind felt now. This curse gnawed at the edge of her memories, just far enough out to not hinder her in battle, but close enough to rob her of any peace while she slept. She, in her time in this cursed land of Drangleic, had created a pattern she would follow. An exercise of sorts, she would start at the back of her thoughts and work forward. She would recall the furthest memory she could and proceed to the present. It wasn't a perfect strategy, but it helped her sleep at night… sometimes.

As she began her nightly routine, another undead stumbled into her vicinity. She opened her eyes and stared at the stranger through the silver mask she wore. He didn't seem to be a Hollow, an undead who had forever lost themselves to the curse. Although, he did move slowly, as if to conserve every ounce of energy he could. He walked with a limp, blood soaked the area of his clothing he held with one hand, the other clung tightly to a broken weapon he used as a walking stick. He inched closer to the bonfire, moving to a desperate rhythm. A step with his good foot, followed by the dragging of his bum leg, ending with the tap of his stick.

Step. Drag. Tap.

Step. Drag. Tap.

She almost felt pity for him but she remained still, trying to merge herself into the wall behind her. The only movement she made was strengthening the grip she had on her own arms, which were wrapped tightly across her chest. She had seen this trick far too many times to be fooled, pretend to be more injured than you are, and wait for someone gullible to assist. Once their guard was down, ram a knife in their gut, steal what's valuable and run before the guilt sets in. Any moment now he would beg for help, just like all the rest. But the man simply removed his helmet, dropped it to the ground and kept limping, moving solely on what little willpower he had left in his withered body. A few moments passed by, and when he put his weight on the walking stick to step forward it slipped from underneath him. In no less than a heartbeat he laid face down in the mud. The woman's eyes widened ever so slightly, if this was a con he was sticking to it until the very end.

He looked up toward the fire, he was so close now, only ten feet or so. He reached out with his right arm, and dragged his tired form closer. He was losing consciousness. He fought back the weight if his eyelids with all his might. He just needed to touch the flame, that's all. He could live that much longer, right? He had to. He forced his left arm up, straining to feel the dancing tongues of heat, his vision blurred. His eyes slowly drooped shut when he felt his feet grow cold, then his knees, his entire bottom half was now immobile and lifeless. His head jerked back in panic with his eyes wide open when he felt something take hold of his arm. He made out a gloved hand wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip. He followed the hand to an arm, an arm to a shoulder, shoulder to neck, neck to… mask? Whoever this was wore a mask, which is never promising. He didn't have the energy to reach his blade much less swing it, so he waited to see what this figure would do with him as he lay helpless.

This went against almost every rule she had laid for herself but she could not stand it any longer, she took hold of the stranger and dragged him to the bonfire. She dropped his hand in the ashes, knowing that was his goal. Now, whether he lived or died, this is where he would wake in a few hours. She returned to her wall and rest against it once more. She closed her eyes and willed herself into a half sleep so that she may rest but still keep watch over her company, for she did not trust him yet.

The woman woke to a strange aroma in the air, almost sweet? She scanned the area before her to see the stranger sitting by the fire with a glass jar in one hand and a ladle in the other, dipping a mysterious liquid out of a pot that rest in the flames. He looked over at her and set a broken smile on his face, he exhaled sharply then returned to his business, the expression never leaving his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Would you-" he began.

"Save it, I don't know you, you don't know me, and it is better that way. We're not friends," she interrupted.

"-Like some tea?" he continued as if she had not spoken at all. He stood from his place at the fire and crossed the room to where she rest. He extended his left hand, offering her the jar he had just filled.

"My name is Rourke," he stated simply, never losing his smile.

"I didn't ask" she responded, remaining motionless.

"I didn't expect you to," he smiled. The man pulled the jar he offered back to his lips, took a sip and swallowed, as if to say 'This isn't poisoned'. "But it is typically common curtesy to give one's name before asking for another's, is it not?" He offered the container once more.

The woman reached out and gently took the drink from this strange man called 'Rourke'. She brought it close to her nose and took a whiff. It smelled of honey and dried herbs. She lifted her mask to have a sip. She immediately coughed, and almost dropped the glass, the 'tea' wasn't horrible but it was not good by any stretch of the imagination, not to mention strong. Her reaction earned a short chuckle from Rourke, who returned to his seat by the bonfire. After a second or two she felt a rush of energy, and found herself drawn back to having another sip.

"What is this made of?" she asked.

"Green Blossom leaves; it's supposed to help with stamina and recovery time, good for exhaustion," he responded while taking a drink of his own glass. "Mix it with a little honey to take out the bite, and you get something decent, still it's an acquired taste," he finished the sentence with another short laugh.

"You're quite the strange one," she stated plainly, "I don't meet too many sane undead here,"

The woman moved from the wall to sit beside the man at the fire. She crossed her legs and removed her mask. "My name is Lucatiel, I come from Mirrah; a land of knights, to this land in search of my brother," she turned to look at the man beside her. "Should you ever need my assistance, my blade is always ready, do not hesitate to call upon me," she finished her sentence with a small smile.

"I appreciate the gesture, Lucatiel, I plan to rest here a little while longer, I'm not in a rush, we could travel together for a while if you would like, I will require some help with this next area," he said while ladling himself some more tea.

"Of course; Rourke, was it?" she asked.

"Paladin Connor Rourke," he answered with a smile, "but yes, Rourke is fine."

The paladin waited a while longer before he stood from his place by the fire and picked up his satchel. After rummaging through it for a moment he produced a pair of binoculars. He returned the bag to the ground, walking deeper into the cavern as quietly as his armored boots would allow.

"Let's see what we're up against," he said as he crouched and looked through the binoculars into the darkness.

Lucatiel rose to her feet and followed. As she drew closer, she noticed the hilt of a dagger in the man's boot. The way he was kneeling made it easy for him to draw at a moment's notice. The Mirran took a mental note of the blade, and readied her hands to make draw for the sword on her back. She quickly planned a counter attack, should the need arise. The knightess approached the man with caution.

"See anything we can use?" she asked in a whisper.

"That depends," he replied "How good is your aim?"

He handed her the binoculars, and pointed to the ceiling. Following his finger, she discovered a large chandelier hovering overhead. He was right, if they could shoot an arrow covered in resin into the grating, there may still be enough oil to light a fire and illuminate the cave. A far greater idea than clambering around in the dark.

"I can make that shot," The swordswoman said with confidence.

The paladin nodded, walking back to the bonfire while Lucatiel remained on watch. He returned a few moments later with a large crossbow and a few bolts. The knightess took the weapon, tested the weight, and aimed at her target.

"We only have the three," He said, handing her one. "They're wood bolts, not designed for ignition, so light the tip just before you fire."

"Alright," she exhaled, "I'd better not miss then." She finished with a light chuckle.

Rourke smiled and put his helmet on. He turned his head to face the woman, and gave her a thumbs up. Lucatiel replaced her mask and loaded the bolt before returning the gesture. She shouldered the crossbow, and took aim. She briefly thought back to her days in Mirrah, and her training. She had to slow down, concentrate, she need not rush, she had all the time in the world. She banished the thoughts of those days long past, and focused on hitting her mark.

Steady hands.

Slow movements.

Breathe gently.

Lucatiel's mind raced, then cleared. The only things that existed now were her and the target. No cave, no Hollows, no strange paladin, no pressure. She slowly inhaled, then exhaled. She inhaled once more, held her breath, lit the bolt's head, and then fired. The bolt soared through the air, a few Hollows in the cave turned their heads to see where the bright orange streak would go. The two watched as the shot hit its mark, igniting the chandelier into a mass of red and yellow flames. Many Hollows roared in anger over the new light source. The smarter ones even looked back at to where the shot came from, and rushed to destroy it. One Hollow? Not a problem. Twenty? That could be a little more of a threat.

The holy knight sprang into action, he grabbed his comrade by the waist and threw her away from the assault. She landed on the cave floor, and when looked up at him their covered faces met for only a split second.

"Run!" He yelled. The Mirran jumped to her feet and sprinted towards the bonfire, looking back over her shoulder to see him take something from a pocket on his belt.

Rourke drew a small canvas talisman, his catalyst for holy miracles. 'Always the hero, Connor you're a fool,' He thought to himself. He knelt down, whispered a short prayer under his breath, and waited for the right moment to finish the spell. The Hollows grew closer, the paladin held his ground and drew the dagger from his boot. One of the faster ones reached him before the rest of the horde. It gave a solid swing with its broken sword. The man dodged and countered with his knife. The remainder of the Hollows were now a few meters away. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself.

"Fear the Wrath of God!" the paladin slammed his fist onto the ground before him. A blinding flash of white and blue erupted from the ground around him, lightning bolts sprouted from nowhere and laid waste to the mindless undead within the magic's incredible range.

Lucatiel watched from behind cover she had found in the form of some columns a good ten meters back toward the bonfire. She saw the bright light, and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention when a stray lightning bolt struck a little too close for comfort. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad she didn't argue with the man on whether or not she should fight. 'He's powerful, of that I am certain, but why was my safety his first priority?' The knightess asked herself.

She removed herself from the safety of the pillars and stepped lightly toward the paladin. Now visibly exhausted, he turned his head to greet her. He removed his helmet, and bent down trying to catch his breath.

"I hate using that, ne- never fails t-to," He paused to take more air onto his lungs. "Wear me out,"

Rourke stood straight and composed himself. He replaced his helmet, giving it a gentle twist to set it into place. Lucatiel was at a loss, the man before her stood in a shallow crater, she had seen nothing like this before, which of the gods would bless a mortal to wield such power? The closest any priest or cleric she had ever heard of couldn't hold a candle to the sun by comparison. She had heard of a miracle like this, 'It created a flash of light and caused significant damage to anything it touched, but Rourke's spell, quite effectively, reduced the enemy to ashes, not to mention the range'. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed just how far this reached, she was lucky only one bolt nearly struck her.

"How did you do that?" she managed to say.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a Paladin, what god gave you such power?" She was getting impatient, she did not like this game.

"That is a conversation for another time, for now I shall retrieve my supplies and we shall trek onward." He responded trying to avoid the question. He turned to walk back to the bonfire, he stopped when a familiar iron grip latched onto his left hand.

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear," She sneered. "Answer me, or walk alone, Saint"

"I'm a Paladin, not a Saint," he responded, retrieving his arm.

The Mirran crossed her arms and waited. She was not going to give this man any slack. The paladin raised his hands in defeat, as much as he didn't want to have this conversation, he knew that someone watching his back was more important.

"Fine," he said. The holy knight walked back to the bonfire, grabbed his Claymore, his satchel and his kite shield, Lucatiel never falling more than a few steps behind.

"I'm not from this land of Drangleic," he said with a sigh "to be honest I don't remember the name of the land from which I hail."

His comrade was not satisfied, she wanted more and he knew this, so he continued, albeit slowly, as if not wanting to say too much.

"I neither serve nor worship the deities of this place, I never have,"

"Then how did you manage to summon such energy?" She gestured back to where they stood only a minute ago. "Are you a god?"

Rourke let out a laugh, short but genuine. He threw the sling of his satchel over his head so it rested on his left shoulder, then buckled the strap of his Claymore the opposite way so that it laid on his right. Taking shield in hand he walked over to her.

"No, m'lady, I am the tool of my Lord, not the hand." He answered, then gave another short laugh, "And I am most certainly not the Lord, Himself."

The Mirran still did not understand. Why would this knight's Lord give him such power? She wanted an explanation that made sense. Seeming to have read her thoughts, he reached into his satchel and retrieved a small book.

"Lucatiel, if I may, can you read?"

She looked up at him, not knowing how to answer. She did at one point in her life, but she did not know if it was an ability she had kept since coming to this place. He offered the book to her, she took it in hand, and opened it. The symbols on the page seemed familiar, but when she willed them to form words, she only saw gibberish.

"No…" She handed the book back, lowering her head in defeat. "Not anymore… such skills were lost to me when I was cursed…"

"Do not feel ashamed, my friend," Rourke placed the book safely back into the satchel. "I will teach you and in time you will have all the answers you are looking for"

Lucatiel's ears perked up, questions raced through her mind 'Why would he teach me? Why does he care?' she wondered 'and why call me friend when we met only a few hours ago?'

"O-okay…" The only word she could manage.

"Good, now may we continue on our journey?" He raised his hand in the direction away from the bonfire.

She walked past him without another word, and remained silent for a few minutes as they crossed the docks their newfound light source revealed. Though they had plenty of light her companion lit a torch on one of the sconces, and proceeded to light all others he passed. Most of the Hollows in the area gave them a wide berth, some of the crazier ones tried to attack but none of which led to any significant amount of damage. The fallen undead seemed to dislike fire, Lucatiel concluded it must be the torch or the man holding it that scared them so. Walking up the staircases led to what seemed to be the remnants of a village long since dead. The pair came across a handful of creatures who possessed long razors for claws and disfigured bodies that had multiple sets of eyes and short legs. The real threat of them however, was their surprising reach. The monsters did not need to pounce as they could simply extend their arms, which seemed to be around six to eight feet long, to attack.

Rourke quickly discovered that these creatures were not afraid of light, but were harmed by it. The beasts would shield their eyes and hiss when they came into contact with the small pool radiating from the paladin's torch. This deterrent only lasted a few seconds before the dark beings would attack, light or no. So, the pair's main strategy for defeating them hinged on attacking from both sides while it was initially stunned by the fire's light.

The two finally reached a wooden platform at the edge of the cliff that looked over the water, a small lever being the only interesting thing there. Rourke looked back to his new friend who was currently guarding their rear flank. She turned around when he called to her, pointing at the strange switch. The woman nodded, the paladin returned the gesture then took hold of the handle with his free hand. He struggled for a moment, then managed to swing the contraption into the opposite position. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The two waited in silence, and a bell rang out above their heads. A ship, one gone unnoticed by the two knights, pulled slowly into the harbor. When the vessel settled in, a few torches seemed to light themselves with a bright blue flame.

"I suppose we know where to head next," Lucatiel said quietly.

"Of course it's a boat," Rourke said in an irritated tone. "It's always a boat."

He let out a sigh, turned around, and proceeded to their new destination. The knightess wondered for a moment if the paladin had trouble with water, perhaps she would ask him later. For now she simply followed him as they made their way to the docks, helping to clear out what little resistance they had missed on the journey up.

He stepped onto the wooden planks, treading carefully but not as if he were afraid to fall in. The maiden remained ever vigilant watching for any sign of an ambush. While doing this, her eyes fell onto an old man who sat motionlessly on the platform above them. Lucatiel tapped Rourke's shoulder and pointed into the direction of the stranger. He nodded and eased his way up the staircase to where the old man sat.

"Excuse me, sir" the paladin did not let his guard down, "what are you doing out here?"

"Meditating, now, leave me be" the man responded.

"I was wondering-"

"If you wish to become my student, meet me in Majula, until then cease your talking and leave" the man interrupted.

Rourke clenched his fist and whispered "old prick," under his breath. He turned to his companion and gestured back to the boat. They left the man in silence.

The pair dispatched the enemies on the main deck, before proceeding below. The two inspected their surroundings, the lower deck was flooded knee deep with water, making maneuverability tough, there were also the same eerie blue torches lighting the room. They reached a large doorway, Rourke doused his torch in the water, and placed it back in its pouch. The warriors readied themselves, the paladin opened the door as swiftly as he could but, the water fought against him for every inch.

In a fraction of a second after he opened the door, Rourke found himself in the water, the breath knocked out of him. He rose to the surface to see what had happened, his only explanation, a massive figure of what looked like two tall men tied back to back at the waist, the only difference being that the two actually shared a single pair of legs. Lucatiel had already leaped into action the water barely seeming to hinder her agility. She danced around the creature slashing ruthlessly with her Mirran Greatsword.

The foe was proving difficult to defeat. For each warrior had their hands full with their own torso to fight. The beast was merciless, never relenting or giving them a chance to think. Lucatiel wielded her blade with finesse and dexterity unlike any other, while the raw force of Rourke's blows could cleave a normal man asunder, not including the blessing it held, which has brought some of the most powerful demons to their knees. The knightess frantically searched her mind for a plan, the beast had no back side, no blind spots except… except the space between the two bodies.

She shot her companion a glance, it seemed he had come to the same realization. The pair made no gesture of understanding but each knew the plan. The swordswoman waited for the creature to slam one of its giant clubs on her direction. When it attacked, she dodged out of the way, then placed her right boot on the club. Lucatiel dashed up the weapon, jumping as soon as she reached its shoulder, and grabbed onto one of the support beams that held the ceiling in place. Rourke dropped his shield, taking his sword in both hands, and began wildly swinging left and right at his foe, causing both forms to focus on his flurry of attacks.

She held tight to her position, this would only work once. She had to wait until she was directly over the blind spot. Rourke drew his talisman, and generated a bolt of lightning in his left hand. He threw the bolt into the water at the foot of his opponent, stunning the creature. Lucatiel dropped down from the rafters. She landed with one foot on a shoulder of each form, blade plunged into the back of the body under her left boot. When the other still showed promise of continuing the knightess drew the sword from its place and decapitated it without hesitation.

The dead enemy fell sideways, the Mirran followed with no grace whatsoever. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact of the cold water, except it did not come. She looked up to see the paladin had caught her. For only an instant, she could have sworn her face felt hot. She looked into the darkness of his helmet's eye sockets trying to find an answer. Why didn't he let her fall? It's just water. She would have been fine. The holy knight cleared his throat and let the woman down, not sure of what else to do.

"Goo- uh- good plan," he stammered "worked like a charm."

"Thank you," she responded looking away from him, silently thankful she wore the mask.

"I'm going to go get this thing moving," he said turning toward the ladder on the other side of the room.

"Alright," she said "I'll see if I can find… something…to… do…"

The two went their separate ways. Rourke to the navigation deck, while Lucatiel searched the captain's quarters. Not finding anything of interest, save for a bed, she leaned on the desk in the center of the room to think. Her mind still not certain of what had happened a few moments ago. She was dragged back to reality when the ship started to move. The farther the vessel traveled away from the docks, the more the water drained from the floors. Soon there was barely enough water to dampen the wooden surface. The woman shook her head slowly, Drangleic was a strange land indeed. She walked out onto the main deck, dawn slowly creeping over the horizon. She found the paladin on the port side, staring out at the sun rise.

"So, 'Captain' Rourke, where are we off to now?" She asked leaning against the railing beside him.

"To be completely honest, 'First-Mate' Lucatiel, I have no idea," he responded.

The knightess removed her mask and looked up at him, puzzled. It then came to her that no one was at the wheel. The paladin took of his helmet, a wide smile on his face. Lucatiel also noticed a hint of red to his cheeks.

"The ship steers itself," he finished "All I did was touch something shiny."

The knightess erupted in laughter. She knew he wasn't the sea fairing type. The woman felt at peace, if only for a moment. 'Connor Rourke, huh?' she thought to herself. She felt relaxed in his presence and even to her own surprise, she lowered her guard around him now.

"Well, Rourke, there's a bed in the captain's quarters if-" Lucatiel began.

"Hold on now, no need to rush things, at least let me cook you some dinner first," the man joked.

She took a second to register what he had meant. She quickly punched him in the arm and smiled, her face flushed cherry red. She turned away to walk back below deck, the paladin stared after her for a second before turning back to the sea. She looked over her shoulder at the last second. The smile had yet to leave his face.