Laurentius I

If asked about the nature of his thoughts at the time just before the Daughter of Chaos had drowned him in a spout of deadly magma, Laurentius would say that he'd been too caught up in excitement, too rash. The very idea of a direct audience with a Daughter of the mythic Witch of Izalith had been only a distant dream of his for much of his young life. And so when confronted, finally, with the reality that this dream was suddenly achievable, he tripped over himself in his efforts to convey himself to the demon-goddess.

Unfortunately, that also meant the grisly deaths of his unexpected comrades at her hand. The comrades who had, with difficulty, allowed him to take the reigns at the crucial moment rather than adhere to their original plans. Now, they had been forced to take several steps back because of his own blunder.

I won't take such a careless misstep again, the pyromancer thought, lying on his back in a fog of half-consciousness.

He could not see the others yet, but hoped they had all been transported back to the bonfire nearest them when they'd died, back in the filthy drain pipe in Blighttown. Time seemed both exceedingly puzzling and entirely irrelevant, as it always did upon reawakening near a bonfire. Now though, following such an extreme death, the passage of time was a confused tangle, winding and stretching back and around, yet having near no true continuum at all. Attempting to follow it, Laurentius feared, would likely result in accelerated madness and hollowing.

With whatever presence of mind he had and the lack of ability to yet physically move, Laurentius reflected on many things, not least being a particular new discovery. Though it was near always difficult to recall the process of reawakening after death, there did seem to be a difference in the effort the bonfire necessitated this time. Perhaps to speed up the process...

He didn't think there had been a time previous in which he had been physically vaporized, nor anything close-to. Perhaps, he considered, the manner of one's death dictates the amount of time...if time is of any consequence...no… Laurentius got lost a moment, struggling to cobble his loose thoughts back into a sensible whole, ...the bonfire takes what's left and rebuilds it. A stark image of the mouth of Lady Quelaag's demon spider opening, moments before drowning him in magma, came to the pyromancer's mind. There wasn't much left of me after that one.

Seemingly uncounted hours passed, and Laurentius' thoughts continued as a jumbled mess, one bleeding into the other and subsequently to all others, and the pyromancer unable to much care.

That is, until his newly-reformed ears picked up on an alarming sound. It was a strange, discordant din of muffled clanging and startled shouting. Laurentius pried open his eyes with considerable effort, but even when he achieved this, his vision was shrouded in a dark mist that wobbled and swirled with vaguely human shapes.

"Get- move that fool out of the way!" A harsh, raspy voice. Lautrec?

The pyromancer made a concerted effort to push his body to motion, achieving only a clumsy flop onto his side. More clashing sounded around him. Shaking hands slipped in a shallow puddle on the cold floor, but before he could attempt to push himself up, Laurentius felt a pair of strong hands clamp underneath each arm and haul him away from the clamour.

"W-wha-" He tried to speak, his jaw not feeling quite so coordinated as it usually was, voice cracking and throat parched. The hands set him down against a wall, cold and damp seeping through the clothing on his back.

"Here, friend," Solaire's voice, "drink." The Astoran knight was audibly exhausted.

Chill glass touched Laurentius' lips, and he made a concerted effort to gulp the tasteless, fiery liquid down. Immediately after the warmth dropped into his belly, the pyromancer felt his body begin to regenerate at a quickening pace. The dark fog before him began to transform, the shadow forming shapes outlined by the light of the bonfire, which glowed further down the tunnel. The clamour from earlier grew sharper, the pyromancer's hearing keener.

Solaire was plugging the stopper back into the top of his estus flask when Laurentius was finally capable of seeing him again. Glancing hurriedly toward the clamor which the pyromancer then clearly recognized as battle, the Astoran Knight slid the round shield from his back with more effort than usual.

"It seems some opportunist wishes to take advantage of our current plight," Solaire hastily explained, "We were being assailed not a minute following our return to the world of the living. I am not sure how many opponents we have, considering your need for assistance just then- how odd, isn't it? But well-" The Astoran knight seemed a bit out of sorts, "We can discuss that later. Now we must hasten to assist our allies."

"Yes of course," Laurentius replied urgently, realizing their grim disposition.

Solaire made quickly for the part of pipe containing the bonfire, the pyromancer following him with flame readied. He still felt somewhat sluggish, but he knew the cause was the early stage of hollowing that followed a death. Perhaps it's a good thing we're under attack, if this enemy has humanity to spare. A thought that normally made Laurentius cringe, but when one is under threat of hollowing, taking a violent assailant's humanity is a matter of self-preservation.

As soon as they'd re-entered the section of pipe that housed the bonfire, Laurentius spotted Azur and Lautrec at the entrance, exchanging blows with what appeared to be two vastly different individuals.

One was a large woman, garments torn to the point of only covering her chest and groin areas, with a familiar sack over her head. Her weapon, an enormous chopping blade weighted almost like an axe, was also very familiar to the pyromancer. He groaned internally, remembering the cannibal butchers who'd captured him and kept him in a barrel in their meat storage chamber. Beastly women. I hoped I wouldn't have to come across one again.

The second figure was covered in dark, fluted steel plate, which had especially rounded surfaces and was covered in small spikes that resembled thorns. Both shortsword and shield were covered in similar protrusions, though those on his shield were particularly long and cruel. His helm was oddly designed, but had a look that conjured up memories of old tales concerning a group of knights born in an undead city which fell to the Abyss, the Darkwraiths, who crossed barriers between worlds to steal humanity away from weary travelers.

I never thought those stories were true, Laurentius mused, though at this point I wouldn't be surprised if they were.

The easterner and the Carim knight were fighting well, despite clearly not being at their physical peaks. Lautrec was using shotel and dagger to pull and slide the darkwraith's shield and shortsword skillfully away from himself and position for an attack, but it seemed the enemy was well-equipped to counter. The black steel clad figure maneuvered his own weapons in a similar fashion, feeling Lautrec's movements through his blades and responding in kind.

The butcher, meanwhile, swung her greatknife with wild ferocity, yet had surprising accuracy. Clearly her aim was to bash Azur into submission, or to create an opening for a killing blow. It seemed largely ineffective however, as Azur turned her round shield in such a way as to allow each heavy strike to slide off and away from her like rain, taking nary a step backward.

Before Laurentius could work out a place to launch his pyromancies without injuring his allies, Solaire dove into the fray, aiming a thrust over shield at the darkwraith. The enemy responded with a startling immediacy. He switched tactics from caution to ferocity, aggressively shoving spiked shield into Lautrec, the Carim knight grunting as he resisted.

When Solaire's blade connected, it was with the upper rim of the darkwraith's shield, and the thorned knight responded with several consecutive blows. Most crashed against the sun-emblazoned shield, steel thorns scraping across the bright sigil. One diagonal cut finally struck the edge, but rather than pushing for a thrust the darkwraith took advantage of the spikes along his sword. Yanking the shield sideways, he drove the thorny surface of his shield into Solaire's chest. The blow was only partially blocked by the guard of Solaire's sword.

Laurentius's heart leapt, and he nearly tossed a ball of flame at the darkwraith if not for Lautrec's sudden interjection. The Carim knight had been watching carefully for an opening, and took his chance then to position himself behind the thorned knight. Holding his shotel so that the curve would catch the darkwraith's sword should he spin and strike as a defensive measure, he shoved the point of his thin dagger through the gap in plate beneath his enemy's shield arm. He was rewarded with a pained, breathy sound, before the darkwraith turned sideways and viciously bashed into Lautrec with a round, spiked shoulder.

What am I doing? Laurentius gritted his teeth. He pulled the hatchet from his belt loop and looked to the butcher.

The bottom-heavy brute seemed to be growing impatient and frustrated. Despite having more stamina than the partially-hollowed eastern knight, her attempts to wear the other down were negated by Azur's superior skill and ability to conserve energy.

Finally, the butcher screamed with bloodthirsty fervor and took the false edge of her greatknife in one hand, ramming her blade, edge-first, into Azur's front. Although this was deflected with ease, Azur was forced back a step, and when she thrust above her shield in retaliation the butcher parried quickly. Her new grip on the greatknife allowed her a far more accurate, swift control of the weapon.

At a closer glance, Laurentius realized that Azur was wearing down. She stumbled, almost slipping in the shallow stream as the butcher's greatknife slammed against her shield at a less favorable angle.

There! This is my chance! The pyromancer shot forward, conscious of the savage woman's great blade, ducking just close enough to perform a short, controlled, scorching blast of fire from one outstretched hand. Her response was immediate, a growling, guttural shriek of pain, before she angrily threw herself into a powerful swing, a desperate attempt to push the pyromancer back out of range. Laurentius scrambled to get out of reach, holding the hatchet in his off hand up as a final line of defense.

The blade never reached him, however, because Azur made a point to slice deeply into the butcher's attacking wrist. She howled, her greatknife clattering uselessly to the stone floor as she leapt away like a wounded beast.

Wounded arm cradled to her bloodied chest, the butcher glanced toward her companion. Laurentius followed her gaze briefly, noting that the thorned knight seemed to be driven back entirely by the formidable pair that was Solaire and Lautrec, the vicious dagger wound in his side slowing him considerably.

Footsteps rushing further from him snapped the pyromancer's attention back toward the savage. She had retreated a little into the swamp, probably to make her getaway, and the easterner pursued her with visible caution. He followed, searching for a second opening in which to sling an orb of flame, but was surprised to note that the woman was far more adept in speedily maneuvering through the thick muck than he.

But then the woman halted and abruptly turned to them. Azur immediately slowed her pace to a walk in response.

What's she doing? Laurentius narrowed his eyes at the butcher. All she did was stare at them through the dark holes in her sack. Azur took another step, and just as suddenly as she'd stopped, the butcher shot off in a new direction through the swamp.

Toward her darkwraith friend.

Azur rushed past the pyromancer to catch up, pulling something from the pouch at her belt, and he followed immediately. Ahead, he saw that their companions were still attempting to batter down the thorned knight, and largely succeeding. But Lautrec's back was to them, Solaire was at the other side of the darkwraith, and neither seemed to hear the butcher who was nearly upon them.

She knew she could outrun us, Laurentius gritted his teeth, Bloody-

"Ser Lautrec!" Azur barked as she splashed after the other woman, but the darkwraith had spotted the butcher and realized what she was planning on doing. He caught the Carim knight in a bind, barely keeping Solaire at bay with thorny shield.

Before anyone could stop her, the barbaric woman dove bodily onto Lautrec, looping her arms about his neck and swinging her legs around his side to bring him spinning and splashing down into the muck with her.

In the confusion, the darkwraith threw a clever horizontal swing at Solaire, which turned out to be a feint. Before the Astoran had time to change the direction of his parry, his opponent had made a jagged incision on the inside of his thigh. Solaire dropped to one knee, grunting painfully.

The darkwraith rushed up to Laurentius in turn, startling him enough to plant a strong kick in the pyromancer's stomach. He wheezed, feeling a crack in his ribs, and ducked away in pain as he brandished his axe defensively. The thorned knight advanced on him, harsh panting echoing in his helm, prepared to thrust his blade into the same flesh he'd just kicked.

Another blade bloomed red from the side of the darkwraith's neck, instead.

While Laurentius struggled to his feet, the thorned knight stumbled. He whirled around, facing Solaire, and threw his weight into a lunge, which was easily evaded by the partially hollowed knight. Blood dribbled along the mail at the darkwraith's wounds, but he kept on his feet. Clumsily, he raised his sword and swung at the Astoran's torso. Solaire batted the blade aside with his round shield, simultaneously following up with a devastating slash to the wound he'd inflicted earlier.

With one last stumble, the darkwraith finally succumbed, falling to a knee before his upper half followed earthward. He lay in a crumpled heap, half engulfed by the thick swamp waters.

Laurentius inhaled deeply, met Solaire's gaze, and gave him a grateful nod.

Frantic splashing snagged their attention again. The butcher, Laurentius remembered, looking to the source of the noise.

Lautrec was struggling to sit up in the filth, cursing profusely all the while. His finely crafted plate armor was proving an extreme hindrance in the attempt.

The butcher was on her feet, with a throwing knife protruding from her upper thigh. Azur was taking her shield back up into her off-hand, advancing on the butcher with an intimidating focus. It reminded Laurentius of the darkwraith. He shivered.

But the barbaric woman was limping away as swiftly as she could, so Laurentius started after them while Solaire gave Lautrec a hand.

It turned out fleeing backward through treacherous swamp waters with a knife in one's thigh was not the wisest decision when being actively chased.

The butcher's foot must have caught on something, a root or stone, or perhaps a half-buried corpse, and she tripped onto her back in the poisonous mire. Filth splashed every which way and spattered their clothing, and Azur raised her curved blade to strike a killing blow.

Until the butcher unceremoniously slung a weighty clump of sludge into the easterner's face.

Azur seemed to ignore the shock, pain and sudden blindness, and commit to the cut without regard. The slight delay the swamp sludge had caused, though, was enough to allow the butcher to clumsily avoid the bulk of the swing, and she escaped with only a minor flesh wound.

While the Eastern knight lapsed into a fierce coughing fit, patting her side with her off hand in search of her flask, the butcher continued scrambling away, clearly still panicking at the sudden shift in the tides. Laurentius had already begun summoning the energy for his next attack, carefully observing the direction the cannibal was moving in. When he felt the searing heat from the great mass of swirling fire resting in his palm begin to singe the hair on his cheek, he cocked his arm back for the throw.

As the butcher finally managed to get back to her feet, the pyromancer's great ball of flame crashed into her, enveloping her in its hellish vortex with explosive power. A hoarse cry rang out for a split second, then the black silhouette of the barbaric woman thrashed and flailed about, eventually throwing herself back into the filth of Blighttown in a final attempt to douse the blistering flames.

Laurentius watched. The waters bubbled. She did not get back up.

Thank Lady Izalith.

After taking a deep breath, the pyromancer's eyes moved to his ally. She seemed to have found her flask and was in the process of re-attaching it to her belt, testing her eyes with harsh blinks. With that reassurance, Laurentius turned to find his other companions wading through the swamp toward them. Both knights were breathing heavily, Solaire with punctures in the mail on his chest, and the pair of them with an awkward limp.

"Good," the Astoran said between breaths, "Good. Let's...get out of this swamp and return to the bonfire."

Lautrec and Azur were already on their way, sloshing tiredly through the filth.

After they arrived, the four simply dropped to the ground about the bonfire, catching their breath and allowing the warmth to soothe them. Clearly they were all thinking the same thing, because almost simultaneously, they took the humanity sprites they'd won in hand and consumed them. Laurentius sighed with relief at the sensation of his body returning to a living state, muscles loosening and breath coming more easily.

Solaire and Lautrec removed their helmets to run their hands through their sweaty, mussed hair, dirt smudged around their eyes and running in rivulets down their temples.

Huh, Laurentius was struck with a realization, I haven't actually seen their faces before.

Solaire had decidedly Astoran features; golden hair cropped close to his head, a strong jaw and slightly crooked nose that looked as if it'd been broken before, his eyes a friendly slate-green. He had slightly darker a complexion than the average Astoran, but anyone who knew him knew of his obsession with the sun.

Lautrec, on the other hand, was very pale, with straight black tresses that came to just above his shoulders. His high cheekbones and long, narrow nose exuded the aura of a proud Carim noble. His most striking feature, one that many considered uncharacteristic of Carim's people, was the startling light blue of his eyes. Like ice, with nearly no true color to them.

Azur had unraveled the scarf about her head, using the portion that was still clean to wipe the remains of the muck from her face. Her skin was the darkest of the group, like she had spent much time under the scorching desert sun, broken by the white seam of an occasional scar. She had a rather angular face, and the familiar umber eyes framed with short waves of wild black hair.

It felt to the pyromancer as if the world was suddenly silent and still, but the quiet after a hard fight was always that way. He leaned back against the wall, eyes flitting to each of his companions. They may not all agree on many things, nor even think of one another as friends, but the companionable silence as they rested together was one of the greatest comforts to be had in Lordran.

"...You know, Easterner," Lautrec said quietly, sounding shockingly relaxed, "I am rather impressed. Standing above your enemy after chasing her down, readying a final blow, only to be slapped square in the face with the shit and rot that's been stewing in the swamp out there? I don't know that I could have endured it and followed through on my cut."

"I am not certain I do not regret it myself." Azur sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "You do not know how it stung. I almost wished the spider witch would destroy me then."

Solaire chuckled darkly at that, tapping a finger against the full-faced helmet sitting in his lap, "That is what we wear these for, friend."

Azur rubbed her eye, but gave him a small grin, "I shall invest in a new one."

"Something happen to your old one?" Laurentius asked, brow furrowing slightly. It was a bit odd that she'd been missing it during their trip into Blighttown.

"It was lost in a fight with some...holy men? What do you call them?" Azur replied, staring fixedly into the bonfire.

"What, clerics?" Lautrec sounded simultaneously confused and entertained, "What were you doing that got you into trouble with the Way of White?"

Azur's eyes flickered with something Laurentius couldn't identify, but she waved him off. "Nothing of importance. Minor dispute."

The Carim knight snorted, but said nothing further. The pyromancer raised a brow. Solaire hummed, fingers tapping his helm absently.

"Well," The Astoran started with a sigh, "I suppose we should discuss our new approach, seeing as our last attempt at getting to the bell ended quite messily."

Laurentius cringed, "I...apologise, I let the excitement get to my head and behaved rashly."

"Well then," Lautrec droned, eyebrows raised, "Come to your senses, have you? We cannot approach that demoness in the same manner again, unless we wish for a repeat of that shameful execution."

Anxiety and alarm flared in the pyromancer's chest, his tone reflecting it, "We cannot attempt to bring her any harm, I will not allow-"

"No. It is clear we cannot afford violent tactics." Azur cut him off, her voice calm and level, easing Laurentius' nerves. "However, the witch does not seem very interested in our plight."

Solaire hummed thoughtfully, staring hard into the fire for a moment. "There must be some other way..." He sighed, shutting his eyes momentarily, then looked at each of them, "For now, shall we search that mound for an alternate entrance? We can't simply lie about moping forever."

"I suppose that's a plan of action…" Lautrec grumbled, clearly less than pleased.

Azur had finished tying a fresh piece of cloth about her face that she'd taken out of the larger pouch on her belt. Her old one was left in a pile on the floor as she stood.

I'm only glad they've decided against an assault. Laurentius was quick to stand with the others and follow.

Their retreading of the swamp was more tiresome, but far less eventful. Every so often a monstrous winged insect flew too close and was swatted into the muck, and the appearances of a few of the horrific man-spider mutations made the trek more miserable, but there was nothing to significantly slow their progress.

As they drew close to the great white mound that was the entrance to Quelaag's lair, Laurentius abruptly heard the buzzing sounds of a large insect alarmingly close to his back. He spun on it, hand flying out, a flaming burst of combustion carried with it. The insect plopped, blacked and hissing, into the swamp waters.

Before he turned back to his companions, the startled pyromancer searched the area for any further threats. Oddly, his eye caught something very different at a greater distance.

On an island of solid earth raised above the toxic waters, surrounding one of the great, stone support pillars, a dark figure sat huddled in its shadow. It appeared to be hooded and cloaked, staring steadily in their direction.

The back of Laurentius' neck prickled. The strangest thing about it was that as he watched, not even the blood-puking insects would stray anywhere near the figure.

But why do I feel so drawn…

"Something the matter?" Solaire's query broke the pyromancer's trance, but he did not tear his eyes away.

"There's someone there." He gestured toward the cloaked figure even as he began taking careful steps toward it, "Do you not see it?"

"I...see nothing." The Astoran sounded puzzled and concerned.

"Wonderful. The fumes have finally gone to his head." Lautrec growled beneath his helm.

Azur said nothing, keeping stride with Laurentius instead as she narrowed her searching eyes in the direction he'd pointed.

The Carim knight sounded increasingly impatient and displeased, "Why are we entertaining his delusion? We have a goal-"

"If he is correct, we may have more opponents to deal with, Ser Lautrec." Azur replied sharply, eyes focusing ahead on the search for such opponents, "I would rather eliminate the possibility."

"Yes," Lautrec sneered, "Then once we are done pissing away our time on this paranoia-induced fool's errand, we can trudge back through this eye-watering filth having accomplished nothing."

"I would greatly prefer that to a repeat of the ambush we fought off earlier." Solaire said sensibly, "Come now, we'll be back to seeking our true goal in less time than it takes for us to finish discussing this."

The Carim knight sighed heavily at that, but the party fell silent.

There was no doubt in Laurentius' mind that the figure was as real as it appeared to him, and as he drew closer, memories of his historical study of pyromancy resurfaced. One story in particular struck him that moment, concerning the teacher of Salaman, Master Pyromancer. The woman, a daughter of Izalith, was said to have fled her homeland when the Flame of Chaos consumed it, after which she created pyromancy, bringing the gift to humanity.

Is it possible? Laurentius considered, holding a tense breath.

His group drew close enough to set foot on the island, and at that proximity Laurentius made a new observation. The figure's black robes had a golden hem, faded and torn though they were. He recognized them as those that were described in his teachings to have been worn a thousand years previous, by the Witch and her Daughters.

She- for she appeared to be a woman- still only watched them, making no movement to stand or flee.

Though he was certain the others gave him strange looks, Laurentius stepped up to the robed woman and sucked in a deep breath.

"I-uhm, my lady, are you…" He stuttered, nerves and disbelief clutching at his tongue.

"Ah." The woman said, as if his clumsy attempts at speaking to her confirmed something, "You can see me. Though it does not seem your companions possess the same gift." She inclined her head pointedly toward the baffled trio of knights at Laurentius' back. "I suppose it is rather unusual, for an undead."

Confused, Laurentius' gaze flickered toward the knights and back to the woman seated calmly on the ground. He opened his mouth again to speak, unsure of what to say, but was quickly interrupted.

"Regardless, it is quite discourteous of me to keep myself obscured from them. They probably think you mad." She sounded amused at the prospect.

The pyromancer hadn't the time to form a response before she made an odd, subtle gesture with a hand. He wouldn't have known it had any effect whatsoever had his companions not suddenly voiced their alarm behind him.

While Azur quietly exclaimed something in her foreign tongue, Solaire simply stared at the scene in surprise. Lautrec expressed himself more directly.

"Who- What manner of sorcery was that? There was no-" He was verging on shouting, but seemed to realize it quickly and lower his voice, "Not even the faintest suggestion of a presence, how-"

"I am Quelana, of Izalith." There was a hint of amusement in her voice, "You must have some dire wish to be fulfilled, to have journeyed this far into so dangerous a region." Her head turned back to Laurentius, "Perhaps, for you, that lies with my pyromancy?"

Excitement exploded in Laurentius' chest and behind his eyes, but he didn't much care to contain himself.

"I can hardly believe you're- and I can't believe we've run into you! I would love nothing more than to be personally tutored by the Mother of the art! Ah, except to delve into the ancient city of Lost Izalith, I think…do you perhaps know if we're on the right track? It should be just below, to my knowledge, but-"

She cut him off. "Your knowledge is accurate. There are not many ways through which to approach Izalith, however. It was one of the benefits of its location during the war with...well, that was long ago." Her tone had turned melancholic, carrying markedly less energy with it.

Have I offended her? I must have gotten lost to my enthusiasm and...foolish of me, foolish. Laurentius scolded himself, I only just promised myself I wouldn't make that mistake again. Reign it back, you fool.

"In order to reach it you shall have to get past my dear sister." Quelana continued, "I am not certain whether you are yet familiar with her, but she will not respond well to such an attempt."

Lautrec snorted derisively at this, "Yes, we've discovered how 'not well' her response is to visitors such as ourselves. She provided us a warm reception in the form of a spout of magma."

Laurentius gritted his teeth, If I could slap him beneath that ridiculous face-plate...

"I see." Quelana sighed, the sound carrying with it an exhaustion that felt aeons deep.

A spike of guilt surged through Laurentius' chest.

"I may have provoked her by saying something foolish, my lady. She didn't attack until I...well...got carried away and...perhaps brought up painful memories." He fumbled to explain.

"No," Quelana said softly, "Quelaag harbors an unreasonable amount of hatred toward humanity, only partially justified by the damage many of its members have inflicted upon our family. Still, the blame for that should lie largely on the Lords above, not on the easily impressionable humankind."

"...I apologise if I am being rude," Azur interjected, a hint of caution coloring her words, "But can this not be discussed with your sister? You seem to know her well. Perhaps this can all be concluded peaceably."

That is a good question, Laurentius considered as he turned back to Quelana, Was their disagreement so intense that she now refuses even to try?

"Conceivably it could have," Quelana replied, "if she and the remainder of my family had not been engulfed by a twisted power they could not hope to contain, and transformed into mindless beasts. I have not seen my family since. I do not know that I could ever face them again." Her voice cracked on the final word.

Laurentius' eyes widened with surprise. Mindless beasts?! How could she say such a thing about her own family? As if they aren't slandered enough by their detractors.

"My lady, these are your sisters and brother, your mother you're speaking so harshly of." He shakily replied, attempting to regain his bearings, "What cause could you have to speak of them so?"

"You misunderstand, " She said, meeting Laurentius' eyes from beneath her black cowl. They were dark, swimming with old, raw emotion. "Mother was powerful indeed, but her attempt to create a Flame of her own was... misguided at best. The Flame of Chaos is, by nature, uncontrollable. I tried to warn them, but they did not heed me." Quelana's tone was deeply troubled, yet wistful, "They have paid for their recklessness with the greatest calamity in the history of Izalith."

The conversation was taking an alarmingly strange turn. Laurentius knew that not all historical accounts were entirely accurate, even when matched with other sources. But it wasn't a disputed fact that Izalith was a great, thriving civilization in its time. It existed for millenia, had developed its own language, culture, and social structure. There was no evidence to suggest the Witch hadn't been perfectly capable of controlling the Chaos Flame, and must have done so for thousands of years until whatever it was that caused her to finally lose her hold on it.

"I do apologise my lady, but that doesn't sound right." Laurentius said with little thought. Curiosity gleamed in Quelana's sorrowful gaze at the, admittedly, rather blunt statement.

"I- I mean," He began again, trying to clarify himself, "The Lady Izalith had an excellent grasp on the Chaos when it was first brought into being, and for millennia afterward. The...the fact that so great a civilization existed at all is evidence of that."

Quelana shut her eyes a moment, sighing tiredly. Laurentius fought back the guilt welling up within him, hoping for clarity.

"I understand that you greatly admire my family. It must be a considerable shock to discover such harsh truths concerning them." She paused, her brow furrowing gently before she continued, "But you must understand, they've lost themselves. The notion that they, wise as they were, could not have predicted it...it's absurd. My mother may have kept an iron grip over the Chaos for millennia, but the very moment she became mildly distracted it nearly annihilated Izalith entirely. It twisted the bodies and souls of my siblings...Our dear mother has become a parasite-ridden tree without a mind or will to speak of anymore."

Laurentius knew he was treading on dangerous territory, but he could not stand idle while the creator of pyromancy as he knew it, a figure he'd long greatly admired, slandered her family and home.

So he continued, hesitant, yet determined.

"When...we saw the Lady Quelaag," He started, carefully considering his choice of words, "I prostrated myself before her, and she stopped advancing to listen to my plea. She didn't emerge only to charge at us like some rabid beast. My companions can attest to that," He gestured towards the knights.

Solaire nodded, "She did seem to be quite in control of her faculties. In fact, when our good friend here finished one...well, potentially offending remark, her countenance had become noticeably displeased."

"And only then was he swallowed by molten rock." Lautrec snorted.

Quelana seemed to consider this, head turned so that her features were obscured by her black cowl.

"This world is crumbling." Azur stated, tone grim but imploring, "The way you speak of your family, there is surely still love between you. Is that worth abandoning in these times?"

"You don't understand!" Quelana hissed, as though an old wound had been jostled, "Mother is completely lost...our brother lives in constant anguish. I lack the strength to confront them myself but...a swift death would be the greatest mercy for them, now. The truest way to show my love."

I'd heard the Witch had gone completely mad, but I didn't want to believe it. Laurentius' mind raced with implications. He thought about the den in which Quelaag awaited, the mere entrance to Izalith. Maybe...maybe that bit is true.

"Please, my lady," He said, with as much calm as he could muster, "Even if the rest of your family is lost, I don't believe Lady Quelaag is. If...if she is still sane, neither of you are alone in that."

"Ahem," Lautrec cleared his throat and took a slight step forward, instantly increasing Laurentius' anxiety. The pyromancer shot him a look, but Lautrec waved him off.

"Perhaps we could come to a more mutual agreement." He said, his raspy voice taking a surprisingly humble tone. He paused a moment to be certain he had Quelana's attention, then continued, "If you are able to convince your sister to grant us safe passage to the bell, should we come upon your mother or brother afterwards, and they are as mindless as you say, we will make a concerted effort to slay them quickly and painlessly."

At that Laurentius cringed, but before he could think of a way to smooth over Lautrec's somewhat tactless proposition, Quelana let out a great sigh. A tense silence settled over them, the air thick with the clamour of busied minds. A moment passed, then another, stretched agonisingly by the pyromancer's nerves.

Until at last, she stood. Laurentius noticed that her feet were bare.

"Leave me." She said coldly.

The others glanced at one another, unsure.

I should at least apologise, The pyromancer thought, opening his mouth to do so before, yet again, being cut off.

"Go." Quelana's tone brooked no argument.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and he turned to see the green of Solaire's eyes peering at him through the sights of his helm. Just beyond the Astoran's green-fluffed shoulder, Laurentius could see both Azur and Lautrec's backs to them, wading off through the muck again.

He sighed, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat at his latest failure, and stepped around Solaire to follow them.

AN: Yep, I'm still working on this. Not dead. Yet.

Sorry about the literal year-late update, been a lot going on in my life. Like I said, this fic is unlikely to be dead until...well, until I say it is. Hope you nerds enjoy.

Thanks as usual to my friend and beta-reader Leider Hosen for the help.