"That song," Solaire interrupted her humming, his fingers ceasing their drumming upon the cloth covering his knee. "Wherever learn'st thou that one?" There was some laughter in that voice, but most of what she detected was longing. For a time long gone. It had been an old ballad even when she had learned its verses. "Come, maiden. It matters little even if it came by way of a minstrel's wooing."

"Minstrels?" she echoed ever so slowly, testing the weight of the word upon her tongue. Minstrels had paid her as much mind as she paid them, she reckoned, her lips stretching in a small smile. "Dost thou ken, minstrels have never wooed me with song." Wine, food, sometimes company. Songs had not had much part in her dealings with minstrels, of that she was certain. Searching long-buried memories, she came up short still. "I have known the song a long time, knight. Methinks 'tis some comfort from a place much like home." Not home though; that she felt was much further out of reach.

Solaire reached out and removed the thick cobwebs. "'Tis a song of my homeland. Haven't heard any tune half as sweet in much too long. Omnis nexus elementorum legem blandam sentit amorum, sed Hymeneus eorum, iugalem ordinat torum, votis allubescens deorum porum."

No altar boy, that one. The musing rushed through her head just as threads of cobweb fell upon her, the thin silky lines brushing across the side of her face. She sucked in an unnecessarily long breath. Though he lacked the clarity of voice which had made quite a few young boys famous, his performance was solid. Not devout, for the song was much too suggestive for that. Not entirely tumbling in the realm of bawdy spectacle either, for the words remained on a level of suggestions. Despite that, and the gods knew she'd heard enough renditions of the song to recognise one that fell just short of the mark, she found herself laughing softly, the memory of a much ruder version springing to mind; her breath came in short gasps as she imagined her poor companion, so dignified in his attempt, veering onto a different path altogether.

The incongruous image dissipated ever so slowly as his resolve to entertain her dissolved in soft chuckles. "I have impressed you then?" he questioned once the both of them fell in step. Her shoulder bushed against his arm when the hall narrowed. It was she who offered apology and fell behind him. "I see. I have so moved you that you find yourself weak."

"Thy tongue may yet land you in trouble, knight," she answered, by habit adjusting her pace to his. "Look there, another chamber."

The home of gods held many a winding path, small branches of roads breaking off of sturdy limbs, splintering in a myriad of choices until possibility became pain. If one could only hold onto the feeling of wonder. And no knights were about either. She had wondered at that, dreading their presence in the same measure as she wished for it. To not have the enemy before her meant to have the enemy behind, or possibly somewhere near, lying in wait, expecting that sooner or later she would make some mistake. And she would. And every time she did her hope stretched taut and she wondered where she would find someone else to be her aid. The existence of a hollowed creature left scarcely any ports in the way of the storm and without refuge, she shuddered to think of the consequences.

They entered the chamber together. She drew out her weapon upon the first suspicious sound, all worries feeling from the oncoming demonstration of skill come from a pair of knights. Solaire jumped out of the way, but she, giving into impulse, swung her blade forth, sharp edge meeting the gleaming surface of a well-polished shield. It would have been better not to tempt fate by being a couple of nosy fools, alas, it was already done, their misfortune brought about by their own self-assurance. Hopefully, the bad turn would not veer into the territory of crushing defeat.

Following Solaire's example, she jumped to the side as a second attack was launched and a spear very nearly punctured her defences. But even as she landed somewhat awkwardly, her weight falling onto a single leg as her other ran out from underneath her, pain exploding along the limb, she was not fast enough to escape the booted heel knocking her to the ground.

Hard flagstones pressed into her back, the uneven, sharp corner of a dislodged tile ripped through the frayed cloth of her garb. The force was enough to penetrate flesh as well. She let out an involuntary scream of pain and rolled to the side, narrowly missing having her life ended.

And then, from her position on the ground, she realised that there were too many pairs of boots upon the chamber floor. "Ambush," she bellowed, pulling out a knife and aiming for the knight closest to her. The thin blade stole past the visor. Something fell upon the ground with enough clatter to wake the dead and Solaire yelled back at her.

"Too many." His sword cleaved through the shoulder of a foe, sending the man reeling backwards. Her own fingers wrapped around the discarded weapon, using the end to hoist herself up. The lance was only slightly weightier than her own sword. "We have to get out."

So they did. The door was blocked by two knights. They had crossed their weapons together, impeding any escape. This had been no stroke of luck on their side. They'd known where to find them, they'd known to organise, to catch them unprepared. Someone knew of their presence.

Without a second thought she broke into a frenzied run, bringing the lance before her, aware that she could at most get one or two knights. She prayed it was enough and vented her rage in the form of a piercing shriek. Beside her at last somehow, Solaire guarded her right side. In return, she managed to lure away one of them holding their path. He brought down his weapon just as she called for her companion to speed past her and out into the hallway. The roofs would provide the rest. And she intended to follow.

A perfect plan.

The Astorian knight managed to do just so, knocking the other spear-wielder into the wall. She pushed herself, hoping her speed could match his own. But before her feet were over the threshold, a hand shot out, taking hold of her injured shoulder, wide palm knocking into the sore spot. Solaire turned at her cry. He froze; the hare sensing a predator nearby. He would not be able to defeat them all. Not with them ganging up on the poor man at any rate.

Go, she mouthed as her vison blackened. Her body was yanked backwards.

Knocked to the ground yet again, she did not see whether the knight listened to her plea or not. Her eyes were closed before a sharp whistle of ache filled her skull, momentarily cutting her away from both light and consciousness. A coppery taste filled her mouth, sliding down her throat, choking her.

Blood. Her own? Had she somehow managed to bite her tongue in twain? Too late to consider the matter deeply. Her thoughts slipped away, sliding through her fingers like sand-grains even as she struggled to keep a firm grip upon them. It would not do. And darkness took hold, locking her away from the last vestiges of emotion.

There was peace as well, though. And the notion, far off and frayed, that 'twas not death facing her as such. Something else awaited.

Sliding into the great sea of blackness she gave herself over to the warm embrace of the dark.

Pain knifed along her ribs, running in rivulets to a point flooded with ache. She groaned, the sting digging into her flesh with merciless hooks, peeling back layers of soft tissue and contracted muscles. Her grasp sounded through the silence, ringing in her ears as the steady, solid beat of a drum might. Something else besides called her to. A faint sound. She could almost open her eyes. Her world exploded with pain when she dared move her head to the side as the amorphous mass of indistinguishable being swirled before her. Ever so slowly, the soft light separated from the semi-darkness, shapes coming in leaps and bounds, recognition flaring to life even as pain intensified.

A weak cry struggled to pass the clogged throat clamping down with unrelenting force upon the lone sound, greedily wrapping bony, cruel fingers around the poor thing. The insides of her mouth were dry as sawdust. Water. Something. Anything. Anything to quell the burning flame holding her above the abyss beneath, but slowly flickering, promising to gut at any moment and leave her trapped. Anything to lead her out of this state of uncertainty.

The glow spilling from high above caressed her face, its touch a cold thing. Gentle. Calming. Her eyes closed so as to better savour the strokes. Was there no one about? Has she been sent back to the Asylum, weak as an infant , unable to do as much as move. That had to be it. The Asylum. Her mind whirled with memories of past kindness and a deep sense of regret. She had never been able to properly repay the kindness. Thou who art Undead art chosen. But she was not.

Her lips moved in silent appeal, parting upon a dying note of muted sorrow.

Fathomless eyes opened, searching the diffuse, still half-formed world for movement. It came. In the form of a shadow, stepping carefully over the hard floors. There were no tiles to be spoken of. Instead the ground was dirt, dry as well. But there was something there. Someone? The footfalls sounded familiars heavy. Comforting. It was the sound of booted feet, of clanging chunks of steel. Her heart leapt in her throat as her mind frantically searched for the source of this swelling relief. That man, looking down from above.

Light faded. She struggled to clear the mist from her sight, but she had no luck. Whoever had come took hold of her face. Something hooked over her lower lip and dragged her mouth open. Protests did no good. Liquid filled her mouth, droplets dribbling over upon the overflow. It burned, whatever they'd poured down her throat, eating away at dried up flesh.

Voices filled her head. Smooth, lilting sequences of sounds, not quite words. They were strung together and she recognised letters and syllables, but never the whole sense. It irritated her beyond belief. She knew the words. She'd learned them at her mother's knee, in her father's embrace. She knew.

And still the words refused to make sense.

The world was plunged into darkness , her weight lifted. For all too brief a moment she felt the darksign twist and clench, the band of flames tightening around her, squeezing, suffocating, as it had done the very first time she'd been called forth from slumber. The pressure bordered on unbearable. Mayhaps it would break, shattering in a thousand pieces, releasing whatever was within her that forced her back time and again.

Hope faded as well when the pain let up, sudden in its departure, the barb of loss deeply planted into her conscience. She had not escaped after all. Loss flittered through her. Clarity returned upon the heels of disappointment. Her vision, unobstructed, took in the form kneeling over her, "Nay; moveth not." She blinked, staring up still into the steel covered face. "Thou art weak." The truth of her words needed little proof. She could not even move enough to bat away the uncomfortable attention. "Drink'st. Fortify thyself." It was her flask, replenished, but with some bitter-tasting brew she'd yet to have her fill of. "Good."

The knightess pulled back the flask and stood. "Thou art in adequate condition."

"For?" she managed. Her muscles screamed with pain. Despite that, she braced herself upon, strangely enough, naked elbows. Looking down upon her front at the realisation, it occurred to her that most of her garments had been removed. Any why had she been put in shackles?

Her question remained unanswered. At least as far as the Fire Keeper went.

A gentle presence permeated the space, energy crackling softly, letting her know she dealt with no other than the master of the last covenant she had joined. Last she had been in these parts, her heart had pushed and pushed until her head allowed that desire. The knightess helped her up, taking some of her weight as she did so.

"Liveth thou by thy word, Blade of the Darkmoon," the deity spoke in the persisting hush. "To mineself thou hast sworn thee."

"I have." It had not truly been a question. The gods always knew where they stood. The Dark Sun moved, energy rippling in circular paths, crashing as waves might into the bars of the cage holding her prisoner. She dared not lift her hand and touch the gentle current. "And my word is my bond."

"Then to my words listen." Serpents slithered across the dirt, their dragging forms leaving behind deep tracks. "I have for thee a quest; a quest to find a long lost relic." Which presumably could not be achieved by a god. She bit her lower lip to keep from demanding further explanations. "Dost thou accept?"

"Before I give answer," she spoke, her voice as sift as the other's, "I should like a question, if I may be permitted."

The Dark Sun's head titled to the side, golden spikes cutting through thin air. "Thy tongue moveth without sense. I will allow one question." Even as the words were spoken, the tremendous power moved the way of a sledgehammer, warningly pressing over her

"What awaits my companion?"

"He is of no interest to us." As though Anor Londo boasted many a life. "Thou must attend me, Chosen Undead, for thy refusal shall be thy grave otherwise." At the very least she need not worry over Solaire. Her burden lifted, she nodded her head. The knightess moved closer to the bars, momentarily providing distraction as she pulled out something from a satchel. Her own satchel, if her eyes did not deceive her.

A scroll landed on her lap. "Dost thou ken its meaning?"

"A warning." She shrugged at the foreboding cautions

"A promise," the god disagreed. "Should thou find its origin, a solution might be devised."

"The author?" she repeated. There was very little distinctive about the hand having produced the lines.

"Mine own brother."

What choice did she have? It was either that or a step closer to hollowing.