Gerhard appears much more at ease, happier even as new folks join their trek. Hearing the young prince's warning the man smiles and begs him not to worry. With their numbers and perseverance what could possibly stop them? Well, let's hope we don't find out. The thought of numerous hallowed men, women, and children loomed on the horizon and there would be battle soon. Battle with creatures once just like him, searching this cursed land for a way to break their similarly cursed bones.

Though strong and perhaps a bit intimidating, Gerhard is a peaceful man, will it be difficult to face those who have lost their minds? Perhaps, but it is a necessary action, no? To see all of these people's lives returned to them, to see his life returned. The man could not help but to think of the others, what were the stories they've lost to the undead curse? The people, the homes left behind. He particularly thought of the flesh scarred man of earlier. What sort of trials had such a person faced?

His thoughts were soon interrupted by the voice of another, the young scholarly looking man, a satchel held tightly to his chest. Gerhard placed a large hand upon the younger man's shoulder and spoke jovially, "Ha ha! Of course you can come along, the more the merrier, yes?"

Saira had only realized how far she had allowed the thoughts in her mind to wander about when she found herself no longer alone. Had they decided to join her in her journey, or were they all merely following a common path? Whatever the reason made little difference, she was grateful for their companionship, however brief it may be. For as long as she could remember, she had always been alone, accompanied by nothing than the quiet sounds of her footsteps.

"I would warn you both. Many of my father's knights died walking this path. I can assume that their hollows are still here." Said the prince to Saira and to her other companion, the mustached musclebound man.

"Danger is always certain to be found in one's journeys through this strange land. However, I hold no fear, as the guiding sunlight has never lead me astray." Saira spoke in her usual smooth, tranquil tone as she continued forward at her easy pace, as if she was walking her way through a calm dream.

Soon after she spoke, the pitter-patter of hurried footsteps sounded nearby, signaling the presence of a new arrival to the small group of travelers.

"Uh, sorry to intrude. I'm afraid I'd feel rather unwelcome if I stayed at the shrine for too long. If it's of no trouble, I would be honored if you would allow me to accompany you to find the bell."

Saira's gaze merely wandered a few degrees to the side in response to the new voice for a brief moment, recognizing the new arrival as the white-robed man. So the one with the magical tome had decided to travel with them as well. By now, it was beyond any doubt that it was not simply pure chance that they had all met at the bonfire.

"The bell? The bell... the bell..." Saira softly wondered out loud at the white-robed man's words, which seemed to carry some sort of meaning that her mind could not fully grasp. What was the "bell" that he had spoken of? The only thoughts in her mind was the desire to continue on her travels, following the direction of the rising sun.

"Ah...yes. The bell you speak of, is the Bell of Awakening. How could I have forgotten? Although my journey is one without destination, I am sure that our paths will eventually lead us to the Bell. You are more than welcome to accompany us as we travel onwards." Saira said as her mind eventually found meaning in those repeated words, although her words were seemingly directed to nobody in particular. Her words, like her thoughts and her journey, had no destination.

"This journey may prove to be a lengthy one. Therefore, I believe it would be wise if we all became acquainted with one another. Please, allow me to be the first to introduce myself. My name is Saira, and I've come from the lands of the East."

Alaric walked along with the easterner and the muscled man from earlier. In Balder, while women were allowed to be knights by law, it was considered extremely rare for a woman to fight. To some of the older knights that traveled to Lordran with King Rendal, it bordered on the obscene. In spite of this, Alaric was more than happy to let the easterner take the lead. She seemed more than capable of taking care of herself.

The group was later met by the man in white, and they all continued until the samurai woman spoke. She introduced herself as Saira, and bade the others to do the same. The journey *would* be long, and it wouldn't hurt to know the names of the people he'd have to depend on eventually.

"Alaric, first of his name, Prince and the last knight of Balder." Alaric said. "What's that about the sun you were saying earlier? I've heard it before."

Gerhard hadn't thought so much of the dangers of this land. Every since he arrived at the Firelink Shrine it was all sunshine and rainbows, well not really. But of course there would be danger, infinite hollowed souls roam the lands, closely even, and what of the horrendous distant roar?

Aww, those aren't the right thoughts to be had, not now at least. He was in the company of new allies! Oh that had always excited the man, meeting new people that is. Perhaps the man should have done more investigating, what was this bell that the scholarly man and the eastern girl spoke of? Ah well, surely it will be understood in time. Listening to both the young prince and the eastern woman introduce themselves as Alaric and Saira respectively, he placed his arms upon either of there shoulders and leaned in as the growing group was moving.

Boisterously, yet in a warm tone the strongman spoke, "Call me Gerhard new friends! I come from a land far to the north. Beautiful snowdrifts comfortable year round. Oh, it is paradise." Smiling eagerly he shot a look over to the scholar, "And de bookworm, yes?"

Though the undead needed no sleep Lucas found comfort in mimicking the action at night, it was an old habit. He'd been coiled in a fetal position on the ground by the bonfire enjoying the familiar warmth it offered when he heard the roar. He perked up immediately, almost drew his dagger before he realized it sounded too far away to be an immediate threat. He sat there puzzled thinking back to all that he had seen in this land. What made a sound like that?

Nothing came to him. It must have been something big or very high up for him to hear it so loud and clear. He must have been thinking for quite a time because the others had packed up and started to leave. He noticed the majority had chosen to head towards the sound and a yearning to go with them took hold of Lucas. He wanted to know the source of the roar. Something that could make that kind of noise must be impressive.

He didn't have anything to gather. He kept everything he owned on him. So he stood waved good bye to the Firekeeper and thanked her for the stew. If she made any response it was hidden by her mask. He touched the ratty doll he kept on his belt, excitement blossoming within him. The doll had been his only companion for the longest time.

He ran after the group slowing to a walk as he approached. He listened to them talk as they went. Something about a bell or other. He didn't see any importance in a bell. Then came the names. Absently, he stroked the ring on his right hand. It looked to be set with a pearl that had ensnared a fog that swirled beneath it's milky, translucent surface. The hollow had ignored him more than usual when he first started wearing the ring. He wondered now if they noticed him.

Caution told him to be silent. Maybe he was feed up with silence. Maybe that roar had awoken a desire to make some noise of his own. He decided to start much smaller, and less threatening. He was about 3 paces behind the group now.

"And I'm Lucas" he said loud enough for them all to hear and with his child-like smile.

Delwyn thought the calm, polite manner of speaking that the easterner woman had was quite charming. He was a little worried when at first she didn't seem to realise what the bell was, but was reassured when she suddenly remembered it. Delwyn had assumed that they all came here for the same reason as he did, but perhaps he could be wrong.
The reason, he thought, his grip tightening around the bag of medicine, Margaret and Isabella. Every day that passed it became harder to remember their names. He had to find that bell, even if he was frightened. With a sudden new found resolve, he smiled at the group as Gerhard refered to him as a bookworm.
"My name is Delwyn Seren. I'm not very strong, but I was once a Chronicler at the Vinheim dragon school for magic." He held up the chronicler's catalyst; the dark leather of the cover inscribed with ancient runes and hieroglyphs. "I offer my sorcery to you."

As Delwyn finished his introduction, a peppy young voice sparked up from behind him.
"And I'm Lucas!" Quickly turning to face the young, disfigured one, Delwyn was a little startled that he'd moved towards them so sneakily. Perhaps it was a hidden talent. He smiled politely to the child, stepping to the side as to allow the others to get a look at him.
"It looks like we have accumulated quite the group. That's reassuring." He was expecting to see the skull clad fellow joining soon, but there was no more traces of him at the shrine.

The heavy thud of steel-alloy armor crashing to the stone floor resonated through the hallowed cathedral. Arghast withdrew his axe from the exposed throat of a hollowed knight, having caught the doomed warrior's red cape with his foot and nearly decapitating it with a fell swing. The corroded tendons of the undead relaxed, loosening its grasp on an exotic sword, needle-like in shape. These ill-fated soldiers roamed about the ramparts of the burg; their numbers, Arghast concluded, were indicative of some failed foreign crusade into Lordran.

Watching the thick, cursed blood of his kill conglomerate on the edge of his axe, he wondered just how many unfortunate forays had died here, in search of the supposed Bell of Awakening. Servants to lords, warrior champions, paladins of faith, they had all met the same inevitable fate which awaits those cursed by the gods. Now, it seemed, the very halls where potent prayers to the gods had echoed have sunk into decrepitude. Taking several steps deeper into the church, he looked over the shattered pews to the far door, harboring the distinct sense that he was being spied upon.

The Stranger's giant eye helmet did indeed 'Not' blink at Lucas, it did not even seem to twitch, save for moments when one moved themselves while viewing it, perhaps it even blinked when the viewer did, Some Schrodinger's blink kind of foolery. of course, the head inside moved plenty, peeking through the refracting screen to take in all of these interesting new strangers! How exciting!

It was perhaps more creepy still that his interactions with others ceased almost as immediately as his arrival, he hadn't even moved or spoken after that. Did... did he fall asleep sitting on his bow?! Maybe. He'd even still be there both when the others went off to rest and when they woke once more, and still didn't seem to move even as they all left. The inability to see through his mask might leave one wondering if he'd fallen asleep sitting up or was just so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed anyone speaking to him or moving around.

The group had gotten well on their way before he actually leapt into action... literally.

All at once he suddenly leapt off of his bow's string, pulling it up onto his back before whirling about and bolting off in the general direction of 'they probably went this way because there's not very many other directions to go'.

Luckily, he'd guessed right and found himself quickly approaching with just enough time to hear a couple of names on approach 'ohh, introductions eh? Why didn't that happen last night? oh wait, maybe it did, I zoned out pretty hard, heheh.' Funny enough, he didn't slow his pace as he grew nearer to them, though he did wisely move himself just enough out of range to make it harder to suddenly swing at him if someone took his quick approach as an aggressive move, but, of course, he called out in a most jovial of tones as he passed by "Vandanalu snehitulu... What fun! You all have Oldlife names! Nenu Astavyastamaina marpunu... But nobody seems to remember that, So you can just call me Asta." And without slowing down he continued right on in a mad-dash for the stairs that lead up to that big stone wall... Today was going to be fun! There were going to be lots of new faces wandering around!

The Prince, "Alaric, first of his name", was the first of the group to introduce himself. He seemed somewhat interested in her mention of the sun, something she was more than pleased to speak about.

As she continued to walk with the group of fellow travelers, Saira looked up at the skies. The luminosity of the sunlight was now steadily growing in strength as it continued to rise above their heads. "When I found myself lost within these strange lands, I was without purpose, without destination, but the guiding hand of the Sun gave me both. If it were not for the guidance of the Sun, I would have traveled aimlessly forward with neither purpose or goal, doomed to become Hollow like countless undead before myself. I am forever thankful for the guiding light of the Sun, for this land is filled with darkness and death. Without it, we will surely be lost and fall to despair."

Saira then felt a heavy arm fall upon her shoulder. It was the arm of the jolly strong man, who introduced himself as Gerhard. He spoke warmly of the northern lands from which he came, but when he made mention of the word "snowdrifts", Saira failed to comprehend the word he spoke of. Whatever "snow" was, it seemed to be something that one would consider beautiful and pleasing. As her mind was busy pondering on this mysterious "snow" and its drifts were, several new voices nearby pulled her thoughts back to her present self.

The first of the new voices was the thin burnt-looking younger man who she vaguely recalled being especially enthusiastic about the Firekeeper's beef stew. He seemed odd compared to the others, but he had rather a friendly and welcoming demeanor that put her thoughts at ease.

The white-dressed man, who had been traveling with Saira for some time now, introduced himself as a Vinheim Chronicler by the name of Delwyn Seren. He spoke of magic and catalysts, neither of which Saira was familiar with, but she was pleased at the chance of meeting such an interesting individual.

Before Saira could respond to any of the introductions of her traveling companions, a strange being dressed in some sort of thick fibrous cloak dashed by, seemingly without any intention of slowing down or stopping. Distracted with the pleasant feeling of her newfound companionship, Saira was completely unaware of this new stranger as he rushed by, but managed to barely catch his name, which he called out as he passed. It was an absurdly long string of syllables, which the stranger quickly shortened to a simpler "Asta". As the stranger continued his dash towards the stone stairs ahead, Saira had a strange feeling that this wasn't the last that she would see of him.

"What strange lands these are indeed." Saira quietly commented to herself, barely loud enough for the others nearby to hear, as she looked on at the cloaked stranger continuing on his rapid sprint.

"Alaric, Gerhard, Lucas, Delwyn, I'm very happy and fortunate to have met you all. These lands are strange and filled with danger, but I am thankful that I am able to have your companionship during this journey." Saira said to the others around her.

The group of somewhat spirited adventurers was rather comforting to Delwyn as they began to make their way up the cliff side to the waterway. It wasn't the most optimal of travelling methods, but it was currently the easiest way to access the undead burg. Delwyn was happy that the group had somewhat decided to head in this direction first. He wasn't prepared to deal with ghosts in New Londo or skeletons in the catacombs just yet. The sun shone brightly over the building littered horizon that was the burg. The walled off city had very few safe entrances to it anymore, and the waterway was the closest method from the Firelink Shrine. Delwyn had spent many nights huddling in the Undead Burg before a helpful stranger came along and directed him to the waterway, helping him find the shrine and his newfound companions. The strange man with the eye mask was another welcome guest, and the larger the group got the safer Delwyn felt. The group slowly approached the stairs leading up to the waterway but were stopped in their tracks by the sounds of pained moans and angry snarls.

"Oh dear, this path was clear of hollows when I took it the other day." Delwyn began to panic, opening his catalyst as soul magic began to flourish from its pages. The magic materialised inside the sorcerer's eyes, altering their appearance to look like a dragon iris. The iris' spun wildly in the eye sockets, Delwyn used the sorcery to greatly enhance his senses. He had hoped to find the location of the hollows so that maybe the group could get the jump on them. He was too late.
"Look out!" The sorcerer cried, as a flurry of flaming arrows arced up from the top of the waterway and towards the group. Scrambling for cover, Delwyn found shelter behind a rock surface. An arrow flew past his face, the searing heat from the flames pricking his cheek. With hesitation, he poked his head out from behind his hiding spot and began to notice several hollow soldiers pouring out from the waterway entrance. It was unusual to see them this coordinated, but perhaps the large group of travelling companions had caught their attention.

As the call from the sorcerer, Delwyn, went up, Alaric threw his shield up, covering himself any anyone whoever was close. No suprise they found us. We weren't really trying to hide. He thought to himself as the arrows struck his shield with a loud *thunk*. When the volley of fire arrows was over, Alaric drew his sword and put up his shield, meeting the first hollow. The undead, driven mad and caring nothing for his own safety, threw himself at Alaric and collided with the knights shield.

With a grunt of effort, Alaric pushed his foe back, striking out with his sword, as more hollows poured in. "Come on, you fools! You want to live forever?!"

As if from thin air the playful banter and chatter of the group was interrupted, the grim reality of Lordran came clearly back into view. A frightening score of beings long lost to the curse arise and release volley after volley of burning arrows. It would seem that the groups numbers would do nothing to deter lost souls.

His companions ready themselves, ducking into cover or behind walls of steel. However, Gerhard is left undefended. Not a man of battle, without armour two stakes of wood pierce the man's upper arm. Crying out in agony the strongman barrels past the uncounted undead towards the snipers.

"I do not condone violence, but sometimes there must be exceptions!" he bellows out, in some hopes to justify it in his own mind, these were people after all. Reluctantly his thick arms smash into the craniums of several bow wielding hollows, before getting ready to defend himself from further attack.

Standing before the church's altar of faded marble, Arghast stared deeply into the flame of a lit candle which sprouted from its placements. It rose shortly, wavering in the vague breeze which carried through the church and cast some small light upon the statue standing over him. Arghast had seen this icon before; the woman of mercy whom held aloft the sword-bearing child, the perceived nurturing quality of the gods juxtaposed with their might. It was perhaps one of the few objects that attested to their presence that did not incite malice inside of him. And although his sunken eyes were fixed to the altar, he was at once aware of another intrusion into the church.

The mossy bricks, etched columns and beckoning halls of the parish caused sound to carry far off and away, often deceiving their point of origin. The dragging of mail across the ground, fine, sharp and almost comparable to the sound made by coins frothing about in a pouch, echoed from the upper portions of the church. He thought first of those newly-arrived to Lordran, the exotic and destined undead whom he had encountered at Firelink Shrine. Arghast turned, staring across the candlelit breadth of the church only to spot a bizarre figure standing within an arch in the upper floor.

Even at its distance from him it was apparent that it stood somewhat taller than he. It emanated an obnoxious golden glow from where the light caught its gilded royal blue robes, only leaving the face of its helmet unadorned of jewelry; instead a row of six sinister eyes glared down at him. Held firmly in one hand was a curious weapon: long-hafted, gold and bound with a banner of faded yellow. At its peak the body of the weapon forked off into three individual teeth, taking the shape of a violent prong.

Arghast took several steps forward from the altar, his armored greaves scratching against the stone steps. At this, the mystic brought the trident to his chest and began to spout an unintelligible, guttural invocation that was muffled by its headpiece, yet resonated throughout the church. At once, a radiant blue light appeared from nothingness, its aura growing; a magic Arghast recognized immediately as the soul arts. Springing forward from the altar, Arghast narrowly avoided the singing blast of the soul arrow fired from the channeler, now planted firmly against a column within the church for cover. As he turned from the column to look back at his foe he saw naught but an empty space in the archway, wherein the pale blue particles of soul magic glittered in the air. Stepping from behind the column, he scanned the church for a sighting; the quiet rattle of treacherous golden mail was again heard - from directly behind him.

Whirling around to face the six-eyed warlock, he rose both his weapons in defense, only to be met with the towering mystic's golden trident plummeting towards him, its top spinning rapidly in a bizarre fashion. Arghast tumbled backwards, his sword caught in the twirling prongs and tossed some number of feet from him as the end of a trident's tooth bore shallowly into his shoulder. Beckoning in anger from beneath his sanguinated helmet, he flung his axe forward from the opposite hand. As the channeler stepped back and withdrew his weapon from Arghast's wretched flesh, the edge of the axe incised itself into the broad side of his enemy and forced a violent spurt of crimson to jet outwards. Standing from the slightly blood-dampened church floor, Arghast approached the reeling channeler, his right hand being consumed in an otherworldly dark aura. Flinging down his dark hand towards the enemy he unleashed, now only several feet from the wounded thing, a violent bolt of black magic that struck the channeler and seemed to cleave off and wholly disintegrate the upper portion of its mass.

Left standing, hemorrhaging, before the mutilated golden mess that was the Six Eyed Channeler, Arghast looked again to the altar before him. Such unforeseen magics had nearly seen him slain by this mage, whom was so out of place in the church given its inclination towards the soul arts. The image of the goddess, who continued to hold aloft the mighty child of the flame, did not appear to him now with the same sense of impartiality.

The sound of flaming arrows whipping through the air and the twang of many bows was a que that set the blood pumping!

Luckily with how he ran ahead of the group so excitedly, he was in the perfect position to simply run beneath the first wave of arrows that had clearly been aimed at the larger group where more casualties would have been expected. "Ōh elā uttējakaramaina! He called in what seemed like complete gibberish in a wildly excited tone. Of course, some of the next wave of arrows would be directed at him, but he kept an eye on the silly rot-brains knocking their next arrows, and just as they took aim he raised a hand and released a blast of flame towards them... No way in Hell it came even 'close' to reaching them, but the flame obscured sight of him momentarily, just enough to pull his feet up and turn his momentum into a slide that allowed him to duck under the arrows without sacrificing momentum "Oooh, these are better than the usual! Nēnu iṣṭaṁ"

He kicked to caused himself to roll out of his slide and stumble back into sprinting. His path carried him far enough off from the direction of the actual entrance to the water-way that the foot-soldiers weren't anywhere near him by the time he took a running leap right off the edge of the lower cliff, a move that most would call properly suicidal, but a sharp eye might notice that a couple of seconds later something white and black was making it's way up the sheer side of one of the Water-way's support pillars, using those sharpened gauntlets and boots to force purchase into the ragged stone so he wouldn't fall off... Thankfully, he wasn't wearing heavy armor.

Of course, as soon as he was back up to the level where a ledge connected from one end of the waterway's length to the other, he climbed off on that and moved around to the opposite side where the swarmy melee types wouldn't be able to spot him. He was probably crazy, or a small bit of a genius, or both, they tended to go together sometimes, but it might be hard to tell if he was actually exercising some divide and conquer tactics, or if he was just doing the craziest most idiotic thing one could do in a situation like this, being jumping off a cliff.

It would take a short while for him to reach his destination, long enough for a certain strong man to have found his own way up there it seemed, but soon he came up on the other side, ontop of the water-way, and directly above the entrance, where he proceeded to ambush and boot one of the Archer's right off the edge, hit the next one that was close enough with a quick burst of fire to force it back, and then swung out his great-bow from his back, first clipping that now burning hollow to knock it off the edge, then down to pin it's support spike into the ground. "Āścaryaṁ talli evaritōnū, Asta came to say hello!" There was something vulgar about that first bit he said... Regardless, He took the next logical step when one renders themselves temporarily immobile in the face of many ranged enemies, setup a suitable defense.

Thus while his left hand held the bow in position with one foot planted against it's base for stability and to use the over-sized bow as a sort of shield against the much smaller projectiles, the other slammed into his own chest, doing... 'something' that caused his gauntlets, helmet, and boots to take on a metallic silvery sheen, it sucked for mobility, but when mobility is not a concern it works wonders! Finally he drew one of his arrows, or lances depending on ones definition based on size, and began pulling the string back, oh what a satisfying creaking sound it made! Roughly 2 seconds passed as he plotted the arrow's path in his mind and how to make it happen without striking 'big man' half-way through, then with a little twist of his fingers he unleashed the shot with a slight spin on it.

The comically large arrow shot right through the torso of the nearest archer, sending it stumbling right off the edge, It nicked a couple more on it's way, likely harmlessly, before the spin allowed it to arch just barely around 'big man', striking an archer on the other side, though this time it didn't pass through cleanly, it wedged most of the way through the walking corpse, knocking it off it's feet and causing it to fall against the next one down and sparking a domino effect, flooring roughly 3 more before one of them had enough brain to get out of the way and let them finally hit the stone, though most of them simply set about getting back up, there was now a sufficient threat to draw some of the fire away from the others.

With her thoughts still lost within the haze of tranquil happiness of companionship, it took Saira a few seconds to understand the warning shouts of the white sorcerer. As the arrows fired by the hollowed archers began flying towards their direction and the others immediately leaped into action, Saira remained standing exactly where she was. With her steadfast faith in the Sun, she had no reason to fear for her life, however, she did not wish any harm to come upon her companions.

With precise, practiced movements, Saira lifted up both her hands to eye-level with her sheathed katana in her left hand, and her right hand over the sword's grip. Lightly wrapping the fingers of her right hand around the sword's grip, in one smooth pulling action, she brought out the sword's sharped blade from its protective scabbard. As the polished silver metal of the blade slid out of the scabbard, a line of intricately-inscribed Eastern text met her eyes.

"With this blade drawn, let justice be done". Saira read aloud the words inscribed upon the sword's blade as she separated the katana from its scabbard. Upon speaking those words, Saira could feel a strange, powerful presence awaken from deep within her soul, as if the simple act of drawing the sword reawakened memories she thought were lost. She now felt as if she and the blade were one, singular entity. She was familiar with it, and it with her.

As the muscular Gerhard continued fighting against the hollowed undead warriors, smashing their heads with his raw strength, Saira could see one hollow closing on him from behind, brandishing a heavy straight sword held high above its head, ready to strike. Before the hollow could do so, Saira instantly burst into action as she leaped forward towards Gerhard and the hollow.

Just as the hollow's sword was being brought down, Saira thrust forward her katana's scabbard, using its hard outer shell to deflect the sword's blade. The sudden impact of the deflection sent the hollow stumbling backwards a few steps as it was caught off-balance. Seizing this short moment of opportunity, Saira quickly reversed her grip on her katana as she flicked the blade in a rapid upwards slicing action through the hollow's jaw and skull. The straight sword fell from the hollow's now limp, lifeless hands as its wielder followed the same action.

Sensing another threat moving in from just beyond the edge of her sight, Saira took a quick step backwards as another sword's blade swung down upon where she stood just moments ago. As the hollow's sword cut through empty air, its equally-empty eyes turned towards her, its mouth twisting into a feral snarl as it was denied its kill. Before the hollow could bring up its sword for its next swing, the edge of Saira's katana flicked through the air several times in rapid succession like a snapping whip, with each snap striking the hollow in different areas. The first snap sliced through the wrist of the hand that held the hollowed soldier's sword, the second cut through the decaying flesh of its neck, just short of decapitating it cleanly. The third cut, however, finished the task that the second could not.

Before she could look towards her other companions to see if they were holding their own against the hollows' ambush, the blur of a speeding arrow flew past her face just as she was about to step forward. Tracing back the arrow's trajectory to its source, Saira spotted the hollow archer perched high above the entrance to the waterway. This archer was well beyond the reach of her katana, but she was not helpless.

As the hollow archer was reaching its back for its next arrow, Saira responded by calmly returning her katana to its scabbard in her left hand. Even as the archer was now preparing to fire, Saira looked upwards towards the sky as she brought up her right hand, as if reaching for the sunlight streaming from above.

"Blessed Sunlight, grant me the power to defeat the enemies that my sword cannot reach."

With those words spoken, streaming sunlight from above collected and materialized itself into her open hand as a golden, pulsating spear of pure brilliant light. Silently offering her thanks and gratitude to the Sun, Saira flung her right hand forward towards the hollow archer positioned above. As if on command, the spear of lightning hurtled forward towards the undead archer, sending it into a series of uncontrollable convulsions as the lightning spread through its body and flesh.

"Praise the Sun."

Saira softly spoke her final words of gratitude as she watched the now-lifeless corpse of the undead archer fall face-first into the ground below.

Some part of him must have heard them too. When the sorcerer in white yelled his warning he was already making for cover. Delwyn was next to him.

He could feel it. The pressure building as the sound of his blood pounded in his ears momentarily silencing everything. His breath felt as if it froze in his lungs and he exhaled heavily. His eyes had closed. He didn't remember when, but he opened them now.

He peeked out assessing the situation. Gerhard had charged the archers and managed to trap them between himself and the strange man with his mystifying eye. Saira rushed a hollow intent on cutting down the friendly giant and three of the hollowed soldiers were moving towards where he and Delwyn were hiding, shoulder to shoulder their shields at the ready.

His eyes darted to the book that the sorcerer's hands grasped. “I hope you can use that”, he said, his voice monotone. The frost in his lungs chilled his words along with his mind forming an edge sharp as cold steel. Without waiting for a response he started drawing shapes in the air with his own catalyst, the metal talon where an index finger ought to be. Though the air remained unchanged the fluorescent glow of the symbols in his minds eye intensified, his physical eyes glowing with the magic. Flicking his talon towards the three advancing hollow the glow of the symbols flashed into existence momentarily then vanished. As the light faded the bellowing of a disembodied warrior exploded from behind the hollows. It was a phantom of sound and nothing more but it stole the advancing hollows attention.

They turned searching for the body of the bellowing cry. Drawing his bone dagger Lucas sprinted towards the group slicing at the hamstrings of the right soldier which fell to one knee. The middle hollow spun around alarmed but it's breastplate was made for a man not so withered and Lucas drove his dagger through the gap between flesh and metal piercing skin, just barely missing the heart. The dagger came free of the wound dark and wet. The dagger, which in truth looked more like a fang chiseled to form an edge and the base wrapped in tattered cloth, still bled the toxin of whatever creature it came from. A blow so close to the heart meant that the poison would circulate quickly causing wild spasms in the muscles before seizing. Knowing this Lucas retreated a few paces and then moved to position the kneeling hollow between him and the poisoned one. The third hollow sought to advance but the other began flailing uncontrollably, bashing him with it's shield. The third hollow made to defend itself from the flailing while Lucas slit the kneeling ones throat with minimal effort, its body making a heavy thud as it hit the ground. It twitched briefly and then was still.

Positioned behind the flailing hollow he ran forward tackling it into the other hollow. Both fell to the ground flailing. At that moment a light burst into existence from behind Lucas and he turned as Saira threw a bolt of lightning at a hollow archer on top of the nearby waterway. As the bolt impacted an explosion erupted in Lucas' mind.

“FECKING, FEEECK”, he yelled.

He felt the shaft of the arrow before he saw it jutting from his left shoulder. Where before the blood had been pounding in his head now it was thundering to the beat of the pain. His senses abandoned him drunk on a cocktail of adrenaline, pain, and head pressure. It dredged up something basic from deep within exploding from his throat in a snarl and a baring of teeth akin to a wolf's warning.

Charging the archer, his voice roaring as he squeezed the hilt of his fang. The hollow knocked a second arrow. With a twang the arrow whistled through the air, but this time Lucas saw it. He ducked, evading the projectile while sprinting on all four never slowing.

The hollow tried to knock a third arrow, but Lucas fell upon him before it could draw back the string, pinning the archer to the ground. There was no precision to it. The throat, an eye, at least seven to the chest. Up and down, in and out, the dagger drove on towards it's purpose. Each time he and it both a shade darker.

The hollow was limp when he dropped his dagger and tightened his hands around the hollows skull. He hammered it into the earth. Once. Twice. Thrice. Faster and faster. He howled and hollered as he bashed the hollows skull into the ground to the frenzied beat of the blood thundering in his ear.

When he finally pulled himself up from the corpse his breathing came in gasps, his face and torso covered in gore, his eyes wild and seeking. He roared.

Delwyn couldn't bring himself to look at the carnage, huddling with his hands clasped over his head to avoid the sounds of battle. He was made sick by his own cowardice. He hid like a child, convinced he'd be of no use, scared for his own safety while his companions charged forward. He thought that by becoming an undead, the fear of death and pain would slowly slip away. However the thought of hollowing with each death only served to strengthen his own cowardice ways. He took solace in the fact that the young man, Lucas, was also hiding with him. Or he did, until Lucas also stood and joined the fray. Rather than admire the boy's courage, Delwyn could only think about how mortified he was that this child had the strength to stand and fight where he didn't. Surely they must all have taken note of his pathetic actions. Delwyn was certain that they would want nothing more to do with the useless sorcerer. He had almost accepted that fate, ready to just continue sitting patiently until it was all over, when the image of his loved ones flashed before his eyes.

He could see little Isabella's face, and how much her likeness resembled his own. Margaret's warm smiles and beautiful, peaceful brown eyes came to mind. God how he wanted to be with them again. He was never a strong, fearless husband to Margaret. She was the one who truly had an inner fire to her. He prayed for her strength, resolved to help make a difference and get through this journey with his new comrades. Standing up on shaky legs, Delwyn quickly darted out from behind his hiding spot and opened his catalyst. To his left he saw young Lucas laying waste to a group of hollows. The enraged young man was quite a frightening sight, but Delwyn didn't have time to be cower before his mighty roar. Instead, his soul bloomed with new power that touched upon the printed pages of his Catalyst and sprang to life all around him. Beautiful wisps of blue and white Soul magic dancing around his body before quickly rushing in towards his eyes. The sudden bright light stung painfully, but when it faded Delwyn had reactivated his Bellowing Dragon eyes once again. He suddenly saw the battle around him from many different angles; able to watch as Gerhard and Asta took on the archers. The dazzling ray of light that flew from Saira was a magnificent sight to behold, truly, and Alaric fought valiantly alongside the others. Everyone was safe, although there were a few injuries. Nothing that couldn't be dealt with. With the enemies thinning out, the only threat Delwyn could find were a group of archers perched high on the waterway, out of reach from the others. Saira could have fired more of her powerful miracles at them, but upon scanning the environment Delwyn had already devised a faster solution.

Coming to a halt next to Gerhard, the Sorcerer's dragon eyes flared with power as he quickly revised through his plan. The archers had begun to pull back their bows as Delwyn held his catalyst facing towards them. Soul sorceries gathered within its pages, accumulating together in a brilliant orb of blue power. Delwyn was never particularly good with offensive sorcery, but like all students of Vinheim he was capable of basic Soul Arrows. As he fired the arrow to the archer, he aimed slightly higher with the intent of completely missing his target. The arrow of dazzling magic flew over the group of archers, captivating their attention for a brief moment before they turned to continue preparing their attack. They would have fired, if not for the loud rumbling sound that began to thunder behind them. The group of hollows turned to face the source, only to be met with a barrage of falling rocks and boulders from above. Delwyn had spied a rather unstable stone structure on the outer wall of the Undead Burg. He could only guess that it was some form of balcony or battlement, but he knew a good shot would bring the whole thing down upon the archers. Rocks slid off from the top of the waterway, bringing the limp bodies of the crushed archers off the edge and down into the depths below. The majority of the threat was somewhat dealt with, aside from a few remaining hollows being finished off by his comrades. His head began to ache from overusing his dragon eyes, but before he ceased the spell he took a moment to inspect the waterway for any more enemies.
"Forgive me for sounding pushy," Delwyn spoke between pants, his magic taking quite a bit of energy from him, "but perhaps it would be best for us to continue. There are some large rats in the waterway but they won't bother us if we don't bother them." Delwyn leaned up against the wall, closing his catalyst and taking deep breathes while he waited for the group to decided to move on or not. Perhaps they intended to pillage the corpses for anything of use, but the thought never crossed Delwyn's tired mind.

It was finished. The defeated corpses of the undead hollows lay strewn around the ground, their dark-red blood soaking into the grass and soil where they lay. Looking to her companions, Saira saw that each and everyone of them had made it out of the battle relatively unharmed. However, this was merely the beginning of what was to be a journey of great length. If they had only traveled this far and already encountered an ambush, what other kinds of threats awaited for them ahead? The possibilities were limitless, but this uncertainty did not worry Saira in the least. After all, she had the protection of the ever-watchful Sun.

While the others were recovering from the battle against the hollows, Saira glanced down at the sheathed katana she held in her hands, remembering how everything changed when she drew out the blade from its scabbard. It was as if an entire world had been opened up to her. There was some strange kind of link between her and the sword, although she could not remember what it was. What was certain was that she possessed great skill with the sword, such that her movements with the blade flowed effortlessly in combat, with as much ease as one would take a breath or blink an eye. Was she some sort of warrior in her past life?

Out of curiosity, Saira carefully withdrew the katana from its protective scabbard. After cutting down several undead hollows, the otherwise flawlessly sharpened blade was now covered with long streaks dried blood. Out of instinct, Saira knelt down close to one of the fallen hollows, grasping onto a piece of raggedly-looking cloth that clung onto its decaying armor. Bringing the cloth close to the blade, Saira delicately brushed away the spots of blood that clung to her blade, revealing the text that was inscribed onto its metallic surface.

With this blade drawn, let justice be done. Those were the words that were etched onto the blade. Those words held a strange kind of meaning to her heart, as if they were words of promise that she had spoken long ago. Perhaps someday, she would rediscover the meaning of those words.

"Forgive me for sounding pushy, but perhaps it would be best for us to continue. There are some large rats in the waterway but they won't bother us if we don't bother them." Said the white sorcerer, Delwyn, to all around him.

Saira looked up suddenly from where she knelt, as she was abruptly awoken from a deep dream. In her short moment of remembrance, she had briefly forgotten where she was and the company she was with.

"Yes, that would be best. The journey must continue. It must always continue." Saira said in response to the sorcerer, sliding the katana back into position into its scabbard, and rising back up to her feet.

With the remaining twisted beings reduced to twitching piles of flesh Gerhard glanced around at his companions, it surely seemed true, he was no man of battle or swift movements. Or powers magical in nature, he was simply a man with conviction. Being the only one with any particular wound hadn't embarrassed the man, no, he thought only of the great skill his companions had possessed. The strongman had felt safe within the folds of these people, but would their combined might be able to see them through the horrors that await them? Of course!

The muscled man had pondered to himself for a bit, always was he thinking of something. The sort of thing that kept him from becoming a hollowed mass of muscle. Always have your mind set on something, whether it be your absolute goal or your favorite colour. After preforming some very cursory first aid upon his upper arm Gerhard chuckled as the party began their preparations to continue onward, "Remind this older fool not to have any arguments with you all"

Whilst it was a sarcastic comment, it feigned its own meaning. For it was true, he was frightened, these people seemed to have no hesitation in their slaughter. One such companion in particular had darkened his thoughts, the young boy, Lucas. The poor things body, skeletal, wreathed in wounds that could not all be caused through battle. His howling decimation of the hallows had chilled Gerhard's bones, does the boy know of the finer things in life? Nature, peace, silence, mustaches? Yes, the creatures were no longer human, but do they really deserve to be destroyed? Perhaps it is so, to rest their souls.

The thought could not separate from the strongman's mind as they began to move again, "I hope the poor creatures do not feel such suffering in their demise as they do in life" The grim thought, at least to Gerhard, continued to haunt him.