#spearofthelake

((closed starter w/ @spearofthelake Don’t mind the title because I am not creative at all))

Everything that’s going on recently for the assassin could honestly be boiled down to one word.

B O R I N G.

Even as he sat in his slightly less than convenient home base that he had set up in the abandoned building, Maldron let out a long huff of annoyance. Gods, had everyone buggered off to another kingdom or something? There hadn’t been a single living soul around this area since the last poor undead he had managed to dispatch with a quick stab of his lance.

He removed his helmet and set it aside, rolling his eyes as he set about polishing his shield for the umpteenth time for today. Might as well keep himself busy someway, considering that those witchtree mages outside were also his form of defense as well.

Could always go for an invasion or two, maybe.

The High Wall of Lothric was one of the first places that newly christened Unkindled were sent, following their awakenings at the Cemetery of Ash. It was early in the morning, as the cool air drifted over the walls.

Stepping down from the bonfire, one could find a congregation of hollows, on their knees and praying towards twisted trees that had impaled their fellows. Whether those icons of slaughter were what they looked towards as worth praying towards, or if something darker was at work, one could not be certain.

Yet, among this congregation, hollowed soldiers, wearing lanterns on their belts, lay dead atop the cobblestones. Thick, coagulated blood dripped from gaping wounds, as their corpses were paid no mind.

A heavily armored man sits on a waist-high platform behind the congregation, simply watching. His lance dips down towards the floor, and his gaze settles on the sun above. Idly, a pinkish rag is run over the length of the weapon, cleaning it of the blood. 

For what reason was the assassin here?  Perhaps there was a calling that tugged at his soul, beckoning him ever higher, ever closer to the sun. To the flames that he had vowed to extinguish.

However, for a new arrival to the land of Lothric, the assassin would appear to be a terrifying reminder of times long past. Memories of Brume Tower and Eleum Loyce personified sat before her. Helm, lance and shield were unmistakable to anyone whom had scoured the earth during the time of Drangleic.

Before the newcomer, sat a figure from her past.

It was only a wonder how Lochlan would react to seeing him again, after all this time, in a new land.

The brothers arrive at the castle late at night.  Lothric fled his duty, so many years ago, alone.  He returns on Lorian’s back.  Some force has linked their souls, and they’ve already discovered that he can catch and return Lorian’s soul if his brother dies.  It’s likely he will never be alone again.

“They’re all undead,” Lothric breathes, in happy disbelief.  The undead horde he’s describing doesn’t even notice them.  Lothric presses his head against Lorian’s and tightens his grip into a hug.  “I must pray,” he says urgently.  “To give thanks, and to ask for our continued safety.”  Lorian nods.  He stopped questioning the sense of his brother’s inclination to prayer when it brought him back from the dead.  They find Lothric a suitably private cranny, and Lorian stands guard.

Despite her protests, Lochlan is pretty much a kid in Jarrod’s eyes. He is also surprised he never ran into her when he was in Majula all those years ago. He’d probably introduce her to Rosalind eventually.

“Perhaps.” He replies dispassionately, as if such a question were entirely beyond his purview. 

“The Dream has long since been inaccessible to me, and its inhabitants beyond my concern.”

"Maldron ah' thought Ah told ya not ta lose yer head! Now y've done it

yellowfingcr replied to your post

"And here I thought I couldn't like you more."

“Keheheheheheheheheheheh!”

The helmet doesn’t show much emotion from its place upon the rocks, but his laughter resounds in Farron Swamp all the same.

The soldier of Drangleic bows her head, taking a knee before the king of vermin. Though certain he would say otherwise about her, she bows her head. “Ah’ve come seekin’ your protection, Sire. “ Lochlan speaks with the respect of any soldier to a king. Though her home is lost to the ages, Lochlan is no fool. She never has been. “I seek to walk in your shadow, in your protection. If Ah must, I will prove my loyalty. “

The Soldier’s heart breaks to think this vow was to anyone other than her king. But, with the land in ruin as it was now.

She needed all the help she could get. Lochlan dare not raise her head. With eyes face to the ground, the spearwoman awaits an answer. May he be merciful to her.

Head canting slightly to one side, the small monarch searched the woman up and down again, as if another motive would emblazon itself on her chest for him to read. She was remarkably well mannered, for a human, which only deepened his skepticism. Though, he knew it was unfair to make judgments so quickly. If she was sincere, far be it from him to turn her away.

Watching how she carried herself, even in this display of supplication, she appeared no stranger to such customs, nor to that spear of hers. One of his paws smoothed over his whiskers, contemplative.