01-06-2015, 01:27 PM
The night passed slowly after that painful battle with the strange, savage figures that had attacked the Chosen. He hadn't done much with the bodies, just dumped them back in his little alcove, as what few snowflakes as could drifted down from the open sky. He had simply left them there, and then sat in the approach to it, leaning against the wall and feeling rather...well sore. He had three rents in his armor from the fight, one in his back, and two at the front, and his helmet had been seriously dented from multiple blows to it. How he missed the bonfire, or his estus flask. In fact, he had actually tried to make the latter as the night passed and found himself strangely...unable. He did not know why he could not make it, only that he knew that he couldn't. Yet, as the night passed, as the long, cold hours passed, his pains lessened somewhat, his armor even mended itself! By the time the morning arrived, the stab in his back was gone, and his armor had only a small dent, and one of the holes in his front was completely gone! He still had a light gash on his ribs from where he had taken an axe and then a spear in the same spot, and there was still a minor rent in his armor, but still!
When the morning arrived he felt oddly rejuvenated, still a bit sore true, but he had dealt with worse pain. Blight town stood as a magnificent example considering he had spent most of his time in that place either poisoned, or very badly poisoned, neither of which were pleasant sensations. So he set out, and the morning was even pleasant. It was still terrifically cold, to the point where he had frost lining his armor, but cold was not a threat. He...wasn't really alive after all, as long as he could move, it was of no concern to him. There was fresh snow on the ground of course, and any tracks from last night were long gone. It was crisp and clean powder too, that crunched under his metal boots as he started off. The mountains soared up into the cloudy sky, surrounding him on all sides as he progressed. Where he was going he still didn't know, the giant had been lost, he had no chance of tracking the one surviving troll, so really his only option was to continue onwards. His path took him down another hillside, and then right back up a different one, he had to edge along ledges on canyon walls, and even outright scale one! Just how far had he even gone since he'd found himself in this strange realm? Miles at least, but he knew there were communities here, at the very least primitive tribes, whether of those odd giants, or the strange, spear wielding humanoids that had attacked him. What he would do when he found either given the hostile reception...well he wasn't really sure.
Hours passed, the sun rising up through the clouds, visible as a dull, bright spot in the cloud cover. The Chosen Undead made steady progress, now in a warren of cliffs, practically a maze. Some towered taller than others, great slabs of rock with crevasses and protrusions great for climbing. Others were smoother, or even covered in a hefty layer of ice that prohibited such activity. Sometimes they came in 'layers' where in a cliff face led down to a wide ledge, that gave away a meter or so later to another cliff that led to another ledge that finally led to the canyon bottom. Sometimes, there were higher canyons, where two cliffs sandwiched a path between them, requiring one to walk all the way through or climb up one of the walls to be able to see or access the lower paths. Some of the canyons had sweeping, rushing rivers with rocks churning them to froth, in some places the surface of the river was completely frozen, and it split and diverged over many areas. Treacherous terrain at the best of times, where a wrong step could dislodge ice or send one slipping down the canyon paths. It could either be a short fall or a long one, landing in soft snow or hard rock, or if you were particularly unlucky, the rushing, rolling river of freezing cold ice. All in all, probably comparable to some of the more treacherous areas the Chosen had been through, like those rafters in that massive cathedral. So, he took his time and moved carefully over the canyons. His sword was sheathed with his shield strapped to his back. Gauntlet covered fingers would grip handholds while feet searched delicately for new places to step. His metal covered body stayed to the center of paths, or pressed up to cold cliff faces as he traversed them, and the river was avoided whenever possible, and progress slowed down significantly.
Once again he was alone, although he was still watchful, there were at least two threats that he knew of now, and he was willing to bet there were still more he had yet to even see. Yet, for once it seemed he was going to get the drop on his enemies for once. For, as he advanced along a cliff edge, he caught the sound of talking, born along the wind. Gruff, guttural voices, somewhere near him. The fact that they were talking meant they had yet to realize he was here, but he would show them soon enough, that was for certain.
When the morning arrived he felt oddly rejuvenated, still a bit sore true, but he had dealt with worse pain. Blight town stood as a magnificent example considering he had spent most of his time in that place either poisoned, or very badly poisoned, neither of which were pleasant sensations. So he set out, and the morning was even pleasant. It was still terrifically cold, to the point where he had frost lining his armor, but cold was not a threat. He...wasn't really alive after all, as long as he could move, it was of no concern to him. There was fresh snow on the ground of course, and any tracks from last night were long gone. It was crisp and clean powder too, that crunched under his metal boots as he started off. The mountains soared up into the cloudy sky, surrounding him on all sides as he progressed. Where he was going he still didn't know, the giant had been lost, he had no chance of tracking the one surviving troll, so really his only option was to continue onwards. His path took him down another hillside, and then right back up a different one, he had to edge along ledges on canyon walls, and even outright scale one! Just how far had he even gone since he'd found himself in this strange realm? Miles at least, but he knew there were communities here, at the very least primitive tribes, whether of those odd giants, or the strange, spear wielding humanoids that had attacked him. What he would do when he found either given the hostile reception...well he wasn't really sure.
Hours passed, the sun rising up through the clouds, visible as a dull, bright spot in the cloud cover. The Chosen Undead made steady progress, now in a warren of cliffs, practically a maze. Some towered taller than others, great slabs of rock with crevasses and protrusions great for climbing. Others were smoother, or even covered in a hefty layer of ice that prohibited such activity. Sometimes they came in 'layers' where in a cliff face led down to a wide ledge, that gave away a meter or so later to another cliff that led to another ledge that finally led to the canyon bottom. Sometimes, there were higher canyons, where two cliffs sandwiched a path between them, requiring one to walk all the way through or climb up one of the walls to be able to see or access the lower paths. Some of the canyons had sweeping, rushing rivers with rocks churning them to froth, in some places the surface of the river was completely frozen, and it split and diverged over many areas. Treacherous terrain at the best of times, where a wrong step could dislodge ice or send one slipping down the canyon paths. It could either be a short fall or a long one, landing in soft snow or hard rock, or if you were particularly unlucky, the rushing, rolling river of freezing cold ice. All in all, probably comparable to some of the more treacherous areas the Chosen had been through, like those rafters in that massive cathedral. So, he took his time and moved carefully over the canyons. His sword was sheathed with his shield strapped to his back. Gauntlet covered fingers would grip handholds while feet searched delicately for new places to step. His metal covered body stayed to the center of paths, or pressed up to cold cliff faces as he traversed them, and the river was avoided whenever possible, and progress slowed down significantly.
Once again he was alone, although he was still watchful, there were at least two threats that he knew of now, and he was willing to bet there were still more he had yet to even see. Yet, for once it seemed he was going to get the drop on his enemies for once. For, as he advanced along a cliff edge, he caught the sound of talking, born along the wind. Gruff, guttural voices, somewhere near him. The fact that they were talking meant they had yet to realize he was here, but he would show them soon enough, that was for certain.