You have more questions. So many more questions. You have been stuck guarding the Firelink Shrine for so very long, and the world has changed. You are sure it must have, even though you can remember little about your life.
And yet you cannot say a word. Frustration builds within you. Something twinges within you, a memory of burning orange written upon stone. But you don't have any orange... chalk? Was it chalk? Some form of stone, at least.
But there is ash coating every surface.
Reaching out with one giant finger, you brush the ash away, leaving words. Next time you're back at the shrine, you'll need to look into getting some chalk.
WHO IS t PONTIF? you write, rather wishing you had spent more time in life learning your letters and less time elbow-dropping your foes. Wait, no, you don't wish that at all. But you wish there had been more time. If only you'd know when you were trapped and unable to punch people.
Alas, alackaday. Frowning under your helmet, you add more questions.
y IS EVRY WON HOLOW
WHAT HAPEND HERE
You pause. Wait. There was an even more important question you forgot to ask anyone back at Firelink Shrine.
WHO R t LORDS OF SINDER?
Yes. You fold your arms in satisfaction. That should be everything.
Emma watches your awkward, stilted attempts at writing, resting her weight against the railings of the balcony.
"Well, well, well. You've been asleep a long time, haven't you," she asks at last. "To not know the Pontiff of Irithyll. Blasted Sullyvahn. Blasted tyrant." The priestess lets out a shrill, mirthless laugh. "Liar, betrayer, false prophet.
Corrupter."
The fire crackles, but Emma's voice is yet more scathing. "He 'serves' the old royal family. He was just a sorcerer--he even taught young Prince Lothric. And then he... he did something to the church." She shudders--no, shakes, in anger.
"He found something, somewhere. That curséd flame."
A flame? Different from the First Flame, or the churning fires of Izalith? From the way she speaks, it must be. How odd. You nod to continue, but she seems to be almost ignoring you as she gets louder and louder.
"And then he brought it to Lothric, to answer the next question. He ruined the Deacons of the Deep. Perverted them, all of them, oh, I swear!" She snarls out the words. "And then he returned. And then, war broke out, and the dark-eyed cretin split the kingdom asunder, brought strife and civil war. And he broke the Prince's will."
Emma deflates as she speaks. "The Lords of Cinder... Farron's Undead Legion. And old Yhorm, lord of the Profaned Capital."
You smile at this behind your mask. Yhorm, you heard stories of once. He is a great warrior and it will be a good fight, a glorious one.
"Then Aldrich, the Saint of the Deep. The man-eater." Her tone darkens. "As to why everyone is Hollow... The Fire fades. We go without Fire, and so we turn Hollow. The Betrayer's manipulations led to a civil war, and what is death without
undeath?"
"And that is your duty, is it not?" She pins you with sharp eyes. "You seek the Lords. Restore them to their thrones, and link the First Flame. You should be on your way."
She speaks up one more time as you turn to go.
"Though speaking of
duties." Her voice turns sharp and acidic. "I would have
words with whomever taught you your letters."
[] Proceed past the gates to raise the banner
[] Proceed to the left
[] Proceed straight ahead
[] ???
[] Headpat Emma
\o/
