sleepytimejunction | ➵ SOULS & ECHOES

➵ SOULS & ECHOES

The fall of snow is so gentle despite how dangerously cold it is outside. It isn't quite a blizzard, but it is like a blanket of white falling down, muffling the sound and beautifully quiet. There shouldn't be anything out here new or unusual, as there has not been for ages.

Yet, on this evening, there is a light in the distance that Sylvain will see. A dim lantern, hanging in the middle of the snow, like it'd always been there. It is more than staked into the earth, as if somehow it'd grown out like a plant and made its life there.

Half-buried in the snow is the lithe form of a man with pale hair. A ragged hood is covering his head, his arms and legs armored -- yet the rest of him is wearing clothing that was once, perhaps, elegant yet has been worn away. By use or age, it's difficult to say.

Clutched in one hand is a wickedly curved blade, and in the other a pistol. Not that Sylvain would have seen one before.

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The first thing Sylvain notices is that the ghosts of the outriders that wander the halls begin to stir. Their ever silent vigil over this place has never been interrupted once since stealing the warmth of this world. But suddenly, they move.

Sylvain raises his head to watch them go. From his humble 'throne' of the old pews, he unbows his form for the first time in what feels like an age. Whatever has stirred the ghosts, it warrants his attention.

He follows them out of the church to the central plaza, spotting a strange, ethereal light through the cold mist that blankets all of Irithyll. The ghostly knights have all converged around it, staring down at something half-buried in the snow.

As Sylvain approaches, he's shocked to see the form of something living, something human. Not a hollow either.

Sylvain parts the ghosts, their forms vanishing for their master, silently returning to their vigil. He kneels down, and gently tries to shake the slim figure to see if he yet lives in an impossible scenario. There hasn't been life in these lands for so long... It earnestly makes Sylvain smile despite the fact it shouldn't be at all.

"You shouldn't lay in the snow, my friend. Even the strongest men have been known to never wake up again when they do."

"Mmm?"

Ashe stirs slightly, lifting his head tiredly from the snow to gaze up at the stranger addressing him. He does notice the cold, how could he not, but it also feels strangely far away as his body shivers.

All of the snow, where he is... this couldn't be Cainhurst, could it? Queen Annalise has no alive followers left, after all. Yet here is a sane man speaking to him.

"Who are you...?"

He should probably ask where he is, but he's genuinely surprised to speak to someone with their mind that he doesn't already know.

Oh, and he speaks too? So many of the things that once walked this world could not utter more than animal sounds, despite their human tongues.

He's been called many things over the years, 'Lord of Hollows,' 'Usurper,' 'Despot of the Boreal Valley,' etc. All of them mean something to someone, he's sure. But he answers simply with, "Sylvain. Sylvain Jose Gautier."

He inclines himself in a makeshift bow, but doesn't seem to care for any particular form. It's just a gesture ingrained in him for centuries.

"And you, my strange friend?" Sylvain asks as he gathers the other up, nearly hauling Ashe to his feet with a terrifying strength. Somehow, he manages it gently, like someone very much accustomed to it. It also accentuates just how large he is, towering above Ashe. It has nothing to do with the heels of his boots either, he's simply massive for something in human proportions.

"Sylvain..."

It's not a name he knows after turning it over in his head a few times. There were a few to follow, to sort things out, but here is a stranger indeed.

He sucks in a breath, eyes widening under his hood as he's picked up without any effort. It's at that time it really hits him just how tall Sylvain is, towering over him with ease, even larger than Father Gascoigne before beasthood took him. Quiet for a moment, eventually Ashe speaks up quietly, "A-Ashe. Ubert. Ashe Ubert."

For him, he also takes a bow, practiced from other hunters -- ally and enemy both.

Now that he's got a better view of him, Sylvain furrows his brows. Not that Ashe can see it past the wolf-like helm that adorns him, and Sylvain's perhaps grateful for that. Ashe's attire is mostly foreign to him, but many parts of it remind him of an old order of knights he was never particularly fond of. There's an unpleasant frown at the thought.

"I'd say good to meet you, Ashe, but you're dressed like a man of Drakeblood. Considering that order has been long dead for ages, I suppose I shouldn't assume." Sylvain tilts his head, and sets a hand on his hip while looking Ashe over.

"How in the hell did you even get up here? This mountain certainly isn't easy to scale. Or the barrier."

There's a slow blink and Ashe looks down at his attire with a thoughtful frown.

"I found these clothes in a castle," he says vaguely. "But I've never heard of Drakeblood. I'm... just a hunter. No knight or anything like that."

The question is a good one. How, indeed. He glances over his shoulder at the Hunter's Lamp, dangling and still lit, undeterred by the cold.

"Can we talk somewhere not out in the snow please?"

"Not a..." Sylvain almost laughs at that. Someplace not snowy? In Irithyll? Wouldn't that be nice. Even the cathedral roof has fallen to the elements these days, but the kitchens below tend to be warm enough he thinks.

With a snort of amusement, and a quick wave, he motions for Ashe to follow him. Ascending the central plaza stairs, and up the way will bring them to the cathedral. From there it's only a short lift ride down to the kitchens. But all around them the pale, translucent figures of his outriders linger, walking their eternal paths. Some turn their long, eerily stretched necks to look upon their new guest, but none stop to bother them. Sylvain thinks most of them will be gathered about that strange light if he were to return later.

"Just a hunter, huh? Yet you've caused quite the stir. We haven't seen the living in this place in... well, a long time."

The beings in the cathedral look so-- so ghastly that Ashe cringes, trying not to stare at them. He tries to not give away the spike of fear, but it fails as he tries to stick closer to Sylvain, who at least seems... sane? But then again, maybe it'll get thrown back into his face.

"I, uh. I can see that." Ashe swallows with uncertainty as he looks down at the floor, trying to not look at GHOSTS. "Just a hunter. I... hunt beasts. But these don't seem to be hostile?"

He hopes it stays that way. He'd hate to have to fight all of these.

"Hunters do tend to do that." He's not sure what else one would hunt. Unless beasts means more than just the local fauna. There's quite the suspicion that this is the case the longer he considers it.

Sylvain glances down when Ashe's steps shift closer. Without considering it might be too forward of him, Sylvain settles a hand on Ashe's shoulder. The underside of his gauntlet is soft, the metal guarding only the top of his hand. It is warm to some extent, but not warm enough for a living human. He keeps it there as long as Ashe allows as he takes him down to the kitchens. The stone is lit by a broad hearth that has never gone out for as long as Sylvain has been here. He's stopped questioning the strange things in this place.

"You can relax, they're only ghosts. Their bodies are long gone, but Irithyll is a place that does not let go of its own. Their ghosts wander the streets and halls, but they don't bother anyone, or even come down here. You're perfectly safe."

The hand on his shoulder makes him jump a little, but he quickly calms down once he recognizes it as not a threat. There is warmth, but not enough for someone who is living. Which begs the question as to what, exactly, Sylvain must be. Surely not a beast, but something else indeed.

Ghosts. Oh, it's just what he feared. Ashe lets out a nervous laugh and stares at the floor as they walk. No no, don't look don't look.

"If you say so," Ashe mutters, remaining tense. Sure, they may not be dangerous, but they're still ghosts. "I thought the nightmare was over, honestly. But maybe there's more. Maybe..."

Did he fail? No, no. Surely, there just might be another Great One that's affected things once more.

Sylvain reflexively squeezes his shoulder as if he could comfort Ashe. He doesn't know what is plaguing Ashe, but clearly it's something.

"What nightmare? Did you come here seeking asylum from something?" He asks as he guides Ashe to take a seat by the fire. Sylvain sits down before it as well, and finally removes the wolf-like helm from his head. His shock of red hair comes loose, uneven and curling at the edges. His skin is deathly pale, deep lines around his eyes that seem just slightly inhuman. Some of it has to do with the unnatural brightness to his irises, which shine a deep copper. The rest is that they're nearly black around the sclera, such a dark gray one might think they were from a corpse.

He doesn't behave as if this should frighten or unnerve Ashe. Like it's perfectly normal. He simply watches Ashe with a concerned expression.

The fire is a nice difference to the cold. With a shiver, Ashe sits and looks up at Sylvain. The hair is... actually beautiful, even if the rest of him gives him signs of a lack of humanity. Yet, he's not a beast, either. There's something else going on that he can't quite put his finger on.

Ah. Right. He-- he was asked a question.

"I don't think so. Not exactly." It's not a good answer, but-- "I was trying to go somewhere else. Somewhere not Yharnam."

Sylvain tilts his head, the name 'Yharnam' isn't familiar to him. Though he's never been to the lands further east than Londor, he's seen enough maps and he can't recall a single instance of Yharnam.

"You're a strange one," he says, expression unreadable at first before a smile spreads his lips. There's something of an idea forming. He has a suspicion about Ashe he thinks he might confirm with something as simple as a map. "I've not heard of Yharnam, but."

Sylvain picks himself up, and rummages through an old set of shelves set with various cookbooks and tools. He plucks a folded piece of parchment from between the leaves of a book and comes back to Ashe. Unfolding it reveals a map that has most of the old spice roads mapped out. It's not perfect, but it's a map nonetheless.

"We're here," he says as he taps a finger to the top of a western mountain range. Irithyll is dotted inside a region scrawled out as 'The Boreal Valley.' "So where abouts is Yharnam, or wherever you were trying to go?"

Curiously, he watches Sylvain for a moment as the large man goes through his various books. Idly, he wonders what might be in them, but he has no time to wonder as the map is revealed to him.

Ashe frowns as he looks over the map and he tries to think. Where is Yharnam on this map? Nothing looks familiar. Nothing at all. Ashe himself was a stranger to Yharnam, where was he before then? Where did he live before?

The train of thought ends up in nothing and he winces for a moment, rubbing his forehead until he shakes his head.

"I... don't see it on there. Or Castle Cainhurst. But both would be hard to miss." Ashe shakes his head. "I don't think I was trying to go anywhere particular at this point. There isn't much left in Yharnam, save for a handful of survivors."

Hm. 'Cainhurst' sounds a bit like 'Cairm' but certainly not enough for Sylvain to say the two are related. And a castle doesn't quite describe the temples that dot the shadowy lands of Cairm.

Sylvain sets a hand on Ashe's back, noting how he seems to be in pain for a moment. The concern is plain on his face, and he leans a little closer.

"Well, this is the all of the known world. My world anyway. I'm starting to suspect you might be like one of my knights, Sirris, who hails from a country of another world called the Sunless Realms. I wonder if you might be a phantom, called here for some purpose."

Sylvain refolds the map, and sets it back into the old book.

"But you also must be exhausted. You seem a bit unwell, and I'd be a terrible host to make you suffer it on your feet. I... I apologize that this isn't precisely the most welcoming place. It's near impossible to reach Irithyll, so guests aren't exactly frequent. Still, I can make you a bed beside the fire, and make sure the sewers are locked up tightly so you won't bothered."

The large hand is still strange, but he knows it's safe contact now. It's been so rare to meet someone who still has any semblance of self and sanity, yet Sylvain does, even if it's clear he's no ordinary man by any means.

He looks up, curious. A phantom? No, he doesn't think so. No bell for him, he just... surely, he must have used one of the graves in the Dream, didn't he? That must have been it. And yet, he can't remember clearly. Why is that so hard?

"I've been in worse," Ashe answers softly. "And you've already been very hospitable. So, thank you for having me."

What is it like, to sleep now properly? When's the last time he had?

Sylvain snorts, something like amusement turning up the corners of his mouth. He'd really hate to see where else this lost fellow has had to stay. Not that he has much room to speak, given where he's actively chosen to make his home these days, and Irithyll is still one of the nicer places left in the world.

"Don't thank me yet. At least let me make sure the ghosts and centipedes don't come visit you in the night." Sylvain unhooks a set of heavy keys from his belt, and approaches the door descending into the lower level. He makes sure it's locked well, and then drags a heavy table over for good measure. He turns it over to blockade it, pauses for a moment, and then grabs a few chairs to shore it up for good measure.

"That ought to do. They're not particularly smart or strong, so just ignore the skittering. They'll get bored eventually."

Sylvain leans his chin into his hand, trying to think of what else he's meant to do as a host. It's been an age... warm hearth, locked doors, there's a few old straw mats to sleep on too.

"Hm, do you eat?"

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➵ SOULS & ECHOES

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