章 46: Pray
The smell of smoke irritated his nostrils, yet that was all he could get a whiff of. It dug into his hyper-sensitive receptors. He didn't like it. Not one bit. The cyclopean drake curled around their Fort didn't help.
Forthus tightened the formerly white wraps around his shoulder, now stained blood-red. Pain snaked up his tightly coiled muscles, failing to elicit a wince. He had gone through worse in training. They all had. Earnan was a demon.
He stood up from his watch post on the curtain walls of Fort Haight, their once destination turned prison. The walls stretched out on either side of him, weathered ancient stones carved and expertly placed. The Fort proper lay behind these outer walls, bustling with activity yet suffused with dread.
He could smell the panic from here.
Beyond the walls lay what was once a mosaic of green and white: mist and wood. Now, the remains of charred and burnt trees and settlements stretched out as far as he could see. Patches of green still adamantly refused to die down, but the occasional grey-black form obscuring them made his gaze go cold.
Godforsaken drakes
One of those accursed creatures, the biggest one of them, had taken the gatehouse as its home. It curled up around the heavily fortified structure, the metallic embrace giving it no discomfort while crushing the watchtower with its heavy form.
Wreathed in grey and gifted with unearthly strength. Its figure could obscure a small army and its breath burnt it to a crisp. A lone horn rose from its snout, flanked by the twin spires of smoke from its nostrils.
Agheel, the natives called it. The Flying Dragon Agheel. What made it and its kin rise from their slumber to slaughter Forthus' colleagues only the monsters themself knew. Some said it was their battle against the forces of the damned Council but he could see doubt in their eyes when they spoke of it.
Forthus doubted it too.
The old chair creaked as he got to his feet while the cotton tunic with haphazard stitches fluttered in the faint wind. The assembly was in a few hours and he could not afford to be late, not as a vice-commander and a blessed of their Lord.
He was to give his men hope. That burden was one he would carry without complaint.
***
The fort rose from the earth like a jagged tooth and its inhabitants embodied that wildness. Demi-Humans that wore tailored clothes and spoke in the common tongue mingled with the exhausted and worn humans that populated the fort.
There were no civilians here. Their bodies lay in the charred ruins of the villages, entombed by Agheel's flame.
All those who passed by saluted him, their eyes briefly resting on the golden lines that lay near his wraps. It had changed once more, the lines twisting into a faint impression of wings to go along with the large Greatspear.
His Lord was growing day by day and that made his heart beat unstinted. Just what would Godrick the Golden become?
The feeling of wetness touched his fingers while the pitter-patter of rain filled his ears, easing the thick stench of smoke. Shouts and orders filled his ears as the crowded fort scurried to prepare for a cold night.
Forthus watched in admiration as Haight's Demi-Humans and men went about their duties with discipline that put theirs to shame. He could see why his Lord wanted to meet him. Kenneth Haight was an administrative and diplomatic genius, and Limgrave needed one now more than ever.
He took in the Fort once more, every nook and cranny. Thin slits marked the walls where archers once stood, watching the horizon. Above, the battlements lined the edge like a crown of broken spears.
The gate was iron and wood, heavy as a mountain. It creaked with every gust, groaning like an old man. Just beyond it, the courtyard stretched in uneven cobblestones, their surfaces slick with the wetness of the incoming rain. The ground dipped in places, where footsteps and hooves had worn away the stone.
Inside, the barracks huddled in shadow. Their thatched roofs were bent and sagging. A forge stood near the centre, its chimney crooked and blackened. The anvils and tools beat against each other as Mighty Demi-Humans fueled their nightly boost into the repairs they worked on.
At the heart of the fort was the keep, where he was headed. Narrow windows dotted its face, dark and hollow, yet a few were lit, shadows flickering by.
***
The war council room was dimly lit, the light from the hearth flickering against stone walls. A long table, scarred from years of use, stretched across the centre. Maps lay sprawled over its surface, edges curled and stained with ink. Heavy iron candelabras hung from the beams above, casting long shadows across the room.
Banners draped the walls—faded from age, but still bearing the sigils of past victories. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood and damp stone. Wooden chairs circled the table and they creaked under the weight of the few people present.
Voices murmured low as the lords gathered.
Knight Commander Orlan, scarred and grim, the pain of loss and loathing of the reptile clear on his face.
Demi-Human Queen Gilika sat next to her sister Demi-Human Queen Marella who was bigger than even her. Her hand was covered with a similar blessing to Forthus' gripping the Greatsword of the Troll their Lord once felled.
At the head of the table sat a man with golden locks and eyes to match. A thin, neatly trimmed beard adorned his face while being clothed in luxury. His bright, grace-filled eyes met Forthus'.
"Ah, Vice-Commander Forthus, you arrive with perfect timing, as ever—punctual to a fault," Kenneth Haight's gaze settled upon Forthus as he entered. "Pray, take your seat. A champion of the Golden such as yourself shall prove invaluable here, just as you were upon the field of battle."
Haight's voice was clear and sharp, but he spoke with flair and with a twinkle in his eye. Unbridled optimism is how Forthus would've described the noble.
A nod and a stiff smile met the flattery but Haight took it in his stride, directing his attention to Orlan. The noble's voice faded into the background when Forthus found the view out the window more interesting. Charred wood and buildings with the occasional puff of smoke from the Drake's snout.
Scintillating
Forthus knew that he had to pay more attention but frankly, everybody could go plough themselves. Agheel included. Hundreds of men, women and children roasted to perfection and the best they could do was sulk and bemoan their fate.
His eyes lingered on Haight laughing and jesting with his godforsaken dramatic aristocratic diction while Orlan moped in a corner. He didn't like it. Not one bit.
The muttering underneath his breath ceased immediately. He was the one sulking now.
***
"....what say you? Forthus?"
"I disagree."
"But why? I find it most logical."
Forthus looked back at those golden pupils with mild annoyance but Orlan spoke in his stead.
"What you propose is out of the question. You wish to parley with traitors? They killed my men! My. Men!"
"For that, they shall be remembered. What good is a soldier whose glory is ne'er achieved", Haight said smoothly waving the commander off who only seemed to get more infuriated.
"Beasts fight for food and men fight for greed, but Agheel is a force of nature - a deviant from the Golden Order. Even the worst of enemies can join hands when faced with such evil. I dare say the Council can be convinced."
"The Golden Order? That false sovereignty is dead and buried and you invoke its name?". Gilika spat much to the surprise of those in the room, Orlan and Forthus excluded.
"Forgive her, she's still a bit rattled," Marella boomed with a gravelly voice, placing a giant hand on her sister's shoulder only for it to be nearly bitten off.
"T'was not your mind that was ripped away, sister", Gilika snarled. "The Black Ones took me like a puppet while the supposedly altruistic golden-clad knights slaughtered my children!"
Marella shrank away and Gilika's eyes showed a trace of guilt. Haight looked flabbergasted. The aristocrat looked at the commanders around him and all they did was shrug.
Not once did he fathom his saviours were heretics. Did they not serve One of the Golden Lineage?
"But...your blessings...", he said weakly, pointing at the glowing tattoo burned into their skin.
"We do not serve a broken Order, noble", Forthus spoke with a smug grin. "When you see an eternal tree dying, perspectives tend to change."
"But you serve Godrick, do you not? Distant he may be, yet he-"
A fist slammed into the table making it creak. Orlan leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.
"The noble shall address Godrick the Golden by his full title or not at all."
Haight raised his hands in surrender, as bewildered as they come.
"Perhaps we need to reintroduce ourselves..."
"There is no need", Forthus stood. "An eagle has been sent to Stormveil informing them of our plight. Agheel and its kin prevent us from exiting the castle. We have done all we can."
"Then you expect us to sit tight and twiddle our thumbs?", Haight's face darkened. "I did not expect such foolishness from one such as you, vice-commander."
"No, we shall do nothing for we can do nothing. No mortal strength can hope to drive the vile drakes away."
As if on cue, the ground began to rumble while Forthus' heart leapt to his throat.
A terrible sound burst through the air, making his ears bleed. An amalgamation of man's deepest fears. A most horrifying sound. A screech of anger and rage.
Agheel is waking.
He unconsciously looked out the window, watching the familiar reptilian snout come into view. But it growled not at them, but at a speck in the distance.
Forthus' tattoo burned as he caught his footing but nearly lost it as the speck came closer. A winged god descended. A toga of equal parts gold and black. A Greataxe engulfed in a fiery storm of black flame. A Greatspear burning with Lotted Life.
Death and Life.
A sigh left his lips. All they could do now was pray.
***
POWERSTONES!!! Else Fromsoft shall be bought by Ubisoft.
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