Wounded Warsong
I: Bind
The Chosen Undead turned away for the rotting corpse of Gwyn, Lord Of Cinder, and walked towards the door. On his way, he never looked at the flame over his shoulder. Not even once. He had thought about it during those hellish weeks, at length, when ethereal monsters and nothing but beasts had both fell to his blade. The weeks were he had brought down a kingdom already sinking to his knees. He didn´t know much; didn´t even know is own name. But if he knew something, it was one thing-gifts may look fine, at first, but when you bite into it there is nothing but poison. This path he had walked... it had be sent for it. And he was tired, too tired. So what if he was just letting the world die? Is not like anybody cared. He reached the gates, and walked through them.
The serpents were there. Lined up in each side, there were dozens and dozens of them. He didn´t tense. It hardly mattered anymore. There was no reason to pick up his sword, ever again. The Chosen Undead had died. Where he had be before, there was nothing but a empty husk pretending to be alive, rushing towards his destruction.
"My lord, bless thy safe return." They said, as one and bowed their heads one by one, clearing the way."Let Kaathe, and Frampt, serve your Highness. We are here to serve your Highness."
He took a step forward; the serpents didn´t move, so he walked down the stairs and in between the creatures.
"Let true dark be cast around the world." Ah, he knew about that, too. Is very essence was darkness, and it only had grow and grow through is misguided adventure. Perhaps, he had be truly born for this. To take power. "Our lord hath returned´st..."
He crossed the bridge, and stopped. He felt something. Didn´t know what, but something. Space seemed to fold on itself, and in the next moment a floating circle full with the colors of the rainbow was right in front of him. What was this? Hadn´t he not really killed Gwyn, and this was some kind of trick of him?
My servant that exists somewhere in this universe!
It was a young, female voice. A untainted voice, alien to his ears. All the people he had know spoke with a heaviness that almost seemed to drag them down-even Solaire, that cheerfulKnight of Sunlight, had be like that in his final moments. But this voice was light. Happy. Would such a voice really exist, or it was nothing more that is disillusion?
"My lord? Is something wrong?" The serpents called, as one. They didn´t heard her. It seemed ridiculous, but it was the only explanation.
My divine, beautiful, and powerful familiar!
Familiar? He knew that word, in all his senses. And the great grey wolf, Sif, had carved the meaning of that word into his flesh. Loyalty, strength, perseverance. That voice was calling for somebody like that. He was not beautiful, nor divine but he was powerful, stronger that anybody else, and certainly perseverant. Nobody else could have throw himself into the jaws of death, time after time, just for the words of a dying knight. He could be what that girl was asking for. The only question was, who was she? Where was she? Past that circle, of course. Where else?
I wish and assert from the bottom of my heart, answer my guidance!
Maybe... this was another test. A last ditch attempt to make him rekindle the flame, and die. But he doubted it. There was no reason to do so, but his heart was beating fast in his chest and the weight of his conviction was as real as the weight of the sword at his back. Sometimes, one didn´t not need more than that. What marked the difference between living or dying, losing your souls and further on go hollow, was just that. Instinct. Drive. And... he didn´t want to die. Even now, he didn´t want to die.
So what had once be man, and later on called himself the Chosen Undead, and now was nothing more that the Dark Lord that had cast this faded world to ruin, stepped through the portal with his eyes closed. He felt clean air, blowing his hair back and tugging at his clothes. Not clean compared to the depths of Bligthtown, but clean. Here, there was no stain. He opened his eyes.
He saw a open courtyard, very small, and the grass at his feet. There was a group of people in row, near a castle with creatures at their side or perched on their shoulders. A girl was rigth in front of him, holding some kind of stick and with a ridiculously short skirt. She was the one who called him here; he could fell it. At her side, there was a bald man.
"Who are you?" The girl said.
"I had a name, once. Now, I don´t. I have not had one in a long time."
"What? How could you..." She put a hand to her temple, and groaned. "Anyway, what are you, then? Some kind of knight?"
"No. I am... I am what our people call Undead." He could heard the crowd whispering, but couldn´t make out the words. Still, his heart started beating faster. Could it be possible that they didn´t know? That they were Humanity, and yet, darkness had not touched this place? It seemed like a dream.
"What... what does that mean, exactly?"
"It means I can´t die." The whispers grew louder, and he cached several of them doubting his claims. That confirmed it; these people were not touched by the curse of the undead. "No matter what, I can´t die."
"Are you making fun of me?"
"No. There is no point in that." He said. The girl stared at him in silence, for a few seconds, then took a steep forward and nodded.
"Anyway... would you take off your helmet?" It was a suspicious request, but still, he wanted to believe that this place was what it seemed. So he took off his helmet, and let it fall to the ground. The girl walked closer to him, and put her hands on his cheeks. He tensed.
"What are..." He was cut off. The girl had smacked his lips against his. What was this? Some kind of Miracle, or even a Pyromancy? No, that was ridiculous. Nobody could waste souls for a attack you could only use at such a close rage. Yet, maybe it was not needed. Maybe she just wanted to be sure that..
He froze. He could felt her, her very essence, tugging at his souls. Draining them. So this was it. He had be dropped for one battlefield to the next; the feeling of confidence depth in his heart had be nothing but a lie. If this went on any further...
He drew his sword, and stabbed the girl in the guts. She opened her mouth, as if to scream, but she only spat out blood. He retired the sword, and let her fall back to the ground. Gasps, screams. The bald man raised his staff, and spat out some kind of incantation. A blast of fire went after him, and he rolled out of the way. A Pyromancer, here. Heh. He raised his left hand, the one wrapped in the Pyromancy Glove and threw a Fireball right at the man. That man spat out another incantation, and a Fireball intercepted his own. They exploded, kicking up dust. He turned around, and a burning pain in his rigth hand made him lose his balance, and fall to his knees. It hurt, it hurt, but pain was nothing new and he could figure out what the hell was happening to him when he was safe. He dragged himself to his feet, and broke into a run, not even looking back at his fallen helmet.
The gates of this place were closed. He went close to a watch tower, and climbed the ladder. At the top, he looked down. Trees lined up in each side, and a messy road. The fall would sting, but it couldn´t kill him. So he jumped down, and fell a spell whirl past his head. He hit the ground, on a crouch, his whole body trembling for the force of the impact. He took a step forward, nearly fell and ran towards the trees.
His spell went flying, but as that strange knight jumped down he didn´t see it hit him or heard him scream in pain. Colbert clenched his staff so hard is knuckles turned white, and thought about following. He couldn´t go far, and he would have enough time to catch him. He had hurt one of his students, but... he could be dealt with, later. The palace could eventually catch him, and he had no where to run. His fate was sealed. But Miss Valliere needed help. He approached her, and knelled at her her side. She was breathing heavily, eyes bright with tears, her hands resting were that man had stabbed her and they were stained by blood. She was so young, yet... Dammit. Goddamit. He put his hands on her cheeks, and turned her head towards him.
"Don´t worry, Miss Valliere. Everything is going to be all right; the water mages are coming."
"You... you are such a bad liar."
"Its the truth. You can´t give up now, Miss Valliere. Please."
"I am dead." She said, drowsily. He could have preferred if she didn´t say anything at all. It was just...
(Please, please, there is no plague!)
too much. "As good as dead, at least. No like anybody will care, anyway."
"Don´t say that, please! Don´t say that! What about your family?"
"Catteleya... yeah, she will... but the rest of them... they will be happy that they finally got rid of such a burden. And... I am happy, too." She said, and closed her eyes. For a moment, he feared the worst but he soon realized that she was still breathing. Cold comfort, maybe, but better that no comfort at all.
Footsteps. Colbert looked up, and saw a group of water mages approaching them. Slow. So slow. A life was at stake here, for fuck´s sake! They shouldn´t be this slow. They approached them, and one of them levitated Louise with a spell. She did´t even seem to notice it. One of the mages looked at him over his shoulder at him, grimaced and carried on. He stood up slowly and walked away, gripping his staff tightly, towards the Headmaster´s office.
He ran through the forest for a good while, not knowing where he was ending or how much it could take, just wanting to lose possibly pursuers. He was Undead, and he had brought down creatures which were as gods, but even for him strength in numbers was a legitimate worry. He had rested last of the bonfire residing before the Kiln Of The First Flame, and he didn´t want to find out what could happen to him if he died now. Maybe he was being stupid, and he could just go back to that courtyard, but that was not any better. So there was no reason to stop, and fight back. He came near a large tree, and decided to take a breather. He put his back against it, sat on the ground and took off the armor from his rigth hand.
"This..." It was some kind of symbol, carved into his flesh-much like the Darksign. He couldn´t understand it; he couldn´t even begin to guess his meaning. Strange. That girl had spoken in the same tongue as him, so he had not expected not being able to understand it. Maybe runes were different in this part of the world; it was not implausible. Whatever the meaning was, he could felt magical energy coming for it and that was worrying him. Not only the girl who did this to him was still alive, somehow, but this was most certainty dangerous. Maybe some other way to drain his souls, or mind control. "Fuck."
He sighed. Worrying was useless, because there was nothing he could do. His only hope was that couldn´t kept her alive, so that this rune could face. He stood up, and started running again.
Colbert breathed in, and opened the door to the Headmaster´s office. Osmond was sitting there, alone, his staff on the table and reading something. He heard him come, and looked at him. Colbert closed the door, and approached him.
"What is it, Jean? Is about what happened at the field?"
"Yes, Headmaster." He said, looking at him "There are a few things you should know about."
"Such as?"
"The... The man that stabbed Miss Valliere, said some strange things. That he didn´t have a name, didn´t have in for a long time. And he called himself a Undead, and told her that he couldn´t die."
"Why are you telling me this, Colbert? Surely, It doesn´t mean anything. He is probably just one of the more unlucky commoners, driven insane by the treatment he got. What he says just can´t be possible. Even our Founder Brimir died; nothing is eternal."
"I know. Or at least, I am supposed to know. But... But is not easy. I..." He closed his eyes, for a moment, then opened them again. "I fought him, Headmaster. And I was aiming to kill him, despite my oath. Even so, he beat me. He easily dodged out of the way of my spell, and escaped."
Osmonds eyes widened.
"That´s..."
"And not only that. I couldn´t fell any magic coming from him at all, but he used magic against me. Fire magic like nothing I have seen before. Like nobody has seen before."
"Was he a elf?"
"No. He took off his helmet, and he didn´t have pointy ears. I... It sounds ridiculous, but I believe what he said."
"Jean..." He sighed. "I know it sounds like a perfect excuse, but don´t do this."
"Just what do you mean by that?" Colbert said, and gripped his staff tighter.
"He stabbed Miss Valliere, right under your watch, and I know it hurt. I know what you promised to your self, all those years ago. But there is no truth about what he said. You simply grew careless, for living in peaceful times and he got the better of you. Nothing more."
"That..." Colbert mumbled, and looked down. "Maybe is the truth... but... I want to join the search party."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because you want to kill him, Jean, and we can´t afford that."
"That´s..." Colbert muttered, his eyes widening. "You can´t be serious. He stabbed Miss Valliere, right in front of everybody! She could die!"
"So what of it? It was his right." Osmond said, calmly. If he didn´t knew it just would make things worse, he could have punched him right there. Listen. He had to listen. Despite how he acted, the headmaster was trustworthy. Surely, he had a good reason. Surely... "In summoning him, Miss Valliere effectively kidnapped a foreign noble. That´s the kind of shit that can lead to a war, and Tristania really can´t afford that, so we will find him and offer our apologies. Karin would understand that."
"That´s what I am worrying about, Osmond."
"Enough. I don´t have time for this. Neither does Miss Valliere. If you want to stop being blinded by your hunger of revenge and do something actually good, then go see her at the infirmary."
"I... I don´t... that´s what it is, right?" He said. Osmond didn´t answer; a rhetoric question didn´t need an answer. "I have not changed at all."
"That´s wrong. You did what you did before, for duty. Now, you want to do this for love. Because you care about all of your students. The man standing before is not a simply pawn of the government, but a teacher. And proud of it."
They stayed in silence for a while, while Corbert searched for an appropriate answer. He couldn´t find it; he was not even sure there was an appropriate answer for such a thing. Then:
"Thank you, Headmaster." He said, turned back and went out of the office.
He stopped, and looked down towards the village. He could see people walking, heard a bustle that was wholly unfamiliar for him and in the edge of the village, a port. He was probably far to recognizable in his armor, but if he could steal another persons clothes and the money then he could use it to get away from this kingdom. There was the possibility that the knights of this place had not be fully informed yet, but he didn´t bring down the old lords by taking chances. He breathed in, somewhat nervous about everything.
"Hey, Captain." He heard somebody say, and froze. There was a chance they were not looking for him, but was low. Unbelievable low. Those people were faster that he thought. Damn. He crouched, put his back against a tree and keep on listening. It took it a few moments, but he noticed that they were at least eight sets of footsteps. And, now that he was focusing, he could fell continuous magical energy coming from the direction of the voices. Some kind of tracking magic. "Are you sure this is the right way?"
"Stop pestering me, Leonard. I need to concentrate. And, in any case, have you got any better ideas?"
"No."
"Then, shut up." He said, with a heavy finality and there was silence, again.
There was little chance they were not looking for him, so he didn´t waste any time. He leaped out of the buses, to confront them. While they looked stunned at him, he drew his sword. Something had change. He felt light, so light that it was like he didn´t have any armor at all. Rather that think about it, he charged at the soldiers. They went for their weapons, but they were so slow it was pathetic. He stabbed one in the throat, making him drop some kind of stick. Maybe a channel of magical energy, much like his Pyromancy Glove. For the corner of his eye, he noticed that one of the soldiers, the one with the helmet of his armor on his hand, had the stick pointing right at him. He slashed at it, breaking it in two and kicked him the chest, driving in back to the ground. Before he could do anything else, he stabbed him through the heart. He turned around, and slashed one that had gone to attack him in the stomach. The soldier fell back, holding his gut with hands that were soon, stained by blood, and fell down, dead. He stepped out of the rage of a spell fired at him, and it disappearedharmlessly behind him, in the forest. He broke the wand of the soldier close to him, and grabbed his head with right hand. The soldier´s face burned, and a moment later he was nothing but a empty husk with charred flesh. The others one looked on in horror, but carried on in trying to make some distance between them. Uh, mages. Always like that.
Then again, against him, everybody was like that.
He stabbed one of them in the stomach, grabbed a knife from his belt and threw it rigth between the eyes of the next soldier without missing a beat. One of the remaining two turned and ran for it. With a flourish of his hand, he sent a Fireball after the retreating soldier. He didn´t even see it coming. It hit him, and he went down in flames. His scream resounded through the otherwise silent forest, clear as a bell, and then he died. He approached the sole survivor, and felt to the ground, on his knees.
"Please, please, I don´t want to die!"
"Who sent you?" He said, like he had not heard him.
"Count Mott! Count Mott sent us!"
"Who is he and where is he?"
"He is the palace messanger, and the lord of a village called Tarbes, not too far from here. He is there, on his mansion. I-I can draw you a map, if you want."
"No, this is fine." He said, and it was true. He had see another village before coming here, much bigger that the one in front of him, with a mansion on a hill towering over the other buildings. That must be Tarbes. He brought down his sword, beheading him. His head fell on the ground, a expression of dull surprise plastered on his face, and rolled, spreading a trail of blood through the ground. He started thinking about what do next, and felt a stinging pain in his arm. He took off the armor from his arm, again and looked. The runes had disappeared. Ah, so that girl was dead. Good. One less problem. But now, he needed to focus on more important things.
Mott. It was a strange, foreign name, but he didn´t need to know about him to know know he was a nuisance. They didn´t believe what he said on that courtyard, or else, they hadn´t not be informed. Whatever the case, a show of power could make them back down. So, he stripped off his armor, piece by piece, and put on the armor of the captain, even the helmet. He checked the pockets of the corpse, and found several round pieces of gold that he assumed was the currency of this place. He put them on his own pockets, and marched towards Tarbes.
They were giving him a wide berth, all of them and continued to look at him with expressions of politeness that hid nothing but fear and disgust. It reminded him of Lordran, in a way. He had talked to many other wanderers, like him, but most of them held a certain contempt for him, barely hidden. Even other Undead. These people were being oppressed. Well, maybe killing that Count was a better move that he expected. He ascended the hill up to the mansion, and knocked at the gates. The guards at the door of the mansion approached him, armed.
"I need to speak with Count Mott." He said.
"Count Mott is busy; do you even have a appointment?"
"This is important, and, also, far above your pay grade. I can only speak of this with the Count."
"You have..."
"Oh, fine! The man that we were sent to find killed us all and I escaped for pure luck. And the Count needs to know about this. Now, will you let me pass?" He said, kinda nervously. The soldiers shared a glance, then one stepped forward and drew a set of keys for his pockets. He looked like he had forgot which one was for a moment, then put one of them in the hole and turned it. He heard a click, and the gate swung open. He stepped through, walked to the mansion and entered. The doors opened without resistance. There was nothing but a few lavish decorations; the paintings were all of the same rather short man, with a mustache and some clothes that looked ridiculous, like he was some kind of clown. That must be Mott. "I seek audience with the Count!"
Silence. The mansion sounded, and looked empty. Even the lights were not enough to make him shake that idea off, that he came here for nothing. But then, so softly he could have imagined it, he heard footsteps. Coming down, they were coming down. He looked towards the stairs, and saw the man of the portrait making his way towards him. Count Mott stopped in the middle, and looked at him. A second of deliberation later, he kneels, like some sort of knight.
"What is it? I am busy."
"My lord, the man we were sent to find killed them all." He couldn´t see Mott´s expression, but it sure was not anything pleasant. "I-I only escaped because he let me."
"Explain."
"He was a monster. He ambushed us, killed the captain before we could react and burned everybody else with fire magic." He heard footsteps, again. Mott coming down towards him, or somebody else? It didn´t matter. The count was as good as dead already. "He wanted me to give you a message, my lord."
"What message?"
"This." He said, and lifted his head. Mott was there, looking down at him contemptuously. He drew his sword, and stabbed the count through the chest. He gasped, spat out blood and tried to wriggle away from him. "Did you think I let you get away for that?"
"You...!" Mott said, spitting more blood on his stolen armor. "You...!
"Yes, me. I am Undead." He said, simply, and driven the sword furtherthrough its flesh. Mott doubled over, gasping for breath. Then, he took back his sword. Mott fell backwards, and landed with a thud that sounded like a dead weight. It was not like that, but it be, soon enough. He passed over Mott, without really looking at him. "For what you did, nothing about you will remain. You will simply be a name, Mott."
He stopped, suddenly. He could felt a build on of magical energy and some kind of chant, barely audible. He whipped towards Mott, saw him with his wand pointed at him and hit it with his sword, making the wand fly to the other side of the room, where the count couldn´t reach. He didn´t say anything more, while the other looked at him, bleeding out in the floor, expression filled with disbelief, anger and terror. Just turned away again, and walked up the stairs, leaving him to his fate. Knights, garbed in armor like his own, rushed out through the doors on each side. They didn´t even notice; just looked down, and saw Mott, dying.
"Kill... him." He thought he heard. "Him. Kill... him."
The knights, as one, looked back at him and he raised his sword in challenge. They were many, but not enough. Not enough, at all. He rushed towards the knights of the right. For a moment, they didn´t react, taken a back. Then, they charged to meet him. He heard the knights of the left side run move towards them. He dodged some of the swords, and some hit it his armor, but caused him no damage. When he reached the middle of the circle, he raised his hand towards the skies, and unleashed a firestorm. The flames covered them all, burning the knights alive inside their armor, their screams ringing in his ears. They fell down in a heap, now nothing more that charred flesh inside a suit of armor. He looked back towards the survivors, over his shoulder. They looked at him for a moment, just a moment, then they turned back and ran for their lives. He looked away, and tried the door just in front of him. It opened. In was a dining room, and there were maids inside. All of them looked at him, with horror and trembled so hard it was a wonder that they didn´t drop the plates and other things they had on theirs hands.
"Run." He said. "Count Mott is dead, and you are free. So run. And take everybody else with you. I am going to burn this place down. Also, if anyone asks, tell them the Chosen Undead did this. Got it?"
They shared uneasy glaces between each other, and, for a moment, he thought that they couldn´t move, that they didn´t have the courage to step out of their cage and into a savage world, like he had done so far in the past. But their motionless lasted only a moment; they nodded, and ran for the door, some of them stopping in the way to thank him. It fell... different. But not bad, not bad at all. He kept going up, up, up, passing other maids and knights who ran for it. He snapped off a table leg from the desk of the kitchen, and set the tip of fire with a wave on his hand. He swung it around, setting curtains and other things on fire and, when satisfied, dropped in the middle of the room. He snapped off another table let, light its tip of fire and carried on. He reached the top of the mansion, and dropped the stick down the hole of the chimney. It was more that enough. Fire spreads, help couldn´t come in a while and he doubted the villagers had much of a interest in putting down the flames. So he jumped from the roof to the nearest window, and then from window to window, until he reached the group. He was unused to jumping around so much, but he was not bad at it either. He looked back and watched the flames spreading through Count Mott´s mansion, thinking about spending more of his pyromancies to make it burn faster. Then, he saw the people rushing through the door, thought better on it and walked away.
Author Notes
Sorry. I have got not excuse for this. But, at least, now that this is done I can concéntrate on finishing Blood On The Streets, so don´t expect this to be updated, not even semi-regulary, until then.
EDIT: Got the grammar fixed. Sorry for taking so long.
