Eclipse 1 – We Are Legion
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The undead army drew ever closer, until the heralds could practically make out the reddened bags beneath their eyes. Medeline left the crazed evangelist to stand at the forefront of her company, placing herself firmly between them and the advancing troops. Her persistent smile was gone. Now, she stared stone-faced at the Legion of Farron, fingers sliding discreetly around the haft of her mace.
"Put away your weapons," she warned. "Do not act. Do not speak. Do not meet their gaze. Stay behind me, and let me do the talking."
As one, they moved apart from the mass of reverent hollows. Verna longed to look to her fellow heralds for strength, but she could not tear herself away from the imposing horde descending upon them — the Abyss Watchers. The mere sight of their conical helms and flowing capes chilled her to the bone. Everyone knew to fear the Legion. Their reputation for destruction was legendary, their notorious methods spoken of only in whispers. They served as the vanguard against the ceaseless Dark, merciless prosecutors of the horrors that crawled from within. They would go to any lengths to ensure its eradication. Entire kingdoms were razed to the ground, whole nations slain to the last man. It was often said that the appearance of their steepled hats was an omen of death to come.
Now, they were here.
A legionnaire at the head of the column raised a clenched fist. Immediately, the marching boots halted, ushering in an uneasy silence. Their leader's narrow eyes drifted over the gathering, his expression unreadable behind the tightly threaded collar. Then, lowering his hand, he turned to the meager party before him. The clergymen quickly averted their gaze; they would have done so even without the Matron's prompting, so great was their terror.
"Declare yourselves at once," the Watcher rasped. His voice was like a cold wind hissing through the boughs of dead trees.
"Hail, legionnaire." Medeline offered a curt nod. "We are missionaries from the Cathedral of White. We've traveled far to liberate this town from the curse. We were not expecting your presence, but you honor us with it all the same."
For a moment, the Watcher gave no response. His blank stare slid back to the throng of hollows around them. "What is the meaning of this?"
"We're not entirely sure of it ourselves," the Matron confessed. "We've only just arrived, but have not been met with hostility. From what I gather, the villagers burn these trees in some kind of ritual, to... distract themselves from the hopelessness of their situation."
"So... they are not yet fallen to the Abyss."
"No, legionnaire. As you can see, some of our clergymen have hollowed as well, yet they retain their senses. I believe there is still hope for them."
"And what of yourselves?"
The Matron's back stiffened. "I assure you, we are far removed from the influence of the Dark. These warriors are alive and well, the curse has not even begun to touch them. We walk together in the light."
The Watcher studied each of their pale faces. Verna kept her eyes lowered, but nevertheless, she could feel the suffocating judgment upon her. After an agonizing moment, the undead warrior nodded in satisfaction. "So it would seem," he relented.
Medeline visibly relaxed at his words. "If I may ask, legionnaire, what brings you to these lands? Your sage told us you were absent on some urgent mission."
"We are returning home," the Watcher said. "We have claimed victory after a tiring campaign against the heretics of Carthus. Those fools readily embraced the Abyss, but fear not. The threat has been extinguished. We buried that forsaken city beneath the sands."
As he spoke, Verna began to notice how weary his soldiers were. The Watchers stood hunched over, swords dragging at their sides, on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. Their armor was chipped and blemished, especially their iron kneecaps. Their frayed cloaks were damp with blackened filth. The endless war against the Dark was taking its toll.
"I thank the Lord that you emerged triumphant," Medeline praised. "Your services do not go unheeded. Rest assured, we—"
His hand abruptly silenced here. The man's attention was drawn to a single hollow, who had risen from his worship and stood staring at them vacantly. The legionnaire glowered back, then slowly approached the wretched figure.
"Please, sir," Medeline beseeched him, her voice growing strained. "Forgive the poor soul. He means no disrespect."
The Watcher seemed not to hear her. He stood face to face with the cadaverous creature, barely a foot from its sunken visage. "Your eyes..." he seethed, fist constricting on his blade. "They are... so dark... I see the Abyss in them!"
In a flash, his greatsword cleaved the dead man in two.
A screeching cry left the hollow as its torso toppled to the ground. A ripple spread across the gathering, heads turned from worship, then the cry was echoed a hundredfold. Villagers rose with weapons in hand, surging towards them with pitchforks and cleavers waving. As they came, the lone warrior went to meet them, arrogantly welcoming the impossible battle.
"The Dark has claimed them!" one of the legionnaires roared. "To arms, brothers!"
"No!" shouted another. "Stay your hand! They did not provoke this!"
Most of the Watchers ran to their leader's side, swords and daggers drawn. Others vainly tried to hold their comrades back. Conflicting orders were issued as the two armies collided, steel ringing against steel, screams of death quickly saturating the air. The heralds huddled behind their Matron in confusion, caught unawares by the sudden insanity.
The quiet town had become chaos.
Amidst the madness, a single legionnaire pushed through the combatants, desperately calling out to his commander. The lead Watcher tore through the onslaught of hollows with ruthless efficiency, his broad blade and serrated dagger ripping them to shreds. The soldier finally came within arm's length of his leader and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Commander! We must pull back! These people are not our—"
Without hesitation, the commander plunged his greatsword into his fellow Watcher's chest. The man's eyes bulged in shock and betrayal, then he was callously thrown from the blade by a solid kick. The others saw their companion crumple, and all at once, their aggression shifted.
"The commander is fallen!" came a rallying cry. "Honor him! The commander is fallen!"
"Honor him!" A flood of voices barked in response as they rushed their rabid leader. The first legionnaire to reach him slid to the ground, using his dagger as a fulcrum. Heels and blade skidded across the dirt, but dirt was all he touched. The commander vaulted high, staking his greatsword through his comrade as he cartwheeled overhead. His sword followed as he landed, flinging the body into the oncoming warriors and slicing through another unfortunate soldier at the same time. The berserk Watcher was caught between two tides, and still he fought on. He cut down hollow and legionnaire alike, murdering both friend and foe. Sickles, pitchforks, and daggers drove through his body, but nothing could stop his frenzy.
As the Legion fell to quarreling, a group of peasants broke around them, heading straight for the cowering clergymen. Verna felt her veins run cold as the pack stampeded towards them. Everywhere she turned were empty eye sockets, toothless maws, and rusted, dull blades. The heralds raised their shields in a pitiful defense, jaws clenched in anticipation, when the Matron was standing before them.
"Be strong, children!" she shouted above the fray. "We fight together!" Medeline unslung her mace and whipped it through the crowd in one fluid motion, flattening an entire row of undead. One of them came from behind, gouging her side with a sickle, but it barely fazed the woman. Her thick tome crushed the hollow's head, bursting it open into gory chunks. As the teeming mob pressed closer, the heralds fell back to their training, even while their hands trembled upon their weapons. Shields came together, forming a tight wall around the priestesses. Spears and halberds thrust out, piercing and stabbing at the endless bodies. Those that fell were soon trampled by the next wave. Verna's blade cut to and fro, hacking off arms and heads, but still the mindless hollows pushed forward.
The Matron brought her spiked mace down, obliterating a single peasant. She swung upward and knocked a head clean from its shoulders. She fought like a demon possessed, spinning her wicked club in every direction, yet the swarm would not relent. Rusty blades began to find their mark, drawing blood from her arms and torso. Medeline ignored the shallow wounds and kept up the assault, a pile of corpses slowly collecting around her feet.
As she whirled upon the next enemy, her mace paused. Her fellow evangelist stood there, smiling sweetly, and took the Matron in a loving embrace. "Clerane?" Medeline gasped.
"Sister," the woman cooed, "let me cleanse your curse..."
Without warning, the two evangelists erupted into flames. Verna watched in horror as Medeline dropped her weapon, trying to push herself free to no avail. She did not even scream as the fire consumed them both.
"Matron!" Cliope rushed forward, but Calvert quickly grabbed her around the waist. "She's gone!" he screamed, struggling to hold back the priestess and the crowd at once. He flailed with his halberd in one hand, gashing open any who came too close, but the undead ignored their wounds and kept coming. Marth and Fordin were by his side in an instant, guarding against the numerous blows that fell upon them.
"Protect the clerics!" Marth roared, spearing a villager through the mouth. "Do not break formation!" A pitchfork went above his shield and tore into his eye, drawing a sharp curse from the warrior. He jabbed blindly at his assailant, blood pumping from his face, when Verna leapt to his aid. She chopped off the hollow's hands in one swipe, then split its head open. Immediately, another took its place, its cleaver missing her by a hair. She had no time to help her wounded companion as more and more of the mindless fiends congested around them.
"We have to fall back!" Percelle cried over the pandemonium. "Get the clerics back!" No sooner had he spoken than three hollows plowed into his shield, bawling him over. He used both hands to keep from being crushed as a fourth climbed over them, cleaver poised to strike. Lendrey thrust his spear into its side, but it was not enough. The blade fell through one of the priestess's necks, releasing a spray of fine red mist.
With a scream of rage, Lendrey lifted the peasant bodily and flung him back, then began jabbing at those on top of Percelle. Behind them, Cliope caught the maiden as she collapsed, hands pressed to her throat in a useless gesture. Blood spewed between her fingers, soaking both their gowns. Cliope wept openly as she started casting her miracle, but the chime had barely begun to ring before the girl's eyes glossed over, and her hands fell from her neck.
The heralds were overrun. Verna slashed wildly, her vision clouded with undead. She could no longer tell who was alive, who fought beside her. Spears and halberds flashed in the corners of her eyes, the only sign that she was not yet alone. She thrashed about like a cornered beast as metal grazed her armor, scratched at her skin, whistled past her head. She expected to die at any moment.
Then, something strange happened. As the heralds battled for their lives, the sea of hollows began to subside. Their volume was still staggering, but their focus was elsewhere. Verna labored for breath as the peasants turned away, distracted by something that mowed them down from behind.
A dagger plunged into a hollow's temple. The Watcher ripped it free, adding its body to the pile of dismembered corpses that surrounded him. Then, he spotted the heralds. He dashed towards them with blinding speed, felling another peasant along the way. Fordin stepped bravely to meet him, bracing his shield against the attack. As the legionnaire closed in, he dropped at the last second, sword sweeping in a wide arc. The herald bellowed as he toppled over, legs severed at the knees, spear clattering uselessly beside him.
He had barely struck the ground when the greatsword slammed through his skull, silencing his agony. Verna balked at sight of Fordin's ruptured face, no longer recognizable. She heard Marth scream his name, sounding a hundred leagues away. The Watcher raced at them again, knocking Lendrey off his feet with a heavy strike to his shield, then leapt into the air. He spiraled gracefully, spinning his blade around in a feat of inhuman strength. Verna could only stare, frozen, as death bore down on her.
A second sword crossed above, bringing the blow to a clashing halt. Another Watcher had intervened. Their dagger slashed out, tearing open the soldier's stomach, then the sword twirled about and lopped off his head. His body buckled lifelessly as their defender turned to face them. "Are you still lucid?"
Verna had to will her tongue to respond. "Wh-what?"
"Are your men still sane?" The voice was that of a woman's, though deep and coarse with age. Verna managed a feeble nod. "Get yourselves gone from here. I will hold my brethren at bay."
With that, the mysterious Watcher returned to battle. Her massive sword moved as if it were a feather, spinning deftly through the air, felling any who dared approach her. The heralds picked off the few who made it past, but those numbers were scarce. She swiped and thrust tirelessly, slaying hollows without pause, and meeting her own kind without remorse. A legionnaire swung viciously, but she weaved between his strikes untouched. Her dagger dug into his knee, causing him to falter. Her blade took off his sword arm. He went still, seemingly resigned to defeat, the moment before she ran him through. The woman lay him down gently as even more villagers rushed to their deaths.
Before she could touch them, steel swept through the crowd, decimating their ranks. As the bodies toppled to pieces, a lone figure rose to face the fleeing party. It was the Legion's commander. He sported countless wounds, leather and chainmail clinging to his bloodied body in ribbons. A sickle tore through his gut; a cleaver dug into his collarbone; a clawed Farron dagger pierced his arm. The broken heads of pitchforks jutted from his back. One of his own soldier's greatswords ran straight through his torso. Despite the grievous injuries, he stood fast, and fixed the terrified heralds with gleaming red eyes.
The woman stared at him in profound sorrow. Then, she aimed her sword towards the maddened champion, crossing the curved dagger over her arm in a salute of respect. "Commander..." she whispered, "I will honor you."
The corrupt Watcher threw his own dagger aside and charged. As he ran, he grasped the hilt of the greatsword embedded in his chest and tore it free in a gout of blood. He flipped the heavy blade around, holding it in reverse, then the pair met in a flurry of metal.
The commander spun both swords in a ferocious windmill, while the woman nimbly evaded and retaliated in turn. They twisted about each other like serpents, lashing out relentlessly, their duel dropping any hollow that was foolish enough to wander too close. She dealt blow after blow, cutting flesh again and again, but to no effect. His blades eventually found her, leaving lethal gashes all across her body. Still they endured, neither side refusing to fall, their blood painting the ground in vivid strokes.
As their deadly dance raged on, the villagers returned with a vengeance. They came unchecked, piling around the heralds, slashing and clawing hungrily. The faithful warriors fought back, but they were losing ground. Their chance at retreat was dwindling.
"Help me!" cried the other priestess. She had been caught by an unarmed peasant, dragged by the hair away from the group. Calvert tried to reach her, but he crashed into a wall of hollows, savagely swinging his halberd through their numbers. Even as they fell, more took their place, and the shrieking woman disappeared into the writhing mass.
They were beset from all sides. The remaining heralds circled around Cliope, trying to force open an escape route, but with every foot they gained, another hollow filled the gap. The rampant herd flowed around them, threatening to trap them for good, and Verna could feel her will to live surrendering.
To her surprise, one of the heralds barreled headfirst into the converging hollows, his shield discarded. It was Percelle. He wailed as he twirled his spear in frantic fury, slicing through the neverending undead, his voice brimming with anger and despair. "Run!" he called to his companions. "Save yourselves!" The commotion he created drew the wretches to him like crows to a carcass.
By instinct, Verna moved to join him, but a strong hand held her back. "We have to leave!" Marth ordered. He dragged her away as she struggled against his grip, looking to the solitary herald with tearful eyes. Though he fought valiantly, it was only moments before he was overwhelmed. A cleaver snapped his spear in two. Another slit open his thigh. Percelle stumbled to one knee, wielding the broken halves of his spear to bash and stab at the smothering bodies. His screams rose to an unbearable pitch as they began to mutilate him. One chopped off his arm, another mauled his stomach with a pitchfork. Rotted fingers dug into his eyes and mouth as his guts spilled onto the ground, and still Verna could not look away. She screamed with him, begging the gods to save him, though she knew it was hopeless.
Marth released her. With a powerful throw, he sent his spear sailing through the air. It fell through the center of Percelle's chest, and at last, his cries were silenced.
The world wavered through her watery eyes. Verna forced herself to keep moving, to stay with the surviving few as they battled on, but her spirit was broken. Death and devastation surrounded them. Blood cascaded across the earth, staining all that it touched. The whole world seemed to be fading along with her sanity, becoming dimmer with each passing step. Her very senses were failing her.
No. It was not an illusion. The skies had indeed grown darker, fading to a shade of deep crimson, as if the very heavens bled in accord with those below. Verna stared up in overwhelming dread and confusion, her wits abandoning her entirely. She no longer knew this world. It had become a surreal nightmare, one which would devour them all.
Then, she beheld the sun.
It was no more. That golden light, that unfaltering radiance which had shone through all her days, had vanished.
In its place hung a gaping black hole.