He dreamt of men.
Alistair was sat at a round table with several other men, all facing him. Most of them were helmeted, but the few who weren't…
"Father?" Alistair whispered in disbelief.
Indeed, Alaire Aquila was sat to Alistair's left, smiling at him with the same expression Alistair had always remembered his father wearing.
"Hello, son." Alaire greeted softly. "It is good to see you again."
Alaire was not the only one he recognized. There were three others immediately to his right. The furthest from him was Albion. Before him was Alaric. And, the one immediately to his right was…
"Alberich… "
His ancestor smiled at him, in a manner not unlike his father did.
"Greetings, young Alistair." Alberich greeted. His voice sounded just as an aged version of his would, yet held an attribute of authority similar to Celestine's and Olga's.
"What is going on?" Alistair asked confusedly. "This is not one of my memories. Nor is it any of yours."
"Aye, you would be correct," Alaric confirmed. "This realm is where the souls of all firstborn sons of Aquila reside."
"I believe it was created when I first pledged our family in service to Celestine," Alberich explained.
"Why am I here?" Alistair asked.
All men at the table answered in unison. "Because you weren't strong enough."
"You lay dying as we speak," Alaire explained. "But it is much too soon for you to join us, my son."
"You were lucky to have found my memories of the Painted World," Albion stated grimly. "For if you hadn't, all hope would have been lost."
"What do you mean?"
"Because of our unique existence in this realm," Alaric explained, "all firstborn sons may access their ancestors' memories and the knowledge they possessed during life: This includes our fighting styles and every spell in our respective arsenals."
"That means that my miracles of healing are at your disposal," Albion added.
"However, those memories cannot be accessed without the right catalyst." Alaire clarified. "I could not access any of our ancestors' powers because I never came into such a thing to trigger their memories."
"How has this ability gone unrecorded? Did you all keep this a secret?"
Alberich gestured to one of the others. "In truth, the ability's existence was discovered on accident by Alamar."
The nominated man spoke. "I did not manage to do much with it, writing it off as an insignificant gimmick. I passed on my meager knowledge of the ability to my son Alain, who then passed it along to Altair."
Another of the helmeted men hung his head low in shame. "All knowledge was lost with me. I apologize once again, my descendants: I had made you all oathbreakers."
"Mala ultro adsunt." The rest of them replied. "It is not your fault."
"You must be Altair then," Alistair deduced. "Tell me, what became of you? How was it that our bloodline was thought extinct?"
Altair shook his head. "A blunder on my part. I was struck with a particularly strong blow to the head during battle and I lost all my memories. I wandered off, not knowing who I was or why I was there. I ended up indebted to a family of farmers, where I met my wife. I only regained my memories when my soul returned here."
"I see…"
Albion stood from his seat. "There is little time left, twentieth son of Aquila. Come, I shall guide you in the healing prayer."
Alistair held up a hand. "Last question. How do I get into contact with you all again?"
They all chuckled. "Unlock our memories or skirt the edge of Death's borders."
Alberich, Alaric, and Albion gave him fatherly smiles. "Merely dream of us, and we shall answer."
Alistair turned to Alaire. "And you, father?"
Alaire smiled sadly as a helm enclosed his head, locking away his visage. "Find my memories, and I shall come too. Though," He chuckled," I doubt you would find much use in the memories of a farmer."
Alistair nodded, a wistful smile on his face, as he rose to join Albion in prayer at last.
-]|[-
He awoke to women.
Alistair could see the shocked expressions of Chloe and Olga, faces still wet with tears, as golden runes appeared beneath his body. Its light encapsulated him, embracing him in its warm, comforting aura. His shaky, shallow breaths deepened into a calm sigh of relief as he felt his wounds begin to mend.
'Thank you, Sir Albion.'
"Alistair?" Olga whispered in disbelief.
The silver-haired man reached up with his clean hand and gently wiped away her tears. "I yet live, Olga. Please, do not cry."
Olga slowly clutched his gauntleted hand in both of hers, her despairing grimace turning into a tearful smile. She pressed his palm to her cheek lovingly, her hiccups and sniffling slowly dying down.
Chloe beamed brightly as she helped the knight sit up. "I'm glad you're all right, Alistair."
"Thank you," He said, "but now is not the time for pleasantries. We need to escape, as soon as we can." He turned to Olga. "Are there any escape tunnels that we can use?"
"There is one," She answered, "Within my chambers."
"Then that's where we have to go." With that, Alistair picked up her staff and donned his battered helm once more. Damaged as it was, it was still better than no head protection. He gestured for the Dark Elves to follow him. "I'll need to take the lead since the Black Dogs still don't know about my betrayal. Be prepared for a fight, but otherwise remain docile."
Both Olga and Chloe fell in step behind Alistair, the trio quickly exiting the dungeon after he gathered his weapons. On the way, Alistair explained the circumstances that led to their current predicament: He told them of Vult's plans to conquer Eostia, of his goal to create a Sex Empire, of his attempt to recruit the knight into his ranks. Their expressions quickly morphed into combinations of disbelief, anger, and loathing.
"We need to kill him." Olga decided, Chloe nodding vigorously at her words. "He cannot be suffered to live."
"As much as I agree," Alistair said. "it would be impossible right now. His sub-division leaders are only slightly less dangerous than Vult himself. With all three of them working together, not to mention the countless other fodder they command, we would only waste our lives."
Chloe growled and Olga frowned, but both knew his words were correct. Their best hope would be to warn the Seven Shield Alliance and ask Celestine for amnesty.
-]|[-
Their party passed by several wandering Black Dogs, all of them taunting and ogling the Dark Elves, but otherwise did nothing to impede them—Alistair guessed that they had other duties that prevented them from following. Chloe grit her teeth and glared at the mercenaries, but Olga kept her royal disposition and paid them no mind: They were beneath her, and her party would keep her safe.
They were nearly upon their destination when they were finally confronted. Three men stepped deliberately in front of them, smirks and sneers on their lips. Alistair recognized these men as the same ones that antagonized the women behind him in the dungeon a week prior. The Black Dogs were armed this time: One sported a poleaxe; another, an arming sword; and the last, two daggers.
"Hey, Alistair. How're you holding up?"
"We heard that you got into a fight with one of our new friends."
"Looks like you lost pretty bad, huh?"
Their snarky comments got no reaction from the battered knight, though they misinterpreted his silence as shame.
"Man, the damn thing must've given you a concussion. The throne room's the other way, stupid!"
"You must feel like shit, Al!" The one with the arming sword approached him with a cocky grin. "Why don't you get some rest? We'll take the prisoners to Vult."
Alistair shifted his stance slightly. "No need. I'll be fine."
"No, no…" The approaching mercenary refused, his hand palming the pommel of his sword. The other two soldiers began to flank their comrade, also resting their hands on their blades. Their eyes flashed dangerously as the lead mercenary entered arm's reach of Alistair. "We insist."
The words of his ancestors echoed in Alistair's mind. 'Mala ultro adsunt…'
"Misfortune comes uninvited." He muttered, pushing Olga's staff into her arms.
"Wha-?" Before the mercenary could say any more, Alistair grabbed the man by his collar and began to pound his face into oblivion. The sudden pummeling caught the other two men off guard, too shocked to aide their comrade. Teeth, blood, and spittle sprayed into the air as Alistair's victim was savagely beaten into unconsciousness. The knight quickly unbuckled the sword from the man's hip, tossing the blade into Chloe's hands.
The blonde elf quickly unsheathed the arming sword, tossing its scabbard to the side as she rushed to engage the dual wielder. The man barely recovered his wits in time to block Chloe's slash.
The remaining mercenary tried to rush and help his friend, but Alistair did not let him. Driving his shoulder into the man's side, he took the Black Dog off his feet and slammed him into the wall. The air was forced from the mercenary's lungs on impact, leaving him gasping for air as Alistair drew his flail and swung. The flail wrapped around the man's neck, tightening like a vice and forcing him to abandon his weapon in favor of trying to free himself.
The Black Dog choked and sputtered, struggling to breathe as Alistair stepped past him and heaved. A loud 'snap' echoed throughout the halls, distracting the remaining combatant and allowing Chloe to drive her blade into his neck. The Dark Elf watched gleefully as her wannabe tormentor clutched onto the sword, blood frothing at the wound with every attempt to breathe. His struggle ended after a moment, his body going slack as it slipped off Chloe's weapon and collapsed lifelessly to the ground.
Both Chloe and Alistair gave each other a nod of approval, then set about looting the bodies for anything worthwhile. Between the three mercenaries, the duo collected a few rations, two half-filled canteens, and some flint, along with their weapons—Alistair returned Chloe's daggers and kept the Black Dog's, as well as the poleaxe. Satisfied, their party quickly rushed into Olga's bedroom.
The room was nowhere near as extravagant as Celestine's, nor even Alistair's own suite. It was modestly decorated but was relatively spartan compared to usual royalty standards. Olga quickly crossed the room to the opposite wall and place her hand on it, channeling a touch of mana into the appendage.
A small section of the wall next to her hand glowed a luminescent blue before fading away, revealing a winding staircase that lit up with torches. Olga gestured for the other two to enter first, Chloe nodding and Alistair following wordlessly behind. Olga entered after Alistair, the illusory wall erecting once more when she removed her hand.
The party shifted their formation so that Olga traveled between the two melee fighters—Chloe led the way while Alistair stood at the back. With this small moment of reprieve, the trio let out a collective sigh of relief. They continued down the stairwell at a moderate pace.
"That was marvelous work, you two." Olga complimented. Chloe preened at the praise while Alistair grunted in acknowledgment.
Alistair glanced behind them. "How did you do that?" He asked. "The wall, I mean."
"Ah," Olga chuckled slightly, "That was an illusory barrier cast by a hidden rune. By disrupting the flow of mana within the rune, the barrier will drop and allow passage."
"I see…"
"Who taught you to fight, Alistair?" Chloe asked. "Your fighting style is ruthless, almost barbaric in its brutality; yet every move is deliberate and efficient, all strikes precise and debilitating."
"I was self-taught."
"Really?" Chloe said in surprise, glancing back at the man.
He nodded. "I did have a teacher, but he taught me the mindset needed to fight. He did not train me in martial arts."
Olga smiled at his words. "That is of little surprise. All of Alberich's descendants were naturally gifted fighters."
"Is that so?"
"It is."
"Still," Chloe continued, "That's rather impressive, regardless of your bloodline. To be able to train yourself to your current skill level speaks volumes of your dedication and strength."
Alistair smiled beneath his helm. "Thank you."
Chloe hummed in acknowledgment, facing forward to hide the blush that tinted her cheeks.
The party reached the bottom of the stairwell after a few more moments, entering a small, empty chamber. Like before, Olga moved to the opposite wall and placed her hand on it, causing another illusory wall to fade away. Beyond the illusion were the Badlands in all their despairing glory, sunlight shining down unto a forest of dead trees.
Olga turned to her comrades and gestured with her free hand. "Well then, shall we?"
-]|[-
Vult sat impatiently on his throne, propping his head up with a fist. It was taking much too long for the prisoners to arrive, even with Alistair's wounds. Then again, the knight had taken a brutal beating and seemed to be standing only through sheer willpower alone. Maybe he had fallen over dead and the stupid orc didn't figure to take the key with him.
The thought of Alistair's death brought a frown to Vult's face. It's not like he wanted the man to die. In fact, he would much prefer having such a skilled fighter on his side. The mercenary-turned-knight was a cut above the rest of his Black Dogs, on par with Hicks and Kin; maybe even himself. However, the problem with Alistair was his loyalty: Yes, they may have shed blood and sweat together on the battlefield, but Alistair had been very vocal about his opposition to joining forces with the demons. Vult knew there was no talking to the man, so the Alpha of the Black Dogs had to beat his pup into submission. If Alistair died from his wounds, then so be it.
The doors of the throne room were thrown open as one of his soldiers staggered into the room.
"Lord Vult!" The soldier cried. "There's a dead orc in the dungeon! The corpse is fresh, I-I think it was the one that went with Alistair!"
Vult raised a brow. "Oh? Well, I suppose Alistair had more fight in him than I thought." Vult grinned: His pup was a wolf all right. "I guess I'll let him off for that. He's certainly earned it, considering the state he was in."
Another of his Black Dogs entered the room, a heavily injured man draped over his shoulders.
"Captain! We got wounded!" The new arrival yelled. Vult stood at his words as his mind began to race.
'There's no way…' He thought, 'It had to be a stray demon. It has to be.'
Vult stood from his throne and hurried over to his men. The injured man shakily raised his head to stare at his leader, his face swollen with bruises and open wounds.
"What happened?" Vult questioned the uninjured man.
The addressed soldier gulped before answering. "W-We were looking for Alistair and the prisoners. We found this one unconscious next to two other bodies."
"And where are they?"
"D-Dead, sir. One with a broken neck, the other with a hole through it."
Vult swore under his breath, turning his attention to the injured man. "Who did this to you?" Vult asked, breaking in a cold sweat.
The injured man tried to speak, but coughed instead, sending blood splattering across the floor. His head began to droop, but he used the last of his strength to utter his attacker's name.
"Alistair…"
The Black Dog carrying the injured man felt his body go limp and laid him gently down on the ground. He checked his comrade's pulse.
"… He's gone, sir."
Vult grit his teeth as panic flashed in his eyes. He looked around at the surrounding Black Dogs, all with nervous expressions as their leader barked out orders. "I want this entire fortress swept for any sign of Alistair and the prisoners! Get a scouting party ready to head out if nothing turns up here!"
"SIR!" They saluted, moving to immediately carry out their orders, leaving Vult the sole occupant of the room.
His brow furrowed, a snarl on his lips as his mind raced. 'How? How!? HOW!? How the fuck did Alistair manage to escape with Olga and her bitch servant? No… NO!"
Vult's rage-filled howl was heard throughout the entire Citadel.
-]|[-
The escapees did not stop moving until well past midnight, where the only natural light were the stars above. Alistair had seen how tired Olga was, and decided not to push further. Instead, he observed their surroundings.
They were in a small clearing, surrounded by densely packed trees; all of which were blackened and dead. The ground beneath their feet was hard and cracked, almost like stone. He saw Chloe tending to Olga, leaning the royal against the trunk of a tree and hastily giving her a canteen. Olga took a small sip of the precious water within.
Alistair was glad that the elf, despite her status, knew how to ration their supplies. They could stretch out their water supply for another day and a half; though where they would find more would be a problem meant for later worry. As for food, they had eaten through most of their looted rations; as only a few bits of jerky and dried fruit remained. If needed, they could skip meals for the next few days, but he preferred them to be in suitable shape to defend themselves.
He looked up to the barren treetops and the gnarled branches that covered the sky. They were high enough from the ground that most predators would not reach them. 'Unless we come across a demon bear.' He thought. The Black Dogs had encountered one while crossing the Badlands, the ferocious beast having killed three men and wounding two more before it was brought down. He hoped they wouldn't run afoul one.
He caught Chloe's attention and gestured upwards, receiving a nod of understanding as she helped Olga up the trees. The branches were sturdy and inflexible, might as well having been sculpted from rock: They would be able to support their weight with ease. Alistair passed his poleaxe up to Chloe and began to scale the tree himself. They each took residence on separate branches, though they were all facing the same direction; and were very nearly touching each other. Alistair and Olga balanced their polearms over their shoulders, steady and very unlikely to fall.
Alistair retrieved his tele-stone from his pouch, grateful that is had not broken during his previous tribulations. "Your Grace, I'm ready to give you my report of today's events."
The crystal glowed faintly as Celestine's frantic voice came through. "Alistair! I had been waiting all evening for you! What took you so long?"
"We have been betrayed."
"What?" She gasped.
Alistair briefly detailed everything that's happened to him and his companions. He could almost see the frown that marred the High Elf's face.
"That is… most troubling news, my knight. Where are you now?"
"Somewhere in the Badlands, in a forest of dead trees. I estimate we will cross the border in roughly three days' time."
"I shall have a patrol waiting for you then. If you arrive ahead of schedule, call me and I shall let them know to rendezvous with you."
"What do you plan to do about Vult and the Black Dogs?"
"I will spread the word of their betrayal. The Black Dog mercenary company will be branded as a terrorist organization and enemies of the state. I will fine-tune the details later, but the punishment for association will be most dire, I assure you." There was a pause. "How is Olga? May I speak to her?"
"Of course, my liege." Alistair passed the communication device to the Dark Elf Queen, a neutral expression on her face.
"Yes Celestine, I'm quite fine, thanks to our knight." Her eyes glanced appreciatively towards the armored man. "Did you doubt his ability?"
"Of course not!" Celestine said indignantly, "I just… I wanted to hear your voice for myself."
Her words made Olga smile sadly. "I… I see. I'm happy to know you still worry about me so."
"Of course I still worry. We were practically sisters growing up. Nothing will change that."
"Hmph, you were always so sentimental." Despite her words, Olga's smile brightened, nostalgia washing over her.
Celestine giggled knowingly. "How about your attendant? Chloe, correct?"
"That's right. Chloe is doing better than myself, actually. Her physical fitness is much greater than my own, so she did not tire as easily as I had."
Chloe blushed. "You flatter me, milady."
"It's the truth, Chloe. Do not be so humble."
Celestine sighed on her end. "I'm glad all of you are all right. May the spirits protect you on your journey, sister."
"Thank you, Celestine. Good night."
"W-Wait!" The High Elf stammered hurriedly. "C-Could you please put Alistair back on?"
Olga grinned mischievously. "Oh? Would you like to wish him good night?"
"Y-Yes. Now, please-"
"How adorable!" Olga cooed, turning to the knight with a teasing glint in her eye. "Do you hear that Alistair? Your Queen would like to wish you sweet dreams!"
"OLGA!" The stone shrieked in a flustered tone.
The Dark Elf snickered as she passed the crystal back to Alistair.
"Yes, Your Majesty?" He asked, waiting patiently as Celestine calmed herself down. He heard her clear her throat before speaking.
"I wanted to thank you for all your hard work so far, Sir Alistair. You will be handsomely rewarded when you return to me."
"I am just doing my duty."
"And more," She corrected. "As Olga told her servant, do not be so humble, my knight."
"As you wish. Will that be all?"
"Yes, that is everything. Good night, Sir Alistair."
"Good night, Your Majesty."
Alistair stowed the stone away in his satchel, relaxing to the pleasant sound of Olga's stifled giggling. The knight glanced at the Dark Elves, a curious thought coming to mind.
"Aren't you going to be cold?" He asked, gesturing to their admittedly skimpy outfits. Both Chloe and Olga merely smiled at him, as if the topic was an inside joke.
"We'll be fine, Alistair," Olga assured him. "All elves are naturally attuned to nature. This mild weather hardly affects us. It's rather refreshing, actually; it can be so stifling inside the Citadel at times."
Chloe hummed in agreement. "Centuries ago, when our people were more numerous and the Badlands weren't yet called so; Lady Olga and I would take strolls through the forest, basking in its natural energy."
"… Do you ever regret what happened to these lands?" Alistair asked.
Both elves frowned but did not hesitate to answer. "Of course. The destruction of nature is always regrettable; yet, there are times when it is necessary. The Dark Elves were a strong people: Agile, cunning, dexterous, and ruthless. A single Dark Elven warrior was easily the match of three humans."
"But what happens when those three become five," Chloe continued, "or ten, or twenty? The humans outnumbered us greatly and elves could not replenish our numbers as quickly as they could. Our people's longevity comes at the cost of our slow maturity: In the time it takes one elf to mature, dozens of humans will have already reached adulthood. So, Lady Olga resolved to harness the power of demons instead."
Olga closed her eyes in sadness. "I used dark magic to empower myself, absorbing the life of these lands and corrupting it beyond repair. It was the only way to bring the demons to heel, for they only understand power and fear. And because of my decision, I was able to bring the human kingdoms to the brink of extinction."
Chloe looked over to Alistair. "Well, now you know more about us. Think you can return the favor?"
Alistair glanced at his companions, noting how interested their expressions were. He sighed, "Very well. What would you like to know?"
The women drew into a conference between themselves, whispering in tones he could not hear. Then, after a few moments of debate, they reached an agreement. They turned to him with decisive expressions. "Tell us why you became a mercenary."
The knight grew silent, and the Dark Elves feared that they had upset the man. However, he turned to them, and the elves could feel the sadness in his faraway gaze.
"It began fifteen years ago, in the village of Anfange…"
-]|[-
The Summer Harvest festival was in full swing. The crops yielded a bountiful harvest that year, and all the villagers were celebrating. My father, Alaire, and I were loading the last of our wheat into the cart. Father would take it to the City Fortress of Rad the morning after the festival.
My mother, Laura, watched from the window of our home, dressed in preparation for the celebration. Her crimson red eyes were filled with contentment, keeping her sight on us even as the breeze blew her long, silver hair to the side. Father wiped the sweat from his brow, running his calloused hands through his short black hair. He looked down at me with his dark green eyes, eyes filled with pride and love.
We shared a wordless conversation, nodding at each other as we entered our home. The smell of food wafted into our nostrils as we both broke into grins: Mother had made our favorite beef stew. Father immediately walked over to the fireplace, where the stew was cooking over a smokeless fire. I moved to follow him when I felt a feminine hand on my shoulder.
"It's not done yet," Mother said, shooing him from the pot. "Go down to the waterfall and wash yourselves. You both reek of sweat."
"I thought you liked it when I sweat." Father rebutted.
Mother rolled her eyes. "I like watching you sweat. Smelling you is a different story." She tossed a bar of soap at him, father catching it before it hit his face. "Now go. You'll ruin the food with your stench."
Both father and I did as she said, grabbing a change of clothes and walking to the nearby creek. We were fortunate to have a source of running water where we could bathe regularly, despite my complaints of its coldness. Father and I hurriedly washed up, feeling the cold water mix with soap to wash the dirt and grime from our bodies.
We were thankful that there were no admirers today: Usually, some of the village girls would try to sneak a peek at my father whenever he bathed. He didn't care, unbothered by their stares; though I do notice him always keeping a hand over his privates. My mother had a few admirers herself but put a stop to their antics immediately.
We finished quickly and returned home, mother awaiting us at the fully set table. My parents began talking about adult things, like the going rate for crops and other uninteresting topics. I paid little mind to their conversation, too engrossed in stuffing my face with stew and bread.
There was a knock on the door and I rose to answer it.
I was met by my friend Samantha, a girl who was slightly older than I was—twelve to my ten. Dirty blonde hair fell to her shoulders, framing a cute, cherub-like face. She was wearing one of her prettier dresses, a baby blue summer dress. Her hazel eyes met my red, a smile on her face.
"Hello Alistair!" Samantha greeted bubbly. "Would you like to be my date for the festival?"
'So straight forward,' I thought. That was probably why my mother liked her so much. I looked back at my parents, who merely smiled and waved their consent.
"Okay," I told her. She beamed brilliantly at me, quickly grabbing my hand and dragging me out the door.
The sun had already begun to set, the sky fading into a beautiful orange. The stalls were already set up as familiar faces attempted to sell their wares: The glassblower was selling ornate baubles with artistic designs I've never seen before; the food vendors were trying to tempt us with the smell of roasted meat and freshly baked sweets. Samantha bought one of the sweets and split it in half for us to share.
Our handholding drew much attention from the villagers, who cooed at us in teasing tones. Samantha blushed, but did not let go of my hand; I did the same. We partook in the various dances that were held, giggling and laughing in pure bliss and glee. I felt warm in her embrace, as she did in mine.
Night had fallen before we knew it, the only lights were from the lanterns and bonfire that lit up the village square and the paths that led out. The festival had been a successful event, where couples were forged or had their love rekindled.
Then, a terrified shriek traveled through the air.
It was far away at first, but we all heard it. All the villagers turned towards the source of the scream. Beyond the embers of torches in the distance, we could see shadows of various shapes and sizes. A few of the militia left the square and went to investigate, while the rest had us evacuate.
More screams entered the air. Wails of pain and horror echoed from the investigating party as they were consumed by the shadows, the light of their torches snuffed out. The shadows were getting closer, and I could begin to make out the shapes, even as I was being pulled along by Samantha.
Black turned to green and red under the glowing flames. Numerous child-like forms advanced with several larger, hulking ones marching behind them. Yellow eyes glinted dangerously as they raised bloody weapons into the air.
It was a demon raid.
The townsfolk began to panic, pushing and shoving their way to escape. I felt Samantha slip away from me, carried away with the mob as I was shoved onto the ground. I called her name, desperate to find her, yet I knew that my voice was lost in the sea of screams the villagers emitted.
In their mindless panic, a few of the fleeing villagers knocked over the lanterns, crashing and breaking them into the nearby buildings. The meager flames quickly spread, consuming the wooden constructs in a blazing inferno. I felt the heat lick at my skin as the area was bathed in light and suffocating warmth.
I pushed myself up and began to run home, tears dripping down my face. 'If I make it home, I'll be all right,' I thought repeatedly,' Mother and Father will protect me. Mother used to serve in the army, she can protect us.'
Behind me, I heard the fervent shrieks and screams of fear, the death wails and wet squelches. The demons had finally arrived. I didn't look back, only sprinting harder towards my safe haven. I could taste the ash of my burning village with every breath, could feel it scorch my lungs as they heaved for air. My legs began to tire, but I didn't stop, didn't relent until I burst through the door of my home.
It was completely empty.
"No, no no no nononono," My mind raced with painful possibilities. 'Did they already evacuate? Did they leave without me? Where are they, did they save themselves? Why didn't they look for me, how could just leave me behind? Why, why why why-'
The door of my home flew off its hinges, kicked in by a clawed foot. I spun around to face the intruders: One muscular demon followed by six goblins. I saw how the demon grinned with its sharp teeth, saw how it licked its lips at the sight of me. The goblins were no better, squealing in excitement. They looked at me with hungry eyes, cackling with perverse glee.
I scrambled backwards, bumping into the kitchen counter and knocking a knife from the shelf. I quickly grabbed it with both of my hands and shakily pointed it at the group of monsters. They laughed even harder at my desperate and futile resistance. So focused I was on the approaching demons that I didn't see another figure rush through the door.
The muscular demon gasped in pain as a pitchfork pierced it from behind, lifting it off its feet as it was carried forward and pinned to the wall. A roar of fury followed as a sickle swiped across the demon's neck, cutting open its throat in a spray of black ichor.
The remaining demons and I turned our gazes to my savior.
"Father?" I said in awe. He didn't reply, instead shouting a war cry at the goblins.
"Te secabo!" He punctuated his words by cleaning decapitating one of the goblins before they had time to react. The farming instrument that he used to cut down wheat was used to great efficiency against the goblins, easily lopping off limbs with swift and heavy strokes. By the time Father was finished, the entire room was coated in red.
Father's broad shoulders heaved with exertion as the rage left his eyes. He turned to me, with his usual smile, albeit somewhat tinged with fatigue. "Son? Are you all right?"
I said nothing, dropping my knife and hugging his leg. I wept, so glad and happy that he saved me, that he didn't abandon me. He knelt down and patted my back soothingly until I calmed down.
I looked up into his caring eyes. "Where's Mother?"
He looked out the window, towards the giant fireball that was our village. "She's out there fighting, trying to get the others to safety."
My blood began to pump in a way I've never felt before. I felt compelled to fight, just as my father had done. I looked into his eyes and my request died on my lips.
My father was always a man of few words. I was too. But we didn't need to talk to have a conversation. Whenever our eyes met, our wills were conveyed to each other. He saw the fire in my eyes, but he did not fan the flames. He did not want to me join him.
"Stay here." He commanded me. I felt my shoulders sag, disappointment welling in my being as it crushed my fighting spirit. He was right, of course. I was still merely a child who came no higher than his waist. I would be more liability than help.
Father cut open the floorboards, revealing a small hole that was barely my size. He reached into one of the eviscerated goblins and grabbed a handful of its guts. "Goblins have strong noses," He explained, "They can easily sniff out a child or woman. That's why we need to hide your scent."
I nodded in understanding, spread my arms as he rubbed the goblin gore all over my body. "Mother's going to be so mad once she finds out." I joked. Father chuckled slightly.
"I think she'll forgive me this once." He said. Once he was satisfied, he lowered me down into the hole. "Stay here until morning. By then, all the demons will have left."
"What will you do?"
He smiled at me, ruffling my hair. "Protect our home."
With that, Father lowered the floorboards on me, my vision limited through the small cracks between them. I heard him shift the bodies around so that they covered my hiding spot as well, just in case.
I was awake the entire night, not daring to fall asleep. I hoped throughout the night that either father or mother would return home to let me out of the floorboards and take me into their arms. I hoped that everything that happened was a nightmare, that everything would go back to the way it was when I woke up.
My hopes were dashed.
The sun's rays peaked through the floorboards, signaling the end of my seclusion. I pushed with all my might, feeling and hearing the bodies slide off my cover. The smell of rotting flesh was poignant, but I paid it no heed. I traveled outside and quickly came upon a trail of carnage: A slew of demon corpses were viciously cut down to either side of the dirt path that led to the village square. I slowly followed the trail, careful to not get too close to the bodies lest they rise from the dead.
The fire had died down now, leaving behind charred foundation and the occasional embers. The closer I got to the village's center, the more human bodies I came across. Some of them were crushed under fallen beams, others were cut down by the demons; a few had noticeable bite wounds, great clumps of flesh missing from their bodies. On closer inspection, I noticed that all the female villagers had their clothes ripped, exposing their breasts and privates to the air. They were caked in a white substance that stood out from the pools of crimson they laid in.
I ventured further and further inwards until I finally saw what I was looking for.
"Mother… Father…"
They stood out amongst the corpses strewn about, for they were the only humans in the vicinity. They were surrounded by mutilated demons, whose black ichor died the earth in its color. Mother was sat against the remains of the village tavern, dressed in damaged leather armor. She was cradling father's body in her bosom, a plethora of weapons sticking out of his back. His body was covered with countless wounds, his clothes stained both crimson and black.
They both looked so peaceful, as if mother was comforting father after a long day of work. I approached them, reaching out for them with a shaky hand. When I touched them, I felt only cold; not the warmth I was used to. I tried to wrap myself with their limp arms, trying so very hard to deny what I knew to be true.
Tears sprung forth once more as I hiccupped and sobbed. Through my tear-filled eyes, I beheld everything that I've ever known. What was once a prosperous village is now naught but a razed ruin. My people who were but a night ago dancing and prancing in joy laid still and unmoving. My loving parents, so warm, so full of life, now lay together in each other's cold embrace.
My gaze turned to the ones responsible. The various demonic corpses that surrounded me, just as dead as the villagers they killed and defiled. All of this death and destruction… caused by their wanton greed and lust.
Why… Why did such things exist? The only good a demon can do is when it is dead and unable to harm anyone. They should all just disappear. They should all just die!
Demons… I'll kill them all. I'll take from them as they took from me. Until my last gasp, until my body fails, I won't stop. I'll never stop… until every last demon is hunted down…
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"I will kill all the demons."
Alistair concluded his story, awaking from his trance-like state as he remembered where he was and who he was with. He saw their horrified and guilty expressions, their hands covering their mouths.
"Alistair…" Olga started, "I'm… I'm so sorry."
He shook his head. "It is not your fault. As you said, you could only direct them, not control them. I do not blame you."
"Still…"
"It is in the past," He stated decisively, leaving no room for argument, "There is no use dwelling on what cannot be changed."
The elves reluctantly dropped the topic, feeling too ashamed to make further conversation. They fell into an awkward silence, as neither knew what to say. Instead, they fell into a tentative sleep, allowing Alistair the first watch. This allowed the knight some time alone with his thoughts.
The knight had meant what he said: He did not hold any resentment towards Olga. She was not the one who destroyed his home, nor the one who killed his family. He was merely collateral damage in a war that was meant to finally end.
Instead, Vult would plunge the world in war once more to sate his thirst for power. He was greedy, lustful, envious, and prideful; and his men were no better. All of the Black Dogs prescribed to Vult's heinous ideology. They were no better than demons.
'I suppose I'll have to kill them all, too.'
His quiet contemplation was interrupted by the sound of hooves hitting the hard earth. The noise also awakened the elves, all of them on high alert as they readied themselves for combat. The thumping grew louder and louder until, finally, its origin stopped beneath them. A small party of cavalrymen—six men strong—waited patiently below, the horses whinnying as their riders tugged at their reigns. They began to talk amongst themselves, completely unaware of the fugitives above.
"This is a good a spot as any to rest." The lead rider said. Alistair noted that out of the entire party, he was the only one with any decent armor on.
'That's their leader.' He concluded. Alistair thought back on the lessons his teacher gave him. 'When fighting multiple enemies, always take out their leader first. Without someone to rally them, the rabble and fodder will panic and break.'
One of the riders groaned in relief. "Thank fuck. Gods, I'm tired."
"Right? Fucking Alistair, making us go through all this shit."
"Keeping all the pussy to himself. Selfish traitor."
One of them laughed. "I don't know. If I was in his shoes, I'd want to keep such quality women to myself too."
"Good taste, I'll give him that!"
They shared a laugh as they slipped off their mounts, walking them towards the surrounding trees and tying them to the trunks. The leader seemed to be struggling with his horse, the beast screaming as it fought his attempts to tie it down.
"Come on, you stupid animal!" He yelled in irritation. "Just do as I say and get over here!"
"What's the matter, Cole?"
"Dumb bitch keeps fighting me! It was hard enough getting on the damn thing in the first place, now I gotta deal with this bullshit?"
"Ha! I still remember her bucking you off when you first tried to ride her."
"Don't know why you chose Agro; you know she was always a feisty one. She even tries to throw off Vult!"
"It's 'cause she's the fastest horse we got. Vult wants his bitches delivered on express."
After a few minutes of struggling, the rest of the troop helped to tie down the rebellious mare. She trumpeted and brayed in discontent but could do little else. The cavalrymen got themselves situated, starting a campfire and pulling out their rations. They laughed and talked some more, oblivious of the danger hanging above them.
Alistair looked over to Chloe, seeing her nod in understanding as she quietly drew her weapons. The knight primed himself, carefully positioning himself over their leader, Cole, with his poleaxe at the ready. He gestured with his left hand, holding up three fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
They jumped down, weapons swinging with the added force of gravity. Chloe successfully landed on top of her target, burying her blades into his back and quickly slitting his throat. Alistair was less fortunate, as Cole chose that exact moment to observe the sky, and, thus, saw Alistair's armored form. Cole rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being cleaved in half.
Alistair clicked his tongue in annoyance, wrenching the blade of his poleaxe out of the earth. He flowed seamlessly into another strike with the hammer side of his weapon, changing targets to one of the shell-shocked Black Dogs that sat next to his original mark. He struck true this time, completely crushing the man's unprotected head with a wet 'splat' and sending blood and grey matter flying.
"AMBUSH!" Cole cried, scrambling to his feet as he drew his blade. His comrades quickly followed his example, also raising their weapons towards their attackers. The Black Dogs split into pairs to take on Chloe and Alistair separately.
Chloe smirked as her two opponents ran at her recklessly, deftly parrying their wild swings. She stabbed her dagger through one's shoulder and vaulted over him, slashing open his back with her sword. The Dark Elf kicked the body into his comrade, knocking him off his feet and pinning him to the ground. She lunged, burying her blades so deeply that they penetrated both bodies.
At the same time, Cole had his follower circle around Alistair, hoping to catch him off guard as the party leader kept the knight's attention on him. Alistair parried one of Cole's strikes and swung the butt of his poleaxe upwards, catching the man in the chin. The knight followed up and jabbed the capped end of his weapon into the mercenary's forehead, sending Cole reeling back in a daze. Alistair shifted his stance, stabbing behind him and impaling the flanking Black Dog through the stomach. With a grunt of exertion, Alistair raised the man into the air and swung him headfirst into the campfire.
The Black Dog grunt screamed in panic and agony as the pain of impact was compounded by searing flesh. His hair was set alight, scorching his scalp and creating blisters on his face. Alistair ended the man's suffering with a single swing of his poleaxe, beheading the man making his flaming head roll. With just one opponent remaining, Alistair began to approach Cole, Chloe flanking the knight as she walked at his left side.
Cole, having regained his bearings, quickly backpedaled away from the duo. "S-Stay back!" He yelled in a crazed and panicked voice. "I-It doesn't have to be this way! I can help you! I can be your informant, your inside man!"
Elf and man continued their advanced, ignoring Cole's words. He continued to step backwards, all of his focus on the approaching menace. The Black Dog heard a huff of air behind him, and his world soon turned forever black.
Agro snorted as she lowered her hind leg back to the ground, wiping away the blood that stained her hoof. Her rider fell forward, the back of his head caved in by the mare's powerful kick. Chloe whistled appreciatively.
"What a marvelous kick," She praised. "It was almost textbook."
Alistair grunted in agreement. Now illuminated by the campfire, the horse's features were revealed. She was a large horse, about as tall as Alistair. The mare sported a majestic greyish-black coat with a beautiful pitch-black crest and tail. At the center of its head was a patch of white fur shaped like a diamond.
"She's a beautiful horse," Alistair said, slowly approaching the mare. "See how her coat shines under this meager light? It's a sign of good blood, if her lean build were not obvious enough. So much power condensed in such a lithe frame. Long, strong legs that allow her to reach higher speeds in a shorter amount of time. She has all the makings of a warhorse of the highest pedigree."
The mare preened at his words, nickering happily. When Alistair was within arm's reach, he raised an open hand towards Agro. The horse nuzzled his proffered hand, burying her head into his palm.
"Hmph, if only you could sweet-talk a woman like that." Chloe huffed. As ridiculous as it was, the blonde elf felt a twinge of jealousy from how enamored Alistair was with the animal. "How do you know so much about horses?"
"Samantha's family raised them," He explained while petting Agro. "Whenever we played at her homestead, she would always tell me everything she knew about them." He drew away from Agro, the mare whining as the knight began looting the corpses; Chloe following his lead.
They found enough food and water to last them the rest of their journey, as well as few stamina potions. Feed for the horses were strapped to their saddles, enough to last each horse two days. The fugitives decided to leave the bedrolls, not wanting luxury items to weigh them down.
Alistair turned to Chloe. "We should use this opportunity to get some more distance between us and the Black Dogs. Now that we have horses, we should be able to cross the border in a day and a half."
Chloe nodded in agreement, moving to help Olga down from the treetops as Alistair packed up their newfound supplies. Alistair set three of the horses free, keeping Agro and two others tethered for the moment as he put on their saddles. The Dark Elves approached just after he finished his work, releasing the horses from their restraints.
"I'm very thankful to have you two at my side," Olga said appreciatively. "I doubt I would have made it this far without both of your help."
Chloe bowed before her black-haired counterpart. "I live to serve you, My Queen."
Alistair did likewise. "It is nothing, Olga." He stood back up, affectionately patting Agro's flank. "Let me help you up. She is larger than most horses, so mounting her might require some assistance."
Olga nodded, meeting the mare's gaze. To all their surprise, Agro turned her nose up at Olga, causing Chloe to frown. Olga giggled good-naturedly, turning to Alistair with a mirthful expression.
"I don't believe she'll let me ride her." She said. The mare huffed in affirmation, craning her neck to nudge Alistair with her snout.
"I see…" He stroked the underside of Agro's neck, earning a grunt of pleasure from the horse. "So that's how it is."
Both Olga and Chloe smiled fondly as they read Alistair's body language. The knight was happy that the magnificent mount deemed him worthy of being her rider. Olga bowed out gracefully as she and Chloe mounted the other horses. Alistair stepped up the stirrup and swung his leg over the horse's back, looking much like a wounded, beaten hedge knight.
Once everyone was saddled up, the trio rode into the night; their escape being all but assured.
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Codex Entry: Albion Aquila
Notable Relations: Son of Alaric Aquila and Crossbreed Priscilla, Ex-Husband of Lady Elfriede, Father of Alto Aquila
Notable Titles: The Oathbreaker, The Atoner
Albion was born a rebellious child, always questioning his duties and rejecting them on a whim. When he grew of age, Albion ran away from home; rejecting the fate he was destined to have since birth and taking on a new name; Sir Vilhem. Remembering the stories of the Painted World, Albion sought out the painting where his parents met and eagerly entered it. He found that the world was not quite as his mother described it, learning from various inhabitants that the world was no longer Ariamis, but Ariandel; named after the one who restored the Painted World after Ariamis had been burned away.
He journeyed to meet Ariandel, coming upon a chapel at the highest peak of the world. There, he met the lady Elfriede, the caretaker of the Painted World and advisor to Father Ariandel. He learned of the future destined for the realm, a fate of fire that had also ended the cycle of Ariamis. Swearing to help prevent the end to the current cycle, Albion became Elfriede's most loyal servant. Time and time again, whenever someone sought to bring fire to the world, Albion struck them down with ruthless efficiency, continuing on for what seemed like years.
Albion and Elfriede became enamored with each other during that time, loyalty and companionship evolving into affection and love. Elfriede bore a son—Alto, the third son of Aquila. With his family established, Albion had thought his life content. Alas, he soon found out the reason why Ariandel was destined for flame: The world was beginning to rot.
The rot began to consume the inhabitants of the world, decaying them in mind, body, and soul until they were naught but mindless, malformed beasts. Seeing that the rot was beginning to afflict Alto, Albion decided to flee the Painted World with his son. Coming into conflict with his love and liege Elfriede, Albion was forced to slay the mother of his child; unintentionally setting fire to the world and cleansing it of the rot.
Albion returned home to his family a changed man. No longer was he a rebellious youth, instead becoming a faithful servant of Celestine Lucross as he was born to be. He spent the rest of his life seeking atonement for his past actions, serving as one of the most dutiful heads of House Aquila.
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Some more background knowledge about our boi Alistair and his family. Also, yes, it's Agro from Shadow of the Colossus. Figured a knight would need a suitable mount.
Been getting a few messages about lemons. I ask that you all be patient, all right? I know that this series is notorious for sexy times, but I don't want them to be the focus of this story. They will come, I promise. So please, stop asking when.
Edit: 3/1/2020
Forgot to add the codex entry Orz
Translations:
"Mala ultro adsunt." – "Misfortune comes uninvited."
"Te secabo!" – "I will cut you to pieces! / I will sever you!"
The above translations were taken directly from the For Honor Wiki.
