The Scouting Party
The embers of the campfire drifted upwards, clashing with the encroaching twilight, as the sun lost it's battle with the dusk. Verlin crouched, surveying the landscape before him. Down the hill, past the coastline, stretched the Mistwood, vast and impenetrable. Even from this distance, Verlin could see the coils of fog stretching out between the trees. He heard a wolf howl and shuddered.
"Verlin! Join us at the fire. Argen will take the next watch," said Thane.
Verlin took one last look at the darkening landscape and climbed down from his perch on the rock. Argen nodded as he passed. Verlin found an open spot by the fire and sat down. He enjoyed the embrace of warmth, the smell of the smoke. Thane was slouched, one arm on his helmet. Oswin was drinking ale, while Gilla changed Hewel's bandages. Mathild and Elva were already asleep, leaning against one another. Einhard was out of sight.
"I know you're on edge, but you won't do us any good if you don't get a proper rest. Warm up. Get a real night's sleep. We'll be gone from Limgrave soon enough," said Thane.
"The Redmanes are are too glorious to die in our sleep. Such a foul death is no proper end to our story," said Oswin, passing Verlin a cup of ale.
"We've been dying fouler deaths than that," replied Verlin.
"There's no point in dwelling on it. Enjoy that ale, or give it to someone who will. We're nearing the end of it," said Oswin.
Verlin simply nodded and sipped from his cup. There were only nine of them in camp. They had started with twenty.
General Radahn, the Star Scourge, had received reports that the dread Malenia was marching her armies to Caelid, intent on confronting him. He and his officers decided to send a series of scouting parties to size up her forces and slow them if possible, giving them more time to prepare in Caelid. Cowardly Godrick and his men were no allies, but if they could be an obstacle for Malenia they were of use. Even among his most faithful, General Radahn was often narrowed down to his might and skill with a blade. Verlin often pondered the mind, one of immense strategic knowledge.
Their expedition did not go well. Their leader, Berthold, led them through the Mistwood to avoid detection by any outriders. This proved a mistake. A massive bear took Ludwick and scattered the group. Then the demihumans, ferocious bestial tribesmen, emerged and began attacking them. Arrows, rocks and spears rained through the misty air, which made it nearly impossible to regroup. They fought a desperate, clumsy battle through the forest. Verlin's shield was beaten out of his hands by a brutish foe. Verlin, Argen and Gilla made it out, and waited for the others.
The whoops and screeches of the demihumans echoed outwards, accompanied by more familiar shouting and screams. In small groups, pairs or on their own the others arrived. A plodding, winded horse staggered before them. Berthold's body slumped over the horse's back, like he was whispering a secret. Arrows ran the length of his back. There were gashes lining his calves and thighs. The horse made it a few more steps before the body fell.
Serim, a grim, graying man, took command. The woods claimed four of them. They camped at a safe distance, most of the Redmanes failing to get any sleep. They headed west, up near the lake. Stormveil lay to the north, cloaked in a tempest. They roamed about the area and the Weeping Peninsula to the south for nearly a week before they found anything. Wild beasts, bandits and more demihumans hounded them, but no sign of Malenia's forces was found. On the sixth day, Argen used his looking glass to spot plumes of smoke, possible encampments. Serim split them into two groups to get a closer look.
Fallon led Verlin's group around the lake, near the old Church of Elleh. Crabs sifted through the mud, massive specimens eyeing the group warily. They skirted the wind beaten cliffs. A small island sat just off the coast, the waves threatening to consume it. Oswin made some mention of it being a site for the reckless practice of dragon communion, but Verlin ignored him. Oswin loved to tell the story of watching the General fell a dragon so much that nearly everyone in their company could recite it word for word. Thane always noted how Oswin's role became more prominent with each retelling, transforming from mere bystander to having struck the dragon's eye with one of his arrows, distracting it for the General. Gilla enjoyed reminding Oswin that only Argen had the eye and the arm for such a feat.
The Cleanrots struck in the woods, north of the church. Fallon was signaling to them when a long spear pierced the underbrush and Fallon in one clean strike. The knight hoisted him over their head effortlessly. Verlin watched as a viscous red fluid burst from Fallon's lips and eyes, the plague known as the Scarlet Rot. The knight cast his body aside, rot pulsating through its flesh as he writhed in agony. A second knight stepped from behind the trees.
Verlin and the others fought valiantly, Redmanes to the last. The Cleanrot knights disturbed him, their graceful movements, their lack of obvious communication. They fought with the practiced ease of experts. Leddel was bisected by a glowing disc, a lethal incantation. The Cleanrots felled two more before the Redmanes overwhelmed them. The first knight made almost no sound as Verlin drove his blade through their neck. Fallon's body was choking with red, blooming poison. Gilla lit their corpses on fire, fearful of the festering rot. Verlin made an effort not to watch.
They returned to their meeting point to find that Serim's group had met a similar fate. A patrol of Cleanrots and other soldiers spotted the group in the open, past Stormgate, and ran them down. Serim held them off while they retreated. Druac quickly succumbed to the rot in his wounds.
During their flight, Argen had seen the legions of soldiers passing through Stormgate, marching in the direction of Caelid. A quick survey to the east confirmed that they were taking the route over Stormhill as well.
Einhard took command and decided that they needed to fall back to Fort Gael. They would take the route through the tunnels to avoid being overtaken by the army. They had to warn the General.
The Siege
Verlin finished his drink, got up and stretched. Oswin was busy trying to distract the others with a story. Verlin could see Einhard checking his maps, preparing for the next day. The fire was dying, intentionally, as they did not want any of their foes to spot the blaze. The darkness crept ever closer.
The group retained its composure, despite their losses, but such was the nature of the Redmanes. One did not join General Radahn's army with a cowardly spirit and survive. Their time braving the Caelid Wilds was trying enough, but the recent months proved the most cataclysmic Verlin had ever witnessed.
Queen Marika shattered the Elden Ring and the Lands Between shook with the aftermath ever since. Countless traitors and opportunists confronted the Golden Order. The mighty demigods fought for shards of the ring. Verlin had been part of the army that General Radahn led to Leyndell, intent on seizing the capital and the Erdtree with it. Captain Merrin had joked that in a months time they would be dining like nobles in the manors of Leyndell.
The army endured a difficult march to the north. The roads were hazardous, rife with bandits, creatures and rival soldiers. Godrick's forces had moved this way first, and their signature was marked in the ruins and burning villages left behind. The Redmanes were no saints, but Verlin was disgusted with the casual cruelty of it all.
As they passed Liurnia, Verlin saw that the town on the outskirts of the great academy of Raya Lucaria had been sacked. Caria and the Academy were in a civil war of sorts. The knights of the Cuckoo fought skirmishes with splinters of Godrick's forces. Ruins crumbled into the hazy lake water. Marauders emerged from the trees to prowl for unsuspecting victims. The strange Albinaurics wandered the destroyed buildings, their bulging eyes peaking out from debris.
The Star Scourge's mother was in the academy, but he made no mention of her. Thane later told Verlin that he watched the General gaze out at the academy for some time while they were encamped on the cliffs. His face betrayed nothing. He also refused to speak of his sister, mistress of the Carian manor.
The Altus Plateau was a slaughterhouse, even before the Redmanes arrived. Godrick had broken his army across the mighty walls of Leyndell. The bodies of his men choked the streams and fields, their corpses stacked high. Verlin heard that Godrick fled, cloaked as a woman, unable to face his defeat with honor.
The Redmanes soon clashed with the army of Leyndell. The latter was dug into the hillsides outside the capital. The Erdtree watched overhead as they wet the grasslands and hills with blood and gore. Verlin remembered charging forth, watching whole rows of troops scattered by the siege weapons of the defenders. Cavalry charges smashed into one another, horses impaled on spears, bodies tumbling everywhere. Magics unleashed, lightning leaping through the crowd. Redmane Ogha leading his archers with their honed gravity magics. Arrows whistling past at impossible speeds, striking like a battering ram. Trolls, golems, pumpkinheads and other brutes crashed into their ranks. The roar of General Radahn, driving the Redmanes on further and further.
The campaign dragged. It was a fevered nightmare. Verlin cut and stabbed and bashed and slashed his way through the butchery, his muscles aching beyond pain, his breath coming in like hot needles. They crawled to the city, inch by inch through mountains of the dead. The outer walls were breached.
Looking back, Verlin could sense the moment their momentum, slowed, buckled and shattered, even at the time. He was getting up, nearly crushed by a troll's body. He spat blood, having bit his lip during the fall. Captain Merrin was rallying the nearby troops, his helmet knocked off, his black hair wild. He could see Thane helping up another soldier. Argen was trying and failing to restring his bow, his fingers raw. Arrows landed nearby, almost innocuously, the constant hail from the inner walls less dense near the back.
There was a commotion at the front lines. Verlin saw Redmane banners fall and their red headdresses collapsed. Something was cutting its way through them like a scythe through wheat. Shouts turned to screams. A wedge was driven into their ranks. Verlin stood alongside Captain Merrin, bracing for what was coming. He was nearly knocked off his feet by a body tossed backwards from the melee.
He could finally discern what was breaking their lines. A tall figure, cloaked in rags, swung a great staff, gnarled like an old tree branch. Horns lurked beneath his hood and a spiked tail whipped about viciously. His swings were mighty, sending men flying. Glowing daggers, swords and a hammer materialized in his hands out of thin air. Incantations wielded by a fiend. He was flanked by armored knights, taking advantage of the chaos their master wrought.
The monster broke through the troops in front of Verlin. His breath caught in his throat for a moment, as Captain Merrin bellowed to attack. Verlin gripped his sword and shield tightly, stepping forwards. Captain Merrin and Thane reached the monster first, swinging their swords in unison. The monster leapt back with uncanny grace. His staff lashed out faster than Verlin's eyes could follow. Thane managed to duck, but the captain was not so lucky, catching the full brunt with his sword arm. He grunted as his sword flew away. The monster followed his strike with a series of blows that hammered down on the captain's shield, which he desperately held with both hands. Verlin heard a crack and the captain began screaming in agony.
Verlin ran forwards, stabbing at the monster, who caught the blade on his golden sword. He glimpsed the wretched face beneath the hood, messy hair falling between its horns, cold eyes looking back at Verlin. The monster slashed back, hitting Verlin's shield. His arm was nearly wrenched off from the force. The monster feinted with his staff, then followed up with a slap from his tail before Verlin could react. It collided with his side. He felt something explode in his chest. His vision narrowed. He stumbled back, tripping over a body and rolling down a small hill.
Verlin willed himself to get back to his feet, but his body no longer cooperated. His insides felt unsure and his left arm throbbed. He watched as the monster sent Thane flying down the hill. The creature turned to Captain Merrin, who looked like a broken doll, arms bent the wrong way, kneeling as if he were about to prey. It stalked by, decapitating the captain almost as an afterthought. Verlin wanted to feel hatred, but he couldn't even summon that effort at the moment.
He heard the beast muttering in a voice that dripped with venom, "Traitors. Impatient vultures fighting for a corpse that yet lives."
Verlin squeezed a handful of grass, then sank down, growing still.
He awoke to constant, jagged pain, his arm splinted, his chest wrapped. Gilla sighed and smiled wearily. She told him how Thane and Argen had dragged him from the front, Thane nursing his own maimed ankle. Verlin took in his surroundings, a makeshift camp on the edge of the plateau. The dead and the dying surrounded him, the broken remnants of the Redmanes. Smoke tainted the sky, as the mounds of corpses were burned.
The siege died out over the next few weeks. They were forced back, fingers still dug into the earth and stone. Every step back was reclaimed by the defenders. Fallen defenses were manned once more. The outer walls, then the hillsides, then the original encampments. The settlements outside the city had mostly been pillaged and burned already and food was running low. Strange sightings came from the forests and gulches nearby. Scouts claimed the dead walked again. Beasts with wriggling faces and blight filled breath haunted the trees. A lightning-wreathed dragon was spotted past the city. Heretics cloaked in the skins of long dead gods. Living jars packed with the bodies of the slain.
Verlin came to know the monster as Margit the Fell Omen. The others claimed he served Morgott, the new ruler of Leyndell. He was an implacable defender. General Radahn himself fought the Omen and failed to defeat him. They whispered that he held a Great Rune, from the very essence of the Elden Ring. His acolytes, the Night's Cavalry harried the Redmanes at night, ambushing patrols and burning supplies.
Pushed to the edge of the Altus Plateau, General Radahn finally gave the order to retreat to Caelid. The Redmanes limped back to their homeland. The capital and the Erdtree would remain in enemy hands.
Verlin remembered the crushing weight of that march. Even without his injuries, he saw his fellows had been broken in spirit. A few deserted. The General had failed, for the first real time that any of them had witnessed. He could battle the stars and win, but he could not conquer the capital. They had been defeated once and so could be defeated again. They were scarcely better than the craven Godrick. The sight of General Radahn sagging slightly on his diminutive horse at the head of their column would never leave him.
They returned to the Caelid Wilds, heads held low. Their comrades that stayed behind took them in and tended to their wounds. They regrouped, preparing for whatever threat was bound to arrive on their doorstep. His arm healed, though it ached as the weather changed.
Their assault was not the end of the fighting on the Plateau and within the Lands Between. The Lordsworn armies continued to battle one another. Nomads from the north raided settlements. Beasts once kept at bay ravaged the land freely, their persecutors too busy indulging in their own savagery. Cultists to distant gods stalked the wilds, wielding heretical magics. Even the Tarnished, those long exiled warriors, began to return, drawn by some strange thread of fate.
Once while on patrol, Verlin talked to a traveling merchant and his blind companion. The blind man spoke of a ghastly battle at Mt. Gelmir. General Radahn's brother, Praetor Rykard, ruled a manor in that hellish land. He stood against the Erdtree and the Golden Order, prompting the forces of Leyndell to try and roust him from his fortress.
Verlin and his fellows stood speechless as the blind man unspooled his tale. He spoke of armies colliding in that broken and twisted place. Madmen, cultists, and blasphemers flocked to Rykard's cause. Rotting corpses and pools of blood mixed with the stench of sulfur and burning pits. Great, mechanical abominations cleaved and consumed their victims. Bodies were strung from trees by their feet. The Seethewater was filled with corpses, falling from the ridges above. In an act of true blasphemy, Rykard had a minor Erdtree burned, blackening the very land itself. The man had put his own eyes out at the sight.
Slowly, news of the fighting across the Lands Between slowed. The will to continue the butchery was fading. Then came word that Malenia was marching to Caelid.
In the camp, Verlin eased onto his bedroll and let himself drift.. He looked at the others, almost all of them slumbering. Argen had been replaced by Gilla on lookout.
He was jolted awake by the distant sound of thunder. It came from over the ridge line, towards the path to the Caelid Wilds. He went over to Argen's sleeping body and pilfered his looking glass. Clambering up the steep hillside, he found a vantage point and scanned the lands nearby. The moonlight was veiled by the clouds and his fatigue had him conjuring up figures out of the black, formless void.
Then he saw it. Great columns of torches and gleaming golden light, streaming up the path to the east. An endless legion. Malenia had arrived in Caelid.
Aeonia
Verlin awoke from a dream of drowning. He got dressed quickly and took to the battlements. The sun had not yet crested the horizon. He walked towards the figure clad in blue and red fabric, an armored breastplate on his chest, with a pointed hood that covered most of his face, save for the grey whiskers that fell outside. He leaned on a sword with a blade that flowed back and forth, a river of steel.
"I take it you actually got some rest," said Jerren, appraising him. The witch hunter looked old, older than he had been just a few months ago.
"As much as I could. The nights have not been kind to me," said Verlin.
"They have not been kind to us all," Jerren said.
Verlin looked out over the rest of Fort Gael from the upper levels. Redmanes moved about, carrying supplies, weapons and wounded. He could see the winding path leading to the fort, lined with sentries and paranoid archers. The Cleanrots had made many attempts to take the fort in the last week and it showed in the frayed nerves of its defenders. The Gael tunnel was blocked for fear of a sneak attack.
Two others approached Verlin and Jerren. Thane walked with a slight hitch in his step. His handsome face was marred by burn marks on his left jawline, a reminder of his stand on the ridges overlooking Limgrave. He clasped Verlin's hand in greeting. The other man was Wyeth, a commander from the east. He nodded at Verlin and they turned their attention to Jerren.
Jerren spoke, "We've received new orders from General Radahn. He has a plan to draw Malenia and her forces into battle at the center of Aeonia. The war has drained both sides, but the General is confident that if we meet her there we can end this battle."
"A bold move," said Thane.
"A risky move," said Wyeth. "Any battle that forces such a commitment of troops could easily use up our remaining army. If we gamble and fail, there will be no one left to stop that monster."
Verlin looked to the man. Criticism of the General was rare, though he heard it more commonly these days.
Jerren took a moment before responding. "It's no more risky than prolonging this war. They're bleeding us slow. If we give them too much more time, we won't have the strength to hold out. It's not long before they manage to take this fort. Then Castle Redmane will be next. Better we finish them off once and for all."
Verlin thought of forests burned and felled. Swamplands dredged. Livestock and wildlife slaughtered. The few settlements on the outskirts put to the torch. Even the school at Sellia was raided, the glintstone scholars killed or forced to flee. The constant battles churned the earth and deadened the soil. Malenia and her ilk scarred the Caelid Wilds wherever they marched.
Wyeth grunted and said, "I'll do whatever the General asks of me. I didn't choose today to stop being a Redmane. I just want to know that there's bite behind this plan."
"Oh, there's plenty of bite. The three of you are to take your forces and march along the western edge of Aeonia. General Radahn will bring the main force to the heart, while another group led by Ogha sweeps east. The main force draws Malenia into battle, while the other groups fold in from the east and west, trapping those rotting bastards in the middle. The General sent a fourth group on a wide march that's positioned them behind Malenia's army, coming from the northern wilds. There are too few of them to make a difference on their own, but in the context of this maneuver, they'll seal any escape route. Then we pray to the Two Fingers that the Star Scourge is indeed the mightiest demigod."
"He'll see us through," said Thane, looking into each of their eyes as if for confirmation.
Verlin and Wyeth nodded.
"Assemble your troops. You march within the hour."
As Verlin headed for the stairs, Thane stopped him.
"This is likely the last time we'll see one another before the battle," said Thane.
"Aye, that's liable to be the case."
"You've been a good soldier and a better friend."
"You're the one who saved my hide in Leyndell. Carried my useless self with a broken ankle. I'd still be crawling down that hill if not for you," said Verlin, a faint smile forming.
"Come now. You made up for that and more in these last months." Thane's smile faded and he looked somber. "I know you can't promise you'll make it. None of us knows when the end will find us. But, if you survive and I don't, I want you to do something for me."
"What do you mean?"
"We've been Redmanes our whole lives. We've given everything to the General. He's deserved it. If we beat Malenia here, we'll have done all we can for him. There's no retaking Leyndell. No restoring what was lost, not as it was. I want you to find a new life if I don't make it. Something peaceful, something safe."
"What like one of those merchants? The ones that sell us dodgy meat?"
"Heh. I don't think that qualifies as safe. It doesn't matter what you do. Become a blacksmith, a farmer, a fisherman, a painter…"
"A painter?"
"I don't know. Anything as long as it's not remaining a soldier. I've tried to have this talk with Oswin and Gilla. I didn't even try with Argen. The others never even got the opportunity. I want to know that at least one of us has a chance at peace after this is over. That we're not all consigned to an endless war, even a noble one."
Verlin remained silent. Thane looked at him earnestly. His face looked exhausted, great rings of stress under his eyes.
"I promise. I'll find another path," said Verlin, solemnly. He didn't know if he could keep this promise, but he couldn't leave Thane this desperate.
"Thank you friend," Thane said, clasping his hand. "May the Golden Order watch over you. I'll see you on the other side."
"And you friend."
Verlin gathered his soldiers and departed Fort Gael into the dim light of the early morning. He waved to Wyeth and Thane as they did the same, the three movements splitting to avoid being easily spotted by the enemy. They traveled towards the western rim of Aeonia, the great marsh at the heart of Caelid.
"Stop me if you've heard this one before," said Oswin, a massive grin blossoming.
"If it's coming from you we've all heard it before. I bet the Cleanrots have even heard it before," replied Gilla, as some of the other Redmanes in earshot groaned.
"Well, they make for more fun than you lot, even if they're not the most enthusiastic conversational partners. Anyway, as I was saying… Why do you think Malenia and her merry band came to Caelid in the first place?"
No one responded.
Oswin was unfazed. "Now, I've spent quite some time considering this question. I've examined all the facts. I've consulted the experts, I've…"
"Get on with it Oswin. I don't want the last thing rattling around my head being your never ending search for a punchline," said Gilla.
"I've discovered that I'm surrounded by ignorant dullards. Regardless, I've figured out the truth. Malenia is lost. See she's out there looking for Leyndell and the Erdtree. But I hear that she can't even see anymore. The rot's eaten her eyes. And no one in their right mind is going to tell her she's at her destination. And no one following her is going to question her decisions, not if they want to remain in one piece. I'd argue those Cleanrots don't have the brains to try anyway, but that's beside the point.
So she gets to Leyndell, gets it right first try. But, here comes ol' Margit and he tells her why, no sorry your grace, you're in the wrong place. The Erdtree is far to the south, past that big lake with all the prawn. He's a right menace himself, but he knows a bigger fish when he sees it.
And Malenia buys it. She marches that whole army to Stormveil and walks right up to Godrick's gate and demands to be brought to the Erdtree. Now, Godrick never had a spine before and he isn't going to grow one now. Instead he does what he will always do and find a way to save his sniveling skin. He tells her actually, the Erdtree is over that way to the east.
The only reason the pattern hasn't repeated itself here, is the General is too polite to lead her astray like that. Sure, he'll fight her to the death, but lie to the poor woman? That's beneath him."
Gilla and the others started to heckle Oswin, a few even offering up their own theories. Verlin mostly ignored it, though he had to admit he spent quite some time wondering the same thing. There were endless rumors and sifting through the tall tales was impossible. A nomad he talked to claimed she marched from the far north, from the lands beyond the Erdtree. The nomad had spent time with Albinaurics, who knew of these matters. He heard of a great citadel, a city growing a tree to rival the Erdtree itself. He heard she was hunting for Great Runes. He heard she was chasing after her brother, Miquella, a demigod as well. The reasons mattered little compared to the results.
One of the leaders of the column signaled Verlin, prompting him to hush the discussion. The brush ahead rustled. Everyone drew their weapon. Arrows were knocked.
A pair of dogs ran from the foliage. They were mangy, wild things, fighting over a bone. The column gave a collective sigh of relief as they relaxed. Verlin observed them closely. They were warped visions of a dog, plucked from a nightmare. Their skin stretched taut over their bones, heads swollen, favoring their back legs, almost to the point where they stood on them alone. One glanced at him with deep, sunken eyes, its misshapen teeth escaping the corners of its mouth. The other let out a malformed bark and they loped off back into the treeline.
Those dogs were yet another sign of the changes Malenia's arrival prompted in Caelid. In areas where the fighting was fierce, or where the enemy camped, the very earth changed. Plants withered and died. The dogs and carrion birds, feasting on the dead, grew stranger and stranger. Bodies were covered in the pestilence. Verlin had even witnessed strange growths sprouting up, like a fungus, one that seemed to breath. He had it burned wherever he found it.
They kept on their path until they reached their staging ground, a thicket of trees overlooking the heart of Aeonia. It was already a shadow of it's former self, marred by battle scarred a thousand times over. He wondered if Caelid would ever fully heal from the confrontation.
They waited for several hours, the Redmanes starting to grow restless. The sun finally pierced the clouds, a golden haze settling on the landscape. Verlin checked his belt, making sure the fire jars were in place. They had proved most useful in burning back the rot and its masters.
Horns blared out, sending birds fleeing the trees. Verlin looked down the rim of Aeonia and saw the main Redmane force positioning itself. Banners soared in the quickening wind. General Radahn was unmistakable, striding at the front, his commands reaching even their location.
Malenia's army moved across the other side of Aeonia. The golden Cleanrots marched in lock step. Verlin's eyes traced their ranks before settling on the figure at the center. She was smaller than he expected, but moved with supreme confidence. A golden, winged helmet sat upon her head, red hair trailing behind her. Her arms were clad with golden metal, a blade already gleaming from one of them. Here strode Malenia, the Blade of Miquella, the greatest swordswoman in the Lands Between.
Verlin stepped out from the treeline, cautious of being spotted. He looked to both sides, seeing Thane far to his left and Wyeth to his right. They each met his eye. He could feel that building hum, the electricity that preceded a battle. This would decide the fate of Caelid.
General Radahn shouted "TO BATTLE!," and thousands of Redmanes charged the hordes of Cleanrots. He clashed his great swords together and rocks surged from the ground, glowing with a purple energy. Malenia began walking slowly, then quickening her footsteps, her army following suit. Golden incantations flew forth. Arrows and bolts blanketed the sky. The two great masses converged, the sound of the impact ringing all the way up the rim.
Verlin turned to Wyeth. The man adjusted his helmet, spit gravely, then placed a horn to his lips and blew a mighty signal.
Verlin shouted "To arms!"
The Redmanes on the rim barreled down the slope, Verlin sprinting at the front towards the churning mass of bodies. Oswin and Gilla were close at his side. He could see Thane at the head of his contingent. On the far side of the rim, a similar wave of warriors descended, with Ogha astride his horse. Verlin gritted his teeth and braced as he rammed into the wall of Cleanrots, who pivoted at the last moment to try and break their charge.
The battle that followed made the siege of Leyndell look like a paltry rehearsal. The armies fought for days, the soldiers waging war with the ferocity of cornered animals. The fighting spilled out across the Caelid Wilds, pockets of warriors slaughtering each other. Bodies choked with scarlet rot. Great chunks of stone were dashed into the Cleanrots, as General Radahn raked his swords through their ranks. Fire chariots blew great gouts of flame, swallowing entire sections of the armies, burning soldiers flailing through the hellfire.
A few times Verlin strayed too close to Malenia's orbit. She moved as a dancer, performing a macabre display. Her blade sliced through the Redmanes with no resistance. Entire sections were cut to pieces before they could so much as blink. At one point he cried out for Oswin to flee, only to watch him split in two from shoulder to hip.
Malenia and the Star Scourge kept finding one another in the carnage, partners at a great ball that wandered, but always returned to their true love. Over and over they met, Malenia cutting at his armor and flesh, General Radahn pelting her with rocks and smashing her with his swords. This was the General Radahn that defeated the very stars. His might cracked the earth and his swings shattered entire hillsides.
Verlin passed from exhaustion to a state beyond it. His movements were mechanical, his pain a dull throb that was one of the only indications he still drew breath. He hacked and fought and fell and wheezed and stood and repeated the cycle endless times. The land was torn apart, bled dry. The Redmanes and the Cleanrots were locked in their fatal embrace.
Long after the moment when time ceased to make sense, Verlin dug what was left of his sword into the ground, and used it to get up. His helmet was long lost, his armor dented and scarred. His forehead was caked with blood, some of it his, most of it others. His left hand was aching, a few fingers missing. With the sword as his cane, he limped forth.
The sky was crimson red. The battlefield was eerily quiet, save for the moans of the dying and the infrequent clang of steel on steel. Only a handful of Redmanes remained standing. They tended to fallen comrades, mourned them, fought pathetic skirmishes with the last of the Cleanrots or wandered aimlessly, eyes vacant, muttering incessantly.
No familiar faces. He lost sight Gilla in the great crush of bodies. Wyeth was run down by a knight on horseback, sorceries piercing his flesh. Even Ogha was drowned under a sea of Cleanrots. Verlin hadn't seen Thane past the first charge.
He continued his pitiful walk. Something grabbed his ankle, a Cleanrot knight, whose lower body was trapped under a boulder. Verlin couldn't muster the effort to slay him. He wrenched his ankle free and kept moving. Another started to stumble towards him. Verlin fumbled for his one remaining fire jar and tossed it at the interloper, leaving them to burn. He could hear something coming from the dunes below.
A lone Redmane sat on a pile of bodies, clutching the stump of his right hand. As Verlin got closer, he saw that it was Argen, his left eye swollen and purple. His bow was shattered to pieces. Arrows stuck out of the enemy corpses surrounding him. Argen said nothing, merely pointing with his remaining hand towards the source of the noise.
Verlin dragged himself to a ridge overlooking the dunes below. Tattered banners flapped in vain. More bodies dotted the sands, still, except for two figures.
General Radahn stood tall, arms crossed almost triumphantly, swords embedded in the sand. Malenia rose from her knee, seeming to reattach her right arm to her body. She shuddered, then extended that fearsome blade. The General grunted, claiming his swords and readying his stalwart steed. Honorable to the end, Verlin thought.
The two demigods crossed blades. Verlin could not keep up with Malenia's attacks and he braced every time General Radahn struck, as the shockwave rippled up the ridge. The two fought more and more desperately, their blood staining the sand, their exertions becoming frenzied.
Malenia darted beneath her massive opponent, before leaping up and landing on her shoulders. She drove her blade into the General's neck, causing him to roar with pain. It was then that she realized her error.
The General had dropped one of his swords and now held her by her sword arm. She struggled in his grip, but was unable to break free. He dragged her blade out of his neck and swung her like a rag doll, bashing her body into the earth, over and over. Purple energy pulsed down the length of his arm as Malenia made a larger impact with each strike. He finished by hurling her into the sand. Malenia's sword arm was wrenched in two.
General Radahn lifted his blades and loomed over her body. He raised them and struck. Verlin shielded his face from the gust of sand kicked up from the blow. When he looked back, he saw that the Star Scourge was pressing his swords, down, with Malenia blocking them with her one remaining arm. She trembled with the exertion, but the swords made no progress. Verlin could hear her speaking but could not make out the words.
Something bright red was forming around Malenia's legs, twisting up like a plant growth. A buzzing noise coated the air. A shroud of insects began to whirl around the two, forming a tempest of wings and flesh. The growth was overtaking her body, a coiled flower. The air grew humid. Verlin's breaths became heavy. General Radahn appeared trapped, unable to withdraw, his face scrunched with pain.
"You have brought this upon the world. The scarlet flower shall bloom," Malenia spoke, her words floating through the air, arriving from all directions. Her voice was gentle, almost penitent.
The scarlet flower opened, it's petals extending in a spiral pattern. Fragments bloomed off of it, red veins opened in the earth around her and the rot surged forth. The General began to scream. Verlin fell backwards as great crimson waves enveloped the whole of Aeonia. Malenia's body was the conduit, the flower continuing to grow and bloom, the scarlet rot billowing outwards. Verlin felt the petals fusing into his flesh, searing through him and his vision filled with red as the world cracked and split underneath the tide of corruption.
The Bloom
The world returned in fragments. The howl of the wind etched its way into his ears. A form of sight, filtered through a scarlet haze. His breaths raked across his lungs, a pain so deep he could not feel it all at once.
Verlin sat up. Thick strands of a ropey, red substance clung to him as he moved, splitting from his body with an awful squelch. He shoved a corpse off of his legs, sending a stack tumbling, their bodies fused together. His actions felt distant, alien. The geometry of his body was skewed, incomplete.
The sky was still crimson, low hanging rust colored clouds dropping an oily rain. What little vegetation remained was scoured, the husks of trees bowing or crumbling in the wind. A thick dust coated everything, weaving through the skies in strange patterns.
He tried and failed to stand. On the fourth attempt he found his feet. His armor was almost entirely gone. His skin was etched with coiling scarlet patterns, like he was torn apart and stitched back together.
Verlin's thoughts came slow, incomplete. The pain ebbed to the surface, blanking out everything else. He stumbled about without a destination.
The landscape was collapsing. Pools of frothy, red liquid bubbled to the surface, bodies and debris crumbling into it. He saw a man trip into the new swamp and fail to resurface, his hands clawing for purchase that never arrived.
Fungal growths crept over bodies and wriggled through the stained earth. They appeared to breath rhythmically. This was Aeonia?
The few figures that moved, moved with the same weary uncertainty that Verlin felt. Their skin was dull red, covered in blooming rot. Dogs and crows devoured the remains of the fallen, their own skin marked by the blight. His insides flared with hot pain, then sank back to numbness. He walked onward.
The purpose for his walk eluded him. Why had he been in this blighted land? Where was he going? The answers receded. He walked onward.
A great creature crawled over the dunes below. It grunted and snarled as it moved. Verlin watched as it lifted up the rotten corpses and consumed them. It's red hair flowed messily, it's great golden armor marred by the rotting petals. The beast finished it's meal, it's eyes passing over Verlin but not truly seeing him. It roared, then moved along. Verlin noticed it's mighty legs were dragging on the sand, the giant held up by a scrawny horse. He walked onward.
The man walked for some time. The fog in his mind grew dense. He could feel the land reach out and touch him, the throb of thousands of lives joining as one. They broke apart, smashed together and became something new, something transformative.
The harbinger of the rot was gone. Somehow he knew she had been taken from this land. It mattered little. She would bloom again and again. Decay was inevitable.
A great dragon crawled from the muck, it's wings casting off the decay. It let out a shriek and took flight, others following it to the north. Some crawled, some flew. Others were too enmeshed in the rot, their bodies rooting to the ground, their cries hollow.
Out of the gloom, a figure approached. It moved with urgency. A scarf was twisted around its mouth and head, only two eyes visible. It grabbed the man.
"Hello? Verlin? Verlin, is that you?" The name had an echo of familiarity. As did the voice.
"You're alive! I can't believe it. I've been searching for you and the others for weeks now. I nearly gave up hope," said the figure. He loosened his scarf, revealing his face. There was a burn scar on his jawline and he had soft eyes, that searched the man frantically. The figure's face writhed with red veins.
"Verlin can you speak? It's Thane. I can take you to safety, out of this wasteland."
The man stared blankly. Thane took him by the hand and began to lead him.
"You promised you'd live on for me. I'm promising I'll save you from this blight. We just have to make it out of Caelid."
Caelid also sounded familiar. What had the man been doing in Caelid? There was a life once, a great shadow that he could scarcely trace the outline of. It didn't matter anymore. Not when the voices were calling him, waiting for him to join them.
Thane dragged the man along, talking the whole way. He was increasingly haggard. They reached a section of hastily constructed wall, jutting out from the ground, glowing molten hot. Even through his dulled senses, the man could feel the heat.
Thane began to say something, but was cut off by another voice.
"Halt! No one leaves Caelid," said the voice.
A group of people in red armor stood on the far side of the wall, weapons raised. The one speaking held a small jar in her right hand.
"Gilla? Gilla, it's me Thane! And this is Verlin," Thane shouted.
"Thane, Verlin…," the voice said, less confidently.
"Gilla you have to let us through. He needs treatment. We can save him. I have to save him,"said Thane.
"Commander, he's blighted too. Look at his face. The scarlet rot is eating them alive," said another, deeper voice.
"They'll spread it to Limgrave and who knows where else," said a third.
"No Gilla. We can be saved. There have to be ways of curing this pox," Thane begged.
"I'm sorry, Thane. I can't let you through. We have no choice. We have to stop the rot. The General's sacrifice cannot be in vain," said Gilla.
The thing heard Thane whimper and then felt its arm get yanked as he took off running. The others shouted and it heard something shatter near them, felt the flames nearly take them. Thane dragged it quite some distance before the thing heard a whistling noise. Thane coughed. He stumbled a few more feet, then fell, a bolt sticking out of his back.
Thane rolled to his back. He spoke, "Verlin… Verlin you have to live for me. You promised. You need to find a way to live. To have peace. We can't have died for nothing."
The thing just looked at Thane. The words washed over it, but they did not inspire any feeling. It started walking.
"I need you... to… to tell me you'll live. Tell me, Verlin! Tell me!," Thane choked out, his voice hoarse.
The thing kept walking. Thane sputtered a few more noises, then grew silent. The crows cawed greedily.
The thing walked for a time. Then it fell. It did not get up.
It would uphold Thane's promise in a manner of speaking. It lived on. It lived on in the rot that bloomed from it's body. The rot that coursed through the land, that cracked and frayed the old boundaries, that ushered forth new life, uninterested in the constraints of the past. It lived on in the dawn of a new era, an era of decay, of rebirth, of a scarlet future.