The Wild East
Despite the usual snows of winter, Majula had been lucky this year. The cold was harsh and biting, but the lack of snow allowed work to progress unhindered. The hunting party tore through the forest, hot on the heels of their prey. The men were agile and light footed, leaping effortlessly over the fallen trees and debris that littered their path. The men knew this forest well, as it had long been their hunting ground. The trees were a second home to them, the forest floor felt all too familiar underfoot. The winds carried the scent of their game, driving them on, directing them towards their prey. Senses sharp, eyes keen, the men tore through the undergrowth at immense speed. But it seemed that even the forest had turned against them this day, for the herd of deer they had tracked so relentlessly seemed to be evading them with ease. The herd never seemed less than ten steps ahead. The men stumbled to rest, drained from the madness of the hunt. There were six of them, dressed in light, brown leather armour. It was furred around the collar, keeping out the harsh cold of winter. Metal straps and buckles crisscrossed the armour, holding it all together. Every man had a quiver of arrows slung over their shoulder, short bows in hand. They gathered in a clearing, resting heavily on the fallen trees around them.
"Well this is just perfect." A large, bearded man exclaimed. "Bloody perfect. Look, if we don't finish this hunt, Majula doesn't eat, do you all understand that?"
The men nodded resolutely, none meeting the man's stern gaze. They lowered their weapons, wearily checking them.
"What's the plan then Oro? How we gon' catch these nippy buggers?" A thin lean man called out. Oro puffed his chest and drew a large hand axe from his belt.
"The same way we have for years." He smiled.
"But these deer aint like the rest, Oro! They faster than usual!"
"Then it looks like we're gonna have to be faster than usual as well. We aint about to be got the better of by a pack o' wild animals." Oro spat.
The men remained glum, staring destitute at their feet, twiddling their thumbs and half-heartedly checking their equipment. Even Oro seemed somewhat disconnected. It was true, the white deer they were perusing had to be of some new breed. There was no way the usual beasts of this forest were that fast.
"Having fun?"
The clear, commanding voice cut through the silence of the forest, every man suddenly turning to its origin. Perched high in the trees, dressed in the same light armour, a large grin on his face sat a young, powerful looking man. He was tall, well built, muscle coursing beneath the thin armour. His bright white hair glowed under the light of the setting sun, a light beard covering his chin. His eyes shone brightly, the red pupils piercing the forest, stark against his pale skin. His face cracked into a wide, toothy grin as he crouched in the tree tops. He had a large bundle strapped up in leather slung over his shoulder.
"Jeddit!" Oro exclaimed, the other men rising to their feet quickly. Jeddit was the captain of the guards, champion hunter and defender of Majula and its people. He was a highly respected warrior throughout the whole of Drangleic, even if it was a young nation. He was seen as a shining example of the potential this wondrous land possessed. It was said he had once been a warrior of some kind, back in the distant land of Lordran. But few remembered if this was truth, and fewer still cared. Jeddit's origins were irrelevant, he existed now as a sentinel of order in this wild frontier.
"You look a little down on your luck. Perhaps I can offer my assistance?" he laughed, leaping from the tree. Despite the height of the fall, he hit the ground silently and without injury, a small cloud of dust erupting from beneath his feet. He stood up and strode toward the group of hunters, towering over them, authority instantly transferred to him. The men all rose to greet him as he approached, even the gruff Oro.
"Master Jeddit." The men bowed.
"Cut that. I am not your master. So, you hunt the white deer, yes? Hmm, well you'll need bows greater than these sorry things." He muttered, picking up one of the hunter's short bows and examining the weapon. Despite his insults, it was still a well-crafted and balanced device.
"We uh, we almost had em!" One of the younger men chimed in. "But the blighters outran us before we could sink our teeth."
"Mm hmm, so you…what you want to hunt them with this rubbish?" he callously tossed the bow to the young hunter.
"Y-yes sir." He stuttered.
Jeddit turned to Oro, the large bearded man. Placing a hand upon his shoulder he smiled and gazed deeply into the man's eyes.
"Oro my good friend. I understand the skill and prowess of both you and your men is outclassed by none, but you cannot hope to hunt these creatures with such poor excuses for weapons now, can you? You and your men deserve better."
"Poor excuses for-" Oro spluttered, brushing Jeddit's hand off his shoulder and puffing out his chest. "I'll have you know these weapons were hand crafted by Ornifex, the greatest smith in Majula!"
"How very interesting" Artorias yawned, pacing across the clearing. He unhitched the bundle from his shoulder, laying it upon the ground. As he began to undo the leather fastenings, the men slowly gathered around him, intrigued by the nature of the package. He unrolled the cloth, revealing its contents. The men gasped, taking a step back. Seven short bows lay before them, the likes of which they had never seen before. Black steel interlocked with titanite trim, a light and flexible darkwood frame leading into a hand weaved string, likely crafted from Ray silk. The bows were beautiful, compact and light. The perfect tool for any hunter. Quivers full of arrows lay by their sides, the black painted shafts tipped with phoenix feathers. Jeddit drew an arrow, revealing the most deadly looking head the hunters had ever seen. Red steel, twisting and writhing into a deadly point. It would lacerate the flesh and punch a hole through a target. These weapons were built to destroy a foe, not just kill them.
"Yeah well, I mean you can keep those if you like. It's just…well Ornifex might be offended if her new model was just left laying here. Or, I guess I could take em' back."
"Now hold on a second there Jeddit" Oro blustered. "Let's not be hasty here! Let us a look at those bows, perhaps it's time for an upgrade..."
"That so?" Jeddit cocked his head to one side, looking about the group. He smiled and nodded towards the splayed out package.
"Galdour Black bows. First of their kind. They're still warm…for…some reason."
He snatched up one of the bows, vaulted a fallen oak and sped into the forest. The other men looked at each other, shrugged and grabbed a weapon, sparing a moment to admire the beautiful craftsmanship before tossing down their old weapons and dashing off in pursuit.
It was evening the when the seven men finally gathered by the edge of a long cliff that overlooked the open plains of central Drangleic. A small camp fire blazed a few meters away, but not a single man sat by its welcoming glow. All were stood by the very edge of the cliff, peering down at the sight below them. For residing upon the Great Plains, a herd of white deer could be clearly seen a short distance away. The men had spent the latter half of the day hurtling through the forest once more, hot on the heels of their master hunter. They had finally breached the forest and found themselves in a rolling, beautiful rocky grassland that stretched as far as the eye could see.
This was the frontier of Drangleic, a vast open land home to countless species they had yet to encounter. Few had truly explored this wilderness, and fewer still were willing to undertake such a task. Hordes of wilder beast could be seen roaming the plains, grunting and bellowing to one another. Many more deer stood in great herds a few miles away, gathered in the safety of the hills. Rock worms burst from the ground sporadically, snatching up smaller, unsuspecting prey before diving back underground. And in the distance a swarm of Drakes, men who had forsaken their flesh and become dragons, circled some unseen prey. Long before the citizens of Lordran had travelled to Drangleic, there had been a cult that worshiped the ancient dragon, a creature said to reside in the mountains seen far to the west. In honour of this beast, they had delved deeply into ancient and dark magic to try and create an army in its form. In a cruel twist of fate, the spell backfired and the men found themselves transformed into great beasts themselves. Shunned from their homes, the poor souls now patrolled the far mountains, forever trapped in their new forms. Yet the hunters had little interest in the goings on of the Frontier. They were here for one purpose, and no Drake nor Rock worm would stand in their way.
"Are you all adequately prepared?" Jeddit called out to the hunters. They nodded, each one standing at his sides, bows ready and arrows notched. They had been scheming for a little while, and were finally ready to execute their plan.
Jeddit gazed at the herd a moment longer before raising an open hand. Slowly, he counted down from three to one, then clenched his fist.
All at once, the men leapt from the cliff, taking aim mid-flight at their designated targets and loosing their arrows into the herd. The arrows whipped through the air as the men fell, tearing silently into the herd, blood erupting form their wounds as the lacerating arrows tore into their hides. The deer screeched and dispersed, several of them falling to the ground. The hunters hit the ground, rolling to absorb the impact and notching another set of arrows. Kneeling in a line, they took aim once more and fired simultaneously. The finely crafted bolts tore through the air, cutting a straight line to their targets, deadly tips ready to kill. The deer tried to flee, but not before the second volley of arrows slammed into the herd. Several dropped instantly, the bolts piercing their heads, some left to stagger onwards before succumbing to their wounds. By the end of the assault twelve deer lay dead, the others escaped. Killing them all would destroy the population, and the hunters needed something to hunt. So they allowed them their freedom, claiming their prizes instead of perusing the herd. They slung the massive forms over their shoulders, not waiting for the local wildlife to take an interest.
It was almost midnight when the hunters returned to Majula, the deer hung heavily across their shoulders. As they approached the town, many citizens left their houses to welcome them home, some cheering from the windows and others applauding them in the streets. Many of them rushed to relieve the hunters of their burdens and take the precious meat to be stored. Jeddit handed his catch to some townsfolk willing to carry it for him and departed, allowing the hunters to enjoy their victory. He hated crowds, and this was the Hunter's success, not his. He had never been one for attention, yet it seemed to follow him wherever he went.
He opened the door to his hut, a small affair on a peak just outside of the town. The hand built hovel struck many as dilapidated, small and unsightly. Jeddit enjoyed the confinement and isolation it offered. But to his surprise, he arrived to find a letter pinned to its door. It was crisp, quality paper, sealed with a wax crest in the shape of a lion. Snatching the letter from the door he entered the shack and tore it open. It read as follows:
Artorias
Lordran bleeds.
By order of the king you are to return immediately.
Fulfil your duty as knight of the realm.
We await your return from Drangleic. Meet us at Anor Londo. The chamber of the Princess.
We will discuss business further upon your arrival. Ciarin will be there.
D.S.O
Artorias.
That name again.
It has been so many years since he had been addressed as Artorias. A lifetime ago in fact. He gazed blankly at the letter, dumbstruck, reading and re-reading it over and over again. Lordran bleeds. Ciarin will be there. Anor Londo. So many names from a past he thought long gone. Why now? How had they even located him here? He had tried all he could to distance himself from Lordran, that land of pain and perdition. He had crossed the sea, served the princess and people here in Majula, changed his name and donned a new persona. Jeddit the hunter. He was happy here, happy with his new life. Why couldn't the past leave him to his own devices? Yet here it was, the summons he had been dreading he would one day receive. He read the letter one more time, then fell back into his chair, head in his hands. What was he to do? He could not simply abandon Drangleic at the bequest of a piece of lost kingdom. He was not the man he had once been. And yet…
Jeddit could not shake the feeling that this was his true calling. It was an uneasy sentiment that his heart felt so willing to give up all he had, but he could not deny the excitement he felt. D.S.O. Could it be…Ornstein? Surely, the long disappeared Dragon slayer was dead. And yet, it was his seal that was embossed upon the letter. He tried to ignore the feeling in his heart, but as the days went on, he found his mind constantly on the thought of Lordran. It was, after all, his birthplace. He still felt some obligation to serve it. And that name. Ciarin. His lover. He left the note upon the hearth for several days, yet curiosity constantly turned Jeddit's thoughts back to the mysterious message.
It had been a long day, Jeddit had been out in the fields, working with the others to build more homes. Heavy stones in hand, laying layer after layer of rock to build the great houses. It was simple work, lifting, carrying, laying the sealant upon the stone, placing one after another. His immense frame towered above the other men, the large slabs seemingly weightless in his hands. The freezing cold burned at their skin, light snow descending upon them. It reminded Jeddit of the bitter winters in Lordran. There it was again. His thoughts were flung back to Lordran. He remembered those long winter nights he had spent with Ciarin, the two of them sitting upon the great castle of Sen, gazing into the early sunset. Those days had been good to him, before it all fell apart. Before the curse. He finally caved. No longer could he supress his urges. Lordran bleeds. The words cut into his soul, the thought of his ruined homeland invading his every thought. Ornstein could very well be alive and beckoning for his aid, who was he to deny him that request? He returned to his shack that evening. Once more he raised the floorboards and removed a large wooden trunk. Taking a deep breath, he flung open the lid. It was still there, just as he had left it. Shinning brilliantly from within the trunk. A set of the most magnificent armour. Steel plate, azure cloth, a heavy shield, an immense sword and a menacing helmet. He allowed a smile to cross his lips at the sight of his old gear. Raising it to the light, he examined the detailed armour. Not a scratch, just the way he left it. It looked as though it still fit too. Glancing around the shack, Jeddit took a deep breath before returning to the armour. It was time.