"Midgand! Midgand! Midgand! Midgand!"
Boots clicking upon maroon brickwork steps that belied the Palace above, the chorus of mysterious rallying shouts echoed throughout the peak of the grand Capital. Looking on to pierce through the gathering crowd before a great wooden gate with its raised portcullis; gridded and enclosed upon outside entry as the cheerful cries of support seemed to rumble the walls themselves. Finally, as the group clambered over the final ridge between them and the Royal Castle surrounding, Magilou sank slightly with a huff of puffing air, "Listen to those cheers," she moped with a few sparing inhales, "The royals sure have these folks in line."
"Subjects! May I have your attention?"
A voice - posh, plummy and joyful - shot out behind the gates and above the bannered edges of the towers above, the assumed royal continued his prattling from the fortified cornerstone of a ceremony.
"It is I, Percival Asgard, crown prince of the Midgand Empire!" His addressing of the herded crowd below was incessantly superior, and Velvet could only stare on with indifference towards the prince's ramblings. "His Majesty my father and I are pleased to celebrate with you on this auspicious day!" And with the announcement, came the vibrant gasps of an enamored crowd, and the group frowned from behind the locked gate. Just a few steps too late; Magilou sinking even lower with a sweat-drop as the Witch realised.
"The Ceremony's started," the Pirate grumbled with stern cross of his arms, icy blue peering forward with furrowed brows.
Rokurou brushed down the lavender cloth upon his sunset kimono, staring onwards as he gripped his chin in thought, "It's impossible to slip in now," the Samurai assessed objectively, while their half-breed hummed in agreement; fiddling with the lined bladed belt as Sarid's sharp violet flickered to search for ways to pass through without being spotted.
"After the Opening ten years ago, our kingdom faced an existential threat, both from daemons and the terrible spread of daemonblight. However, one man raised a miraculous sword and stood so that the body and soul of the land would not be lost," the voice proceeded to boom, and gradually, a daemoness' eyes scaled the battlements above, foot tapping with growing impatience.
"Over there," she exclaimed upon sighting the curtain vulnerability, just outside of prying eyes. Nonetheless, it remained risky.
"You can climb up if you want," Rokurou remarked impassively, while the pensive half-malak remained slightly more concerned about the rash action; "but attacking now would be suicide."
"Velvet, wait for once, we can still hear from-" Nonetheless, Sarid's warning fell on deaf ears, as before the woman could argue against his point, the prince's royal statements remained uninterrupted, and the next line hurled her caution to the chilling winds.
"And the name of that man, was Artorias Collbrande!"
Velvet's blighted orbs sunk as the name gouged her ears, trembling in their sockets as calloused hands slammed shut. Without another word, steel twisted upon the stone, and the ravenette darted with the breeze and bound along the cracked stairway at their left.
"Artorias! Artorias! Artorias! Artorias!"
Their shouts ricocheted within her mind as metal webbed rock, sliding along with a shrill screech as the almost ravenous Wolf glared up to the towering battlement before her; a great ways across and beyond from the maroon flighted balcony she prowled upon.
"None here, I trust, are unfamiliar with Artorias' noble act. To bring us salvation from daemons, he sacrificed everything."
The trust and valiant faith in this seemingly infallible figure was evident, the Prince just another sheep to be herded among the naive watcher's below. This so-called gallant shepherd wielding a blade bloodied with innocent's, in place of a useless crook. Gritted teeth and a simmering ember awakening in boiling aureate, Velvet did not slow, the howl of the wind's support brisking her steps to shatter the board bench and pounce through the blistering air.
"He called Lord Innominat, one of the five Empyreans, and blessed us with the strength of the malakhim."
The daemon's boot ruptured the resolute brick, and the bandaged hand lashed out at stone with a snarling yell; the withering claws slumbering beneath cloth gorging into the wall while her human fragility scrambled over it with her right. Even still, as the unblemished nails became rashed and crooked - marring the material with ivory - she breathed hot like flame as her form only fell bit by bit; scarring man-made flesh while Velvet struggled to make way upwards.
Dust and rock spat out underneath the climb, the blinded prince still singing his praises. "He serves as a shining beacon of Reason in this world of turmoil. And Reason is what binds us."
'But you KILLED him! You took everything that I LOVED!'
Irises blazing with a vengeful fire, she growled and tore out a resting brick with furious might, sending it smashing upon the ghostly sidewalk and just shy of a worriedly watching Laphicet. Gathering a right hold and digging in steel heels of absolute determination, she leaned to the side upon this brief respite, and swung a bandaged palm back; poising it wrathfully, and out burst the appendage of hellish crimson, pulsing unnaturally with the guttural beating of a bitter, lonely heart.
"So raise your voices in praise to Artorias' devoted work, to the saviour who purifies evil and guides our flock!"
With a malicious sneer, Velvet tensed her clambering limbs upon the lacerated tower side, before suddenly catapulting upwards with a thrashing pull of the devastating limb; rendering a great clawed defacement into the stone as she flipped over and into the battlements erected above this celebratory ceremony of mindless animals. Dissipated into ominous miasma, she flicked the scarlet limb away as auric orbs lay hardened and sharp over what stood below. Just a few clicks of her approaching boots, and Velvet could finally see them.
"Let us call him, our Shepherd!"
"Shepherd Artorias! Shepherd Artorias!"
Those lifeless, chilling eyes of cold-hearted blue.
Her golden orbs held an abyssal light within its vacant, ravenous stare.
"Shepherd... Artorias!"
The sheer masses of possibly thousands cheered to rival a ferocious storm, tiny polka dots shuffling down below to stare upon the towered platform where the revered crown prince stood. And, as the chants seemed to rock the palace with their endless fealty, the royal turned to splay his welcoming palm to the shadow encompassing the space behind. From it, out into the gleaming rays that soon coated the ornamental attire, emerged a man; sharp and stout, clad in unfaltering noble white and accented gold attire. The pristeen colours eerily akin to the cleanly garments of a half-malakhim ally, yet the woman dared not compare the two. Draped over his refined figure, was a long, white and aureate coat, but with an ocean blue interior in addition to matching gloves, pants and boots.
Velvet could catch the undeniable bound right limb broken all those years ago, now an extravagant cape mirroring this motif rested upon his shoulder to veil the injury; tied through a tight brown belt strapped around his waist. Stepping forth from the dark, the daemon could see him look down upon the joyful crowd with unfeeling eyes of steel, breezing past the blonde royal without even a glance. Ponytail of silver swaying softly through ecstatic winds.
The crowd hushed, silence - heavy as a hammer on metal - while every eye gazed upon the unflinching 'savior' of humanity. Velvet could scarcely omit her agitation, tightly binding bruised fingers upon a convulsing limb. Soon enough, the great Artorias Collbrande blinked, and his lips parted to address the faithful sheep below herded at his selfish sacrifice.
"Even though this world was filled with suffering, I had to... ask something tremendous of you all." The residents below were attentive upon every word, even those of similar stature that gazed at this figure from behind; the stilled form of a lightly blonde Praetor - a bandage wound over his eye - and an unknown watcher adorning the similar pristeen attire of the Abbey. A whole line of Orderlies and other exorcists stood in faithful watch. "I entrusted to endure the pains of Reason. I asked you to bind yourselves with shackles of your own will! For the only blade that can expel calamity is one forged from unshaking reason and the iron will to do what must be done."
Raising a steady and poised fist to the enduring everblue skies above, the Shepherd's stare sharpened above the crowd; immersed with baited breath.
"And now that blade stands ready- before all of us today! I offer my body and life to the people in service of this great land! With the blessings... of the Empyrean Innomniat, I will guide you to a world without calamity!" Comviction rising through the man's hardened voice, his valiant will seeped forth as he swept the hand roughly through the air, "And this world's suffering... will be nothing but a distant memory!"
Artorias let his palm sink to the side, empty of any pride as the cheers bellowed once again, it was simply what had to be done. And far off on a distant tower, casting that malicious, burning gaze centered on the Shepherd, and him alone, was Velvet; motionless in the gilded rays of celebration. Bandages squealed against her ferocious fury, hand clenched shut with a trembling force. "But, you're the one who murdered..."
Thwick!
Until suddenly, whisk of a flowing gale, and a weight pushed down upon her head. Even still, the daemon did not switch her focus from that noble snake, the vibrating tension shaking curled palms despite the Samurai's violet glove wrenching her head downwards and out of glancing view. "You fool! They'll see us!" he quietly scolded, concentrating his chidding glare upon the lady. However, the daemon's golden sight did not yield to the dusted stone stood upon. Velvet's lip quivered with a barring of teeth, until another wisp unsteadied the air, and lastly did the suspecting crackle of lightning arc out of view; a head of tufted blonde and another of a shrouding swan's wing.
Sarid plucked his kunai from the weathered battlements while darting low, while the still slightly disoriented Laphicet hobbled over cautiously to the downed and seething ravenette. Nevertheless, the world around her was void of all life, and merely hearing that man's river of lies upon a stolen throne grated the mind of conscious thought. All Velvet could see, was the bloodied hands of a murderer, wiped clean with a royal handkerchief.
"...You're the one who killed Laphicet!"
And the blonde malakhim could only stumble back in shock at her careless words; the half-breed merely grimacing at the finality.
"W-What!?"
Crimson pooled upon constricted cloth, dripping between the daemon's wrathful grip; the chants of 'Shepherd Artorias' echoing throughout the rotten Palace.
~~~
"The Shepherd Artorias... THAT'S who you're after?"
Velvet rolled her eyes and glared to scarred wall she had left behind, the Pirate's nigh incredulous stare boring into the woman at such a revelation. Down below parting just beside the corner of her reckless scouting, the group discussed lowly and out of sight and out of mind from the flowing river of a crowd that leaked forth from the ceremony.
"Aww..." the Witch moped deviously at the side of the moody daemon, "And here I was hoping you'd just straight-up pounce on him."
Velvet's vacant stare with narrowed brows flicked to the fiendish girl, "That would be suicide," she bluntly stated - unwilling to concede that the thought crossed her mind - and began rapping her stained fingers upon her right bicep in monotonous thought once again. "No, I need a sword of reason and will. That's the only thing that can kill him."
Sarid sighed mildly at the side, finger trailing the crooked stone as the absolute manic goal was processed by the minute. "...Seems you aren't one for stealth then, not that I'm surprised after that..." the half-malak groaned with a flick of his knife, leaning tiredly upon the side.
"That Shepherd doesn't seem like the type to fall for assassination anyway," Rokurou pitched in with a thoughtful hum of his own.
"Killing... Lord Artorias..." Laphicet meekly repeated, such a heretical statement to be muttered by one exorcist tool of old was frankly strange to the boy.
"Playing it safe? Booooooooring!" Magilou crudely mocked with a gaping grin, until she twisted on heel and relaxed those seemingly feeble arms behind her head. "Regrettably, it is at this juncture where we go our separate ways. I've got a bit of hunting to do," she sang with a two-fingered wave.
Flinching slightly at the half-malak's purposefully visible sigh of relaxation and relief, Velvet's blunt disregard caught the Witch's eye before she could grumble any unpleasantries. "No one's stopping you," the daemoness dismissively waved off, with another shy yet blank word of goodbye from the currently inattentive young malak.
"Farewell. May your days be fruitful and your nights tormented!" Magilou playfully wished, before dramatically stepping away and intermingling with the dwindling crowd around the corner. Shaking her head with an acceptance of at least some peace and quiet, Velvet coarsed the thoughts to centre on the plan to dispatch her mortal enemy.
After the magician's disappearance, the group congregated closer, and Rokurou interjected with his own recommendation. "If our enemy's calling himself a Shepherd, he won't be going into hiding. Let's take this slowly."
"The old man behind him... Melchior, I take it?" Eizen guessed with a focused stare, nodding at the small boy's affirmation. "Let's gather information on these people. If we know what they're planning, we can find a weakness."
"Info gathering isn't too much trouble," Sarid seriously commended, waving his knife about his knuckle with a mindful suggestion of his skill. "Give me a window and I'm in no problem, but if we want info, we need leads."
The Samurai nodded as he patted the half-breed on the shoulder at this assertion, "He's right, these are the most powerful men in the land. A single misstep will have us slaughtered," the yaksha darkly stated - scratching it his daemonic features - with each member aware of the dire consequence.
"Eizen," Velvet coldly began, an unnatural yet erratic edge in her tone and repetitive motion, "Do you have any underworld contacts within the capital itself? Like your friend at the port?"
"I don't go inland much, I'm afraid. But, Aifread has close ties to a shadow guild," he helpfully revealed, "A tavern in the city, run by an old man named Baskerville serves as a front for them."
"A shadow guild?" the daemoness questioned doubtfully, "Those sorts of things actually exist?"
Nodding in absolute trust, the half-malak wasn't deterred by the sudden suggestion as he itched at the abnormal skin underneath his gifted wrappings, "Myths all come from some substratum of truth," Sarid added confidently.
Rumble
A flash of crimson was slapped upon Laphicet's cheeks suddenly as he gasped out with a jingle of the gold bell tied to his collar, while each eye quickly shot to the disturbance. Just another sign he was alive. Grin slotting over his crude smile, the Samurai huffed a laugh at the young boy, while the rustic half-malak smiled solemnly; young blonde letting a hand lie over his stomach, flustered. "Hah! That settles it! Let's head to that tavern, they'll have food, I'm sure."
"Finally, I haven't eaten since Vortigen, and exorcist rations aren't great, I can promise that much." Sarid eventually chuckled with a spark of hunger himself, patting the young boy on the head - ruffling his yellow tufts to hopefully lift his spirits - as they readied themselves to head back to the centre of Loegres.
"Why not," Velvet grumbled lowly, unable to shake the unnatural boney fingers of dispassion scraping at her chest.
As the scrapes of their boots racked the city square, the once serene sky was alight with chatter about the ceremonial gathering of hope. Zealous believers singing the everlasting praises of their newly appointed Shepherd, their 'guiding light through this Era of Darkness'. A pompous title of the highest order. And even despite the power this man has siezed among the lands; all religious and secular retained within Midgand, even through all the belief and hope en mass, even if he was a god, Velvet's blade would not falter from cleaving his poison neck and getting revenge.
Laphicet only averted his youthful verdant orbs from the ghostly glare filling the daemon's eyes.
Soon, the vintage formation of a cozy structure became apparent in their view, the ancient sign outside swinging carelessly in the refreshing breeze. Vermillion text faded upon its scratched board, scarcely its title; 'The Bloodwing' was painted decoratively on it, with the sharp scent of alcohol and warmth slipping through the enclosed doorway. Wrinkling her nose at the prominent scent, Velvet stepped forth to swing open the entrance under piney lumbered logs of pleasant oak and smooth matte brick, Rokurou cleared his throat to garner the group's attention.
Under the guise of the effusive discussions of faithful citizens, the Samurai decided to openly discuss the particular arrivals that made an appearance under the Shepherd's shadow, "The exorcists sure were out in full force to see the Shepherd's inauguration, weren't they?" he assessed with an almost concerned look.
"What about that guy you're after?" Eizen interjected with a sudden flash of remembrance, "Was he there?"
"What, and have to stand around looking all proper? No, that's not his style."
"But I thought he was one of the top exorcists," the Pirate questioned, confused at this lack of discipline.
"That wouldn't matter to him."
As the Samurai glanced downwards in momentary thought, their half-malak stepped forward, understanding the undertone Rokurou was implying. "...So, I'm assuming this 'top exorcist' is simply too powerful to have his devotion questioned at all?"
"Try; 'too useful to be discarded', and he knows that," Rokurou revealed as if completely knowledgeable about this figure.
"Huh, all right," Eizen relented, soon finding increased caution at the reveal of another powerful exorcist standing in their way.
"Actually, Velvet, speaking of the Shepherd, I noticed he wasn't using his right arm." Rokurou's face became sharper and concentrated, as if focusing upon the image. "Was he hurt or something?"
The daemoness' lips pursed for the moment, almost struggling with herself to pull on the memory. "Yeah..." she sternly affirmed, a low etch in her tone, "He was badly wounded a long time ago... He lost the use of his sword arm."
"That's what I figured."
"But don't get the wrong idea," Velvet abruptly warned with a furrow of brows, flexing her left arm subconsciously, "He's still a master swordsman with his left arm.
The Samurai nodded along, closing his eyes and recalling the stout figure of their target. "I can tell that from the way he moves. His movements are steady and measured, and his chi is focused just below the naval."
As the man reopened his orange gaze as the description was realised, the young boy mumbled in confusion. Even Sarid was scratching his head at the matter, never even hearing of such terminology. "Huh? Why does that matter?" Laphicet questioned innocently at the side of the Reaper.
And so, Eizen felt willing to teach the young malak more about the world, "Some people say that all the body's spiritual energy gathers in a place about two finger widths below the naval."
"Even when he appears to be in a state of total peace, his guard is never down... a formidable adversary." With the yaksha's declaration of her enemy's superiority and skill, Velvet simply frowned and grumbled in response, tightening her bruised hands once again with a dismissive head shake. "And honestly... he reminded me of you." And with at Rokurou's abrupt focus upon the figure standing casually at the back, all eyes snapped to the figure. However, once she zeroed in on who the Samurai mentioned, the daemoness let out a sudden growl of irritation. Not one of disagreement, but moreso one unwilling to make the comparison.
Taken aback, their half-malak blinked in sudden surprise; feeling a rush of tension sieze his muscles at the unwitting similarities. Sarid shook his head, relaxing the grip pronounced upon the hilt of his blade, and allowed the yaksha to continue. Knowing deep down, Rokurou may be correct... somehow. However, the gilded gaze settled upon the miraculously self-conscious half-breed in that moment, expected the proof of his individuality to burst forth, one way or another. No one, would ever come close to exacting the scars upon her heart like he did.
Velvet shook off the flash of agitation that burdened her bones for the moment, settling an analytical glare back to shroud the muttering yaksha. "And, I think I know why my target has placed himself at Artorias' side... because now I want to take down Artorias too!"