By the Bonfire: Forgotten Annals
When she had first been assigned the job, there was no doubt in her mind that it was going to be challenging.
That being said, nothing could have really prepared her for something like this.
Especially with the unease that she was left with, being the sole human in the room with three Servants. One of whom required a permanent observer at all times throughout Chaldea and anything less would not be tolerated.
She already had enough on her plate without the concern of someone starting a fight.
As for the help she had been promised…
…It was middling at best.
"The entry on Covenants could do with changing."
That simple sentence had very nearly thrown the room into chaos, it had come as little more than a casual remark - almost a lazy one - from her most recent assistant and it clearly did not sit right with her first one. Given the way his arm dropped onto the table with a dull thud and he looked across the length of it with a sour look.
Even without a face, one could tell that he was glaring rather pointedly at the speaker.
Very clearly insulted that someone even dared to speak against him.
With a sigh of forced calm, Sulyvahn spoke with a slow tone of voice. As if he was speaking to an infant and not someone very clearly older than him. "This information comes directly from the Archives of Lothric and the personal libraries of Anor Londo itself. There is no denying the factual knowledge of what resides there."
Cerejeira turned her eyes towards the person on the other side.
Akal let out a grunt as she scratched the underside of her chin a couple of times, then tossed the paper down onto the table and pressed a finger into it.
"You can say that all you like, but some of the facts aren't all that accurate. I've known a good half dozen who would swear that the Mound Makers were formed by a rather insane man by the name of Emil. Well…they said he was insane, but there was never a reference to the Blood God."
Sulyvahn scoffed loudly. "The remnants of the old God's cult flooded into that sect of savages en masse. It was a transition, the end goals remained identical, mindless slaughter. Therefore, they were merely a transition from one cult to the other. Nothing more and nothing less."
Akal frowned. "Yeah, but that's sloppy. The Mound Makers hated the Gods."
"The mound makers hated everyone." Sulyvahn shot back with a faint snarl. "They would kill anything that moved for the sole purpose of tearing out their spines and turning them into bracelets. They killed for the sake of some fantasy of making the world a greater place or such nonsense. There is no difference between them and the band of murderers that followed around Alma."
The dragon rolled her eyes. "Save for the fact that one of these cults had a patron God and the other had a founder."
"You think that changed anything important?" Folding his arms, Sulyvahn shook his head. "Alma still claimed tribute from the Mound Makers through their very actions. In service to him or not, he still benefited."
"Yeah, but by coincidence, not by design." Akal fired back, pressing her finger into the table a little harder. "Give these people their due credit. Especially Emil. Everything I ever heard about him from all the visitors told me that he was absolutely crazy. I'll not have him play second fiddle in his own story to someone else who just showed up for the work."
Sulyvahn dropped his head low, bringing up his arms and then rubbing his hands flat against his brows.
A low growl escaped him for a moment, then he dropped his arms down onto the table.
"...Fine. Create a second entry for the Mound Makers and explain - in detail - that half their order was made up of remnants of the Blood Cult who had managed to survive the actions of the Blue Sentinels."
"Much better." Came the grin from the dragon, soon followed by a low hum. "For someone so detail oriented, I'm a little shocked you would try and just smash those two together like that. Whatever happened to accurate reading?"
Sulyvahn twitched.
"Any fool could tell at a glance that the mound makers became bolder after the inclusion of the Way of Blood remnants. The old cult died and found new life within the ranks of the Mound Makers. Whether they hated the Gods or not, their purpose in mindless slaughter and aimless brutality did not change in the least."
A dismissive wave of the hand.
"What is the phrase? A fresh coat of paint splattered atop an old house?"
Cerejeira wanted to point out that they needed this document to be as accurate as possible, which meant that even if the differences between the two cults were minor, they still needed to note them down as separate entities. Though she would admit to the point of Sulyvahn that the way he made them sound, there was very little difference between the two of them.
Purely that one was founded by a man and the other was founded by a God.
"Yeah, but the Mound Makers had access to pyromancies that held the strength similar to miracles."
She blinked.
Then her eyes turned to the dragon for a moment, then she registered Sulyvahn stiffening a bit and raising his head.
It indicated that he had known.
"...How does a dragon secluded at the very summit of the world somehow have access to that sort of information?"
Akal replied with a shameless grin. "I hear a lot of things. You tend to have nothing else to do but listen when you are trying to sleep."
Clearing her throat lightly, she looked down at her own papers and sorted through them for a moment. Flipping through the list of Covenants that they had already covered. The largest ones first and foremost had been dealt with, which left the smaller ones.
But there was one other.
"What of the Way of Blue and Blue Sentinels?"
Neither Sulyvahn nor Akal said anything.
Rather, the words came from the other person in the room.
"All originate from the Blades of the Darkmoon, though the lack of appearance from Lord Gwyndolin over the many long cycles that he lived caused divisions within the Covenant. Differences of opinions and those vying for power took advantage of it all."
She glanced at the speaker.
Sanura, stood with her hand clenched tightly around the shaft of her spear. "I served under the Blue Sentinels when they still answered to Lord Quella. We formed under his name and swore ourselves to the service of Heide and the people of the Kingdom. I was a high member of the group but…remained behind after the fall of the city. By my last hearing before all rumours vanished, they settled down in the Kingdom of Volgen, but the Sentinels continued their work throughout the lands."
A silent chuckle from Sulyvahn made her wince.
"An amusing manner of saying they became mercenaries." The Servant drawled out, voice tinged with mocking. "Those in service to the Way of Blue announced themselves as those who wished for help in times of need, and those who swore to the Blue Sentinels would be the ones who provided the need…But make no mistakes, the Sentinels dispatched justice whether they were summoned or not."
Sanura visibly bristled and turned her head to the back of Sulyvahn.
Thoughts that it had been slander quickly vanished when she caught Akal nodding her head up and down.
"Volgen, you say? Yeah, I heard they were pretty much thugs around there. Demanding tribute from people."
"The Blue Sentinels were not common gangsters." Sanura hissed out towards them, her hands clenched into fists. "They were-"
"They were without leadership of a wiser force and fell to the temptations that normally befit the common man." Sulyvahn cut the Lancer short with those words, not even turning his head to look at her as he scribbled something down onto the paper in front of him. "The Way of Blue was popular with the undead who frequented the contested lands, out of fear of being ambushed by Dark Spirits."
"Lines up with what I heard." Akal agreed, then Cerejeira watched the dragon turn their eyes on her. "Both came from the Blades of the Darkmoon which were…smaller?"
Sulyvahn was silent, no doubt from the pointed stares aimed at him.
The Caster exhaled. "As Captain of the Blades of the Darkmoon - my position was never officially revoked - it would have fallen to me to command them. A small group and loyal to the idea of Gwyndolin…though when Flann abandoned Anor Londo with Gwynevere, they took the idea with them and expanded upon it. Giving rise to the Way of Blue and the sentinels. A faith which grew to rival the Way of White."
The faith of Allfather Lloyd.
Who had been encountered in a small run on Fuyuki and subsequently killed during a skirmish between Fujimaru and others.
Apparently he had been an unpleasant character.
"By the time of my rise, the Blades of the Darkmoon served as the elite force within the Way of Blue. Above even the Blue Sentinels themselves. Considered the greatest and most pious warriors that the Gods themselves could command to take to any field they deemed fit."
Sanura visibly shifted, the low groan of metal echoed through the room as the woman tightened her grip on her spear further.
"Though the lack of their patron God seemed to wane on that loyalty quite a bit." Sulyvahn declared with a wave of a hand, the hint of mocking in his voice indicated that he knew exactly what he was doing and the effect it had. "Evidently secluding oneself away does not inspire much loyalty within the ranks. I can only assume that Great Father Quella took to the city a touch more often than Gwyndolin? Then again, the Great Father would always have been doubtless more wiser and-"
"What about the Sunlight Covenant?"
Akal's words silenced the room.
"We haven't got anything on that, have we?"
That…was a good point.
And they had the Patron God of said Covenant in Chaldea right now, any questions regarding the nature of the Covenant could doubtless be answered by the Rider Servant…if he was in the mood to answer them.
Sulyvahn shifted. "...No one has anything worth telling on the Warriors of Sunlight. Though it is a testament to their order that they endured through the many cycles that passed over the world…I can admit as much, they are clearly a hard group to stomp out. Even with the Way of Blue taking up a similar role with transport between worlds."
Cerejeira frowned to herself as she considered the words, thinking more of them.
They had next to nothing on the firstborn of Gwyn, nothing more than scraps they had been thrown here and there, small conversations through word of mouth. That and that alone was their entry into a figure that was as formally important as the War God.
All of which because his name had been stripped from history along with all his deeds.
At least, for a time.
"Though it did aid the covenant that Forossa became a powerful Kingdom for a time. At least until it descended into a hive of banditry and general thuggery. The people of Forossa becoming a scourge on the world as they sought to prove their strength of arm by fighting anything that moved."
A dry snort from the Caster as he turned back to his papers.
"Because apparently the War God never learned the first thing of ruling, even those with some semblance of sanity abandoned the Kingdom the first chance they got. Not that Ermingild, the Sword of the Dawn, was a sensible one either…or a merciful King…But he was a fair King, if nothing else."
Sanura clicked her tongue. "A poor endorsement for a ruler."
"That you believe as much is why you are fit to be a guard dog and nothing else." Sulyvahn replied without missing a beat, not even turning to face the Lancer. "Perhaps if you spent less time barking as such, you might learn a thing or two. Given that Ermingild is the only reason that the Demons of Chaos didn't run rampant."
It was clear to her that Sanura was seething under her helm, but the woman remained silent and adjusted herself ever so slightly. Stepping back while making it clear she was still glaring at the back of the head of Sulyvahn.
Cerejeira would have preferred to start from the very beginning.
Making note of all the Covenants did very little beyond save time for when the explanations began.
No, if this book was to have any sense of reason to it, she would need to go to the very beginning.
Which meant going to those who had been there since the very beginning.
Standing up, she slid her chair backwards and gathered up her writing materials before clutching them close to her chest, looking across the room and seeing that her movements had only really earned the attention of Akal and Sanura. The final member of the room remained with his writings, still jotting down something that would probably need to be revised.
Because Sulyvahn was a very biased account of things.
"Going somewhere?"
Akal questioned, the dragon woman raised a brow.
Cerejeira rolled her jaw before replying in a quiet tone. "I need to make a start on the history of the world…it only makes sense that I go to someone who was there."
She moved around the desk, the dragon giving only a light hum of acknowledgement, and made it as far as the door of the room before another voice spoke out. "If I might ask a favour…"
She paused, then turned.
Sanura stood with her head facing her. "...I would not be one to shirk from responsibility, but in light of such news…I would ask that I be allowed to accompany you on this mission. It would be of great personal interest to me…if you are to speak with those who were there at the great Dragon hunts, that is."
Cerejeira purposefully looked at Sulyvahn.
"I can watch this guy." Akal chimed in, swinging a hand towards the Caster in question. "Besides, someone needs to proof-read everything he is writing. Not like he can overpower me if he decides to take an issue with it."
Akal followed it up with an unashamed grin.
Sulyvahn merely stopped writing for a short moment to raise his head, once more showing an impressive - and disturbing - ability to glare without the visible appearance of eyes or even a face for that matter. Quite frankly, the sooner she was out of the room and away from the Caster, the better it would be for all of them.
Cerejeira wasn't even comfortable in leaving them all in the room unattended either, but it wasn't like she could just throw them out.
Did she really think they would listen to her?
Absolutely not.
With a faint nod, she made for the door and passed through it with the footfalls of the Lancer following on behind her.
She wasn't sure what the Servant would be expecting, but she rarely found documenting to be a source of entertainment. It was something that needed to be done and little more.
Finding the War God was…surprisingly easy.
The problem was actually where the War God had been.
She stopped outside the door and stared at the entrance to it, rolling her lips inwards in an effort to fight off the sudden wave of unease that she felt build up within her. Shuffling left and right on her feet. It was hardly as though there was a rush for this sort of thing, right?
Perhaps waiting a couple of minutes would be best for-
The door opened up, a man with long blonde hair stepped forwards and then paused as he caught sight of her.
"Oh!" His brows shot up, then a cordial smile came across his lips, bringing his arms up and folding them over his chest. Her eyes were immediately drawn to his silver limb - purely for the sheer power it radiated - before they darted back to his face. Noting the way he was seemingly studying her. "Cerejeira, yes? I was hoping that I would eventually get the chance to meet you."
She froze. "You…were?"
The man - she already knew who this was by reputation - nodded his head and smiled a little wider. "I've been making an effort to visit all those who work in Chaldea. Best to get to know the sorts of people I'll be fighting with, even if not on the battlefield. Though we kept missing one another, I did not wish to disturb you when you were working."
"I…I see."
Nuada unfolded his arms. "That and I suppose Francis has been quite open about singing your praises. You've found yourself a good friend with that one, half the reason I was so excited to meet you, I suppose."
Her mind blanked.
"You…spoke with…Franics about me?"
"I did." Nuada spoke again, confirming her worst fears. "Quite a while as well. Though there were a few other topics as well, in case you were afraid we would spend an entire evening discussing you and you alone. That would be quite intimidating…but you'll doubtless be pleased to hear that he told me none of the embarrassing stories that probably exist between the two of you."
There was something about his smile and the way she spoke.
It was a deeply unsettling sense of embarrassment.
He hadn't even said anything worrying, it was just the general aura about him.
"And Ser Sanura, I'm pleased to see you in good health…" Nuada shifted, his expression turning a bit more uncomfortable. "About that nasty business before-"
"There is no need for an apology, Lord Nuada." Sanura interrupted with a light bow. "We were both tasked by our lords at the time, there was nothing else to be done when our duties conflicted. Rather, I am grateful for the chance to serve alongside those of Chaldea."
Nuada relaxed a little. "Then I will make no further apologies for it, out of fear of insulting you. I will say that you fought well."
"Not as well as yourself."
"I'd hardly be one to boast about it." Nuada chuckled. "And my grandson would be better than I…If you should ever meet him, you'd see what I mean…but I'll be on my way before I start talking about that sort of thing. Else you'll never get what you came here for."
Nuada stepped out of the way and took a few steps forwards, then paused when he came up beside her.
She froze when he leaned down, then dropped his voice into a low whisper. "I meant what I said before. You've found yourself a good friend, make sure you treasure him justly. They are hard to find…and often all too easy to lose and for those of us with perfect memories…it makes their loss all the more painful."
He stepped away and started to walk off before she could even get a word out, turning her head towards his retreating figure and watching it for a moment. Her arms clenched at her books and pens a bit tighter before a breath left her lips, turning back around and stepping into the room.
Of all the places built in Chaldea.
The bar was perhaps the most unusual one that had been constructed.
Though it was less a bar and more of a lounge, at the very least it wasn't like some cornerstone pub…or how she imagined they would look. Francis spent enough time complaining about them.
"Hmmm?"
She tried her best not to look towards the countertop, but ultimately failed when she heard the familiar hum of surprise.
Messy dark hair and black rimmed glasses, the man behind the counter passed as he adjusted the bottles, looking towards her as though he had seen some sort of apparition.
Despite herself, she felt her cheeks heat up a little at the rather baffled look he was throwing her way, almost as if his jaw was about to drop off his face and clatter to the ground in the next couple of seconds. Her brows furrowed as she stared at the man, puffing air out of her nose and marching forwards.
"Stop looking at me like that." Cerejeira muttered just loud enough for him to hear. "I'm not that shocking to see."
Francis blinked twice before his glasses, his surprise slowly faded away but was still present upon his face. "Well…I can't exactly remember the last time you came about here…but you're better at remembering than me, so when was the last time you came here?"
She flushed and looked away. "Don't say something like that. We both know I've never come here."
"I know." Francis admitted with a nod of the head. "I've never stopped around the archives either…So what has earned this momentous visit?"
He looked stupid with that grin on his face.
Taking in a breath, she exhaled and levelled him with a flat look. "Don't get too ahead of yourself. I'm here for work at the moment-"
"At the moment." He muttered with a small chortle.
Cerejeira glowered at him for that comment. This was awkward enough without him making those sorts of remarks. Speaking of which, her eyes narrowed as the words of Nuada came back to her. Not the fact she and Francis were friends, but the fact that Francis had apparently been spending his time gossiping about her. "What are you doing going around talking about me to others?"
Francis raised a brow, then shrugged. "We got to talking and he asked about my friends. You were the first that popped to mind, what else is there to say? Mind you, he also spoke to me about the ins and outs of fishing as well."
Her brows furrowed. "You don't fish."
"I do not."
Her expression turned pinched at the rather simple reply from the man, which was soon followed by a light chuckle and then a shrug. "But he liked to talk about it, so I didn't see the issue in letting him speak…Unless I'm not allowed to talk with anyone except you. In which case, I suppose I could live with that arrangement-"
"Stop talking." She clicked her tongue at him and turned away. "I don't own your conversations…just try not to give people the wrong impression."
Francis raised a brow. "I didn't."
Cerejeira blinked.
Then she blinked again.
Was this room always so warm or was it just her noticing it now or-ah! There was the War God!
"Excuse me, I have work to do." She replied as stoically as she could manage, fighting back the temptation to wipe that little smirk of Francis face as she turned about and marched towards the direction of the War God, only just noticing that he was also sat in one of the corner tables with a large jug of alcohol in front of him.
She really hoped he wasn't drunk.
That would make coming here pointless.
She came to a stop at the edge of his table.
He didn't seem to notice her in the least, instead still staring down at it for a couple of seconds.
Moving her right hand up, she curled it into a fist and brought it in front of her mouth, coughing lightly and stepping forwards. "Excuse me?"
"Hmph?"
A grunt from the large figure, his head turned towards them and then he squinted down the end of his nose. Dull gold eyes flickered between the two of them for a few moments, they lingered longer on Sanura than they did on herself, but they did eventually return their gaze onto her and squint a bit harder.
"...You're a scholar, aren't you?"
She was a bit surprised he could tell, but she was holding her books in her hands.
Cerejeira nodded her head up and down. "Yes, I am. I am currently the records keeper at Chaldea and the Director has charged me with documenting everything of note from the other world from beginning to end."
"Beginning to end…" Faraam made a small noise, then swung a large hand forwards and pointed at the book in her hand. "You'll need more paper than that…so why come to me?"
She swallowed. "Because you were there at the beginning."
Faraam said nothing, the arm dropped down onto the table with a thud, then snaked back towards the jug, his fingers wrapped around it, his eyes dropping a moment later.
"...Oh. That beginning." His words were quiet. "Havel would be just as good at asking as I…but he'd probably start ranting about Seath…Arkon served under me, so he'd know as well. Ledo was there…you're a bit spoilt for choice about who to ask."
"But you were an important figure."
"Not that important."
Her lips rolled inwards. "Important or not, I prefer to have all the information I can to make sure the book is as close to factual truth as possible. Which includes every single point of view."
Faraam's shoulders trembled for a moment, but it was not from anger or anything close to frustration. Rather, it was an empty noise that escaped him as his eyes closed, sounding more like a hollow laugh. "Is that what this is? A return to the annals of history…? It's not worth returning me to those. Somehow managed to make it here, despite everyone's best efforts…even my own."
…Alright, so they weren't going to get anything out of him.
"This behaviour is despicable."
She blanched and shot a look over her shoulder towards Sanura as she stepped forwards.
"You are the God of War. Your achievements should take pride of place in your heart, even if none are around to recall them."
Faraam said nothing, merely glancing towards the Lancer for a split second then dropped his eyes back down to the booze.
Sanura, apparently not considering who she was speaking to, went further. "You insult the memories of those who fought under you, took orders from you, if you sit here and proclaim that you contributed nothing. I am certain that those who served with you would argue differently. Whether through treachery or triumph, you are a part of their story."
"...I can see why Flann made you wear that armour." The War God snorted, rubbing his nose briefly and taking a long slurp of his drink. "Very honourable one, aren't you?"
Sanura bristled. "I am not one to sing the praises of traitors. But their treachery should be remembered for all to take to heart, as proof of what should be warned against. If for no other reason than to have your example serve as a lesson for those who come after…Despite how preferable it would be to forget them."
"...Yes. Quite like him." Faraam muttered, then closed his eyes and nodded his head down to the table. "...Serve as a warning, is it? Alright then…listen close to the tale of the fool Faraam and all the suffering he wrought as he tried to do what his heart told him to be right."
It stank.
The aftermath always stank.
A stench so foul that it would make even his eyes water, the Silver Knights who usually stood stoic wretched as the odour flooded the field of battle.
These were the ones he hated coming to, above all others, but he long since learned to strengthen his stomach to them. Even if they were the sort that he did not consider to be the right type.
"And where has he gone now?"
"Lord Nito and his forces have headed eastward to reinforce his grace, my Lord."
He raised a brow to the messenger but said nothing. "And Lady Izalith?"
The knight paused before slowly shaking his head. "There has been no further word, my Lord. General Havel is gathering up two thousand swords to ride west to find signs of them. Fires have stretched to the heavens for nearly a month, General Anna has promised ten thousand of her own forces to reinforce them."
Faraam paused at the news. "Her siege of the Neck is coming to a close then?"
"Reports are that she has reduced their number to ten."
He rolled his jaw as he internalised the news.
"...Ride back to General Anna. Tell her to dispatch four thousand for Havel and keep the remaining number to take the Neck."
"Yes, Lord Faraam."
The messenger bowed his head, then turned and marched back down the hill.
His gaze lingered on them for only a second, then turned about and marched into his tent, flanked by his own commanders.
"General Anna has thirty thousand under her command, surely twenty thousand can-"
"Even with thirty thousand I would not place much faith in the Pygmy forces to root out ten dragons." Faraam replied as he moved about the table, glaring down at the map and adjusting the pieces. "The Neck has been their strongest foothold in our territory for nearly a century now. If Quelaag could not root them out with her firestorms, then the Pygmies will not either…but it stops those ten dragons fleeing. I'd rather know where they are."
Ten dragons.
If he could spare the men, he'd have sent at least a company of Silver Knights to reinforce the General, if only so they could have the strength of Miracles to support them. However, he could not spare them.
Because he had other prey to hunt and with luck, this could be done swiftly.
"What of General Havel?" His eyes flickered to the speaker. "If he rides North and finds Lady Izalith in danger then-"
"Then the difference of Pygmies will make little difference save for how many graves are to be filled."
He cut that down with a shake of the head. "I'm in no mood to throw forces around as if they were dust into the winds. If Izalith needs aid, then Havel will be more than sufficient for that purpose. In the meantime, we have a front to press here. Lord Nito has gone East to his Grace the King. He's decimated the majority of their forces, but the dragons are still forming up here."
He pointed his finger down to the map. "The Crumbling Heights."
Silence filled the tent.
He did not blame them.
It was something that they had been trying and failing to take since they arrived here some several centuries ago. The last time he made the push they had been rebuffed, a battle that had lasted a full week of non-stop fighting before they made progress either way.
"My Lord…" The knight at the other end of the table began in a slow and steady voice. "If the reports of the scouts speak truly…then the Heights are more than just a base of operations. We've had word from every front that some of the dragons have started to…change."
"It's nonsense." Grumbled another with a shake of the head. "Excuses to save their own souls from their failures."
"It was not an excuse that pulverised Flann's legion."
"No, it was his own incompetence!"
"You-"
"Enough." Faraam raised his hand, narrowing his eyes and sweeping them along the council. "Rumors they remain, but something crippled Flann's legion and very nearly killed him. Whether it was because of his own actions or not, I will not hear his name slandered…"
"Apologies, My Lord." The gruff commander bowed his head. "I meant no offence-"
"And I have suffered no insult." Faraam replied. "But we are not Flann's legion and we will not blindly charge into a den of dragons. Now if the scouts are correct, there may be some aberrations nestled amongst the dragons but our orders remain the same. With the Heights gone, we can finally free up some troops to aid in the Southern campaigns."
He closed his eyes. "I'll hear battle plans in the 'morrow. For now, get some rest and eat your fill…We'll need all the strength we can muster in the days to come-"
"My Lord!"
His eyes turned to the tent at the sudden - rather desperate - shout that echoed about them, straightening himself up and narrowing his gaze.
The tent flap swung open a moment later, the chastisement he prepared vanished the moment he caught sight of the state of the knight. Namely the fact that half their armour was scorched black and warped, their right arm hung limply at their side and their breaths came out in heavy pants.
Despite that, the knight made an effort to stand at attention.
"My…My Lord…the scouts…they…"
Faraam clenched his jaw.
"I'd sent five hundred of the finest we had to scout the perimeter near the heights."
Cerejeira said nothing as the God continued speaking, he paused just long enough to take another drink before he resumed speaking.
"Anything less couldn't cover the length of it…" He paused, then exhaled. "The Crumbling Heights…a finer name did not exist. A collection of fallen Arch Trees one atop another into a mass like that of a tent. Roots bound them and kept them close, reaching high into the heavens with the summit lost beyond the clouds."
A grunt, then he lowered his arm from having gestured up.
"It was a meat grinder. You'd throw a thousand men in and be rewarded with a thousand corpses. Day after day, year after year. The siege none wanted command of but had to be done. Apparently it had been going since the start of the War, the initial attack had made the very battlements that gave us such grief."
Cerejeira nodded her head as she wrote everything down, not that she truly needed to.
Her memory was perfect enough that she would never forget this.
"You mentioned aberrations?"
Faraam paused, then made a noise and pointed towards her. "Yes, I did…they had been cropping up for a little over a century. One or two at first, scarce enough that word was hardly spread. They died the same way as the other dragons so we barely paid heed to the warnings…and then more started to appear. Changes could be random and chaotic. Their bodies were warped…mutations in skill made fighting them dangerous."
"More so than the regular dragons?"
Faraam grunted and nodded. "Aye…more so."
Sanura shifted beside her. "What were they like…the Everlasting Dragons?"
"...Big."
"...Big?"
"Very big."
"...Are you mocking me-"
"No, they were big." Faraam waved a hand. "That is what I can say about them. They were big and they were…strange. You didn't notice at first but they were smart. You saw them preparing against tactics they had already learned, a change depending on if they fought Gods or Pygmies…the battle of the Crescent Beach changed everything. It was decided no Pygmy army would march without a full company of Silver Knights."
He took another long drink.
"...The Pygmies couldn't use the miracles of the lords at first. So they just attacked the dragons with brute force and…and then they were able to eventually kill them. I'm not certain how, something linked to their weapons but that was all. Yet it could not come close to comparing to the power of the Gods."
It did not sound like a boast.
More akin to a fact.
Faraam drummed his finger on the table. "They fell upon the army of humans. Some fifty thousand strong and with only twenty dragons they reduced it to a tenth of that. Routed them at the cost of only six of their own. That was it…you ask me what dragons were? They were big…In both might and in mind. The speed at which they learned, the armies to avoid and the armies to slaughter…"
He fell silent, shaking his head from side to side.
"That…No, the Crumbling Heights was when I truly started to respect them as adversaries."
That must have been a strange thing to say, given the way Sanura shifted and leaned forwards, but their confusion was clear without even the need for words.
"But…yes…the scouts. I had sent them out the same as every other morning and they had not returned until past the usual time. I had lost two thirds of their number."
Faraam's eyes scanned the inside of the tent, his towering form cast a long shadow.
"How many?"
"A little under two hundred." Came the response from the healer, his eyes flickered over the rows upon rows of injured. The miracles would see them back up and on the front in a few hours, perhaps less, but that did not bring back the swords that he had lost.
These were no small losses either.
Every single one of these knights had taken part in the slaying of at least one dragon, some had been present for two or even three.
"...Where is the captain?"
The silence he got was telling.
He very nearly cursed, instead he took in a sharp breath and marched forwards. "Who was next in command?"
"He's at the very bottom of the tent, My Lord."
He took the directions and started to walk, passing through the wounded and stopping to give them a once over himself. Waving down attempts to stand at attention as he moved, it would have been foolish for them to do so and he had no desire to aggravate their wounds further.
Eventually, he reached the rear of the tent, falling to a halt as he stared at the knight.
Standing where his brothers and sisters lay, immediately shooting to attention the moment his eyes caught sight of Faraam.
"My Lord-" The knight croaked, then gave a weak cough. Visibly fighting off the effort to not fall down to the ground, his face strained and his gaze weak. It was clear that whatever strength he still had was being used to stand up even now.
Faraam watched him for a moment, then gave a silent assent for them to stand at ease. "Report in your own words what happened."
The knight swallowed, then nodded his head. "Captain carried out patrol as with every other day…Third squad failed to return. We found it unusual and then moved to discover what happened…"
A cough escaped the knight, he wavered on his feet.
Faraam stepped close and dropped his hand down, catching the knight before they could fall and bracing them with his hand. His other moved about to catch them from the other side, grimacing as he lowered them down to the ground and allowed them to sit. "I won't have you give your report to the dirt. I have more interest in your words than in your posture. Speak as you are able."
With a shuddering breath, the knight nodded once more and managed a weak cough.
"Good." Faraam grunted, then released them. "Continue."
"Third squad…we smelled them before we found them." The knight remarked, eyes going distant once more. "...The fires still burned. Bright yellow…armour melted together…it had been quick…none of them had their swords at the ready…they were bunched together…molten…fused…"
Faraam kept his face still, but the picture sounded grim.
"What happened next?"
The knight rolled his lips inwards and looked down. "...Captain signalled a retreat…then rocks dropped on our heads. Great boulders…formed a wall around us and stopped an immediate retreat. Then…then there was this…this screeching."
Faraam furrowed his brows.
"The captain just…he just froze…" The knight muttered. "Stopped moving and then was pulled into the air. By his Grace, I swear it was as if some unseen hand had him gripped and yanked him up. He started screaming, same as his armour…bent out of shape and then he just…he was just slammed into the ground like an arrow. Died then and there."
That sounded unusual.
No, it went beyond unusual.
It was dangerous, akin to some form of…no, he had heard nothing of this.
An invisible force?
Was it a dragon that could become one with the wind?
"Heard it then. The great roar and then the clouds above turned bright yellow. Dragon came down, fast and low and just breathed…fires came from its mouth. Those hot yellow flames and just turned the boulders to rivers of flame. Kept us trapped…made another pass and did the same on the other side."
Faraam remained silent as the story went on.
"Trapped us all…no one could see it before it was upon us and by then it was too late. First squad tried to make formation…came for them before they could nock their arrows. Just…swept over them and then dust…"
"How did you escape?"
The knight swallowed, refusing to meet his gaze. "...I shouted, didn't think anyone would hear me. But by the Gods, did I yell. Told the fourth squad to charge for the tree. Not for cover, we knew they wouldn't make it but…that dragon took the bait. Turned about and chased them down. I took everyone else…and I ran…we all ran…we ran far and fast as we could."
Faraam took in a breath, then slowly rose to his feet. "Fourth squad is lost to us then. Fifty swords…fifty of the finest swords…" he rolled his jaw from side to side.
"...An aberration like you described is a pressing danger to us all. You did well to get this news to me and to get these men out alive." He pointed down at the knight. "Fourth squad did their duty. Their brothers and sisters live because they followed your orders. I will neither commend nor condone them. You did what was needed to get them out…nothing more."
The silver knight shuddered.
"...What is your given name?"
"...Ornstein, My Lord."
Faraam nodded his head. "Ornstein then. Soon as you are healed, you will assume command of the scouts. They are in need of that leadership and the mantle suits you well enough. We shall march on the tree come the first light tomorrow and when we do, you shall be the one to fight by my side. For the sake of those who perished under the flames of this beast…this I swear."
Ornstein looked up at him, then slowly nodded his head. "By your orders, My Lord."
"...You have my condolences." He brought his hand up. "Remember their names. All of them. It is from their strong souls that you and yours draw breath even now."
He turned and marched from the tent without another word.
Ornstein, was it?
Hmph.
Time would tell if anything would come of them.
"This is-"
Sanura was on her feet, helm facing Faraam with a clear level of shock in her posture.
Faraam chuckled. "The very first time I met with Ornstein. Already a confirmed dragon slayer by the time I met with him and, at the time, I had thought he would perish in the next battle. I had seen it before many-a-time in the eyes of those fresh from slaughter…their gaze weak and their limbs weary."
The good nature slowly faded. "His actions that day saved the lives of the scouting regiment, but at the cost of fifty of his own brothers and sisters. He knew that and I would not congratulate him on the sacrifice. It is not something one needs to be told. Only the truth."
Cerejeira cleared her throat. "And the aberration?"
"...It became a clear and present threat." Faraam remarked with a roll of his jaw, alcohol long forgotten. "I assembled the council and told them what I had been informed of. As expected there were some calls for reinforcements. Though the nearest forces to us were still months away…and I had no way of knowing if the dragons would get their own forces."
A sigh left him, he reached up and rubbed his forehead. "It was a long and drawn out debate. I brought in Ornstein to give his testimony…He spoke passionately, and as the new captain of the scouts he was listened to well enough. He'd cleaned up too. A strong gaze in his eyes…I was rather impressed with him."
"He sought vengeance?"
"Revenge?" Faraam scoffed dismissively. "No. Ornstein was never one for revenge, not even then. The aberration had to die because it was dangerous. Because it had proven itself smart…exceedingly so. An aberration with that level of power and that level of intellect? Some were quick to dismiss his claims but whether it was chaos that caused his words or observation, the fact remained the same."
His eyes settled on the distance. "The siege was to take place."
Sanura stepped forwards, her helmet now removed and her features exposed to the world. Red hair hanging low and freckled face set in a clearly intrigued look. Wetting her lips as she looked to the War God. "Did…did Ser Ornstein ride with you?"
Faraam shook his head. "Not in the opening battle. I served as the vanguard and the scouts needed rest. I was not prepared to throw the tired and wounded into battle once more…thus we came the next day. Ten thousand strong and marched on the tree…fifty dragons swarmed over our heads and perhaps half that still inside."
His hand moved up, pulling his scarf further down his face and exposing a chiselled jawline.
"What happened next?"
Cerejeira blinked, then slowly turned her head towards the speaker.
Francis stood near them, leaning back against the wall and with a clear interest in his face, he met her eyes and then shrugged his shoulders. "What? I'm getting invested in this now and this 'Ser Ornstein' sounds as though he was fairly important."
"Fairly important?" Sanura let out an incredulous huff as her voice cracked, shooting a baffled look towards Francis before waving her hand about. "Ser Ornstein was captain of the Knights of Gwyn. It is he who formed the basis for what all dragon slayers aspired to."
Bringing up her hand, she thudded her fist against her breastplate with a metallic thud.
"It is his armour that mine was made in honour of. As with my spear…Though I cannot claim to be his equal-"
Faraam grunted. "And I'm sure the Ornstein who I last saw would have killed the dragon with his own two hands rather than fled with his men. Not a single warrior has ever started as a great peer…well…some have the talent for it, but that alone is not enough in battle."
His eyes closed.
"But Ser Ornstein…or captain Ornstein as he was by that point. He followed on in our wake. So naturally, it took him little time to actually reach us when we laid siege to the Heights."
He brought up his arm, rock splashed over his body and cratered in the ground around him.
Faraam growled and swung his arm back, light pooled within his grasp and roared. With a bellowing cry, he swung his arm forth and hurled the bolt into the air. Tracking it with his eyes as it slammed home, the sunlight tore into the wing of the dragon and pulled it clean from the body.
A shrill cry echoed through the air, the titanic beast bellowed as it swung wildly with the three remaining wings in an effort to catch itself. But too little and too late, Faraam pointed to the sky a moment later and the fate of the dragon was sealed with that silent command.
The knights who stood by him followed as one, swinging their arms forth and unleashing bolt after bolt into the air. The barrage landed one after another into the dragon, stone scales peeled from its body, falling to the ground as another pained yell tore itself free of the beast, dropping towards the ground with a mighty crash.
Shuddering earth and dust was all that surrounded him, knights fell upon the downed beast and swung into the gaps. Hacking and slashing at the flesh beneath and even then, the dragon proved more than a match for his own troops. A sweeping tail sent dozens into the sky and crashed down around him.
Faraam turned and marched, dropping down the small incline as his eyes focused on the two dragons near the mouth of the tree entrance.
His left hand exploded with power once more.
A breath climbed into his lungs as he took a step forwards, then swung the javelin and launched the next spear.
It collided with the neck of the first dragon, the explosion blew a chunk from the throat of the beast, staggering it backwards into the trunk of the tree and thudding against it. The other dragon paused for only a moment, turning its head to see the state of its fellow and appearing alarmed with what had happened.
Then it cried out with fury, redoubling its efforts as it charged forwards, swinging claw and tooth into the line of troops.
Faraam strode forwards, running his hand along the length of his blade and dragging the strength of miracles behind it. The blade of the swordspear glowed brighter and brighter until it rivalled the very sun itself.
He stomped forwards, then thrust.
The light charged and within the blink of an eye, it struck home against the chest of the dragon and threw it backwards. Falling head over tail and into a chaotic roll, rubble thrown from the new wound on its chest, the smouldering black crater on the chest exposed to the world as a whimper escaped it.
A grunt escaped him as he lept through the air, throwing himself forwards and spear coiled back.
The dragons eyes widened as it caught sight of him.
Too late to move, his spear plunged deep into the body and twisted, a hacked gargle escaped the dragon before light peeled through the gaps in the stone scales, a shudder passed through his spear into his arm. Then he gave a final jolt.
An explosion washed over him, though he remained unmoved by the shockwave.
He merely turned away as stone rubble landed down around him from the remains of the dragon.
His arm came up, he waved above his head.
"To the front!" The cry echoed across the battlefield. "With me!"
He turned and marched into the hole.
He caught sight of something in the dark, a single glowing point with a dot in the centre.
A topaz light which held a shape similar to that of an eye-
The air screeched as the eye burned a brilliant light, he felt his body seize up as an unseen force gripped him. A tremble passed through him as he slowly turned his body, pulling his arm back and fighting his way through the pain the entire time.
It felt as though he would be ripped in half any second.
Something passed by him and slammed into the light, he felt the whoosh and saw the eye snap shut as something struck it. Though it did not penetrate, he heard the hiss of pain from whatever lay beyond the shadows as the light perished and the eye snapped shut. Though it lasted for only a moment.
The shadow charged forth, showing itself to be a dragon with a noticeable difference.
Though he only had a second to notice the strange jewel like shape on it's forehead before it slammed into him like a battering ram. The air thrown from his body as he was carried backwards with the charging beast into the wall, it gave way and sent him ragdolling through the air and onto the ground.
He turned as he fell, his left hand swung up and smashed into the jaw of the dragon.
A sound of shattering stone rang out as its head snapped to the side, rolling onto it's right and then scrambling away. He noticed something round clutched under its arms, perhaps half a dozen small objects and nothing more.
It glared at him before turning away, hastily flapping its wings and carrying itself into the air with trails of spears following after it.
Faraam let out a breath and growled.
Then turned his head.
A knight stood near him, bereft of a weapon and breathing heavily.
His eyes narrowed a bit. "...Ornstein."
The knight nodded his head. "Are you well, My Lord?"
"As well to be expected." He replied with a nod of the head. "Your spear throw? It was a good one."
Ornstein shook his head. "Luck, My Lord. I had never thrown a spear before."
Faraam snorted and marched past him. "Then train yourself to get lucky every time. You seem to have a talent for that."
"Yes, My Lord."
Faraam fell silent. "...We won. The dragons retreated not long after the aberration…Word of it came in from other fronts. Spotted here and there and causing just as much damage. Though I never saw it again…"
His eyes lowered.
"...The Crumbling Heights…It was a nest. Protecting dragon eggs…hundreds of them."
The God fell silent.
"...I sent word back to my father in regards to what would be done…and I got word back just as quickly."
He moved his hand up and rubbed his brow. "Kill them all, he said…And I obeyed. The nest was put to the sword and we moved on."
The God reached for the mug, then stopped and drew his arm back. "...That aberration fought us tooth and claw to protect it's next generation. Fled with eggs cradled under its arm and then…" he paused, rolling his lips inwards. "...They were fighting for their own. I looked at them differently after that."
His fingers and thumb rubbed together. "...Saw them fighting for reason as purpose. No longer as mad animals but as fellow warriors…They earned my respect for that battle. They fought us for so long because they had something worth protecting…and they only fled when left with no other choice."
Cerejeira remained silent, scribbling down the last of her notes and then glancing back to the God.
He sniffed once and then stood up. "I put a hundred more nests to the sword after that…And I'm glad no one remembers it. My part in that…"
Stepping around the table he made for the door. "...But I can't forget it. Can't let it be forgotten either."
He stopped, then looked down at her. "You wish to include me in the annals once more? Very well…meet with me as many times as you need. I'll tell you all there is. Of the Silver Legions…of the war…and of the family…All of it."
Faraam made for the door without a second word.
As silently as could be expected of the tall God, he slipped out of the room and into the hallway.
Cerejeira watched him go, then turned her head back to the spot where he had been sat.
…She got the feeling that this endeavour was going to be more emotionally charged than she first anticipated.