Discerning albatross

Report

"WHAT. HAPPENED?!"

King Lysandus stared down at the one-armed Lightborn who had appeared before him in the dead of night to explain, in quite an uncouth manner, that he should be evacuating his city before the dawn.

The guards had done nothing to stop him from barging into the King's bedroom and demanding that he get dressed quickly - telling him that he'd have much work to do before the dawning of the new day.

And Lysandus, king of Westerweald, was about ready to snap back before he saw the fury that colored Artorious's eyes. Every citizen of the city had slept well tonight - seeing that the Archon's bounty was no more. And yet here the Lightborn was, bloody as a newborn babe, raging around like some rampaging bear in the palace.

When he then explained what had slain one hundred men of the Grenbelm forest militia and left at least fifty others broken and bloody on the forest floor, the King didn't exactly take it well.

"You are telling me that you let the Archon escape? That it's back and… you could not slay it?"

"I am telling you what I saw," Artorious replied without a single flinch.

"…What does that mean? If the Lightborn cannot harm it, then… can it even be killed?"

Artorious's eyes flared up at the question, and King Lysandus suddenly found that it was he who shuddered, almost squeezing his back into the stone of his grand throne itself to escape from the Lightborn's piercing sapphire eyes - the same eyes worn by the angel that Kaedmon had sent them in the first century.

"I will ride to Caer Krea within the night and assemble the surviving Greycloaks," Artorious replied stiffly. "We must confer and come up with a battle plan going forward. These matters are fit only to be discussed among those of the Order, you understand. In the meantime, it is my firm recommendation that you order your guards to assist in the evacuation of the capital."

The King's eyes bulged at this upstart man, desparate to regain some sense of his regal composure. "Y-you do not give commands here, Greycloak! Especially not when you have failed to do the one thing you're good for!"

"Your Kingdom is in danger, sire," Artorious replied coolly, causing a few guards to turn away from him lest the King order them to attack. All of them knew the prowess of the Lightborn—even one-handed, he had slain thousands of creatures of the dark. And when the chips were down, they weren't about to throw their lives away for Lysandus. Not by a long shot.

"D-Do you even understand what you're asking?!" the King roared, red-faced and bumbling with embarrassment, half-dressed in bed-robes not exactly suited for the court. "You're asking me to admit that we failed. That… that we can't protect the people. You think I will suffer the same fate as my fathers, Artorious? No. I shall do no such thing. We will stay right here, Artorious. And you will stay beside me."

The old warrior grimaced. "King Lysandus, you are making this exceedingly difficult."

"I don't care what you think, commoner!" he screamed back, the word dripping from his tongue like venom. "You will do your duty and protect your King in the event of an attack!"

"No," he answered. "I will not."

Silence reigned in the palace throne room then, broken only by the stuttered breaths of the guards who watched this whole spectacle with awestruck eyes. None of them dared cast a single glance in their speechless king's direction.

"…What did you say to me?"

"My duty is to this land and its people," Artorious answered. "I will do what I feel must be done. I will ride for Caer Krea tonight and contact the other Greycloaks. Together we will take the fight to this Archon and its hybrid minions, with or without your help."

With that, the old warrior bowed stiffly and took his leave, his footsteps echoing down the grim hall of the pale throne room as he went.

"Pray that this Archon remains a fledgling," he told the King over his shoulder before he left the throne room proper. "For if it should truly gain a foothold in Westerweald, the entire continent will follow."

The King could barely even stay seated. He looked to his guards and saw no compulsion to stop the old hero in them. And he began to learn just how powerless he really was.

"W-what?!" was all he could stutter.

"Most men of this world do not remember what occurred in the time of Archon Gyko," Artorious said grimly. "I was there."

The King smarted, blustering, murmuring curses under his breath, catching the nervous eyes of his palace guard, who quickly shifted their gazes as he swept his over them.

Then finally, he stood and shouted after the departing man.

"You think your Brothers and Sisters will welcome you back with open arms!?" he yelled like a miserable child. "They hate you, Artorious! Hell if I know why—but they hate you! You walk out that door, you lose the only friend you have left in this entire world!"

Sir Artorious Pendragon didn't falter. He walked right out the palace front gates without a single look back. The people of the capital rushed to greet him as he walked, and only when they came close enough to see his grim face did they relent. There was darkness etched in those wrinkled eyes that seemed more monstrous than the beasts they feared would come in the night.

Children looked from the alleys they played in and saw him departing—some running to simply bask in his presence as he marched right through the city gates without even acknowledging them. Their hopeful eyes were not what he needed to see right now.

What the king said was true, though Artorious was loathe to admit it: his former compatriots would never simply accept him back with vows of friendship on their lips. His exile had been long - an isolation felt more keenly than the tip of any blade - but Greycloaks didn't forget the transgressions of their Order members. Especially not when the member in question was the Lightborn themselves. The fact that they hadn't already come for him was a telling sign that perhaps they thought the situation didn't yet warrant the attention of the Order.

And yet, as he saddled his horse in the Lucent stables and looked up at the imposing sight of Caer Krea in the high mountains beyond the city, glowering down on all of them like an ever watchful sentinel, he began to have a different thought:

Commander Argent probably knew he would come to them, now. Probably, she wanted to wait for his return. Maybe even watch him beg for help.

She'd be disappointed on that front.

The thought followed Artorious as he set out on the King's road, buffeted by the torrential rain that had suddenly descended on Westerweald ever since the Archon's flight from its forest lair. His vacant arm socket still ached from the memory of the battle - the memory of holding the damned demon in his hands and watching it slip away in the filthy claws of hybrids. A whole team of them just waiting for the moment to make this world a worse place to live in.

He'd remember their faces just like he'd remember the stupid form of the hat. Once the Archon was finally dead and buried, he'd come for them, too.

For that was the destiny baked into his spirit - the soul of the Lightborn that burned as bright as the angel that had first given mankind a hope in the dark. And it was that very same spirit that he had failed when he plunged his sword into Gyko's breast and didn't follow her to the grave. It was that same spirit that told him, then, that his duty would haunt him for the remainder of his life.

Because he remembered what the bitch had said as she died, purple blood frothing from her thorny lips:

"...see you in the next life...Lightborn..."

Artorious closed his eyes as he drove his horse onward. Thoughts of his failure were not what he needed right now. Thoughts of Krea were not what he needed now. Thoughts of the people of this world counting on him were not what he needed right now. And thoughts of the slovenly king he'd wasted his time with for the past few years were certainly not what he needed, even if the old bastard's words still reverberated off his subconsciousness:

They hate you, Artorious! Hell if I know why—but they hate you! You walk out that door, you lose the only friend you have left in this entire world!

He gripped his horse's reigns as he forced it forward into the night.

I don't need friends, he thought as he felt the rain smack against his scarred face. What I need is an army.

Tara's 'friend' turned out to be a rather skeevy-looking ratman manning a corner store at the most shadowed edge of the Sanctum.

The store stunk of mushrooms and incense and… probably other fluids. Everywhere Ethan looked, there was some species of toxic-looking plant or fungi – some of them suspended in cages, snapping away at flies that lined the floor of their prisons.

Ethan decided on a quick Appraisal check:

Verminous Fungi (LVL 5)

HP: 20/20

Hm, he couldn't help but think. I wonder… can I possess plants?

Amidst Fauna and Klax's general discomfort, Tara shook the fly-ridden paw of the bug-eyed ratman behind the shop counter with glee.

"Fraxx!" she shouted. "My main man! How the hell are ya?"

The ratman twitched as he responded. Ethan was immediately put in mind of a drug-addled hobo. But… all things considered, this wasn't the ugliest thing he'd seen in this world.

"Fraxx distill new venom last night, yes-yes. Fraxx receive vision of newblood arrival. Not knowing it would be Archon himself."

The ratman nodded his twitching nose at Ethan.

"Welcome-welcome, My Lord."

"Eh, thanks, dude."

"You know why we're here, big guy," Tara winked. "We require your special services. See, we're gonna tackle the Festering Den Delve, and I'm thinking some of your concoctions could prove to help us stay in the business of living, dig?"

She's talking like some kinda pulp gangster doing a dodgy deal, Ethan thought. And with a cursory glance at Klax, the wolfman simply shrugged.

"Tara is more than acquainted with the more… unsavory elements of our fine home."

"So?" the Minxit broke in, picking her ear absent-mindedly as the ratman busied himself under his desk. "Ya gotta use what ya can to get the upper hand. Don'tcha think, Ethan?"

"She has a point," Ethan admitted. "But I'd rather not mess up my head in the process."

"No need to worry," Tara replied. "Fraxx's stuff is legit. Well… as legit as you can get down here. See, the shrooms that grow down here are leftover from the last Archon, Lady Gyko."

"The Lady was most kind-kind to all who wander in filth," Fraxx muttered as he bundled vials together for the party. "Her toxins and diseases she spread through the land were just as beautiful as she was…."

I'm getting some real Simp vibes from this one, Ethan thought. Then again, he seems happy enough. If a little crazy.

Fraxx jumped up and threw a selection of vials on the shop counter then – a kaleidoscope of viscous blues, purples, oranges, and reds. Ethan's Arcane Lore did the job that Tara was about to.

Items Identified:

[Vial of Malphus]

{Grade E}

Effect: HP Restoration + 10 pts (Instant)

[Philter of Moratavious]

{Grade E}

Effect: MANA Restoration + 10 pts (Instant)

{All-purpose Antidote}

{Grade E}

Effect: Cures status effects {POIS}, {PAR}

"Please to be take-taking them, good Tara and friends," Fraxx hissed. "Fraxx will do what he can to grow more to help the Archon. But should he come across better herbs and materials for Fraxx, he should come back and deliver them so that Fraxx might brew more powerful balms."

"Got it," Ethan said with a nod. Tara distributed the potions among them, making sure Fauna got the sapphire-colored Mana potions – even though she looked on them with distaste.

Ethan found himself surprised. If anything, he'd expected the catgirl to be the one who had particular disdain for the rat…

"See ya, Fraxxy!" she whistled jovially as she hurried out with her spoils.

"Good luck, Tara and friends," the ratman replied. "May the everdark conceal you, and keep you."

Stocked up, properly equipped, and rearing to go, Ethan then followed the rest of the party to the 'Portal Chambers' of Sanctum – where three sparkling gates of energy buzzed in a small oval room that looked as though it had stood for millennia.

"Let me guess," Ethan said aloud. "These were used by the last Archons?"

"Yup," Tara replied. "Each one of these puppies trained the big bosses before you, and made them into what they were.

Ethan stared into the portals, recalling the great, imposing beasts that had gone before him.

Sys, he asked. Are… were you their System, too?

I suppose such information is no longer [Classified]. This System has served each Archon until the time of their expiry. This current designation is to be its concluding duty.

Five hundred years, then, Ethan whistled. That… yeah, that makes sense.

Beg pardon?

If I'd had to put up with being grafted onto a Demon's brain for that long, I'd probably be a snarky son-of-a-bitch, too.

How lovely. Empathy from you. Means nothing in the long term, of course.

Ethan narrowed his eyes as he heard this, looking through the portal gate that Klax was ushering him towards.

"The way to your first Delve, Ethan."

The first step on the road to power…

He looked behind him then at the veritable fan club that had been following him at a safe distance since first he'd arrived in this place and assumed the title of Archon by sitting his feathered ass snugly on the throne.

"Hey, can't a few of these groupies come with us? More of us together would mean more meat shie—I mean—more hands to tackle the dungeon with."

"Another rule of the Delves is bound by ancient magic," Fauna whispered, as though her old Gods themselves were listening in. "Only a party of four can enter at once."

"That must cause issues for adventurers looking to group up. What, do you guys end up queuing outside?"

"Most adventurers don't last long in a real dungeon," Tara grimaced. "That's what happens when one group exists literally to clear the world of monsters – the people end up getting lazy, thinking the Greycloaks will clean up the world for them. Well, no more. Not after today."

The fire in those kitty-eyes was only slightly disconcerting. If Ethan was being honest, he could probably guess at why all that hatred existed in her. He might not have seen much of the human world, but those he had seen had done nothing but try to slay him. There was a literal bounty on his head.

But he saw that Klax was more morose. More somber. He walked, head bowed, towards the portal as if he was just following a duty that he had to do. And Fauna – well – she was an enigma. Her shyness was just as strange as the unwieldy powers she held in her hands…

"If you would rather select a different team, of course," Klax said with a genuine smile. "Then now is your chance. We won't force you to take us as your guardians."

"H-hey!" Tara spurted. "Speak for yourself, wolfy!"

"I – I would like to delve with Ethan," Fauna stuttered. "But… only if he wants to."

The single eye of the demon hat cast itself over them.

They're an odd bunch, sure. But so what? I was an odd guy in life. And I ain't getting any less weird in this world.

"I bet you all know what my answer to that question is, don'tcha?" he chuckled. "So why don't we quit the chatter and get to the fighting!"

The hybrids grinned with him. And then as one, they entered the first portal, their forms dissolving into shards of pure energy as they traveled through a network so ancient that it had existed in the bowels of Argwyll since far before any of them had ever drawn breath in this land. Ethan watched the world of the Sanctum disappear, and slowly a new reality burst into life before his eyes. He stood on the surface world again, his claws sodden and sticky with the swamp water that surrounded him and his new companions.

Looking around, he smelled putrid air and saw only viscous, bubbling tar and mud. No trees overhead – nothing but noxious clouds and thick air caked with decay and grime.

"This is the Delve?" he asked.

He was answered by a resounding Ding! from Sys, and an alert that was as obnoxious as it was chilling:

DELVE {LVL 1} BEGUN!

THE FESTERING DEN

Enemies incoming!

"Welcoming committee's here already," Tara grinned, readying her short blades and wiggling her tail. "Ready, Mr. Hat?"

"As I'll ever be," Ethan smiled back, watching as several bubbles appeared in the pools of swamp water around them.

"Here they come!"

The shout was Fauna's, who was already muttering an enchantment that made her fluffy paws glow lambent red – a wizard ready to send a fireball flying into her enemy's face, no matter how timid she looked.

"It'll be Grums," Klax told them as he cracked his neck and got into a fighting stance. "Watch each other's backs and remember: protect Ethan at all costs. Just because the dungeon's Grade F doesn't mean it'll be a cakewalk."

"Right!"

As an army of ugly, foul-smelling beasts then reared their emaciated heads from the water, Ethan couldn't help but feel more pride than fear.

A raid with a bunch of crazies, he thought as the little beasts surged forward as one. Just like old times…

Let's kick some ass.