At dawn, he awakened, his left eye restored, his flask full. Michael was full, muscles recovered, though he and Victoria said little more than a few words.
Outside the church were wyverns and drakes, though none so much as dared approach them.
"We were so close," Victoria said, wiping her eyes.
Michael put an arm around him, face pale. "They'll find their way back."
He stretched his flail arm, then readied his shield.
Though he offered them Alrieon's sword, neither stone accepted, both with weary eyes stained with tears.
"I suppose, this is but one of many challenges you must see through?" Michael asked.
He shook his head. "I meant not to involve you."
Michael grew a small grin. "None of us are meant to be here. It's all just a journey we tackle for the first time."
"I'll help you get out of here."
"That won't be necessary. We'll be here for a while, and I imagine we're no closer to finding out why this accursed fog's been set here to stay."
Victoria stared at him, a curious look.
She said nothing but shook his hand and farewelled him on his journey back into the woods.
"Should the worst happen, you'll return here," she said, arms folded with her head down. "Please, ask yourself if it's all really worth it."
He nodded, then stepped off.
It was a quiet walk to the edge of the nests, the southern side where the corpses of Olmourge and other dragonborne lay. At the fog, almost like a wall reaching the sky, war horns echoed.
Into the fog his bones chilled, though a few more steps forward and it was cool as usual.
Arrows soared in the air, some lit ablaze. Iron and steel clashed, men died, some howled with laughter, and horns commanded what little order there was.
For the better half of the day he stayed clear, until he approached a small encampment of Creahllacian soldiers. Some raised their spears, others shuffled trying to get away, and he span his flail beside himself.
Fire spewed from above, burning every man at once.
He was but a few steps away, and enjoyed the warmth of burning men so early in the afternoon.
A pair of fiery green eyes looked down at him, but the wyvern soared away.
With nothing left to do, no sense of direction, he almost considered returning to the nests to see where else he could explore. However he had a duty, to Nathan, to return to the lands of darkness and blood, where he knew for certain where another champion was.
Children of the gods? What, he wondered they could've been, sitting by a small fire he made.
At dawn he marched onward, searching for any clue as to how far he was from the river. At the sound of trumpets he made his way towards them, armies colliding, with hopes of encountering the Fat Bastard.
With Alrieon's sword in hand, he'd cover whatever it cost Willbress' life, assuming the lard fuck even cared in the first place.
Unlike many battles, where both sides suffered a grievous loss, Creahllachians were leading a slaughter.
Another round of trumpets was followed by Isaac, his commands over the frontlines greater than any officer. At his side, all three atop horses, were two Phoenix Blades, Paracles and another with dark skin and long back braids.
The fire insignia army killed every Wayfork gold bearer down to the last man.
He approached them, all weapons slung across his back, as they readied formations
"The cursed brute!" A knight shouted. "Archers! Archers! Loose!"
"Belay that order!" Isaac demanded, smiling.
The runt lord parted ranks, his elite mercenaries at either side, a sight more fitting of crown than his brother.
Paracles was almost bored, though the Phoenix on the other side of Isaac had battle lust in his eyes. A small nod to him regardless, then the runt lord dismounted to greet him.
"My lord!" Isaac said, raising a hand. "Gods have sprung yet another opportunity, for us to claim more glory and make tales to last through the ages!"
Runt. The little bitch off a jackasses dung pile insulted him with every word.
One Phoenix Blade would be hard enough, Parcales alone capable of killing him, yet two send him back to the nest altar within a heartbeat. Isaac grew a puzzled look, almost frowning, then he shook the runts hand, fighting the urge to crush it.
"You seem to be doing well without me," he said, pulling his hand away quick.
Still with a cautious look, Isaac scoffed, "Nonsense! It's no coincidence we meet again, and I've the best eyes and ears of all the kingdoms."
Paracles leaned forward, looking at the great sword of sheer mithril on his back. "I see you've spent some time in the nest."
Isaac's eyes widened.
He drew the blade, it's metal with glint, dark, yet razor thin after countless battles.
"Aye, and for a good price, you and his lordship can take what's left of it."
Paracles squinted. "That's a good sword. You'd be a fool part with it, though I suppose it's only natural."
"Care to explain?"
The Feather Sword smiled, though Isaac waved a hand, pretending to be important.
"You went to the nests? Alone?"
He shook his head. "Elfstones. Heard of 'em?"
Isaac frowned. "Arrogant bastards led by some self-righteous twit who even a holy knight would find insufferable. I'd hire an army of dung hill orcs before turning them a single coin."
He growled, and Isaac stepped back.
The braided Phoenix Blade flipped off his spear, then leaped down.
Much slower than Paracles, this Blade couldn't have caused him too much trouble after all, and they glared at one another until a knight approached the standoff.
"If I may interject, my lords," the knight stuttered, standing behind Isaac, "we should keep moving. The last skirmish was certain to draw attention."
Isaac agreed. "Come with us old friend, I've plenty of wine and ale. Gravous? Er, if you would?"
Gravous's giant axe, a white shaft with dark steel on either side, a double head which must've been splitting men in half, wanted nothing more than to dance with his flail. He would've welcomed it. Paracles didn't seem too bothered, as the two were complete opposites. Yet he held his flail hand.
After Gravous mounted back up, he followed Isaac to the reserve units.
Over a thousand strong, one of the toughest ground divisions of the Creahllachian army, 'Lion Manes' known by many, they weren't as tired eyed as other forces. They marched with urgency, staying alert to every side of the white woods. Isaac drank without a care in the world, Paracles enjoying some refreshments as well.
Not Gravous.
The board faced bastard was still eyeing him, probably in love, though he cared not for the ale was cold.
One round for Peter, another for Eris, another for Victoria, and at last Michael. Wine swigs were for the Embers, Al, Arthur, and three he took for Dany. Three for the mute who proved stronger than she looked, and then one last swig for Nathan.
All the warriors he'd encountered, many who died, some for good, and he was still a rambling drunk with nothing more than a few memories.
None of them good either.
What was it, those fiery arrows lighting up the sky? Incoming, incoming, the bells spoke, as if they were human. It was so hot, there must've been dragons. Yes. Dragons existed in the world he was from, though much more dangerous, capable of obliterating the earth with rapid fiery explosive breaths.
With a scimitar hilt, Paracles tapped him, and he shook his head breaking thought.
"What'd you learn this time?" the sword asked, a curious look.
"Does it matter?"
"It should, you who'll destroy what little soul of yours you have left."
"I'm a soulless. Not one with a little soul left to destroy."
Paracles smiled. "Still as sloppy as ever."
"I'm not sloppy," he growled, keeping an eye on Gravous, "and I would've killed Alrieon myself, and all his pets just fine without the stones."
"Then why didn't you?"
"Because we all ran into each other in this dog shit woods!"
"So you were traveling alone at first?"
He growled, saying nothing at first, though Paracles was reading him like a book.
"Alright, I was with a few others before, but they proved dead weight anyway. Except for one."
Paracles laughed, took a quick look to the front and told Isaac which way to turn.
The runt lord commanded the armies direction, and Paracles turned back to him.
"You've got holy light?" He asked.
"No," Paracles replied. "For twenty years I made these battlefields my home, building a fortune for whoever was the highest bidder. I'd be a bigger fool than you not to know my way around, even in total darkness among this fog."
"What do you think caused it?"
After thinking for a moment, Paracles replied, "Razelael was an angel, and when angels die their essence surrenders to whatever it was on their heart. He who served the death god wasn't in a good mood as you and I know well."
So there it was.
His own blood lust was the cause of this, or Paracles was just toying with a drunken fool. It would be foolish to go marching out into the woods again, though he wondered if Paracles could give him any advice on how to reach the river.
As the army rested for an hour, setting up camp for the night, he inquired such a task.
"An untrained eye like you'd be better off just going in any direction," Paracles explained, leaned back against a tree with a bottle of wine. "You're bound to end up anywhere outside the warzone, then you can just skirt the edge of it to wherever you want to go."
"I need to return to Marryvia," he said, between sips from a mug of ale. "Someone's waiting for me, I can't leave 'em too long out there alone."
"Interesting," Paracles said. "You've been coming to your senses after all."
"Quit your bitching," he snarled, tossing the mug away, "can you draw me up a map, or not?"
"That's a compliment," Paracles said, much as he could hear the smugness. "Many of the greatest warriors of the age weren't alone."
"Well I am," he said, sternly. "For the most part."
Isaac joined them as the air glowed red, men tucking themselves in their cloaks for the night.
"What say you, Razelael's Bane? Care to join me raiding Wayfork's treasure horde?"
Without looking at the runt, the latter's face liable to be rip apart, he replied, "I'm afraid I've my own treasure to hunt, your lordship."
"What then?" Isaac pestered. "Queen Rallore's horde, enough gold to last her through her campaign? That coin could last our kingdom for a hundred years! What those coin grubbing cunts have in wealth, they lack in numbers, and we've the perfect opportunity now with my brother's offensive dying down."
"Answer's no, my lord."
Isaac frowned, running a hand through his hair. "What could you poss-, never mind. You're soulless, I'm a fire lord, the world spins on. Though I'll give you until dawn make your decision. I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay with us. Many of the soldiers are uneasy by your presence."
It was small, but he saw the smirk Isaac had before turning around. Not as clever as he thought himself, the runt lord worth half a pile of turds.
"Oh, and one more thing," the runt said, turning back, as Gravous approached. "I believe there was some unfinished business we had. Something you desired, that needed to wait after we finished clearing the Graves?"
An odd silence, and Gravous put a hand on his axe's hilt.
"Well, what was it then?" Isaac pondered. "Did it have anything to do with that innkeeper, the bitch who couldn't keep her mouth shut?"
Don't draw, he told himself, though he wanted to.
Would he try his luck with Paracles just standing by? Gravous was strong like himself, but nowhere near his level. It'd be a fight, but a fight he'd win, perhaps a scar or two.
Were it several months earlier he'd have not hesitated to start swinging his flail.
He stayed his hand, then Isaac snickered while walking away, Gravous close behind.
"He's eyes and ears everywhere in the kingdom," Paracles said, darkness taking the woods. "Though he's too smart for his own good. It'll cost him, sooner than he thinks."
Paracles drew up a hasty map, something simple a man with limited reading skills could comprehend.
A few hills, some Skull Rider territory and possible gargoyles, and he'd return to the river.
Then the real fun would begin.