Artorias' Journey to Omara

The swampland was a dreary, desolate place. No wind blew, no animals could be heard. The only things audible were the sound of weighty greaves trampling leaves underfoot, and a cheery, lighthearted whistle as if nothing was wrong. A lone wolf stood beside the source of these sounds, kept low and out-of-sight whilst it's nose rummaged through the high grass of the swamp, searching for a peculiar scent, anything at all, to help direct them towards civilization. The wolf's ears perked as it heard a loud, exasperated sigh beside it.

"Troublesome, troublesome." Uttered forth an irritated and indignant tone. There stood of course, Artorias, the Champion of the Moon, accompanied by Setanta, a wolf renowned for it's white, impenetrable fur and undying loyalty to Artorias. Setanta whimpered as his owner- no, friend, complained outwardly.

"It can't be helped, 'Tanta. I haven't eaten for days, trudging through this dead marsh has me beat." Another sigh escaped the man's lips. "And, not to mention, Omara is apparently dangerous. I've had enough of the faceless goons and raiders who attack us, but I'd take those anyday over a serious threat...at least when my stomach is so empty..."

The whines and protests of the man continued on for quite some time as they continued, eventually drifting off as Artorias began to daydream. How lovely it'd be if a giant crab of some sort came to attack them! It'd practically be on a silver platter, and, depending on the size - preferably a large one - it could last him for days. His mouth watered at the thought, drool trickling down his maw in anticipation for the fantasy feast.

The daydreaming of the champion was cut short, however, as a primal growl spilled forth from his companion. Instantly recognizing what the sound meant, Artorias readied his spear, crouching low to the ground. His crimson gaze shot through the tall grass, nostrils flaring as he tried to gather the scent that the wolf beside him had taken notice of.

His sense of smell picked up something the same time his ears did, the sound of multiple footsteps sloshing through shallow water. Artorias' brow furrowed, stalking gently forward through the grass of the marshland. His eyes locked with Setanta's, wordlessly relaying requests to the canine. Without hesitation, Setanta split from the man, who was currently wracked to the brim with anticipation. Despite his earlier protests, he reveled at the chance to face some kind of opponent to alleviate his boredom - oh, oh! Maybe they'd have food on them!

As Artorias practically shook with a lust for both battle and nourishment, the footsteps stepped onto the grassland portion of the marsh - where both Artorias and Setanta were located. The wolf had placed himself on the flank of the men, who seemed oblivious to his presence - however, they seemed to distinctly notice that of Artorias'.

"Step from your hidey hole, fool." A harsh and raspy voice boomed out. Dammit, he'd forgotten to try and hide his ki signature. Slowly, Artorias stood straight. Before him stood four individuals - three females, one male. All were clearly Mercenaries, armed decently - but apparently without any food. Damn. The male, from what Artorias could discern, held lead of the band. Damn sexism!

A sly grin on his face, more belike a surreptitious fox than a fearsome wolf, Artorias twirled his spear idly. The man opposite of him wore a disgruntled expression, decorated with a snarl.

"Why are you here, boy? You should know these lands are property of Krayt the Konqueror." The gruff voice spat in acknowledgement, warning the young man stood before him.

Taking the man by surprise, Artorias' tilted his head, akin to a stray mutt. "Eh? Krayt? Didn't he die like, a hundred something years ago?" Artorias' voice seemed almost meek in comparison, a baritone put up against a resounding bass. The mercenary-man grit his teeth in anger.

"How dare you, you insolent fiend! Krayt is forever immortal, deep in our hearts!" The females beside the man stole brief glances at each other, before nodding furiously in agreement. Artorias almost laughed out loud - this guy probably spelled conqueror with a 'k', too. His perceptive mind quickly took in that the man was not particularly intelligent.

"Pal, haven't you got the memo? The Axis controls everything now." Artorias questioned, though, he soon discovered such advertisement was pointless. A vein practically popped out the man's temple.

"Nonsense! Krayt forever holds these lands, and the rest of the world! Now, you're pissing me off, so give me one good reason why I shouldn't gut you!" The man planted his feet firmly on the ground, hand gripping the axe on his back. A murderous aura was present, exuding profoundly off his person. Artorias retained a bewildered look.

"Well, I need to get through these marshlands to reach Omara. Important Mercenary business, I'm sure you know how it goes. And, you know, I've been travelling out here for at least five days, so it'd really help me out if you all could step aside." The blue haired man waved his spare hand dismissively, but he assumed that the party wasn't going to budge willingly.

The tall, fair-skinned merc-man shouldered his axe now, crouching slightly. Figures. "Well, sorry to tell ya, bucko..." He grinned - it was ugly and crude, with chipped teeth and chapped lips. "But you're just our newest sacrifice to Lord Krayt!"

Within a beat, the merc-man's female companions had all armed themselves. One held daggers, the other a shortsword, and the last a whip that crackled with blue sparks. Artorias discerned this all in an instant, before his crimson eyes settled on the man currently racing towards him, axe raised.

The sound of steel against steel rang out, as the man's axe was now pinned into the ground - Artorias' golden lance keeping it still through the arc in it's blade. His clandestine smirk was back in place, eyes locked with the man standing under him. In a flash, the man toppled backwards, blood gushing from his nose and upper lip. Artorias' extended leg returned to the ground.

"Hey, you dropped something." His head notioned to the merc-man's axe, still stuck in the ground. The confident young man settled his spear on his shoulders as he watched the three merc-women attempt to rush him at once. He sidestepped the first two of them without much difficulty, eyes connecting with the third as her sword connected with the pelt of white fur on his left shoulder.

The merc-girl's eyes widened as her blade seemingly did nothing to bypass the fur, and in the next moment, her head flew off of her body, lopped off without effort. The merc-man stood up, shaking off the apparent dizziness that found him after such a powerful blow. Now unarmed, the man's brown eyes narrowed, focusing on Artorias as he burst forward. It was an impressive bout of speed, far above even some of the newly oriented X-Grade Mercenaries.

But, Artorias was faster. With a twirl of his spear, reaching supersonic speeds within just a brief moment, the tail end slammed against the man's jaw, knocking teeth clean out of his mouth as he flew - slamming against and breaking through a tree before falling into the murky waters of the swamp.

Suddenly, the two merc-women, in an act of retribution for their fallen comrade, rushed Artorias the same instant he kicked their leader away.

"Hm?" His neck turned, gazing at the girls before a white dart shot out. The dagger-wielding mercenary was flung to the grass, wordlessly trying to run her daggers through the impenetrable fur before Setanta ripped out her jugular.

The other girl, unaffected by the wolf, had enough sense not to watch the scene as her whip lashed forth. It wrapped around Artorias' lance, electricity conducting through the weapon and enveloping Artorias in a thick aura of lightning. She grinned, before realizing that the man before her was not screaming in agony, or moving at all.

Before she reached the conclusion that he had died, his arm, still gripping his spear, pulled back. She lurched forward, meeting a palm directly to her stomach, before the sparks she had enveloped Artorias in redirected themselves to her. She screamed in agony as she fell to the ground, but Artorias paid her no mind. His attention was stolen by something in the distance - the man from before standing above the water.

Artorias sighed, twirling his spear around once again.

"I guess I'll kill you." An emotionless voice, filled with neither hostility nor mercy tumbled loose in monotone, as his silver greaves bent grass with his casual stride. The mercenary man huffed, akin to a bull, and charged with the same resounding speed.

Within a literal nanosecond, Artorias darted forward, ramming his golden lance into the man's chest and out his back.

At least, that's what should have happened.

The raw sound of steel scraping against steel echoed throughout the marsh, as Artorias looked down to find his weapon was grinding against a pec covered in glossy, gunmetal grey. Shattered and mismatched teeth shined yellow.

"Iron King." The man's right hand, now coated in the same material, gripped Artorias by the neck, lifting him high above the water. Without a beat, Artorias was slammed into the murky water and to the ground - a high-impact sound, akin to a missile hitting it's target, reverberated throughout the solemn and dead trees. The ground within a radius of two kilometers leveled, leaving the man standing in victory.

Well, he should've been - if Artorias was not gone completely from sight.

Dumbstruck, the man looked around wordlessly, sweat dripping off his brow. He felt a sharp pain on his cheek out of nowhere, his calloused thumb swiping against it to reveal blood. "What-" He was flung dozens of kilometers into the air, falling back into an pointed knee as Artorias intercepted his path of contact. This impact was even more devastating than the first, and would've annihilated approximately ten kilometers of the surrounding area had Artorias aimed the blow at the ground. Instead, a strip of six kilometers in the direction of his knee now resembled a canyon, getting progressively deeper before stopping suddenly.

Artorias stepped over the corpse of the man, letting out a sigh. "Man, I might've overdone it." He scratched the back of his neck, crimson eyes drifting over to a sorry sight. Setanta, his white wolf, growled as it approached the groveling, burned mass of the girl who had tried to electrocute Artorias.

Her mouth opened, but words could not leave - only pleading rasps, trying to beg the wolf, about the size of a horse, to let her go. Setanta got ready to pounce, but was stopped when Artorias delivered a sharp whistle.

Setanta whimpered as it eyed his human companion, who wordlessly shot a glance at the canine. Artorias now stood over the girl, who was trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak.

"You cannot speak, I presume. Though, I guess you can still write." Artorias mumbled as he extended his right arm outwards. The axe of the mercenary man flew into it without much sound at all, and after grasping it in both hands, split it effortlessly through the middle. He handed the half with the blade to the girl, throwing the rest of the hilt aside.

"Take this, bring it to whatever town or sadistic camp you reside in. Tell them of me. I want them to remember the name Artorias." He stood from his crouching position, eyes cruel as he showed his teeth in a twisted mockery of a smile. "Tell them I'm ready if they have the gall."

With that crude and merciless farewell, Artorias began to walk in the opposite direction.

"Wait - which way was I going, again?"