Baleful Wings (Dragon's Dogma Fanfiction)

Chapter 45 : Reinforcement

The Hearthstone Arisen leaned against the wall of the stone alehouse's dining area with folded arms, blowing the thick black hair from the front of her face, "Now the struggle is proving that Julien is the blonde-haired culprit."
"Or we could take our chances and murk him up," said Thorne, observing closely the dark specs under her nails, flecking them out at random. "I've always wanted to fight the bloke, as it is."
Ignoring her friend entirely, Arya continued to contemplate options, until a strange presence entered her space. A peculiar man that didn't bither to sit down, but instead opted to cock his leather-booted foot onto the table, leaning onto it and glaring Thorne in the eyes. The man wore strangely short pants, a rather crusty traveler's coat and based on his skin color and features, could easily pass as a Hearthstone.
"Sounds like you're talking about the Night's Champion," said the strange man, compressing his lips afterward, almost as if his words snuck out of his mouth.
"Word has it that the Night's Champion is blonde," commented Ceres, who wasn't paying full attention to the conversation.
"I've actually lead my own investigation into the matter, if we're all on the same page." Again, his lips retreated into his mouth.
"Who even are you?" Asked Arya, who at this point boiled over from the rude nature of this stranger.
"Lilkha," answered Thorne. "Came with me from our 'ome country, 'e did."
The Arisen was still slightly irritated, but shrugged in response. Besides, Thorne is cut from a quality cloth so it makes sense for her comrades to be the same. "Well, what have you found?"

"Salvation is deeply infiltrated into Gran Soren's nobility," answered Lilkha, soundly. "And that they sacrificed a huge majority of the citizens that evacuated Gran Soren when news of the Dragon spread."
A shiver ran down Arya's spine when she heard the twisted news. Everywhere she went, Salvation's name was heard and its dark influence was present. It was then that a seed was planted within her, a seed of absolute hatred and distrust of nobility. "And what of the Night's Champion," inquired the Arisen. "Has he sacrificed the blood of Gran Soren's --?" Before she could finish her words, the image of people being sacrificed flashed through her mind, the rising of living skeletons in her last battle with the morbid one-eyed man. The macabre insignia so eloquently scribed into random storefronts, buildings, and even on the foreheads of some giant beasts. It could be none other than Salvation, flaunting its horrid roots planted deep the duchy's inner fiber.
"More like a silencer," Thorne finally got her nails nice and clean, by here standard at least. "He closes conversation between those who needs to know and who doesn't." All that work only to end up biting the nails off. Lilkha's pupils snuck from one side of his eyes to the other, briefly studying the rather busy Urban Quarter.
"This isn't the best place to talk." Standing up and stretching his back in a slight twisting manner, he turned toward the city gate. "Ears everywhere."
Thorne nodded in agreement and stood up to join him. Digging around in her pack for a moment, the red-haired woman pulled pit a thick folded parchment. Pressing out the creases with her small fingers, she briefly glanced over what was revealed to be a map of Gransys. "When the bustling slows down in Gran Sorean, meet us here, Arya," she said, resting her thumb on a specific spot.
"Ah, I've not the slightest where that is," said Arya with a square seriousness, unsure of why Thorne talked like she also owned a map.
"I've knowledge of that area, Ser," inserted Ceres.
"Tis settled, then. See you both there."

Arya spent the following days refreshing her storage of curatives and alchemickal tools. Somehow or another, the noble Fournival ended up acquitted of all charges pressed against him. Leading the investigation was the Cassardi Arisen, who according to record worked directly under Chamberlain Aldous, whose dislike of Fournival was public knowledge. Some things are proven to be undesirable but hopelessly true at the same time. Remembering her promise to meet Thorne and Lilkha, Arya eventually came to realize that the rendezvous point was the exact stone quarry where she escorted Mercedes. She and her pawn arrived hours later in the afternoon outside the stone quarry. The immediate area seemed to be some sort of workstation, and mining tools were everywhere.
"There's no-one here, Arisen," observed Ceres, picking up random objects under the settling noon sun.
Arya slowly approached the quarry's entrance, "Tis obvious why," she said, folding her arms. "There was a mine here that caved in and killed all the workers."
"There's also the case of the Dragon. Mayhap they evacuated with everyone else?" There was no way to be certain, with all the reports of people being attacked and killed by the undead.
"Well, color me impressed," said a familiarly charismatic voice. Arya turned to the entrance of the quarry where a team of vagabonds emerged, lead by a gleeful Ser Jean with open arms. At his side was an older bald man with a glowing red steel hammer in the shape of a beak, its mallet smoldering hot. His eyes were sunken in, no doubt a result of constant scowling. Thorne, Lilkha and a group of other warriors was behind them.

"You're alive!" Exclaimed Arya, her face lifting with happiness as she walked toward him. Last she laid eyes on Jean was during her fight against the Elysion. Suddenly realizing the positioning of he and his comrades, the Arisen's approach to the old friend was halted.
"Of course! You thought that old fart would be enough to finish me off?" Jean's trimmed black mustache curled along with his smiling lips. "Hm? What's wrong?"
"Why does the lot of you look prepared for battle?" Asked Arya, standing behind her Luscrous Targe.
"Our Prime Minister was recently attacked here," said the older man at Jean's side, interrupting the younger soldier almost as if he didn't want him to speak. "We're just here to make sure no-one came to finish the job.. Like the Black Cloaks."
Arya drew her sword, "And why exactly would your Prime Minister be a target of the Duke?"
"He was exiled from these lands long ago," said Jean, staring down the edge of Arya's blade.
Ceres nooked an arrow, slowly stepping backward. The foreign group before them looked at each other from the corners of their eyes, like they knew what the next question would be.
The older man readied his massive weapon, "Salomet is his name."

"Are.. Are you daft, Ser!?" Arya asked, incredulously. "Salomet killed his comrades in cold blood, fleeing this place with their secrets!"
"The exact secrets that protect the Dragon!" The older man retorted, with fire in his eyes.
Jean's eyes stayed locked onto Ceres, "There's no need to get riled up, Ser Belec. The Arisen here is simply confused."
"The 'igh wizardry of Gran Soren discovered aught the Dragon, keeping it a secret to control the people of this kingdom," commented Thorne, a conflicted glint in her expression, "Not much unlike most believers of the Faith."
Thorne's words stung Arya's heart, and she wanted nothing more than to lash out and fight. However, she made a vow never to be that person again - and it would make her no different than the people that worship the Dragon.
"Let us leave, Arya," inquired Jean, extending one arm in front of his comrades while his hand rested on the handle of his enchanted sword. "We've no want to fight."
Truthfully, behind Thorne, Lilkha, Belec and Jean, was a small company of mercenaries. Surely Arya was confident in her ability to fell them, and while Jean seemed equally confident he still asked that they not fight. This and his hopeful demeanor was enough to convince her. Thorne stayed behind while her comrades moved forward. "Just you wait," she said, flashing an incredibly rare smile, showing that she was actually missing a tooth. "The Prime Minister is going to achieve a power great enough to best the Dragon, for true."
"Where are you going now?" Asked Arya, a sickening feeling in her stomach.
"Bluemoon Tower," responded Thorne. "Trust me, we'll be back afore the morrow, and with good news."
The Arisen had a world of questions to ask the woman before her, wondering if she was a spy, whether she's a Salvation member, or her next course of action in terms of Duke Edmun.
"Why did you befriend me?" The question of the most importance crawled from her mouth instead.
"Because you remind me of Captain Mercedes," replied Thorne quickly, already having given thought to this exact topic. "She oft complained about the Enlistment Corps not respecting her, but.." The red-haired woman began catching up with her countrymen, turning around only to ffinish her sentence. "But she inspires us to follow her - just like you."

Arya left the quarry still feeling ill. It felt like Thorne and the others were marching off to their deaths. On her way to the castle, Arya was approached by a Gran Soren guard, pompously holding a scroll that was clearly empty - she could see through the other side.
"Word from the capital, Ser Arisen," he said, clearing his throat, pompously. "The Black Cloaks departes to deliver arms to the Northern Fortress. Ser Edward petitioned your attendance."
"I ill-like Snow Harpies," commented Ceres, with a disdained groan.
"There's naught better to do, I suppose," muttered the Arisen. "We march, Ceres."