Into the Dark

[Roger Smith]

At the boy's comment about heroes, Artorias merely let out a low, rumbling grunt. It was still difficult to keep his thoughts coherent. The night's rest had allowed him to collect some measure of his senses about him, but his head was still murky, muddled and slow to work. Even when the voice called out from outside the barn, it took every ounce of will he had not to rip his sword free from the ground and leap into an assault.

He managed not to, but the suddenness of the noise still made him whip his head about, lowering himself into a posture ready to leap into action, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade. But he made no other move, willing himself to remain still and calm. He was only partially succesful, and his breathing quickly grew erratic, as if something was trying to force him to attack again, though he managed to remain calm enough to eventually force himself back to ease, slumping against his blade, watching almost dumbly as the boy left the barn to address their 'guest'.

Of all the battles and wars he had waged against evil and the forces of the Abyss, the war inside his own head was more tiring than nearly any of them.

The clear part of his mind knew what it was: The Abyss. Manus's creeping grasp, even through death and unknowable distance, it still had a hold of him. And it was a strong grasp. All it would take was one good spark to set it off, and he would wind up just as he had been back in the white void.

A shiver ran through his entire body at the thought.

With an effort, he pushed back upright and slowly made his way to the doors of the barn. Clamping one hand around the edge for support, he leaned against it as he stepped half into the relative light of day outside. He took a long, slow look around at what he saw. A lone man, stood forward from a larger group of what looked like guards of some description, looking ready for anything. There were others who did not have the look of fighters about them among the group, and from some shadow of a memory buried in the shadows the Abyss poured over his mind, he recognized the scene before him.

And it made his fingers tighten involuntarily, clutching at the wood of the door until cracks spread out from around his armored mitts. He tried to focus on the words of the one speaking, to avoid dwelling on the less pleasant result letting himself get riled up would cause. And...the request was a sound one.

With an effort, he lifted his head, calling out as clearly as he could, "Very well... We have no desire for bloodshed....we will speak in peace." His voice was hoarse and faltered midway through, sounding as if he had recently tried to gargle a mouthful of sand, and he let out a sputtering cough as he finished the words, turning back to the interior of the barn.