Limba Carpaților

Artorias was getting better. Still not 100% recovered, but a damn sight better than he had been doing in recent weeks. The voices whispering and screaming in his head had all but gone away. The glowing ooze that had poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth was no longer being discharged from his body. His muscles still felt weak from the toll the sickness and recovery process had taken on him, but he felt a damn sight better than he had. Still, it was best to leave the recovery to the medical professionals, so Artorias had checked himself in to the medical ward, sequestering himself to a bed for Gwyn's treatment and observation before she cleared him with a clean bill of health.

Lying around resting and waiting wasn't exactly Artorias' idea of a good or relaxing time, however. He mostly spent his days either napping or pacing the infirmary while watching the auroras dance across the endless night sky. The Long Night was proving to be far more cataclysmic than he'd feared. Almost all of the Hallows was infected in some way, shape, or form. But thankfully, if he could recover, it meant the others might recover too. To her credit, Gwyn had done all that she could to try and keep him entertained—though the physical, mental, and emotional toll this plague was taking on her was evident to her big brother. He would never have the words to express how much he truly appreciated Gwynevere for all the hard work she put into the Hallows.

Though they didn't share many overlapping interests, Artorias had discovered that both he and Gwyn shared a passion for their heritage—specifically, for the language of their family. Artorias couldn't recall Resin ever speaking it, but after her daughter had shown up around the castle from time to time (mostly muttering and rambling to herself about being dead) and begun sharing bits and pieces about their culture and the Carpathius name, history, and the language the Carpathian wolves spoke back in their homelands, Artorias became enthralled with intrigue. Iolaire was a good teacher when she was around, and over time the Carpathian wolves had begun to pick up the basics of their native tongue. It was thrilling for Artorias to learn more about their heritage he was so proud of and made a conscious effort to practice where he could. Usually, that was with Gwyn.

"Eu... Tu... El... Ea... Noi... Ei... Ele..." he recited to himself below his breath while he stared into the flickering fire burning in the infirmary's hearth, filling the room with an all-over warmth and chasing away the darkness. The orange firelight reflected in his similarly fiery irises while he watched the flames lick at the insides of the stone hearth. "Eu sunt Artorias Carpathius." Though they were only basic phrases and terms he could speak from memory, he would learn with time and practice. Perhaps one day he'd be speaking like a true Carpathian... A language all their own for him and his family.

"Artorias Carpathius"