fley ok fagrar árar

The rallying call of Artorias sounded shortly after a challenge. Both calls brought Merc up short as he immediately changed direction. Heading at a trott towards his room, to grab his sword. He usually wore it around his side, but he had taken it off to clean and care for it.

Equipping himself, he made it through the castle halls, and out to where the battle was happening. His sharp eyes took in what was happening around him. From Arts fight, to his word of warning. They would only give what they got, whatever this was, Artorias did not see it as a threat to the pack.

Grinning, he trotted forward, looking for an opponent among these strangers.

"Speech"