Virtues are not conditional

Heavy paws trudged their way across the soft spring grasses of the Hallowed plains, heading back to the glowing lights of Hearthstone. Artorias' whole body felt heavy with the weight on his heart and mind following the confrontation with the Syndicate. Words had been said, intentions laid bare, and threats of the most gruesome nature issued on both sides. It seemed the two packs were destined to be fated enemies for the rest of time—or until one of them fell. The righteous side of him wanted to march his warriors across that border and butcher every Saxe preemptively to ensure no further harm could be done by their paws. But open conflict was not something Artorias wanted. He did not yearn for a war nor did he wish to endanger the lives of his wolves, his family. But if the Syndicate came back with fangs and claws aimed at them... then what? How would the Hallows respond? And Norad... those poor wolves... Artorias breathed a heavy sigh as he thought of the refugees on the beach. Gods, the whole situation was fucked up.

Mercury and Ezra had been dismissed to alert the rest of the Hallowed guard to be on alert. Artorias did not know whether the Syndicate planned on remaining in Auster right next door or if they'd be relocating, but he wanted his soldiers on guard regardless. If the Saxes wanted to pick a fight, he'd gladly meet them on the battlefield and show off his warriors' prowess firsthand. But the first stroke of war would not come by his own paw. With his head still buzzing with thoughts, Artorias walked slowly through the gardens and up the terrace steps, pausing as a dark figure in his peripheral caught his attention. Amber eyes snapped up and landed on the worried face of his daughter. Ember had been waiting for him, it seemed. "Ember," he said in slight shock. "Sorry, my mind was miles away from me. Is everything okay, sweetheart?"

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian"