Virtues are not conditional

Ember's words struck surprise within the Carpathian patriarch. His daughter was far more observant than he gave her credit for. She'd seen the refugees of Norad gathering on the neighboring beach, seen him lead the pack's greatest warriors into the woods dressed for battle, then return unscathed. She was a bright girl and it didn't take a genius to figure out things were not all right on the continent of Auster at present. She held his gaze with such intensity that Artorias knew he wasn't going to be allowed to skirt this conversation with her. While he would have preferred to shelter his young child from such matters, this was not something that could be ignored, and if he was going to address the Hallows as a whole about it, then she would find out soon enough. Art released a heavy sigh and motioned for Ember to follow him as he stepped over to the balustrade along the length of the terrace, standing up to rest his forepaws over the edge of the railing.

"Norad has fallen. A hostile group of foreign wolves forced Beauregard into an impossible situation and he was forced to relinquish his pack and his home over to them. That's who you saw on the beach—the remnants of Norad." Artorias stared out at the evening spring gardens, a dour look on his face. "The new group calls themselves the Syndicate. They're extremely dangerous and depraved wolves. You are never to go near them, Ember. Am I clear?" Artorias turned his hard gaze over to his daughter now, waiting expectantly to hear her obedient reply.

"Artorias Carpathius" | "Carpathian"