Oolacile burned.

"Oh, it is not so very awful." Hawkeye Gough hefted his enormous greatbow with relative ease and drew the thick cable back with impressive might, even for his size. "Much worse than these frail drakes doth stalk the skies." He looked down his bow, briefly noting the positions of the numerous flying shapes. He turned to look down at his teammate and released the arrow, if it could be called that, confident in his aim. The massive steel projectile soared noisily through the air, replacing the organs of one of the larger drakes.

He began to set another arrow to his bow. "Why, dost thou remember the great dragon Verdredae? Now that was a foul beast indeed!" Gough gave a booming laugh as he dropped another drake off of the room of the townhouse.

"I recall Verdredae quite vividly, Gough. One tends to remember those that doth swallow them." Ornstein's spear stabbed swiftly through a drake's neck, and he fired a bolt of lightning from the protruding tip into the eye of one of its brothers. He flicked the corpse off his beautiful weapon and took a moment to wipe blood off of it before quickly dirtying it again. The Dragonslayer spear had been given its name for a reason. His eyes, unseen behind his fierce Leo helm, darted up to analyze the carnage ensuing before them. Most of the humans had managed to scurry from their homes before the greater part of this swarm had arrived, but some remained sequestered in the town.

A scowl appeared on Ornstein's face. Why couldn't the humans simply defend themselves? He was Captain of the Guard, for the Great Lord's sake! He wasn't needed here, leaping across these ridiculous tiny buildings. "Let us put these lizards to rest quickly greatarcher, I have an assembly to oversee by sundown." Three more drakes fell to him, falling through the roof of a nearby house.

"Sundown?" rumbled the giant as he released another shot, "You have not four and forty minutes to reach Anor Londo before sundown by my count."

"You forget, my companion, that I could outpace thee with one leg severed." He lopped the leg off of a drake diving towards his face. "I SHALL keep my appointment."

Gough chuckled, a sound like an avalanche. "Very well, my Captain. Let us see what we may do to help things along." His next shot collapsed a severely damaged column, the roof it once supported already burned away, and the column flattened four drakes against the street.

Shortly, the drakes were dispatched, and the few remaining took flight into the wild. Gough downed the straggler from a mind-boggling distance. "Hah-ha! That was some sport! Ohhhh, what a glorious day!" He sighed deeply and sat down with a thud, laying his greatbow down next to him. Ornstein flicked his spear, spattering the blood onto the roof while he surveyed the damage rendered upon the town. His companion noticed his look.

"Oh, worry thineself not; I shall tend to this mess. Get thee home!"

Ornstein analyzed the situation, as he did any. Gough would clean this town to the best of his ability, perhaps investing too much time. He had once found the giant replanting a small garden in the aftermath of a similar battle. The positives included Ornstein keeping his reputation for always being on time intact though, so it was well worth it.

"Farewell friend, I owe thee a hearty meal." With that, he braced against the roof and dashed off with great speed, leaving a noticeable path in the trees as he went. Gough chuckled again and stretched. He had seen some columns on the north side of the wall that were far too plain for their prominent placement.

"Come out, little manlings! The drakes have departed, yet the hovel remains!" He pushed himself off the roof and landed on the ground with a thump that rattled any remaining windows. "But fear not, I shall slay thine hovel with my bare hands!" He saw a few dirty faces emerge from the wreckage. Most were apprehensive; after all, Gough stood taller than most of their houses and was heavily muscled to match his height. Those that knew better began picking their way through the rubble to him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Despite the unacceptable length of time wasted on the drakes, Ornstein made it to Anor Londo with time to spare. He rode the elevator to the high up city, and couldn't help but feel a stirring in his heart upon seeing the wondrous place in the setting sunlight.

Anor Londo was as much a work of art as it was a bustling city. Flying buttresses joined to tiered cathedrals and glorious walkways. Most everything was lined with white quartz and orange-red brick. There were figures of various statures walking this way and that, a steady flow of trade and tourists that were broken only by the giant sentinels standing guard at vague intervals.

Vague intervals? A frown crossed his face. He would have to see to it that his guards were more organized. The fact that there hadn't been an attack on Anor Londo in many, many years was no excuse. He would tighten up his security later, his appointment came first.

Despite his need for haste, he did not touch his armor, save to remove a small bloodstain from the helm that he had missed earlier. He had an image to maintain. He settled for a brisk walk, all too aware of the sun approaching the horizon. As soon as he reached a secluded corridor, he dashed down it with impressive speed. He treated the next four similarly, returning to a walk upon leaving the building. His quarters were just across the way, and he estimated he had about thirteen minutes left, though Gough was better at that than he.

He became a whirlwind of activity in his quarters, removing his armor and setting it carefully on its stand. Like most of the local beings, he was light-skinned. Small scars crisscrossed his face and arms, a large one barely peeking over the neck of his undershirt and running along his side to his waist. He had earned these in defense of his Lord, and so they were not regrets. Still, he was glad that the worst of his scars, from battling the Ancient Dragons, were mainly hidden beneath most clothes and armor.

He had changed into a crisp ornamental jacket that displayed some of his medals, and chose to clip on the matching cape after some deliberation. This was a special occasion after all.

His shiny black boots clicked on the stones as he made his way to the main hall. He was cutting this close; he didn't even have time to stop to correct a sentinel's posture. He settled for a disapproving look with his red irises.

There would be many important deities attending this event, some from far-off lands. He must be the picture of control and poise. He flourished his cape as he entered the hall, he had taken classes for this sort of thing. After he had returned from dragon slaying, of course.

And here he was; five minutes early.

The magnificent hall boasted massive pillars that swept up to high vaulted ceilings. Golden-red sunlight slanted in from the large windows on the west side, though the chandeliers were lit in anticipation of the approaching night. They would more than suffice, experience told him. Long tables cut from the wood of an Arch tree and specially treated here in Anor Londo were laid out on their heavy legs already on either side of the hall, ending with the Great Lord's Gwyn's throne, which remained empty at the moment. Two smaller thrones flanked his, and Gwynevere sat on the left presently. The Sunlight Princess beamed as she welcomed each visitor that approached. She shared the brilliance and general charisma of her father.

The other throne wasn't built for the youth that reclined in it. He had been born frail, and had remained so. Gwyndolin was a slender…lad. He had been born with an affinity for moonlight magic, generally perceived as a feminine art, and lacked much bass to his voice. To be quite frank, Ornstein believed that Gwyn was unsure of how to treat his odd son. Even now, the youth was using a small spell to lightly conceal himself upon the throne.

As soon as he had analyzed the area, Ornstein stepped into the hall in earnest, and all the sentinels stood stiffly at attention. After a quick sweep of their excellent form, he made sure to scowl and glance away. He couldn't have them thinking that he was going soft.

"Excellent work, Dragonslayer Ornstein. Can't have them thinking you've gone soft, could we? Go on and give them a snort, won't you?"

Ornstein complied without looking at the speaker. "Everything is falling into place, Melda. It's shaping up to be another successful evening."

Melda was something of a royal among the multitudes of workers and attendants in Anor Londo. It was she who had taught Ornstein all he knew about the finer side of life, from table manners to foreign policy. She was quite an ancient one, hunched and wrinkled. A shawl of coarse wool adorned her as always. It was certainly not a fitting garment for this event, but Ornstein would be hard-pressed to find someone to order her about.

"Success is yet to be determined, child." Another habit of hers, calling everyone child. Though perhaps they were such to one with so many years upon their shoulders. No one who knew her took it as an insult. "There is much to be accomplished here tonight. The lord of Fire will be here, so peace must be kept betwixt Lord Gwyn and him."

Ornstein nodded. As Captain of the guard, most of his responsibilities tonight included ensuring the safety of every guest. That only slightly overlapped with actual attendance to the event itself. There were others to take care of such things.

But the lord of Fire, Flann, could be temperamental. Ornstein decided he would post a silver knight nearby the drink.

"Relax Ornstein, this isn't your first battle." The voice was quiet, yet had no problems gaining attention. It was often the last thing Lord Gwyn's enemies heard in their final moments.

"Ciaran, welcome back." He looked down at his companion in much the same manner that Gough had looked down at him. Ciaran, the Lord's Blade, was an assassin of deadly cunning. And she was wearing her full armor set along with her swords at her waist.

Ornstein frowned. "This is a formal event—"

"Which you know I will not truly be attending. I never do. And it pays to be consistent." She was quite suddenly on the other side of him. "I believe you'll handle things from here. I just wanted to check in." She gave a polite bow to Melda before appearing to vanish down a straight hallway.

Melda chuckled. "She can make an exit, that one."

"Her timing is impeccable; the event begins!"

At a signal from the Captain of the Guard, the orchestra in the balcony started up. Just as the music reached a peak, the Great Lord Gwyn entered the hall.

The Lord of Sunlight exuded confidence and wisdom as he strode powerfully toward his throne. While not the tallest of the deities assembled tonight, he overpowered all by his presence alone. A tall crown adorned his head and his beard had bands of gold worked into it.

"Huh. The Old Man can make an entrance, I'll give him that." The voice was gravelly, and always seemed to hint of danger. The voice belonged to Executioner Smough, who also resided here in Anor Londo. The man was about twice Ornstein's height and likely four times his weight in solid muscle. A crease appeared between Ornstein's brows.

"Good evening Smough. I trust thou hath been enjoying thine day?"

A crooked smile split the huge figure's face. "I always enjoy my work, you know that." Ornstein noted that Smough's hands clenched and opened again.

A giant sentinel and two silver knights bustled by, speaking in hurried tones while the sentinel carried a large platter of food. Ornstein waved them down. "That goes on the eastern table." The sentinel began to bow, but stopped midway after remembering the platter it carried. The three hurried to do as they were told.

The executioner shook his head, his medium-length dirty blond hair swinging slightly. "You seem busy, friend. Perhaps overworked." He stared intently at the Captain. "Have you given any more consideration to my proposal?"

Ornstein composed his face. "I'm afraid not, Smough. The answer remains as it was given."

There was a brief moment of pure animal rage in the executioner's eyes, and then it was gone. "That…is unfortunate. I may ask again later, when you see you will need use of me."

Melda snorted. "Please, child. He will have no more use for you than a sailor has for a field."

The executioner grimaced in the place of a smile at the ancient woman. "And what use is there for a hag such as yourself?" He took a half step toward her. "Why, I—"

Ornstein's arm shot out and blocked Smough's path. "I believe thee to have business elsewhere, executioner."

Smough seemed to gather himself. "I'm sure you're correct. After all, the Witch of Izalith approaches."

Ornstein whirled, surprised. He had met the Witch of Izalith only twice before, and never this far from her realm. She strode with a steady grace, a deep crimson robe almost completely concealed her, leaving only her slight smile within sight and sometimes her deft hands with their burnt palms. He immediately went to pay homage.

The Witch bent her head very slightly back to Ornstein as he took a knee before her. "Dragonslayer Ornstein, as courteous as ever. Lord Gwyn was wise to appoint thee."

"I welcome thee to our hall…" he stopped himself there. She had forbidden him from adding on any sort of title during their first meeting. "Enjoy thine night."

The Witch chuckled. "Oh, I intend to do so. Where hath the drinks been placed?"

Ornstein indicated the long table on one of the sides, where a silver knight was attempting to keep up with requests for glasses.

"A fine display, Captain. Stay thee well." She gave another head bob to Melda. "And I have waited long to speak with thee again. Come."

She departed for the table with the nursemaid, already engaged in lively conversation. The Witch was tailed by her seven Daughters of Chaos, whose garb matched their mother's only in color scheme. Most had raven hair, with the exception of one pale blonde and one fiery redhead. Their dresses were exotic and varied, one even appearing to have live flames on the shoulders. Most had gold or black trim.

Ornstein composed his expression and gave them a bow. There was a reason for their titles, as he had found personally. At a very similar event, one had insisted on a dance with him, then promptly danced him to exhaustion. Their movements were hypnotic, their fire art strong. He would keep an eye on them, but perhaps not as close an eye as last time.

He realized he was staring after them in thought, and was caught when they turned as one and winked. He flinched and directed his attention elsewhere quickly. Yes, he would definitely need to post more knights to the serving tables.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Gough arrived at Anor Londo in time to meet most of the deities as they were leaving. Those columns had proven to be more problematic than he had originally assumed. He was either quite well received or snubbed because of the debris and dirt on his person, depending on whom he spoke to.

The giant released an enormous yawn upon pushing open the door to his chambers. He didn't even notice that someone had landed upon his shoulder. Ciaran was comparable to a human in size, but lighter than most after all. She brushed a dirt clod off of Gough's temple. "You've been busy, Hawkeye."

The enormous figure blinked tiredly, scanning for the source of the voice. Ciaran kept her balance without effort. "Ah, Ciaran! I hadn't heard of thine return!" Another yawn escaped him, and he attempted unsuccessfully to hide it behind a fist.

"Well, you hadn't entered the city until about an hour ago, Gough." She sat cross-legged. "There was a party. If you hurry, you might be able to catch the last of the drink."

But the giant was already sitting on his bed. "I'm afraid not, Ciaran. A good rest is imminent." He stopped lying down suddenly. "Unless you needed to talk of something?"

The Lord's Blade was still on Gough's shoulder, standing now at an angle so that she was upright. She crossed her arms and blew a strand of her deep brown hair out of her eyes. "Have a guess at who pursued me last evening."

Gough let out a groan and let himself fall onto the mattress. Ciaran adjusted accordingly. "Say thee not that it was that vile man."

"You're an excellent guess, unfortunately. The brute actually left the hall and made his lumbering way to the roof, if you can believe it." Her yellow eyes flashed with anger at the memory. Smough had set his mind on being her lover shortly after they met. He had arrived near her perch last night reeking of drink, and she had contemplated knocking him off the roof and blaming his drunkenness. As it was, she had eventually responded to his advances by delivering a solid kick to his jaw that laid him out. He might still slumber on the roof for all she knew.

The greatarcher made a rumbling in his throat. "Well, if the Executioner will not see sense, than perhaps I should have a word with him…"

Ciaran smiled. "Please, Gough. You're no ruffian. There is no need to make this a spectacle, I can fight my own battles."

Gough chuckled tiredly. "You are right, of course. Now, I shall have to yield to my swiftly approaching dreams. A good night to thee." Within ten seconds, thunderous snoring filled the chamber. It had been designed to contain those specific noises. Ciaran left the room to see the sun beginning to peek over the eastern mountains.