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Chapter Text

Chapter 1

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The Call of Long Lost Grace

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"Arise now, ye Tarnished! Cross the fog, to the Lands Between, to stand before the Elden Ring, and become the Elden Lord."

The call of long-lost Grace surged through his mind, tearing him from the clutches of death. For the first time in so long, the Tarnished took a sharp, deep breath. Spots filled his vision, but gradually disappeared as his eyes adjusted to sight itself. Numbness initially filled his limbs all the way down to his fingers and toes, but soon subsided and was replaced by a strange feeling of warmth. He heard his heart beat, pumping blood through his veins once again. There was no mistaking it, he was alive once more. The immortality gifted by Grace had returned to him.

The Tarnished dragged himself to a nearby puddle to check his reflection. Though the cave he woke up in was dimly lit, he could still barely make out his image in the cloudy water. A metal helm with a long white mane of fur adorning the top covered his face, leaving no feature in view. The Tarnished raised his and carefully undid the helm's strap. Pulling it off his head, and gazed back into the water.

The face that looked back was a stranger to him. It was his, surely, but still he recognized no feature about it. He had no memory the scars and blemishes, nor anything that caused them. In fact, the extent of his memory began with the call to action which revived him but moments ago. The Tarnished thought hard, trying to fish out something, anything from his mind to cling on to. A single memory, a name, a family, anything. Hazy recollections of his time beyond the fog crossed his mind, but nothing concrete nor helpful. No matter how hard he tried, he could not recall anything concrete.

The only thing providing him insight into the past were fragments of necessary knowledge imparted him by Grace. Images of the Shattering, the demigods, Queen Marika, and, most of all, the Elden Ring. However, this knowledge felt even more foreign to him. Were they even his memories or experiences? How long had he lived and died outside the fog?

Even with no memory or personal convictions to guide him, however, the words of Grace struck the deepest part of his soul. They reignited the flames of ambition, a burning feeling long foreign to his kind. The Tarnished did not understand it, but stuck in his mind was an unwavering, singular desire to reclaim the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord. Even recovering his own memories felt small and insignificant when compared to this ambition.

The Tarnished slowly stood to his feet, the thought of long lost Grace restoring energy to his tired bones. Yes, his lack of memory would not impede his quest. He was likely a Tarnished of no renown, after all. If Grace had not imparted him with his memories, then they were not necessary to begin with. What mattered was becoming Elden Lord, a task he would not fail. Thus, the Tarnished donned his helm once more and gathered what little belongings he had, picked up his rusted sword the shield that lay beside it. Turning, he looked to the great fog wall dividing the outside world from the Lands Between. Then, slowly but with conviction, the Tarnished took his first step on the Golden Path to reclaim the Elden Ring.

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Precipice of Anticipation

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The Tarnished had no expectations about the state of the Lands Between since the Shattering. After all, with such hazy memory of his time before becoming Tarnished, there was little in his mind to compare it to. However, when the grafted monstrosity towered over him, mutilated and mismatched hands stitched haphazardly onto its body, and let loose an ear-piercing screech, the Tarnished disposed any notion that the journey ahead would be anything but arduous.

He must have been a warrior at one point, the Tarnished thought, as he felt some sort of familiar battle instincts take over when the beast charged him. However, whatever past experience the Tarnished once possessed was mired down by the years of indolence and decay that came with death. Despite the new sensation within that spurned him forward, his body could not keep up with his thoughts. His legs ached with each sluggish roll and his armed felt like lead as he hopelessly hacked away at his opponent.

The Tarnished fought with all he had. The Grace now inside him would not allow anything less. With as much ferocity as he mustered, he slashed and stabbed, landing what hits he could while trying to survive. However, the grafted beast was quick as it was merciless. It cut into his body time after time, tearing muscle and spilling blood, punishing each opening and missed read.

As the fight prolonged, Tarnished felt his consciousness start to fade. He was exhausted, barely even able to catch his breath. His blade felt impossibly heavy as he held it at the ready with his right hand. His left hand he kept pressed to his side, barely stopping in his innards from slipping out from a deep wound he incurred earlier. The Tarnished tried to step forward but realized it already took what little strength he had left just to stand. A feeling of fear and despair began tugging at the Tarnished's heart. This fight was hopeless.

The monster seemed to notice his sorry state, as it stopped its ferocious assault for a moment and tilted its disfigured mask to the side. The Tarnished clenched his teeth as he heard it chitter, almost gleefully, as if to mock him. Not only was the beast slicing his body to ribbons, it seemed to be sadistically enjoying it. He felt another long-lost but familiar emotion boil to the surface as the beast laughed at his suffering: anger.

The Tarnished felt an almost animalistic rage overtake him. His breathing grew heavier and his fist clenched harder around the grip of his sword. Thoughts filled his mind of stabbing, slashing, and tearing every disgusting arm off the grafted beast until it was nothing but a limbless, screeching mound of flesh. He had to do something, anything to tear into the beast, even if it meant breaking every limb in his body.

The Tarnished eyed the grafted monstrosity carefully as it reared back. He recognized this movement, the beast was going to charge and run him through with a single quick stab, a blow that would surely finish him. The Tarnished knew he did not have the strength or stamina to dodge out of the way, his death was a foregone conclusion.

However, he refused to die so pathetically, skewered limply on the sword of someone's disgusting creation before his journey had even begun. Focusing his concentration, the Tarnished let his left hand leave his side and held his sword with both hands, pointed forward. He grunted in pain as the gaping wound on his side began to spill out again, but withstood it, knowing it would only last a few moments longer.

As the Tarnished predicted, the beast rushed forward, the pieces of armor and chainmail haphazardly strapped onto it clattering together. Just as the point of its sword was about to plunge into the Tarnished's stomach, he lunged forward to meet the blade with all his might. The Tarnished felt searing pain as the beast's sword ripped through his insides, but spurned by rage and determination, he managed to push himself forward and drive his own sword deep into the monster, all the way to its hilt.

The beast shrieked out and pain and immediately dropped its sword, causing the Tarnished to collapse to the ground along with it. The Tarnished watched as the creature rolled around on the stone, screeching and flailing before, finally, falling limp. As his vision began to darken, he felt a twinge of satisfaction. Then, like the monster before him, the Tarnished let death overtake him.

However, so long as even a small remnant of grace remained within, life would cling on to him.

When the Tarnished first stepped out of the stranded graveyard and into the golden light of the Erdtree he felt a feeling of relief wash over him. The trek through the fog itself had been arduous and the Lands Between had not greeted him kindly either. Looking out at the vast landscape, though, the Tarnished let himself feel some hope for the journey ahead.

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The First Step

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Unlike the precipice he originally awoke on, the land before him teemed with life. Small animals grazed below tall trees, their branches gently swaying with the breeze. While the Tarnished saw ruined monuments around him, the wilderness had long reclaimed them, with green grass and moss covering crumbled stone. From where he stood, the death and destruction caused by the Shattering seemed not to reach this quiet place.

Before the Tarnished could truly relax, he heard a voice call out to him.

"Oh, Tarnished are we? Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmmm?"

The Tarnished turned towards the voice and spotted a man wearing a strange blue outfit and a white mask. Despite his odd dress and suspicious tone, however, the Tarnished felt strangely at ease. Since his banishment, he had barely seen another person, much less talked to one. In his sorry state beyond the mist, the lack of contact never seemed to bother him. However, now face to face with another, the Tarnished realized how much he had come to miss it.

The masked man, seemingly slightly offput by the Tarnished's silence, pushed on. "Of course you are, no shame in it. Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless."

The Tarnished snapped out of his introspection, somewhat taken aback by the man's comment. Maidenless? He knew nothing about such a requirement, as the call that roused him never gave such specific instructions. Clearing his throat, the Tarnished finally spoke up. "What do you mean, maidenless?"

The man in the white mask wringed his gloved hands together and chuckled softly. "Ah, so you do speak. Excellent, I was beginning to worry you yet another mad dog let loose upon our poor ailing lands."

The Tarnished frowned, his initially good feelings about this encounter quickly dissipating. The masked man, seemingly oblivious to his growing irritation, continued his lecture. "Yes, as I stated earlier, without a finger maiden for guidance, without the strength of runes, and without an invitation to the Roundtable Hold, you are fated, it seems, to die in obscurity."

Finger maidens, runes, Roundtable Hold? The Tarnished knew of none of these when he set out on his journey. Had he truly set out so foolishly knowing nothing of his mission beyond its final destination? Luckily, as unpleasant as this masked man was, he seemed knowledgeable of the path set out for him and his fellow tarnished by the Golden Order. Hoping to get a straightforward answer, the Tarnished asked "Where can I find such things?"

The man chuckled suspiciously again. "Unfortunately, I cannot lead you to a finger maiden, nor can I lead you to the Roundtable Hold, as I am not tarnished myself. However, Luckily for you, I, Varre, can impart on you some wisdom that may help along. Are you familiar with Grace? The golden light that gives life to you Tarnished."

"Of course, its golden light beckoned me on this journey to begin with," the Tarnished answered, this masked man, Varre, would get to the point.

Varre nodded, then said, "Excellent, how astute of you. Then, you may also behold its golden rays pointing in a particular direction at times?"

The Tarnished looked back to the small golden light floating just above the grass behind him. Near it, sure enough, he could see a faint gold arc pointing off towards a dilapidated stone church not too far in the distance. Varre, taking the Tarnished's behavior as a response, continued, "That is the guidance of Grace. I cannot see it myself, but supposedly it lights the path a tarnished must travel."

"For someone who cannot see Grace's guidance, you know a surprising amount about its blessing," the Tarnished said incredulously.

"Do not be so quick to judge," Varre admonished, "While you are one of the lucky few tarnished still blessed with Grace's golden guidance such knowledge is no secret. While I cannot see Grace myself, I have met others like you at the start of their own journeys. Certainly, you did not think yourself the first?"

"Of course not. However, you will forgive me of being wary of advice given by a man who hides his face," the Tarnished answered.

Varre clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Quite the hypocrite, aren't we? Surprising words considering your own choice of headgear. However, as I said, I am used to dealing with your kind and thus I will try not to take offense."

As much as the Tarnished hated to admit it, the white mask had a point. "Where did the other tarnished before me go?"

Varre pointed off to the distance, up towards an area covered with strange storm clouds. "Grace's guidance will most certainly send you, like all the others, up to Castle Stormveil, home of the decrepit demigod, Godrick the Grafted."

Godrick the Grafted? The name sounded eerily familiar, though the Tarnished had surly never met or seen the demigod, at least as far as he could remember. With such a title, though, the Tarnished suspected that he was likely behind the terrifying beast he encountered earlier in his journey. If his suspicions were correct, the Tarnished thought, then surely no one would complain when such a wretch met his end by the sword.

However, what were this man's intentions behind sharing such information? Though Varre's advice seemed sensible, the Tarnished could tell from the man's demeanor alone that was far from trustworthy, not to mention the man's blood-stained robes. Instinct warned him that any advice Varre gave was to be taken with caution.

Varre gave the Tarnished a pat on the shoulder, a would-be friendly gesture that felt practiced and fake. "Consider it a gift from one who takes pity on your kind and your unflinching march towards the Elden Ring." The man then turned away from the Tarnished and gestured forward. "Now, I think it's time you set off. Remember, Grace's guidance holds the answers. It will lead you to the path you are meant to follow. Even if it leads to your grave."

Those last words sent a chill down the Tarnished's spine. From his tone, the Tarnished could tell that under the porcelain mask lay a twisted smile. Just how many others had this man directed to their death? He had come back from death once already and was not eager to push his luck again. The Tarnished felt his momentary doubts burn away with a renewed feeling of determination, however.

He had no clue how far the path before him stretched out, nor did he know if he would live to see the end. Words from a distant past echoed in his mind: "a warrior pushes on until the last drop of blood." Thus, he would keep moving forward until he died, even after he died, until he reached the end of his fate.

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Melina, The False Maiden

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The Tarnished stopped to rest at a site of grace just outside the gate to Stormveil to rest before trekking up the mountain. True to Varre's word, the golden light seemed to point towards the looming castle of Godrick the Grafted. While the Tarnished found the masked man unpleasant to speak with, he did seem rather knowledgeable. However, according to Varre, he still lacked two essentials for his journey: a maiden to guide him and an invitation to the Roundtable.

He had wandered a bit around Limgrave and still felt no closer to finding either. Finger maidens were not uncommon, according to those he asked, however none had recently seen any looking for a tarnished to guide. Kale, a nomadic shopkeeper he met in a ruined church soon after speaking with Varre, told him that many tarnished would never meet their maiden, leaving them without the power to turn runes to strength and, thus, woefully unprepared for the challenges ahead.

The Roundtable Hold seemed even further off. Yet again, the few he spoke with spoke with seemed to know of its existence, but had no knowledge of how to reach it, or contact those who could. It seemed that those tarnished who were fated to arrive would find their way to the hold and those not so lucky would, as Varre so aptly put it, be fated to die in obscurity.

The Tarnished sighed and pulled out a piece of jerky to snack on as he thought. He almost gagged as he bit into the funny smelling meat. Hunger and taste were two other sensations that returned to him along with Grace's blessing, though he can't say that he had particularly missed either. He would have to learn how to cook to avoid resorting to trading with Kale for grubby, questionable meat. But for now, the jerky would have to suffice if he wanted to keep his strength up for the fight ahead.

As the Tarnished forced down the bits of dried meat, pondering the best route up the stormy hill, he heard a strange noise behind him, followed by light footsteps. The Tarnished slowly turned and saw a hooded woman approach him. He cautiously reached for his sword; experience taught him that most in this land were not friendly towards his kind. "Who goes there," he called, trying to assess this woman's intentions.

"Be at ease, traveler from beyond the fog. I mean you no harm," the woman said, her voice far gentle and familiar. "I am Melina and I have come to offer you an accord."

Melina lowered herself next to him and removed her hood, revealing a younger face with soft features. She had short red hair, uncharacteristically well kept compared to the others the Tarnished had met in this region. She certainly was pretty, the Tarnished thought, and had somewhat of an ethereal aura about her. Most noticeably, she seemed to be missing her left eye, or at least he assumed based on the strange mark branded across her closed eyelid.

"Have you heard of the finger maidens?" she asked, holding her hands close to the site of Grace as if warming them by a fire.

"My journey doesn't hold much hope without one guiding me, or so I'm told." The Tarnished looked to her hopefully, "Are you here to help guide my path?"

Melina nodded, "In a way. Though I am not a Finger Maiden myself, I can play the role of one, guiding you on your journey to the Elden ring, turning your runes into strength. If, you would have me that is." She extended her hand out to the Tarnished, waiting for his reply.

The Tarnished quickly took her hand, having no choice but to accept. Fate seemed to be smiling on him, he thought. After all, not too far into his quest for the Elden Ring, his destined guide simply found him. Perhaps an invitation to the Roundtable would soon follow. However, there was one thing that bothered still him about her offer.

"I would love your help, though I must ask, why me? Surely you would be better off guiding someone other than a Tarnished of no renown. I will do my best, but I'm not sure I can protect you on this journey. Frankly, I've had trouble even protecting myself."

Melina laughed softly, "Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing. My current form is ethereal and cannot be grasped by others. Very few in the lands between may bring harm to me. As for why I chose you…" she fished around a satchel around her waste and produced a small ring-shaped whistle. Putting it to her mouth, she gave it a blow.

The Tarnished almost fell over in surprise when, beside him, appeared a large horse, with long fur and two horns, almost akin to a yak's, protruding from its head. The horse lowered its head and nudged the Tarnished, almost as if it were attempting to put his fears to rest. The Tarnished carefully reached out a hand and gently stroked its muzzle.

"It was not truly my decision," Melina said, taking the whistle and placing it in the Tarnished's hand, "but rather Torrent's. This spectral steed believed you to be his perfect match and chose you to be his master. It is a high honor indeed, so please ensure you treat him with respect."

This night only continued to improve. First a maiden to guide him on his quest and now a steed to help carry him long distances. However, almost as importantly, he also now had company on what would have surely been a lonely path. "Torrent… you will certainly be an invaluable partner."

"Now, for one last gift to help you reclaim the Great Runes and the Elden Ring." Melina took his hand into hers and leaned forward, putting his hand close to her chest. "With my power, I can turn runes into strength, granting you power to overcome the obstacles that lay in your path."

The Tarnished tilted his head awkwardly, already a bit overwhelmed by the contact and slightly confused. "That would be immensely helpful. Forgive me, though, I'm not quite sure what to do."

"Simply close your eyes," Melina answered, her own eyes shut, "Share with me your hopes, your dreams, and most importantly, your ambitions. With that, I can stoke the golden flame within you and imbue you with new strength."

The Tarnished nodded and then closed his eyes. What did he hope to gain from this journey? How would he reach his goal? He sought the Elden Ring, that much he was sure of. But what of after, if he succeeded? He would be tasked with being Elden Lord and ruling over the Lands Between and all those who inhabited it.

After thinking for a bit, he decided that the best thing to do would be simply to follow the Golden path set before him. Reclaim the Ring, undo the fracturing, take the hand of Queen Marika and restore the Golden Order. After all, without the Golden Order's Grace, he could have never returned home to begin with. Surely, this was correct.

The Tarnished then felt a small connection with Melina, as if a warmth cycled through her and returned to him, even stronger than before. Suddenly, his muscles felt less fatigued and his mind felt sharper. Wounds he sustained on his way seemed less threatening and a certain rejuvenating energy coursed through him.

As the Tarnished gathered strength, fractured images began flashing before him. An icy peak, a bitter cold. He saw fleeting glimpses of warriors standing by his side, an icy peak, and a proud man standing in front of him. The Tarnished could not make out faces, nor could he think of any names. Something about the scene felt familiar and exciting. The Tarnished tried to reach out, to grasp something, anything to hold on to before the moment slipped away. However, just as quickly as it began, the illusion dissipated before his eyes.

The warmth was gone, and when he regained his bearings, he saw Melina looking up to him expectantly. "It is done. How do you feel?"

"What… what was that?" the Tarnished gasped, still disoriented from his recent visions.

Melina placed her hand other hand on his reassuringly. "Do not fear, Tarnished. What you see are merely memories of lost Grace, linking you back to a time before your banishment and subsequent death. A time before Grace first left you."

The Tarnished began recounting the experience to her, his mind still reeling from the experience. "It was all so hazy but still felt so real. I could feel frigid air, see the breath before my eyes. There were people around me but I could not discern any features, perhaps due to the snow storm but I can't be certain." Finally calming down, he took a deep breath and asked, "Will these visions return whenever you convert runes into strength? I am unsure how many times I can handle something so… jarring."

Melina thought for a moment, seeming unsure herself, and then answered as best she could. "It may, it may not. Many Tarnished have not forgotten the time before they lost their connection to Grace." A look of pity fell over Melina's face. Tenderly, she asked, "To not remember a thing… you must have been long dead before the call of Grace reached you. Tarnished, how long did you lie dead outside the fog?"

The Tarnished grimaced. How could he possibly answer her question? Having spent so much time dead, time didn't feel like it had any meaning. Furthermore, with so few memories, he had little frame of reference against which to compare. The fragments of knowledge Grace bestowed upon him did not help either, as they only served to confuse his experiences.

Despite his face being covered, Melina seemed to understand his feelings. She smiled at him sadly and said, "Do not entrench yourself in thoughts of the past, it matters little for you at this point. Noble, warrior, sage or peasant, Grace extended its blessing to you. Thus, you are worthy to walk the Golden Path and claim the title of Elden Lord."

She was right, his past wasn't important. After all, he knew he was likely just a Tarnished of no renown. This journey was a clean slate, a chance to build himself up anew. "Of course, though one step at a time. First thing's first, I have to make my way up to Castle Stormveil and slay Godrick the Grafted. Though I have a feeling such a task is easier said than done."

Melina nodded. "With the power of Grace, death is no permanent obstacle. If you find any foe to great, please remember that scattered throughout this land are tools and armaments you may use to strengthen yourself. Do not lose hope. With enough preparation and determination any challenge can be overcome."

Though the thought of dying over and over was not pleasant, Melina gave sage advice. The Tarnished decided that, before he stormed the castle to challenge a demigod, he should explore Limgrave and strengthen himself. Not only would he be able to gather more weapons and runes to stand a better chance at fighting whatever lay ahead, but he might also learn more about the land he could end up ruling. "Allow me some time to rest. In the morning, I will set off to prepare for the upcoming battles."

Melina smiled and raised her hood over her head once again. "Then I will keep watch while you sleep."

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

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A Sword's Name

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The Tarnished bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, his body shaking with adrenaline. Blaidd, the half wolf, had mentioned Darriwill was nothing but a traitor and a scoundrel. What he had not mentioned, was that Darriwill was a large, fast and deadly knight wielding a heavy curved great sword and razor-sharp hooked claws. The denizens of the Lands Between tended to be people of few words, but a small warning would have been helpful. Had the Tarnished realized what he was up against, he would have arrived to the fight better prepared.

He looked down and checked his injuries. Luckily his flask of crimson tears seemed even more effective after he last adjusted it. His armor may have been a bit worse for wear, but the damage was nothing he could not fix on his own. For the most part his current state was battered, but nothing beyond that. Just to be careful, the Tarnished removed his flask from his pouch and took another sip, feeling its rejuvenating powers mend his muscles and return his stamina.

At least the battle wasn't for nothing, the Tarnished thought. He walked over to where his foe had fallen moments ago. Like most enemies, when the Tarnished struck the killing blow, Knight Darriwill exploded in a cloud of dust and stray runes, leaving only his sword behind. The Tarnished picked up the sword and examined it. The weapon had served Darriwill well, and its making was certainly to his liking. "I think I shall call you… Bloodhound's Fang," he mused, taking a couple practice swings. The weapon's weight felt good in his hands, light for its size but not enough to diminish its effectiveness.

"Do you always name your weapons in such a manner?"

Slightly startled by the gruff voice, the Tarnished turned and saw Blaidd himself standing behind him, arms crossed and an amused smirk on his muzzle.

The Tarnished had first seen the lupine warrior back in the Mistwood Ruins while on his way to liberate Fort Haight for a self-proclaimed nobleman. He was curious about the half wolf and tried to get his attention, as it was not often one saw such a creature clad in full armor with an enormous, ornate sword strapped to their back. However, it was not until after speaking to Kale, who figured the two would hit it off and taught him a snapping signal to catch Blaidd's attention, that the Tarnished would first speak with the half wolf.

Somewhat embarrassed, the Tarnished holstered the weapon on his back. "Well, it's only proper that everything should have a name, right?" An strange statement coming from him, he knew, but he believed the name fitting.

Blaidd shook his head teasingly, "I simply didn't take you for the type, that's all. Nothing wrong with it, if I had more imagination I might do it myself. I also didn't expect you to slay Darriwill yourself before I could even lend a hand."

Back in the Mistwoods, when they first met, Blaidd had requested the Tarnished keep an eye out for a man named Dariwill, who the half wolf informed him was a lowly traitor who had escaped death by imprisoning himself in an evergaol. The Tarnished promised to keep an eye out, but was unfamiliar with evergaols so doubted he would be of much help. As fortune had it, however, he later accidentally stumbled into the very one in question without realizing and unwittingly activated it.

"It wasn't my intention to fight alone, I assure you. However, I know little of how these evergaols function. I stepped in the middle and, before I knew it, the fight had already begun. The bastard didn't even let me get a word in before lunging for my throat."

"You handled yourself well, however," Blaidd said, seemingly impressed with the Tarnished's abilities, "While I only arrived to see the leadup to the killing blow, I know a skilled fighter when I see one."

The Tarnished shrugged, "I assure you, any training I may have had has been long forgotten. What you saw was a mix of instinct and a desperate attempt not to have my stomach gutted open again."

Blaidd chuckled at this, though the Tarnished did not find the prospect of his insides spilling out again so humorous. "Well no matter what drove you, I won't complain. Darriwill is dead and that is all that matters. While I would have enjoyed meting out justice myself, death by your hand is sufficient. Now, as promised, here is your prize." The half wolf handed the Tarnished an ashen colored smooth pointed stone. The Tarnished was not quite sure of its purpose, but it did look somewhat like the smithing stones he clumsily handled once at the Church of Elleh. "Don't say I'm not a man of my word."

"So what now?" the Tarnished asked.

"Now?" Blaidd gazed off in the distance, almost as if looking past Castle Stormveil to something beyond. "Now we part our separate ways. I have my own business to attend to and I am sure you have yours. After all, it is Godrick's head you are after, is it not? The sooner you put that wretch to the sword, the better."

"Perhaps you could help me?" the Tarnished asked hopefully, "I certainly could use your assistance, especially in slaying a demi-god."

Blaidd shook his head. "I have my own matters to attend to. While assisting you in your quest does sound appealing, my path is not my own. I am afraid this is one you will have to fight without me."

The Tarnished sighed. He was disappointed but not surprised. Like most people he had met, Blaidd clearly had his own concerns to deal with. Not many outside the Tarnished had much interest in risking their skin to challenge the might of a demigod. Furthermore, from his few interactions with the half wolf, the Tarnished had noticed his somewhat knightly demeanor. Surely there was some lord or lady whose justice Blaidd was meting out.

"Do not concern yourself, Tarnished," Blaidd told him, giving him another approving nod, "your skill and drive surpasses most other tarnished I have ever witnessed. Godrick is a coward and a fool at heart, no matter how many limbs he grafts to himself. The battle will be hard fought, but I am confident you will come out victorious."

Hearing such encouragement from Blaidd, who clearly was a formidable warrior in his own right, felt reassuring. While the Tarnished still mostly relied on instinct and muscle memory, through practice and the power of Runes, he felt his skills steadily improving. Perhaps by the time he reached the decrepit demigod, he would be as prepared as Blaidd suggested.

The Tarnished pulled the white whistle from his pocket and blew it, summoning Torrent. After mounting the spectral steed, he asked Blaidd, "Will we cross paths again?"

Blaidd brought an armored hand up to his scruffy chin and began eyeing the Tarnished closely, almost as if scrutinizing his every move. Under his close gaze, the Tarnished felt slightly uncomfortable, as if Blaidd was scrutinizing him. Before the Tarnished could comment, Blaidd spoke up again. Cryptically, the half wolf said "If you venture North of Raya Lucaria, and come across a venerable blacksmith who's a little on the large said… Tell him I sent you. And he'll treat you right. I owe you that one, I reckon."

The Tarnished simply sighed, this was not the first time someone had given him such a vague and unhelpful advice. Blaidd, seemingly satisfied with his answer, however turned his back and began to wander off. The half wolf gave a single waive and called back "It's about time we parted ways. Good luck in your endeavors, Tarnished warrior."

The Tarnished waived in return and then opened up his map to plot out his next course. He wanted to return to the Church of Elleh to thank Kale for his advice, but first there seemed to be a commotion on a bridge not too far off in the distance, crossing to a small Peninsula which he had yet to explore. The Tarnished wanted to explore and gather what resources he could before doubling back. Storing his map back in his satchel, he gave Torrent's reigns a tug and rode off towards his next destination.

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Blinded by Duty

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The Tarnished felt his heart drop to his stomach when he first recognized Edgar's wails of despair.

He had recently helped quell a beastman uprising at Castle Morne. The fort's defenses, led by a knight by the name of Commander Edgar, were hanging by a thread before the Tarnished arrived at the behest of Edgar's daughter, Irina. What was originally a simple delivery turned into a hard fought series of battles, culminating with the Tarnished slaying the beastman leader and reclaiming the gruesome looking Grafted Sword, a colossal great sword comprised of the blades of dozens of felled warriors crudely smelted together.

After reclaiming the sword, Edgar told the Tarnished that he would retire watch over the castle to reunite with Irina and, hopefully, live safely with his daughter in a quieter place. However, as the Tarnished followed the stone brick road, closer towards the desperate cries, he had a terrible suspicion as to just how Edgar and Irina's tale ended. And, sure enough, as the Tarnished arrived at the end of the road, just before the bridge connecting the Weeping Peninsula to Limgrave, he saw Edgar on his hands and knees beside Irina's bloody, lifeless body.

Carefully, the Tarnished dismounted Torrent and approached the young woman's corpse. Blood pooled around her, seeping into and mixing with the mud underneath. He looked at the brutal gash across the length of her abdomen and wondered who could have been so heartless as to cut down a blind woman. What purpose did this death serve? Was this the demi-humans' revenge for their defeat at Castle Morne? Or was it just a random cruel act, done completely in isolation for a petty reason, or even no reason at all? No matter the reason, though, the outcome was all the same. A father without his daughter. A daughter without her future.

The Tarnished knelt down next to Edgar. He tried to come up with something to say to the grieving man but could think of nothing. What words could one possibly tell a parent who outlives their child? All he could do at this point was give his condolences and, if necessary, a hand to give the girl a proper burial.

Edgar finally spoke up, barely able to maintain his voice through his sobs. "Irina… how could this be… how could this have happened…"

The Tarnished could not tell whether the keeper of Castle Morne was addressing him or the Golden Order itself, but decided to give what comfort he could. "Edgar, I'm so sorry. Your daughter, Irina, was a good woman. She deserved better than this."

"Aye," he said, his voice shaking with sadness and rage, "she did. And the fault lies with me."

"Edgar… I am so sorry..."

"No, DO NOT give me meaningless words of comfort!" He shouted, his hands now clenched, gripping the muddy earth underneath them, "What good will any such words do! I chose duty over my daughter's safety, and this is how fate has answered. What good is a castle there is nothing left for it to protect? Irina, my sweet girl, I have failed you." Edgar let out a desperate, almost maddened laugh.

The Tarnished stepped back, giving the grieving father his space. He had never experienced loss of this magnitude, at least as far as he could remember. Without such an understanding what little more he could say would hold no meaning to Edgar.

After a bit, Edgar finally rose from his knees and turned towards the Tarnished. When the Tarnished saw Edgar's face, he found the man almost unrecognizable. While his expression was twisted with a mix of agony and fury, his eyes felt cold and lifeless. The well disguised warmth the Tarnished once saw when he first delivered Irina's letter had completely vanished.

Edgar drew his sword, ran his hand across it, allowing his own blood to smear the blade. He then placed his bloodied fist over his heart in a dark pledge. Turning towards the Tarnished, he spat through gritted teeth, "Tarnished, bear witness to this promise, for it is the last I shall ever make. I'll find them, the foul wretches responsible for this. I'll hunt them down and exterminate every last one of them. I will not rest until I have paint the Lands Between red with their blood." Turning towards his daughter with one last look of regret, he swore, "Rest assured Irina, it will be done." Then, without a parting word, Edgar donned his helm and wondered off, weapon drawn. As he watched Edgar disappear off in the distance, leaving his daughter's body behind, the Tarnished had a sinking feeling that it would be the last time he saw the knight, or at least the man he once was.

Later that evening, while resting at a site of Grace, the Tarnished thought back, mentally retracing each step trying to see if there was anything he could have done. Was there a single sign, something he missed that could have warned him of Irina's fate. Perhaps if he moved faster or fought more ferociously, he could have returned to her before her would be killer could enact their cruel intent. As he sat and pondered, he heard a familiar sound, followed by soft footsteps. The Tarnished moved to the side a bit, making room for Melina, who had chosen to take physical form for the evening.

"Are you bothered by the girl's fate, dear Tarnished?" she asked him, lowering her hood so he could see her face.

"Who wouldn't be," the Tarnished answered, surprised that Melina even needed to ask, "that poor woman, she likely didn't even suspect a thing before it was too late. I can't imagine what wretched creature had the capacity to commit such an act. Whoever or whatever it is, however, it no longer deserves to draw breath in these lands." He then sighed, "Perhaps I should have kept my distance from Castle Morne. The demi-human's failure there may have spurned one to take revenge against the fort's commander. If the Castle Morne had fallen, maybe Irina would yet live."

Melina nodded, listening to his every word. She then continued the scenario he played out, taking it to its unspoken conclusion. "But then what of Edgar? If you had not intervened and Castle Morne fell to the uprising, surely he would have been killed himself."

"Edgar was a solider," the Tarnished responded, somewhat coldly, "It was his duty to protect the castle with his life, one he voluntarily accepted and swore to uphold. Such a death would have purpose... at least that's what I believe he would think."

"I am not sure Irina would have agreed to such an assertion."

She was right, the Tarnished knew. Irina would have been devastated if Edgar died in battle, likely just as devastated as the Commander felt right now. Furthermore, the Tarnished was not even certain whether the perpetrator was one of the demi-human raiders to begin with. This spiral of "what ifs" wasn't productive. It would not aid him on his journey, nor would it bring Irina back.

"So you intend to hunt down the perpetrator?" Melina asked, keeping her eyes on the small golden shard instead of looking to him.

The Tarnished shook his head. "If I happen to come across them in my travels, I likely won't be able to stop myself from gutting them. However, the right of vengeance belongs to Edgar and Edgar alone. I wouldn't go out of my way to deprive him of that. I am sure a knight of his caliber is plenty capable of putting his affairs in order."

Melina finally turned to the Tarnished, looking at him intently as if peering into his soul. "You say you believe in Edgar, but you still sound unsure."

Sure enough, there was little he could put past the woman. Even missing an eye, she was as sharp as ever. "Whether or not Edgar can find and bring justice to Irina's killers doesn't concern me. As I said, he most assuredly has the skill required. What does worry me is the lengths he will go to do so and what he will do after he realizes his justice. Last I saw him, his eyes lacked a certain spark, a will to continue living, at least as a human. It was disturbing and, most terrifyingly, it felt familiar." The Tarnished went silent, staring at the golden shard in front of him.

Melina placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. " tarnished are those who strayed from the path set by the Golden Order and thus were abandoned by Grace. While the reasons for this abandonment vary, many lost their way due to grief, similar to that Edgar is experiencing. It's only natural you would feel such a connection."

The Tarnished suddenly felt his exhaustion catch up to him. While Melina's voice was soothing and her company was appreciated, hearing of the similarities between himself and a knight who likely lost all will to live was not comforting. Sensing that he was done speaking about the topic, Melina took his head into her arms and pulled him in close. He felt her heart beat as she held him, allowing him to relax for but a moment "Rest for now, Tarnished," she said quietly, "Torrent and I will keep watch for the night."

The Tarnished closed his eyes obligingly, letting his head rest on Melina's lap as he began to doze off. Though the day's events had been tragic, the Tarnished tried to find comfort in the fact that fate ordains all events for a reason, even if that reason was not immediately apparent. However, even as he slipped into sleep, he could not stop thinking to himself, 'Just what did the Golden Order see in Irina's death?'

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

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Evening with the Snow Witch

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It was in the middle of the night when the Tarnished returned to the Church of Ellah for the third time. Having wrapped up business on the Weeping Peninsula, the Tarnished wanted to visit Kale both to thank him for his help and buy some last-minute supplies before he left for Stormveil.

After Irina's tragic death, the Tarnished decided it was high time he confronted the demigod atop the hill. The sooner he claimed Godrick's rune, the sooner he could claim the Elden Ring and, hopefully, restore the Greater Will's blessings upon the land so others wouldn't have to suffer such a fate. Furthermore, after gathering more runes and weapons, he finally felt prepared to face the challenge ahead.

As the Tarnished approached the church, however, he quickly noticed that something was amiss. The air around the church was noticeably colder than anything he had felt in Limgrave before, so cold that he could see his own breath. Furthermore, there was a presence that made his hairs stand on end and sent a shiver down his spine. This chilled aura couldn't have come from the merchant, nor any of the others the Tarnished had encountered thus far. Carefully, the Tarnished dismounted torrent and approached the church's front entrance. Through the opening, he saw that both Kale and his mule were nowhere to be seen.

The Tarnished swallowed nervously, hoping the nomadic merchant had simply moved on. In the back of his mind, however, he anticipated a repeat of what happened on the Weeping Peninsula. Silently, he drew his sword and crouched down, slowly entering the church to investigate the matter. As he crossed the ruined church's threshold, mentally preparing for what he might find, a refined voice called out to the Tarnished from just out of view.

"You, there, Wolf, a moment of your time please."

The Tarnished turned towards the voice and was surprised to see a strange woman sitting comfortably atop one of the church's crumbled walls. She truly looked distinct compared all others he had met thus far on his journey, with pale blue skin and four crossed arms. The stranger dressed rather abnormally, wearing silver robes with a fine fur cloak draped over her shoulders. Atop her head was a large witch's hat, its brim so wide as to almost obscure her eyes. She exuded a regal aura, exhibited in her manner of speech, perfect posture and ethereal beauty. Her demeanor along with her clearly displayed power made it apparent that she was someone of importance, a standout being amongst the others gathered in Limgrave. However, something about her also seemed fleeting, as if she were a mere illusion, one that would disappear without a trace with the coming dawn.

Seeing she had his attention, the strange woman smiled and beckoned him closer with a finger. Almost mesmerized, the Tarnished walked forward, stopping just short of the wall on which she was perched. "A pleasure to meet thee, Tarnished," she greeted him, slightly tipping her hat with a nod, "I am the witch Renna. I'd heard tell of a Tarnished hurtling atop a spectral steed. Upon looking into the matter, the talk, I surmise, is of thee."

The Tarnished nodded. Still mesmerized by her presence, he could barely offer a response. "You heard correctly."

"Ah, as I had hoped. Then mine coming here twas no error." Renna reached into her robes and produced a small silver handbell with intricate, ornate carvings on the rim. She reached down, and held the bell out. Though wary of gifts from strangers, the Tarnished took the bell from her hands. "I was entrusted with this for thee," she explained as the Tarnished examined the bell more closely, "by Torrent's former master."

"Torrent's former master?" He had originally believed Melina to be Torrent's former master. However, if Melina were to gift him something, he figured she would have simply done so herself. After all, even if out of view, she had been always by his side since their meeting. There would be no reason for her to gift him something in such a roundabout manner. If Melina was not Torrent's previous master, however, that meant some other mysterious benefactor had an interest in his success. "Counting Torrent himself, this will be the second gift I've received from them. Just who has been so invested in my journey to lend such generous assistance?"

Unfortunately for the Tarnished, however, Renna was not inclined to share any names. Instead, she simply told him, "I assure thee, Tarnished, thou hast nothing to fear. Torrent's former master has nothing but the best intentions and wishes thee good fortune in your quest for the Elden Ring." While still slightly unnerved that the witch insisted on maintaining such an air of mystery, the Tarnished thought it best not to question the motives behind this gift any further. Even though this mysterious benefactor remained anonymous, Renna herself had not yet given him a clear reason to distrust her, and a powerful friend could prove useful going forward. It would be important to leave a good impression and too much suspicion may sour her good will.

He decided to move on to the gift itself. While the bell certainly was pretty and likely made a pleasant chime, he was sure it had some underlying purpose beyond such mundane uses. "If you're unwilling to share my benefactor's identity, perhaps you could tell me a bit more about the gift itself?"

"Tis a bell for calling forth spirits. Summon them with it, from ash unreturned to the Erdtree," the witch answered. Renna reached in her robe once more and pulled out a small cloth pouch. Handing it to the Tarnished, she explained, "With ashes such as these, spirits will obey thine command but briefly as they recall battles past. Now it is thine, to do with as thou wishest. The ashes which I havest imparted will surely be familiar to a warrior such as thineself."

The Tarnished, taking the ashes in hand, raised the bell and rang it. After the silver bell chimed, three large spectral wolves appeared by his side in a cloud of enchanted ash. The three wolves turned towards the Tarnished and gave him a friendly look, wagging their tails. They circled around him, familiarizing themselves with his scent and giving his hand the occasional nudge. Despite some fowl run ins with their kind throughout his journey, the Tarnished could not help but feel a kindred connection with the wolves. "What are their names?" asked the Tarnished as he gave each a gentle scratch behind the ears.

Renna seemed surprised by his question, but answered truthfully, "I know not the names of these spirits. However, their souls tell a tale of a nameless Tarnished with whom they hunted beside and, eventually, perished beside as well. I dare say, thou art a perfect match considering, wouldn'st thou agree?"

"I should hope not, considering what you said about their last partner's fate. Nevertheless…" The Tarnished for a moment before naming each. "Guts, Sif, and Valtr. Are these agreeable?" The wolves tilted their heads to the side in response. The Tarnished doubt they understood, but felt a bit better now that he had at least given them proper names before sending them out to fight his battles.

"Thou art an odd Tarnished. I would have thought such sentimentalities lost on most witlessly pursuing the Elden Ring" said Renna, somewhat perplexed by the entire display.

The Tarnished felt slight deja vu from his earlier conversation with Blaidd. Trying to leave a good impression, the Tarnished decided to give a romantic explanation. "Funny, another I've met told me something similar. It's true that I am not compelled to do so by the Greater Will. But if a nameless one such as myself is to take the title of Elden Lord, it feels hypocritical not to bestow titles on the others who help me along the way."

Renna raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Thou art certainly humane, Tarnished. Though, I suspect such niceties are wasted on such temporary specters."

The Tarnished chuckled, slightly embarrassed and internally berating himself for believing that such a line would have landed him in her good graces. "No, I suppose not. More practically, however, it would be troublesome to issue specific commands in the heat of battle if I cannot address them individually."

The witch seemed more satisfied with pragmatic reasoning and acquiesced, "As I expected. A tactical answer, fitting for a Bloody Wolf."

Bloody Wolf? When she had first called him by the name "wolf" he believed she had merely referenced the white wolf's fur adorning his armor. He supposed he was likely covered in blood and grime, though he doubted the witch was referencing his hygiene. However, that title, Bloody Wolf, seemed far more specific. Curious, he asked "Fitting for a Bloody Wolf? What do you mean by that?"

Renna cocked her head to the side and then smiled in a way that, to the Tarnished, almost seemed somewhat mischievous. "Tis true after all, then. Thou hast but fleeting memory of thine past."

Tis true after all? Who could have told her? Thinking back, he had not exactly been hiding his amnesia. Anyone watching him closely could likely discern his status with relative ease. No matter how the information reached her, the Tarnished hoped that her ability to so succinctly confirm his lack of memory meant that she herself knew something of his fragmented past. "Did we know one another before my banishment?"

The snow witch shook her head. "Apologies, Tarnished but I knoweth not of thine name nor thine lineage. However, while thou art nameless and without renown, thine armor, however, speaketh of a history long forgotten by many in the Lands Between." Looking up to the moon, Renna then said "The time has come to bid thee farewell. I shall allow thee to return to your quest. Forgive mine intrusion, Tarnished."

"You're leaving?" The Tarnished asked, a bit disappointed their time had come to an end. Renna seemed knowledgeable and there was much still he wished to learn from her. Not only that, but, despite her vagaries and somewhat distant attitude, for some reason speaking with her felt comfortable and familiar. Their conversation had been a pleasant respite from his difficult travels.

Renna nodded back, "Mine reason for visiting was but to impart to you the summoning bell. Now that our business hath concluded, I must be on mine way. I doubt we shall meet again, but all the same, learn well the Lands Between. On thy quest, thou may find the answers you seek."

Then, with a wave of her hand, a cold gust blew through the church and the Tarnished watched the Witch Renna disappear from sight. As her form dissolved into the night sky, he caught whispered words of parting, barely audible over the conjured winds.

"How long will it be, I wonder… Before the Tarnished tire of obeisance to the Two Fingers?"

Though he did not fully comprehend the meaning behind those words, he at least understood that they likely amounted to heresy. If she opposed the path set by the Greater Will, though, assisting one ordained to restore its blessing was a strange way of doing so. Perhaps it was foolish, but the Tarnished still felt compelled to trust the witch, or at least Torrent's previous master, who had sent her in the first place.

Another thing stuck out to him, now that the witch had left the church. He had not broached the subject before, for fear of offending a powerful sorceress, but the Tarnished could not help but notice a strange mark covering her closed right eye. The tattoo nearly mirrored Melina's mark, both in placement and design. This feature, along with their shared connection to Torrent led the Tarnished to wonder if the two were connected somehow. Perhaps they both worked under Torrent's mysterious first master, or shared familial bonds? The Tarnished hoped that, further down the line, Melina might open up more about her past and that, perhaps, he would learn the answers then.

"Ah, Tarnished? You alright?"

The Tarnished turned and saw Kale sitting in front of a warm fire as usual with his instrument in hand. "You were staring out in the distance like you were deep in thought, so I didn't want to interrupt at first. But after a while I was beginning to get worried that something'd happened to my most valuable customer."

Taking a seat near the fire, the Tarnished reassured Kale, "I haven't lost my mind yet, don't you worry. Also, most valuable customer? I assumed I was your only one."

Kale laughed heartily, "Not so! That unpleasant masked one, Varre, stops by on occasion to purchase a thing or two. So, low standard that it is, you are in fact my best customer."

"Then let me add to my repour," the Tarnished said, preparing to conjure runes for payment, "I'll be buying up most your shop before heading up to Stormveil."

Kale raised an eyebrow, "Finally heading up to face Ol' Godrick, huh? You sure I can't convince you to simply let it be? Would hate to hear that you got grafted onto one of his horrid creatures."

"I appreciate your concern, but I should be continuing on my journey. Can't stay in Limgrave forever."

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The Felled Omen

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"Put these foolish ambitions to rest, foul Tarnished."

The Tarnished would be lying if he said that the omen's offer was not tempting. After all, Margit had spent the past several hours, quite literally, beating the life out of him with nothing but an oversized wooden cane. He had expected resistance on his path to Stormveil. The road up to the fortress itself had already been rife with struggle, lined with knights, feral wolves, and even trolls. However, all else paled in comparison to the formidable foe that now stood between him and Stormveil Castle.

Margit tossed three projected daggers before rushing forward and bringing his cane down with terrifying strength. The Tarnished quickly rolled to the side, letting the cane swing past him and crack the very stone underneath. Seizing the opportunity, the Tarnished swung his own weapon and landed a powerful slash with his greatsword.

A rush of satisfaction overcame the Tarnished as his blade cut into the omen's hardened skin. Not wanting to lose momentum, he tried for another, hoping to keep his opponent on the defensive. However, as the Tarnished reared back for another heavy swing, Margit suddenly reacted with shocking speed for his monstrous size. The omen conjured a golden dagger and quickly slashed to his side, catching the Tarnished off guard before leaping back and throwing the knife. The magic dagger found its mark, landing a solid hit square in the Tarnished's right shoulder.

The Tarnished cried out in pain and anger, his frustration rising with each mistake. He felt the dozens of deaths he suffered at the hand of the Fell Omen crawling up his back, stoking a feeling of rageful bloodlust. Just how many times had he been crushed underneath that heavy cane? How many times had those golden knives gutted his stomach or stabbed through his heart? He would be damned if he let the omen kill him again. With a battle cry, the Tarnished charged forward with reckless abandon, swinging wildly at Margit.

The Omen was, however, unimpressed. Nearly effortlessly, the Omen sidestepped his attacks and returned with yet more blows, beating the Tarnished with his cane like an old master disciplining his pupil. With an angry grunt, Margit landed one last powerful blow, stabbing his cane forward, into the Tarnished's chest. He felt his ribs crack against the oak cane and his breath escape his lungs. Blood spewed out his mouth as the blow sent the Tarnished tumbling backwards until his back slammed with a CRACK against the gate's entrance.

"As always," Margit mocked, his voice dripping with contempt, "thou tarnished are but rabid dogs, set upon this land like a pestilence. Thine desperate flailing is evidence enough. Thine mere effort to reach the Elden Ring insults the great Elden Lords who came before."

Though the omen's words stung, the Tarnished reluctantly admitted they held some truth. His frustration was blinding him, weakening his blows and dulling his mind. At this rate, he would not pass to Stormveil Castle even with a thousand deaths. It was time to take a deep breath and change approaches. The key to defeating this foe was not to fight harder, his previous deaths at the Omen's hand proved that much. To defeat a skilled fighter such as Margit, the Tarnished knew he had to fight smarter, more carefully.

The Tarnished pulled his crimson flask from his bag and took a sip, feeling his bones mend and his torn muscles knit back into place. He only had so many tears left, so he would have to make the remainder count. Next, he held up the silver bell that the witch Renna had gifted him and gave it a ring, summoning three snarling wolves his side.

Standing to his feet, the Tarnished held his sword out and ordered the wolves, "Circle around and wait for an opening! Strike when his back is turned!" The wolves howled in response and rushed towards Margit, following their master's orders.

Sensing the Tarnished's change in demeanor, Margit raised his cane at the ready in response. Encircling Margit, the wolves quickly went to work, each snapping and jumping back whenever the omen turned to face them. Sif was the first to commit to an attack, lunging at Margit's calf, fangs at the ready. Margit quickly responded in kind, batting Sif away with his cane. Just as Margit's cane hit Sif, the two others lunged in, with Guts sinking his teeth into Margit's right shoulder and Valtr tearing into his thigh.

The Omen grunted in pain and grabbed Guts by the scruff of its neck. Tearing the wolf off, he swung it downwards into Valtr, knocking it off and throwing both wolves to the ground. In that moment, however, the Tarnished seized the opening. Lunging forward, curved greatsword in hand, he let loose a vicious slash, catching Margit across the chest. Margit quickly whirled around, trying to catch the Tarnished off guard with his projected knife. The Tarnished was one step ahead however, and quickly jumped back out of the knife's range.

Pivoting on his back foot, the Tarnished jumped forward and brought down the weight of his great sword, cleaving into Margit's shoulder and knocking the omen to his knees. He then reared up and, with both hands, swung the bloodhound sword into Margit's side, once, twice, swinging through with all his might and throwing the omen onto his back. After, the Tarnished stood back and caught his breath as he watched blood pool around Margit. Was it finally over?

Before the Tarnished had the opportunity to celebrate Margit stirred, then slowly stood up, brushing himself off. Through gritted teeth, the Omen spat almost reluctantly, "Well, it seems thou art of passing skill. Your attire was not for show, warrior blood runs in thy veins after all." Holding out his free hand, the Fell Omen summoned a large golden Warhammer and propped it up against his shoulder. Turning to the Tarnished, he pointed his cane forward and shouted, "However, I have felled far greater warriors than thou!"

Margit lept to the sky, holding his hammer aloft and brought it down with earthshattering force. The Tarnished managed to dodge aside just in time, but Valtyr and Guts were not so lucky. The wolves yipped in pain as they were crushed underneath Margit's mighty hammer. The Tarnished leapt back in as Margit regained his footing, catching the omen across the back before rolling back and out of range.

From then on, Margit's assault was relentless. The omen unleashed a flurry of attacks that the Tarnished hadn't even seen before. However, the Tarnished kept his wits about him, dodging swings and pushing every opening that presented itself. Sif attacked ferociously as well, biting and swiping at Margit whenever his back was turned. The battle was arduous, but the Tarnished could tell, even with Margit's newfound vigor, he was gaining ground with each exchange. All he needed was the perfect opportunity to hit the omen with everything he had to end the fight.

Sif pounced and bit Margit's ankle as he swung his hammer at the Tarnished, pained grunt from the omen and throwing him slightly off balance. Taking advantage of the omen's lost footing, the Tarnished dashed in and swung for his opponent's arm, hoping to wound it and cripple the Omen's ability to wield his enormous cane. Margit was one step ahead however, and leapt back, narrowly avoiding the Tarnished's blade. From afar, Margit hurled three knives at Sif, each one finding its mark before the spirit wolf could react. Sif howled and fell to the ground before disappearing in a cloud of ashes, leaving only the Tarnished to stand against the omen.

"Only one wolf remains," Margit snarled, conjuring up his hammer once again, "your wretched path ends here."

Once again, Margit leapt in the air, holding his hammer aloft, ready to bring it down with all his might onto the tarnished warrior. In that split second, the Tarnished's mind raced, trying to piece together a plan to end things as soon as possible. The omen was close to falling, that much he could tell, but his failings earlier in the fight left him low on healing supplies and he no longer had a numbers advantage.

Then, a memory suddenly crossed his mind. A memory of his battle with Knight Darriwill, the bloodhound sword's previous owner. The Tarnished recalled how the bloodhound knight moved, using the weight of the large blade to create momentum, allowing him to quickly and smoothly jump and dash after each attack. Perhaps, if he wielded the weapon similarly, he could mimic such a weapon art.

The Tarnished rolled to the side, dodging the hammer's blow. Then, with all the force he could muster, the Tarnished swung his sword up, slicing Margit across the shoulder while leaping backwards with a flip over Margit's quick counterattack, following the momentum of the swing. The Tarnished landed a good distance from Margit, with his feet and free hand lightly touching the ground and the bloodhound greatsword slung over his back, the same stance he witnessed Knight Darriwill adopt so often. Then, with all the power he could muster, the Tarnished leapt forward.

Margit anticipated the charge, but not the speed with which it came. The Tarnished Margit's heavy swing pass right over him as he closed the gap, just fast enough to avoid getting swatted aside by the heavy wooden cane. Twisting his whole body, the Tarnished let loose a horizontal spin slash, gutting Margit straight across the stomach with a powerful attack. The force of blow caused the Omen to spit blood and stumble backwards, just barely catching himself on his back foot. The Tarnished, conserving the swing's momentum, leapt high in the air and then, with one last spin, brought the sword crashing down into Margit's collar.

When the Tarnished looked up to assess the damage, he knew the battle was over. His sword had cut deep into Margit's shoulder, cleaving past the mess of gnarled horns and lodging itself down, deep into the omen's chest. The Omen sputtered, almost in disbelief and fell to his knees, dropping his cane.

Margit looked down at the grisly wound, almost in disbelief. "I shall remember thee, Tarnished, smoldering with thy meager flame." The Felled Omen raised his arm weakly and pointed to the Tarnished, looking him straight in the eyes, his determination never wavering. With a raspy, but still powerful voice, Margit promised, "Cower in fear of the night. The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook thee no quarter!"

With his last words spoken, the Omen crumpled to the ground before exploding into golden ash and dust, leaving only the sword which delivered the final blow behind. As soon as his foe was no more and the rush of battle subsided, exhaustion finally caught up with the Tarnished. He fell to his back, breathing heavily and feeling almost too weak to stand.

He had done it. He was tired, broken and beaten but he had done it. And while he knew there would certainly be more challenging foes ahead, foes that likely far surpassed the Fell Omen, he let himself bathe in the satisfaction of victory for the moment.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

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Shell of a Hold

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Varre had told him at the beginning of his adventure, all tarnished who sought the Elden Ring must, at one point or another, pass through the Roundtable Hold. However, when Melina first brought the Tarnished to the Round Table Hold, he could hardly believe it.

The keep itself was impressive enough. The walls seemed sturdy and the high vaulted ceiling certainly gave the place an air of importance. Surrounding him, carved into the walls, were stone statues of fierce warriors, with the largest and most detailed depicting the Land Between's first Elden Lord, the mighty Godfrey. At the center of the large war room was the round table itself, a large oak table surrounding a roaring pyre. While imposing, use of the table for any sort of council seemed impractical, as one would have to look past both the fire and the various blades crudely smelted into the center to even hold a conversation.

What surprised the Tarnished, however, was just how empty this large hold seemed to be. While he had not expected a large band of others like him, the Tarnished had expected more than three individuals mulling about completely separate from one another. For something so crucial to a tarnished's quest, it seemed as though very few had even reached this step.

With so few people inhabiting the hold, it was not too difficult for the Tarnished to find a silent spot where he could be alone, away from possible prying eyes. The Tarnished found a nice private quarters for himself in a dining area located in the downstairs area of the hold, accessible behind a wall of fog via a stone sword key. While it was certainly not as comfortable as the room the deathbed companion had claimed, it was sufficient for his purposes.

"Only a privileged few have gained audience before the Round Table Hold," he heard Melina say before she took corporeal form beside him. "Be proud, dear Tarnished. You have proven yourself a worthy contender for the throne."

The Tarnished supposed she was right. Even stepping foot in these halls was likely a great honor. However, he still could not help but feel as if the Order of the Roundtable Hold was far less grandiose than he had been led to believe.

"What think you of your fellows?" Melina asked, taking a seat next to him.

"They are not quite as I expected, for the most part," the Tarnished answered, thinking back to those he had just recently met. The residents of the hold were an odd cast of characters, none of whom seemed to particularly like each other.

"Sir Gideon the All Knowing is as pleasant as one might expect from a knight bearing such a title. Hewg, the misbegotten blacksmith, doesn't seem too keen on pleasantries either, although I appreciate his lack of condescension in comparison to Sir Gideon. Fia's company was quite pleasant, however. Unlike Sir Gideon, she was quite welcoming and seems a charming conversationalist."

"Be cautious around the deathbed companion," warned Melina before he could continue. "Her embrace may be warm, but it is not without its cost."

"Of course, she is still but a stranger to me and the title deathbed companion is enough to give one pause." The Tarnished had not yet taken Fia up yet on her offer, though he would be lying if he said he had not been considering it. Closeness and intimacy were things he sorely missed, after all. Just one night with the deathbed companion did not seem like the worst idea.

Moving on from the topic of Fia, the Tarnished continued, "Diallos is better company than most, but he seems more concerned with this Lanya woman than the Elden Ring itself. Corhyn is what one would expect from a devout follower of the Golden Order. I imagine he would make a wise counsel to whichever tarnished claims the title of Elden Lord."

The Tarnished stopped for a moment. Thinking back on those he had just listed, the only one who seemed to actually desire the title of Elden lord was Sir Gideon. The rest had other priorities and personal matters they held above the assignment for which they were given life again. As Sir Gideon had said, albeit more rudely, they were more akin to wanderers seeking shelter from the dangers in the Lands Between.

"Melina," the Tarnished asked, "do so few tarnished still follow the Golden Path?"

Melina nodded. "Many tarnished have been wandering the Lands Between for far longer than you. The quest for the Elden Ring changes a person. The path is arduous and fraught with danger. Difficult decisions must be made and far too often the weight of such matters breaks everything underneath. As such many lose sight of the grace that once guided them to begin with. My hope is that, through the hardship, you will remain true to yourself until our journey reaches its end."

"Is that why you said you were testing me after my fight with Margit? Did you know this whole time that such a formidable opponent was waiting for me at the castle gates?"

"I again apologize," Melina said, now sounding slightly guilty, "I had to ensure you were right for the task. I was not sure you would have the mettle and determination for the road ahead. However, as I said earlier, it seems Torrent is a far better judge of character.

The Finger Maiden was, if anything, brutally honest at times. However, he could not blame her for her caution. After all, the Tarnished had already experienced such hardships and he was yet to claim the first Great Rune. If he could not overcome Margit, he likely stood no chance of becoming Elden Lord. However, the flame of ambition continued to burn within. The Tarnished could not predict the future, but as for now his journey was still in its infancy. The deaths he had suffered at the hands of the Omen and the tragedy of Irina's murder would not be enough to blind him to the path ahead. "I hope to live up to such expectations then. After all, it would be a shame to fall short Torrent's evaluation, would it not?"

Melina laughed lightly at his joke. "Yes, it would be a shame to disprove the wisest among us in such a matter."

The Tarnished stood up, satisfied that he had properly proven himself. "Then I should begin preparing for the upcoming battles. As you said, the road ahead is long, so I have little time to waste."

Melina stood up with him, dusting herself off. With a small smile, she said, "Your determination is admirable, my Tarnished. I will excuse myself, then, and allow you to finish any tasks necessary." She then took a step back and disappeared.

With Melina gone, or formless at least, the Tarnished began making a mental list of required preparations before he left the hold. While he had slain Stormveil's gatekeeper, the castle itself still remained and he doubted charging in to take the head of its master would be an easy feat. He would first need help from Hewg, the hold's blacksmith, to reinforce his weapons to ensure they were strong enough to kill a demigod. Next, he would speak with Corhyn and learn a few healing incantations to save him should his crimson flask run dry. Finally, he would need more information about his target. While the idea of asking was unpleasant, the most knowledgeable in that regard would be the ever-charming Sir Gideon.

The Tarnished guessed from the few interactions he had with the knight that in all likelihood Sir Gideon would not be willing to share a thing. However, despite his cantankerous demeanor, Sir Gideon seemed at least invested in the death of the disgraced demigods, which was more than could be said for the others. Furthermore, perhaps the great "all knowing" would enjoy flaunting his lofty title and impart some helpful information, even if it did come with a tirade of insults.

The Tarnished hoped that when he next returned to the Roundtable Hold it would be with a great rune and the head of a demigod.

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The Gatekeeper

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"Gostec!"

The withered old Gatekeeper yelped in fear at the sound of the Tarnished's voice. The Tarnished, however, felt little sympathy for the sniveling little rat who only moments ago tried to have him killed.

Just earlier that day, the Tarnished met Gostec at the entrance to Castle Stormveil. Gostec had helpfully called him over and informed him of the dangers of the most direct route, suggesting a secret side path into the tunnel that was far less guarded than the main gate. While the Tarnished found his dodgy demeanor a touch suspicious, he figured, given Godrick's nature, that the servants working under him were just as eager to see him dead as most others. And, true to the gatekeeper's instructions, the Tarnished found a useful side entrance with nary a ballista in sight.

The Tarnished, initially glad to have met the seemingly helpful old man, began his infiltration into the castle, navigating the insides of its ramparts trying to find a way to Godrick's throne. However, in the course of his exploration, upon entering a small room, the Tarnished found himself locked inside with one of Godrick's elite knights. After hearing a muffled voice laughing at his misfortune from the other side, the Tarnished soon realized that perhaps Gostec was not so well intentioned after all.

"M-m-m-master Tarnished! How delightful to see you again!" Gostec sputtered out as he desperately tried to back away from the encroaching warrior, stumbling over his own feet as he did. "Is there any further help I can provide? P-perhaps some wares to help you in your quest?"

The Tarnished, still bloodied from his battle with the knight walked towards Gostec menacingly, continuing until the old man's back was against the stone wall. Then, reaching behind him, the Tarnished pulled out the enemy knight's helm, dented and caked with its previous owner's blood. He tossed it beside Gostec, where it landed with a hollow clang.

"Do you think these antics amusing, you shriveled wretch?"

Gostec, still thinking he could weasel his way out with feigned ignorance and flattery, quickly answered, "I-I see the knights of this castle are no match for you! As expected from a Tarnished meant to become Elden Lord."

Usually, he wouldn't have given men such as Gostec a second thought, even after his underhanded trickery. Just scaring some sad old man certainly wasn't worth the trek all the way back to the gates. The Tarnished's first inclination was to simply let the slight go and continue on his way.

However, before he could resume his search, he remembered that poor girl, Rodericka, whom he had met in a shack on the path leading up Stormveil. She had told him of her companions who were cruelly trapped within Stormveil Castle and grafted to one of Godrick's horrid monstrosities. The Tarnished couldn't ignore the role that Gostec likely played in their fate and the fates of many others.

The Tarnished bent down and grabbed the gatekeeper roughly by his collar. Lifting Gostec up, he slammed him violently against the wall. "Just how many, Gostec," the Tarnished growled, "how many have died to your little scheme. How many arms and legs are grafted to the beasts that prowl these halls because of you?"

Gostec whimpered, "P-please don't kill me! I just do as I'm told to stay alive!"

"Oh, by the sound of your laughter after you locked me in, you must get some sort of satisfaction!"

"Please!" Gostec sobbed, a mix of mucus and tears running down his face, "I know I'm a horrid man, but I don't deserve this! Most people would do the exact same in my position!"

"That's all you have to say for yourself? Not even a word of apologies for the terrible fate you've paved for your victims?"

Gostec immediately started apologizing, swearing up and down he would never pull such a trick again. His apologies meant nothing to the Tarnished, though. After all, Gostec said himself that he would say or do anything to stay alive. The drivel spilling from his mouth here was no different.

The Tarnished raised his sword. He would run this pathetic coward through this instant and avenge those he delivered to Godrick's sick experiments. With the point of the blade pointed at Gostec's chest, his begging and screaming only became louder.

"Please Sir Tarnished! Master Tarnished! Have mercy, I am begging you! This pathetic insect will do anything for you, give anything for you! Just please, by Marika's name, let me live!"

Pathetic was right. The sound of his wails made him feel almost sick with rage. Not a single soul would miss the wretch, he was sure. Even if the Tarnished could not kill Godrick, he would at least be ensuring no others would fall prey to the man's traps. However, as he watched the gatekeeper sob uncontrollably, his whole body shaking with abject fear, he couldn't help but think that killing him would somehow be debasing himself.

The Tarnished sighed and then tossed the sniveling Gostec to the ground. Revenge would feel sweet, he was sure, but it wasn't his to take. He would let the man live for now. Then, once he had dealt with Godrick and later claimed the title of Elden Lord, he would have Gostec dragged before Rodericka and allow her to decide his fate.

Gostec, realizing his life had been spared, prostrated himself before the Tarnished, singing words of thanks and praise for his mercy. Unaffected by his groveling, the Tarnished simply responded, "Remain at your post and interfere with my work no further. Try anything again and I suggest praying on all fours to Queen Marika that it should kill me. Otherwise, I will hunt you down and tear out your innards with my bare hands." With those parting words, the Tarnished left the terrified gatekeeper to continue his path to Godrick.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

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Godrick the Grafted

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The Tarnished stood before the fog wall alongside Nepheli Loux, a fellow tarnished he had encountered on his adventure through Stormveil Castle. This was it. Behind that golden fog was Godrick the Grafted, demigod and shard possessor. This battle would truly decide whether or not he was worthy to walk the Golden Path.

"Are you up to this, Wolf?" Nepheli teased, giving him a friendly nudge with her elbow.

The Tarnished grinned slightly under his helm. His immortal body allowed him to throw himself against his foes again and again with no consequence beyond the momentary pain of the experience. Every time he passed, his corpse would simply dissolve, only to be reassembled at a site of grace as if no harm had ever befallen him. However, the Tarnished still worried that, should this fight go wrong, his journey would end here with his arms stitched onto a crazed old man. The outcome was unlikely, but it still unpleasant. Despite his potentially terrifying fate, though, instead of feeling nervous, he felt invigorated, his body twitching, excited for battle.

"Of course," the Tarnished said, taking the enormous grafted great sword in hand, "As you said, the winds run cold with Godrick's deeds. He is no lord worthy of a great rune."

Nepheli nodded, "Excellent. Then let us relieve Godrick of his limbs. Every single one of them." With that, two warriors, bodies prepared and minds steeled, stepped through the fog and into the courtyard.

The opening before Godrick's throne was more akin to a graveyard, with tombstones littering each side of the path ahead. The rotting corpse of a long dead dragon immediately caught the Tarnished's eye, its body unceremoniously skewered on a tall stone pillar and its head drooping down limply. There, standing before the dragon's corpse, was the decrepit demigod himself, a large cloak draped over his hunched back and an enormous bronze axe lodged upright in the ground by his side.

Reaching a large, deformed hand towards the dragon's corpse, Godrick mused to himself, "Mighty dragon, thou'rt a trueborn heir." Running his hand down its jaw, almost lovingly, he then rasped, "Lend me thy strength, o kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights."

While he never thought himself below sneak attacks, the Tarnished figured that, despite how horrid and monstrous the demigod was, his status as a descendent of Queen Marika and Godfrey the First Lord owed him some level of decency. The Tarnished lifted his sword, pointing it at Godrick. Then, in a tone cold and imposing, he issued his challenge.

"Godrick the Grafted, descendent of Godwyn, the son of Queen Marika and Godfrey the First Lord! For long enough you have terrorized Limgrave and its people. The torture, the graftings, your envious lust for power, it all ends here. In the name of Queen Marika and the Greater Will, I have come for your head!"

Godrick, upon hearing the Tarnished's declaration, slowly turned to face him. "Well, a lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord…" The demigod stood tall and allowed his cloak to slip off his back.

While the Tarnished had heard stories of the horrors Godrick had inflicted upon his own body, such tales did not do the grafted monstrosity justice. Upon his back were dozens of arms jutting out repulsively, all morbidly discolored. His very body, the Tarnished could see, was but a mass of stitched together limbs and torsos crudely masquerading as muscle. Without his divine blood, what little of it that he had, the Tarnished was sure that the demigod would have simply suffocated and died under the weight of such corpses. Truly, Lord Godfrey would have been disgusted to see such a creature clinging to his family tree.

Godrick took his axe in both hands, or at least the two largest ones, and raised it in front of him. In a low voice, he proclaimed, "Thou knoweth not who thou speaketh to. I am the lord of all that is golden." Then, slamming the axe's head down to the ground, he shouted, "I command ye both, KNEEL!" With that defiant command, the niceties were over.

The Tarnished and Nepheli rushed in as Godrick lumbered towards them, dragging his golden axe along behind him. Despite being the weakest of the demigods, Godrick was still a force to be reckoned with. He possessed surprising speed, despite his size and lack of balance, juggling a smaller axe between arms for a series of quick swings before bringing the large golden one down for a massive hit.

Nepheli, to the Tarnished's relief, was a capable fighter, her skills fitting for a self-proclaimed warrior of the badlands. She was able to dodge blows effectively and had a keen eye for openings, unleashing a flurry of slashes with her battle axes when the time was right. The warrior woman was certainly able to hold her own, allowing the Tarnished to focus solely on his own survival.

The Tarnished fought conservatively at first. He dodged and blocked, carefully eying Godrick's attacks and taking note of any pauses or hesitation. As he avoided Godrick's assault, he quicly realized that, while Godrick certainly wielded the raw power of a demigod, he clearly lacked Margit's skill and keen wits. Godrick had little control over the strength his many grafted limbs leant him. Thus, after each barrage, he had to take a moment to recenter himself and regain his balance, as he could not maintain it for too long. The Tarnished determined that this was the best opportunity to capitalize on and waited patiently for the next opening.

Sure enough, just as the Tarnished predicted, after several wild swings, Godrick began to lose his balance. The Tarnished rolled under the demigod's last swing and then whirled around with his monstrous great sword, slamming its smelted blades into Godrick's back. Nepheli quickly followed up, lopping off one of Godrick's grafted arms with one clean cut.

The demigod roared out in pain and whirled around, trying to swat both tarnished warriors away. Then, holding his axe aloft, Godrick let loose a battle cry as he whirled it in the air, summoning a violent gust of wind around him, knocking back both Nepheli and the Tarnished. In an odd maneuver, Godrick proceeded to roll across the arena with surprising speed, circling the warriors before leaping high into the air and slamming his axe down. Both tarnished warriors managed to roll out of the side at the last minute, avoiding what would have likely been certain death.

Almost comically, the Tarnished noticed that Godrick managed to lodged the head of his axe deep into the stone beneath with the force of his blow and was having difficulty pulling it out. The Tarnished, sword at the ready, charged Godrick, ready to punish the demigod for his mistake. As he jumped forward with his grafted sword at the ready, however, he heard Nepheli call out behind him "Tarnished, below!"

The Tarnished glanced down and saw massive cracks on the ground which he should have noticed earlier. Unfortunately, it was too late to roll back. With the weight and momentum of his colossal great sword, he was already committed to the attack. The Tarnished managed a substantial hit, leaving a messy wound across Godrick's disfigured chest. However, Godrick soon returned in kind as he finally pulled his axe free from the ground, causing the very ground below him to rupture violently.

Chunks of rock slammed into the Tarnished's chest, cracking bone and sending him hurdling backwards. Landing with a thud, the Tarnished cursed his overeager nature and quickly downed a crimson tear from his flask. Nepheli disengaged and ran to his side to lend a hand, helping him back up to his feet.

Godrick laughed at the sight, his wide grin showing his yellow crooked teeth. "Lowly Tarnished, thou believe thineself a match for a demigod? Thou'rt measly worms, unfit to even graft."

"Do not let him provoke you, Wolf," Nepheli advised, despite looking quite frustrated with the demigod's words herself.

The Tarnished nodded and reassured her, "Don't worry, he hasn't gotten to me yet. But we need a plan to lay in more damage. I hate to admit, but if the fight drags on for too long, we'll likely be the first to fall to exhaustion."

Nepheli thought for a moment, and then proposed a plan. "Despite that cocky smile, Godrick's ego is fragile as glass. Goad him into a blind rage and keep his attention. I will wait from the side for the perfect moment and knock him off his feet. Once he falls, we both unleash our fury."

"Understood."

Following the plan, the Tarnished approached Godrick as Nepheli slipped quietly off to the side. At the top of his lungs, the Tarnished shouted out, "Decrepit demigod, you call yourself a lord? Your blood is far closer to a commoner like myself than that of Godwyn the Golden."

Godrick frowned, stepping forward menacingly, axe in hand. "Stay your tongue, Tarnished. Thou art unworthy to speak my name and far less worthy to speak of my golden forefathers."

"Oh I think not," the Tarnished jeered, thinking back to every bit of information Sir Gideon shared about his foe. "The stench of weakness and cowardice follows wherever you tread. Fled the capital dressed as a woman. Insulted the Sword of Miquella only to grovel before her and lick her feet. Just how much shame have your actions inflicted upon the Golden Lineage? What a disappoint blemish in the Land Between's most prestigious line."

"Quiet you wretch," Godrick snarled, his face further contorting with rage with each word.

The Tarnished did not let up. "Ever since entering your castle, I pondered why a warrior such as Margit degraded himself to standing watch by your gates. I now realize, as he must have, that the most pathetic of all demigods would of course draw the most tarnished. After all, why challenge any other when lowly prey such as yourself exists?"

He smiled as he watched the demigod shake with fury. Just a bit more would be all it took to send the demigod into a blind rage. "Godrick the Golden? Don't make me laugh. You aren't even imposing enough for the name Godrick the Grafted. No, a more befitting title for you… is Godrick the Bait."

Godrick roared, nearly foaming at the mouth, and bounding forward on all fours, dragging his Golden axe behind him, sending sparks flying as its edge grinded against the stone path. The Tarnished readied himself for the onslaught, now placing his trust in Nepheli to play her role. A furious hail of attacks followed, each of Godrick's arms madly swinging his axes one after another, desperately trying to cleave the Tarnished who dared mock his name.

To Godrick's credit, the attacks came faster than ever before, only giving the Tarnished moments between swings to react to each. However, the Tarnished was still faster than the deformed demigod and he managed to duck and weave past each blow. As Godrick maintained his assault, the Tarnished started to notice wider gaps between each swing and slight fumbles between each arm. The demigod was losing control, the moment to strike would surely come soon.

Just as Godrick reared back his golden axe for another blow, Nepheli jumped out from behind the dragon's corpse. The warrior woman swung her axes into Godrick's right shoulder and, using her momentum, she pulled the demigod off balance, knocking him to his knees. The Tarnished didn't waste a moment swinging his own blade, bringing the grafted great sword down in a brutal arc. When his attack landed, on Godrick's shoulder, he felt the crunch of bone underneath, a good indicator of a debilitating blow. However, with Godrick on his knees, Nepheli and the Tarnished refused to let up, delivering blow after blow to the downed demigod.

Godrick wailed out in pain and raised up his axe and, predicting a counter attack, both the Tarnished and Nepheli jumped back. However, to both their surprise, Godrick swung his axe straight down on his own left forearm. Crying out, Godrick raised up his arm and, with another strike, cut his hand clean off.

"I am of the Golden Lineage… I will not… be felled… by a lowly tarnished…" With heavy breaths, Godrick held out his bloody stump and turned to the dragon corpse. Almost mesmerized by the dead beast, he pleaded, "Ahh, truest of dragons… Lend me thy strength!" Then, with another cry, he plunged his severed into the corpse's neck, tearing it in a mess of blood. The head, now grafted to him, fell limply by Godrick's side. After only a moment, however, the dragon head began to stir and snarl. Life returned to its eyes as it lifted itself up and snap at the air in an almost confused manner.

Godrick raised his new appendage into the sky as it belched a stream of dragonfire before him. "FOREFATHERS ONE AND ALL!" the demigod cried out to the heavens, "BEAR WITNESS!"

When Gideon had told him that Godrick had found a new toy for grafting, this was not quite what the Tarnished expected. Cursing himself for not dealing with the dragon's corpse earlier, the Tarnished leapt out of the way as Godrick pointed his grafted limb forward and let loose a wave of flames towards him. Though he was able to dodge most of it, he felt the dragon fire heating up his armor, causing him to sweat profusely and making even breathing difficult.

"We must finish this quickly, before the heat is too much to bear!" Nepheli shouted, charging towards the demigod. The Tarnished followed suit, hoping that Godrick's desperate move signaled he was on his last leg.

However, if the demigod was near death, he did not show it. The dragon's strength seemed to invigorate him, imbuing Godrick with newfound strength and speed. Every attack now came with a fiery finish, curtesy of the grafted dragon, making it difficult for the Tarnished to push any openings without being cooked alive. Together, he and Nepheli were able to maintain some ground against Godrick but not without taking cuts and burns of their own.

The battle raged on, and the Tarnished found himself down to only a few more crimson tears. Nepheli, now exhausted, her fur battle garb singed and burned, had spent her last tear after being hit with a burning whirlwind conjured by Godrick's golden axe. Though the demigod was certainly fairing better than before, he seemed in no gloating mood. The Tarnished's previous insults continued to kindle his rage, a rage that would not subside until he devoured both usurpers before him.

Godrick rolled towards the two warriors, leaving a blazing trail in his wake, and again followed with a jumping strike, flames exploding from the earth as his axe met the ground. Nepheli and the Tarnished, now both used to this pattern, leapt back, then dove back in, ready to quickly strike for the few seconds they had before Godrick pulled his axe from the stone. As the Tarnished landed his hit, however, he could not help but notice Godrick's wide toothy grin.

In a moment of uncharacteristic guile, Godrick whirled around, leaving his axe in the ground. The grafted dragon struck out and snapped its jaws around Nepheli, who cried out in pain as it clamped its teeth down around her. Godrick cackled maniacally as the dragon's mouth began to glow, smoke and flames spilling out of its mouth as it torched the victim inside. Then, rearing up its head, the grafted dragon slammed Nepheli on the ground and opened its maw, bathing her in its pent-up inferno.

Godrick, whose mood had certainly improved from before, picked up the warrior woman with his other hand and looked her over. Then, the Tarnished watched as the demigod tossed Nepheli ally aside and her body careened into a tombstone, after which it lay limply in front of. He rushed over to her side and quickly opened his pouch, pulling out his crimson flask and letting a tear drop in her mouth. He watched as the healing poultice partially mended her burns. A wave of relief washed over him when he heard a soft breath.

"A shame," Godrick called over, in a much better move after burning Nepheli alive, "for a woman, her strength was admirable. Perhaps I shall graft her onto mine own body, provided she has not been rendered to ash."

The Tarnished clenched his fist. Nepheli could no longer fight. If he died here, she would surely end up stitched to Godrick, a fate worse than death. Thus, for the sake of his new friend, he had to finish the job and slay Godrick before he could lay a hand on her corpse.

Not one to pass up any chance to claim victory, Godrick bounded gleefully towards the Tarnished, whose back was still turned to him. Luckily, though, due to Godrick's unwieldy size, the Tarnished heard his approach before he even got close. Filled with determination to protect his friend, the Tarnished Turned and blocked Godrick's axe. Then, allowing the axe's head to slide down the length of his sword to the side, the Tarnished swung upward in a powerful counter attack, catching Godrick across the side.

While the dragon brutally punished any mistakes, Godrick's patterns themselves had not changed substantially. The Tarnished realized this as Godrick, still riding the high of his previous attack, wildly swung his axe in a manner all too familiar. The panic caused by the dragon's flames subsided as the Tarnished cleared his mind and focused on dodging the demigod's axe, just as he had before. The Tarnished almost felt silly to have forgotten that, no matter what new limb he affixed to himself, Godrick would be the same pathetic, simple fool he had always been. And pathetic, simple fools such as Godrick could not help but live and die as creatures of habit.

Godrick, frustrated that his attacks no longer hit as they had before, reared back his dragon's head and spewed a river of flame, forcing the Tarnished to back off and give him space. The raised his axe and swung it above his head, summoning yet another fiery windstorm before rolling towards the Tarnished. He smiled to himself, cherishing the thought of burning the Tarnished thoroughly until his skin. When he neared the Tarnished he leapt up to perform the same jumping attack as before. And, just as before, the Tarnished jumped back and quickly jumped in, sword at the ready. Godrick had difficulty containing his laughter as he released his axe and swung his grafted dragon towards the Tarnished, ready to incinerate and devour the low born who dared make light of the Lord of All that is Golden.

This, however, was the exact moment the Tarnished had been anticipating. In a split second, the Tarnished spun around, moving the point of his grafted great sword from Godrick's stomach straight towards the dragon's maw. Then, with all the power he could muster, the Tarnished lunged towards the flame and shoved the jagged cluster of blades straight down the grafted beast's throat.

The Tarnished released the blade's grip as the grafted dragon recoiled back and both it and Godrick screamed out in agony. Blood showered as the creature flailed around, desperately trying to free the blade from its jaw. But the dragon's struggle was in vain. Each grafted blade that comprised the colossal greatsword dug itself into the dragon's flesh, some even jutting out cruelly through the creature's scales, only exacerbating each wound the more it writhed.

"You idiot," the Tarnished spat. "Did you truly believe I would fall for such a trick not minutes after you wounded my ally with it?" He brought forth his bloodhound great sword and held it out in one hand, letting the tip drag menacingly on the ground as he walked slowly towards Godrick.

The demigod turned towards the Tarnished, his eyes now filled with abject fear. Desperately, Godrick reached for his axe, still lodged in the ground, but before he could reach it the Tarnished swiftly removed his arm with one clean chop. Godrick wailed out again, tears now streaming from his eyes. The Tarnished, not one to leave anything more up to chance, circled around and, with another slice from his curved great sword, severed the dragon at the shoulder, leaving Godrick with only the small limbs affixed to his back.

With that blow, Godrick finally stopped flailing, rolling on his back pathetically as he gasped and wheezed for air. The Tarnished stepped up on top of the demigod's chest and raised his sword up, its point just inches away from Godrick's neck.

"Grace has abandoned you and the Greater will demands your life," the Tarnished spoke, his voice now solemn as he read the demigod his final rites, "With my sword I deliver unto you death and end your pitiful struggle on this mortal coil. Have you any last words?"

Godrick looked up to the sky, as if trying to see the sun through the clouds. His eyes dulled and his mind barely present, he muttered out softly "I am the Lord of all that is Golden…" The Tarnished plunged his sword into Godrick's throat, eliciting a quiet gag before the demigod's head fell limply to the side. The little life remaining finally left the demigod and his body burst into a cloud of ashes and runes.

The Tarnished held out his hand and watched as a golden light gathered in his palm and took the form of three circles overlapping. The symbol maintained its brilliance for but a moment before dimming, leaving only the mark floating before him. The Tarnished grasped the mark and it disappeared, embedding itself within him. He knew almost instinctually that this was Godrick's great rune. Something felt off about it, however, as if it were simply a shell of its former self. He would have to consult Sir Gideon on the matter. Hopefully, the All Knowing would have some answer.

As the Tarnished gathered the minor runes Godrick left behind, he felt himself absorb another strange feeling of remembrance. Similar to when Melina first bestowed upon him the power of runes, a stream of memories flooded the Tarnished's head. Images of a the past flashed before him: back to the landscape covered in snow, littered with weapons and corpses.

The Tarnished saw others around him, all wearing armor similar to his own. He felt the bitter cold penetrating his armor and the weight of a weapon in each hand. One of the warriors approached him and shouted, "Stay focused, pup! The battle is not yet lost!" The Tarnished watched as he readied his weapons and charged forward with his comrades. As they charged, the Tarnished heard an ear shattering roar and giant shadow enveloped them. The earth rumbled, but the Tarnished and his comrades did not falter. Swords raised, the forged onward through the blizzard, ready to slay all before them or die trying.

Then, just as quickly as it they arrived, the images of a lost past left, returning the Tarnished to Castle Stormveil. The Tarnished blinked, then shook his head, trying to reorient himself. The memories he experienced after Godrick's death were far more vivid than those that came before. He could tell, once again, these were no fragments of knowledge bestowed by Grace, these memories were truly his own.

At least this time he had something more to work with. According to the visions, there were others like him, or at least dressed like him. Perhaps some were even tarnished, like him. If he could find one, maybe he could learn more about where he came from. His thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of incessant rambling.

Looking to his side, the Tarnished saw Gostec standing over a withered old man dressed in fine robes and gold. Gostec, barely noticing the Tarnished's presence, was kicking at the old man's head, hurling curses and insults as he did.

"What a pathetic excuse for a Lord you were," he jeered, his every word dripping with vitrol, "Craven to the bone, pushing me about like that. And after all that grafting, where did that get you?! Look down on me would you?! Godrick, you filthy slug! Feel it! Feel it! Feel my bloody wrath!"

"Gostec, what are you doing here?" The Tarnished asked, tired but still unwilling to let Gostec have free reign without any scrutiny.

"Oh, sir Tarnished," he said, his voice slightly raw from all his yelling, "I apologize for disobeying your request, but I was watching the whole battle. You fought marvelously, with skill befitting a soon to be Elden Lord."

The Tarnished was sure that Gostec knew flattery would not help him escape questioning, but something about the gatekeeper's tone sounded different, more sincere. "That doesn't answer my question. Why did you follow me all this way? Did you think my threat was merely for show?"

Gostec shook his head, "Of course not. It's just… this weasel was… Godrick was always looking down on me. Despite what you may think I hated that wretch with every fiber of my being. When I saw you make your way through the castle, I thought you might be the one to finally put and end to the bastard. And now he got what he bloody deserved, thanks to you." Giving Godrick's head another kick, Gostec continued, "What goes around comes around, don't it? He had an ugly heart, an uglier countenance, and met the ugliest of ends."

While the Tarnished still felt no compassion towards the old Gatekeeper, he was too exhausted to make good on any threats. He decided that his best course of action at this point was to just let Gostec be, wretch that he was. Gostec, his attention no longer remotely on the Tarnished, began stomping on Godricks head, each stomp harder than the last.

Spotting a site of Grace nearby, the Tarnished walked over and activated it. Then, he sat down near it, catching his breath. As soon as his strength returned, he would tend to Nepheli and bring her to the Roundtable Hold to recover. But, for the moment, he could rest easy knowing that he had reached his the first great milestone in his journey.

Chapter Text

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Chapter 6

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The Way Forward

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Ever since they had first met, Sir Gideon had been nothing but a condescending codger. The knight was inherently distrustful and believed everyone around him to be an incompetent leech. Though he rarely left his study, thank Marika, every time he passed someone who looked the slightest bit relaxed, he would be sure to call them a lazy whelp and berate them for not earning their spot in the Round. Even when he was being helpful, deigning to share the wisdom of the "all knowing", Sir Gideon always found a way to make the interaction unpleasant, usually via a series of sharp insults or exasperated sighs. By every measure, Sir Gideon Ofnir was not a friendly person.

Which is why the Tarnished surprised when Sir Gideon invited him into his study, his tone completely neutral and without a trace of annoyance. He had a feeling he knew what the knight wanted to speak about, seeing as he had just returned to the Round Table with Godrick's great rune. Though he had little desire for any extended conversation with Sir Gideon, he had a feeling that the knight would not take no for an answer and any protest would just sour his mood. Thus, the Tarnished followed the knight to his study, to discuss whatever the All Knowing had in mind.

As Sir Gideon took his place at the other side of the study's large oak table, he asked, "You've received the wisdom of the Two Fingers, have you not?"

"I spoke with the old woman, Enia," the Tarnished answered.

"And?"

The Tarnished shrugged. "She did not impart much beyond what I already know. The Greater Will has long since abandoned the demigods. Have their heads. Show no mercy and take all that they hold dear."

Sir Gideon nodded. "Good. Then, just as I promised, I bed you welcome as a true member of the Roundtable." The knight extended his armored hand in a surprising welcoming gesture.

The Tarnished took his hand, but did not quite know what to say. Though Sir Gideon had promised to invite him as a full member of the Roundtable Hold if he managed to claim a great rune, he honestly did not expect the knight to actually do so in such an open manner. Perhaps Sir Gideon was willing to turn a new leaf now that he had proven his worth? "Thank you… I suppose."

"Do not get comfortable, Tarnished. Just because I have invited you into the fold does not mean you have been given free reign to lounge about the hold like the others. And now that we've finished the pleasantries, it is time to determine your next course of action."

Ever the charmer, this knight was.

"You'll be after the next Great Rune now, eh? Then, as your fellow, allow me to impart a little knowledge." Sir Gideon unrolled a large map of the Lands Between on the study room table, carefully pinning down each corner before directing the Tarnished's attention towards it. "We of the Roundtable know the location of five of them. Four now that Godrick the Grafted has perished by your hand."

Sir Gideon first pointed to Caelid, the lands east of Limgrave. "General Radhan, who fought Malenia and her rot to a standstill yet lives in the Caelid Wilds." He then moved his finger towards Mt. Gelmir, a volcano lying in the far northwest. "Praetor Rykard, Lord of Volcano Manor remains in Mt. Gelmir, guarded by his despicable creations." Shifting eastwards towards the Capital, Sir Gideon stated, "and of course guarding the Erdtree itself as Lord of Leyndell is the Veiled Monarch, Morgott the Grace-Given. Do you follow thus far?"

The Tarnished nodded. While most their names were not familiar, knowing their locations was invaluable. It was an unpleasant thought, but the Tarnished figured he was actually in Sir Gideon's debt for sharing such information.

Sir Gideon was not finished, though. Moving his hand one last time, he tapped the region just above Castle Stormveil, labeled on the map 'Lirunia of the Lakes'. "I would advise you pursue the shardbearer just north of Limgrave, Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon and ruler of Raya Lucaria's Academy."

"Why her?" The Tarnished asked, trying to recall any word he had heard of the woman along his travels.

"Because," Sir Gideon answered, "While Rennala holds with her a great rune, she herself is no demigod. Her beloved, Radagon, left her to become Queen Marika's second husband, taking the title of King Consort. The great rune dwells within the amber egg that was Radagon's gift to her."

So, the Full Moon Queen was no demigod. Her lack of divine blood certainly her death an easier task, at least more so than the others. "If she is not of divine blood, then perhaps this will be an easier task than killing Godrick."

Sir Gideon scoffed. "You hold no memories, so I suppose your ignorance should be expected. Godrick was an impudent runt, far weaker than all the other shard bearers. Do not think the other shard bearers will die so easily."

Easily? The Tarnished would not have described his battle with Godrick as easy. "How does Rennalla measure up to the remaining demigods?"

After thinking for a moment, Sir Gideon answered, "Were you to fight her in her prime, you would stand no chance. However, informants within the Academy tell me that Rennala is no longer the proud Carian Queen she once was. Take that as you will. However, if you seek the second Great Rune you need to allow entrance into the capital, Leyndell, then the heartbroken sorceress is you best option."

As expected, Sir Gideon's logic was quite sound. No rune bearer would go down easily, so determining the next target was all a matter of comparison. If his options were fighting General Radahn or Lady Rennala, the correct choice was obvious.

"Another thing," Sir Gideon said, paying no mind to the Tarnished's silence, "I understand you've been speaking to Nepheli?"

"Yes?" The Tarnished answered uneasily, not quite sure where this question was leading.

"She is my daughter."

Now this bit of knowledge was surprising to the Tarnished. Even though he had never seen Sir Gideon's face under his helm, Nepheli's attitude, mannerisms and all-around demeanor were so different from his that the notion had not even entered his mind. From his perspective, the two could not be further apart. Not to mention, he could not imagine what poor misguided woman would willingly lay with Sir Gideon.

Detecting his misunderstanding, Sir Gideon quickly corrected the notion. "Before you ask, she is not of my blood. I took her in when grace abandoned her long ago. The girl is tough, a mere axe wielding barbarian, and her youthful credulity suited my purposes."

The Tarnished was beginning to understand just why Nepheli behaved so stiffly around Sir Gideon. Of course, the father which she spoke so highly of was none other than the all-knowing knight. But why bring this up? Was there something he was misunderstanding? "Why are you telling me this? If you have any concerns about my intentions-"

"Bah," Sir Gideon spat, clearly annoyed the Tarnished even concocted such an idea, "I have no concern for things so vulgar. If you wish to roll around together like beasts, I care only that you do so far from this hold. What I mean to convey is that you may employ her as you wish, should her services benefit you. As you already know, the girl is more than capable in the press of battle."

"Does she not have her own path towards the ring," the Tarnished asked, slightly uncomfortable that Sir Gideon had practically offered his daughter up as a servant without the slightest provocation.

"Don't be naïve," Sir Gideon said, "the girl is without a maiden and has lost her connection to grace once more. She has no future as Elden Lord."

His words were harsh, as always. But the Tarnished supposed they were true. He could not imagine getting this far in his quest without Melina and the golden light of grace. For those who had neither, perhaps it was simply out of the question. Even so, however, the idea of 'using' Nepheli as some means to an end did not sit right with him. "If she wishes to help me then I won't turn down her help. She is a strong fighter and a valued friend. However, should she choose otherwise I will raise no issue."

"Well aren't you the softest wolf I've ever met," Sir Gideon mocked, "I only extended the offer as a courtesy to a fellow member of the round. Do with it as you please."

Sir Gideon waived the Tarnished off, turning back to pouring through the tomes piled up around him. The Tarnished wasted no time taking his leave, having had his fill of speaking with Sir Gideon for a good long while.

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An Unexpected Invitation

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The young blonde woman smiled giddily as the Tarnished approached her on horseback. "You've returned in one piece," she said excitedly, running down the steps of the stone gazebo to meet him in the muddy waters. "I take it that things went well?"

The Tarnished nodded and hopped off Torrent. Reaching into his pouch, he produced a small golden pendent with the picture of a young woman in the middle. "Here's your neckless, as promised. Next time, be a bit more cautious in these parts."

She immediately snatched it from his hand and hopped up with excitement. "Oh, yes, this is it!"

The Tarnished smiled under his helm. She was a bit naïve, but her enthusiasm was endearing. "I don't know on whose behalf you're out here for, but they were reckless to send you without any protection."

The young woman wrinkled her nose at his comment. "I can take care of myself, thank you! I just let my guard down for a bit is all."

The Tarnished wasn't very convinced, but he figured if she had made it this long then she had some level of tenacity. "By the way," he said, shifting topics, "I don't think you've told me your name." Though he had heard it from Patches, he did not want to scare the girl. He was sure that she would feel uncomfortable if some man she had never introduced herself to already knew her name.

"Did I forget to announce myself?" she exclaimed, seeming slightly embarrassed, "I apologize for my lack of manners." The young woman brushed herself off before performing a brief curtsy. "I am Rya, in the service of Lady Tanith of the Volcano Manor. And may I ask yours?"

The Tarnished almost smacked himself for his lack of self-awareness. "I… ah, unfortunately I do not know my own name."

"You know not your name?" Rya cocked her head to the side, looking somewhat confused. "How did you lose such a precious thing?"

The Tarnished sighed, "I wish I could say. However, I do not know that either."

"You must be awfully lost. However shall I address you, then?" Rya asked, her voice filled with pity.

The Tarnished thought for a moment, then answered, "Some have called me wolf, though for what reason I do not know. If you would like, you may continue calling my Tarnished."

Rya frowned sadly. "That seems awfully impersonal. Are you sure that you are satisfied being addressed as such?"

"Perhaps," the Tarnished said, "but it is not so bad. After all, most I meet seem to call me such anyways. Going by such, I suppose I've avoided the need to introduce myself. Though, with so many of my kind around, I can understand if it gets confusing."

"Well, if it is what you wish," Rya told him, still somewhat unconvinced but willing to accept his choice. "Tarnished, then. I am glad to officially make your acquaintance. And, I am glad that you returned to me unharmed. I am truly in your debt."

"Think nothing of it," the Tarnished said with a shrug. "Retrieving it was of no issue. Honestly, it was little effort at all."

Rya gasped, covering her mouth in surprise. "Surely it was of some challenge?"

The Tarnished shook his head. Then, with a chuckle, he told her, "Not at all. I hope all my tasks going forward should require so little effort."

"You must truly be a great warrior, then! A one-of-a-kind champion!"

"Champion?" He did not exactly consider buying the neckless of the thief to be worthy of such high praise. Though he had been prepared for a fight, the tarnished who had robbed her, Blackguard Big Boggart, was more than content to part with it at a paltry price. In fact, the man had even shared some of his own dinner as a parting gift. All things considered, the errand had been a pleasant break from his usual struggles.

"Yes, to have felled that thug with nary a scratch. I think Lady Tanith would agree that you have the makings of a champion!" she told him excitedly.

The Tarnished raised an eyebrow to her response. This girl was clearly misunderstanding something. "Miss Rya, I-"

Before he could explain, however, the girl cut him off. "Please, take this," she told him, hurriedly pushing an envelope into his hand. "Per Lady Tanith's wishes, I have been seeking stalwart Tarnished who might join our house."

"Miss Rya if I could just- "

Again, she interrupted him excitedly, continuing her clearly practiced pitch. "You are brave. Not only do you possess a steady hand, but a steady heart, merciless, even to your own kind. Such strength is precisely what my mistress seeks."

Merciless even to his own kind? This offer of hers was beginning to sound far more ominous. For such a seemingly nice girl, Rya certainly did not keep pleasant company. Had she been sent here specifically to find tarnished willing to spill the blood of their own? It was no wonder she was acquainted with an unpleasant sneak like Patches.

Noticing his silence, Rya asked once again, this time somewhat more pleadingly, "I know the invitation is a bit scary. But, I truly believe that someone such as yourself could become a champion unparalleled under Lady Tanith's guidance."

The Tarnished grimaced and looked at the letter. Volcano Manor? Thinking back, he remembered Sir Gideon mentioning such a place. If he recalled correctly, the All Knowing told him that the Volcano Manor on Mt. Gelmir was where the shard bearer Lord Rykard resided. Though he knew little about the others who stayed there, he figured the letter could be his first step in finding the Lord of Blasphemy himself.

"Alright, I accept your offer," the Tarnished told her, reluctantly storing the letter in his leather pouch.

Rya beamed back at him, almost as if she had not applauded his (alleged) slaying of Big Boggart. "Excellent, I am so happy to hear your decision! Now, brave Tarnished, when you finish your business here in Lirunia, seek the Altus Plateau, the realm of the Erdtree. Most tarnished are doomed to wander the outskirts of the Lands Between, but you are no ordinary Tarnished. Once that is proven, the Volcano Manor will fully extend its invitation to fight amongst a family of champions!"

The Tarnished was starting to think he made a mistake taking the letter, but he couldn't bring himself to dampen the girl's excitement. With a reluctant smile, he said, "It may be a bit. I still have much to do here in Lirunia."

"I understand. A warrior such as yourself must have many responsibilities." Rya paused for a moment. Then, slightly blushing, she said, "but, please do hurry. I… I would very much like to see my champion once more."

"Do not worry," the Tarnished assured her, "I am sure we will see one another soon enough."

Rya flashed him an innocent smile. "I will look forward to our reunion, then. But, for now, I must be off. Though my mistress will be pleased to hear of your acceptance, there are others I must reach out to before returning to Mt. Gelmir." With one last waive, the girl turned her back and ran off, clutching her pendent close to her chest.

Once Rya was out of sight, the Tarnished asked aloud. "What do you make of this?"

Melina, ever present, appeared by his side. He pulled out the letter from his pouch and handed it to her. The maiden opened the note recited it aloud. "Brave Tarnished, seek the Altus Plateau in the realm of the Erdtree. Prove yourself by making this journey, and the Volcano Manor will fully extend its invitation to fight amongst a family of champions." Slipping the parchment back into its envelope, Melina said, "The Volcano Manor recusants are straightforward as ever, it seems. Do you intend to make good on your word?"

The Tarnished nodded. "With no other leads this is my best chance to get to Rykard. I'm sure this is some sort of trap, but unfortunately, I don't think I have much of a choice."

"There is truth to your words," Melina agreed, "However, I feel obliged to remind you that the Two Fingers only require that you retrieve two great runes before entering the golden capital and standing before the Erdtree. Once you claim Rennala's rune, you need not pursue the other shard bearers."

The Tarnished had not forgotten. In fact, he had given the matter much thought. With Rennala and Godrick's great runes he would have all he needed to ascend to the throne of Elden Lord once he reached the capital. The task of killing the other demigods would be a monumental burden of his own making. It was difficult to tell whether or not such an undertaking would be a worthwhile endeavor. However, after careful consideration, he arrived at the conclusion that, for his quest to ever truly end, every demigod in the Lands Between needed to fall.

"While it is true Rennala's rune is the last I need to enter Leyndell, claiming the title of Elden Lord with but two great runes would be meaningless."

Melina gave him a curious look. "Why do you so believe?"

The Tarnished elaborated on his thoughts. "If I claim the throne while the other shard bearers still roam free, then the Lands Between may never know peace. The other demigods would maintain hold of their realms, leaving these lands fractured still."

"So, to secure your rule you would slay every demigod in the Lands Between?"

The Tarnished nodded, "Partially. However, even if I do am not the one to claim the title of Elden Lord, I still would like these lands to turn a new chapter. When someone ascends the throne, we must look to the future and forge onward. If the demigods still live by the time that happens, I fear the Lands Between will never move on from the Shattering."

The Tarnished watched as Melina mulled over his words. After thinking a bit, she responded, "You speak with wisdom, my Tarnished. Then, to that end, keep the letter with you. I do not know what Rykard plans, but I am sure that, by the time you reach the Volcano Manor, you will be well prepared."

With those final words, Melina once again disappeared, leaving just him and Torrent. The Tarnished approached the steed and gave him a pat on the neck. "Well Torrent," he said as he climbed onto the steed's back, "we should be off. We still have an academy key to find."

Chapter Text

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Chapter 7

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The Smell of Death

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After hours of fighting through its inhospitable environment, the exhausted Tarnished was looking for respite from Lirunia's poisonous bog. He had long run out of antidotes and could feel the steady sting of toxins continually coursing through his veins. His arms were so tired that he could barely hold Torrent's reins. The Tarnished could tell that spectral steed was not fairing much better, as he struggled to wade through the swamp's thick mud. They were both at their limits and needed a place to rest.

Thus, he was relieved to see a slope leading out of the toxic waters and up to a small overhanging cliff. However, as he hiked up the steep slope, a deep feeling of apprehension began to overtake him. The smell wasn't getting better. In fact, it was getting far, far worse. This odor was no longer the sulfuric scent of the swamp below him, though. No, this was something else: the smell of burning corpses.

The Tarnished drew his weapon and continued forward cautiously, preparing himself for what lay ahead. He tried not to think of horrid scene he was in store for, but to no avail. Though he had seen villages destroyed and abandoned on his journey, none of them permeated an aura of death like this. Truly, the mess that he was stumbling into was one of a kind.

The more he slowly stumbled on, the more felt as if the swamp's gases and the odor of rotting corpses were beginning to affect his mind. With each step, the pungent odor grew even more overpowering, curling his stomach and almost causing him to gag. Still, this feeling, his tired legs, the ever-present smell of death felt disturbingly familiar.

As the poison eating him from within began to slow him, the Tarnished's sight grew hazy and visions appeared before his eyes. Specters of poor souls marched tiredly next to him, dressed in various armor and all dragging weapons limply at their sides. A couple stumbled and fell as they went on, never to stand back up again. The sectors beside him sung a sickly chant, as if sending off their comrades one by one.

Weakly, he reached into his pouch for his healing flask, hoping to stave off death long enough for the poison to work its way out. He felt around and took the tiny glass. He raised it to his lips took a sip and, as he did, the visions around him vanished into thin air. The crimson tear reinvigorated his strength, if only for a bit. But, unless he could find a fragment of grace to rest at soon, it would be a good long while before the pain would alleviate.

As he the path turned a corner, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. "Oh, Tarnished, is that you?"

Sitting before him, under a stone bridge, was none other than the warrior woman, Nepheli Loux. She smiled at him weakly. "Would you like to come join me?"

Though the Tarnished felt himself relax at the sight of a familiar face. Without a word, he trudged over across from her and sat himself down, placing his weapon and shield on the ground beside him. Nepheli offered him a water skin, which he gladly accepted, quickly downing some of its contents and quenching his thirst.

"Well?" she said, waiting for his response once he finished drinking.

He wiped his mouth and pulled his helm back down over his lips. "Well, what?"

"Well what do you make of it, the sorry state of this village?"

The Tarnished peered up the path, still unable to see the village she spoke of. "I haven't rightly seen. However, judging by the scent, I can hazard a guess."

Nepheli chuckled bitterly, "I'm not surprised. Even with your memory gone, some things are too deeply carved into a warrior for him to ever forget. I too have witnessed sight much the same, in my infancy."

"The smell of death and burning corpses here is overwhelming. What happened here?"

"The same thing that happens in so many other places. The oppression of the weak. Murder and pillage unchecked. A waking nightmare, made by men." The warrior woman frowned; her fist clenched with righteous rage. "Damned curse mongers, monsters all of them. Treating people like bloody experiments with no regard for life whatsoever."

"Curse mongers?"

"Depraved perfumers and omen killers," Nepheli explained, her every word dripping with disgust, "deplorable cowards who make their living severing the horns from newborn omens and enslaving those who survive."

The Tarnished was surprised, it was rare to come across one who had any sympathy for those of cursed blood. Though, he figured Nepheli was different than most, certainly one of the kindest souls he had met thus far. It was a shame she felt so obliged to follow a man like Sir Gideon. "Why is such a group here? Was this village an omen haven?"

Nepheli shook her head, "No, this was a village for Albinaurics. From what I have heard from father, they're accursed souls born of the eternal city. I know not what the curse mongers were seeking and I no longer care. They slaughtered the helpless all the same."

"There's still smoke coming from the village," the Tarnished observed, "are the killers still up there?"

Nepheli nodded, "They're setting fire to the corpses as we speak. I was able to kill a good number but, due to my own weakness, I could not stop them from carrying out their wretched task. But, now I've rested and tended to my wounds." She grabbed her axes and stood up, turning to face the village uphill. Her voice filled with anger, she told him, "Though the suffering cannot be undone, I can still mete out justice. Justice to the oppressors."

The Tarnished was not about to let her go off on her own to fight whatever force remained. He stood up as well and asked, "since you forged your own path through the swamp, do you have any antidotes left with you? Toxins still run through me and I fear that they will weigh down my blade as I fight by your side."

The warrior woman reached into her waist pouch and gave him a handful of neutralizing boluses. The Tarnished quickly consumed them and followed with another tear from his flask. Immediately his body mended itself and the constant pain subsided. Though he was still tired, he felt once again ready for battle, especially since he would not be fighting alone. Taking his sword in hand, he stood to his feet.

The Tarnished watched as she pounded her chest in a show of bravado. With a fierce look of determination, she proclaimed, "Let the scars I carve remind them. I am Nepheli Loux, WARRIOR!" The two then charged up the hill to avenge the dead.

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Revenant

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Back at the Albinauric Village, a survivor of the massacre had given him half of a pendent that supposedly was the key a place lying beyond the capital called the Haligtree. The Tarnished did not fully understand the gravity of such a gift, but had gladly accepted it as per the dying man's wish. A day later, he had discovered a young Albinauric who had informed him she had been pursued by "the all-hearing brute," who believed her in possession of the other half. It did not take long for the Tarnished to put two and two together and figure out that the one responsible for the village's sorry state was likely much closer than Nepheli realized.

At first, he intended to travel back and put down the leader of the Roundtable Hold, truce be damned. Melina suggested otherwise, though, pointing out that despite his actions, Sir Gideon was still a member of the Roundtable Hold and thus, in the eyes of the Greater Will, his comrade. Furthermore, he was still Nepheli's father. Thus Tarnished agreed and decided to reserve his full judgement until he spoke with the man. As much as the he did not care for Sir Gideon, he felt he owed it to the Warrior woman to allow her father the chance to explain himself.

So, following Melina's advice to keep a cool head before their confrontation, he had decided to refrain from returning to the Roundtable Hold for a few nights, hoping to work through his anger. He decided to find a place to relax for the night and finally rest after a tumultuous couple of days.

He stopped a small secluded shack with a site of grace on the Eastern side of Lirunia, deciding it an appropriate spot to rest for the night. Hopping off Torrent, he looked up at the sky, taking its beauty in for a moment before setting up camp.

Since the beginning of his journey, the Tarnished had always felt a certain pull from the moon. Perhaps, due to his past, he held some sort of inclination towards it. The witch Renna had, after all, called him a bloody wolf. What love more appropriate for a wolf than the moon itself? Or, perhaps it was simply its serene beauty and the gentle light it provided during those evening rides on Torrent. Either way, the view of the moon from Lirunia was truly something special. This quiet night was one the Tarnished intended to savor.

He opened his leather bag and pulled out a few berries. Coaxing Torrent over, he fed the horse his meal, gently stroking his mane as he did. Torrent slowly ate from the Tarnished's hand, enjoying the respite as well. As the Tarnished fed Torrent, he saw Melina appear out of the corner of his eye and approach.

"You seem more at ease," she commented as she joined him in petting Torrent, who continued happily munching on his food. "Is your mind in a better place?"

"I can still feel my anger smoldering like embers in my stomach," he answered honestly, appreciating her concern. "However, as you said earlier, it has subsided a bit. Hopefully after resting tonight, I'll be able to think clearly."

Melina placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "While I understand your rage, a wise ruler must know how to temper such emotion. Just look to the First Lord himself."

"The First Elden Lord? As in Godfrey?"

The maiden nodded. "Lord Godfrey was said to be a man who felt experienced every emotion to its fullest."

"Truly?" The Tarnished was somewhat surprised. "The statues I see of him look so regal and refined."

"Truly," Melina laughed, amused by the Tarnished's response. Melina looked up at the sky, as if recalling a fond memory. "At banquets he would laugh so loudly amongst his comrades. During festivals he would sing traditional verses with vigor. And, wielding his mighty axe, he would rage ferociously."

"That does not sound very tempered to me" the Tarnished commented, now somewhat engrossed in her story.

Melina smiled wistfully and told him, "Oh, but it was. You see, my Tarnished, no matter what happened, no matter the storm raging within him, he always acted with the pride and dignity befitting of the Elden Lord. Lord Godfrey never forgot the role he was given and his obligation to both Queen Marika and his people."

As she spoke of Godfrey, he began to understand the deep admiration that many held for the First Elden Lord. He must have truly been a man like no other, born to inspire all who stood with him. The Tarnished felt himself too being taken by the First Lord's legend. He almost felt ashamed by the embers of rage that still stuck to him. "If I am to live up to such a name, then I have much work ahead of me."

"Do not worry, Tarnished," Melina told him, "As I said, this journey changes a person. You, I believe, will grow stronger, both in body and in character."

The Tarnished smiled at her kind words. Once again, he felt grateful that Melina had joined him on his quest. While she could not provide the guidance of a true finger maiden, these small moments and conversations were far more valuable to him. The two of them continued to converse, speaking of their travels and some of the strange individuals they had met thusfar. Time passed as they spoke and the Tarnished felt himself slowly unwinding, his volatile emotions cooling in the peaceful night.

However, just before he could fully relax, he heard a sudden snapping of twigs and the rustle of branches from the surrounding thicket. With that, he snapped back on edge, his eyes quickly darting back and forth, examining every shadow. They were not alone.

"Melina. Disappear, now." He ordered her in a hushed voice. The finger maiden quickly nodded and raised her hood before dissipating her corporeal form. The Tarnished drew his bastard sword in one hand and his shield in the other, and continued scanning the thicket for whoever dared interrupt his rest. However, upon seeing the culprit, the Tarnished almost dropped his sword.

"Edgar… is that you?"

Though he never thought they would meet again, before him stood Edgar, Commander of Castle Morne and father to Irina. He wore the same armor and carried the same halberd he held the last time the Tarnished had seen him. Sheathed at his side was the sword which Edgar had used to swear his blood vengeance on those who stole his daughter's life. However, if he was searching for his daughter's killers… then why was he here?

"Edgar," the Tarnished said cautiously, still not lowering down his guard in front of his old acquaintance, "I am glad to see you are alive. What are you doing here, though? Why did you attack Torrent?"

The commander only answered with a growl, stepping forward menacingly, halberd at the ready. Last he had seen Edgar, his eyes were dull and devoid of the will to live. Now, though, they were aglow with a fire unlike anything the Tarnished had ever seen. The Tarnished felt as though he should have been happy to see the light return to Edgar's eyes, but something here was clearly wrong. This glow was not like the warm golden light of grace. Instead, it was a sickly yellow light that seemed to burn his own eyelids. It was madness. Uncontrollable, all-consuming madness.

Edgar lunged forward with his halberd with unexpected speed and ferocity, almost catching the Tarnished off guard. He quickly rolled back out of the way and blocked the next swing, unwilling to give up on Edgar just yet. "Edgar, stop! It's me, remember?" he pleaded as he desperately tried to evade each attack.

The mad commander would not hear him, however, roaring and frothing at the mouth with each swing. The Tarnished kept on the defensive, not wanting to cause more harm to this man than his past failing already had. However, with each second the Tarnished found himself losing ground. The commander was fast, much faster than the Tarnished had ever expected. Despite his crazed state, Edgar was still a hardened soldier of incredible skill. Each wound inflicted by the commander's weapon compounded on the next, draining his strength. The Tarnished did not have the luxury of staying his sword.

Edgar thrust the tip of his halberd towards the Tarnished, trying to run its through his stomach. Just before the point could reach him, however, the Tarnished stepped to the side and raised his leg. Then, with all the force he could muster, he stomped down on the weapon, throwing Edgar off balance. Seizing the opportunity, the Tarnished lunged forward and slashed Edgar's right arm, causing him to drop his halberd and stumble back. Hoping that the pain might bring Edgar back to his senses, the Tarnished made one final appeal to the commander's sanity. "Stop this madness, Edgar! Irina would have never wished this for you!"

The Tarnished saw Edgar give pause upon hearing his daughter's name, as if experiencing a moment of clarity. "Irina…" he rasped with a pained breath.

The Tarnished felt his heart leap. Perhaps there was still hope! "Yes, Irina," he continued, slowly moving towards Edgar with his sword lowered. "Look at us, Edgar. Your quest for revenge has no ending that Irina would have wanted." Unfortunately, Edgar's moment of clarity passed just as quickly as it had arrived. He roared in anger and drew his sword. The Tarnished, who had placed all hope in saving Edgar through words, was caught off guard by the sudden attack.

It all happened in an instant. Instinct kicked in before the Tarnished could even form a thought, swinging his buckler up just before Edgar's blade was about to meet his flesh. Edgar's sword bounced off the sword with a loud clang, throwing the mad solider off balance. Then, as if possessed, the Tarnished brutally drove his sword into the commander's stomach. Blood burst from the wound, showering the Tarnished as the sword ran through to its hilt.

The Tarnished pulled his blade out and stepped back, watching in horror as Edgar fell to his knees. Edgar looked down to his blood-stained armor, almost in disbelief. He then looked back up to the Tarnished, his eyes now returned to their original hue. Coughing up blood, he sputtered out his final words. "My daughter… I lost sight…"

Then, succumbing to his wound, his body burst into ash with a bright flare. The Tarnished approached, still in shock. He hadn't meant to deliver such a savage blow, right? He knew deep down though, the emotional past couple of days had loosened his restraint, leading to… this.

Melina appeared beside him, approaching the small pile of ash. She muttered something under her breath, then turned her attention to the Tarnished, who was still simply staring past her to where Edgar once stood. Though she already knew the answer, she asked, "My Tarnished… how do you fair?"

"My wounds are not mortal," he answered. This death felt unnecessary. Thinking back, he had not even tried to stop Edgar. He knew that the man had left to die and he barely said a word in protest, thinking only of his path forward towards the Elden Ring and not of those his actions, or lack thereof, effected on the way.

"Edgar may not have deserved such an end but you have committed no sin. In his state… this was an act of mercy." Melina reassured him

The Tarnished let out a frustrated laugh. "Perhaps, but I could have held back. I just felt this impulse overtake me and before I knew it…" Thinking back to his conversation with Melina, the distance between him and the First Elden Lord never felt wider.

The Tarnished then walked over towards the site of grace inside the shack. Once inside, he let his sword and shield clatter to the wooden floor and slumped up against the wall. Melina took a seat beside him, careful not to disturb him. Then, tenderly, she told him, "Close your eyes Tarnished. Sleep now, I will keep watch for the night."

The Tarnished nodded. He was damn tired. So damn tired.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

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Messy Business

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When the Tarnished arrived at the Roundtable Hold, a feeling of unease overtook him. He had transported himself to the keep through a fragment of grace, as always, but something about his surroundings seemed… off. The room itself looked the same, at least in a physical sense. However, the main hall itself was completely empty. While the Roundtable Hold was never a bustling hub, it was never so desolate. Corhyn, Diallos and D would usually be hanging around the table, occasionally conversing but mostly keeping to themselves. The clang of Hewg's hammer rang constantly, an ever present reminder of the blacksmith's stalwart dedication to forging a weapon that, in his words, could slay a god. But here, there was nothing. No rhythmic clang, no idle chit chat. Just an empty silence that hung in the room ominously.

The Tarnished drew his weapon cautiously. After his fight with Edgar, he really was in no mood for any surprises. In fact, he had hoped to rest for a day, perhaps check in with Rodericka and Hewg or even relax in Fia's embrace. Anything to take his mind off the man he had just slain. Whatever surprise lay before him, he hoped he could deal with it quickly.

A pair of footsteps broke the silence, growing slightly more prominent as they got closer. From the hallway to the direction of Sir Gideon's study, the Tarnished saw none other than Sir Gideon's ever silent bodyguard, Ensha, approach.

Though Ensha's skull mask was a familiar sight, it did not set the Tarnished at ease. He was not naïve enough to believe that the man was here on friendly terms. In fact, after seeing him, the Tarnished had an idea of what this was all about.

"Ensha," he said, addressing Gideon's bodyguard in a gravely serious tone, "what is this place? Do you know what force brought us here?"

Ensha, ever keeping in character, spoke not a word in response. Rather, he slowly drew a short sword in one hand and a staff in the other, continuing his way forward. The Tarnished gritted his teeth feeling his temper rising. So, this was what Sir Gideon had planned for him, sending an assassin to murder him and steal the pendent half. Ensha's presence here served only to confirm Sir Gideon's hand in the slaughter. Well, if the Sir Gideon bastard thought this would be enough, he certainly was not as all knowing as he assumed.

After a few more steps, Ensha suddenly lunged forward, trying to use his speed to catch the Tarnished off guard. The Tarnished, though, was predicting such a move and swung upward, using the heavier weight of his sword to try to throw Ensha of guard as their blades met with a CLANG! Ensha quickly backstepped, effortlessly dodging the Tarnished's follow up.

Hoping to overwhelm the assassin and force him towards the wall, the Tarnished followed up once more, this time with a leaping attack. Ensha, quick as ever, jumped back again and dodged the blow. However, to the Tarnished's surprise, as soon as Ensha landed on his back foot, he sprung up, leaping to the side onto the table and then once again down onto the Tarnished.

The Tarnished cried out in pain as Ensha dug the point of his sword into his left shoulder, tearing through a gap in his armor for a quick killing blow. Acting fast, the Tarnished whirled around and slammed his shoulder against the stone wall, knocking Ensha off just before he could drive the sword deep enough to be fatal.

His anger building with the pain, the Tarnished roared angrily and dashed forward, his left arm now limp at his side. With one hand, he swung his sword overhead in an arc towards Ensha. Once again, though, Ensha was too fast, quickly sidestepping the attack, allowing the Tarnished's blade to crash loudly into the wooden chair behind.

With a flurry off swift movements, Ensha landed several painful cuts, pinpointing the weaknesses in his armor with deadly accuracy. With each slash Ensha landed, he felt his rage boil over. Sir Gideon, the coward, would not even deign to face a man he had shook hands with and welcomed into the Round Table.

The Tarnished gritted his teeth and endured, holding his poise and managing to at least land one hit through Ensha's assault. Once the Tarnished finally drew blood, Ensha rolled back twice, putting distance between the two of them. The assassin then raised up his staff and waived it in the air. The Tarnished's eyes widened as dozens of dark purple orbs of energy formed before him.

Ensha pointed the staff towards the Tarnished and the orbs shot towards him with surprising speed for their size. The Tarnished managed to roll past one, but was staggered when a second caught him in the stomach. Having lost his footing, the rest slammed into him one by one, pummeling him with intense force. The Tarnished gagged, spitting blood as the last rammed square into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him crashing through a chair behind him and slamming into the wall.

Ensha walked towards him painfully slowly, dragging his blade across the stone wall as he approached. The sick bastard was enjoying this, preparing to savor the kill. The Tarnished's knuckles whitened as he tightened his fist around the grip of his blade.

With a pained grunt, he pulled his flask from his pouch and took a sip. He felt the torn tendons in his shoulder mend themselves and, somewhat shakily, he stood to his feet, ready to fight again. Ensha, noticing his recovery, sped up his approach, perfectly content to cut down the Tarnished once more.

His mind a bit clearer with the power of crimson tears, he drew a knife in his left hand and prepared himself. Ensha dashed forward, trying to gut the Tarnished before he could react. Quickly, the Tarnished hopped back, readying himself for the attack that would likely follow. As he predicted, Ensha started a flurry of slashes, hoping to outpace any possible reaction with a great sword. Focusing on the ashes of war contained in the knife, quickstepped, circling his opponent so quickly that the assassin lost sight of his target for a moment. Once behind, the Tarnished swung the bloodhound sword into Ensha's back, cleaving into his side, the very weight of the sword shattering ribs as it went through.

To his credit, Ensha made no cry of pain. Rather, he spun around and reached for the Tarnished, his open hand glowing with a strange energy. Before he could grasp the Tarnished, though, the Tarnished side stepped and swung his sword, striking Ensha and dashing back as he did. Then, just as he had done against Margit, he dashed forward following through with an even more powerful strike.

Ensha attempted to roll back but could not make enough distance. The Tarnished's sword found its mark, cutting deep into Ensha's stomach and then through to the other side. Ensha's bloody corpse crumpled to the ground. The Tarnished leaned against the table and caught his breath. However, before he had a chance to come down from the adrenaline rush, a golden light obscured his vision and he felt his body being transported once more.

When the light subsided, he was once again in the Roundtable Hold. Upon quick examination, everything once again seemed as it should. The dim torchlight had returned and he could now hear Hewg forging away on his anvil. Rodericka, who had been standing nearby speaking with D, noticed his return.

"Tarnished? W-where did all that blood come from? Are you wounded?"

The Tarnished, however, was not interested in answering Rodericka's questions. He barely even heard her through his fury. His mind was on focused singularly on Sir Gideon. He stormed past Rodericka, who followed behind both out of concern and of fear of what was to follow. As he expected, the assassin he had just cut down no longer stood guard by the door. Unfortunately, though, Gideon was not alone.

Near him was Nepheli, with whom he was engaged in a heated conversation with. The Tarnished guessed that she likely had come to a similar conclusion as him and was looking to confront the all-knowing knight as well. As soon as he entered the room however, Sir Gideon held his hand up, motioning for her silence. To the Tarnished's somewhat surprise, Nepheli immediately obliged.

"Tarnished, I would ask you kindly not trail blood in my study. The documents here contain valuable information, whether you realize it or not, and we cannot afford to damage them."

His uncaring and dismissive attitude only fed the Tarnished's rage. Raising his blood covered gauntlet, he slammed it on Sir Gideon's desk, right in the middle of his map, spraying crimson droplets all over the parchment.

Sir Gideon, his voice now more serious but still unintimidated, simply said, "Rather petulant, don't you think?"

"You tried to kill me!" he snarled, not willing to allow Sir Gideon to downplay the situation, "Your man, Ensha, ambushed me and tried to gut me like livestock!"

He heard Rodericka gasp from the behind him and saw Nepheli look to her father in shock. Still, however, Sir Gideon did not seem the slightest bit surprised nor remorseful. Nor did he even seem upset or surprised that Ensha had failed. The knight simply nodded and said, "Oh yes, I was wondering where he had gone. Apologies for that nasty business. Ensha got rather ahead of himself, it seems."

Ahead of himself? The Tarnished could not believe Sir Gideon's detached demeanor. Ensha and his men slaughtered an entire settlement of people. How could he act as if the matter did not concern him at all? He could barely control himself, every inch of his being screamed to rip Sir Gideon's head from his neck. "That's all you have to say for yourself? After what you've done? Not just to me, but to the Albinaurics? Nothing to offer but a weak apology for the entire town you filled with corpses!"

Almost sounding annoyed, Sir Gideon responded, "This is getting tiresome, Tarnished. As his master, I express deep regret for the incident. However, what else would you have me do? I cannot change the past, what's done is done. And now, Ensha is dead and gone, along with his men if I had to guess, thanks to the two of you. Thus, there is nothing left to be done."

"Father, how can you act so unbothered!" Nepheli exclaimed, no longer able to hold her piece. "Those people, their homes, their livelihoods, all burnt away and trampled own!"

Now showing at least the slightest bit of emotion other than cold annoyance, Sir Gideon snapped at Nepheli, "did I not tell you to keep quiet, girl?"

Despite all the numerous foes she had bravely faced in battle, Nepheli was clearly terrified by the prospect of speaking up against her adoptive father. However, the Tarnished could tell that her sense of justice would not allow her to stay silent on the matter. "Father," she said again, with righteous conviction, "what occurred in that village was unforgivable. The Albinaurics, they hadn't harmed a sole! To just ruthlessly cut them down and pillage their belongings, what could possibly justify such atrocities?

The anger with which Nepheli spoke seemed to take even Sir Gideon off guard. However, still, Sir Gideon dismissed her, not giving even the words of his own daughter any weight. "Naïve girls should not speak on matters which they do not understand."

A new wave of rage surged throughout his body, igniting his very being. Nepheli was the closest to Sir Gideon in the Roundtable, if the two were ever close at all. If she could not make him realize the gravity of his actions then there was no hope for discussion. This man did not care whatsoever about the suffering he had inflicted. He simply sat back and pulled strings with no regard for his victims or those who worked under him. His blood boiled and his mind became clouded in a haze of bloodlust. To hell with any truce. The All Knowing had spoken his last. In a low voice, the Tarnished growled, each word dripping with hatred, "You're right. You can't bring back the dead. And the perpetrators are dead. All but one."

He lunged forward across the table towards Gideon, ready to wring the knight's neck with his own two hands. Time almost slowed as he watched as the man recoiled, unable to react quickly enough to his sudden attack. He felt almost a sick sense of satisfaction, finally seeing a genuine reaction from Sir Gideon in the knight's final moments. However, before he could reach the hunched over man, he felt something crack him in the skull with unimaginable force. The Tarnished tumbled over, falling off his feet with a thud to the side of the table. Slightly dazed and shocked from the hit, he nursed his head and slowly stood back up, trying to assess just what happened.

To his surprise, standing now between he and Gideon, was Nepheli. She approached him and, with her immense power, lifted him up by his armor and slammed him up against the wall.

The Tarnished had badly misjudged the situation and deeply underestimated how fiercely protective Nepheli was of her father. He knew she loved and admired him, but never realized those feelings bordered on fanatic dedication. The notion she would so violently come to his aid in this situation never even occurred to him. Even battling by her side against Godrick and the curse bringers, the Tarnished had never seen Nepheli with such an intense expression. She had genuine killing intent.

He choked as Nepheli increased the pressure on his neck, pushing him against the cold stone with greater and greater strength. Gritting his teeth, he struggled and grabbed at her arm, trying to force her off. But it was no use, he was exhausted from the fight from Ensha and Nepheli was stronger than he could have imagined. Would Sir Gideon's acts go unpunished? Did she truly intend follow his every word, even now?

He could see Rodericka pulling on Nepheli desperately, probably screaming at her to stop. He couldn't be sure, however, as all sounds were becoming muffled under the warrior woman's tightening grip. As his vision grew spotty, he heard something call out to him.

"What are you doing?"

Unlike the others, he heard it with perfect clarity. The voice was dark, filled with hatred and bloodlust unlike any he had ever heard. His eyes darted around, trying to find the speaker. Again, the thing spoke.

"Use your claws, bare your fangs. She has no mind of her own. Let's give both her and her father a taste of your steel."

With at much focus as he could manage, he narrowed in on the source. Across the room, lurking in a dark corner, was a wolf like beast with jet black fur and enormous claws. He stared at it in disbelief, trying to understand just what it was and how it had gotten into the hold. Nobody else seemed to notice it though. Were they truly oblivious to its presence?

The wolf stepped forward, just outside the shadows, revealing more of its terrifying form. Every inch of its hide was covered in cuts and scars, clearly visible against its unkempt black fur. The creature looked starving, with its stomach emaciated and its ribs visible through its hide. Its mouth hung open, revealing enormous, gruesome fangs. Its eyes were bloodshot and its red pupils burned with a desperate hunger.

"Do not hesitate!" it barked in frustration, "Have you forgotten the Queens betrayal? The vile command she gave our Lord and our brothers? That hellish, unending march beyond the Lands Between?!"

The Tarnished tried desperately to fend off the grisly images flashing in his mind. Visions of a sea of bodies clad in armor. Men tripping over their comrade's entrails. Soldiers, barely able to stand, picking themselves up only to march onward to yet another battle. The more he fought these memories the clearer and fiercer its snarls became. "Take from them their runes. Sacrifice them as fuel for our retribution." The creature seemed to grow as it spoke, its shadow looming larger with each bloody word. "If we do, we'll become closer to Marika. We'll show her how strong we've become beyond the fog. Devour her slaves, body by body, until we can clamp our fangs around her throat and rip it out."

The monstrous wolf now blocked all sight, its dark presence overwhelming all else in the room. The Tarnished felt his muscles twitch as violent impulses began to overtake him. His concern for the crushing pressure against his throat slowly evaporated. However, just before he could act, he heard none other than Melina whisper quietly in his ear.

"My Tarnished, is this truly the path to Lordship you wish to take?"

Suddenly, he felt his body hit the floor, snapping him out of his trance. Now hunched over on all fours, he gasped for air, ripping his helm off so it didn't impede his breathing.

"Tarnished, are you alright?" Rodericka asked in a panic, rushing to his side.

He looked up and saw that the commotion of their quarrel had drawn the attention of most others at the Hold. D and Diallos were standing a few feet away restraining Nepheli while Fia took a place beside him as well.

Sir Gideon himself finally left his spot at the table and walked over beside Nepheli, but made no effort to free her from D's grip. When he spoke, the Tarnished detected no hint of mockery. Rather, Sir Gideon seemed deathly serious. "That expression there. It was a bloody wolf's berserker's rage, wasn't it? I'm surprised, Tarnished. I didn't think you had it in you to genuinely try and kill both me and my daughter."

The Tarnished was surprised by his own thoughts as well. If the others hadn't stepped in, would he actually have killed Nepheli? Nepheli, the woman who had fought so valiantly by his side, one of his closest comrades? No, he couldn't let Sir Gideon shift the topic. He still had to answer for his actions. "You're a heartless killer, Gideon," he sputtered out, still trying to catch his breath

Sir Gideon shook his head, almost in disappointment. "I look to fulfill the sole purpose given to us tarnished: to reunite the Lands Between once more and end the struggle brought on by capricious demigods. To that end, I will spill whatever blood necessary, thus is my duty. I do not take joy in it. I do not revel in it. I simply do as I must because that is what Queen Marika expects from us."

"You would mindlessly murder and pillage for that reason alone?"

His tone shifted, his words becoming darker and more condemning. "The fact that you still spew such nonsense proves you are ignorant as to what is at stake. Tell me, Tarnished, do you know why I was searching for the Haligtree medallion?"

"You think you can-"

Sir Gideon cut him off. "That medallion is crucial in finding two unlocated demigods, Miquella the Unalloyed and, most pressingly, his twin Melania. My informants have scoured these lands but have found not a trace of either in Limgrave, Caelid, or Mt. Gelmir. The walls of the capital have not been breached once even throughout the Shattering. Thus, the two are most likely hiding away in their realm."

This was not surprising to the Tarnished. From the beginning he had guessed that Sir Gideon was after information on more great runes. He understood the need to find the other demigods. However, that still did not justify his actions. "So, instead of attempting reason or even theft, you had an entire village massacred?"

"I did not direct Ensha on how to go about his task. I only ordered him to bring me the medallion."

The Tarnished sneered, "You're Sir Gideon the All Knowing. You knew exactly what Ensha would do."

"And what of it? He could have killed one or one hundred Albinaurics and it would have made no difference to me. Not compared to what is at stake if Melania is not found. Tell me Tarnished, have you traveled past the Mistwoods to the Caelid Wilds?"

"No, not yet." The Tarnished had not journeyed to Caelid, but had heard many tales about the horrors that lay to the East.

"Allow me to impart unto you a history lesson, then," Sir Gideon said, "Back, during the Shattering, Malenia clashed with General Radahn in his domain of Caelid, both seeking to claim the other's Great Rune. Both were warriors of unprecedented strength, the two strongest demigods in all the Lands Between. Thus, in their battle, neither could claim victory over the other. In her desperation, in a last attempt to overcome her mighty foe, Malenia let bloom the scarlet rot. Then…" Sir Gideon whacked the bottom of his staff against the stone floor, letting the sound echo through the halls. "In instant, hundreds upon hundreds dead. An entire region blighted beyond repair. Now she resides somewhere beyond our reach and, should she bloom again, the result will be even more disastrous than before."

As much as he despised it, the knight's reasoning began to dawn on him. Still unconvinced but his conviction wavering, the Tarnished said, "Surely, there had to be a better way. The Albinaurics did not need to die so that you could get the medallion."

Sir Gideon shook his head, "Once again you are ignorant of the facts. The Albinaurics are miserable creatures untouched by grace. Their only salvation is Miquella's Haligtree, which they one day wish to return to. That medallion is the only key for their pilgrimage. You think they would part with something so precious willingly?"

"But they did! The owner of the medallion gave it to me!"

"And why did he do that?" questioned Sir Gideon, still absolutely sure of himself, "Was it out of the kindness of his heart? Was it because he wished for you to reach the Haligtree yourself? Or was it that he was terrified that, should he not give it to you, Ensha's men would have found it instead and destroyed their holiest of sites?"

The Tarnished thought back to the decrepit man, Albus, and the truth. The only reason he had gotten the medallion in the first place was that he was the lesser of two evils. Albus had simply, out of desperation, put his hopes in the only option that could possibly protect the Haligtree. Sir Gideon was right. He hated himself for seeing it, but Sir Gideon was right.

Sir Gideon nodded, satisfied that the Tarnished was sufficiently pacified, then moved back to his table. After Fia and Rodericka helped him to his feet, Sir Gideon told him, "You're dismissed if that's all."

Shaken and utterly defeated, the Tarnished took his leave along with Fia and Rodericka. D released Nepheli and followed closely behind, ensuring no other fights broke out. However, before he stepped out the door, he heard Sir Gideon say, "You, Nepheli, have disappointed me once again."

He turned his head and saw Sir Gideon berating the woman who had just saved his life. Justifiably shocked, Nepheli responded, "F-father? What do you mean?"

Sir Gideon looked back down to his papers and waived his hand dismissively. "You heard me, girl. A determined plebian is more wicked than an Omen horn quite frankly. I suppose I'm not disappointed, however, as it would have been foolish to expect too much from you to begin with."

The Tarnished could see Nepheli's look of devastation. In that moment, it was as if her world shattered before her. However, after what happened, he could not bring himself to speak up on her behalf. To his shame, he turned his back on Nepheli and left her, with Sir Gideon.

Fia and Rodericka sat him down at the round table and the others returned to their usual spots, an awkward silence initially hanging in the air.

"Tarnished."

He felt a tap on his shoulder and then saw Rodericka looking down at him, her eyes filled with pity.

"For the record," she said, her expression uncharacteristically serious and determined, "I still think Sir Gideon was wrong. Maybe the stakes were high. Maybe the people there wouldn't have parted with the medallion so easily. Maybe it's true that they'd hold onto it with they're lives. But… I feel like giving up and resorting to slaughter like that, it can't lead to a better future. It just can't."

The Tarnished weakly smiled, grateful for her words of comfort. "Thank you, Rodericka. And hopefully, with this medallion, I can at least make sure their deaths were not in vain."

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

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A Lone Blacksmith

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Blaidd, once again, had a habit of underselling things. 'A little on the large side'? Those words did not quite do the blacksmith justice.

While he would have usually gone to Hewg for reinforcing weapons and repairing his armor, the Tarnished was trying to steer clear from the Roundtable Hold for a while following his confrontation with Sir Gideon. Thus, following the half wolf's advice, he had made his way north from Raya Lucaria to find the venerable blacksmith who, according to Blaidd's word, would lend a hand in his future endeavors. Luckily, given his size, the blacksmith was not exactly difficult to spot from a distance.

Blaidd's friend was mountain troll who was large, even by his species' standards. However, unlike his brethren, however, he did not seem the lumbering mindless sort. Rather, the troll sat behind his enormous anvil thoughtfully reading an enormous book, seemingly unaware or uninterested in his surroundings. It was an odd sight to be sure and the troll's strange demeanor made the Tarnished slightly wary. However, Blaidd was a good, honest man and so the Tarnished guessed that he likely wouldn't associate himself with someone that he needed to worry about.

He had set himself up in an odd place, just by the road leading up to a castle not too far away. The Tarnished was slightly interested in what might lie within the castle, but reminded himself of his more pertinent priorities. Whatever lay in that castle could wait until after he dealt with Rennala and certainly until after he fixed up his armor. Thus, he ignored his curiosity and approached the blacksmith.

Waving one hand in a friendly gesture, the Tarnished greeted the troll. "Hello there, blacksmith!"

The troll raised his head from his tome and nodded back. "A tarnished warrior, hrm? What might you be doing so far from the academy? If you are searching for a glintstone key, unfortunately I have none. Or, perhaps, you are curious about the castle over yonder? I can't imagine you came all this way just to speak with me."

The Tarnished shook his head. "In truth, I arrived here specifically looking for you. I'm seeking the services of a trained blacksmith."

"Smithing eh? That is quite surprising to hear," the blacksmith responded, "I can't say a Tarnished has approached me in a long while requesting my services. I have been quietly plying on my trade for some time now. When was it last time I raised this rusty hammer for another tarnished, though… perhaps that dragon knight with his lovely finger maiden?"

Dragon knight? The Tarnished had not heard of someone fitting such a description before. However, he supposed there were hundreds of tarnished of little renown, similar to himself, running around the Lands Between. "A half wolf by the name of Blaidd suggested I seek you out. Said if I mentioned his name you might be willing to lend me a hand."

Upon hearing Blaidd's name, the troll placed his enormous book by his side and leaned forward, now seemingly more interested in the Tarnished's request. "Blaidd actually did that, did he?"

"I helped him find and dispose of a traitorous knight by the name of Darriwil," the Tarnished explained, "After the battle he said that, should I find myself in Lirunia, I should seek out a blacksmith who might be able to aid me in my quest."

The troll scratched his chin and mulled over the Tarnished's story, likely assessing its truthfulness. Then, he spoke, "Apologies, Tarnished, if I sounded skeptical. Blaidd is a guarded soul, so it is simply surprising to hear that he opened up in such a manner. However, you know of Darriwill and, now that I look closely, you wield his very sword there in your hand, so your words must be true. At any rate, if you are friendly with Blaidd, then I would be more than happy to give you a demonstration of my skills. Please, let me see that sword of yours, and the armor as well."

The Tarnished obliged, placing his blade on the anvil in front of him before removing and doing the same with the more damaged portions of his armor. Once everything was before the blacksmith, he told the Tarnished, "You may want to back up a few steps. If you come too close, I'm apt to cause you harm."

"Apologies, sir blacksmith. If my presence would distract you from your work, I can wait by the ruins down the path," the Tarnished suggested, stepping away from the anvil.

The blacksmith shook his head and chuckled. "No, nothing like that," he said "I simply mean to say that I am terribly large compared to you, Tarnished, and it is difficult not to break anything while I work. So long as you leave some room between the two of us, however, you may stay with me while I forge. In fact, some company and good conversation as I hammer away would be a welcome change."

"Alright then." The Tarnished took a seat in the grass a safe distance away from the blacksmith, but just close enough to hold a conversation. "What is your name, sir blacksmith?"

"I am Iji," the blacksmith answered as he began his work, "I am a blacksmith who once served the Carian royals, though I no longer hold such a prestigious title. And what shall I call you?"

"Just Tarnished is fine," he told Iji, "I don't hide my name out of any suspicion or distrust, but rather because I do not know it myself."

"Memory loss hm? I am sorry to hear that," Iji responded, "Tarnished, then. Say, I have heard whispers from spirits roaming the lake that Godrick the Grafted has finally fallen. Might that be your doing?"

With the fall of a demigod, the Tarnished supposed word travels fast. He couldn't help but feel a bit of pride that his accomplishment had been recognized outside of Limgrave already. "You are correct, though I did have some help."

"Then, I am sure you are in possession of the demigod's great rune?"

The Tarnished was not sure whether or not he should be sharing the fact that he was now a rune bearer. However, he had already let it slip that he slew Godrick, so trying to hide that he took the great rune as well seemed pointless now. "I did claim his great rune, though I ask you not spread that information with too many. I have yet to figure out how to awaken it, though, so I fear its power is of little benefit to me for now." He had meant to ask Sir Gideon about the matter, but after the incident with the Albinaurics he was hoping to find his answer elsewhere.

Iji pulled the bloodhound greatsword from the burning coals beside him and placed the red-hot blade on his anvil. Raising his hammer, he began working on its edge with surprising care for his size. As he tempered the sword, he said, "If you wish to reawaken the great rune, you need only seek the divine tower. Lucky for you, Godrick's divine tower is accessible fairly nearby, across the bridge from Stormveil Castle."

This fellow was turning out far more helpful than the Tarnished ever imagined. He would have to thank Blaidd later for referring him. "Just by Stormveil? I was curious what purpose the tower served. I'll be sure to pay it a visit before I seek the next great rune."

Iji paused after hearing the Tarnished's words, his hammer held steady mid swing. "Iji, is something the matter?" the Tarnished asked, curious why the Blacksmith had stopped.

With a tinge of melancholy, Iji asked, "I, suppose then, you are now after Queen Rennala's great rune?"

"Ah…" The Tarnished berated himself for his own absent mindedness. The giant had said himself that he once served the Carian royals and Rennala was their queen. Even if she remained locked away in the academy, the old blacksmith likely held at least some loyalty to his former mistress.

"Do not fret, Tarnished," Iji reassured him, "I do not intend to leave this job unfinished, nor will I try and hinder your quest."

"I appreciate your understanding," the Tarnished said, relieved he would be getting his weapons and armor back intact.

"Think nothing of it Tarnished. While I lament Lady Rennala's current state, I do not wish to see your kind suffer unnecessarily. The Greater Will has already shouldered you with the cruelest burden, after all." Iji soon resumed his work. He brought his hammer down with a clang, putting the finishing his work on the sword before submerging it in the trough of water to his right, causing the blade to hiss as water turned to steam.

The Tarnished was surprised by the distaste with which Iji spoke of the Greater Will, but he decided not to question it. Already he had met several others, such as Varre, who thought little of the Greater Will and its blessings. Certainly, Iji's beliefs could not be worse than the white mask's bloody ideology. "The task before us is rather daunting, there is no doubt," the Tarnished said, "though I suppose it is better than lying dead beyond the fog."

"Perhaps," the blacksmith said, seemingly unconvinced. As Iji moved the Tarnished's armor to the anvil next, he said, "I should warn you, however, that others here in Lirunia may not be as accommodating as I. Powerful forces still guard lady Rennala. Though she is captive in the academy, she remains the venerable mother of three demigods."

Though the Tarnished doubted any demigods would come to her rescue, he supposed that any remaining Carian Knights may remain loyal to their queen. The Tarnished looked up the road leading to the castle to the north. He asked Iji, "the Carian Knights… is that their stronghold up ahead?"

Reluctantly, Iji answered, "Yes, that is the manor of the Carian Royal family. Though, if you value your life, I would not venture further beyond this point."

While his current state of immortality did skew the value of his own life, death was still incredibly painful and he had no desire to rush headfirst into it. After all, he did not know how long he would retain his grace, making each new death potentially his last. Still curious about the manor, though, he pressed on with his questioning. "What awaits that is so dangerous?"

Iji took a minute to fix an especially stubborn dent in his armor before answering. "Long ago, when the academy turned against the Carians, the Knights of the Cuckoo descended this tract. After leveling it, they carried on to the manor. The Carians, however, repelled the knights through an enchanted snare, one that remains potent to this day."

An enchanted snare? The threat sounded quite vague and the Tarnished wondered if such a thing even existed. "This snare… what is its nature?"

"That, I will not answer," Iji told him frankly. "I offer this warning not to assist you in reaching the manor, but so that you are not unwittingly harmed by its many perils. I ask that you leave the Carian Manor be and allow those within it to rest undisturbed."

The Tarnished wanted to object, as the conversation had only fed his desire to explore ahead. However, he decided not to pursue the topic any further. Iji had been more than generous already, sharing how to reawaken his great rune and reinforcing his weapon, despite the fact that it may be the very sword to slay his former queen. It was only right for the Tarnished to return such generosity in kind.

"Very well," he said with a sigh, "I'll leave the manor be, as you wish."

"Thank you, Tarnished." After thanking him, Iji held up the Tarnished's armor, examining it carefully. He muttered to himself for a bit as he rotated each peace, ensuring that they were to his liking. Then, he placed it down on the anvil, along with the Tarnished's great sword, and said, "yes, these should be done. Please, try them out."

The Tarnished re-equipped the armor and checked all the previously damaged spots, finding them perfectly mended. He then held up his sword, giving it a couple test swings before refastening it to his back. Turning back to Iji, he said, "Thank you for your help. I only know of one blacksmith who could rival your skill."

"Oh, a blacksmith that rivals my talent. That doesn't surprise me. I noticed as I was working that your sword had been expertly handled before. What is this smith's name, if I may ask?"

"A misbegotten blacksmith named Hewg," the Tarnished answered. "Grumpy old man, but good at heart. I doubt you would know him, though. I don't think he has left the Roundtable Hold in a long while."

"Perhaps it is our fate to stay shackled to our forge," Iji mused as he picked up his book once more. "Master Hewg… Hm, I can't say I have heard of him. Though not many of us blacksmiths are renowned throughout the lands. Well, I suppose Lord Radagon may be an exception."

"Lord Radagon was a blacksmith?" From what the Tarnished had heard, the Second Lord had come from humble, unknown origins. However, he had not realized that the golden champion was also a blacksmith.

"Yes, Lord Radagon was an accomplished smith. He had a natural skill, as if God given, especially when it came to enchanted armaments. If I am to be honest, I was once quite jealous of his abilities," Iji chuckled as he reminisced. "That man was truly blessed by the Greater Will."

What an interesting piece of history. Radagon, despite his importance, was a figure that the Tarnished had heard shockingly little about. Perhaps the man wasn't very popular, especially after taking the place of the beloved First Elden Lord.

The Tarnished wanted to ask more, but knew that he should soon be on his way. He still had a glintstone key to claim and slaying the dragon guarding it would likely prove to be… time consuming. So, after giving his thanks once more, he bid the blacksmith farewell. Then, he summoned Torrent and turned back from the manor's path back towards the lake, continuing on his quest.

.

A Drink Between Friends

.

The Tarnished felt a shiver of satisfaction as he sipped from the tiny cup. The warm liquid was soothing as it went down his throat and finished with the perfect amount of bite. It was an interesting drink, to be sure, unlike much he had tasted in the Lands Between.

"What is this called again?" he asked Yura as he held out the cup, ready for another drink.

"Sake," Yura answered as he poured the Tarnished another drink of the clear alcohol. "It's a drink brewed from rice, common in the Land of Reeds. I brought it as a keepsake when I first crossed the fog on my journey. Originally, I planned to celebrate with it if I ever achieved the title of Elden Lord. Alas, having lost sight of Grace, I doubt such an occasion will ever come to pass."

"No time like the present, I suppose," The Tarnished said, raising his cup.

Yura nodded, raising his cup in kind. "Celebrate every victory as if it were your last. Especially with foes as unrelenting as the bloody fingers." The two clinked the cups together before both taking a sip in unison.

The Tarnished held the drink in his mouth and savored its warmth. Sharing a drink with a companion after battle was truly one of life's virtues. He eyed the corpse of the bloody finger not too far away. The Ravenmount Assassin had certainly put up a fight, using his formidable speed and sharp claws to his advantage. The bloody finger even seemed like he had the ronin on the ropes when the Tarnished first encountered the two. Luckily, however, once the Tarnished joined in, lending his sword to Yura, the fight quickly became one sided. After the two disposed of their foe, Yura had offered a drink to the Tarnished as thanks. Not one to turn down good liquor, especially before the fighting his way through Raya Lucaria, the Tarnished happily accepted.

"I have to ask, the Tarnished said, taking another sip, "what led you to throw in against this lot?"

"They are vicious, indiscriminate killers," Yura answered Do I need a reason to hunt these wretched worms?"

The Tarnished guessed he had a good point. Anyone with any sense of justice would want to end the trail of bodies left in their wake. However, still, he felt that the answer was not quite satisfying. "I agree that the world is better off without the sick cult. But your hunt for them seems far more determined, more relentless than someone just looking to enact justice."

Yura sighed. "You have a keen eye, Tarnished. Yes, my hunt for the bloody fingers is motivated by personal reasons."

Not trying to be insensitive, but still curious, the Tarnished asked, "If you don't mind telling me, what did they do to you?"

At first, Yura did not answer, holding his tongue as he took a pensive sip of sake. Then, after some consideration, the bloody finger hunter decided to impart some of his tale. "When I first arrived in the Lands Between, I did not come alone. Rather, alongside me, traveled a woman named Eleonora. She and I were raised together, trained together, and fought many battles side by side. What was more, we were both of tarnished blood, with each our grandmothers hailing from the Lands Between. Thus naturally, when the Greater Will issued its call to long lost grace to the tarnished and their lineage, the two of us set off together."

The tarnished and their lineage? The Tarnished had always assumed that those who flocked to the Lands Between following the call of long-lost grace had been at one point banished themselves. He never considered that one could be tarnished from birth. He pushed his questions aside, however, and continued to listen to Yura's story.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the quest for the Elden Ring a near impossible task," Yura continued, "Before long, we felt the light of grace begin to slip from our grasp. We truly struggled with all our might, but we could not even reach the capital, Leyndell. In the end, I succumbed to the hopelessness of it all. After all, I was not even born of these lands, so how could I ever rule them as Elden Lord?"

The Tarnished understood the sentiment. Fighting against despair and hopelessness was sometimes a more difficult feat than cutting down the hoards of enemies opposing you. He could not fault Yura for letting go of his ambition, nor did he believe such a choice spoke ill of his character. If it were not for Melina's companionship, he likely would have lost sight of grace long ago.

"Perhaps my heart was not in it to begin with. Eleonora, however, was always a woman driven by optimism and ambition. She never lost hope, even in the direst of times, such was the beauty of her conviction. Despite losing the golden hue in her eyes, she was nonetheless determined to find a way into the capital and reach the base of the Erdtree." Yura's expression became somber as he polished off his drink and placed the small cup beside him. "The two of us argued viciously about the best path forward. I wanted to be done with the quest, to abandon the Lands Between try to live peacefully, maybe even return to our homeland. In the end, we went our separate ways, unable to reconcile our differences. That is when she met with that damned mad samurai, Okina."

The bitterness and hatred with which he said the name was palpable. The unfettered contempt he held for her was written all over his face. "The mad dog approached her under the guise of friendship and manipulated her determination, offering her a path to new strength and even an unclaimed great rune."

"And she believed him?" The Tarnished supposed he had followed his fair share of tenuous leads, but even so such a vague offer sounded dubious at best.

Yura nodded, "She had made little progress on her quest and, with the golden light all but gone, she was desperate. Okina took advantage of her desperation and dragged her down into the dark pits where all those bloody savages crawl out of. I meant to return, to apologize and help her achieve her dreams, even if I could not see them myself. However, I was too late. To my shame, I was not there for my friend when she needed me most, and that is a failure I must bear forever more."

The Tarnished could understand the ronin's regret over what happened. He could tell that Yura cared deeply for the woman, perhaps even loved her. However, even still, if Yura continued waging this one-man war against the bloody fingers, the Tarnished was sure it would end in his death. He could already see it in the last battle, the unending nature of the conflict was catching up to the man. The Tarnished had to at least try to convince him to lay down his sword, for his own sake. "What happened to your friend was tragic, but in the end, Eleonora bears responsibility for her own actions. If this campaign is some punishment you've inflicted on yourself due to a misguided sense of guilt, I ask that you reconsider before it takes your life."

However, the Tarnished could tell his words had not reached the bloody finger. Even if the golden flame of ambition was gone, an unrelenting determination to save the one thing that mattered to him in the Lands Between remained. His body was haggard and the cracks were showing, but Yura's spirit was still unbroken.

Yura let out a hollow chuckle and said, "I thank you for your concern. Even if a bloody reckless fool at times, you're a good man. However, even if I were to stop searching, those cessblood zealots would never leave me be. I am afraid the only way this hunt ends is if I kill all the bloody fingers or they kill me. And even putting aside the others, I refuse to abandon Eleonora once again."

The Tarnished finished off his sake and sighed. Yura was determined, there would be no getting through to him. The Tarnished didn't know if he could change the ronin's fate, but the man still had some fight and some hope left in him. Yura silently gathered the ceramic cups and placed them back in his bag, along with his flask of sake. "I should be going now," he told the Tarnished as he stood up, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "As should you, I imagine. Unlike Eleonora and I, you truly could be the one to claim the Elden Ring and end this damn struggle for all of our kind."

The Tarnished was thankful for the faith Yura placed in him. Especially with all that had happened recently, his encouragement was a much-needed boost to the Tarnished's confidence. "I can't promise you I'll make it so far. But I can promise you that I won't give up so long as there's even a spark left in me."

Before he left through the academy gates, Yura turned back and called out to the Tarnished, "If Eleonora comes for you during your travels, do not think twice. You must flee and not look back. Though grace's blessing remains with you, she is unyielding once challenged and will hunt you over and over until death is all you know. There is no shame in self-preservation."

Then, with that parting warning, the ronin stepped through the magical barrier and disappeared from sight.