Chapter Text
In the Erdtree Capital, Leyndell, there is, or more appropriately, was, an expansive indoors garden. It was not that the garden itself was gone, but the building had since been repurposed. Now it served as a hospital for the sick and dying, an all-too-common sight those days after the Shattering. Perfumers, pages, and the occasional priest gathered there to treat the population, concocting aromatics and cultivating curative mosses. In this hospital, Perfumer Paula was studying a single scrap of cloth.
In all her years as a perfumer, Paula had never known such fear. Once a frontline battle medic, she had fought and died when the Shattering found its way to Leyndell. Struck down by Radahn himself, she was granted an Erdtree burial. Unlike many who had died after Marika shattered the Elden Ring, she was reborn not as a Tarnished, but as herself, properly reincarnated by the Erdtree. With such a rare opportunity gifted to her, she had devoted her second life solely to the treatment of others, refusing the call of war and disowning the heretical fiery aromatics that she had once used. Yet the bloodshed and death paled when compared to the fear she felt now looking at a single scrap of raggedy cloth.
Paula pulled her mask down and scrutinized the cloth. It was a torn scrap, made from a thin leather colored deep burgundy, and stained with blood. The blood of a king. She got up from the table, hands shaking, and went to the nearest bookshelf.
"Golden Order Principia— no no that's not it, Erdtree Codex, Of Night and Flame... There it is." Paula pulled out a thick book titled " Carmaan's Handbook of Maladies and Ailments ." It was an old copy, with yellowed pages and several bookmarks in it. Setting it beside the cloth, she opened the handbook to a deep red bookmark. The page, titled in bold, read " Consumption."
"...Consumption may not be as deadly as Scarlet Rot, but it is just as insidious. It is named as such due to the symptom of gradual weight loss in its victims. Over the course of months, sometimes years, the victim is eaten from within. They bleed from wounds in their body, cough up vitae, go pale, and become husks of what they were. Few survive, and all who do develop a distinctive rattling breath, never fully recovering. Even if they survive, another disease may compound their permanent damage, turning an innocuous cold into an unexpected killer. Worst of all, unlike Scarlet Rot, there is no practical cure. Aromatics may be dispersed, Physicks taken, Warming incantations cast, but these simply alleviate symptoms. In my quest for the secret Physick, the identification of a true cure to Consumption is among my top goals. There are rumors of experimental cures, made from rare, dangerous materials, but those who could tell me of them have either died in the collection of said materials, or distrust any aligned with the Capital."
A soft knock rang from the door, startling Paula. "Oh— Come in!" she shouted, pulling her mask back up. The door gently opened, revealing an identically-dressed perfumer of shorter, stockier build.
"Ms. Paula? You've been gone for a bit now, haven't you?" he says, the concern in his voice failing to fully mask the annoyance.
"Harriet, come here. I need you to check something."
"Oh, I will, although this better be short."
Harriet walked over to the table, pulled up a nearby stool to sit on, and inspected the cloth. "Wait... Are you pulling some kind of prank? This is just leather."
"I am serious. Answer something for me. What does blood from a cough indicate?" Paula asks.
"Well, it depends. Wounded or unwounded?"
"Unwounded."
"Then, most likely, Consumption. I'm not sure what you are..."
Harriet looked over the cloth again. "Paula... this leather... Is this from who I think it is?"
A grimace came over Paula's face, blocked by the white mask. "I'm afraid so."
"Well, then how are you sure he coughed this?" Harriet states, trying to dismiss her worries. "He gets into battles all the time, and takes some hits. It could just be a splatter from that,"
"Because he hasn't fought a Tarnished for two months now, and I took this from his cloak today. The blood is fresh. Have you heard his breathing recently? It's a wet, rattling wheeze."
Harriet recoiled, worry creeping into his voice. "But... but that means—"
"That King Morgott is dying."