No shame in it.

[blessedwithlove]

Its omnipresence was still daunting.

Even as its grip slackened, the Greater Will still dominated the land. The golden light of the Erdtree illuminated Limgrave day and night. Turn your back to it, and you would see its children, mere seedlings that towered over all but their progenitor. Cast your eyes down, and you would see a Tree Sentinel patrolling astride his horse. Twice the size of a lowborn knight, clad all in gilt finery.

There was scarcely a tree in the Lands Between without a golden cast to its leaves. Blessed with Grace-given life, said the Golden Order. Autumnal, said others. The end of a millennial season.

It was little wonder that the Tarnished were still captivated. Without a more intimate knowledge of the Lands Between, they saw only the Erdtree's radiance, not the bare and dying branches. They flocked toward it like moths.

What fools they were. Intelligent, some of them, but fools all the same. Generations of hatred and scorn upheld by the Two Fingers, and now they answered the call to service? How could one be so delusional as to think the Golden Order would truly welcome them home with love?

No. They were being used, and he felt no shame in doing the same. Those who stayed loyal were fitting sacrifice, providing the materials he needed to guide the doubting toward truth.

And then there were the particularly hapless. That last girl and her companions, good heavens. He'd almost wanted to follow them, just to spectate. But he had his calling to attend to. Tarnished sailing from the west found the beaches of Limgrave the only place to row ashore, and they all passed by the statue-topped monument of the Fringefolk Hero's Grave. He had his pick of them all here, and sent them off toward the brooding walls of Stormveil Castle. Lords, vassals, rich and wretched alike. They came to take the measure of the hills beyond, and to rest at its Site of Grace.

The pallid little thing swirled and danced, leaving uncomfortably moving afterimages on the eyes if one stared too long. But it was warm enough at night to almost render a fire superfluous, and it warded off the beasts that stalked and soared over the lowlands to the south. Even the Tree Guardian kept a respectful distance, the brainlessly devout pillock.

After years of bloody toil in war, sleeping in the dirt beside a symbol of everything he rejected wasn't that much of a hardship. Though on nights when rain blew up from the Weeping Lands or the sea air took on a particular chill, he was forced to retreat into the entrance to the grave itself. There were the occasional noises deep below, the senile mutterings of deathless nobility trapped in the subterranean graveyard. None of them had yet figured out how to operate the lift, and he doubted any of them would.

He couldn't decide if they were the unlucky ones, or if that honor went to the desiccated starveling pinned to a martyr's bough outside on the hill. It barely ever lifted its head, and fortunately, it hadn't voiced an opinion about anything in days. He was no longer a merciful and compassionate war surgeon, but if that thing interrupted his speech to a Tarnished again, he'd find that old mercy within himself and tear it to pieces. Perhaps he'd do it anyway, save him the trouble later.

Ah, no. That would have to wait. He could hear something coming.

Comments

[orokid]

The stab through her chest with her own sword, while faded thanks to the Void, still left an ache between her shoulder blades. How she was still alive was a surprise, every had looked and felt different when Ballas stabbed her. A Sentient-killing sword, her ass.

And now her warframe was nowhere to be seen. Just her, alone, with her amp and in a place she didn't recognize as anything from the origin system or the Void.

As she wandered out of the ruins she'd found herself in, avoiding what she could and killing the rest with her amp until she found a dagger, she couldn't help but think of how she missed hearing Ordis already and his wildly fluctuating mood. Or his bad impression of the Lotus.

Ugh. Lotus.

Her thoughts derailed when she slipped outside, shielding her eyes from the odd golden light from the tree that seemed to dominate the landscape. It reminded her, in no small amount, of the Orokin, and their love of the ornate. The Golden Lords and a Golden Light.

No point in sitting in one place and thinking of that though. It wouldn't get her home. So she continued her slow trek out into the field, eyes glancing around for anyone or anything helpful.

No doubt, the onlookers, it was clear that she wasn't accustomed to anything like this. Her gait was slow and careful, as if she'd forgotten how to walk, but was still strong and confident enough not to fall onto her face. Or knife.

[blessedwithlove]

He kept his poise and waited, making no move yet. The Hero's Grave connected to the sea through caves and crevices in the rock, large enough for the occasional flotsam to wash in. Yet he'd seen no ships approaching. How odd this was already.

But truly, he was not expecting the likes of this. A colorful, bedraggled young thing. Like a storm-battered songbird. Uncommonly vibrant hair, Tooled leather, glintstone blue and... what even was that metalic glint of red? Eochaid steel, maybe? Goodness. All that finery, on a frame that can barely hold it all.

And, tragically, no maiden to be seen. Worthless.

Well, off they'd go to Godrick, then. But he had appearances to keep to, all the same. "Good heavens. If you really intend to seek the Elden Ring, best take the tender mercies of Grace now, or back to the grave you'll go soon enough," he gestures to the pale little light that danced above the dirt. "Or do you require attendance from a surgeon?"

[orokid]

At first, she couldn't help the suspicious narrow of her eyes. Nothing he'd said really made sense to her but the last part and that was what caught her off-guard. She couldn't remember the last time someone had given any sort of consideration for her wellbeing besides Margulis. And that ended... poorly.

"I don't know what either of those are. Grace or an Elden Ring." It came out as more of a grumble. She wasn't sure what she expected after being stabbed but it wasn't anything like this. And definitely not with seemingly helpful people.

"Who're you?"

[blessedwithlove]

Well. That was novel. Even the husks that had staggered down from Leyndell still remembered that much.

"Me? Your only hope, I should think." Or at least a fascinated observer. These fools kept finding new ways to outdo each other in the most pitiful ways.

"There are few in these lands who would help the Tarnished now,"

He leaned in a little, yellow eyes studying shining gold. How very interesting.

"Even one with eyes like yours." Oh, it would be a tragedy to see blood like that wasted.

"I'll tell you more, of course. But first--the Grace, if you please. Go on. Sit. It will mend you, once you touch it."

[orokid]

Only hope? It took a lot to resist a scoff but she couldn't hide the skepticism. Her back ached though and he seemed to know enough to get her on her feet in this place. All she could do, for now, was play nice.

"Tarnished is a new one. Betrayer, lizard, void demon- better than those at least." Still not flattering though.

He didn't seem a threat, just a bit strange, and she wanted to know more, so she stepped over to the and eyed it. The Void usually mended her wounds but it was slow now. More damage than usual, probably, so some help couldn't hurt.

The hand without her amp went forward to touch the light, expecting nothing, but appreciating the warmth it gave off and the ease of pain on her back. It was impossible not to give sound to her relief. The scar probably remained, the Void tended to do that regardless, but at least she could breathe easier now.

[blessedwithlove]

Not a single memory of any of it. Extraordinary.

He clasped his hands as he waited, each little fidget sending a gentle stab of pain through a finger. He'd have to get more of this one's measure before he made a decision.

"There." A Tarnished whether she thought so or not--The Greater Will didn't extend its blessings to those it couldn't use. "I am Varré. I give guidance to you Tarnished, though it seems you're more in need of it than most. As you know nothing of the Lands Between... where to start?"

Well. He supposed he should sit down. "This is the realm of the Erdtree. Seat of the God-Queen Marika, chief servant of the Greater Will, and her chosen Elden Lord. Or was, long ago." He lowers himself to the ground, with what poise one can muster while kneeling in the dirt.

"The Elden Ring, symbol and source of their divine order, now lies shattered. No true lord reigns there now. Marika's bloodline has failed entirely." Only one true divinity remained. But he couldn't speak on that. Limgrave was blighted with close-minded souls. What might a guileless new arrival say to them, should she find them?

"And that is why you are here. Once banished, the Tarnished have been called to return. For the Greater Will desires now for a new Lord to reforge the Elden Ring."

He tilts his head slightly, studying the Tarnished. "But you seem to be unburdened with such purpose. Does it appeal to you all the same?"

[orokid]

Varré. Not a familiar name but she wasn't expecting anyone familiar yet. Didn't sound like any naming convention she was accustomed to, either.

"Name's Ayatan." Manners still mattered a bit, even here. And he was being polie so she should be too.

Despite being out of school so long, she was still a good student, and she listened intently to his explanation. God-Queens and Elden Lords, it reminded her more of the Orokin than the ethereal golden light around them.

"So this Greater Will wants us to... take power?" If that was what she wanted, the Tenno could have done that after rebelling against the Orokin.

"If it got me home, I'd do it, but leading... ruling, not our style."

[blessedwithlove]

Is that all? What a lackluster light to steer by. Still. She didn't have any great affinity for the Golden Order. That was a glimmer of promise. "You'll find no ships in any port, nor sailors sane enough to crew them. I'm afraid that you're quite trapped, for now."

It would be so easy to slip back into routine. "But not everyone seeks the Elden Ring for such lofty purpose. Perhaps your path still intersects with the rest." Just send her on her way. But...

"You, I'm afraid, are maidenless." To think he had to explain this too! Everyone should know these things. Or at least, think themselves knowledgeable. "The Two Fingers send their consecrated maidens to journey with each Tarnished, to channel the strength of runes, and grant them invitation to the Roundtable Hold. The grand meeting hall of the Tarnished, watched over by the Two Fingers themselves."

He sighs. "But Lacking either, your chances are slim. A shame." There were secret ways to forge an invitation, as it were. The Two Fingers were so senile that none would notice the difference. But should he? No. Not for one so untested.

"I find it curious that you remember your home, when all else is so very blank. What were you there, I wonder?"

[orokid]

She'd been trapped before but that didn't make this any more bearable. Fingers touch her amp thoughtfully. With guidance and her own skills, she could probably manage. Maybe even find her warframe along the way. Wherever this was, her warframe had fallen into it as well when Ballas stabbed her.

Or it should have.

"I was a soldier. Tenno, we're called. We served an empire until it's fall, then we dedicated ourselves protecting others."

[blessedwithlove]

"Oh, how noble." In every sense of the term. A common soldier wouldn't have such finery. Though they would have a better blade.

"Are you from the Land of Reeds? The name sounds quite their style." Perhaps she'd know of the old man. He'd had quite the following of his own, before their Lord had shown him a better way.

[orokid]

"Land of Reeds?" If it wasn't clear that she wasn't familiar, she shook her head slowly. "Maybe, we took a lot of our teachings from old Earth cultures and whatever else the Dax chose to teach us. Swords, firearms, honor."

Some honor, anyway. Slaughtering your emperor and the rest of your empire couldn't really be called honorable. He didn't need to know that though.

"Usually you don't see a Tenno like this. We're usually in armor that looks more human than what... some of those corpses inside were wearing."

[blessedwithlove]

There's no 'maybe' to such a thing. Truly, this Ayatan was an oddity. He might admit, the lands beyond the fog were utterly foreign to him. But he saw more dregs wash up in Limgrave than any other, and he'd never seen the like of this one.

Nor had she seen the common fate of the faithful here. "Princes from beneath the golden boughs," his tone took on a hint of acid. "Searching for salvation, just as unfulfilled as the Golden Order. Death would be a mercy for them now." And oh, he longed to extend such mercy to the Order.

"You'll find many like them. As the Greater Will abandoned the gods, it abandoned all else." The waspish little moment left him. "The land and its people are unloved." More than anything, he longed for that to change.

"Take some heart, then, that none of your fellow Tenno are here. I would know of your people already, if there were. But, perhaps more will wash up soon enough. How did you find your way here?"

[orokid]

That acid in his tone was almost contagious. Abandoning gods, she could mostly go along with, but abandoning all else? She couldn't stomach the idea. Reminded her too much of how the Orokin abandoned everyone on the Zariman.

"Not entirely sure. I was trying to save someone and an old enemy used that chance to try to kill me."

You cannot kill the devil, Tenno... but you can send it back to Hell.

"I should have fallen into the Void. I would have healed faster if I had." Or died entirely, but the Void was where the Tenno came from, in a sense.

[lastgod]

To awaken somewhere unknown to him was an experience all on it's own. He knew in an instant that it wasn't Anor Londo, he couldn't sense Ornstein or Smough nearby and guarding him as they always had, or the Fire Keeper of the city. And his legs-

His legs?

A pale hand reached down to touch equally pale legs, skin sensitive to touch.

His staff and bow lay nearby, normally one but the strange magic that stole away the snakes that replaced his legs seemed to have split his magic as well. Not that he could use much magic as it was, poison still coursing through his body thanks to Sulyvahn. There was enough in him for now though to make himself a quiver of arrows though, as he shakily pulled himself to his feet.

The undead here weren't entirely unlike those in Lordran, though he could tell they hadn't gone hollow. Not entirely. Odd. Still, he was able to use his magic arrows to cut through them and escape the musty old church.

The air outside had a chill to it and as he looked up to the night sky, he couldn't help but stare in awe. Anor Londo was always lit by the setting sun, he couldn't remember it otherwise.

When he finally dragged his gaze away, he could spot a figure in the distance, garbed in white. Tired as he was, still sick and weaker for her exertion, he forced himself over to the man, bow slung across his shoulders and clutching his staff until his knuckles turned why.

"You. Where in Lordran do I find myself?" It's rude, and he's usually better mannered, but he's too disoriented to care.

[blessedwithlove]

He'd fallen into an uneasy sleep, turned away from Erdtree and Grace, curled tight beneath the meager protection of his wrap. The night was quiet and cold. All that could be heard were the small scurrying things in the grass, and the distant screams of the condemned on their stakes. The nightly chorus of Limgrave, in all its pathetic glory.

He dozed for a time, dreams full of those same sounds.

The screams suddenly crescendoed, the condemned beside the grave rattling to life with a piercing shriek. He was on his feet before he'd even fully woken. His first, wild thought was that he must be bleeding. The brand on his forehead reopened, and blood spilled into his eyes. Why else would everything look so red?

But when he turned, the Erdtree shone as golden as ever. But the moon! It was a red-ringed nothing, burning like coals beneath ash.

The ring drew the eye, drew the mind into circles, an unending and dying thing, hollowed out by dark. It was a horror he could not explain.

A light grew in its center, an uncanny silver against the red, larger and larger--no, closer!

He snapped free of his trance, dashing to the meager shelter of the grave's entrance. The ground shook, and a wind tore past the archway, throwing rocks and graveyard bones toward the sea, and stealing the breath from his lungs.

But it was over as soon as it had come. The light was pale and golden again, the hills silent, save for the ringing in his ears and the sound of high surf on the shoreline. He carefully made his way to the cliff's edge. Nothing but waves, emanating a single point between him and the Church of Pilgrimage. The Erdtree Guardian had moved to the beach to the north as well, either to face whatever was there, or his horse had panicked at the sight of the horrible, dead moon.

He watched the water with trepidation, waiting until the waves stopped. But nothing emerged.

The others on the surface must have seen it, but none were so close as him. He should reconvene with them in the mausoleum, and share what he'd seen.

Whether they could decide what to do, he did not know. The brand beneath his mask did not call him home. Which should be a relief, he tells himself. His Lord had not found this important enough to wake.

But before he could make good on his plan, there was a noise from the grave. The elevator. Something was coming up.

He moved carefully back to watch the entrance, one hand hiding his knife, the other ready to reach into the Mother's embrace and draw his bouquet. Ready to fight or flee.

A figure emerged. Clad in white and gold, skin so pale it matched their finery. Was this some long-dead figure roused from the grave? It would be a sight to behold, if they didn't hobble so.

Or call out in such a haughty tone.

"There is no such place here." It was all he could do not to laugh. Dear Lord, why did this night have to take so many surreal turns? Was he finally going mad?

"It must have taken to the grave in ages past."

[lastgod]

Behind his mask, his eyes narrowed. Taken to the grave? However ill he might have been, he would never allow it, not after all the work he'd done to find other gods, to protect Yorshka. Even imprisoned, he was still a god!

"Impossible. So long as the First Flame burns, so long as the Gods persevere, Lordran will continue on." It has to. He'd put so much effort into preserving Anor Londo, even as the sun finally set and snow covered the grounds, as church and tower gave way to Irithyll. He couldn't give up.

It couldn't end so easily. His imprisonment ended in such an odd manner, his snakes replaced by legs. Like his siblings. His grip loosened on his staff for a moment as he tried to calm himself, to think clearly but his head was still fuzzy after so long being sick.

"Are you familiar with Anor Londo?" Perhaps Lordran wasn't familiar but sure the city of the gods? He wouldn't get there easily, it had taken more effort than he cared for to get this far, but he had to. If not for himself than for Yorshka. "My sister... I cannot leave her."

Sulyvahn would kill her if he found Gwyndolin missing.

[blessedwithlove]

"Whatever flame you worship was snuffed out by Marika's armies, as were your lands." Or lay beyond the fog. In any case, it was--he didn't know. He would have thought it irrelevant any other night, but with what he'd just seen...

"You rose from the grave," he gestures with his empty hand to the structure that loomed over them. Where that sister might still be, for all he knew. "What roused you?"

It was difficult not to glance at the moon, or worry openly about the thing that fell into the waves. This haughty figure had to be connected to it somehow.

[lastgod]

No.

No!

His grip on his staff slips and he shakes his head, ignoring the sound of it hitting the ground. He was ill, not dying. And no word of any other gods moving into Lordran had been uttered near him.

"I have not died. No one would dare slay the Dark Sun." They would and he knows it but to admit defeat or weakness so easily wasn't an option. Following the gesture though, he couldn't deny that this was a place for the dead. It was almost too much, vision a bit blurry and he shakes his head again.

[blessedwithlove]

"If they did, it obviously didn't stick," Varré replied, acid rising in his tone. He'd not moved, but he was tense, eyes a little too wide behind his mask. "You can be excused for rudeness on that account, I suppose. But the question is important, so I ask again. What woke you?"

[lastgod]

His head snaps to look towards Varré, world spinning with the movement and forcing him to place a hand against the wall for support. The brief thought of how much of a relief death might have been crosses his mind but is just as quickly brushed aside.

"I do not care for your tone." His own voice fills with ice and he scowls at the man. "Nothing roused me but mine own self. And the realization that I was no longer in Anor Londo."

He's exhausted but he grips the wall tightly. He can't show how frail he's become, can't collapse here.

[blessedwithlove]

There was no hiding how weak this one was. A stiff breeze might blow them away. That they were armed was no great concern. It was what else they might signify.

He ignored the commentary, pushing onward. "Nothing else. No flame of yours, nor water?" The sea ran right up against the grave's depths, didn't it?

[lastgod]

Flame or water?

"I have never set eyes upon the First Flame. That is a blessing belonging to the Lord of Sunlight and the Chosen Undead." With his affinity to the moon, and his skill for magic, he would never have been deemed worthy to link the fire.

"I do recall the sound of waves down below, if that is what you speak of. I had more pressing matters on my mind."

[blessedwithlove]

The words were utterly meaningless to him. There was reference to the Tarnished, perhaps, but the rest was gibberish. "And what do you recall of the moon?"

[lastgod]

It was almost offensive how he was being pushed for answers and given little. No, it was offensive. No one had been so forward with him in his life.

"I've an affinity for the moon and the magic that comes of it." He's tired of talking in circles already and leans down to take up his staff once more, struggling to his feet.

"I require a place to rest if you insist on interrogating me further."

[blessedwithlove]

Carian, then. Or some ancient antecedent. And absolutely tied to what just happened. This could not be coincidence. Maybe the disturbance roused those of the moon queen's lineage. But that seemed almost... too neat.

"There's no shelter here but the grave, or grace," He gestures to the mote. The dirt around it shows signs of the scouring gale. but it glimmers unchanged, as does the ground that sits downwind of it. Entirely immaterial, and yet immovable.