spiderparlour | No shame in it.

No shame in it.

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.

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He brought a have to his chest at the words of gratitude. "Oh, I do appreciate it, but how could I not? Dear thing, I couldn't imagine it." She was going to be one of them. There really was no other way this could end.

It wasn't long before he heard something, saw a hint of movement up ahead, and dropped into a crouch.

It took a moment to find it again behind the bracken and underbrush. A deer. It saw their movement as well, and froze.

A mistake on its part. A crossbow bolt hit the creature so hard, the point pierces through to the other side. It fell to the ground, not dead, but that might not last. There were more noises now, rough voices calling from out of sight.

He glanced over to Ayatan, silently gesturing his intent--circle around, remaining in cover. She might be able to turn herself invisible, but he was not so blessed. He needed to get in closer, moving with practiced stealth.

Not that it would change the outcome of this, either, it would simply be more tidy. Godrick's fools didn't stand a chance.

She would be, even if she had no idea yet. What Varré had told her and shown her, it was hard to deny the appeal. And this world did need help.

There was a moment where she just stared in awe at how the crossbow bolt tore through the deer. She'd been trained in older weapons and more modern for the sake of war and duty, but she'd never thought to see one as effective as Zhuge or Attica here.

At the gesture, she gave a silent nod and crouched as well. After a few moments, she slipped into the Void, feeling a dull resistance run through her as if to remind her to actually rest.

One soldier was near enough that she was able to void dash over to him and onto his shoulders, clamping a hand over his mouth as she slid out of the void to slit his throat.

Now that he was alert, the details of bloodshed around them came into focus. Deer blood, full of panic, the pervasive tinge of blood-rust on poorly-kept blades telling him where their quarry lay, and a new flowering of men's blood, unremarkable and yet beautiful all the same. She'd moved so quickly to the kill! He'd have to match her enthusiasm.

He matched the tempo of the soldier's footsteps, selecting another straggler. Oh mother of the true Lord, accept this meager wound, and deliver this spilled blood unto the Divinity. His knife cut the air itself as he raised it in one precise motion, a brief gleam of bloodflame flickering on its edge, and bursting into a full flame in the soldier's throat, burning his voice to nothing. Human and God blood, mingled in sacrifice.

It illuminated the edges of the wound so beautifully, as he caught the body and lowered it to the ground. But he only spared it a glance--his focus was already shifting to his next offering.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into a more stealthy approach to killing. After years of rushing into combat with her warframe, she thought she'd forget some of the skills she'd learned.

Although, the Orokin were more lax, easier targets, no armor. And that added a layer of excitement that she wasn't used to but tried explaining away as this being her choice to involve herself in now, that she wanted to make sure Varré didn't have to worry about too many soldiers. Definitely not to make him proud though.

No.

A slip back into the void soon brought her to the next and a hound alongside him. She bit her lip before finding a rock to throw into nearby bushes, drawing the dog away for a quick kill before sneaking behind the soldier to slip her knife through the back of his neck.

Beast and human blood mingling in the air. He hadn't even heard a yelp from either. Beautiful work, that enlivened him all the more.

They'd taken the vanguard and stragglers, leaving only the diffuse knot of soldiers in the main hunting party. Three in particular were sticking close. Besides them, there were only a few left, he could see them as well. Closer to where Ayatan was killing. He'd draw their attention as well, then, give her more of an opening.

He came in from behind the trio, moving quickly. Aiming for arteries. Inner thigh for the first. The next one began drawing his sword, giving him an opening to drive the blade into the armpit.

By the time he'd pulled it free, the third one is circling around his bleeding compatriots, preparing to attack. He danced backward, maneuvering the man into position, so that all three stood before him. Oh lesser lights, sparks that may yet catch fire.

A searing blast of flame split the air in front of him, the soldiers neatly caught in its center. He leapt in through the smoke to finish off the final one, the other two already crumpling. Shouts from the remaining soldiers told him he'd done as intended. And he'd even get a chance to see what Ayatan did to them. How lovely!

Edited 2023-01-08 17:05 (UTC)

For a moment, she couldn't help the burst of panic in her chest at the sight of Varré taking on three of the soldiers but that panic, as she watched, gave way to a bit of awe. More than a bit, really. She'd never actually had the chance to see how others worked and Varré's skill was admirable.

Now she could hear the shouts of other soldiers though, and her eyes flicked toward the sound.

She grabbed one of the fallen swords, making a face at how it felt in her hand before darting off towards the shouts. The swords weight was more bearable in the void, even if it took a bit more energy now to stay in, but she didn't need it long. Since they didn't see her coming before the sword suddenly tore through one soldiers chest and through his heart, it gave her an opening to fire her amp into anothers face. It wasn't the most graceful death but it was quick.

Leaving her to either slip back into the void, an option she chose to save her energy for, or leap up onto the next soldier to stab downwards into his chest with her knife. It was messy but quick.

She seemed to appear just as the blade pierced the first man, the next rendered horribly faceless by her incantation. The final one toppled under her enthusiastic attack.

Blood and death, joyously offered up. He snuffed out the bloodflame on his knife and returned it to his belt so that he could applaud. "What a display! I only regret I missed so much of it."

She'd killed without hesitation, taking first blood. He'd worried before, when she'd talked of nobility and honor. But his fears were assuaged now. "And with such poor weaponry besides. You simply must have a better blade."

She was a little breathless after but she couldn't help but smile at the praise, pulling her knife free and wiping the blood off in the grass and drying it on her pants. Some part of her wished she could share the void with him somehow but she'd seen what it had done to the adults on the Zariman. With his skill though, maybe it wouldn't have driven him mad like the others.

"I've used shards of glass before, when things were really desperate." Not like Melica had needed bits of her screen after the jump. "We used whatever we could on the Zariman."

She would never say no to a better weapon though.

Zariman? That's a new name, among many she's spoken of as if one should know them. "You'll have to tell me more, as we see to these bodies." They'd start with hers first, so he could get a closer look at what she'd done to them.

"One of them was about your build, I should think. And the rest may have supplies." With the blood still warm and thick in the air, there's no hefting needed to turn over bodies, checking their pockets and weapons for anything of use. So much of life in the Lands Between was spent picking over bodies, old, new, literal, and figurative.

"I'll try not to bore you."

Then again, nothing about the jump incident could really have been called boring. Not for the kids left behind.

She followed along with Varré, setting her bag down for them to store anything too bulky to carry easily. While searching the bodies, she tried to think of what to tell him but condensing millenia of experience...

"Did you want to know about the Zariman or how I learned to fight?" Or anything else, he was welcome to ask her anything he wanted, at this point.

"Whichever you wish, dear one, I'm sure we'll have time for it all eventually." Scavenging could be a strange affair. Sometimes one found something valuable, or simply amusing. Other times, nothing. A miserable end with miserable results. And other times, there were small things. A good length of cord pulled from a tunic's lacing. A single glove, taken to be disassembled and patched into his own at a later date. Tabards cut to ribbons, so that they could be boiled and used as bandages.

And a whetstone, so that Ayatan could have her own. Normally he'd take less than this, but with another to care for, one who'd proven herself eminently capable of getting into trouble, he was being particularly thorough.

At first, she tried finding something suitable for her to wear over her suit until she could fix it, checking the condition of weapons. Especially the crossbows.

"Hm." There a moment of thought, considering how to make it easy to explain. "I mentioned the Orokin Empire I served. We weren't considered Orokin, just subjects, so we were some of the people being sent to colonize a new system."

A pause as she picked up a crossbow and test fired it. It seemed to be in good shape and she could always try modifying it later.

"There was an accident though. When we made the void jump, we didn't come out. We got stuck there. Don't know how long but the void drove the adults insane and changed the rest of us. It became a game of survival until we were rescued. And when we were... well, only the children of the Zariman were left. I tried protecting the younger kids from having to kill their own parents."

He watched her examine the weapons, thinking through what he had learned so far. There were still so many terms she used with the assurance of one who never needed to explain them. But the core of it was still comprehensible.

"And so you learned to kill yourself?" Trapped aboard some sort of ship, stricken by poisonous magic that took the grown and spared the young lambs. This was the incident that made her Tenno, if he understood correctly. Elevated for their unique power, despite its frightful source.

He returned to work, picking up crossbow bolts, and prising loose pieces of other crossbows that were better-formed. And--"Here." With them was another small chunk of stone. Its lustre was unimpressive, but it would still be fit for purpose. "I've little skill in the smithy, but should we find another who has--they'll want these."

"At first. After the Orokin were convinced not to execute us, we were trained by their soldiers, the Dax. They honed what skill we had to serve the Orokin. Some of us were kind of a special force, some of us became assassins, others were guards for the emperors or Executors."

She looked over the chunk of stone, curious. She definitely had no skill with smithing either, she counted on Ordis controlling her foundry and building her gear.

"Where did you learn your skills?" Of course, she couldn't help but be curious. Especially now that she'd spilled her own story. Some of it, anyway.

Warriors of prestige, their eyes glowing with gold. It all seemed so familiar.

"Your lands must be impossibly far beyond the fog, to not guess the answer." It was truly bizarre, and yet she had been nothing but sincere. "The Shattering. The war among the demigods. For there have been no wars since."

He looks down at the blood staining the ground, thinking. "The Order of Irith's Mercy trained me in healing and bestowing charitable death." He almost didn't remember the name anymore. "I began as a nurse and page." It was mean to keep the young away from the front, but that often wasn't the case. "Then a full surgeon. That was to be my life and death, until we were... found by another."

He could no longer resist. "A more loving Lord took us in. We learned a better way from Him, and His most holy mother. My work has been guided by His vision ever since."

Ayatan took a moment to sit back in the dirt, listening and absorbing what he had to say. They'd both worked hard and trained, even if their purposes weren't quite alike, and could do all of this together.

"I only remember the old war." Which, in a way, could be considered a war between demigods, since the Tenno and Sentients couldn't be handled expect by the two opposing factions and the Dax. "We went to sleep for a... thousand years? Maybe? After the fall of the empire."

Which was totally not their fault or anything. And she didn't endeavor to be one of the Tenno to slit an emperors throat.

Her thoughts trailed back to what Varré was saying though. A loving lord, something she hasn't ever had or known. However honored they had been after the war, it was never love.

"He must really be great, huh?"

A thousand years? He... truly, that told him nothing. "I cannot tell you how long since I took those vows. Certainly not beyond the fog. Perhaps it's been that long." There were sorcerers that had an obsession with time, and Tarnished occasionally asked him questions about history, insistent on the numbers of it all. But time was a fully immaterial thing to him. Why would time matter, beyond the space of a few days? Action was all that mattered. Event, consequence, and oaths that kept a person true.

He had only one vague sense of grander time in motion--watching the Erdtree fail. He knew it had more leaves before, but he could not remember their extent.

"There are none like Him." It made his heart ache so sweetly, just to think of their Lord. "And the Golden Order despises Him for this. Mention Him to no one, my dear, unless I do so first." Bloody Fingers might sometimes proclaim their loyalties openly, but Ayatan had already declared herself an assassin. And her eyes--perhaps she'd be able to hide the blood's effects. Tame them.

They would have to find out, of course. That was inevitable. No matter what happened, she would be a wonderful bloodletter.

It was really interesting listening to how he spoke of his lord and she had no idea how her eyes lit up a bit more or how she had the faintest of smiles. Even better was how the Golden Order, which only put a sour taste in her mouth so far, despised him. And that was a definite appeal. That and the promise of love, of rebuilding the world.

"I won't, don't worry." He would have learned about her skills, or figured it out, eventually. Better she had told him, gave him her trust, than to risk anything.

Fingers tapped at her leg for a moment, thoughtful, gazing at the carnage they'd left around them. None of these people seemed in their right minds, it was a kindness they had done them and themselves.

"I don't think I've ever willingly pledged myself to a cause but... I think I would with this."

There was a moment of tension in the silence as she studied the bodies. Had he made a mistake? Would she be true to her word? He should not mention these things until a candidate was ready to prove themselves, and who knew how long that might be, how he would even conduct such a trial for one so spurned by the Golden Order--

[And then she made her reply, and he froze. He'd always made the offer to the Tarnished he selected, with hope and pride and the dearest wish that they should please his Lord. And Ayatan now offered herself to His service.

"Oh, dear one--" He was so overcome that for a moment, words were simply insufficient. He reached out and touched her arm, and yet that still wasn't enough, leaning in close to hug her. He only just retained the presence of mind to place his arms around her shoulders, avoiding the half-healed wounds on her back.

Varré caught her by surprise when his hand touched her arm and even more when his arms wrapped around her. For a moment, all she could do was freeze as her mind slowly connected the dots of what was happening.

And then her muscles went lax and she leaned against him, arms wrapping around him in turn. It was warm and she'd forgotten what it felt like to really be held by anyone. How could she not savor it now after so long? She hadn't realized how much she needed that or how much it meant to him. And she was, admittedly, happy for both.

"You don't have to worry about me saying anything. And I'll do anything to help." And she wouldn't let anyone hurt him.

"Oh dear one, I am blessed to hear you say this," his voice was a fervent murmur, heart swelling with pride for this wonderful child.

He pulled back enough to look at her, yellow eyes glimmering slightly with emotion. "There are trials to be held for inductees, and I will ensure you have all that you require to succeed, on your own merits." It had to be her own work. A sign of her devotion, not his. But the two could still be joined together.

"You will be a knight like no other, dear one." A maidenless killer from such foreign lands, willingly offering herself to the Dynasty. How beautiful it was, even now!

That wouldn’t be hard, she thought. Her skills had been carefully trained and she was getting used to using this particular skillset now. Back home, she could usually just plow through enemies with the armoury she had on her Orbiter.

“Do you know a good training ground I could use?” If she would be a knight, if there were trials, she wanted to be ready, didn’t want to disappoint Varré. Or the mysterious Luminary Mohg.

"There are many. These soldiers will continue to be of use, once Grace returns them to their sad little lives." He gestures to the bodies with a dismissive wave. "But we'll have to push further. The trials test the commitment of a Tarnished, and make them safe from the Greater Will. You are so prepared already, dear one, but we cannot leave these things to chance."

"To the Grace first. Though it is an unlovely thing, it is still important. And we may use it for our own ends." She needed to heal those injuries as well. And he needed to know if the ritual had succeeded. He was certain it had. But he still needed to see.

Safe from the Greater Will, that was an interesting thought. What extents did others go to in order to escape their influence if they didn't have Varré's confidence in them? Which only made her more appreciative of him and grateful. Especially with his belief of how prepared she already was.

"I understand that. Sometimes you have to deal with a few distasteful things for your end goal, right?"

And the relief Grace had given her before, when she was still suffering most of Ballas' stab, sounded nice. Even if Varré had helped with most of it. She really did want to be at her best for these trials. Which meant healing and some actual sleep, if she could make herself relax enough.

"Could you tell me more on the way? Or would that give away too much?"

"Indeed. The Two Fingers still enforce the designs of the Greater Will, but their influence wanes. We take advantage of their disarray."

He began to walk, adjusting his bundle of gathered supplies to hang more comfortably from his shoulder. "I can only say so much--but for the first trial, I suppose there's no harm in it. There are Tarnished throughout these lands, but the Two Fingers draw you apart through subtle means. Almost like that marvelous trick of yours." Ayatan seemed to become intangible when she disappeared.

"There are many beyond saving among these hidden Tarnished--brutes that have no love for our kind. They are the first trial."

Perhaps Ayatan would find the bloody fingers distasteful as well. But she seemed such a sensible girl. She would understand their use.

No shame in it.

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