#even if it was Marika’s mercy

[magpie-come-east]

I want to speak more on the Shunning Grounds and Marika.

The most common interpretation I see of the Shunning Ground’s creation is that Marika birthed Omen sons and didn’t want to kill them (per her own law). So she made a loophole for herself: noble born Omen would not have their horns shaved and would instead be hidden away from sight.

This makes sense to me! It’s a tragic and interesting decision. Marika made her bed and she was forced to lie in it.

However. Why a sewer?

To me, Marika included the clause of noble born omen to hide her own amongst their number anonymously. She does not care about other Omen children. But also, why didn’t she pick any other place to house the hidden Omen? Anywhere else that was remote but also habitable? Farum azula- where Omen children would fit it better with beasts and dragons and isn’t very accessible? The Mountaintops- which are remote and also difficult to access? Consecrated snowfield? Siofra??

The sewers were not a kindness. They were a death sentence to many Omen. Forcing her children to suffer parasites and starvations and illness and infection amongst the shit of her subjects was not a mercy.

I think… we should probably consider the possibility that Marika simply COULDNT kill Morgott and Mohg. When she removed death from the Elden Ring, she made her descendants immortal. Like the game tells us in no uncertain terms the extreme lengths Ranni had to go to to kill Godwyn. And it was a shock for everyone. It was an act that inflicted Deathblight upon the world.

I’m saying it might be worth considering that Marika did not make the Shunning Grounds to spare her twins. But literally just to hide them. Her little immortal humiliations

[drenched-in-sunlight]

*Shadow of the Erdtree late game spoiler under the cut !!!

I’m going to throw up … it sounds crazy but. I think I know what the Hornsent did to Marika’s home village now. And why she hates the Omen so much, why Messmer shows them no mercy 😭😭

Please, look closely at the jar innards in Belurat Gaol… they look like Marika … 😭😭 even the brand on their forehead looks like a mix of her and Radagon’s current symbol (as seen on their soreseal)

If my whole family were kidnapped and stuffed into jars because others thought it’d make them "good", I’d go insane, become literal God and take revenge on them too idk.

This is the text outside of her village:

Have mercy. And the two items in the village indicates that Marika wrapped the whole place in a healing spell, knowing full well there is no one left to heal. Grief. Her grief and love protect that place all this time (before the village are two Tree Sentinels).

The only place in the Land of Shadow still bathed in Gold. And now Messmer guarded it with all his heart. Holy shit.

If Marika came from a village whose ppl were thought to be inferior and should be stuffed into jar to be reborn, yet she went and became a God, while the Hornsent failed to reach divinity, despite proclaiming themselves “chosen people” (Stalwart horn charm +2)… yeah I can see why they said she betrayed them and that she’s a wanton strumpet. 🙃

Also I think the “seduction” is from the Two Fingers, telling her to accept being a vessel to the Elden Ring and it’ll grant her the power to avenge her people. Look where she ended up now 🙂

There, I solved the story trailer.

EDIT: you can find a Numen’s Rune in Jarburg 🙃

Me 2 years ago: haha why is there Numen’s rune in Jarburg? Aren’t they Marika’s people? So random ! 😄😄

Me now finding out it’s because Numens were the original jar innards: ….

EDIT 2: it’s confirmed in-game that the shamans from Marika’s home village is the jar innards…

the golden hair... be serious with me right now

EDIT 3: She was salvaging the remains of her people and made them the symbol of her divine ascension. their death and suffering would never be forgotten, and the day will come when vengeance would be theirs.

Thank you for coming to my tedtalk 👍

EDIT 4: Update about the mistranslation of Greatjar description leading to players thinking people from Marika’s village are also helping Hornsent hunt down their own people. They are not!

[blasphemousclaw]

Ranni has every reason to hate Marika. She is the figurehead of an order that has caused her and her family so much misery… and yet, in the Age of the Stars ending cutscene, Ranni holds Marika’s head with such gentleness. It feels less like Ranni is putting down a tyrant, and more like she’s laying her to rest, after many long years of torment. 

Ranni could have been Marika’s successor, but she rejected the guidance of the Two Fingers, slaying her own flesh in order to be rid of their influence: 

“But I would not acquiesce to the Two Fingers. I stole the Rune of Death, slew mine own Empyrean flesh, casting it away. I would not be controlled by that thing.”

Ranni goes to such drastic lengths because the most intolerable thing possible to her is to be a pawn; her will not being her own, but being at the mercy of a higher power. Ranni’s quest is above all about free will – it culminates with Ranni using the Fingerslayer Blade to tear her Two Fingers into bloody ribbons, at long last giving her full control over her own destiny.

Marika in the present day is a prisoner held in perpetual torment. According to Enia and the Two Fingers,

"Queen Marika is the vessel of the Elden Ring, carrier of its vision. A god, in truth. But after the Elden Ring's shattering, she was imprisoned in the Erdtree. A grim punishment for shattering the Order, despite her godhood. The Fingers speak... "Marika's trespass demanded a heavy sentence. But even in shackles, she remains a god, and the vision's vessel.”

Marika shattered the Order, going against the will of the Two Fingers, and was punished for it gravely. In many ways, Marika’s fate is Ranni’s absolute worst nightmare. This is exactly the fate she took such drastic lengths to escape… serving a higher power with her entire being, her will not her own, but the will of the Fingers, with any attempt at change met with violent suppression, her body essentially being used as a puppet to defend the last vestiges of the Order.

“I would not be controlled by that thing.”

I think that Ranni, seeing Marika’s broken body at the end of it all, felt nothing but pity for her in that moment, despite everything she’d done. To me, the act of Ranni holding Marika’s head in her hands feels like she’s saying, “you were my enemy. But there is no worse fate in this world than what you suffered. Now, you can be truly free."

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 1

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Summary: Tasked to hunt the demigod Messmer by order of the followers of Miquella the Kind, your purpose strays from theirs, creating a destiny you plan on executing.

A/N: I've only just started playing the DLC, but this will diverge from it and keep to a different story. One of dual pain, hardships and connection.

Your build is based on the samurai, with a nagakiba as your weapon.

Outfit: Skeletal Mask, Confessor Armor, Preceptor Gloves & Legs

A03 link

-

Chapter 1: Consumed

It started with a simple task:

In the name of Miquella the Kind, find and destroy Messmer the Impaler.

A task so simple that even you believed that it could be given to one of his devoted followers. It had been Leda, the Needle Knight, standing vigilant in front of Miquella's cocoon state in Mohgwyn Palace, who had tasked you with stepping through the veil to the Realm of Shadow. She spoke of the great destiny that led you here, guided by faith. Though vague in her directions and quest, you obliged, thinking not much about what you had to do. 

Like the plague, it began with the whispering of his name.

It was the mutterings of those you vanquished - his soldiers - donned in grey and onyx - spoke his name like a curse not to be spoken. The encampments were scattered across the lands, a fire that burnt hotter than any flame you had seen before. His was brighter, bolder, harsher, casting hate and cinders to those in its path. 

You witnessed it in those who survived the crusades. It was seen in those who stumbled from crushed and burnt buildings, still smoldering as they moaned and wandered. It had been utter torment to give them mercy, for it should've been given first-hand by the tyrant himself.

What was Messmer if not a monster? If Miquella had any chance of dealing with him, how could you handle him? It did not matter what you thought; being Tarnished meant your thoughts were long forgotten and ignored. You were restless and weary from travelling, staying up as you stared into the golden hues of sites of Graces littered across the lands, thinking of what you must do.

The Shadow Keep was an ashen yet mighty stronghold, and it didn't take much to get through its walls. 

When you first caught a glimpse of the portrait that stood high and mighty in the main plaza the man himself, it had been broken and left with part of his face not visible. Torn down from the aeons, you couldn't help but notice the faint outlines of red hair that could be seen where it had been razed. It had only left you in greater agitation, grumbling to yourself that you had to deal with another redhead.

"This fucking family."

The Shadow Keep was a maze itself, with winding corridors of endless shadows and abyss. You trekked through many floors, handing fire knights as you passed until you made it to the one thing you were both loathed and pleased to see. The golden hue that encased the site of Grace in front of you told you one of many things; death loomed just in front of you. And from the site, laid the heavy doors, your path awaiting.

You camped for as long as needed, contemplating why you had decided to do all this for a demigod you did not care so much for. Miquella and the majority of Marika's children schemed, plotted and hated one another, what would one Tarnished solve?

Feeling a sense of acceptance to it all, you stood, heaving the heavy doors open as you were swallowed into nothingness.

The room was large enough, that you could only sense from how far you walked through, with no sight of Messmer anywhere. It was only when you saw the soft glimmering of embers begin to grow in size that you realised candles were being lit on their own. You marveled, before a voice cut through the stillness of the room.

"Mongrel intruder."

It stung to be spoken to like that, only did you feel your chest clench, your hand instinctively going to your scabbard, gripping it and holding your position, ready to strike if attacked first. No noise nor attack came, and when you looked around your surroundings, clearer to see through, you turned to meet the gaze of a serpentine, staring curiously back at you.

"Thou'rt... Tarnished, it seemth," the voice seemed surprised, though there was a toll of tiredness to the richness of his voice. It reverberated through the throne room and your hammering chest. "Mother, wouldst thou truly Lordship sanction," the snake pulled back from you, retreating away as you caught sight of who it was going back to, "in one so bereft of light?"

From the shadows, a throne stood, and with it, the man you were looking for.

He was larger than you imagined, slowly rising from his seat as he staggered towards you. His long arms swayed as did the two winged serpents attached to him, wrapped around him like vines. Everything to him was red, his hair, clothing and snakes, deadly and intense. "Yet... My purpose standeth unchanged." His voice was a soft timbre, albeit twisted with spite.

From his hands, came a swarm of flames, smouldering and blazing just as they did all before. You could see your hanging body through them, a vision of chaos and destruction that awaited if you did not do anything. But he loomed over you even from a height, raising his flaming hand like a trophy to behold, his other hand gripping the daunting spear with ease. "Those stripped of the Grace of Gold shall all meet death." The fire burnt in his golden eye, raging as fierce as him, full of hatred for something like you. Impure, stripped from grace, "in the embrace of Messmer's flame."

You weren't given much of a chance to pull forth your nagakiba, for Messmer had lunged high into the air, embued in flames as he spear in hand, slamming down into the ground. You had a few seconds to roll out of the way, as when he landed, flame and spears burst forth, nearly catching you by the cloth of your armour. Ash and cinders burnt into your nostrils, with no time to retreat as his spear reached towards you with such speed that it didn't seem possible. 

You rolled again to avoid his swift movements, getting caught in the final jab that caught you in the thigh. You hissed, blood sizzling, your grieves soaked with blood and fraying with burnt ashes. You took some more jabs at you, one to your side and the shoulder as you tried to stay as close in range as possible, attempting to swipe at him before he could stab back at you. He immediately took a more defensive stance and avoided your cut. You sheathed your blade, waiting for him to lunge before you leapt forth, unsheathing your blade and landing a blow he could not avoid. It seemed impressive in the seconds, a hiss drawing from his lips, eye burning furiously down towards you when his spear thrust in a flurry, giving you no time to revel in your small victory.

The heat that rolled off him had left no air to fill your lungs, leaving you panting and struggling. It had caused him to believe he had the upper hand, advancing towards you ready to strike when you rolled further back from him. When you were far back enough, you pulled forth from your pocket the grease you had found many times in your travels. The freezing grease burnt through your gloves as you applied it to your blade, shining in contrast to the barrel of flames being thrown towards you.

You rolled but you got caught again, crying out aloud as Messmer charged towards you, hand out as if ready to grab you. With enough time, you swung your blade down, catching him by the exposed flesh of his thigh and moving out of the way before he could grab you. 

With his back towards you, you swung again, hitting him against his armour and once more to get him to move away from you. You could hear the snakes hissing in pain with him, making you wonder if they shared his pain. 

Messmer pulled back, fire against ice, leaping to the air as he in time when he landed, you landed a heavier blow. The sound that came from him was garbled, stopping to look down at his arm as he jumped backwards. It had been just a win to stagger him backwards, knocking him to his knees, his spear thudding by his side. The grease had gotten him so good that it left him bleeding, but his pride had not been broken, only strengthened.

"I will not suffer," he gasped, wisps of red hair floating through his serpentine helm. "A lord devoid of light." When he stood, it was slow, painfully slow. But something had awoken in him. He may have been part God, but he was still part man, a broken man at that, tired from the throws of his mother's war. Behind his throne, stood a statue of a woman, clutching to her chest a babe swaddled in cloth. "O mother, forgive me." There was a strain in his voice, defeat heavy that laid on his shoulders.

You didn't know what he would do next except destroy you further in body and soul, but when he paused to reach towards his face, did you realise what he was doing. His eye was not real, a seal to keep something within him away. Unleashing it would would not stop anything, and draw further misery for you to deal with.

Don't let him do this. A voice in your mind was frantic, screaming at you to do something as you watched his hand draw closer and closer to his eye. Your panic rose like a wildfire in your chest before you could even realise what the words you were saying were.

"I yield." Your adrenaline was fading fast, panic pumping swiftly in your veins. You needed to say it louder, louder for him to hear before it was too late. "I yield." This time, there was a trace of defeat laced in your screams. "I YIELD!"

It had been enough to pause the Impaler from his actions, his seeing-eye peering back at you with as much surprise as you did for him. Neither of you spoke, the sounds of your heavy breathing danced along the large room. You realised in that moment from the way he was glaring at you that it wasn't that he didn't hear you, but that he wanted you to repeat it. You crumpled, your shoulders slumped, and your voice had a soft timbre. "Messmer... I yield." To further keep to your word, you threw your katana backwards from you, holding emphasis on your words if he ever did believe them.

He didn't answer you at first, and his eerie gaze had left you feeling more ill at ease than intimidated. Hatred, fascination, intrigue? It was hard to decipher what he was thinking. 

"Thee wisheth to surrend'r when thee hath raised thy blade at me?" His words startled you out of your thoughts, his voice a hiss of venom and mocking you. Your peripheral caught his two serpents, intertwining around their master like a shield, hissing lowly into the dimly lit room in warning. 

"It was hard to explain myself when you were already lunging at me!" It was a pathetic reason, and Messmer knew it as much, still as if ready to rip his eye out if you didn't give a good enough answer. Tarnished like yourself were never given the time of day for a reason. The blade was always swung first before you could ask questions, nor for a reason to side with them. A lonely life, even surrounded by others like yourself, you knew it wouldn't matter to the kin of Gods if you sided with them. 

"Thou art not the first tarnished to enter mine own halls, nor the lasteth," Messmer uttered, the grip on his spear was daunting as you stared both down. "Wand'ring through mine own keep, wishing for mercy and boons?  Bid me, which foul being hath sent thee here?" 

This was your only chance to explain yourself, and even still, you could end just the same as his enemies, spiked up for all the world to see of his terrors. "I've come to warn you. Miquella is up to something-- his followers told me to come here, to hunt you. I know nothing of what he's doing or needs, but it involves killing you."

It was at that moment that you truly sounded foolish, not knowing what Leda had tasked you with. Why did she need Messmer dead if she could not task herself or another to do it? And why did it involve Miquella?

The air around Messmer grew in confidence, and he looked all the more like a God painted in crimson. "So he sends a decoy to distract me whilst he plots?" His lips twist into a small smirk, though he looks still bored by it all. You can hear your own breathing as Messmer moves towards you calculatingly slow, his intimidating body twisted from his curse.

His voice was a mere whisper at his next words:

"Tell mine own broth'r and his devotees I shall has't their heads or I shall has't their loyalty. "

You were too taken aback by the presence of him so close to you now, concentrating on his words that you didn't notice the presence behind you fast approaching. Something smacked you in the back of your head so hard that your world spun. Your helm nearly fell from your head, but you had no time to react to it when the ground was meeting you.

Quick to the ground, you fell to a knee, trying to pull out a dagger on the person behind you, before another pair of arms grabbed you, twisting your wrist back as a scream so vicious left your broken body. Your dagger was knocked from your hand, landing inches from the demigod's feet. Messmer simply watched as his fire knights seized you, dragging you up as you writhed and struggled.

This was it, the end of your attempts and to be an enemy not just to Messmer but to Miquella for betraying him and Leda. Death had seemed to be the only you wished to welcome in these moments rather than face their wrath.

"Add her to the gaols," he spoke, spinning on his heel as he slowly walked away from you, "perhaps our guest shall wisheth for some blessings."

And so, you screamed for him, screamed for all the anguish, the misery and pain of being tarnished, lightless. The weight of something once again smacked you against your head, this time a straight blow to the side. You groaned, darkness dotting your vision as the last thing you saw was the sight of crimson, as deadly and beautiful as his flames.

-

A/N:

I realised I can't write fight scenes to save my life.

[yuesya]

Far beneath the royal capital of Leyndell and its myriad splendors, there lies a sprawling maze of darkened waterways and shadowed tunnels; antithesis to all that is good and gold upon the surface. All creatures who are shunned dwell down here, to while away their days within the dark.

Morgott and his twin brother, Mohg, had been cast down here upon birth. Demigod children of Queen Marika the Eternal and Elden Lord Godfrey they may be, even such godly, royal blood did not prevent exile. For they both were born Omen –wretched creatures who were not blessed with the grace of the Erdtree. The blood that ran through their veins was cursed, a quality that manifested upon their physical bodies as monstrous deformities. Hulking figures, and bestial horns.

It is a mercy that they still draw breath. That they are only chained and bound beneath the cavernous depths of the royal city. Other Omen are not so lucky; their horns are forcibly excised at birth, an act that more often than not results in death.

And death is something that Morgott is familiar with, too. There are corpses floating in the sewers, those of Omen and vermin alike. Bloated, deformed, crawling with maggots. It is a common sight, this scenery that is ever-present and ever-constant in the dreary darkness of this world.

(The only world that Morgott knows.)

“Brother!”

The distinct clink of chains is preceded by his twin brother’s booming voice. Loud, and echoing. Rats are sent scattering at his approach, fleeing in a messy wave that rattles Morgott’s own chains. The shackles upon his limbs hang heavy, as does the collar affixed around his neck, but this does not stop Morgott from lifting his head to heed his brother’s call–

–what is that?

… Wading through the foul sewer waters, Mohg’s towering, horned figure does not strike an unusual sight. What is unusual, however, would be the child sitting docilely in the crook of his arm, gathered haphazardly to his chest. No visible signs of any distress, or even any alarm at all.

It is a girl. Pale white hair, standing out starkly against the gloom of her surroundings. Blue eyes, abyssal and ringed with a distinct glow. Her appearance is one that is free of any blemishes and other such deformities –she does not appear to be cursed, so it is utterly baffling that such a child is here.

What madness is this?

“You –what have you done?” Morgott demands.

Mohg smiles. “Nay, ‘tis not I who is to blame for any of this! A little stray seems to have managed to wander down here on her own.”

“‘Fell,’” the girl corrects, tugging at the hem of his brother’s tattered sleeve with no compunctions. “I didn’t wander. I fell.”

“Ah, my apologies,” Mohg promptly acquiesces, readjusting his hold on her for better balance. “She seems to have slipped and fallen through the cracks –is that right?”

The girl nods agreeably.

… Except one does not just fall down into the bowels of glorious Leyndell like that. What is this child? And, more importantly–

Morgott clicks his tongue, “How are we to return her to the surface?”

Benign visitors from above are quite vanishingly rare, and for the most part the denizens of the depths below are simply cast aside and left to their fates. Morgott does not know when, or if their Lord-Father would choose to visit them again, and should this child expire during that time–

��Why?” Mohg asks. “We should just keep her.”

Morgott scowls. “Do not say such things in jest. You cannot just keep a child –surely she has family on the surface who are searching for her!”

Mohg peers down at the girl in his arms, “Do you?”

The white-haired girl shakes her head in clear dismissal of the notion. “Queen-Mother would only search for Godwyn.”

Morgott stares at the girl. So does Mohg, for that matter.

Queen-Mother. Godwyn.

The implications of her words–!

“… Your parents,” Morgott finds himself saying slowly, “You are a daughter of Queen Marika?”

“Yes.”

This strange child –one whom Morgott cannot sense any trace of divinity or his mother’s power from– is their younger sister? Half-sister?

This is… certainly unexpected.

[empyreanwizard]

about miquella's kidnapping, you know the charm only works if miq gets really close in your face (see heart stolen + freyja's account of being healed) and it doesn't do a 180° in your personality (the npcs in the shadow realm are there to show us how it affects them and we can see it didn't change their personality) what the charm does is: make you non-violent (see heart stolen) makes you forget bad things (see leda and ansbach remembering "cascading sheets of blood" after the charm is broken)

if anything, I'd say the charm would've made him more sane, take thioller for example he's completely obsessed with trina after the charm is broken, to the point where he tries to kill you after she talks to you

compare thioller's dialogue:

"i am her chosen, not you. only I can doze off in the sea of st. trina"

and

"only i am allowed to know. of your velvety sleep. its sweetly gentle embrace. so please, smile—for me, and only me." (st. trina's smile)

to mohg's dialogue:

"miquella is mine and mine alone"

both are possessive and obsessed. miquella's charm nullified thioller's obsession, and I have no reason to believe miquella can just pick and choose the side effects his charm will have.

my points on why miquella did not want to be kidnapped

1 - he wouldn't have cocooned himself for a long ass time like he did otherwise. and you know he was there for a long time because he's all skinny and covered in cocoon liquid stuff. and mohg wouldn't need to break open his cocoon like he did, he would just take it back to his palace

2 - miquella couldn't have known mohg even existed. he lived in the sewers his whole life, and miquella never went to the sewers. also, even if he did, he couldn't have charmed him there bc otherwise ansbach would never know to differentiate a non-charmed mohg from a charmed mohg .

3 - mohg is already a established kidnapper. from the "war surgeon gown":

"Bloodstained white gown of the war surgeons who were effectively mercy killers. Of the surgeons that were abducted by the Lord of Blood, none were able to tame the accursed blood. None but Varré, that is; though he was an exception."

4 - mohg had his own reasons to kidnap miquella. he wanted to build his blood dynasty and to become a lord, as ansbach says he was seeking lordship, and the consort of an empyrean is a lord by right (see dark moon ring description). miquella is the only empyrean available, as ranni is presumed dead and malenia already has a god inside of her (and he could never kidnap her), leaving only miquella who apparently doesn't have an outer god meddling inside of him, so perfect vessel for the formless mother

now, you're probably wondering "well if the mohg thing wasn't planned, who would be used as a vessel for his consort??" to answer that, miquella probably didn't know he needed a vessel in the first place, as the ">>>secret<<< rite scroll" is only found in the shadow realm, he couldn't have known about that thing while living in the lands between.

verdict: miquella was forced to switch plans after the kidnapping (can't complete anything he starts curse yadda yadda), mohg did not beat the allegations, and miquella got his revenge for being used (mohg was living/sleeping inside his corpse how do yall forget this???) by using mohg's corpse to house his promised consort's soul somehow (which is awful too, but that goes without saying)

remember, the story in the dlc is there to parallel his ascension to marika's ascension. in this case, the hornsent killed and tortured marika's people, and she responds by genociding and terrorizing the hornsent people. mohg used and abused miquella's corpse, and he responded by using mohg's corpse.

marika = miquella

hornsent = omen

I just think it's weird that so many people are running off with the assumption that miquella, who the dlc all but confirm has the body AND mentality of a child, was charming mohg out of malicious intent rather than self-defense. remember he was probably never trained to fight nor does he have the strength to do it, the charm is basically his self-defense mechanism.

I think the main issue is that if you disagree on even the littlest thing here, the whole narrative shifts, and that's why there's so many different interpretations and confused people.

this is all subjective and there's no reason to claim my interpretation is the correct one ofc but I do think I make a good argument.

[lintujoki]

Messmer recalled his mother's words that there is nothing more terrifying than dying alone. Maybe this was how she comforted herself, so that the thought of the barbaric deaths of her loved ones in the Shaman Village would not torment her so much? Mixed, intertwined by hornsents, but not alone.

He remembered his mother saying afterwards that they were to blame for his curse. They are to blame for his suffering, and they are to blame for her suffering. Because of them, Messmer is going to be lonely. If he tries to get close to someone, then anyone next to him will become unhappy, because sooner or later they will have to share the same pain. And that pain will be his. She didn't say it with hatred, not exhausted by anger and despair. Her voice was practically lulling, and that was the most agonizing thing. After all, this meant that his mother had long predicted for him to accept death alone. He felt like a parasite thinking about it, a monster hidden under the skin behind Marika's seal. Someone who will not make anyone happy. Someone who must die alone. Maybe that's why Marika hasn't returned to him yet? So that his torments would not make her unhappy.

"It will be our mercy to let them burn together" - he was speaking when mother's words echoed in the mind again, drowning out even the screams and pleas of those who were waiting for death in the embrace of his flame.

He did not soften under the gaze of frightened faces, and did not feel a drop of compassion. Only an iron-bound cold, so dark and devoid of emotion that he wanted to howl. To match the monster, isn't it?

But long after, he let someone... because she is too. She is too. Her suffering is something that will allow them to share the pain mutually, something that will make them look alike. She won't try to seep into the soul, and she won't try to help. He is immensely grateful, but. All this just reminds him how desecrated he is against the background of those who want to fix him. How lonely he is. Not a hint of purity, just a cursed one, in which they found something good. And isn't that insulting? Oh, let this be a thing of the past. All Messmer wanted now was for her answer to be true. So that she really knows. So that he wasn't destined to make her unhappy.

[mac-tirs]

Marika, Morgott, Mohg, and the Cycle of Trauma

Marika's hatred of Omens and rejection of Morgott and Mohg makes so much more sense in the context of Shadows of the Erdtree. It completely tracks that she would hate them; she spent her entire life before the Order persecuted and having her people killed and mutilated at the whims of the Hornsent, brutalised into jars for some unknown purpose. The many flesh-jar people that you fight in the dlc are probably all that's left of Marika's people, since it's said that the shamans were completely wiped out around the time Marika ascended to godhood and planted the minor erdtree near her old village. With this in mind, it makes sense that she hates the Hornsent in the Shadow Lands and the Omens in the Lands Between, even though it doesn't justify her scorn towards Morgott and Mohg, and likely why the death of Godwyn led her to finally abandoning her Order.

I feel like Godwyn's assassination was the catalyst for Marika finally acting on her doubts of her Order; Godwyn, her perfect son that was completely curseless (unlike Morgott, Mohg, Miquella, Malenia, Messmer, and possibly Melina) and of her own flesh rather than technically Radagon's (unlike Radahn, Ranni, and Rykard), being murdered probably caused her to finally see how her Golden Order failed– that her Order had become as despotic and cruel and ruthless as the Hornsent's regime in the Shadow Lands, and how rife with corruption her kingdom had become due to the divide between those with grace and the graceless. She likely shattered the Elden Ring because she knew the only way to rebuild the world her Order ruined was through destroying it first to build it better again, and she knew that the best people to accomplish this would be the ones whom her grace had spurned so long ago: the Tarnished.

I also think that she was leading the Tarnished to the Erdtree not for the Age of Fracture, the ending you get if you just reattach Marika's head to her body and become Elden Lord. I think she was gambling on the possibility of a Tarnished meeting others outside of the Order that could lead the world on a better path; I don't think she anticipated that it'd be the path of the Seedbed Curse or the Duskborn or the Frenzied Flame, but I think she was desperate enough for radical change that she was prepared to pay any cost.

Going back to her treatment of Morgott and Mohg, this realisation that her Order failed is probably why they both received their Great Runes. I don't actually think the demigods cannibalised the Elden Ring, like how the game makes you think. Like, I don't think that Radahn strolled in there and took a piece of the Elden Ring, or anyone else like Rykard and Godrick for that matter, but I do think that Marika bestowed it upon them knowing that she set in motion a plan to have all of her demigod children slain, as they're the only people that can truly stand as the final defence against her Tarnished champions. It would make sense that this was her intention, because it would also explain a bit why Ranni and Miquella eventually got rid of their own great runes: Ranni because she wanted nothing to do with the Order, and Miquella because he needed to cleanse himself of all of the previous Order to welcome his new Age of Compassion.

With this in mind, I think that her giving Morgott and Mohg their own Great Runes was both an admission and an execution. It's an admission that she was wrong and that she shouldn't have shunned them, in the form of her finally acknowledging them as her trueborn children (as well as the Erdtree's favour for Morgott as a final mercy at the end of his life, as the one who wanted it the most out of all of them). But it's also an execution in the sense that she is putting them in the line of fire to die at the hands of the Tarnished to be sure that the Tarnished will remain unchallenged as they introduce this new order and this new age as Elden Lord.

It's simultaneously gracious and ruthless, which I think is the perfect depiction of Marika's dual nature. Not even as Marika-Radagon, but as Marika herself: she can be as gracious as she is ruthless and vice versa, which is one of the most compelling aspects of Marika to me. Her grace and favour comes at a steep cost, and out of all of the demigod children, Morgott and Mohg probably paid it the most.

[eruhamster]

Honestly for all the memes about Miquella being evil and Mohg being vindicated, considering the way only one of Miquella's followers truly aligns himself against Miquella with the idea that he's just manipulative(against the evil blood lord???), and how the Hornsent all seem to truly believe in him, and the actual good he's done throughout the Lands Between... I do think Leda has a point when she claims that you were only sent by the Erdtree. The grace very specifically leads you to Miquella in a way it does not lead you to kill the other demigods like Malenia.

Miquella, in other words, seems to be an actual threat to the Erdtree and the Greater Will. It wants you to kill him. Specifically him. I think Miquella legitimately was going to become a god, was going to follow through with his promises. He could force people to love him, but he had the true intention to become not Elden Lord, but a real god, so he can do the things he couldn't as a Demigod- bring his brother back, cure his sister, give those that Marika wronged justice - Bury the original sin, and embrace the whole of it.

He strikes me as a great unifier. He wasn't acting selfishly, and in fact was acting so selflessly that St Trina begs you to kill him rather than let him suffer as a god; she wants you to grant him mercy in death.

It gives me a bad taste that he had to die. He may end up failing, he might go nuts(given how Fromsoft usually goes) but he clearly wasn't evil, and his plan probably would have been far better than even the best Elden Ring ending where a Tarnished simply lets the status quo continue. And I think the fact that the grace leads you to him to get you to kill him REALLY suggests that he was a true threat, in a way that even Ranni was not, to the Greater Will.

I mean. Look who he picked as consort. The kindest man he knew. The man who was able to keep the stars out even when he'd completely lost his mind. There is not a single suggestion that he was only faking all that kindness he provided to every person Marika had wronged or that fought valiantly and justicely. Not a hint of malice in any quote from him. The only people who dislike him are themselves evil. I really do not think he is the villain. It's the opposite. You are. You doomed everyone he promised peace.

[aliesther-eistein]

Oh bloody hell! Here, in Elden Ring fandom, I feel completely lost and furious.

I am not new to FromSoftware games. I enjoy death. I enjoy defeat. I am getting fucking excited when characters I love suffer, when I have no choice but to give them death. Damn, those games are full of despair, loss, guilt, they’re build on situations when you (or someone else) have no other choice but to become a murderer, and sometimes murder is a mercy. Well, mostly it is.

So, you see, those games are dark, and most of characters we love are involved into terrible things. Still, we love them. And you know why? Because they have their reasons to do so.

And I just can’t understand, what one certain kind of people are doing here and when did this shit start?

“I know he’s a war criminal, I know that his past is not an excuse for him, but I still love him…”

Why the fuck are you writing this?

Firstly, why the fuck you are searching for damn excuses for you being a fan of some characters?

Secondly, why the fuck you are telling me that “his past is not an excuse”?

Sometimes yes, it’s not. But sometimes it certainly is. Yes, I am talking about Messmer.

Marika being a horrible mother, betraying, abandoning him, is not an excuse for him to commit genocide, BUT the things Hornesent did and kept on doing to her people is a fucking excuse for him to burn all of them into the ashes, and I will never understand those of you, who tell me otherwise.

Like, guys, just how you imagine it?

Your people, your kind, damn, your very home, everyone who was around your mother, around you for the whole of your youth are getting fucking slaughtered just for being them. They die a horrible death in front of your eyes, and your mother could be just next. Do you know how it feels when you understand that every day could be last day for your family, your beloved ones, your village? Do you know how it fucking feels when all around you die?

I tell you: you will never forgive this. When you see this massacre with your own eyes, when you know you or your mother are the ones to die next, you will do everything you can for it to happen NEVER FUCKING AGAIN.

When you see your people mutilated just for who they are, all you can think about is revenge and the most horrible death for ones who done this to you and your kind. In this situation you don’t need excuses to take the spear, impale and burn them all, enjoying their screams, cuz they simply deserve this.

It’s kinda popular nowadays to believe that every conflict or war have both sides being wrong, but you know, in real wars there is always one side who starts that goddamn war. And mostly this side is, you know, wrong. In case of Messmer this side is Hornesents. Marika and Messmer are ones being attacked in the first place, and they have their right to answer this aggression and stop this damn genocide of their people ones and forever. Isn’t it just… obvious, no?

I don’t get it. Why are you trying to be so… kind and allforgiving? Why are you trying to understand both sides when there’s simply nothing to understand? Finally, why the fuck are you trying to judge characters of those games from the position of modern western society and so? Even nowadays, right fucking now, there are people fighting for their home, encircled by enemies, with their families lost for months in the depth of nowhere. They have been fighting for their very existence for centuries. We have been. Will you tell those people to forgive, forget and “both sides are always wrong in every war”?

Oh, I forgot, it’s Tumblr, so you will. Of course you will. Ban me right now. I am full of grief and desire your hatred.

This post wasn’t only about Elden Ring.

[wraith-caller]

Today's prompt: "Write/Draw an ideal happy ending."

He had a home. In a town full of people, in a place teeming with a storied and complicated history, in lands far from those he was born and once died in, he had a place and a purpose.

He was not alone in his new home. For the first time in decades, he and Devin were together again. There was no cure for what they were, but the Order had never believed they were in need of one to begin with. That in itself was a miraculous thing for both of them. No one in their past life believed in salvation for them that did not come at the end of a blade, that was not wrapped in venom or delivered with balled fists. In their new lord's Order, they meant nothing more or less than anyone else, and this was never contested by others.

So Devin continued his rigorous study of the fundamental tenets of the Order, even as their lord rewrote them to better suit this new era of tentative peace. Darian served that lord because she was Marika's chosen consort, the champion of his goddess, and so that lord's will was also Hers. The laws of the past were examined, analyzed, preserved or discarded as needed, and it was not his place to fight that. It was easy to plead fealty to this lord who had studied beneath the most brilliant of Fundamentalist scholars and now held Marika's favor.

Darian had never been a scholar himself. It had ever been his duty to navigate the hostile daylight hours, procuring the necessities which would permit him and his twin to last another day in a world that despised them. Food, clean water, clothes that kept them warm, and shelter that did not already belong to something else, be it wild beast or furious man. An encounter with either could have spelled death for them both, the only difference being that the beast may eventually dismiss the ire the sight of the twins roused in it.

It was Devin who spent his nights learning his letters, because there was little else for him to do otherwise. Books had ever been his friend, and it was there either of them had first heard of Marika. A mother of enduring love, a warm and stalwart protector, a unifying force in a war-torn world. They'd both thought her a fairy tale. Who could envision a mother who loved even her most cursed offspring?

Darian wondered sometimes if that was why she'd given them their grace back. If maybe she had somehow seen them and thought of her own twin children beset with inborn afflictions. Whatever the reasons, neither of them had ever felt deserving of these mercies, raised instead on a sour, bilious diet of rejection and disdain.

It'd always been difficult to accept their own acceptance among the ranks of the Order. Perhaps it was why he had thrown himself so fervently and readily into the Hunt. He could make himself worthy of Marika's kindness this way, could repay her for it by destroying that which would dare blight the world she had tried so hard to build into something beautiful and resplendent.

Devin had such thoughts, before. But one day, they had all disappeared, and Darian had never known why. There was little they kept just to themselves, so Darian couldn't bring himself to press, even if it ate at him. Even if it left him with the uneasy sense that there'd been something he'd missed.

But perhaps they were simply the normal pains bound to come with any change. The two had never known a life of idle peace, after all. Much less one of warmth and welcome in a society that was not hardened by aeons of war. Darian was sure Devin would settle into this new age soon enough. He was sure the nightmares would cease. He was sure there was nothing he'd forgotten or ignored.

He wondered, sometimes, if it had anything to do with Devin's fervent, almost rabid obsession with the archives of Leyndell since they'd settled in the city. Wondered if it had anything to do with his repeated petitions for entry to the roots of the Erdtree, petitions which were denied time and time again now that the plague of deathroot and the Dead had been eradicated. Wondered if it had anything to do with that nauseating, frenetic panic that sometimes pervaded Darian's dreams, residual stains of the pressures and frustrations of Devin's waking life.

[malkavi-ann]

When the Truth Hurts. Chapter 1

Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree fanfiction

Rating: Mature (May change in the future)

Relationship: F/M

Pairing: Messmer the Impaler/Original Female Character

Tags: Self-Loathing, Reference to Depression, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Messmer is bad at feelings, Mommy Issues, Abandonment Issues.

Link to Ao3

Chapter 1: Marika’s Imposter

The next day came and went by just as any other one. It would have been another dull day except for one peculiar event that might have changed everything.

It was time to hear the reports from the patrolling troops. Usually, the foot soldiers and scouts would report their observations to the Red Knights, and then the latter would deliver the reports to Messmer, Commander Gaius, and Lady Rellana. Today was no exception: his knights arrived on time to the Dark Chamber but something was strange about them. Somehow, they seemed nervous, yet excited at the same time. Clearly, something out of the ordinary had happened to stir their usually collected and calm composure.

“My Lord, our scouts have noticed some unusual presence of the blood fiends to the south of the Gravesite Plain.”, one of them spoke nervously. Such news was certainly unexpected, although bloodfiends were never a concern for Messmer. Most of the time, these monsters were a nuisance causing minor clashes with his soldiers.

“Bloodfiends, you say? What of them? Bloody monsters are none of our concern”, exclaimed Commander Gaius, his voice booming like thunder across the chamber. Gaius was Messmer’s most loyal general and close friend, so his opinions always mattered. “This is true, but there’s more to it.”, replied the knight. Well, now Messmer himself was intrigued. “Our scouts went to investigate the activity…err… just to make sure there was no foul business”. “Anyway, they found this hut that the fiends were gathering around. It looked like they were worshipping something or maybe someone there. So, they waited until the night, and then they saw…umm… a woman coming out of the hut.”, the hesitation in his voice became almost palpable.

“So, the blood fiends are worshipping a woman? That is rather unusual but once again, it is nothing of interest to us”, Messmer finally said. This whole conversation started to annoy him. “Our enemy is the Hornsent, and we must focus on fighting them”.

“My Lord, the scouts had a look at that woman. And they swear…”, the knight paused, mulling his words. “…They swear she looked like Queen Marika.”

The chamber all of a sudden fell silent. The fact that they have not heard anything from Queen Marika after so many years of the crusade – HER crusade – made it extremely difficult to talk about her persona so openly. These days discussing Marika’s plans or intentions regarding Messmer and his army has become taboo. She was a god and it was her will to wage this holy war. No one was allowed to doubt her, even if her crusade no longer had a purpose. But to think that she might be back to the Land of Shadow, was absolute madness. Or was it?

As soon as his mother’s name was mentioned, Messmer froze in his seat. “That cannot be…”, his mind was racing. His common sense was telling him that the scouts got it all wrong, but his heart still had a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, his mother had actually returned. “It still doesn’t make sense. Why would she stay at some god-forsaken hut? And why would bloodfiends worship her?”, Messmer thought to himself.

When he finally snapped out of his stupor, Messmer could only ask one thing: “Are they quite certain of what they saw? Because if I find out that this was a mistake or someone is trying to fool me, I will NOT be merciful.” The knight took a deep breath, “Yes, my Lord, they swore that it was Queen Marika that they’d seen. They said it was a tall woman with golden braided hair wearing a black dress”.

“Hmm, that does sound like her but why would she choose to stay so far from the Keep, where her troops would celebrate her arrival?” this time it was Commander Gaius who voiced Messmer’s doubts.

“What if someone is pretending to be her?”, interjected Rellana, who had been listening quietly to the conversation. “Why would anyone do that?”, said Messmer. The knights exchanged glances but said nothing. The thought of someone trying to be Marika’s imposter was, to put it mildly, ludicrous. Despite her status as a goddess, she was not revered in the Land of Shadows, not after what her son and his army had done to the Hornsent. So, impersonating Marika wouldn’t end well for anyone. Unless there was some foul play at hand to further disgrace the Queen. And if that was the case, Messmer could not allow that to happen.

“Whoever this person is, if they are trying to fool us, I will end their life without hesitation.”, he proclaimed. “I shall embark on a journey to that place tomorrow morning”. Now it was Gauis’ and Rellana’s turns to exchange looks: Messmer rarely left his chamber, let alone the Keep. “My Lord, may I suggest sending a bigger group of scouts to investigate this matter further?”, said Rellana tactfully. “If this is indeed some imposter, then it might not even be worth spending your precious time on traveling to the Gravesite Plain.”

“When it comes to my mother’s reputation, I will not stand by idly.”, replied Messmer sharply, his words cutting through the air like a hot knife. “Nevertheless, your suggestion sounds sensible. Commander, I trust you can arrange an expedition by the morrow.” “Aye, my Lord.” Gaius nodded.

“Very well. The rest of you, you may return to your duties.” And with that, everyone headed back to their quarters. The dark chamber was empty again, leaving Messmer alone with his serpents and thoughts to keep him company.

The next morning Commander Gaius ordered a group of soldiers who were led by one of the Black Knights to locate the hut and investigate the possible imposter. The journey would take a day at most, so everyone expected the expedition to return after a day or two. However, several days had gone by, and neither the scouts nor their leader returned. Despite the relatively small size of the expedition, the soldiers were well-equipped for a battle if they had to engage in one. Therefore, their absence was unexpected and slightly concerning.

The days turned into a week, yet no one from the expedition made it back. Messmer started to get anxious. He craved for answers while secretly dreaming of meeting his mother once again. Finally, he could wait no longer. On the tenth day, Messmer summoned Gaius and Rellana to his chamber. Commander was the first one to arrive while Rellana joined them slightly later since she had to travel from Castle Ensis.

“Commander Gaius, Lade Rellana, I have summoned you today to discuss the missing expedition.”, Messmer started calmly. “I have made the decision to set off on the journey myself, and I will need your assistance in this matter”. Both Gaius and Rellana silently nodded in response.

“I will need Commander to accompany me on this journey. We shall also bring some troops with us in case we face any resistance.” It was clear from Messmer’s cut-and-dry tone that he was not going to change his mind about this endeavor. “As you wish, my lord.”, said Gaius with a slight bow.

“And you, lady Rellana,”, Messmer turned to her, “I would like you to stay in charge of the Keep while I’m away”.

“I would be honored to fulfill your order, my lord”, said Rellana, albeit with a slight disappointment.

“We shall set off tomorrow morning. If everything goes well, we will return the next day.”

[drenched-in-sunlight]

Hey, so I remembered in one of your earlier post you said something along the lines of souls women only really falling into the helpless victim or serious sword lady trop. And how Ema was a great subversion of it, I was wondering if you had any thoughts on

I’m making a souls-like and trying to avoid the pitfalls where I can

Btw, I love your art so much I would love to support you but I am broke

sorry i let this reply marinate in the docs for months (along with a lot of other replies like im having a catalogue of Fromsoft replies that read like thesis at this point *crying* my job is not letting me sit down and edit them) but here it is.

firstly, thank you for your message, kind encouragement already means a lot to me, so don’t worry about not being able to support me or anything ! After all I’m not putting out any new books or fan merch haha.

Here is a whole rant about Ema but somehow my grievances with how they handle Malenia's story in comparison to Messmer also pops up.

Regarding your question about Ema, I love her because of how complete her story feels and how her personal motivation and personality are written as coherently as the male characters.

She’s a war orphan who did her best to survive, learned the sword from the best swordman but with the only purpose is to kill demons. Ema saw firsthand how violence and meaningless killing did to people, so her aim can be seen as trying to offer those lost souls a mercy death, so they don’t have to suffer as a mindless demon for eternity (as in shura ending).

Yet, she's actually more interested in being a doctor & saving life and it’s not something expected of her because she’s a woman or whatnot, she chose that.

(+ she's skilled enough with the blade that it shows in her mannerism to the point Wolf, who had never seen her hold a sword, knows that she's good with one).

she was ready to kill Scuptor - someone akin to a parental figure to her, should he succumb to grief and hatred. because she loved him. not to mention she saw Tomoe - someone in a way is also her mentor, tried to take her own life, while her childhood friend Gennichiro slowly went apeshit. like that girl witnessed so many insane stuffs & they spur her to be strong & steadfast in her ideal to protect her loved ones, even when it means to lay them to rest by her own hands.

her dialogue in Shura ending "maybe i should have killed you long ago" feels like being punched in the guts to me, because she knew Wolf turning out that way meant that somewhere along the way, all of them had failed him, had ignored the signs that all the killings he was tasked to carry out was taking a toll on him. And so she took upon herself the responsibility to offer him a mercy death, even as it broke her heart.

It’s the passionate drive and decisions made as her own person, not out of blind devotion to another character, and how much we know of that because the game let us find more about her, that makes her stands out from the epic sword lady category, while the violence and steely resolve she was capable of makes her stands out from the helpless maiden one.

-kinda lose the plot here with Elden Ring rant jumping out-

This is one of the main points I have about the difference between Messmer and Malenia, how even though their stories parallel each other, I think Messmer has the better writing and gets a more complete story. He’s super devote to Marika, but in his own way, not what Marika wants of him. Evidently with how he still fights the Tarnished because he deems us unworthy, despite knowing Marika sanctioned us for Lordship.

We see a lot of sides to him outside of just a filial son, his rage and sorrow and love and a moment of stubborn selfishness that results in him willingly become a curse that clings to Marika than to let go. We see his relationship with other characters and even though his love for Marika outweighs all else, it doesn’t negate completely others that exist outside of it.

And precisely because of that, it’s more heartbreaking to see despite all these connections he has with other people, he yearns to be reunited with his Mother above all else. That kind of devotion is more hard hitting to me than the writing for the Empyrean twins.

Like, Malenia…. outside of Finnlay (whose description says more about herself than shedding any new light on Malenia) and the mentor that we actually don’t even know much about yet, what are other personal connection she has outside of Miq? I could argue the Marika’s Soreseal in the Haligtree was meant for her and that she still loved her Mother in some kind of way all I want, but at the end of the day that’s a headcahon I have to theorize from item placement, and not many ppl will notice that. We don’t know for sure what Malenia thinks of anyone else but her twin and it drives me up the wall.

Another comparison I want to bring up is DS2 Lucatiel.

I fr think even Lucatiel gets a better story arc than Malenia, despite also largely being shaped by her relationship with her brother.

Loss frightens me no end. Loss of memory, loss of self. If I were told that by killing you, I would be freed of this curse… Then I would draw my sword without hesitation. I don't want to die, I want to exist. I would sacrifice anything, anything at all for this. It shames me, but it is the truth. Sometimes, I feel obsessed… with this insignificant thing called "self". But even so, I am compelled to preserve it. Am I wrong to feel so? Surely you'd do the same, in my shoes?

She is trying to find her brother, but at the same time wrestling with her own troubles and limitations. We get to know a lot of her own motivation and her fear. I mean one could argue that it's because she's an NPC while Malenia is a boss, but the same thing could also be said for Messmer like I explained above.

-back to Ema-

As the extra sauce, I love that Ema boss music has such layers to it. the theme of her - someone clinging to her humanity to the very end because she has ppl love & support her, also acts as an elegy for Wolf's lost of humanity, of him not being able to escape the abuse trauma he grew up in. its opening instrument also appears in Demon of Hatred's OST. Her presence and theme affects other characters’ life, and we get to see her marks on a personal level in the story’s overarching narrative.

Which is the same as how Marika’s presence is everywhere in the Elden Ring OST, that little soft piano. A little in Radagon’s theme, in Shaman’s Village, in the final DLC boss ost where the female vocals starts belting out “Hail, Marika the Eternal”, in a boss arena where she had walked through to scavenge the remains of her fallen family and ascended to an existence she knew would kill her all the same, but she would do it again every single time. Walking down that hell with her eyes wide open.

When a character that could get me to write paragraphs about like that… man you know how much the writing cooks.

[tarnishedinquirer]

Roderika and Hewg

I'd seen the larder from the walkway above, but it didn't prepare me for the experience of climbing over these bodies while the troll above dropped fluids on my head. It's good to know I can still be shocked and disgusted, even after all I've seen.

On top of the pile, I found a brooch wrapped in a red handkerchief. It somewhat resembled Roderika's hood, and when I picked it up, I could sense spirits lingering around it. I'm no medium, but my third eye isn't entirely closed. I couldn't make sense of anything they were trying to say, if there was even any sense to make at all. The voice referenced Roderika's line about "Chrysalids," so I think even someone without my skills would see the connection.

I found Roderika where I left he, still lost in her despair. She immediately perked up when I showed it to her though. She stared at it like she was listening, and then she started to cry. That's a good sign. I've been in that pit of despair before, and you don't even feel enough to cry. Still, it's dangerous. Once you start feeling again, you start hurting too. She needed to be around people, so I suggested the Roundtable Hold. They might be weirdos and hazbins, but better than here.

I found her by the fire in Roundtable hold. Glad she took me up on my offer. She still seemed pretty steeped in self-pity, but at least she was looking forward now and trying to figure out what to do next.

Walked in on Master Hewg praying. Someone with more tact would just leave him to it, but inquirers with tact don't get very far.

Your divinity, have mercy, and grant me forgiveness. The road is yet long. A God is not easily felled. But one day, without fail, you will have your wish. So please, grant me forgiveness, Queen Marika..."

So... was the "sheer terror of her" referring to Marika? Could be. It was an easy conclusion to jump to. Maybe too easy. Some gods are feared, some are loved. No reason it can't be both, but his prayer sounded more in the latter camp than the former. Regardless, Marika wanted him to forge a god-slaying weapon? Some sort of divine suicide pact, or is there another God that needs slaying?

It was about then he noticed me. He seemed upset about being caught praying and said he'd be more careful in the future. I didn't press the issue, but while forging my staff, he asked me about Roderika. Said she's a spirit tuner and she reminded him of someone he knew long ago with eyes the same hue.

Cryptic. So now there's up to three women in Hewg's life. Let's make it four.

I went back and forth between the two of them for a while. Neither one seemed to believe that the other one could possibly want anything to do with them, but eventually I got them to talk to each other.

Roderika set up shop across from Hewg and offered to upgrade my spirit summons using the Gloveworts I've been finding in catacombs. They're strange bell-shaped plants, continuing the motif of sound (especially bells) being related to spirits.

It hadn't passed my notice that Roderika abandoned her hood once she set up shop. There's only two places she could have left it.

Tried the shack first, but all she left there was a bouquet of red flowers and a candle. That meant there was only one other option.

I returned to the larder with the "Chrysalids" and sure enough, there was the hood. I was impressed. It wasn't easy to get this deep into the castle, and Roderika did it just to pay tribute to her fellows. She'll be alright, I think.

Sure enough ,the voice had things to say about the hood.

A hooded cloak of vivid crimson. Worn by expatriated royalty. Such cloaks were gifted to those who departed on journeys without specific orders, to faraway lands from which they would never return. In other words, the gift of a cloak made it easier for undesirables to be on their way. Roderika never once saw the guidance of grace.

So she was sent to her death here anyway. Was there some political upheaval? Did she somehow disgrace her family? Or was there just not enough inheritance to go around? That seems the most likely. Make it look like an honor.

Why was Roderika exiled?

What is special about Roderika's eyes? Why can I see spirits too?

Why was Hewg tasked with forging a god-slayer?

Is Marika the one he's afraid of? If not, who?

For that matter, who did he know that was a spirit tuner?

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 4

MASTERLIST

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Summary: You and Messmer come to some sort of agreement.

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, but I promise to provide something juicy for the next one!

A03 link

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Chapter 4: An Accord

When you're dressed in a cleaner pair of knight's trousers, boots and shirt, you are directed back to the room you dreaded returning to. Messmer's throne room was just as dimly lit as when you first entered, with the Lord awaiting you like an emperor on his throne. 

He was regal and poised, wracking his sharp nails against the armrest as if awaiting your arrival. The other was curled around his spear, an intimidating sight to behold. Once you had been deposited in front of him, his fire knights bowed in respect, taking their spots positioned in areas around the room, eyes directed only on you.

"Tarnished," he announced, his voice booming through the empty hall with the exceptionalism of someone like him, "thou art not much of a beast after all."

He was discussing the matters of being cleaned up, both through your wounds and through being cleaned. Though, if being kept alive was not seen as a sign of mercy from him, there had to be some ulterior motives. 

"Yes, nothing screams relaxation than being drowned in a bath with nowhere to hide." You spoke comically, but Messmer found no amusement in your words. He hadn't since you arrived. You did wonder if he had made friendships in his years, through his soldiers, or did they find him to be some enigma.

You filled the silence with a question. "Now that you so kindly mended me and had me bathed, am I to be on my way?"

Messmer's eye squinted subtly, tapping his fingers impatiently like a cat would swish its tail. You were slowly ebbing your way through to irritating him more and more. "And wherefore doth thee think I wouldst?"

Nerves bubble to your throat, as you're ready to throw up or wish upon his flames to take you out now. "I told you of Miquella's plans. That would make me not your enemy nor your ally." You spoke incredulously. "I am not wanting any part of this, on either side. I am simply telling you the truth so I may leave."

"So thee may betray another?"

"So I may survive." You corrected. Messmer didn't seem convinced. "Do you know how exhausting it is to fight against your family? Your siblings betray and scheme, your mother is imprisoned by some greater will none could even open, and yet, I am in the midst of it all."

He doesn't speak, simply surveying you as do his serpents, all eyes that seem to read right through you, reading whether you speak the truth or not. Truth be told, you do not know if you know what of Marika's whereabouts, only that war after war has been fought, with no sight of a true victor. A Tarnished like yourself could never be loved, nor accepted, it was known. How they mocked you, but still, you endured.

"T'is a shame," Messmer spoke. "It seemeth one of thy friends already knoweth of thy whereabouts."

You held no allies that you knew of who held your trust, alive or dead. None came to your head. "Who?"

"There has't been sightings of one of Miquella's followers, the former follower of Radahn, Freyja." His fingers scratched lightly against the wood of the throne, irking you greatly. "I want thee to deal with her."

You scoff, crossing your arms, glowering back at him with as much fire as he does. So all those things he did rather than kill you were for something. "What would you have me do?"

"Simple," Messmer leans back on his throne, a small smirk on his face. "Kill her and bringeth the proof."

You could only wish he had been joking at this moment, for the urge to laugh washed over you. Indeed it would've been an awkward time to do so. "You wish for me to kill her? Shall I make it clear that she is not the only one? If they hear one of theirs are killed by my own hands, they will not stop until they have me dead. And they will hear of it, one way or another."

"It should not be an issue for you, Tarnished." Messmer holds no sympathy for you, rather he looks even more bored by you. You think if you don't answer him a simple yes or no, he will just catch you alight on the very spot you stand in, imprisoning you again and again.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "Where was she spotted?"

"Mine own soldiers sayeth the Moorth Ruins. It is a two-day ride."

Great. You could only wish you could fly out the highest window and end in a place far from the Keep, riding on Torrent out of here, away from strange cult-like followers and tyrants. "And if I don't do this?"

"Oh, I'm sure thee shall," Messmer rises, his chainmail rattling with each methodical step he takes towards you. "Not only wouldst thee be wanted by me and mine own men, but by them as well.  Wouldst thee rather has't the safety of these walls or the bitter cold world to swallow thee whole?"

Neither were good options, but despite your odds, you'd rather go against each of them individually than face Messmer alone as the full force.

A hundred cuts then to be burnt over and over again.

He has made his way down towards you now, standing in front of you in all his glory. Now that you're not fighting him, you realise up close that behind the scowl, there is a handsomeness to him. You have to admit that the kin of Marika were very comely.

"What doth thee sayeth?" Messmer's voice is a mere whisper, his voice reverberates out and through your chest, and you can't help but shudder at how he enunciates each word thoughtfully. 

Sorry Miquella. You think, signing away your life once again. "I accept."

For the first time, Messmer seems... relieved by your choice. You visibly see the way the lines in his forehead relax slightly, his golden snake-like eye lessens its intensity as if even he is surprised you would say yes.

Messmer gestures for you to follow him. "Cometh, mine own men shalt handeth thee thy weapons and armour."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your amour feels heavy from how long you have not worn it. In those three days imprisoned, you feel the relief of the 'fresh' air hitting your skin, sighing deeply as you take it all in. Messmer stands slightly off to the side behind you, arms folded behind his back, but you're certain you can feel either his gaze or one of his snakes on you.

His soldiers hand you the necessary things, your bag full of your flasks and the map in case you need it to find the ruins, but you're sure you know where they are. 

There is a tense build-up in the air as you stand before Messmer, dressed and armed with his knights ready to wave you off. How you thought Messmer could trust you to do this, you weren't sure. You still thought this was all some trap, bringing the other into a false sense of security before the other could stab them in the back.

Messmer walked over to you, his red hair was even brighter in the cold outside world. "Shalt thee needeth a horse?"

"No need." You responded, pulling forth your whistle and blowing into it, the high-pitched screech bringing forth the long-awaited Torrent at last. Torrent materialises out of nowhere, startling Messmer's knights as if unsure what it was you had conjured. You greet him as he strides towards you, bonking his snout to you as you chuckle, bringing forth a sweet for him to savour. Messmer watched silently until you spoke to him. "This is Torrent. He has been by my side ever since."

Messmer seemed awkward with the small talk, simply nodding but as if he wished to say more. "Very well." He gave a nod, to which gave the thumbs up for the drawbridge to be lowered. The heavy gate groaned with life as it slowly fell, giving you time to hop onto Torrent, finalising everything you had.

When the bridge was finally opened, you gave a final look to Messmer, and his knights, as if you were waving off a dear friend, not the one who had you imprisoned for so long. It felt odd, to say the least, rather than relief to be going, it felt strange to be sent off only to come back to him when all was done.

Messmer was still towering over you when he tugged on your arm, startling you with how warm he felt even through the leather of your gloves. It could almost be unbearable if he held on much longer.

Now almost at eye level with him, you stared back at him, realising just how close he was to your face and-- since when did he have freckles? And when had he ever looked so calm when looking at you? It brought this unknown heat to rise to your face, thankful that your face was covered. 

It was only when the tension was eased that Messmer leant further, whispering something close to your ears that brought the ripples of a shudder to pass through you. In that very moment, you had wished you hadn't touched the withered arm and stepped forth to get to these lands:

"If thee dare betray me, I shall maketh sure thou art never blessed by mine own mother's grace again."

[linda-ravstar]

Torn apart, made anew (ELDEN RING DLC SPOILERS, a new conversation between Trina and Miquella on the Lands of Shadow)

“What are you going to abandon here now, Miquella? What do you have left?”

Trina's voice was getting fainter, but urgency and fear were evident in the sweet tones of her words. Miquella gasped as he reached the edge of the cliff. The cave was hidden, distant enough that no one would dare to search inside. Enchanting the creatures that inhabited the place was no problem for him, but for anyone else, it would be a significant risk. This had to be the place. Besides, it was a cozy place, dark as she liked it. Secret.

He had lost a lot of blood. He knew it wasn't really blood from his body because his body remained tainted, broken, and desecrated in Mohg's Palace. Remembering the Red Knights' blades made him shudder for a second, but he dismissed those thoughts. There were no more doubts in his mind. There were no more hesitations. He had torn them from himself. It had been so painful… and so liberating to tear apart those thoughts from his mind. Filled only with conviction and hope. Now he only moved forward. Moved forward without looking back because only the certainty that he must continue remained.

The lost blood still hurt. Every piece of flesh torn away, even if it wasn't entirely his flesh, was torture. He had only one of his eyes left, which had wept tears of blood for his torn brother. The energy was slowly leaving him, but that was good. It meant he was close.

“There's still much to lose”, said the boy, kneeling on the stone. “There's much of me that remains. That must disappear”.

“Your agony will corrode this land, Miquella… There's still time to turn back. What you've lost can be recovered. There's still time to obtain forgiveness”.

“Here… you will remain”.

Trina fell silent and for a second seemed uneasy. She looked around at the silent cave, surrounded by water and small flowers. Then she looked at her other half. Miquella had chosen a fine place to tear her from his soul. A place where she could dwell, mutilated… but safe. A final mercy from the gentle boy.

“Will you leave me here?”, she repeated, without a hint of reproach in her voice. “Will you continue alone?”

“Yes… There's no point in delaying it any longer”. Miquella couldn't look her in the face. His eyes remained on his lap, still kneeling as the light of his power began to manifest a new cross, a new sacrifice, a new death. “There can't be anything left of me when I reach the Gates. And if I arrive with you there, I know you'll try to stop me. I can't allow it”.

“Are you afraid I would succeed in convincing you? That just before falling to your knees at the gates of heaven, you would turn back and come back with me… to our home?”

“No”, said the boy, but his lie was clear as the water surrounding them. “I just don't want… to take you with me anymore”.

Trina smiled. How easy it was to read Miquella. How easy it was for her to guess the paths to his heart. Maybe it was because it was also hers. Because his soul was also hers, even though they were distinct beings. Many times Miquella had called his twin sister his other half, the half of his soul, but Trina knew that place belonged to her. And Miquella, as always, looked and felt just as he always had: a scared boy, a trembling creature that could never rise as a god. It was terribly cruel for him even to try.

“You will walk to the gates that received Marika and surrender yourself, wounded and mutilated, to its embrace. It is not Miquella who will reach the Gates; he will have disappeared before. Only a shadow that longs to be a god will arrive, without remembering why. And that shadow, just a spirit with power, will wait, caged, until our brother returns. Who may never return”.

“You know my plan”, said the young man, warily. “This is the path I have chosen. Radahn will return, as he promised. As he promised me. There will be others who will help… others who will follow the path. They won't be able to resist. They will pave the way and carry out the final orders. When the time comes, my Great Rune will also disappear, and with it all my power. And then… I will await my return. As a god. And that will be all”.

“What if you never return?”, Miquella looked up but immediately turned away. There were no doubts in his heart. He no longer had a heart or doubts. There were only certainties, so what Trina said were only illusions. If there were doubts, they were only Trina's; he could no longer have them. He had torn them out. Why, then, were his hands trembling?

“I will return. When that happens…”. Miquella closed his eyes, and Trina saw how the fantasy and desperate dream that gripped him, yellow, golden, impossible, coursed through what was left of his body, like a balm for his wounds. “When that happens at last… everyone will be able to find rest”.

Trina said nothing more. There was no point in continuing to talk to the young demigod.

“Alright. Go ahead. This is our goodbye then. I mourned you a long time ago, Miquella”.

“I won't leave you alone”, said the boy, and Trina tilted her head, unsure of what he was talking about. “My other half stays here. The Saint who first found rest for Malenia when as a young boy, I spent my nights in her room crying out for her fate… who calmed our hearts at night… who sought peace and serenity among frantic souls… who gave me comfort and banished the neverending nightmares… She will sleep in these waters forever”.

The ritual seemed the same as always. Miquella didn't look agonized like the other times. Maybe their separation had occurred earlier, and that's why it didn't hurt entirely. It was just a profound loneliness, perhaps deeper than what the boy had felt all his life. An intense certainty that there was nothing and no one by his side, and that it would be so until the end.

Miquella closed his eyes, and the cross began to shine, emerging golden from the ground. Miquella placed his hands on his chest, still kneeling, and Trina was frightened when he lowered his head and began to sob. What was Miquella sacrificing now that caused him so much pain?

“I abandon here my love…”, the boy whispered, and the cross formed beautifully and slenderly in the darkness. Something bright and white began to emerge, with difficulty, from the boy's chest. Trina wanted to scream and remove the hands from her other half, but it was in vain. “I leave here all the love I feel, that I have felt, and that I will feel… along with the only one who can receive it now because it is also a part of me”.

Trina, this time, fell to her knees, and purple tears welled up in her eyes.

“Miquella… You can't do this”. Trina had tried to beg him once. She knew it would be just as useless. “You can't abandon your love… Do you know what that means? You're abandoning… everyone. You are abandoning yourself. You are destroying what we are”.

The white light finished emerging from Miquella's chest and attached itself to the golden cross. Miquella sobbed like a child, with his head on the ground.

Radagon's hand on his head, smiling, proud as he watched the golden rings dance in the courtyard.

Marika's serene voice by the fireplace, weaving the threads of the world while caressing his hair, golden like hers.

The eyes of countless friends, servants, and comrades, who bowed their heads and shared their lives among the golden gardens.

The silent alleys of the depths, the travelers who offered their food and knowledge to a boy who asked hundreds of questions.

Loretta's firm hand in his fragile one, the gratitude of her people, and the pride of her spells.

The soft words of the Lord of Blood, unaware of his betrayal, eager to bring love and peace to the displaced. The bright heart of his knights and followers, their rebellion and sin.

Ranni's letters, offering unnamed knowledge, sharing the stars and the moon in each of her words.

Godwyn's voice and bright lights, rising in the air with dragon wings. And his fall… his empty, motionless eyes, the sticky certainty of horror.

Radahn's strident laughter, his soft and honest promise, dressed in red and gold, the clash of swords with a timid redhead empyrean, the gift of a stubborn horse.

The slender silhouettes of knights and sworn ones, who knelt before both twins but also laughed in their presence and offered him tea when night fell.

The grateful tears of those tortured by madness, freed from the frenzy that gripped their flesh and mind.

The strong and somber faces of the burned people, seeking dignity and freedom, seeking to live outside the embers.

His only child, a tree of pale golden, growing and growing until he couldn’t anymore. Drinking his blood like an eager child, grateful for his life. Embracing everyone, being a haven and a paradise to those who needed it. Caressing his souls with a promise of a new world, a broken one that could never be fulfilled.

The grass under his feet.

The light in the dim and cozy night.

The fresh water, the scent of flowers.

The world around him, his world, his people.

His sister's golden eyes. Malenia's sword rising in a red field. Her laughter in the rooms of Leyndell, her solemn company in the snowy fields, kneeling beside him, planting hope. Her impossibly tender embrace. Her tears at night, terrified of a voracious and endless force. Her dance when no one else was there to watch. And a promise.

“I will return…”

Miquella let out a cry of pain, Trina rushed to him and hugged him, unable to contain herself. But as soon as her small arms surrounded the boy, the white that had been torn from his chest vanished, leaving only trails of bright blood. Miquella's eyes, filled with tears and shining with pain and agony, went dark for a moment. The torture ceased, and the young man sighed, empty of almost everything… of everything that now remained there, in that cross, abandoned.

The pain still coursed through his body. Love was his weapon, after all. Who could really refuse to love him? It was something so easy to obtain… Only a few felt it truly for him, after all, if that. Why did it hurt him so much then, if it was something he could find in abundance, real or not?

“Because the love you felt for this world, for its people, for your family… was real”, said Trina; her face was stained with soft tears, but she smiled at him, despite everything. “Even if you use it as a weapon against your enemies and as a shield to protect yourself from the horror of the world, the truth is that your heart was full of love, and its companions, guilt and despair. And now you tore apart the most tender and genuine part of your soul. You rip apart yourself…”

“Do you think me selfish, Trina?”, said Miquella, tired, with barely any energy in his voice. “For leaving you here, with… this that will no longer torment me?”.

“I think a part of you wanted to rid yourself of that burden… but you're wrong. It will follow you just the same. Until there's nothing left of you. Of us. Your sins and your love will follow you, even if you can no longer feel it, even if you can no longer remember it. I'll ask you one last time, Miquella. Stop… look at yourself. You can barely walk without trembling like a newborn… Can you still feel fear? Fear of failing? Fear of achieving your goal? Fear of what you will become?”

“I will also abandon that fear”, he said, without answering Trina's question. “Not now… It's enough for now. But it will also be left behind. Everything will be left behind. I will keep moving forward…”. Miquella sighed, weightless and lower his head. “What was the purpose of my love, Trina, if I couldn't save anything with it? What was the point of crying for this world if I couldn't rid it of its corruption? What was the point of carrying the sin if I couldn't absolve it?”

Trina trembled. Miquella's words, now free from that stream of urgency, guilt, and frenzy that previously preceded them, seemed like mere loose reflections, like raindrops dancing on the grass. But Trina knew the truth. They were still Miquella's fears, engraved in his soul, the source of all his pain. A pain that would destroy the world.

 “Miquella… I swear I will find a way to stop you”. Trina's voice had taken on a desperate tone, sweet and toxic like poison. Miquella felt extremely light, as if filled with air and spirit, and languid like a breeze. He felt nothing at Trina's words. “If you insist on this path of chains… I will find a way to kill you”.

Miquella laughed softly and closed his eyes, as if feeling a gust that didn't exist in that dark cave.

“You would die too, dear Trina”.

“We died a long time ago, Miquella. When the golden needle pierced Malenia's skin and her flesh remained corrupted by rot, even though it had been stopped for the moment. When the bloodthirsty tree grew just enough for us to harbor hope. When Godwyn became a specter, and no prayer granted him rest. When we talked by an oil lamp… We have been dead this whole time, Miquella… Now you're just punishing yourself. I will give you the rest you seek”.

“No… I'm saving us. I'm saving them all. Have faith, dear Trina”. Miquella's voice sounded more placid and frail than ever. As if he wasn't there. “We will see each other again…at my hour of victory”

Miquella stood up, with a dull but still golden gaze. He smiled with an expression that barely existed, that was barely there. Trina saw the boy she had grown up with, saw how he slowly moved away from her. He had only one arm left and one of his eyes. He walked empty and fearful across the wet stones. But surely, he could no longer remember the despair that brought him to this land, the failures that led him to Marika's pilgrimage, the unforgivable sins he had committed just to be there and the ones he would continue to commit.

The saint could see him with her eyes closed, walking and walking, leaving blood, memories, soul and personhood on these burned lands. Walking and walking to the gates of heaven. Alone. What would come out of those gates? It couldn't be Miquella. That Miquella was disappearing with each step. What would emerge from the golden gates after this path? A being of bright light and brilliant power that would subdue everyone in a gentle embrace, that would prevent conflicts and steal the hearts of men to make them docile and kind?

“If someone can hear me”, whispered Trina, feeling herself fall asleep with each step Miquella took, moving away from her. “Come… Drink the sweet nectar of rest, and hear my words. Let us drink the poison of dreams and never wake up. If someone is there… please… come… we have to stop him… The poor thing cannot be a god… Please… someone… kill him…”

Trina closed her eyes and began to dream.