#morgott/tarnished

[kurgy]

sometimes ill draw something and forget i ever drew it and those memories dont come back but the art remains. anyway theyre holding hands kinda

[spiders-scribbles]

flower picking 🌻

[magpie-come-east]

This lovely art is by @bora-in-tamriel (Boramriel on Twitter)

I commissioned this work of my Tarnished, Cyrielle, and Morgott after I finished Gilded Apotheosis in 2023.

Morgott is the new vessel of the Greater Will, and the Erdtree sapling grows to reflect aspects of the Crucible. The resurrected Tarnished is his Elden Lord and consort.

I'm so outrageously in love with this piece. Thank you so much Bora!

[99corentine]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elden Ring (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Morgott the Omen King | Margit the Fell Omen/Tarnished Characters: Morgott the Omen King | Margit the Fell Omen, Tarnished (Elden Ring), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends, Margit being Margit, Named Tarnished (Elden Ring), Male Tarnished (Elden Ring), Tarnished with a lil crush on the Fell Omen, Fix-It of Sorts, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, In the form of a prosthesis, Touch-Starved Summary:

A fetish bathed in golden magic. Shackles were used to bind the accursed people called the Omen, and these ones were made to keep a particular Omen under strictest confinement. Though faint, the shackles still retain vestiges of power — enough to trap the once-bound Margit on earth, if only for a short time.

 It all starts when Margit finds the shackle.

Hi hello, I have been playing Elden Ring and I wrote a thing. I wasn’t sure if any of my usual followers would be interested, but I figured I’d post it here just in case any of you play ER!

[draconic-ichor]

Tarnished Threads, Golden Stitches

Morgott/tarnished fic

Slow burn

Warming: strong language, sexual themes

Summary: Hester is a seamstress living in the capital, life is fairly mundane until one fateful night at a festival…

Feedback appreciated, 18+

This is an entirely new Au! Not abandoning my other ones, was just inspired :3

The mending began months ago, the world was falling back into place. Everything was different now: their King was revealed to be an omen, their ‘god’ a glorified statue, the Golden Order reformed, and the Elden Lord galavanting around the Lands Between. It was a lot to swallow for Leyndell’s people.

But they had the chance to swallow now.

Not every tarnished met a true end on their journey; some survived to see their brother take up the mantle of Elden Lord, and in this new age, grace returned to their darkened eyes. Unlike their brother, however, they were still quite lowly.

Hester was one of these tarnished.

Awoken after the Erdtree already burned overhead, she was scrambling far behind in a world crumbling away… never to receive a rune of her own or see the fabled Round Table. It was not till after the mending that her eyes fell upon the tree in all its golden splendor; and like hundreds of others, she flocked to the capital towards it.

It was all for the best. Even though she was descended from those first few tarnished that followed Godfrey into the mists, fighting didn’t suit her. She knew a little magic, mostly reserved for healing, and couldn’t hold a blade to save her life. Her late awakening was a blessing.

What she did know, however, was mending. Hester was very good with her hands and could not only mend fabrics but had the creativity to create whole new clothing. She could also sew and spin thread. All things the capital had need of now that repairs were in order.

~

Hester sighed, deep in thought as she worked. She leaned forward, elbows on the worn workbench, staring wistfully out into the capital.

It was a busy morning, the townsfolk preparing for the festival that night, birdsong and fragrant smells filling her senses.

She loved the brightness, gaze drifting higher to the castle, alabaster stone and gilded tiles like a dream high above.

She sighed again.

“Sigh any louder and you’ll attract attention,” came a voice.

Hester jumped, pricking her finger as she did so. She yelped, quickly putting it in her mouth to soothe the sting. She gave a sharp look to the culprit, a man standing on the street below her open window.

“Looks like I already have.” She huffed.

He pulled himself up to the windowsill, a smile plastered over his face. The armor of a guard made him look a size bigger than he truly was, clinking together as he made himself comfortable.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She couldn’t help her lips crack into a smile.

“Doing my rounds now, when I happened upon a maiden. And don’t you have work to do? You have a stall in the market square tonight.” He reminded.

“I know!” Hester flushed, she’d saved for weeks for the fees, such a prime location had its prices.

“Mhm.” He nodded.

“I’m almost finished with my last few, just adding the final touches!” She gestured to the doll before her.

“Ghastly.” He shuttered, looking over her current batch.

“He is our King!” She snapped.

“And he can stay inside his castle.” The guard chuckled, leaning in a bit more to ask, “Do you truly think they will sell?”

“Not everyone holds so little love for their monarch.” Hes informed, “Some of us are loyalists.”

The man snorted, leaning in further still, attempting to steal a kiss. Hester rolled her eyes, hand covering his mouth as she pushed him back out the window.

He chuckled, feet hitting the cobblestones once more, “I’ll catch you one day, Hes.”

“Keep hoping.” She smiled, waving him off as he went back to his duties. She sat back heavily in her seat, eyes falling to the current doll she worked on. She sighed, slowly scanning the rest; all were endearing renditions of their king: with button eyes, little plush horns, and a fluffy tail made from scraps of real fur.

She held the current one closer, thumb softly tracing its small fabric face.

She couldn’t be the only one…

~

Lanterns filled the streets overhead, each one a different shape or hue, sending the night into a kaleidoscope of swirling color. The smell of spices and sweets filled the air, and the sound of mirth almost drowned out the far off beat of music.

Hester couldn’t get enough.

She put on her best dress and put flowers in her hair for the occasion. Part of her wanted to mingle about the crowd and see every stall for herself, but she had her own stall to run.

Her table was covered in bright bolts of fabric and batches of dolls all lovingly made. Children would scamper up and squeal out at seeing their hero in doll form, or the Elden Lords trusty spectral steed, while their parents pulled runes from their pockets. It was a special occasion after all. A few young maidens would sneakily buy a doll of their dashing Elden Lord, his absence in the capital adding to his mystique.

As the night was marching onwards, she was doing quite well! The glow of success dimmed a bit about her, as her amber eyes fell on a corner of the stall that lay untouched: the dolls of the King. Hester’s stomach twisted a bit.

She moved them to the center of the stall, in a place of easy sight, adjusting their little cloaks and tails to sit just right.

She couldn’t be the only one,

She kept telling herself.

The only one to see the allure of the King.

Her cheeks blushed at the thought, mind drifting back to the infatuated maidens and their excitement with the Elden Lord, or how she kept back a King doll for herself…

She was so ate up with thought she didn’t notice the sounds of revelry died down around her. It was not until the glow of the lanterns were obstructed by a great shadow that her eyes were ripped from the table. Hester looked up, freezing.

A great shape darkened her stall, silhouette monstrous and jagged, with a crown of twisting horns. Hester swallowed, the only movement she could manage, heartbeat in her throat.

It was King Morgott.

An eon seemed to stretch before them, the King like a pillar of stone as he looked over her wares. All the times Hester had caught sight of him, far away on the castle balcony or before a large crowd for an announcement, did him little justice. He was massive, at least thirty-six hands high, not counting the heavy tail that absolutely cleared the street behind him. The bulky cloak he wore about his shoulders exaggerated their broadness. Hers the critical eye of a seamstress, caught all the places the fabric was stressed, holes bore through it completely here or there.

Not fit for a King, surely.

She didn’t have long to wonder, the King’s hand moving forward. Hester gulped, suddenly realizing his single eye was fixed on the little dolls made in his likeness. A hand, bigger than her waist, carefully picked up the closest one, bringing it to his face for inspection. It was clear they were made with the utmost care, and very oddly they were constructed without overemphasis on his more beastial features. They were….flattering even?

His brow knotted, gaze flicking away from the little doll to its maker.

Was she flushed??

Even more curious…

She trembled a bit as his gaze bore into her, staring back into that single orb of brilliant shifting gold. She grew lost in it, yet never shying away. Morgott’s gaze tore away from her, back to the doll in his hand.

Just as silently as he approached, he retreated, straightening to full standing before moving along the street once more. Hester’s heart hammered about her chest as she watched his form drift away, never wavering until the tip of his horned tail disappeared among the recrowding street.

As the music and merriment swelled once more she realized she’d been holding her breath. An almost pained huff rattled from her lungs, eyes still saucers. She blinked, looking down at her table.

A hand clapped over her mouth in shock: there was a doll missing.

Oh gods, did he take it with him??

She thought, worriedly.

She couldn’t keep her mind on the festival, or on bartering her wares any longer. Sweat wet her lower back as she hastily packed up her remaining items, hands shaking as she did so.

Her mind was a storm, a swirling mess of worry and fear.

Did the King think she was mocking him? Oh gods would she be taken away?

As she made her way slowly through the crowded streets, back overburdened, her thoughts darkened.

Was he angry with her? Would…would he throw her in the dungeon?

She stumbled into her room, a glorified closet off the main shop. Dumping the items on the floor haphazardly, Hester began to pull the flowers from her hair, wincing as they yanked at her copper curls. Tears stained her eyes, the small bit of pain just adding to the chorus of negativity that loomed over her.

She fell into her meager bed, curling in on herself protectively. Blinking, her eyes fell on the little doll near her pillow. It regarded her with unblinking button eyes, no malice on its fabric visage.

Scooping it to her chest, the tears finally fell freely, crying freshly into her pillow. Sleep found her fitfully, coming in waves interlaced with stretches of agonizing wakefulness.

She kept chanting that everything would be fine, she was just overreacting….he wouldn’t act against her…would he? He was the king. No care for a lowly woman like her.

He was the King….

She blinked into the dawn light. Hair a nest of knots from her tossing and turning, a darkness circling her large eyes. She sat up groggily, the sound of birdsong being dampened by a commotion outside her room.

Hester wasn’t the only woman to rent a little space in the shop, the other women making quite the racket in the main area currently.

She sighed, steeling herself to see what excited them so. As soon as she pushed the door open she was met with everyone calling out her name.

“Hes! Hes! There’s a letter for you!”

“A letter?” She blinked, still half asleep.

“It has the royal seal!” They squealed.

She froze, stomach dropping to the floor. The other’s chatter dulled around her as she paced forward, trembling hands taking the letter.

It was made of fine parchment, the golden seal of the King keeping it prominently sealed.

Hester felt like the ground was swallowing her as she broke it open, unfolding the letter to read. Deaf to the other crowding around to read over her shoulder, she focused on the beautiful handwriting.

Her fear was slowly replaced with confusion, bewilderment. Her brows knotted as she read and reread the letter, no…the offer?

“Come on, what does it say!?” A young girl bounced.

“It’s…It’s an offer from the King.” Hester whispered, drowned out by the other’s raising excitement. She swallowed, “They want me to be the King’s personal seamstress…”

She didn’t hear the screams of excitement around her, wandering through them towards the shop window. Her gaze fell on the castle, far away nestled near the base of the great tree.

She couldn’t be the only one…..

Could she?

[pumpumkins]

sorry morgott i love you

[bentobox-03-blog]

Foul tarnished

Someone must extinguish thy flame😡🔥

[sahaquiel43]

[Elden Ring DLC spoilers] sir Ansbach, what an absolute CHAD.

[MAJOR SPOILERS]

.

]

one thing Shadow of the Erdtree did was write a delicuously hatable villians, and the assorted heroes to rally against it.

stayed loyal to the end to Mohg Mogh, pierced through Miquella's deception, and even challenged her, trying to Free Mohg from his Brainwashing.

he even forgives us for killing Mohg given the situation.

and he follows us in to fight against the god that ruined everything.

what would have made it even better is if Morgott, or at least using a margit projection, also went in to avenge his brother.

"Lord Mohg will have his Dignity".

damn that's a raw line. I used to actually dislike mohg, genuinely. I admittedly also disliked his fanbase that flanderized his gross actions. And even after this, it's a toxic blood cult, but taking Ansbach's actions alone.....PURE CHAD.

like his brother, the Omen twins deserved Better!

damn.

[eaissilyy]

POV : You are a cockroach in the King's kitchen. (he's looking for a midnight snack)

Reference from his quick overhead sweep attack, but I do not know which is which because this old man has like a thousand combo hidden in his cloak.

[epiclad]

"Godrick the Golden. Miquella and Malenia. General Radahn. Praetor Rykard. Lunar Princess Ranni.

Willful traitors all."

[kurgy]

im so crazy about them actually

[eldenbiscuit]

Some Morgott through the years concept art (yes the Great Rune does make them bigger)

[magpie-come-east]

A Tarnished enters into the service of a begrudging Morgott the Grace-Given whilst forming a slow and equally begrudging friendship with the king's Omen ally, Margit. AKA, in which the Veiled Monarch has a secret he's not very good at keeping.

A deeply self-indulgent Morgott/OC vehicle for exploring the painful dichotomy of a human-passing King Morgott and the shunned but useful Omen Margit.

My completed Morgott/Tarnished longfic!

[99corentine]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elden Ring (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Morgott the Omen King | Margit the Fell Omen/Tarnished, Morgott the Omen King | Margit the Fell Omen/Original Character(s) Characters: Morgott the Omen King | Margit the Fell Omen, Tarnished (Elden Ring), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends, Then back to maybe-enemies again, Named Tarnished (Elden Ring), Male Tarnished (Elden Ring), Tarnished with an increasing crush on the Fell Omen, Fix-It of Sorts, Touch-Starved, Angst and Feels, Bathing/Washing, Margit lets Tarnished touch the wings, Also Margit: why did I do this Series: Part 2 of Little Flame Summary:

He turns back around and scowls at the water, or more accurately at himself. The grime he can feel is transient, as is this body. He shouldn’t be here bathing at all, when he could be doing more useful things with his time. The whole thing is an exercise in indulgence, and he should know better.

But still the cool water, the breeze between his horns, the scent of flowers and grasses… and someone who maybe, maybe does not find his crooked shape so repulsive. Maybe. Maybe.

There is the slosh of someone kneeling down. “If this is a no silence instead of a yes silence you need only say. Or gesture,” Tarnished intones from behind him, gently.

Margit says nothing. He is weak. But it has been a tough day and a long exposure to poison, and later he will blame that for this foolishness.

The Tarnished has achieved too much, and Margit has let him get too close.

-

I’m feeling enthused, so I wrote another one!

I sort of want to get to the smut already, but Morgott is about as slow-burn as characters get, so it’s a while off yet. In the meantime he gets a bath, because let’s be honest he needs one.

[draconic-ichor]

“…foolish tarnished.”