#rogier x tarnished

[just-mothman]

Waiting with you: Thiollier x Tarnished

Synopsis: When a familiar Tarnished makes their way to Thiollier's Cliff, he wasn't sure what to expect. But such an open display of emotion was certainly on the bottom of his list. Still, he found himself unable to let them cry alone.

Tags/Warnings: previous partner death (Rogier, Implied), Grieving, hurt/comfort, strangers to friends

Author's Note: It has been a while since I've wrote fan-fic to publish, but this sad little lad man convinced me to. I'm a little rusty, so apologies if it reads a little awkwardly. The story includes my Tarnished, Conrí, specifically, and uses they/them pronouns (for ease of reading, since technically they use any).

Enjoy.

Unlike almost everywhere else in the Land of Shadow, the cliff on which Thiollier sat seemed to be the most peaceful. Despite it overlooking a poison-filled swamp, the quietude it offered was something rare. The air seemed fresher here too, gently wafting the grass into waves. Perhaps this is why Conrí decided to stop at this grace. Dismounting Torrent, they lifted a hand of Rowa fruit for him to eat before he dissipated into blue sparks. With a sigh, they looked over at the empty sea just a distance away from the cliff. With heavy steps, they wander over to the Grace, sitting down beside it. Their head tilted over to the sickly man sat on the few rocks, the strands of white hair from his headdress lightly floating in the breeze.

Thiollier had noticed their presence yet had not looked up, as he was unable to halt the trembling he felt. It had been with him since their first meeting. Conrí uttered no words, yet their ghostly eyes peering through their tangled black hair had sent strikes of fear up Thiollier’s spine. Even when they first acknowledged the Site of Grace, he couldn’t stop noticing the unrelenting presence of death that hung around them at every moment. So, he had become even more quiet around them, finding it best just to not take note of them and keep his head down.

But despite this, something of a morbid curiosity had welled up within him about the silent Tarnished. Carefully, he looked up from his hunched position. As usual, their eyes appeared unblinking as they looked at the golden light of the Grace. Despite this, Thiollier could sense something else within the engulfing fear he felt when looking at their seated form. Something melancholic? He was uncertain what it was, but the curiosity stirred stronger in his breast and kept him from tearing his eyes away.

With slow, methodical movements, Conrí reached forward and pushed their hand into the Grace. Their hand did not come out the other side, yet they barely seemed phased. Thiollier was much less nonchalant, a jolt of surprise making him jump in his spot. Their hand seemed to plunge further into it, a furrow appearing on their brow in concentration. It seemed that almost their whole forearm had been plunged into the sparkling gold before they became still.

Meticulously, Conrí’s arm came back through the golden light, their hand firmly gripping a hilt. As they pulled further back, a thin, silver blade slipped through the Grace. Once the sword had been fully removed, Thiollier was able to get a better look at it.

The metalwork was precise, as would be needed for a rapier. The hilt was slender, a red gemstone neatly placed in the centre of two ornamental, wing-like swirls that formed the guard. It appeared incredibly clean, polished to a bright shine that reflected the very grace it came from. It appeared to be too delicate to be wielded by someone with such brute strength, Thiollier thought to himself.

Rolling the rapier in their hands, Conrí’s gaze seemed to soften, much to Thiollier’s surprise. The near-piercing pale blue of their irises looked much softer in this moment. They sighed deeply behind the black cloth that hid the lower half of their face, a barely audible hitch in the noise. Closing their eyes, they pulled the sword’s hilt to their forehead, gently resting it there. The glint of light coming off their eyelashes developed into tears that smudged away their smeared-on makeup. Silently, they sat there. Unmoving.

Thiollier was lucky to be wearing his porcelain mask, as his mouth hung ajar and his eyes were blown wide. This wall of death, this Goliath of a warrior, was sat crying in front of him. His thoughts moved faster than he could keep up, finding every preconception of the Tarnished before him was wrong. He sighed quietly. He didn't have the heart to leave them be. He stood up unsteadily, legs feeling weak as he did so. Like a cat, he slowly and carefully sneaked over to Conrí, who too deep in their own thoughts to notice him. Despite every part of his body telling him to run, to sit back in his spot and forget this had happened, he instead lowered himself to sit near them.

It took a few moments for Conrí to notice the timid fellow at their side. Only when the scent of lavender and lilies had crossed there senses did they turn to him. It was a quick motion, which caused Thiollier to tense up. Yet their eyes did not appear so threatening now, just sorrowful. Their arms cradled the Rapier like it was glass, and would shatter with the slightest pressure.

"It... Seems important to you," Thiollier began, breaking the silence with his wobbly voice, "Was it from a friend?"

Conrí looked down and, after some consideration, shook their head 'no' and hunched over the sword once again.

"Something more?" He pried slightly.

Clutching the rapier closer to their body, Conrí's trembling gave Thiollier the answer he needed. With an incredibly light hand, he rubbed their shoulder. Despite not really feeling it through their layers of armour and cloth, the gesture was rewarded with a slight lean into it. This seemed to spark some confidence in the masked man, shuffling over to sit right beside them. Thiollier saw himself, then Conrí's scrunched eyes, reflected in the Rapier's blade.

Inky tears dripped on the blade, leaving makeup residue as they continued their journey down the length of silver. Reaching into his pouch full of poisons, the white-haired man pulled a near-clean cloth. Raising himself to his knees, his hand extended towards the swords hilt. Conrí jerked it away protectively, eyes now glaring at him in their usual, inhuman ferosity. Steeling his nerves, Thiollier did not pull his had away.

"I just want to wipe it down. You can keep hold of it, just turn the blade to me." His voice broke, betraying him and allowing some of that bottled up fear to slip out.

Carefully, Conrí rotated the blade in their grip and pointed it towards their companion. Once positioned for Thiollier, they pulled their right arm from the hilt and wiped at their face with the cloth of their undershirt. They felt the slightest dip in the rapier's position as Thiolier brushed up the blade with tentative precision. He quickly restored it's shine, each meaningful stroke of his hand restoring the luster the metal started with.

"There," he started, "It should be all good now."

Conrí remained silent, yet nodded their head in recognition. Slowly, they lifted the sword to inspect it, before slipping the tip of the blade back into the grace. They placed the sword back to it's original place the way they had before: slowly and methodically. Thiollier still had question as to how that was possible, but they waited in the back of his mind for another day.

The two remained seated on the cliff, the wind gently tugging on their hair. Both seemed at peace in the comfortable silence that now held them. Thiollier noticed, in this silence, his shaking had ceased to overwhelm him. He looked to Conrí, whose eyes no longer wept, and instead looked wistfully out at the ocean ahead. The feeling of dread and fear ebbed away.

They waited for a while, until Conrí stood up and summoned Torrent to continue their predestined journey. They waved back at Thiollier, who stayed seated in the grass.

How funny, he thought, that such tenderness could come from one so seemingly menacing. And, as much as he tried to ignore it, he couldn't help but hope they would come to see him again soon.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Thirteen

Summary: The Lands Between are filled with horror upon horror. Delia rushes from one tragedy to the next, until she reaches the one she’s not sure she can take- the price for Rogier’s life.

Author’s Notes: Holy crap, y’all, 5.2K words on this one. And to think, this is a chapter I was worried about making a decent word count for. But I love pain, so it ended up being no problem at all. 😏 Please let me know if I break y’all’s hearts as much as my own!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: character deaths (yes, plural), canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

It was a fitful night’s rest, for both of them. 

Rogier mumbled and murmured, groaning and thrashing, but never waking. He was feverish and shaky. Delia spoke softly to him until he calmed, dozing until it all began again.

When she rose, she felt just as exhausted as she had the night before. She saw a scrap of parchment on the bedside table that she hadn’t noticed the night before. It was a letter, written in Rogier’s trembling hand. 

“I forgot to tell you, but it seems D has a younger brother. I heard he lies in a deep sleep in the aqueduct beside the Eternal City of Nokron. And it’s said he stood before the Prince of Death not far beyond that spot.” She clutched the page to herself, tucking it into her shirt. She pulled on her armor, startling as something clinked softly to the floor. 

Seluvis’s potion rolled across the floor, coming to rest against the bedpost. Delia picked it up with a shaking hand, turning the vial over slowly. 

Could it stop…?

No. 

She’d seen the puppet’s bodies in Seluvis’s basement chamber. 

But… she wasn’t Seluvis. 

She looked back to Rogier, murmuring unintelligibly as he slept. Besides the movement of his lips, he was still as a stone. 

She gently lifted the blanket from his legs. The roots had grown higher, wrapping themselves through and around his thighs. She swallowed hard. 

She was running out of time. 

She might already be too late. 

She steeled herself, raising her travel medallion. 

It was time for some answers. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“So, you had Nepheli drink the potion? Truly? 
Hmm. Then perhaps something was amiss with it.
It's concocted from the finest ingredients. But perhaps I should review the recipe.” Delia was opening her mouth to make half hearted, sympathetic noises when Seluvis went on. “I may have expected too much of her, to begin with.” She snapped her mouth shut, incensed. She had to take a deep breath and push down her anger before speaking.

“What exactly was this potion meant to do?”

Seluvis waved a hand absently, turning to his spellbooks. “Never you mind, it would be far above your understanding.

Delia couldn’t bite her tongue before the words came out. “Really? And I suppose this potion has nothing to do with the puppets in your chambers near Ranni’s tower?”

Seluvis stiffened, turning slowly. The metal mask he wore hid his expression, but Delia could hear the rage in the breath he sucked in.

“You break into a man’s private chambers, rooting about as you please?”

“That’s right.” She stepped closer, lacing her voice with as much venom as she could summon. “And now that I know your little secret, you’ll answer my questions. Unless you share the opinion that my lady would find those chambers… intriguing.” Seluvis flinched, and Delia felt a shot of triumph race up her spine.

“What is it that you wish to know?” Seluvis ground out.

“Does the potion cause harm?” “Physical? No.”

“Does it cause any lasting damage of any kind?”

She could hear the sneer in his voice when he answered. “No.”

She fought to keep her voice steady. “And the body. It remains… it stays… would this keep it from being…” Her voice had begun to shake. She sensed the moment Seluvis scented the weakness in her.

“The body remains in stasis, pristine. Immune to the effects of the world around it. It can be used to fight for you, for menial labor, or to run your errands. Or,” and here, his voice filled with a lecherous glee. “You can use it for more… intimate-”

“No,” Delia hissed. “All I need to know is that it can stop the spread of Death, and that the person can be freed.”

“Death?” There was real shock in Seluvis’s voice. He studied her for a long, tense moment. He spoke slowly. “I see no reason that it can’t. And a person can be freed.” He paused for dramatic effect. Delia straightened, scowling threateningly. “Yes, I’m sure it would work. Although I would need a potion of a… stronger caliber.”

“A stronger caliber?” she snapped.

“I will need to… test a recipe. Come back tomorrow.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Let’s just say that I have a… scheme, if you will. I would much prefer that it not cross Lady Ranni’s path. And this shall be a most interesting experiment, indeed.”

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Getting the promised information from Seluvis took much longer than Delia would have liked. But she got it, and set out across Limgrave to speak to this Sellen. 

She startled when she laid eyes on the sorceress. 

“Well, well… Seluvis is not a name I ever wanted to hear again…”

Delia had recognized her from Seluvis’s basement chambers. She had anxiously asked if his potioncraft could be trusted. Sellen had assured her that they could. 

“Just beware the cost.”

Now Delia was riding hard back to the Mistwood, anxious to tell Blaidd what the sorceress had said.

“If General Radahn were to die, the stars would resume their movement. And so, too, would Ranni's destiny.”

All they had to do was kill a god.

Blaidd was eager to move forward, pacing away even as Delia finished speaking. “You’re coming too, right? To Radahn’s festivities… I’ll meet you at Redmane Castle in Caelid. The way ahead is pleasingly simple. We fight, sword and fang.”

“I’ll meet you there,” said Delia. “I just have to make one stop first.”

Blaidd gave her an odd look, measuring.

She could feel herself crack under his scrutiny. “Then I’ll see you there soon.”

He let the matter lie.

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“Good, I've been waiting for you. It's finally complete. The perfection of my draught, gleaming nectar-sweet.” Seluvis held out a vial of amber liquid that seemed to glow softly. “Give this to your… friend.” Delia bristled. “It should keep him docile.” “I only want it to keep him alive,” growled Delia.

“Yes, yes. As you’ve said. Although if you do change your mind, your secret will be safe with me.”

Delia clenched her fists, nearly crushing the potion before releasing her grip. She put it carefully away, turning before she killed Seluvis where he stood.

“You’ll need this bell, if you wish to summon him.”

“I don’t.”

“You’ll need it all the same. If it breaks, well… it wouldn’t be pretty.”

She needed him. Just for a little while longer.

She snatched the bell from Seluvis’s outstretched hand, grimacing as she cradled it in her palm.

That didn’t mean she had to like him.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia didn’t want to administer the potion. It still made her feel ill at ease. So, rather than make straight for her room, she sought out D. 

“D, can you help me?”

He inclined his head. Delia reached into her pack, withdrawing the dagger. She’d wrapped it in an old piece of cloth, but the moment the blade was revealed, D’s posture, impossibly, straightened. 

"Well, what have we here? How did you get your hands on that dagger?”

Delia paused, unsure whether she should reveal Fia’s name. D seemed to sense her hesitation. “...Well. That hardly matters. I know very well whose dagger it is. Why don't I return it to them for you? Good work, bringing this to me."

Delia handed over the knife, murmuring her thanks. But she couldn’t settle the pit in her stomach. 

“Any change?” Roderika’s voice startled her out of her stupor. The young noble watched her, expression hopeful. Delia shook her head and the other girl’s face fell.

“Not yet, but… I might have a solution.” Roderika’s expression brightened, but Delia shook her head. “I’m not sure whether it will work.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, though?”

Delia nodded, forcing a smile. She said hello to Hewg, receiving a grunt in return, and then rounded the corner. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. 

Rogier was as she’d left him, lying with his head turned toward the door. She padded across the room and lowered herself onto the bed. She reached forward to lift his head, allowing herself a moment to caress his cheek. 

She withdrew the potion from her satchel, examining it again. She told herself that she was running out of options. She told herself that this would work. 

She tipped his head gently back. He moaned in his sleep, shifting slightly. She lifted the bottle, losing her resolve at the last moment. She traced one finger lightly over his lips and then steeled herself again. 

She poured the contents into his mouth. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then he coughed. His eyelids fluttered without opening as he began to writhe. 

Delia started to panic. “Rogier?” She leapt to her feet, hauling him up until he was nearly sitting. His eyes fluttered again, the barest hint of green peeking from between his dark lashes. 

His muttering had begun again, frantic. She heard him say “no” and then unmistakably, she heard her name. She looked up and met his eyes, wide and disbelieving. 

“Rogier?” Her eyes flitted all over him; his flushed cheeks, his unfocused pupils, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Her heart soared- he was awake. She grasped at his hands, but he weakly pulled them back. She looked at him in shock- he’d never recoiled from her touch before. 

She nearly fell backward at his expression. His eyes burned with anger. With betrayal. His lip had curled up. She took him in, dropping his hands, struck dumb by shock. 

“Why?” His whisper was harsh. She met his gaze again, catching a hint of honest hurt there. But already, his eyes were sliding shut, body slumping down. “Why would you…”

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled to keep him upright, but he was heavier than before. Her thoughts raced, desperately searching for a better route. But it was too late for that. It was all she could do to lower him back to the bed without bumping his head on the headboard. She stared at him in

“What have I done?” she whispered. 

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She rode like mad south into the Caelid Wilds. Despair and doubt made her reckless, cutting her way through anything that stood in her path. 

Blaidd was waiting in the courtyard when she arrived, breathless and heartbroken. “Ah, there you are. Took your sweet time. The players are all made up, and waiting for the curtain…” She nodded at him, as distracted as he usually was. “Let’s give them a show to remember, eh.”

He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Just don’t you go dying on me. For Ranni’s sake, too.” She nodded again, firmer this time. 

“Let’s kill a god.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was a harrowing battle. Radahn was a fearsome foe with an unmatched skill in gravity sorceries, and Delia was left battered and sore after a long fight. Blaidd seemed pleased with their success, and she agreed to meet him in Nokron after checking in on Rogier. 

“The curtain’s riising… on the final act.”

She couldn’t be sure whether it was Blaidd’s portentous words or a strange sixth sense, but she knew something was wrong the moment she set foot in the Hold. Her skin crawled, heart pounding. 

Please, not Rogier. 

She hurried down the hall, stopping dead in her tracks in the doorway of the antechamber outside her room. 

D lay still, sprawled at the feet of a cloaked figure. 

Fia. 

She spoke without turning. “Finally, it is returned to its rightful place. The stolen hallowbrand, of the exalted noble. And now, I must bid you goodbye as well.” She turned then, glaring at Delia from beneath the fringe of her hood. “Though I ask you deliver this message to the Roundtable Hold. I am Fia, Deathbed Companion. Hark, Roundtable. Disturb not the Death of Godwyn, the exalted. We, who humbly live in Death… live in waiting, to one day welcome our Lord.” Her voice grew louder, stronger as she went on. “What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise. The Lord of the many, and the meek.”

She raised her hands. Delia raised her sword. She lunged forward, but too late. The Deathbed Companion was gone. 

Delia fell to her knees beside D, struggling to turn his body. She wrestled his helm from his head, pressing her fingers to the pale flesh of his throat. 

Dead. 

She sobbed, turning to heave over her shoulder. 

“Delia?” Roderika’s voice was panicked. “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, gods. Oh, D.” She slid to her knees beside Delia, clutching her shoulder with one hand. The other, she reached out shakily to lay on D’s arm. “Delia, the roots…”

Delia nodded woodenly. She’d seen them. 

“Is that what…”

“I think so.”

“And… and Rogier? This is what happened to him?” Delia nodded again. She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. 

“And… I think…” she choked on the words. “I think I made it worse.” That unleashed the flood of tears that had been frozen by horror.

“Darling.” Roderika wrapped both arms around Delia’s shuddering shoulders, pulling her to her chest. “How could you have made it worse?” 

It took several moments and lots of hushing from the younger girl before Delia could put together the words.

“I gave him a potion. I turned him into a puppet.”

“A… puppet?” Roderika’s voice shook- in terror or revulsion, Delia couldn’t tell. She felt the other girl release her shoulders and sagged forward, onto her hands. Her tears flowed freely now.

“A puppet. I-I was running out of time, he’d fallen asleep like he said he would and I-”

“Asleep? Delia, what do you mean ‘asleep’?”

“He told me…” she sniffled. “He told me he felt as though he would fall into a ‘fathomless slumber’. He told me he was afraid. And he did. He fell asleep and I couldn’t wake him up.” She leaned back and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then scrubbed her hands roughly down her face. “So I gave him a potion that would preserve his body until I can cure him. But I… I think I made a mistake.”

Roderika was silent. Delia looked over her shoulder. Roderika’s expression was contemplative.

“Well… can it be undone?”

Delia sniffled again. “I never would have done it if I thought it couldn’t.” Her voice broke again. Roderika leaned forward, taking Delia in her arms again. 

“There, there,” she soothed. “I think you did your best.”

“I don’t think he’ll forgive me,” Delia confessed in a whisper.

For a long time, the two simply rocked together on the floor. Then, Roderika spoke. “I think he will.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

When Delia arrived at the crater in Limgrave, Blaidd was nowhere to be found. She waited for several minutes, even considering descending without him. 

Something stopped her.

Something was wrong.

She summoned Torrent, giving him his reins once she’d mounted. He had yet to steer her wrong. The steed ambled South, taking her down a path that seemed vaguely familiar. They followed the path until Delia heard something that made her recognize the area.

Howling.

They were near the Forlorn Hound Evergaol.

She spurred Torrent on, weaving up the path to the elevator and leaping from his back. The howling abruptly stopped as she ran across the elevator.

“Hello?” she called.

“Oh, it’s you.” Blaidd. “It’s me, Blaidd.” Delia felt a crazed laugh bubbling up at the thought that he thought that she might not recognize his voice. The sound died in her throat as he went on. “Old Iji trapped me in here. Told me I’d bring naught but bale to Lady Ranni. But there’s no chance that could happen. I’m part of her being. Her very shadow… I thought old Iji knew as much.”

Delia peered around, wondering why the gaol would not open. Her eyes landed on the gargoyle guard standing watch. She strode to it.

“Honestly,” muttered Blaidd, “I don’t know what’s going on anymore…” The stone key had been removed from its place in the gargoyle’s mouth. Delia breathed a sigh of relief, pulling one from her pack and slotting it. She watched the elevator light and was rewarded with Blaidd’s tall frame a moment later.

“My thanks, friend. I’m going to see mistress Ranni, now. I don’t know what came over old Iji, but even if the odds are slim, I need to check the mistress is safe.”

Delia blanched. “What about Nokron?”

Blaidd barked a laugh. “Oh, you certainly don’t need my help there. You’re quite the warrior, yourself, and more of a scholar than me.” His hand made a muffled thump as it landed on her shoulder. “We’ll see each other soon. Now, Ranni can finally set in motion the fight against her fate she’s dreamt of for so long.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Iji, what’s going on?”

The old troll looked up from his reading, sighing heavily. 

“I presume you've spoken with Blaidd? Very well. There is something you should know. The Two Fingers gave Blaidd to Lady Ranni, as a faithful follower. Her very shadow, incapable of treachery. But if Lady Ranni, as an Empyrean, resists being an instrument of the Two Fingers, the shadow will go mad, transforming from a follower into a horrid curse. But such is his destiny. In such matters, Blaidd's own thoughts hold no weight. It pains me so, but he must be neutralized. For Lady Ranni's sake.”

Neutralized. 

“Neutralized how?”

They watched each other for a long moment. When Iji spoke, his voice was heavy with sorrow. 

“However we must.”

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia crashed into the Hold.

She’d found them, in Nokron. 

Black boluses.

She was sure they would cure the Death Blight.

They had to.

Roderika called her name, but it didn’t slow her mad dash. She threw open the door without bothering to shut it, fumbling at the low table by the fireplace. There was a bowl and spoon there that she managed to pick up after a moment of grappling. She rushed to the bedside, dumping the boluses she’d collected into the bowl and using the spoon to smash them. Then she fell to her knees, raising the bowl and Rogier’s head. She poured the contents into his mouth, careful to slow herself enough to not choke him.

When the bowl was empty, she sat with her back against the bed, clutching his hand in both of hers. She saw Roderika peer around the door frame before retreating quietly down the hall. She closed her eyes.

Just for a moment.

She dreamed as she dozed. She dreamed of Rogier, on his feet and buzzing with the energy she associated with him. She dreamed of his sparkling peridot eyes and the curve of his lips in his tiny, secret smile. 

She dreamed that he spun her around, lifting her in his arms, laughing all the while. She dreamed that he pressed her close to himself. 

She dreamed that he leant down and brushed his lips to hers. 

And then thrust his rapier through her stomach. 

She woke to Roderika’s soft touch on her shoulder. 

“Delia, are you alright? You were crying in your sleep.”

She reached up, smearing tears as she rubbed her eyes. 

“I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. She rose quickly, turning to toss aside the blanket from over Rogier’s legs. 

She blinked. 

Some of the roots had withered and browned. 

“Roderika,” she whispered. 

“I see it,” Roderika whispered back.

The two looked at each other, a slow smile spreading across Roderka’s face. For the first time in weeks, Delia let herself smile, too. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“My lady.”

“Ahh...It was thee. Not Blaidd, it seemeth. Even in my slumber, I sensed it. It is in thy possession, is it not? The hidden treasure of Nokron?” Delia withdrew the blade from her sheath, holding it out to Ranni. “My thanks. Finally, all the pieces are in place. Soon must I begin my journey. Upon the dark path only I may tread. Ah, but before I leave, I shall entrust thee with this.”

She handed Delia an odd trinket, an hourglass with a woman inside.

“My thanks, for thy sterling efforts. A strange gift, perhaps, but a rare sort such as thee would welcome it, I am sure. I am certain now, fate steered us to our reunion. I must thank Torrent too, for his part.” Though her doll’s face did not change, there was warmth in Ranni’s voice. Delia smiled a tired smile. “You may leave now. It was but brief, but thou gavest me fine service.”

The smile snapped off her face, blood running cold. “Leave? But-”

“Mine part is not yet done,” interrupted Ranni. “But almost. Soon enough, I shall aid you with your friend.”

Delia choked back a sob. “My lady, he… he has already fallen asleep…” Ranni said nothing, templing her fingers in thought. “I… I gave him a potion from Seluvis…”

Ranni’s voice snapped. “From Seluvis?”

Delia hung her head in shame. “I didn’t know what to do. I was frightened, I-” Ranni held up a set of hands to pause her rambling.

“Thy intentions are true, of that I am certain. Thou was wise to give it him. Now wish well that it hold him until mine powers be returned to me.”

There was a high, thin, keening sound then, wrought with despair. It took too long for Delia to recognize that the sound came from her. 

Though Ranni’s face was unmoving as ever, there was sympathy in her eyes. 

“Seluvis made well his potions, snake that he was. And thine friend be strong of mind, to be still breathing.”

Was?

“Now, go.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

She went, with a sinking feeling, to Seluvis’s Rise.

She found him there, dead.

She couldn’t stop the curl of her lip, even as panic rose up in her chest.

He hadn’t told her how to free Rogier from the spell.

Ranni would know.

Ranni would fix it.

Numbly, she made her way to Iji.

“Oh, there you are. Good of you to drop by. Have you heard? Lady Ranni has departed on her journey. Along the dark path of the Empyrean, from Renna’s Rise, as she calls it. It would not have been possible without you. As Lady Ranni’s war counselor, and moreover, her childhood warden, I express my deepest gratitude. You, and only you, were Lady Ranni’s true champion.”

“That’s not true,” whispered Delia. Iji hummed a question at her. “I said that’s not true. You and Blaidd are her champions as much as I am.”

“Well,” Ijii said slowly. “That may be true, but you are the only one who broke her curse. Who set her fate in motion. And Blaidd…”

“Blaidd’s concern is only for her. His only thoughts, Iji, are of her.” Her voice was too sharp. Her ability to cope was wearing thinner by the day, by the horror of the things she’d seen and done.

Carefully, Iji lowered his book to rest on his anvil, giving her his full attention. He spoke gently, patiently. “I hope that you are not mistaken. Truly, I do.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but he didn’t. He only picked up his book again, leaving Delia to her thoughts.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Renna’s Rise had been inaccessible before, shielded by some magic.

That magic was gone now. Delia made her way up the ladder, up the elevator, into the loft above. It was empty, save a chest and a portal. She opened the chest to find Ranni’s garb, there- her hat, her dress, her cloak. She fingered the thick fur of the cloak, thinking of Blaidd as she did.

Where had he gone?

She didn’t want to believe Iji’s words that he might turn against Ranni, turn against his own free will. But she hadn’t been able to find him after freeing him from the Evergaol, and she was beginning to fear for him.

Carefully, she folded Ranni’s clothes into a neat bundle, wrapping it all with a short length of rope. Her fingers brushed against the pamphlet Rogier had so lovingly created for her. She felt dizzy with despair. She lifted her head and straightened her shoulders, looking to the portal.

Reaching forward, she let herself be tugged somewhere else.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia lifted the tiny doll with shaking hands.

“My lady?” There was no response. She gripped the doll slightly tighter, trying and failing to maintain some semblance of calm. “Lady Ranni.” Still nothing. She made an aggravated sound, shaking the doll lightly between her hands.

She took a deep breath. “I know you can hear me. And I’m not going to leave until you speak to me.”

The answering voice was dry. “Oh? A dogged fellow, aren't we? Or is it merely thy habit, to talk to dolls?” 

Delia sucked in a breath. She’d been half convinced that she was wrong, that this wouldn’t work.

“Fine...fine. I hadn't expected any soul to recognize me in this guise.” Delia arched an eyebrow at that. Really? “But now the cat is out the bag, I cannot allow thee thy freedoms. Perform for me a service, as recompense. Eliminate the Baleful Shadows which prowl these lands. The name of Ranni the Witch is already sullied by thee. I will not brook disobedience in this matter.”

Delia felt her hackles rise. Sullied? She bit her tongue. She couldn’t afford to lose her temper. Not now, not with Rogier’s life on the line. And so instead, she fought her way through dripping caverns, past ants as large as shacks, past a malformed star.

She fought through all of this, not easily, but without pause.

“Let us speak of the past awhile.”

Ranni told her tales of Empyreans and the Two Fingers. Of Blaidd, her vassal shadow, and of slaying her own flesh. Of Baleful Shadows, of Iji and Blaidd’s loyalty- especially Blaidd’s.

Delia fought.

“Blaidd, and Iji both… art willing to give too much to me.”

Until she reached a courtyard, drowned in an awful red glow.

“Ah, should I add thee to the list? Another one, kind of heart. As kind of heart as they.”

Until she saw Blaidd.

“O Shadow, thou’rt the last.”

Shadow. Not Blaidd.

She raised her sword just in time to block a devastating blow from Blai- the Shadow’s- sword.

“Tell the Two Fingers, that Ranni the Witch cometh, to rend thy flesh.” Ranni’s voice was powerful and angry. Delia sidestepped, rolled, used her blade’s enchantment to close the distance. With a powerful thrust, she drove it up, through the chest of the Shadow. “With a fateful wound, ne’er to heal.”

Delia choked back the involuntary sob that arose from killing one wearing the face of a friend.

“Beautifully fought,” Ranni soothed. “My thanks.”

Delia wrenched her blade free with a squelch, doing her damndest not to look at the mask at her feet.

“Now I can finally stand before them. We’ll meet again, my dear. Take this key, and bring me what it opens. And tell Blaidd, and Iji… I love them.” 

There was a tiny ringing sound in the cavern, and then a filigreed key dropped at Delia’s feet. She picked it up with a sigh. She looked up, toward the passage on the far side of the room. Something about it called to her. She moved toward it, hand on the hilt of her sword, and peeked through.

Her stomach dropped at the sight of a vast, roiling lake of Scarlet Rot.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The path forward had been bloody and fraught with pain.

The key had opened a chest. The chest had produced a ring. The ring had raised questions. Questions had led her to Iji. Speaking with Iji had led her to Blaidd.

Blaidd, Ranni’s most loyal companion and protector. Blaidd, her own friend and helper. Blaidd, driven mad by the nature he sought to master. Blaidd, who had attacked her.

Blaidd, who she had killed.

She’d fallen to her knees at the steps, shock and grief silencing the wails clawing their way up their throat.

She had to tell Ranni. She had to tell Iji.

Iji’s words had haunted her as she numbly followed the draw of Grace.

“I’ll catch up with you soon enough, Blaidd. When I do, I only hope you’ll accept my apology.”

She’d had no tears left to cry when she found Ranni’s lifeless doll body, bloody and still. Her only thought as she knelt had been of Rogier, that she’d well and truly failed him now.

She hadn’t let herself look too closely at her own near-friendship with the witch. 

But she wasn’t dead, and that was one crisis averted for the time being. Delia had let herself be lulled into a sense of relief- that Ranni was alive, that everything would be alright.

Everything was not alright.

At the Hold, in Delia’s chambers, Ranni had produced a necklace, sharp edged and sapphire with scarlet sheen along the points.

Not a necklace. A blade.

Delia recoiled. She could no longer hear Ranni’s voice above the ringing in her ears. Each time she thought things couldn’t get worse, they did.

“It is the only way. If thou hasn’t the stomach for it, I can help thee not.”

“He’ll never forgive me,” Delia whispered.

“Neither wilt he forgive thee if he does not live to do so.”

Delia sucked in a shaky breath. “Is this… it’s because I…” She couldn’t finish the thought. 

She needn’t have tried. Ranni was shaking her head, slowly. “He was at Death’s door, my dear. Thou didst well by him.”

She lifted her hand slowly, offering the blade once more. Delia stared at it. 

She couldn’t do what Ranni asked.

She had to.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She pictured Rogier’s bright eyes and dark hair, the curve of his lips and the arch of his brows.

She blew out all the air in her lungs and reached for the blade.

It took lifetimes to walk the few steps to her bed. It took longer to sit, and longer still to lay a hand on Rogier’s shoulder. She leaned forward to rest her head in the crook of his neck.

“You were right,” she whispered. “The boluses, they worked.” She stroked his sweaty hair back from where it brushed his eyebrows. Careful doses of the black boluses had killed the remainder of the magic roots, and those that hadn’t dried and falled had simply… disappeared.

If only she’d found them sooner.

She lay her head against his chest.

“Come, my dear. Be not afraid. I’ll not let him die, not now. Not after what thou hast done to see him through.”

She lifted her head, turning a tortured expression back to Ranni. “There’s no other way?”

The witch glided forward and rested a pair of hands on Delia’s shoulder, but said nothing.

Delia took in a shaky breath, drawing little comfort from Ranni’s cold hands. She pressed her cheek to Rogier’s. “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

Then she drew back and, with a savage thrust, drove the blade into his heart.

[prettymediocrewizard]

Embrace thine oblivion, as shall I

I finished fighting Messmer last night and honestly did not think that I'd be so taken by him. Phase 2 design lives rent free in my head and the image of a moment of tenderness for someone so distraught with emotion really got to me.

[pillowenvelopchair]

I got a bit crazy testing out new brushes ok

oil pastel brush..... its actually so good.....

[bowietea]

Fuck it we ball moment of even more fanart doodles based off of @no-braincells-inc Varre fic qwq✨️

[sorcerer-rogierhoard3]

Holy sheet this artist on Twitter's work is amazing 👏

elden_things doesn't have a tumblr as far as I know, so I'd recommend giving them a follow on their Twitter (by tapping the 'view on twitter' link under the photo) cause they post a lot of really great Rogier + D related art

*they allow reposts with credit

[draken-rotzi]

They've taken over my mind and heart

🐲🗡🪄🩸

[lycheedr3ams]

Banished Love, part 3

Knight Engvall x fem!noble!reader

SFW, MDNI

This is written by me, so don't copy my work! Reblogs are appreciated.

Honestly, idk if I'm writing romance good enough or believable..... but here's part 3!

Ever since your parents told you about this new suitor, lavish gifts were sent to you from the Lands Between at regular intervals. Fine cheeses and wines, dresses, jewels, rare books, and more. Each package was hand-signed by your suitor, and your mother insists on you opening each and every package in front of her.

“Oh, what’s next!?” Alessia asks with her hands clasped together in excitement. She stands behind you as you sit at a large table in the family dining area. Engvall stands by the doorway with his back to you, but somehow, you feel like his eyes are on you. 

You apathetically open the next gift, which is a beautiful golden crystal necklace. Despite your hatred for your new suitor, you cannot deny it is a lofty gift. 

“How beautiful!” your mother exclaims as she admires the jewel from over your shoulder. “I must show your father this!” Alessia snatches the necklace from your hands and dashes out of the dining room, leaving you and Engvall alone.

Engvall turns to face you when he hears you sigh. You put your head in your hands and take deep breaths.

“I’ve had enough of this,” you say quietly as you loudly scoot the chair across the stone floor to stand up. You jog down the hallway and out into the courtyard, hoping to have left the vicinity before your mother comes back. Engvall is right on your heels, but he’s so tall that your jog is barely a fast walk for him.

You burst out into the courtyard and make your way to your garden. There is a garden for each of your family members, where only their favorite flowers were planted. Your garden is a little further out than the others, shielded by tall oak trees and trimmed rose bushes. You open the iron gate and give Engvall room to enter before shutting it behind him. He looks at you silently before turning around to guard the gate.

“Engvall,” you sigh, but cannot help but let out a tiny laugh. His shoulders tense. “We’re just in the garden. You don’t have to stand guard here.”

“I must stand guard everywhere, my lady,” Engvall says as he scans the courtyard. Your family is all inside, and the only people who occasionally pass by are the gardeners. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that we all have a knight at all times?” you ask, standing right behind Engvall. “It’s like my parents are almost expecting something horrible to happen.”

“My lady, you are a noble. There are many people who begrudge you that,” Engvall responds plainly. You sigh.

“Well, for once, would you please just enjoy the garden with me? I don’t think anything bad is going to happen right now. If we’re invaded or anything, the archers at the edge of the property will take care of it,” you attempt to convince him.

Engvall makes no move, and instead stands at his post. You grow annoyed.

“Engvall, did you hear me?” you ask with a huff, knowing full well that he heard you.

“I swore an oath to protect you, my lady,” Engvall responds. 

You finally give up, and turn to retreat further into your garden. There is a three-tiered fountain in the middle, and the sound of the water always calms your heart. There are four wrought-iron benches at each compass direction surrounding the fountain. The oak trees from outside your garden extend over the benches and fountain, ensuring that there is always cool shade to retreat to during the hot days. There is a cobblestone pathway that leads to a small clearing that houses all your favorite flowers, but that is not where you want to go today. When you were younger, with the help of Engvall, you cut some of the hedges to make a small opening into a secret part of your garden. You made Engvall and the gardeners swear to keep it a secret from everyone else. 

You turn back to Engvall and stare into the back of his head, hoping that he could read your mind that way. But that helmet must do more than protect his head, because whatever signals you were trying to send didn’t reach him. You turn on your heel and move aside the vines you have covering the small doorway to your secret garden. You duck a little and make your way through the space in the hedges, but Engvall’s voice makes you stop.

“My lady, I cannot see you if you go over there,” he calls from the gate. “Please come back.”

You smile mischievously to yourself. “You better come find me then,” you call as you retreat down the makeshift tunnel. You don’t make it far before you hear the clink of Engvall’s armor, and see a patch of sunlight as he moves the vines out of the way. You laugh as you exit the tunnel and come out into the small, grassy clearing of your secret garden. You asked the gardeners to train the rose bushes to grow into a roof to cover the clearing, and after years of training, the roses have formed a thick covering over your hideaway. Some sunlight peeks through the spaces in the thorny bushes, but most is blocked out. You remember the time you and Engvall got caught in the garden in a rainstorm, but you were barely wet because of how thick the covering was. 

The space is tall enough for you to stand, and with room for about five people to lay down. You’re lost in your own reverie, remembering all the times you snuck off here and made Engvall chase you, when the sound of his armor clinking brings you back to reality. Engvall squeezes through the entryway and stands up as straight as he can without being hit by the thorns.

“I see you made it,” you say with a smile as you look up at Engvall. But upon closer inspection, you can see that there are some branches clinging to the divots in his armor. “You’re so clumsy,” you joke. “You’re a mess.”

Engvall stands still as you gently pull off the twigs that got stuck in his armor. 

“Thank you, my lady,” he says quietly once you pull off the last twig. You thought you should respond, but silence overcomes you as you look at Engvall. Being back here, with him, brought back so many memories that left you speechless. This hideaway might as well be another dimension. The first time you saw Engvall’s face, the first time you asked him to hold your hand, was here. It was as if this hideaway allowed you to see Engvall as a human rather than your knight in shining armor. You blush and look away.  

Engvall says nothing, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I wish we could just stay here forever,” you say quietly. You look down at your hands and play with your nails.

“Where is my daughter?” you hear your mother’s voice call from the courtyard. You tense up.

“I am not sure, ma’am,” one of the gardeners says. “I haven’t seen her.”

You can hear your mother’s heels clicking against the stone courtyard as she looks for you. You wait with bated breath until you can no longer hear her shoes, or her voice calling for you. 

You take a deep breath. “That was close,” you say aloud. You sit down on the cool grass, and pat the space next to you with your hand. Engvall obeys, and lowers himself down slowly to not make much noise with his armor. You sit criss-crossed next to him, while his legs are bent out over the grass with his arms leaning against his thighs. There is not enough room for him to sit comfortably, especially in his armor. 

You look up at him sheepishly before nuzzling into his side and wrapping your hands around his arm. You can’t see it from under his helmet, but his eyes close in satisfaction as he lets out a small sigh. His metal armor is cold and hard against your cheek, but you don’t mind. You absentmindedly trace the small patterns in one of his gauntlets with your index finger. 

You eventually close your eyes and relax into his side. You begin to fall into a very light sleep; Engvall’s breathing was like a lullaby. The sound of his armor gently clinking makes you open your eyes to see that he is slowly moving his other hand towards your own. But his hand freezes in midair once your eyes are open. You look up at him and nod, and his hand gently encases both of yours. Despite the leather of the gauntlet covering his hand, you can feel the warmth of his skin against yours. He gently grabs your hands and holds them tight.

Engvall barely whispers your name. 

You blink your eyes open and look up at him again with a smile. “You said my name,” you say quietly. But when he doesn’t respond, you grow worried. “What is it?” you ask, your smile quickly fading.

Engvall purses his lips, battling his own mind. “We…we can’t…” he stammers slowly. Despite his words, his hand still holds your own.

“No one needs to know,” you implore as you sit up a little straighter. “What happens between me and my knight, stays between me and my knight.” 

But Engvall doesn’t seem very convinced, as his grip on your hands loosens slightly.

“Please, Engvall,” you say above a whisper this time. “What we’re doing isn’t wrong.”

Engvall looks away from you. “I…I swore an oath. To protect you.”

“And that’s what you’re doing, is it not?” you ask, still holding onto his strong arm. “Nothing has come in between your duty.”

“It…isn’t right,” he says. His voice is strained, and you can feel his muscles tense underneath your hand. His hand that was holding your own retreats to his side. 

“Engvall, please,” you say with a frown. You grab his arm a little tighter, hoping to keep him with you. But he gently escapes your grasp and stands up. 

“I need to resume my guard. I will be right on the other end of the tunnel,” he says before retreating. You’re left alone in your hideaway. It feels like Engvall took all the sunlight and warmth with him, as this place no longer brought you comfort in the moment. You place your head in your hands and cry.

…

The next week, you could barely manage to get a word in with Engvall. Ever since he let his guard down in the secret garden, he had been very distant with you: only speaking to you when necessary, avoiding being alone with you, and barely even looking at you. You tried to get him out of whatever shell he put himself in, but it was no use. No matter how many plates of food you saved him, how much you looked up at him adoringly, or how many times you held onto his arm, he did not budge. 

It didn’t help that the castle had been even busier as your parents got ready for the ball they are planning for your new suitor. Extra maids had been hired to clean every inch of the castle, rugs were being washed, windows shined, display armor polished, your clothes improved. And as you walked in silence through the halls of your family’s castle, Engvall was right there behind you, just as silent. 

Until today. Today, you had enough.

The rain petters against the stained glass windows in the corridors and causes a chill to settle over the castle. All the maids have extra furs and cloaks on, including you, but Engvall remains in his armor as always.

You walk towards the greenhouse when you suddenly turn on your heel and face Engvall. He instantly stands still and looks at you, but just above your head. You look up at him with a mixture of defiance and love.

“Aren’t you cold?” you ask him as you pull your furs around yourself. “That armor has got to be freezing.”

You can see Engvall slowly blink through his helmet. “I am all right, my lady. Do not concern yourself with me.”

Your brows furrow in frustration for a moment before you inch forward and run your fingers along his gauntlet. You were right: his armor is freezing, and slightly damp from the humidity. 

“Engvall!” you exclaim, and he almost jumps. “You need to get out of this armor and put on something warm. You’re going to get sick.”

“My lady, I must stay in my armor. I am not cold,” he insists.

You shake your head, and take off one of the layers of fur that lay around your shoulders. You walk behind Engvall and are about to place the fur over his shoulders when he turns around abruptly.

“My lady, please, you’re the one who’s going to get sick if you don’t keep that on you,” Engvall says.

You begin to get even more frustrated. “Engvall, I don’t want to play the knight card. But you’re my knight, and I insist that you wear this fur.” You hold out the fur towards him.

Engvall shakes his head. “My lady, I am allowed to forgo your orders when they are in direct opposition with your best interest. I cannot take the fur from you. Please, wear it.” Engvall then gently takes the fur from your hands and drapes it around your shoulders again. You sigh in defeat, but then look up at him angrily.

“What’s with you, Engvall?” you ask. “You’ve been different lately. I know why, but there’s no reason to be like this. Please, Engvall. I miss you. You’re my knight, and my friend, and…” your voice dies off in silence as you look at the freshly washed rug below you.

Engvall almost feels his heart breaking at your saddened expression. He leans down slightly, and whispers, “not here, my lady.”

You don’t realize that you’re having this conversation with Engvall in the middle of a corridor with various outlets to it. But before you can take back anything you said, your little sister comes running around from a side corridor, laughing. Right behind her is her knight Oleg, who is chasing after her.

“Hide me, sister!” she yells as she pretends to hide behind your legs. Oleg stops dead in his tracks and bows slightly to you. 

“What’s going on?” you ask as you look between Oleg and Malarue, who now clings onto your leg.

“I was playing hide and seek with Oleg, and he found me! But he was cheating!” she says with a smile.

“Cheating?” You say as you raise your eyebrow and look at Oleg with a smile of your own. “I don’t think an honorable knight would cheat.”

“He did!” Malarue says as she grabs your leg tighter.

You look at Oleg with mock judgment. “And what do you have to say in your defense, knight Oleg?”

“I assure you, lady, that I was not cheating,” Oleg says honorably. “Malarue was very loud when she hid in the storage room.”

You look down at Malarue. “You shouldn’t accuse people of cheating, sister. You lost, fair and square.”

Malarue frowns and runs back to Oleg. “It’s Oleg’s turn to hide now!” she says. 

“I cannot hide from you, my lady,” Oleg says to Malarue. “But you can hide again, if you wish.”

Malarue then takes off down another corridor. Oleg nods at you before slowly following after her. The moment to talk with Engvall is gone. You sigh and make your way back to the greenhouse. 

…

You sit on the couch that looks out over the gardens in your room, the moon now at its third quarter phase. Engvall is on his hour-long watch outside your door. You tried to distract yourself with reading, humming, anything, but your thoughts don’t stray from your knight just a few paces away. With a huff of determination, you sit up and go to your door.

“Engvall?” you say quietly as you open the door.

“Yes, my lady?” he replies dutifully.

“I want you to come inside,” you say plainly. 

Engvall hesitates. “I must watch your door, my lady.”

“Well, if anyone decides to break in, you’ll still be in here,” you say.

There is a minute of silence where you swear you can hear the cogs in Engvall’s head turning. Right as you are about to close the door and wish him goodnight, he turns and enters your bedroom. He stands right by the door, facing you, but still on guard.

“At ease, or whatever it is they say,” you say quietly.

He does not respond, nor move. You can feel your resolve failing.

“Please, Engvall,” you plead. “Please. I need you back.”

And Engvall finally sighs. A sign of humanity. Your eyes light up.

“Please, put your halberd down. Take off your helmet,” you ask. 

Engvall quietly steps into your room and does as you asked. He then stands before you, no halberd or helmet. And he finally looks at you again. He looks human: not a knight (despite the rest of his armor that’s still on him), not your protector. Now, he’s your Engvall.

You smile, but find that your knees can no longer hold you up. The crushing weight of never having your Engvall back again was too much to bear, and you only noticed the weight once it was gone. You kneel gently onto the floor, and Engvall is right there with you. He kneels before you, but does not move to touch you.

“I thought I lost you,” you say as you cry quietly. “Don’t do that to me, Engvall. Please, not again.”

This wasn’t the first time Engvall had distanced himself after you and him had a close moment. You never knew how long the episodes would last. Some lasted a few days, others weeks. 

You look up at him with tear-stained eyes, but before you can say or do anything else, he envelopes you in a tight hug. It hurts, with his armor digging into you through your furs. But you don’t care: Engvall is hugging you.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he whispers into your ear as you hug him back. You cling onto him like a moth to a flame. 

“Well, you did,” you retort. “Don’t do that again. You know I hate it when you do that.”

Engvall doesn’t respond. He instead opts to rub soft circles into your back. You take a deep breath and lean back to look at him, and the look in his eyes takes you away. He looks at you so much more than a knight looks at his charge. His green eyes are stunning, and take your breath away. Your lips part slightly, and the way his eyes dart to your lips doesn’t escape your notice. His cheeks blush slightly, embarrassed that the allure of your lips was too strong for him to resist. You look up at him adoringly, and whisper his name. His eyes flutter closed. You gently brush the tip of your nose against his, testing the waters. His eyes shoot open, but there is a hint of a small smile on his lips. You look back down at his lips, and then his eyes, before slowly closing the distance between you.

The kiss was gentle, but his arms around you hold you tight so that there is no hope of getting away. Not that you would want to. Desperate for more of him, you kiss him back just a little stronger, and you suddenly feel his large hand on the back of your head, pushing you impossibly closer to him. You mumble when you need air, and he lets you go, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort. But you smile up at him, your cheeks flushed and lips red. He dives in for a second kiss, and you gladly indulge him. Your moment went no further once you separated from him again. Engvall presses a chaste kiss on your cheek, his stubble grazing your soft skin. His warm breath tickles your ear, and you can’t help but giggle quietly.

“Something funny?” he teases with a gentle smirk.

“Yeah. Your breath tickles.”

“Come on. You need to get to bed,” Engvall says. You are about to protest when he suddenly picks you up and gently places you on your bed. You insist that he spends the rest of his hour on guard in your room, and who is he to refuse? He stands right next to you as you lie on your side, facing him, and you have never fallen asleep faster. 

[flaskofceruleantears]

In her humbler days of exploration of the Lands Between, Asteri made many friends, whom she holds very close and dear to her heart.

Asteri knew she would have to make her journey alone. But those she met along the way warmed her heart and gave her a sense of companionship and camaraderie she had lacked in her life.

She even felt love blooming in her heart, after a lifetime of stoic solitude. But, like all things in the Lands Between, it must come to an end sooner or later. Nothing lasts forever, and it always seems to vanish too quickly for her to ever really enjoy its presence.

[dragoncult-handmaiden]

Engvall x Fem!Tarnished!Reader Relationship Headcannons (SFW)

answered an ask on my main blog (@lycheedr3ams) for @x-hey-jude-x

These headcannons will operate separately from my Banished Love fic since the reader is not tarnished in that story. I am long-winded so my headcannons are more like drabbles

Life in the Lands Between is not easy, and Engvall knows this all too well. Despite choosing to protect a lordless castle for the rest of his days, his first priority is protecting you. Even if you’re just going to collect herbs or take a bath in the stream, Engvall insists on accompanying you everywhere. And, um, you can’t exactly argue with an over 6 foot tall knight  XD

You and Engvall share a large room in the castle he chose to protect. He himself doesn’t mind sleeping on a hard bed or on the floor, but since you sleep with him every night, he would not let you rest until he found the best blankets available. Your comfort is very important to him, and it helps him rest better at night. 

Speaking of sleeping. This man is always cuddled into you or touching you in some way. I imagine the emotional toll of being banished is pretty tough, and Engvall appreciates that you’re always there for him. Whether it’s an arm around your waist, him spooning you tightly against his chest, or your arm and leg lazily flung over his body, he always wants some sort of contact with you when you both are asleep. He is always the big spoon, just bc of how large he is, and he enjoys protecting you even in his sleep. Given how tall he is, he gives off a ton of body heat, and you wake up pretty sweaty in the mornings

Sorry, but Engvall cannot cook very well. He can cook well enough to survive while traveling or just to get by, but it is by no means a 5-star meal. he burns most of his food. He avoids embarrassment by saying he prefers his food to be “crispy”. He has trained his whole life with his halberd and armor, not with pots and pans. Engvall loves it when you cook for him! He will sit patiently and watch you cook like you're the only thing that matters in the world. He’s usually very hungry since his daily activities expend a lot of calories, so be prepared to cook at least three plates for him to be full. But with how lovingly he watches you cook, you wouldn’t mind making food for him all day

Touching again on the protectiveness. He’s extremely overprotective, and a little possessive. If he sees someone else in the castle looking at you for too long or flirting with you, this man will stalk up silently behind you and just death stare at the person trying to get with you. His presence is enough to make anyone fold, so it’s always successful. Once you turn around after the person you were talking to runs away in fear, he instantly becomes your Engvall again, just with a slightly deadly twinkle in his eye

He needs a decent amount of reassurance, especially if he finds out someone was hitting on you. Engvall has little to no money of his own despite his title, and your living means are in no way comfortable. He’s scared you’ll leave him for someone who has more money and resources to give you a better life. But you always tell him that you don’t care about money or status or material things, you just want him, and that he’s the best partner anyone could ask for

Engvall loves it when you help him into his armor. I don’t even think it would be possible for him to put on all that armor by himself. He loves watching the way your fingers glide over the metal and buckle everything in place, and how your eyebrows furrow if something gets stuck. He looks at you so love-sickeningly that it makes your heart flutter. Engvall will track you down in the castle to ask you to help him into his armor even though there are tons of other people around who could easily do so. He says that you put on his armor just the way he likes <3

Engvall really does not want you to become elden lord. The path to doing so is riddled with death and despair, and he would be destroyed if something happened to you. If you want to be the elden lord, he will try to dissuade you at every chance he can get. If you end up setting out traveling the Lands Between to become elden lord, he will be with you every step of the way to ensure nothing happens to you at this rate, he might just become elden lord bc he doesn’t want you to fight anyone)

Engvall is pretty quiet even when alone with you, but you are his peace. When he is silent during his duties, it is because he has to maintain a watchful, cautious eye at all times. But when he’s quiet with you, wrapped up in a blanket in front of the fire and playing with your hair, he’s quiet because his love has no need for words. He will tell you he loves you sometimes, it is just hard for him to voice it. As a knight, he's a man of actions, not words. the only words he really ever had to say was his oath when he was sworn

Likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

[starlitkindred]

Rest of the chapter that I posted the excerpt from is up!

Sorry I am doing some research into Alchemy and item lore for this, and as a result I am trying to tie in the chapters without adding too much... extra explanation? So currently it's been: Foreshadowy Prologue Band of Misfits Meet cute without the cute and much more tension Themes: autonomy vs over stepping boundaries, action adventure, lore within story, lost and found family Current Characters in fic: Blaidd, Rogier, Nepheli, Ranni, Millicent, Tarnished, Iron fist Alexander, Radagon, Marika, briefly Miquella (but more to come)

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - The “Always good to see you safe” Extra

Summary: Rogier's thoughts on watching Delia die and come back. Takes place sometime after the events of the main story

Author’s Notes: 700 words! Me: starts typing. Husband: What are you doing? Me: Writing! Husband: Writing what!? Me: ……… Husband: *Gets up to look at my screen, throws his hands up.* “Oh, for the love of-!”

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think?

As it turned out, knowing that someone could be resurrected did not make watching them die any easier.

It was knowledge Rogier could have done without.

As Delia went down, he made a choked sound somewhere between a shout and a sob. He backed slowly up, never taking his eyes from the shimmer of runes where she’d been a moment before or the Tree Sentinel circling the spot. The blade through her body would fuel his nightmares for weeks to come. He breathed shallowly, hardly in control of himself. He wanted to race out, to draw his rapier and cast every spell he knew, but there was a reason she had him stay back.

They knew she could come back.

But did they? The voice in his mind sounded an awful lot like D, sometimes. Grace spurned you, once. What if it spurns her too?

“It wouldn’t,” he ground out softly. “She’s better than me,” he added on a breath. 

You allowed yourself to be seduced by Those Who Live in Death, and she allowed herself to be seduced by you. What’s to say she won’t be abandoned as well?

“Enough,” he hissed.

“I agree.” Delia stepped up behind him, startling him so badly that he sat hard on the loamy ground.

Despite her heavy mail- she’d taken to wearing Blaidd’s armor in their recent travels- her step was still light enough to startle him more often than not. He was reminded often, and fondly, of their first meeting.

She was looking at him curiously. “Talking to yourself?” she asked lightly. He hadn’t told her yet about the ghost of D that lived in his mind, but he thought she might have an inkling all the same. 

Instead of answering, he surged to his feet, dragging her behind him to press her against a wide tree trunk that blocked them from the Sentinel’s view. He dipped his head to kiss her. It was desperate, filled with the despair and anguish he’d felt watching her fall, even believing that she’d walk up behind him just as she had. Delia made a startled sound that quickly dissolved into a satisfied sigh. She reached up, pulling him closer by the straps that hung around his arms. She parted his lips with her tongue, exploring his mouth languorously as he tried in vain to still the beating of his heart with one arm braced over her head and the other pulling her against him. 

The effect she had on him was unreal. He might have had an abundance of experience over her, but she never failed to make his knees weak and his chest tight. No matter who instigated the contact, she was always the one in charge.

Rogier loved it.

Well, loved it until she broke away. “You’ve got to let me go, my Love. I need those runes.”

Rogier huffed. “I still don’t see why we can’t test this so-called immortality of mine. You know I hate seeing you take all of the risks.”

“Well,” she hummed. She reached up, straightening his hat and his collar. “I can afford them.” For how long? “But not losing you. Not again.” She patted his chest firmly, kissed his cheek, and drew her blade. She took a few steps before turning to walk backward, tossing him a wink. “I’ll be right back.”

He waved half-heartedly, planted for a moment of indecision. Then he sighed, tiptoed back to his vantage point behind a large rock, and peered over. Delia was as quick as ever, backstepping and whirling and swinging and dodging. The Tree Sentinel put up a good fight, but was ultimately no match.

He did not earn a second victory.

Rogier rose from his crouch and Delia, having just collected her newfound strength, beamed up at him.

His heart melted as he looked at her. Sometimes he imagined that he could feel the shard of glintstone in it, but rather than a painful reminder, it had become a token of her dedication. She cocked her head, expression growing confused.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He was grinning like a sentimental fool. “It’s just… I…” He felt overwhelmed with gratefulness all over again, having her within reach once more. He pulled himself up, drawing her into his arms. “It’s always good to see you safe.”

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Swallowed Whole by The Flame (Messmer the Impaler x Tarnished! Reader) 8

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Summary: The storehouse calls to you, your path awaits.

A/N: I've been ill for a while, so this is coming out when I feel better! Sorry for the delay! A promise is a promise! More interactions!

A03 link

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Chapter 8: The Encounter

The rest of your day is spent avoiding Messmer as best as you can, despite the heavy enforcement of soldiers who seem to follow your every move. It comes to you with great unease and irritation, but you're thankful when you've eaten supper and you can be to yourself for the rest of the evening,

Your thoughts are spent thinking about the specimen storehouse and where your heart lies in the books you could be reading. It comes with great restraint not to sneak out and go there in the dead of night, but you promise yourself you would rather worm your way through befriending Ansbach better to gain some further insight.

You go to sleep slightly content with your goals, hoping you can go through with them easily.

Ansbach is who you go to seek out after breaking your fast, dressing simply in your usual garbs before you find him in his usual spot. You strike up a conversation with him for a bit before you know his suspicions are up, knowing you're up to no good.

"You know, Lord Messmer will not be too pleased in knowing you're not where you are."

"How so? He's not looking for me, he's not sought me out." You shrug, though you cannot help but eye the red-cladded knight who loiters close by. He's aware of your presence down here, but he is allowing it for some reason. Could it be some ploy to think he's fine with it all?

"I think his Lord is so caught up in worrying about me, he should be addressing the real issue." You continue, "Any news of Miquella? Or even Lady Leda?"

"It seems Leda has found the gift you left." Ansbach addressed plainly, "What she wishes to do to deal with our betrayals, I am still left in the dark of. I have no doubt she will be finding some way to create an ambush."

"Best be on our best behaviour then." You jest, but Ansbach grunts in response. Why must everyone be so grumpy in this Keep, no, these lands? You remember fellow allies like the kindly girl Roderika, the polite sorcerer Rogier, and Boc your seamster - even in the coldness and darkness of the world, they still found kindness that could be shared with strangers.

Two days pass since your conversation with Ansbach, and despite lingering for far too long in the storehouse staring at the endless shelves, you cannot finally help the urge that calls to you.

Only dressed in a nightgown and dressing gown, its green silk robes still feel foreign on your skin. You scamper to the door of your chambers barefoot, the cold wooden floor cool against your skin as you slowly pull the door open. Looking to see no one there, you gather yourself, shutting the door behind you as darkness engulfs you in the small tower.

Feeling along the walls as your aid, you trek downwards, careful to keep your pacing quiet.

Quick as a mouse, sharp as a cat. You tell yourself as you avoid what you think are soldiers who are posted along the lower grounds, patrolling as they go.

You stick to the shadows as best as you can, passing the infirmary as you near the steps heading down into the dimly lit storehouse. Your smile broads, victory is on the horizon as you continue to sneak before you find yourself in endless bookshelves. 

Finding a small candle and taking it along with you, you pace down the bookcases until you cannot find Sir Ansbach in his usual spot. Instead of him, you find the endless books you have been dying to open since you last spoke with him.

You feel a sense of pride wash over you, eagerly picking up the first book with too much force that it knocks the tower to the ground, some books clatter open with a loud crash as you freeze, assessing your situation before turning back to continue with the pages.

You find books on the history of the lands, of the Hornsent, the war and tyranny that seem to address in length of Messmer's battles, but you work your way to find one that is of great interest to you—the History of Queen Marika and the Golden Order.

It's when your foolishness and brashness bring you to be unaware for a moment, too engrossed in what's around you, that when you try to reach for a book on the shelf that is too high for you, a voice hisses out to you in the darkness.

"Thou art rather brazen at which hour thee sneaketh."

You almost scream out, but catch yourself, your voice being stuck in your throat as you turn to who stands behind you.

You should've known you were being followed, but nothing had prepared you to finally come face to face with the redhead. You had to admit, it was rather haunting how someone so tall as he was able to move around with ease of not disrupting noise. Despite the darkness, your candle caught a glimpse of his red hair, almost blending in with the bookcases. He appears to you how an apparition would, his form languid and swaying as if he is uncertain as to what your next moves shall be. He has a ghost-like quality that only he could carry in a Keep so full of others. He instead thrives in the abyss, in the dampened walls and cold grey spots. You wonder what he carries, the stoicism that he was born with, would it be broken if he finally saw his mother again? And just how long had it been since he last saw her?

"Firstly thee fight mine own men liketh a drunken in a tavern." He spouts. "Next I findeth thee sneaking off to mine own library. Bid me, where shalt I findeth thee next? Sneaking wine into thy chambers?"

"Are you taking note of everywhere I go?" You bemoaned. "If I had known better, it seems you enjoy stalking me."

The glare he sends you is not enough to make you cower, rather you swear you see his cheeks redden at your words. He averts his eye from you, but he keeps his mood sour. "Bid me, art thee going to starteth destroying mine own books?"

You stare at him incredulously, "I read, you know?"

It's his time to gawk, his snakes look between one another before looking up to their master, the three staring as if they are silently communicating. You can't help but feel like the fool at this moment.

Messmer surprises you as if he is a grumpy unapproachable cat, slowly inching his way towards you, his movement slow, hesitant. There is bewilderment present in his features as he whispers, "Thee... read?"

"Yes," Your words are mixed with a weary laugh that has been bubbling inside your throat, "you believe I'm ready to tear your books apart like a beast?"

He doesn't answer that, rather he's quiet, maybe from embarrassment for assuming.

"Look-" you begin to walk closer towards him, not even getting as close as you predicted before something is face to face with you, squaring off. You're startled back, keeping eye contact with one of the serpents that had unwound itself around Messmer's torso to stare down at you. You never realised even up close how vivid its scales were, bright and a brilliant crimson hue. 

You also realise the difference between both serpents: one had startling blue-green eyes, the other matching Messmer's. One is slightly bigger, the other slimmer and longer. You cannot help but feel inquisitive by the one inches away from your face, it also doesn't move as it inspects you. Instinctively, you hold a hand out, somewhat frightful it could change its mind and latch its jaws around your hand, but rather than that, it takes in your scent, its long tongue flickers up your finger before you gingerly stroke along its nose once it has investigated you enough.

"Woah," you marvel in wonder, "they are beautiful." Messmer seems stiff and unresponsive, watching but not daring to move. You assume he's in two minds: fight you off his serpents or allow you to continue, however, you're still hesitant you've overstepped.

His skin even ashen holds a light blush to his face, and it finally dawns on you. He can sense what the snakes feel, for his golden eye is sharp and wide in shock. He does not recoil from you, but he finally does seem to come back from whatever trance he's in, nodding in agreement with your statement. 

"Do they have names?" You ponder aloud.

Messmer's voice is soft as he points to the one with blue eyes, "Fos," he points to the other, "Eos."

It is Fos who turns from you to look up to Messmer, almost pleased to be finally formally introduced, which brings a smile to your face. To think, these serpents have their personalities and thoughts, working independently from their master if they wished.

You realise you need to say more so it does not fill the air with awkwardness, "You asked if I read?"

"I did."

"I do because I wish to learn," you answer, "Not only of these lands but of the one I have long forgotten. I am Tarnished, yes, but I also had a life before, one I have not remembered in a long time. If I am to defeat Miquella and know of his plans, I must learn more of what I'm up against."

Messmer is silent as he takes them in, his face stoic and cold but his eye is darting across your face, over the books surrounding you. It is only then that he sighs heavily. "Very well. If it is true t' is what thee needeth, it shalt be provided." The smile that grows on your face as you hear his words, "However, thee shall not seeketh this inf'rmation without mine own aid. Nor shall I allow thee to be in the storehouse alone."

A fair agreement. You think to yourself, soaking in his deal. "Deal?" You are the one to hold your hand out to him, an olive branch of peace. He stares at your hand then your face, slowly reaching out, his large clawed hand warm as you predicted, swallowing yours in the softness of his skin. "Deal."

It feels like a long time before one of you remembers to pull away, your hand feels extra cold away from his heat, the power he exudes. You go pick up the book you wished to read, but Messmer is quick to add, "T'is yours to read," his voice is a gentle whisper in the coldness of the night, "if it keeps thee from fighting mine own men."

It dawns on you, that his tone is not dour when he tells you that, there is a tinge of humour laced within him when he wants to be droll. "Now, that I don't know I can keep as a promise, Lord Messmer."

-

A/N: So, I wanted the serpent names to be cute and matching. Fun fact: Fos means light and Eos means dawn but also is the personification of dawn🥺

[magpie-come-east]

Another one for the ask meme, Ranni 🙂

favorite thing about them

Ranni has such a depth of character she is an absolute delight.

I love that she is blunt and honest. Basically the moment you find her in her estate she admits to masterminding the Night of Black Knives. I love that she is very indulgent and permissive of the player in a way that makes it obvious she's just kind of playing with you/Rogier. I love that she's outwardly so cold and conniving. But the more you learn about her the more her naturally warm demeanor slips through. She loves her mother and protected her. She protected Rykard. Blaidd is her brother, and Iji is her childhood friend. She tries to tell the Tarnished off from becoming her Lord, because she knows the path she must take will be lonely and dark. She doesn't want to subject anyone to the ordeal she feels she must undertake. Yet when the Tarnished persists, she declares she is happy to have them for a Lord. She expressly tells the Tarnished to tell Iji and Blaidd she loves them.

Beyond that, I love her design and dialogue. She's so charming to listen to, and her sense of humor is biting and sharp. I rave about the Omen Twins to excess, but Ranni is definitely my favorite character along with them.

Lastly, her ending speaks to me as someone who isn't religious whatsoever. Now, I do not think her story and ending is an endorsement of atheism, nor do I think Ranni is an atheist character. But I find her ending to be the most realistic and true to life. The responsibility of making a better world is in our hands, whether or not we believe in a higher power.

least favorite thing about them

Literally nothing. I support women's wrongs.

favorite line

SOOOO MANYYYY

This is farewell, my dear. Tell Blaidd, and Iji... I love them.

Though he was created a vassal for an Empyrean, He was a colossal failure, on the part of the Two Fingers. Blaidd, and Iji both... Art willing to give too much to me.

Mmm yes. Truly the words of a heartless asshole that doesn't care about anyone or anybody. The AFFECTION with which she calls Blaidd a colossal failure. She knows he loves her genuinely, such that he would follow her to his own doom rather than heed his creator. It destroys me.

Oh? A dogged fellow, aren't we? Or is it merely thy habit, to talk to dolls? Fine...fine. I hadn't expected any soul to recognize me in this guise. But now the cat is out the bag, I cannot allow thee thy freedoms.

Affording thyself opportunity to grope about for the cursemark's location, no doubt? Very well... There's nothing wrong with a well-laid scheme.

No sense in arguing, I see. Thou'rt a wild one, indeed. Torrent hath quite the ruffian chosen...

Man, she's just so endearing. Scathing and clever and deadpan.

brOTP

Ranni and Rykard - my beloved scheming sibling duo.

Ranni and Blaidd - These two don't interact much. But they're both so charming individually it's impossible not to imagine the sibling bickering they do.

Ranni and Tarnished/Champion - I know I'm biased because of my own Age of Stars ER OC, but I've always generally viewed Ranni's relationship with her Elden Lord to be more platonic than romantic.

OTP

Ranni x Tarnished/Champion - Okay, just because I personally see Ranni and her Champion as platonic doesn't mean there aren't also romantic hints in there. One of my favorite moments of the game is when you find her body after she's slain her Two Fingers. You give her the ring and when she awakens she expresses that she is pleased to have you for a Lord:

So, it was thee, who would become my Lord. Perhaps I needn't have warned thee. I am pleased, however. Thou'rt a fitting choice.

nOTP

I don't have a serious Ranni nOTP.

random headcanon

Ranni targeted Godwyn (and presumably his line) in the Night of Black Knives because he was Marika's favorite child and the most prestigious of the Golden Lineage. She didn't know about Morgott and Mohg at the time. But even if she had, she would have gone for Godwyn despite the Omen Twins probably being better targets.

Her doll body is practically immobile, or it takes a great deal of concentration and skill to move it. She has to 'sleep' frequently because if can feel like her soul is just trapped in a stationary coffin of a vessel.

unpopular opinion

I believe the Age of Stars is objectively the most ideal ending to the game.

I genuinely struggle to understand why people don't like her. Like I can get people not favoring the Age of Stars, but to actually dislike Ranni? I don't understand it. I feel like if we were honest with ourselves and analyzed her 'crimes' in comparison to the other royal/Demigod characters in the game, she'd be one of the more innocent/righteous ones. But even if she wasn't, she's a fantastic and engaging character and nearly every complaint i see about her is shallow and not worth consideration.

song i associate with them

Barefoot by KD Lang

She's Got a Gun by KUURO

My Tears Are Becoming a Sea by M83

Dark All Day by Gunship

[pillowenvelopchair]

Flowers

[bowietea]

Pen lore doodles that I hope to write down someday 🙏