Chapter Text

Elden Ring - Tale

The Dragonlord whose seat lies at the heart of the storm beyond time is said to have been Elden Lord in the age before the Erdtree. Once his god was fled, the lord continued to await its return.

- Remembrance of the Dragonlord

Prologue: Accord

“Greetings….” I had been watching him for some time now, the Tarnished warrior. “Traveler from beyond the fog…” Appearing from a blue mist that seemingly manifested from nothing, I moved slowly and talked similarly so as to not frighten the man. “ I am Melina…” Kneeling next to him, I was almost surprised to find that he had little reaction to my otherwise sudden and dare I say unwanted appearance. “ I offer you an accord…” Even from under his mask, I could tell he was grinning as I said that. 

As unexpected of a reaction as it was, I did not find it wholly unwelcoming. Truth be told, I knew not whether to expect him to strike me down, or run away in fear. All in all, him merely sitting there was actually quite according to plan, as haphazard a plan as it was. “Have you heard of the finger maidens? They serve the Two Fingers, offering guidance and aid to the Tarnished. But you, I am afraid, are maidenless”. Again, his still calmness was as strange as it was welcomed. 

I knew him to be a warrior of some skill, having defeated a pair of demi-human chieftains just to get to where he was; the Church of Dragon Communion. Not to mention the dozens of others he had simply walked through, as if he was magnetized to that place. I had been watching him the whole time, from the very second he emerged out of the Stranded Graveyard. “I can play the role of maiden. Turning rune fragments into strength. To aid you in your search for the Elden Ring”. I of course assumed his purpose was to search for the Elden Ring, as was the purpose of many Tarnished. 

While he gave me no signal to deny it, his method of beginning to search for the Elden Ring was rather… unorthodox. I knew he had never been to the Lands Between before, having never seen him, never heard of him, knowing he was tossed into the corpse pile in the graveyard like so many others of his kind. Yet despite that, his first action was to go to that church, like he knew it was there, as impossible as that was. And the last I checked, that church had been all but abandoned for quite some time. Further baffling was that upon his arrival, he took no part in dragon communion. In fact, he seemed to avoid the church itself altogether. Instead, he opted to cultivate and develop blood-roses around the island. Surely he could not have done so out of worship to the lord of blood? Again, it would have been nigh impossible for him to even possess knowledge of such things. 

“You need only take me with you”. Ah, yes. I let my thoughts slip away for too long. Back to my story, my purpose. “To the foot of the Erdtree…”

Chapter I: Stormveil

“Foul tarnished!” Marching directly into Stormveil Castle might have proven to have been… not the best choice for the Tarnished. “In search of the Elden Ring. Emboldened by the flame of ambition!” Landing in front of him with a massive thud was none other than Margit the Fell, protector of Stormveil’s gates. “Someone must extinguish thy flame…” Wielding not but a stolen noble’s slender sword, the Tarnished warrior simply looked up as if a bird was flying by overhead, not that he was facing down the massive Omen guardian. “Let it be Margit the Fell!” Wordless, the Tarnished stood there. He stood there. As Margit materialized a massive hammer from nothing but the light of the Erdtree, the Tarnished stood there. Even with Margit beginning his swing, the Tarnished was as calm as ever, simply stepping out the way. 

It was as if Margit wasn't even there, the Tarnished seeming completely impervious to his attacks. Growling, Margit hastened his swings, the Tarnished continuing to treat it as novelty that the Omen could hit him. I nearly thought to apparate myself and rush in to do something, anything really. But no, twas neither possible without a site of grace, nor was it my place to fight. It was his . And that became ever apparent as he began swinging back at Margit. His cane skidded against the Tarnished’s blade as he swung down at him, the Tarnished stabbing into the Omen’s shoulder. 

Howling, the Omen began to bash his cane into the ground with abandon, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the Tarnished had already moved behind him. “Cursed maidenless wretch!” Launching himself forwards, the Tarnished skewered his blade into Margit’s back, who in turn completely swung himself around, the Tarnished ducking to avoid his cane. The two almost seemed as if they had a history together, like some kind of long and raging battle had ensued between them all their lives. Obviously, I knew that to be impossible. Still, the feeling lingered at me. 

I knew not what to think as Margit fell to his knees, the Tarnished rising triumphant. He didn't even look back as he continued into Stormveil, completely unwavering in his task. 

Resting at the nearby site of grace, he sighed heavily and looked up at the rest of Stormveil, surely knowing full-well that he still had quite a ways to go before reaching the Shardbearer Godrick. Again, the thought to apparate and converse with him lurched in my stomach. Well, at the moment, my metaphorical stomach, given that I currently held no such corporeal form. I pushed the feelings down however, opting to instead watch and study my chosen Tarnished. His strength and skill fascinated me. He had not yet requested of me to turn runes into strength, as was my purpose as his maiden. Yet despite that, he walked into Stormveil castle like he was simply touring through it, not like everything in his path was attempting to kill him. It was quite bizarre, not only to watch this stranger complete his task with such ease, but to see him do it where so many before him had failed. 

Growing stranger by the minute, the Tarnished warrior walked through the massive gate leading to the main path through the castle. Stranger still, is that he continued along that path. 

No, he did not take the path suggested to him by the Gatekeeper; Gostoc. The path that took him around the edge of the castle, the secret path that was guarded by few, fewer still that would prove a challenge after the Tarnished proved his worth against the Omen; Margit. No, instead the Tarnished braved the path with triple ballistas firing at him every step of the way. Not to mention the additional archery-men, the exiled soldiers who were actually on the ground directly in his path, and the wall of fire-throwers awaiting him at the end. Yes, that was the path he chose. 

The surprises continued as he appeared to have actually survived the path, resting at a site of grace beside a great lift. I was left with a great many questions for the Tarnished, questions that in all likelihood, I would not receive an answer to. I didn't pry him about it, but the Tarnished seemed mute, or at least unwilling to speak. His “agreement” to my accord was a firm nod. Although, in the Lands Between, I suppose I should’ve been grateful for as such a sure response as that. 

I began to grow worried as he left the site of grace, making no attempt to summon me. Surely, he would have me turn his runes to strength, would he not? Facing down a Shardbearer, especially the grafted lord Godrick, was no easy feat. Surviving the battle would be a task in and of itself, and of course there was another task altogether which was to actually defeat the golden lord and walk away from it in a condition to fight more Shardbearers, as at least two great runes were required to reach Leyndell. 

Following him further into the castle, I watched on as the Tarnished met another of his ilk. 

“Well, who do we have here? Tarnished, are you? Clearly not one of Godrick's lot, no. I am Nepehli Loux. A Tarnished warrior, much like you appear to be. I'm here by decree of my father. How utterly repellent this is… This grafting of Godrick's ill befits a Lord. He's tainted the very winds”. I assumed it natural for warriors to have an innate understanding of one another, such is why I did not interfere when the woman held a sword out to the Tarnished. “Your sword would be useless against butter. I suggest you take this one instead. He’s no use for it anymore”. Gesturing to the fallen warrior, she flipped the blade in her hand and offered the handle to the Tarnished. “In return, I ask that if you intend to challenge Godrick, you call upon me. The winds run cold with his deeds”. With a firm nod, the Tarnished tossed aside his own half-broken sword and accepted the banished knight’s greatsword from Nepheli. “May strength guide you on your path, Tarnished”. The two left and went their separate ways, though it was obvious they would meet again, and sooner rather than later in all likelihood. 

Further through the castle, the Tarnished rested at his final stop before facing off against Godrick; a site of grace hidden away within a secluded cell. I could tell that he was attempting to summon me from the way his hand reached out to the site of grace, the same he had reached to me whilst agreeing to our accord. 

“Shall I turn your runes to strength?” Manifesting from a a blue mist, I sat next to him, his seeming calm demeanor still a puzzle to me. “Let my hand rest upon you, for but a moment. Share them with me, your thoughts, your ambitions, the principles you would follow”. Outstretching his hand, I recoiled at his touch. What I felt in him at that moment… It was as ancient as it was voracious. Good and evil were not concepts I could fathom in that moment. Simply; power. Power for power’s sake. Power to rule, power to dominate . Power that… he turned away from me. 

As my senses returned, I could feel the power surging in him, writhing and pulsing. I knew definitively that this was not a mere Tarnished warrior as I had perceived, but something much greater. “Tarnished, I-I…” I am sure that from his perspective, he was considerably and quite understandably perplexed. After all, all he had done was what I had asked of him. His thoughts, ambitions and principles were indeed laid bare to me. The fact that such things frightened me were not his fault. 

However, frighten me, they did. “I cannot turn your runes to strength… This might inside you… Surely you must feel it?” With a simple nod from him, I sought to gather myself, to retain my usual composure. “The number of runes that would be needed to increase your strength, they would be… innumerable ”. The look in his eyes told me he already knew that, knew about the power he held as well. “Tarnished… What are you?” Remaining silent, the Tarnished offered no signal of a response to me. 

Nonetheless, I could feel that he intended no harm upon me, as if the very air whispered it in my ear. “Very well… Thine business is thine own, so long as our accord is kept. Although, with mine purpose as your maiden now quite limited, another matter raises itself to my mind”. While parting with my beloved steed was not a part of my plan, said plan was constructed to be as flexible as possible. After all, in all likelihood, he would need it to traverse the Lands Between far more than I, especially given mine ability to disapparate and cross great distances quite quickly. “I bequeath to you this ring. Use it to traverse great distances. It will summon a spectral steed named Torrent. Torrent has chosen you. Treat him with respect”. 

In truth, I likely should’ve handed Torrent over upon first meeting the Tarnished as it was in fact Torrent that guided me to his particular corpse amongst the hundreds of others. Choosing that particular Tarnished was as much his choice as it was mine own. “Now… with that matter out of the way, I leave you to your own devices…” Disappearing in a blue haze, I could still feel his eyes upon me. Again, another thing that I knew to be impossible, especially as I currently held no such form to look upon. I do believe I could concretely say that the Tarnished baffled me, bewildered me even. No Tarnished should've been able to hold the power that he so clearly held, yet he held it all the same. 

He arose from the graveyard, same as others of his ilk; roused from death to mend the Elden Ring. He was clearly from another land, again, much like most Tarnished. But he was not most Tarnished. He did not speak, at times it seemed as though he did not breathe, not to mention his constant calmness occasionally giving him the appearance of a dead man. 

And that power . I couldn't get over it. It was like experiencing the grace of the Erdtree for the first time all over again, and yet, not like that at all. I felt strangely… safe. Like I could stand beside him as he fought Godrick, and not a scratch would befall me. But beneath that I felt grazed, like a wolf was baring its fangs against my arm, or a chilled fire was enveloping me. It felt dangerous . Not to me, mind you. But to all else. Such danger could not be described. Although, as the Tarnished approached the entryway that led to Godrick… Well, I suppose I’ll have to do my best to describe such danger… 

The warrior woman Nepheli entered the archway with him, a pair of stormhawk axes in her hands. The Tarnished wielded not but the greatsword stolen from the corpse of a banished knight. I wondered how his power would reveal itself, for surely, it had to. Such raw might could not be concealed, especially not in a living being, whatever state of living that might be, even if that meant an unholy abomination that lived in death. At first, Godrick seemed ignorant to their presence, but it soon became clear that he was not. 

“Mighty dragon… thou'rt a trueborn heir. Lend me thy strength, o’ kindred. Deliver me unto greater heights…” Flexing his many grafted arms, his large green cloak became caught in the wind and fluttered off, revealing the dozen or so limbs unnaturally attached to his body, not to mention the potential hundreds making up the rest of him. “Well… A lowly Tarnished, playing as a lord”. Dragging a pair of axes along the ground, Godrick turned to face Nepheli and the Tarnished warrior. “I command thee, kneel!” He slammed the axes into the ground, releasing a shockwave that sent rubble and dirt flying in all directions. “I am the lord of all that is golden!” 

Despite Godrick’s massive and incredibly unnatural stature, he was just as unnaturally fast. Leaping around the arena like a madman, Godrick swung his axes with a fury unmatched by most. Still as ever, the Tarnished practically danced between his strikes. More than that, he seemed to be leading the Nepheli woman along with him in said dance. The two seemed untouchable, until the Tarnished caught one of Godrick’s axes mid-swing. 

Let me rephrase that. He caught the ax. 

Between Godrick and Nepheli, it was near impossible to discern who was the more shocked. Well, and myself of course. Unspeaking and soundless, the Tarnished drove his blade in Godrick’s chest, eliciting a very loud holler from the grafted lord. Snatching back his axes and slamming them into the ground, Godrick roared at the Tarnished as he skidded back on the stone ground. 

“Who do you think you are?!?” Commanding the very winds, Godrick swung at the Tarnished with such force that Nepheli was swept off her feet and sent careening into a gravestone. “Such a lowly wretched Tarnished cannot become a lord!” Even in my formless state, I felt pushed back by the fervor that surrounded the two. Again, Godrick was unable to strike the Tarnished, much less deal any measure of significant harm to him. The Tarnished on the other hand… 

Well, he removed Godrick’s other hand. Beating down into his massive grafted arm, Godrick’s arm was cleaved off from the rest of him and sent flying into the winds. Godrick himself was kicked back into a column with a deceased dragon skewered on it. “Ahh, truest of dragons…” As Godrick slowly recovered, Nepheli rose from her disorientation as well, rushing over to the Tarnished’s side. “Lend me thy strength…” 

Ripping off the dragon’s head, Godrick rammed what remained of his arm into the neck, prompting the head to begin twitching as if he had been given life. Surely, Godrick could not have… No… “Forefathers, one and all… Bear witness!” Lifting the dragon’s head to the sky, it roared to life and released a massive pillar of flame, now grafted to Godrick as was his namesake. The Tarnished somewhat predictably had no reaction to this, though Nepheli was struggling to hide her shock. 

As Godrick marched towards the Tarnished, something happened to the dragon… Something just as unnatural as it being haphazardly grafted to Godrick’s arm. It… bit him? 

I felt the power lurch from within the Tarnished; it surged out and bonded with the beast’s head as soon as it was given new life. Despite being attached to him, the beast was not a part of Godrick, nor did it obey his will. With a roar and a dive towards Godrick, the beast gnarled into Godrick’s shoulder, painfully excising itself from the grafted lord. The arm was not removed cleanly mind you, but roughly and brutishly ripped away. The sudden tearing caused Godrick an immense pain that forced him to his knees, one of his axes even falling from his hands. 

“No… I am the lord of all that is golden…” Nepheli was quick to take Godrick’s fallen ax, hoisting it onto her shoulder with a massive heave. “Great Godfrey… didst thou witness?” With the grafted lord so heavily incapacitated, he was defenseless to prevent Nepheli from driving his own axe through his neck, the rest of his body falling limp against the column. And so a headless Godrick would come to rest beside a headless dragon. How quaint. Amongst the land of the living, Nepheli seemed taken aback by Godrick’s demise, like it was somehow something that was not meant to happen. 

“Is he…” She furrowed her brow as the Tarnished approached Godrick’s corpse, his eyes clearly laden on the fallen beast. “He is… isn't he?” Turning to the Tarnished, it was clear enough to her what his attention was focused on. “So, Godrick’s demise would come of his own folly. Attempting to control a dragon’s flame is a feat none have ever accomplished, let alone a lord resorting to grafting as a means to gain power”. It was clear to me that for whatever reason, Nepheli could not feel the power within the Tarnished. Stranger still that it was not obvious to her that the dragon turning on its supposed “master” was the Tarnished’s doing as well, or at least merely the beast responding to the Tarnished’s will. 

Either way, his power had revealed itself. Well, a fraction of it at least. I could feel the crack in his exterior as the power left him to flow into the dragon. It was not his full power, not even close. Merely, a fraction of his might that seemed to command the beast. Even while his power had revealed itself, I was left with no less questions than she had before…