Chapter 1
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The Call of Long Lost Grace
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"Arise now, ye Tarnished! Cross the fog, to the Lands Between, to stand before the Elden Ring, and become the Elden Lord."
The call of long-lost Grace surged through his mind, tearing him from the clutches of death. For the first time in so long, the Tarnished took a sharp, deep breath. Spots filled his vision, but gradually disappeared as his eyes adjusted to sight itself. Numbness initially filled his limbs all the way down to his fingers and toes, but soon subsided and was replaced by a strange feeling of warmth. He heard his heart beat, pumping blood through his veins once again. There was no mistaking it, he was alive once more. The immortality gifted by Grace had returned to him.
The Tarnished dragged himself to a nearby puddle to check his reflection. Though the cave he woke up in was dimly lit, he could still barely make out his image in the cloudy water. A metal helm with a long white mane of fur adorning the top covered his face, leaving no feature in view. The Tarnished raised his and carefully undid the helm's strap. Pulling it off his head, and gazed back into the water.
The face that looked back was a stranger to him. It was his, surely, but still he recognized no feature about it. He had no memory the scars and blemishes, nor anything that caused them. In fact, the extent of his memory began with the call to action which revived him but moments ago. The Tarnished thought hard, trying to fish out something, anything from his mind to cling on to. A single memory, a name, a family, anything. Hazy recollections of his time beyond the fog crossed his mind, but nothing concrete nor helpful. No matter how hard he tried, he could not recall anything concrete.
The only thing providing him insight into the past were fragments of necessary knowledge imparted him by Grace. Images of the Shattering, the demigods, Queen Marika, and, most of all, the Elden Ring. However, this knowledge felt even more foreign to him. Were they even his memories or experiences? How long had he lived and died outside the fog?
Even with no memory or personal convictions to guide him, however, the words of Grace struck the deepest part of his soul. They reignited the flames of ambition, a burning feeling long foreign to his kind. The Tarnished did not understand it, but stuck in his mind was an unwavering, singular desire to reclaim the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord. Even recovering his own memories felt small and insignificant when compared to this ambition.
The Tarnished slowly stood to his feet, the thought of long lost Grace restoring energy to his tired bones. Yes, his lack of memory would not impede his quest. He was likely a Tarnished of no renown, after all. If Grace had not imparted him with his memories, then they were not necessary to begin with. What mattered was becoming Elden Lord, a task he would not fail. Thus, the Tarnished donned his helm once more and gathered what little belongings he had, picked up his rusted sword the shield that lay beside it. Turning, he looked to the great fog wall dividing the outside world from the Lands Between. Then, slowly but with conviction, the Tarnished took his first step on the Golden Path to reclaim the Elden Ring.
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Precipice of Anticipation
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The Tarnished had no expectations about the state of the Lands Between since the Shattering. After all, with such hazy memory of his time before becoming Tarnished, there was little in his mind to compare it to. However, when the grafted monstrosity towered over him, mutilated and mismatched hands stitched haphazardly onto its body, and let loose an ear-piercing screech, the Tarnished disposed any notion that the journey ahead would be anything but arduous.
He must have been a warrior at one point, the Tarnished thought, as he felt some sort of familiar battle instincts take over when the beast charged him. However, whatever past experience the Tarnished once possessed was mired down by the years of indolence and decay that came with death. Despite the new sensation within that spurned him forward, his body could not keep up with his thoughts. His legs ached with each sluggish roll and his armed felt like lead as he hopelessly hacked away at his opponent.
The Tarnished fought with all he had. The Grace now inside him would not allow anything less. With as much ferocity as he mustered, he slashed and stabbed, landing what hits he could while trying to survive. However, the grafted beast was quick as it was merciless. It cut into his body time after time, tearing muscle and spilling blood, punishing each opening and missed read.
As the fight prolonged, Tarnished felt his consciousness start to fade. He was exhausted, barely even able to catch his breath. His blade felt impossibly heavy as he held it at the ready with his right hand. His left hand he kept pressed to his side, barely stopping in his innards from slipping out from a deep wound he incurred earlier. The Tarnished tried to step forward but realized it already took what little strength he had left just to stand. A feeling of fear and despair began tugging at the Tarnished's heart. This fight was hopeless.
The monster seemed to notice his sorry state, as it stopped its ferocious assault for a moment and tilted its disfigured mask to the side. The Tarnished clenched his teeth as he heard it chitter, almost gleefully, as if to mock him. Not only was the beast slicing his body to ribbons, it seemed to be sadistically enjoying it. He felt another long-lost but familiar emotion boil to the surface as the beast laughed at his suffering: anger.
The Tarnished felt an almost animalistic rage overtake him. His breathing grew heavier and his fist clenched harder around the grip of his sword. Thoughts filled his mind of stabbing, slashing, and tearing every disgusting arm off the grafted beast until it was nothing but a limbless, screeching mound of flesh. He had to do something, anything to tear into the beast, even if it meant breaking every limb in his body.
The Tarnished eyed the grafted monstrosity carefully as it reared back. He recognized this movement, the beast was going to charge and run him through with a single quick stab, a blow that would surely finish him. The Tarnished knew he did not have the strength or stamina to dodge out of the way, his death was a foregone conclusion.
However, he refused to die so pathetically, skewered limply on the sword of someone's disgusting creation before his journey had even begun. Focusing his concentration, the Tarnished let his left hand leave his side and held his sword with both hands, pointed forward. He grunted in pain as the gaping wound on his side began to spill out again, but withstood it, knowing it would only last a few moments longer.
As the Tarnished predicted, the beast rushed forward, the pieces of armor and chainmail haphazardly strapped onto it clattering together. Just as the point of its sword was about to plunge into the Tarnished's stomach, he lunged forward to meet the blade with all his might. The Tarnished felt searing pain as the beast's sword ripped through his insides, but spurned by rage and determination, he managed to push himself forward and drive his own sword deep into the monster, all the way to its hilt.
The beast shrieked out and pain and immediately dropped its sword, causing the Tarnished to collapse to the ground along with it. The Tarnished watched as the creature rolled around on the stone, screeching and flailing before, finally, falling limp. As his vision began to darken, he felt a twinge of satisfaction. Then, like the monster before him, the Tarnished let death overtake him.
However, so long as even a small remnant of grace remained within, life would cling on to him.
When the Tarnished first stepped out of the stranded graveyard and into the golden light of the Erdtree he felt a feeling of relief wash over him. The trek through the fog itself had been arduous and the Lands Between had not greeted him kindly either. Looking out at the vast landscape, though, the Tarnished let himself feel some hope for the journey ahead.
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The First Step
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Unlike the precipice he originally awoke on, the land before him teemed with life. Small animals grazed below tall trees, their branches gently swaying with the breeze. While the Tarnished saw ruined monuments around him, the wilderness had long reclaimed them, with green grass and moss covering crumbled stone. From where he stood, the death and destruction caused by the Shattering seemed not to reach this quiet place.
Before the Tarnished could truly relax, he heard a voice call out to him.
"Oh, Tarnished are we? Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmmm?"
The Tarnished turned towards the voice and spotted a man wearing a strange blue outfit and a white mask. Despite his odd dress and suspicious tone, however, the Tarnished felt strangely at ease. Since his banishment, he had barely seen another person, much less talked to one. In his sorry state beyond the mist, the lack of contact never seemed to bother him. However, now face to face with another, the Tarnished realized how much he had come to miss it.
The masked man, seemingly slightly offput by the Tarnished's silence, pushed on. "Of course you are, no shame in it. Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless."
The Tarnished snapped out of his introspection, somewhat taken aback by the man's comment. Maidenless? He knew nothing about such a requirement, as the call that roused him never gave such specific instructions. Clearing his throat, the Tarnished finally spoke up. "What do you mean, maidenless?"
The man in the white mask wringed his gloved hands together and chuckled softly. "Ah, so you do speak. Excellent, I was beginning to worry you yet another mad dog let loose upon our poor ailing lands."
The Tarnished frowned, his initially good feelings about this encounter quickly dissipating. The masked man, seemingly oblivious to his growing irritation, continued his lecture. "Yes, as I stated earlier, without a finger maiden for guidance, without the strength of runes, and without an invitation to the Roundtable Hold, you are fated, it seems, to die in obscurity."
Finger maidens, runes, Roundtable Hold? The Tarnished knew of none of these when he set out on his journey. Had he truly set out so foolishly knowing nothing of his mission beyond its final destination? Luckily, as unpleasant as this masked man was, he seemed knowledgeable of the path set out for him and his fellow tarnished by the Golden Order. Hoping to get a straightforward answer, the Tarnished asked "Where can I find such things?"
The man chuckled suspiciously again. "Unfortunately, I cannot lead you to a finger maiden, nor can I lead you to the Roundtable Hold, as I am not tarnished myself. However, Luckily for you, I, Varre, can impart on you some wisdom that may help along. Are you familiar with Grace? The golden light that gives life to you Tarnished."
"Of course, its golden light beckoned me on this journey to begin with," the Tarnished answered, this masked man, Varre, would get to the point.
Varre nodded, then said, "Excellent, how astute of you. Then, you may also behold its golden rays pointing in a particular direction at times?"
The Tarnished looked back to the small golden light floating just above the grass behind him. Near it, sure enough, he could see a faint gold arc pointing off towards a dilapidated stone church not too far in the distance. Varre, taking the Tarnished's behavior as a response, continued, "That is the guidance of Grace. I cannot see it myself, but supposedly it lights the path a tarnished must travel."
"For someone who cannot see Grace's guidance, you know a surprising amount about its blessing," the Tarnished said incredulously.
"Do not be so quick to judge," Varre admonished, "While you are one of the lucky few tarnished still blessed with Grace's golden guidance such knowledge is no secret. While I cannot see Grace myself, I have met others like you at the start of their own journeys. Certainly, you did not think yourself the first?"
"Of course not. However, you will forgive me of being wary of advice given by a man who hides his face," the Tarnished answered.
Varre clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Quite the hypocrite, aren't we? Surprising words considering your own choice of headgear. However, as I said, I am used to dealing with your kind and thus I will try not to take offense."
As much as the Tarnished hated to admit it, the white mask had a point. "Where did the other tarnished before me go?"
Varre pointed off to the distance, up towards an area covered with strange storm clouds. "Grace's guidance will most certainly send you, like all the others, up to Castle Stormveil, home of the decrepit demigod, Godrick the Grafted."
Godrick the Grafted? The name sounded eerily familiar, though the Tarnished had surly never met or seen the demigod, at least as far as he could remember. With such a title, though, the Tarnished suspected that he was likely behind the terrifying beast he encountered earlier in his journey. If his suspicions were correct, the Tarnished thought, then surely no one would complain when such a wretch met his end by the sword.
However, what were this man's intentions behind sharing such information? Though Varre's advice seemed sensible, the Tarnished could tell from the man's demeanor alone that was far from trustworthy, not to mention the man's blood-stained robes. Instinct warned him that any advice Varre gave was to be taken with caution.
Varre gave the Tarnished a pat on the shoulder, a would-be friendly gesture that felt practiced and fake. "Consider it a gift from one who takes pity on your kind and your unflinching march towards the Elden Ring." The man then turned away from the Tarnished and gestured forward. "Now, I think it's time you set off. Remember, Grace's guidance holds the answers. It will lead you to the path you are meant to follow. Even if it leads to your grave."
Those last words sent a chill down the Tarnished's spine. From his tone, the Tarnished could tell that under the porcelain mask lay a twisted smile. Just how many others had this man directed to their death? He had come back from death once already and was not eager to push his luck again. The Tarnished felt his momentary doubts burn away with a renewed feeling of determination, however.
He had no clue how far the path before him stretched out, nor did he know if he would live to see the end. Words from a distant past echoed in his mind: "a warrior pushes on until the last drop of blood." Thus, he would keep moving forward until he died, even after he died, until he reached the end of his fate.
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Melina, The False Maiden
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The Tarnished stopped to rest at a site of grace just outside the gate to Stormveil to rest before trekking up the mountain. True to Varre's word, the golden light seemed to point towards the looming castle of Godrick the Grafted. While the Tarnished found the masked man unpleasant to speak with, he did seem rather knowledgeable. However, according to Varre, he still lacked two essentials for his journey: a maiden to guide him and an invitation to the Roundtable.
He had wandered a bit around Limgrave and still felt no closer to finding either. Finger maidens were not uncommon, according to those he asked, however none had recently seen any looking for a tarnished to guide. Kale, a nomadic shopkeeper he met in a ruined church soon after speaking with Varre, told him that many tarnished would never meet their maiden, leaving them without the power to turn runes to strength and, thus, woefully unprepared for the challenges ahead.
The Roundtable Hold seemed even further off. Yet again, the few he spoke with spoke with seemed to know of its existence, but had no knowledge of how to reach it, or contact those who could. It seemed that those tarnished who were fated to arrive would find their way to the hold and those not so lucky would, as Varre so aptly put it, be fated to die in obscurity.
The Tarnished sighed and pulled out a piece of jerky to snack on as he thought. He almost gagged as he bit into the funny smelling meat. Hunger and taste were two other sensations that returned to him along with Grace's blessing, though he can't say that he had particularly missed either. He would have to learn how to cook to avoid resorting to trading with Kale for grubby, questionable meat. But for now, the jerky would have to suffice if he wanted to keep his strength up for the fight ahead.
As the Tarnished forced down the bits of dried meat, pondering the best route up the stormy hill, he heard a strange noise behind him, followed by light footsteps. The Tarnished slowly turned and saw a hooded woman approach him. He cautiously reached for his sword; experience taught him that most in this land were not friendly towards his kind. "Who goes there," he called, trying to assess this woman's intentions.
"Be at ease, traveler from beyond the fog. I mean you no harm," the woman said, her voice far gentle and familiar. "I am Melina and I have come to offer you an accord."
Melina lowered herself next to him and removed her hood, revealing a younger face with soft features. She had short red hair, uncharacteristically well kept compared to the others the Tarnished had met in this region. She certainly was pretty, the Tarnished thought, and had somewhat of an ethereal aura about her. Most noticeably, she seemed to be missing her left eye, or at least he assumed based on the strange mark branded across her closed eyelid.
"Have you heard of the finger maidens?" she asked, holding her hands close to the site of Grace as if warming them by a fire.
"My journey doesn't hold much hope without one guiding me, or so I'm told." The Tarnished looked to her hopefully, "Are you here to help guide my path?"
Melina nodded, "In a way. Though I am not a Finger Maiden myself, I can play the role of one, guiding you on your journey to the Elden ring, turning your runes into strength. If, you would have me that is." She extended her hand out to the Tarnished, waiting for his reply.
The Tarnished quickly took her hand, having no choice but to accept. Fate seemed to be smiling on him, he thought. After all, not too far into his quest for the Elden Ring, his destined guide simply found him. Perhaps an invitation to the Roundtable would soon follow. However, there was one thing that bothered still him about her offer.
"I would love your help, though I must ask, why me? Surely you would be better off guiding someone other than a Tarnished of no renown. I will do my best, but I'm not sure I can protect you on this journey. Frankly, I've had trouble even protecting myself."
Melina laughed softly, "Do not concern yourself with my wellbeing. My current form is ethereal and cannot be grasped by others. Very few in the lands between may bring harm to me. As for why I chose you…" she fished around a satchel around her waste and produced a small ring-shaped whistle. Putting it to her mouth, she gave it a blow.
The Tarnished almost fell over in surprise when, beside him, appeared a large horse, with long fur and two horns, almost akin to a yak's, protruding from its head. The horse lowered its head and nudged the Tarnished, almost as if it were attempting to put his fears to rest. The Tarnished carefully reached out a hand and gently stroked its muzzle.
"It was not truly my decision," Melina said, taking the whistle and placing it in the Tarnished's hand, "but rather Torrent's. This spectral steed believed you to be his perfect match and chose you to be his master. It is a high honor indeed, so please ensure you treat him with respect."
This night only continued to improve. First a maiden to guide him on his quest and now a steed to help carry him long distances. However, almost as importantly, he also now had company on what would have surely been a lonely path. "Torrent… you will certainly be an invaluable partner."
"Now, for one last gift to help you reclaim the Great Runes and the Elden Ring." Melina took his hand into hers and leaned forward, putting his hand close to her chest. "With my power, I can turn runes into strength, granting you power to overcome the obstacles that lay in your path."
The Tarnished tilted his head awkwardly, already a bit overwhelmed by the contact and slightly confused. "That would be immensely helpful. Forgive me, though, I'm not quite sure what to do."
"Simply close your eyes," Melina answered, her own eyes shut, "Share with me your hopes, your dreams, and most importantly, your ambitions. With that, I can stoke the golden flame within you and imbue you with new strength."
The Tarnished nodded and then closed his eyes. What did he hope to gain from this journey? How would he reach his goal? He sought the Elden Ring, that much he was sure of. But what of after, if he succeeded? He would be tasked with being Elden Lord and ruling over the Lands Between and all those who inhabited it.
After thinking for a bit, he decided that the best thing to do would be simply to follow the Golden path set before him. Reclaim the Ring, undo the fracturing, take the hand of Queen Marika and restore the Golden Order. After all, without the Golden Order's Grace, he could have never returned home to begin with. Surely, this was correct.
The Tarnished then felt a small connection with Melina, as if a warmth cycled through her and returned to him, even stronger than before. Suddenly, his muscles felt less fatigued and his mind felt sharper. Wounds he sustained on his way seemed less threatening and a certain rejuvenating energy coursed through him.
As the Tarnished gathered strength, fractured images began flashing before him. An icy peak, a bitter cold. He saw fleeting glimpses of warriors standing by his side, an icy peak, and a proud man standing in front of him. The Tarnished could not make out faces, nor could he think of any names. Something about the scene felt familiar and exciting. The Tarnished tried to reach out, to grasp something, anything to hold on to before the moment slipped away. However, just as quickly as it began, the illusion dissipated before his eyes.
The warmth was gone, and when he regained his bearings, he saw Melina looking up to him expectantly. "It is done. How do you feel?"
"What… what was that?" the Tarnished gasped, still disoriented from his recent visions.
Melina placed her hand other hand on his reassuringly. "Do not fear, Tarnished. What you see are merely memories of lost Grace, linking you back to a time before your banishment and subsequent death. A time before Grace first left you."
The Tarnished began recounting the experience to her, his mind still reeling from the experience. "It was all so hazy but still felt so real. I could feel frigid air, see the breath before my eyes. There were people around me but I could not discern any features, perhaps due to the snow storm but I can't be certain." Finally calming down, he took a deep breath and asked, "Will these visions return whenever you convert runes into strength? I am unsure how many times I can handle something so… jarring."
Melina thought for a moment, seeming unsure herself, and then answered as best she could. "It may, it may not. Many Tarnished have not forgotten the time before they lost their connection to Grace." A look of pity fell over Melina's face. Tenderly, she asked, "To not remember a thing… you must have been long dead before the call of Grace reached you. Tarnished, how long did you lie dead outside the fog?"
The Tarnished grimaced. How could he possibly answer her question? Having spent so much time dead, time didn't feel like it had any meaning. Furthermore, with so few memories, he had little frame of reference against which to compare. The fragments of knowledge Grace bestowed upon him did not help either, as they only served to confuse his experiences.
Despite his face being covered, Melina seemed to understand his feelings. She smiled at him sadly and said, "Do not entrench yourself in thoughts of the past, it matters little for you at this point. Noble, warrior, sage or peasant, Grace extended its blessing to you. Thus, you are worthy to walk the Golden Path and claim the title of Elden Lord."
She was right, his past wasn't important. After all, he knew he was likely just a Tarnished of no renown. This journey was a clean slate, a chance to build himself up anew. "Of course, though one step at a time. First thing's first, I have to make my way up to Castle Stormveil and slay Godrick the Grafted. Though I have a feeling such a task is easier said than done."
Melina nodded. "With the power of Grace, death is no permanent obstacle. If you find any foe to great, please remember that scattered throughout this land are tools and armaments you may use to strengthen yourself. Do not lose hope. With enough preparation and determination any challenge can be overcome."
Though the thought of dying over and over was not pleasant, Melina gave sage advice. The Tarnished decided that, before he stormed the castle to challenge a demigod, he should explore Limgrave and strengthen himself. Not only would he be able to gather more weapons and runes to stand a better chance at fighting whatever lay ahead, but he might also learn more about the land he could end up ruling. "Allow me some time to rest. In the morning, I will set off to prepare for the upcoming battles."
Melina smiled and raised her hood over her head once again. "Then I will keep watch while you sleep."