Chapter 2
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A Sword's Name
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The Tarnished bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, his body shaking with adrenaline. Blaidd, the half wolf, had mentioned Darriwill was nothing but a traitor and a scoundrel. What he had not mentioned, was that Darriwill was a large, fast and deadly knight wielding a heavy curved great sword and razor-sharp hooked claws. The denizens of the Lands Between tended to be people of few words, but a small warning would have been helpful. Had the Tarnished realized what he was up against, he would have arrived to the fight better prepared.
He looked down and checked his injuries. Luckily his flask of crimson tears seemed even more effective after he last adjusted it. His armor may have been a bit worse for wear, but the damage was nothing he could not fix on his own. For the most part his current state was battered, but nothing beyond that. Just to be careful, the Tarnished removed his flask from his pouch and took another sip, feeling its rejuvenating powers mend his muscles and return his stamina.
At least the battle wasn't for nothing, the Tarnished thought. He walked over to where his foe had fallen moments ago. Like most enemies, when the Tarnished struck the killing blow, Knight Darriwill exploded in a cloud of dust and stray runes, leaving only his sword behind. The Tarnished picked up the sword and examined it. The weapon had served Darriwill well, and its making was certainly to his liking. "I think I shall call you… Bloodhound's Fang," he mused, taking a couple practice swings. The weapon's weight felt good in his hands, light for its size but not enough to diminish its effectiveness.
"Do you always name your weapons in such a manner?"
Slightly startled by the gruff voice, the Tarnished turned and saw Blaidd himself standing behind him, arms crossed and an amused smirk on his muzzle.
The Tarnished had first seen the lupine warrior back in the Mistwood Ruins while on his way to liberate Fort Haight for a self-proclaimed nobleman. He was curious about the half wolf and tried to get his attention, as it was not often one saw such a creature clad in full armor with an enormous, ornate sword strapped to their back. However, it was not until after speaking to Kale, who figured the two would hit it off and taught him a snapping signal to catch Blaidd's attention, that the Tarnished would first speak with the half wolf.
Somewhat embarrassed, the Tarnished holstered the weapon on his back. "Well, it's only proper that everything should have a name, right?" An strange statement coming from him, he knew, but he believed the name fitting.
Blaidd shook his head teasingly, "I simply didn't take you for the type, that's all. Nothing wrong with it, if I had more imagination I might do it myself. I also didn't expect you to slay Darriwill yourself before I could even lend a hand."
Back in the Mistwoods, when they first met, Blaidd had requested the Tarnished keep an eye out for a man named Dariwill, who the half wolf informed him was a lowly traitor who had escaped death by imprisoning himself in an evergaol. The Tarnished promised to keep an eye out, but was unfamiliar with evergaols so doubted he would be of much help. As fortune had it, however, he later accidentally stumbled into the very one in question without realizing and unwittingly activated it.
"It wasn't my intention to fight alone, I assure you. However, I know little of how these evergaols function. I stepped in the middle and, before I knew it, the fight had already begun. The bastard didn't even let me get a word in before lunging for my throat."
"You handled yourself well, however," Blaidd said, seemingly impressed with the Tarnished's abilities, "While I only arrived to see the leadup to the killing blow, I know a skilled fighter when I see one."
The Tarnished shrugged, "I assure you, any training I may have had has been long forgotten. What you saw was a mix of instinct and a desperate attempt not to have my stomach gutted open again."
Blaidd chuckled at this, though the Tarnished did not find the prospect of his insides spilling out again so humorous. "Well no matter what drove you, I won't complain. Darriwill is dead and that is all that matters. While I would have enjoyed meting out justice myself, death by your hand is sufficient. Now, as promised, here is your prize." The half wolf handed the Tarnished an ashen colored smooth pointed stone. The Tarnished was not quite sure of its purpose, but it did look somewhat like the smithing stones he clumsily handled once at the Church of Elleh. "Don't say I'm not a man of my word."
"So what now?" the Tarnished asked.
"Now?" Blaidd gazed off in the distance, almost as if looking past Castle Stormveil to something beyond. "Now we part our separate ways. I have my own business to attend to and I am sure you have yours. After all, it is Godrick's head you are after, is it not? The sooner you put that wretch to the sword, the better."
"Perhaps you could help me?" the Tarnished asked hopefully, "I certainly could use your assistance, especially in slaying a demi-god."
Blaidd shook his head. "I have my own matters to attend to. While assisting you in your quest does sound appealing, my path is not my own. I am afraid this is one you will have to fight without me."
The Tarnished sighed. He was disappointed but not surprised. Like most people he had met, Blaidd clearly had his own concerns to deal with. Not many outside the Tarnished had much interest in risking their skin to challenge the might of a demigod. Furthermore, from his few interactions with the half wolf, the Tarnished had noticed his somewhat knightly demeanor. Surely there was some lord or lady whose justice Blaidd was meting out.
"Do not concern yourself, Tarnished," Blaidd told him, giving him another approving nod, "your skill and drive surpasses most other tarnished I have ever witnessed. Godrick is a coward and a fool at heart, no matter how many limbs he grafts to himself. The battle will be hard fought, but I am confident you will come out victorious."
Hearing such encouragement from Blaidd, who clearly was a formidable warrior in his own right, felt reassuring. While the Tarnished still mostly relied on instinct and muscle memory, through practice and the power of Runes, he felt his skills steadily improving. Perhaps by the time he reached the decrepit demigod, he would be as prepared as Blaidd suggested.
The Tarnished pulled the white whistle from his pocket and blew it, summoning Torrent. After mounting the spectral steed, he asked Blaidd, "Will we cross paths again?"
Blaidd brought an armored hand up to his scruffy chin and began eyeing the Tarnished closely, almost as if scrutinizing his every move. Under his close gaze, the Tarnished felt slightly uncomfortable, as if Blaidd was scrutinizing him. Before the Tarnished could comment, Blaidd spoke up again. Cryptically, the half wolf said "If you venture North of Raya Lucaria, and come across a venerable blacksmith who's a little on the large said… Tell him I sent you. And he'll treat you right. I owe you that one, I reckon."
The Tarnished simply sighed, this was not the first time someone had given him such a vague and unhelpful advice. Blaidd, seemingly satisfied with his answer, however turned his back and began to wander off. The half wolf gave a single waive and called back "It's about time we parted ways. Good luck in your endeavors, Tarnished warrior."
The Tarnished waived in return and then opened up his map to plot out his next course. He wanted to return to the Church of Elleh to thank Kale for his advice, but first there seemed to be a commotion on a bridge not too far off in the distance, crossing to a small Peninsula which he had yet to explore. The Tarnished wanted to explore and gather what resources he could before doubling back. Storing his map back in his satchel, he gave Torrent's reigns a tug and rode off towards his next destination.
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Blinded by Duty
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The Tarnished felt his heart drop to his stomach when he first recognized Edgar's wails of despair.
He had recently helped quell a beastman uprising at Castle Morne. The fort's defenses, led by a knight by the name of Commander Edgar, were hanging by a thread before the Tarnished arrived at the behest of Edgar's daughter, Irina. What was originally a simple delivery turned into a hard fought series of battles, culminating with the Tarnished slaying the beastman leader and reclaiming the gruesome looking Grafted Sword, a colossal great sword comprised of the blades of dozens of felled warriors crudely smelted together.
After reclaiming the sword, Edgar told the Tarnished that he would retire watch over the castle to reunite with Irina and, hopefully, live safely with his daughter in a quieter place. However, as the Tarnished followed the stone brick road, closer towards the desperate cries, he had a terrible suspicion as to just how Edgar and Irina's tale ended. And, sure enough, as the Tarnished arrived at the end of the road, just before the bridge connecting the Weeping Peninsula to Limgrave, he saw Edgar on his hands and knees beside Irina's bloody, lifeless body.
Carefully, the Tarnished dismounted Torrent and approached the young woman's corpse. Blood pooled around her, seeping into and mixing with the mud underneath. He looked at the brutal gash across the length of her abdomen and wondered who could have been so heartless as to cut down a blind woman. What purpose did this death serve? Was this the demi-humans' revenge for their defeat at Castle Morne? Or was it just a random cruel act, done completely in isolation for a petty reason, or even no reason at all? No matter the reason, though, the outcome was all the same. A father without his daughter. A daughter without her future.
The Tarnished knelt down next to Edgar. He tried to come up with something to say to the grieving man but could think of nothing. What words could one possibly tell a parent who outlives their child? All he could do at this point was give his condolences and, if necessary, a hand to give the girl a proper burial.
Edgar finally spoke up, barely able to maintain his voice through his sobs. "Irina… how could this be… how could this have happened…"
The Tarnished could not tell whether the keeper of Castle Morne was addressing him or the Golden Order itself, but decided to give what comfort he could. "Edgar, I'm so sorry. Your daughter, Irina, was a good woman. She deserved better than this."
"Aye," he said, his voice shaking with sadness and rage, "she did. And the fault lies with me."
"Edgar… I am so sorry..."
"No, DO NOT give me meaningless words of comfort!" He shouted, his hands now clenched, gripping the muddy earth underneath them, "What good will any such words do! I chose duty over my daughter's safety, and this is how fate has answered. What good is a castle there is nothing left for it to protect? Irina, my sweet girl, I have failed you." Edgar let out a desperate, almost maddened laugh.
The Tarnished stepped back, giving the grieving father his space. He had never experienced loss of this magnitude, at least as far as he could remember. Without such an understanding what little more he could say would hold no meaning to Edgar.
After a bit, Edgar finally rose from his knees and turned towards the Tarnished. When the Tarnished saw Edgar's face, he found the man almost unrecognizable. While his expression was twisted with a mix of agony and fury, his eyes felt cold and lifeless. The well disguised warmth the Tarnished once saw when he first delivered Irina's letter had completely vanished.
Edgar drew his sword, ran his hand across it, allowing his own blood to smear the blade. He then placed his bloodied fist over his heart in a dark pledge. Turning towards the Tarnished, he spat through gritted teeth, "Tarnished, bear witness to this promise, for it is the last I shall ever make. I'll find them, the foul wretches responsible for this. I'll hunt them down and exterminate every last one of them. I will not rest until I have paint the Lands Between red with their blood." Turning towards his daughter with one last look of regret, he swore, "Rest assured Irina, it will be done." Then, without a parting word, Edgar donned his helm and wondered off, weapon drawn. As he watched Edgar disappear off in the distance, leaving his daughter's body behind, the Tarnished had a sinking feeling that it would be the last time he saw the knight, or at least the man he once was.
Later that evening, while resting at a site of Grace, the Tarnished thought back, mentally retracing each step trying to see if there was anything he could have done. Was there a single sign, something he missed that could have warned him of Irina's fate. Perhaps if he moved faster or fought more ferociously, he could have returned to her before her would be killer could enact their cruel intent. As he sat and pondered, he heard a familiar sound, followed by soft footsteps. The Tarnished moved to the side a bit, making room for Melina, who had chosen to take physical form for the evening.
"Are you bothered by the girl's fate, dear Tarnished?" she asked him, lowering her hood so he could see her face.
"Who wouldn't be," the Tarnished answered, surprised that Melina even needed to ask, "that poor woman, she likely didn't even suspect a thing before it was too late. I can't imagine what wretched creature had the capacity to commit such an act. Whoever or whatever it is, however, it no longer deserves to draw breath in these lands." He then sighed, "Perhaps I should have kept my distance from Castle Morne. The demi-human's failure there may have spurned one to take revenge against the fort's commander. If the Castle Morne had fallen, maybe Irina would yet live."
Melina nodded, listening to his every word. She then continued the scenario he played out, taking it to its unspoken conclusion. "But then what of Edgar? If you had not intervened and Castle Morne fell to the uprising, surely he would have been killed himself."
"Edgar was a solider," the Tarnished responded, somewhat coldly, "It was his duty to protect the castle with his life, one he voluntarily accepted and swore to uphold. Such a death would have purpose... at least that's what I believe he would think."
"I am not sure Irina would have agreed to such an assertion."
She was right, the Tarnished knew. Irina would have been devastated if Edgar died in battle, likely just as devastated as the Commander felt right now. Furthermore, the Tarnished was not even certain whether the perpetrator was one of the demi-human raiders to begin with. This spiral of "what ifs" wasn't productive. It would not aid him on his journey, nor would it bring Irina back.
"So you intend to hunt down the perpetrator?" Melina asked, keeping her eyes on the small golden shard instead of looking to him.
The Tarnished shook his head. "If I happen to come across them in my travels, I likely won't be able to stop myself from gutting them. However, the right of vengeance belongs to Edgar and Edgar alone. I wouldn't go out of my way to deprive him of that. I am sure a knight of his caliber is plenty capable of putting his affairs in order."
Melina finally turned to the Tarnished, looking at him intently as if peering into his soul. "You say you believe in Edgar, but you still sound unsure."
Sure enough, there was little he could put past the woman. Even missing an eye, she was as sharp as ever. "Whether or not Edgar can find and bring justice to Irina's killers doesn't concern me. As I said, he most assuredly has the skill required. What does worry me is the lengths he will go to do so and what he will do after he realizes his justice. Last I saw him, his eyes lacked a certain spark, a will to continue living, at least as a human. It was disturbing and, most terrifyingly, it felt familiar." The Tarnished went silent, staring at the golden shard in front of him.
Melina placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. " tarnished are those who strayed from the path set by the Golden Order and thus were abandoned by Grace. While the reasons for this abandonment vary, many lost their way due to grief, similar to that Edgar is experiencing. It's only natural you would feel such a connection."
The Tarnished suddenly felt his exhaustion catch up to him. While Melina's voice was soothing and her company was appreciated, hearing of the similarities between himself and a knight who likely lost all will to live was not comforting. Sensing that he was done speaking about the topic, Melina took his head into her arms and pulled him in close. He felt her heart beat as she held him, allowing him to relax for but a moment "Rest for now, Tarnished," she said quietly, "Torrent and I will keep watch for the night."
The Tarnished closed his eyes obligingly, letting his head rest on Melina's lap as he began to doze off. Though the day's events had been tragic, the Tarnished tried to find comfort in the fact that fate ordains all events for a reason, even if that reason was not immediately apparent. However, even as he slipped into sleep, he could not stop thinking to himself, 'Just what did the Golden Order see in Irina's death?'