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Chapter 7

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The Smell of Death

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After hours of fighting through its inhospitable environment, the exhausted Tarnished was looking for respite from Lirunia's poisonous bog. He had long run out of antidotes and could feel the steady sting of toxins continually coursing through his veins. His arms were so tired that he could barely hold Torrent's reins. The Tarnished could tell that spectral steed was not fairing much better, as he struggled to wade through the swamp's thick mud. They were both at their limits and needed a place to rest.

Thus, he was relieved to see a slope leading out of the toxic waters and up to a small overhanging cliff. However, as he hiked up the steep slope, a deep feeling of apprehension began to overtake him. The smell wasn't getting better. In fact, it was getting far, far worse. This odor was no longer the sulfuric scent of the swamp below him, though. No, this was something else: the smell of burning corpses.

The Tarnished drew his weapon and continued forward cautiously, preparing himself for what lay ahead. He tried not to think of horrid scene he was in store for, but to no avail. Though he had seen villages destroyed and abandoned on his journey, none of them permeated an aura of death like this. Truly, the mess that he was stumbling into was one of a kind.

The more he slowly stumbled on, the more felt as if the swamp's gases and the odor of rotting corpses were beginning to affect his mind. With each step, the pungent odor grew even more overpowering, curling his stomach and almost causing him to gag. Still, this feeling, his tired legs, the ever-present smell of death felt disturbingly familiar.

As the poison eating him from within began to slow him, the Tarnished's sight grew hazy and visions appeared before his eyes. Specters of poor souls marched tiredly next to him, dressed in various armor and all dragging weapons limply at their sides. A couple stumbled and fell as they went on, never to stand back up again. The sectors beside him sung a sickly chant, as if sending off their comrades one by one.

Weakly, he reached into his pouch for his healing flask, hoping to stave off death long enough for the poison to work its way out. He felt around and took the tiny glass. He raised it to his lips took a sip and, as he did, the visions around him vanished into thin air. The crimson tear reinvigorated his strength, if only for a bit. But, unless he could find a fragment of grace to rest at soon, it would be a good long while before the pain would alleviate.

As he the path turned a corner, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. "Oh, Tarnished, is that you?"

Sitting before him, under a stone bridge, was none other than the warrior woman, Nepheli Loux. She smiled at him weakly. "Would you like to come join me?"

Though the Tarnished felt himself relax at the sight of a familiar face. Without a word, he trudged over across from her and sat himself down, placing his weapon and shield on the ground beside him. Nepheli offered him a water skin, which he gladly accepted, quickly downing some of its contents and quenching his thirst.

"Well?" she said, waiting for his response once he finished drinking.

He wiped his mouth and pulled his helm back down over his lips. "Well, what?"

"Well what do you make of it, the sorry state of this village?"

The Tarnished peered up the path, still unable to see the village she spoke of. "I haven't rightly seen. However, judging by the scent, I can hazard a guess."

Nepheli chuckled bitterly, "I'm not surprised. Even with your memory gone, some things are too deeply carved into a warrior for him to ever forget. I too have witnessed sight much the same, in my infancy."

"The smell of death and burning corpses here is overwhelming. What happened here?"

"The same thing that happens in so many other places. The oppression of the weak. Murder and pillage unchecked. A waking nightmare, made by men." The warrior woman frowned; her fist clenched with righteous rage. "Damned curse mongers, monsters all of them. Treating people like bloody experiments with no regard for life whatsoever."

"Curse mongers?"

"Depraved perfumers and omen killers," Nepheli explained, her every word dripping with disgust, "deplorable cowards who make their living severing the horns from newborn omens and enslaving those who survive."

The Tarnished was surprised, it was rare to come across one who had any sympathy for those of cursed blood. Though, he figured Nepheli was different than most, certainly one of the kindest souls he had met thus far. It was a shame she felt so obliged to follow a man like Sir Gideon. "Why is such a group here? Was this village an omen haven?"

Nepheli shook her head, "No, this was a village for Albinaurics. From what I have heard from father, they're accursed souls born of the eternal city. I know not what the curse mongers were seeking and I no longer care. They slaughtered the helpless all the same."

"There's still smoke coming from the village," the Tarnished observed, "are the killers still up there?"

Nepheli nodded, "They're setting fire to the corpses as we speak. I was able to kill a good number but, due to my own weakness, I could not stop them from carrying out their wretched task. But, now I've rested and tended to my wounds." She grabbed her axes and stood up, turning to face the village uphill. Her voice filled with anger, she told him, "Though the suffering cannot be undone, I can still mete out justice. Justice to the oppressors."

The Tarnished was not about to let her go off on her own to fight whatever force remained. He stood up as well and asked, "since you forged your own path through the swamp, do you have any antidotes left with you? Toxins still run through me and I fear that they will weigh down my blade as I fight by your side."

The warrior woman reached into her waist pouch and gave him a handful of neutralizing boluses. The Tarnished quickly consumed them and followed with another tear from his flask. Immediately his body mended itself and the constant pain subsided. Though he was still tired, he felt once again ready for battle, especially since he would not be fighting alone. Taking his sword in hand, he stood to his feet.

The Tarnished watched as she pounded her chest in a show of bravado. With a fierce look of determination, she proclaimed, "Let the scars I carve remind them. I am Nepheli Loux, WARRIOR!" The two then charged up the hill to avenge the dead.

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Revenant

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Back at the Albinauric Village, a survivor of the massacre had given him half of a pendent that supposedly was the key a place lying beyond the capital called the Haligtree. The Tarnished did not fully understand the gravity of such a gift, but had gladly accepted it as per the dying man's wish. A day later, he had discovered a young Albinauric who had informed him she had been pursued by "the all-hearing brute," who believed her in possession of the other half. It did not take long for the Tarnished to put two and two together and figure out that the one responsible for the village's sorry state was likely much closer than Nepheli realized.

At first, he intended to travel back and put down the leader of the Roundtable Hold, truce be damned. Melina suggested otherwise, though, pointing out that despite his actions, Sir Gideon was still a member of the Roundtable Hold and thus, in the eyes of the Greater Will, his comrade. Furthermore, he was still Nepheli's father. Thus Tarnished agreed and decided to reserve his full judgement until he spoke with the man. As much as the he did not care for Sir Gideon, he felt he owed it to the Warrior woman to allow her father the chance to explain himself.

So, following Melina's advice to keep a cool head before their confrontation, he had decided to refrain from returning to the Roundtable Hold for a few nights, hoping to work through his anger. He decided to find a place to relax for the night and finally rest after a tumultuous couple of days.

He stopped a small secluded shack with a site of grace on the Eastern side of Lirunia, deciding it an appropriate spot to rest for the night. Hopping off Torrent, he looked up at the sky, taking its beauty in for a moment before setting up camp.

Since the beginning of his journey, the Tarnished had always felt a certain pull from the moon. Perhaps, due to his past, he held some sort of inclination towards it. The witch Renna had, after all, called him a bloody wolf. What love more appropriate for a wolf than the moon itself? Or, perhaps it was simply its serene beauty and the gentle light it provided during those evening rides on Torrent. Either way, the view of the moon from Lirunia was truly something special. This quiet night was one the Tarnished intended to savor.

He opened his leather bag and pulled out a few berries. Coaxing Torrent over, he fed the horse his meal, gently stroking his mane as he did. Torrent slowly ate from the Tarnished's hand, enjoying the respite as well. As the Tarnished fed Torrent, he saw Melina appear out of the corner of his eye and approach.

"You seem more at ease," she commented as she joined him in petting Torrent, who continued happily munching on his food. "Is your mind in a better place?"

"I can still feel my anger smoldering like embers in my stomach," he answered honestly, appreciating her concern. "However, as you said earlier, it has subsided a bit. Hopefully after resting tonight, I'll be able to think clearly."

Melina placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "While I understand your rage, a wise ruler must know how to temper such emotion. Just look to the First Lord himself."

"The First Elden Lord? As in Godfrey?"

The maiden nodded. "Lord Godfrey was said to be a man who felt experienced every emotion to its fullest."

"Truly?" The Tarnished was somewhat surprised. "The statues I see of him look so regal and refined."

"Truly," Melina laughed, amused by the Tarnished's response. Melina looked up at the sky, as if recalling a fond memory. "At banquets he would laugh so loudly amongst his comrades. During festivals he would sing traditional verses with vigor. And, wielding his mighty axe, he would rage ferociously."

"That does not sound very tempered to me" the Tarnished commented, now somewhat engrossed in her story.

Melina smiled wistfully and told him, "Oh, but it was. You see, my Tarnished, no matter what happened, no matter the storm raging within him, he always acted with the pride and dignity befitting of the Elden Lord. Lord Godfrey never forgot the role he was given and his obligation to both Queen Marika and his people."

As she spoke of Godfrey, he began to understand the deep admiration that many held for the First Elden Lord. He must have truly been a man like no other, born to inspire all who stood with him. The Tarnished felt himself too being taken by the First Lord's legend. He almost felt ashamed by the embers of rage that still stuck to him. "If I am to live up to such a name, then I have much work ahead of me."

"Do not worry, Tarnished," Melina told him, "As I said, this journey changes a person. You, I believe, will grow stronger, both in body and in character."

The Tarnished smiled at her kind words. Once again, he felt grateful that Melina had joined him on his quest. While she could not provide the guidance of a true finger maiden, these small moments and conversations were far more valuable to him. The two of them continued to converse, speaking of their travels and some of the strange individuals they had met thusfar. Time passed as they spoke and the Tarnished felt himself slowly unwinding, his volatile emotions cooling in the peaceful night.

However, just before he could fully relax, he heard a sudden snapping of twigs and the rustle of branches from the surrounding thicket. With that, he snapped back on edge, his eyes quickly darting back and forth, examining every shadow. They were not alone.

"Melina. Disappear, now." He ordered her in a hushed voice. The finger maiden quickly nodded and raised her hood before dissipating her corporeal form. The Tarnished drew his bastard sword in one hand and his shield in the other, and continued scanning the thicket for whoever dared interrupt his rest. However, upon seeing the culprit, the Tarnished almost dropped his sword.

"Edgar… is that you?"

Though he never thought they would meet again, before him stood Edgar, Commander of Castle Morne and father to Irina. He wore the same armor and carried the same halberd he held the last time the Tarnished had seen him. Sheathed at his side was the sword which Edgar had used to swear his blood vengeance on those who stole his daughter's life. However, if he was searching for his daughter's killers… then why was he here?

"Edgar," the Tarnished said cautiously, still not lowering down his guard in front of his old acquaintance, "I am glad to see you are alive. What are you doing here, though? Why did you attack Torrent?"

The commander only answered with a growl, stepping forward menacingly, halberd at the ready. Last he had seen Edgar, his eyes were dull and devoid of the will to live. Now, though, they were aglow with a fire unlike anything the Tarnished had ever seen. The Tarnished felt as though he should have been happy to see the light return to Edgar's eyes, but something here was clearly wrong. This glow was not like the warm golden light of grace. Instead, it was a sickly yellow light that seemed to burn his own eyelids. It was madness. Uncontrollable, all-consuming madness.

Edgar lunged forward with his halberd with unexpected speed and ferocity, almost catching the Tarnished off guard. He quickly rolled back out of the way and blocked the next swing, unwilling to give up on Edgar just yet. "Edgar, stop! It's me, remember?" he pleaded as he desperately tried to evade each attack.

The mad commander would not hear him, however, roaring and frothing at the mouth with each swing. The Tarnished kept on the defensive, not wanting to cause more harm to this man than his past failing already had. However, with each second the Tarnished found himself losing ground. The commander was fast, much faster than the Tarnished had ever expected. Despite his crazed state, Edgar was still a hardened soldier of incredible skill. Each wound inflicted by the commander's weapon compounded on the next, draining his strength. The Tarnished did not have the luxury of staying his sword.

Edgar thrust the tip of his halberd towards the Tarnished, trying to run its through his stomach. Just before the point could reach him, however, the Tarnished stepped to the side and raised his leg. Then, with all the force he could muster, he stomped down on the weapon, throwing Edgar off balance. Seizing the opportunity, the Tarnished lunged forward and slashed Edgar's right arm, causing him to drop his halberd and stumble back. Hoping that the pain might bring Edgar back to his senses, the Tarnished made one final appeal to the commander's sanity. "Stop this madness, Edgar! Irina would have never wished this for you!"

The Tarnished saw Edgar give pause upon hearing his daughter's name, as if experiencing a moment of clarity. "Irina…" he rasped with a pained breath.

The Tarnished felt his heart leap. Perhaps there was still hope! "Yes, Irina," he continued, slowly moving towards Edgar with his sword lowered. "Look at us, Edgar. Your quest for revenge has no ending that Irina would have wanted." Unfortunately, Edgar's moment of clarity passed just as quickly as it had arrived. He roared in anger and drew his sword. The Tarnished, who had placed all hope in saving Edgar through words, was caught off guard by the sudden attack.

It all happened in an instant. Instinct kicked in before the Tarnished could even form a thought, swinging his buckler up just before Edgar's blade was about to meet his flesh. Edgar's sword bounced off the sword with a loud clang, throwing the mad solider off balance. Then, as if possessed, the Tarnished brutally drove his sword into the commander's stomach. Blood burst from the wound, showering the Tarnished as the sword ran through to its hilt.

The Tarnished pulled his blade out and stepped back, watching in horror as Edgar fell to his knees. Edgar looked down to his blood-stained armor, almost in disbelief. He then looked back up to the Tarnished, his eyes now returned to their original hue. Coughing up blood, he sputtered out his final words. "My daughter… I lost sight…"

Then, succumbing to his wound, his body burst into ash with a bright flare. The Tarnished approached, still in shock. He hadn't meant to deliver such a savage blow, right? He knew deep down though, the emotional past couple of days had loosened his restraint, leading to… this.

Melina appeared beside him, approaching the small pile of ash. She muttered something under her breath, then turned her attention to the Tarnished, who was still simply staring past her to where Edgar once stood. Though she already knew the answer, she asked, "My Tarnished… how do you fair?"

"My wounds are not mortal," he answered. This death felt unnecessary. Thinking back, he had not even tried to stop Edgar. He knew that the man had left to die and he barely said a word in protest, thinking only of his path forward towards the Elden Ring and not of those his actions, or lack thereof, effected on the way.

"Edgar may not have deserved such an end but you have committed no sin. In his state… this was an act of mercy." Melina reassured him

The Tarnished let out a frustrated laugh. "Perhaps, but I could have held back. I just felt this impulse overtake me and before I knew it…" Thinking back to his conversation with Melina, the distance between him and the First Elden Lord never felt wider.

The Tarnished then walked over towards the site of grace inside the shack. Once inside, he let his sword and shield clatter to the wooden floor and slumped up against the wall. Melina took a seat beside him, careful not to disturb him. Then, tenderly, she told him, "Close your eyes Tarnished. Sleep now, I will keep watch for the night."

The Tarnished nodded. He was damn tired. So damn tired.