No Gods, no Masters.
No God can have a master, not in the purest meaning of the word. A God could be a vassal, but not all vassals were Gods. These were lessons Queen Marika The Eternal, Empryean Champion of the Numen, learned the hard way. She was a God and holder of the Elden Ring. But, unbeknownst to the Lands Between, their Goddess was shackled to the Erd Tree and hidden inside out of shame. At this point, the titular ring is shattered. Its golden essence corrupting the very land it served.
"You can elevate your people, ensure their prosperity in these news lands. You can be their true God."
Bitterly, she has nothing but time to think about the promises made and broken by the Greater Will, her side stinging with a glaive of Destined Death for her insolence. Still, eternally dying, Marika still lifts her head and chuckles ruefully in the direction of the Elden Beast. It had crucified her in a display of surprising emotion. She had wondered if the creature had a will or if it were just another poor vassal, like her.
"I will be thy incubator…. For thy wretched ring, my accursed children…. But a God, I am not."
The Numen are a classically long-lived species. So long-lived, they are seldom born. Periodically in their history, a generation could outlive the life cycle of their planet with their slowed aging. Aerodynamic vehicles that traversed space were old technology, should the cataclysmic time come where they must branch out in search of resources.
And such a time came during Goddess Queen Marika's reign. But, what qualified her as the Greater Will's Empyrean is what made her eligible to be Numen queen.
Many had tried in bouts of power, but Marika's bonding with the silver tear had been successful. From her, a champion was born to protect their civilization whenever a new threat arose. A successful and distinguished mimic, one who could conquer all areas of the battlefield that the good queen could not (and would one day serve as the guard to her eternal cell).
Her will and desire was complex enough.
Their ancestors had the sky robbed from them for trying, but Marika had created a champion like the queens before her who embodied their consorts. This dichotomy captured the attention of an incomprehensible being, even among Outer Gods. Ancient fingers (perhaps once forming a whole hand with others) spoke for it, and told grand tales of peace and godhood.
These golden words sound too good to the ambitious and beloved White Queen. This boon of power and resource would ensure that her long reign was full of legends and songs that told of her kindness. Her might. And unending inquisitive nature. Ascending to godhood would give her the answers even her near eternal life would not bequeath. Answers, she's realized, she has to have.
Answers she never should've gotten.
"Tho it is cliche, mine own religion and purpose is a staineth…. A tarnish on supposed golden legacy… A suffocating rust."
The world tree, the Elden Beast and the Greater Will were all parasites. Grace was a construct, the Erd Tree was using unknowing souls as sustenance. A meal. There was no afterlife, no pleasing a higher power. Marika's godhood was conditional and only to house the Elden Ring, which now governed their life. Marika was a God as much as the cattle and livestock farmers raised.
What God couldn't roam their lands and be among their people? Who fed their very souls to alien overlords?
But still, Queen Marika The Eternal could smile. It may take eons. She may never see the culmination of a bloody, torturous plan. But, the Greater Will's discounting of the Tarnished would be its downfall. The way chieftain Godfrey found his way to serve her and the Golden Order, a Tarnished strong enough would set her and the Lands Between free.
She only has to wait…
You could tell sharp eyes were dreaming again. At first, sights came at night. But, the closer this foreigner got to strange lands, the more these crystal clear visions came to her. The blood and the history of Lordran was deeper than anyone there could realize, fiery hair similar to her own in her mind's eye.
"We'll be at a shrine soon, m'lady, I know you are not tired…" The man plodding beside the regal, white horse was as average as they come. His armor was of the low-born of the area, and Poderickson was undead himself. Gifted to a noble family of a far away land, his only purpose is escorting his lady through his home.
His lady could travel far longer, but he would meed to refuel on estes flasks and humanity. The dark-haired man prided himself on staying squarely human, that status could change in dangerous lands. And quickly.
"Yes, Pod. You have earned a rest at a bonfire." Thick, red hair refuses to stay in a messy braid. And though, the lady would rather wear armor than a common and uncomfortable dress, being lowkey in new lands was essential. Looking too rich without a darksign would be suicide. She had no fear of such a lawless place, but the warrior had been trained to always be weary. And ready to kill.
Even as she spoke, her attention was split. Gravestones were crumbled and obliterated on grassy knolls, the cliff becoming dangerous as Poderickson led them with adept navigation. This decrepit shrine reminded the lady of places she'd never been. Churches and sanctuaries that no longer held purpose. Where people no longer prayed.
"Your visions, again?" They had led a well-off lady from a beautiful land of flowers to a place where nothing died. Poderickson would never understand the nobles.
"Always," She only looked down to her guide when her horse's gate stopped.
"How do…. You know that's what they are?" Prophecies of the First Flame going out were punishable by death. Poderickson would hate the wrong person hearing her speak of Old Gods and holy wars. He'd seen terrible things happen to perfectly nice people.
"Because… My flesh was dull gold…. My blood, rotted. And at the base of a sprawling tree, I have waited to see more." Even in feminine dress, Malaena's shoulders were broad, her grip strong on her horse's reins. And at her side a glinting, golden sword. "I do not fear being undead, or hollowing. I have a reason to be here. In this age of dying gods, I will find out who is showing me this. And why…."
It was her greatest motivation, even now.
"You must be careful what you utter, Malaena. Never any telling who listens." This beginners spot for Chosen Undead attracted grifters and bandits. Religious heretics and worse.
"Melina," She corrects sharply, pulling a hood over her head when others come into view around a glowing bonfire. "I told you, we must Lordranize my name. Better these people have no idea what or where Celnaris is." A place untouched by the Undead Curse and rife with humanity. They both shuttered at the thought of a dark siege.
"Yes, forgive me… Melina," But she wasn't listening. Malaena was taking in the crumpled cliffs and pathways, feeling shaken by the desolate feel of everything.
'I wont die before I find you. I will slay Gods and defeat a curse to get to the truth. For long, I have lived without reason. But my purpose is to find you.' A name almost rolls off the tongue of her mind. But Malaena was patient. With every memory, a bigger piece of herself fell into place. And once the Blooming Swordstress found her answers, nothing would stop her. Not the greatest foes or thousands of years. Their sweet face was just beyond the fog of her mind….
"Welcome, to Firelink Shrine. We're here."