When Pensole awoke, he was laying face down someplace dark, damp, and cold. His first thoughts were of the Grafted Scion and how rudely he had been dispatched. That he had the memory was an advantage over the last time, and a difference. He remembered his fledgling adventure back to his previous awakening in the Chapel of Anticipation, but no further. His death at the hand of the many handed Scion was a certainty, so now he contemplated this situational development. Perhaps the tarnished "dead, who yet live" describes an ongoing state of affairs, rather than a discrete happening once upon a time. Perhaps death, for him at least, had taken on a quality of repeatability rather than finality. Yet, even though one may contemplate the possibility of such a state of affairs, testing the theory in a manner scientific was not something Pensole was inclined to rush into.
Seemingly without much effort for someone who had so recently not been, Pensole rose to his feet and assessed the incidents and accidents of his present circumstances. His garb remained limited to a mere loincloth, and he was still possessed of a club in his right hand. He came to thinking of it as "his" club. And with the small amount of light in the vicinity, he surmised that he was in something of a cave. There were piles of stone boxes that looked like coffins about his person, and on the other side of the cave he saw a small leafless tree, of trunk and branch it was golden and somewhat luminescent.
Looking inward, he surmised that he had gained several items at this iteration. Concentrating still more, he came to be aware that he had an inventory. In this inventory he had a Flask of Crimson Tears, a Flask of Cerulean Tears, a Tarnished's Wizened Finger, and a Club. Thinking back to the previous iteration, he remembered having picked up the Tarnished's Wizened Finger from beside the dead female body back in the chapel. Now, in considering the item in his inventory, he realized the item hadn't vanished to nowhere, but rather it had transferred to his inventory, wherever that might be, and he presumed that going forward he could now find the item in his inventory anytime he wished. Furthermore, when he concentrated on the Finger in his inventory, he became aware that the use of the item was to write messages.
This was a heady revelation indeed, for it confirmed quite a bit of what, up to this point, he had been presuming. The white glowing messages on the ground must have been left by others; he guessed now they were tarnished too, yet this also would soon have its own confirmation. He himself now had the ability to leave such messages for others, and it was a glad feeling that he might have comrades who were all in this together. He instantly began to set down a message, but after a few moments he realized there was nothing he could write that would be altogether useful, since he didn't have any knowledge of what was ahead to pass along. This in turn provided coherence for the untested theory that if he were to go forward and die, he might return with the knowledge of what killed him, providing the basis for a message to others who might then avoid that particular consequence. He thought to go back and leave a message before the Grafted Scion arena, but not only did he have no present means to get there, he recalled there were some such messages already that did as well as he could. Knowing "close quarters battle ahead" is something, but neither that message nor any he could write would benefit a reader with knowledge of how to survive the encounter.
So Pensole turned his thoughts again to the other items in his inventory, learning that the Crimson Flask could help restore health, and the Cerulean Flask could help restore manna, which is used for spells, of which he realized he had none. He also learned that the skill associated with his club was called Barbarian Roar, which temporarily increased his attack power. So that's what that was.
Satisfied with the knowledge of the contents of his inventory, Pensole once again surveyed his surroundings. This time, he noticed that between himself and the golden tree there was a white phantom. However, unlike previous white phantoms which were moving, reminiscent of a ghost of previous travelers such as himself, this white phantom was sitting motionless in a chair. As Pensole approached the white phantom, he realized it sat next to a large hole in the cave. Peering down into the hole, he could see the bottom, but it was a significant drop. He queried the phantom, who replied by means of written words Pensole could directly apprehend, "Brave Tarnished, take the plunge."
Pensole's first thought was not toward the content of that communication, but rather its form. That is, by directly apprehending the written communication, Pensole realized the phantom had capitalized the word Tarnished. If the phantom's grammar is to be believed, that meant that Pensole wasn't "tarnished," he was "a Tarnished." This also served to be some additional evidence that the folks writing notes in glowing white letters to each other on the floor were all among the same class or group, since he surmised the phantom would have given the same message to anyone passing by. Interesting knowledge indeed.
Turning then to the content of the phantom's diminutive epistle, the geospatial context of the missive implied Pensole ought to jump down the very large hole to the phantom's front. Pensole suddenly drew alert, vigilant to the possibility of a trap. Who is this phantom, and why should I believe him? He's never once given me reliable information in the past.
Pensole's immediate distrust was re-inforced when he noticed a red puddle nearby. When he activated the puddle, he saw a red phantom, clad with shield, cape, and sword, walk to the edge beside the phantom, and then obey the phantom's imperative by "taking the plunge." Satisfied in his belief that the redness of that phantom gave conclusive evidence that the plunge ended only in death for that particular Tarnished, Pensole steeled his resolve to avoid the same fate. He would not fall for a trap such as this, not this day. And although he also observed some countervailing evidence—that is, a white sign nearby said "The Cave of Knowledge lies below," and when he saw the floor of the hole he could just make out that there was another white sign below, giving an indication that a survivor had been to the bottom—Pensole would not budge from his determination. The sign at the bottom of the hole was conclusive only that some Tarnished had been alive on the bottom at some time, not that he had traveled there from this elevated position. Perhaps there was another way down. Regardless, he would not be putting the drop to the test.
Had he known that at that time a short description of the Cave of Knowledge had been added to his inventory, it may have been just enough evidence to have changed his mind. He may have been convinced the cave below served as a sort of skill up zone, preparatory to the dangers further ahead. But he didn't know his inventory contained any such information, and so he was certainly not convinced thereby to go ahead and "take the plunge." And so, Pensole turned away from what was in truth the Cave of Knowledge, and moved towards the short set of stairs ahead, somewhat illuminated by the aforementioned golden tree.
At the top of the few short steps was a closed double door, which Pensole opened and pushed his way through. He found himself in a smaller room fashioned all of stone, such that it may have merely been hewn out of the rock. Across the other side of the room was another short set of stairs, which he immediately climbed, since there was nothing to catch interest in the present room. Up the short steps and into the next room, there were multiple reasons to be interested. In the middle of the room, on, or more precisely just above, the stone floor was a golden glowing trace of light, vertical, about three feet in height and hovering about a foot off of the floor. It was shimmering, but not as of fire, rather it had the look of a golden cloud condensed into a solid spike, and then energized with some unknowable power. Orbiting around this golden thing were a few other, more ephemeral, swaths of translucent and sparkling golden light, as if to ensure a person traveling by would be sure to see the central golden spike.
To the right of the room were several large archways, filled or blocked by a cloudy white wall. To the left were several torches on the wall, lit. The fire of the torches burned silver and black, but seemed to provide light in equal measure to torches lit by what Pensole thought of as normal fire. At the far side of the room, he also noticed what looked like a corpse sitting back to the wall, and which had a bright blueish light sitting atop.
Pensole thought to approach the golden spike, and as he stepped close, a message appeared in his consciousness prompting him to "Touch Grace." For some reason this seemed less like a trap, so Pensole went ahead did just that. As he did so, he felt a strange thing happen, as if he had been temporarily disconnected from the world around him, only to suddenly connect once again. As he felt that reconnection, he also became aware of the event, "Lost Grace Discovered." Given the sequence of events, he was nearly certain that the "Lost Grace Discovered" event was a reference to his most recent touching of the golden spike, which he could now call a "Grace." As if this wasn't enough learning for the past three seconds or so, Pensole next was given an option to "Rest at Site of Grace." Although he wasn't tired, he was of a mind to learn more about what this site of grace entailed, so he affirmed that he would so rest.
He immediately felt, once again, that he was disconnected from the world around him, although he could see that he was physically seated at the site of grace. He had a flash of panic at not being able to move, but he quickly concentrated on the site of grace itself. In so doing, he became aware that he had a number of options of things he could do while he was resting at the site of grace. For example, he had options regarding passing time, flasks, memorizing spells, sorting a chest, and leaving. The final option further reduced his uneasiness, for he understood it to mean that while he was resting he could engage in these other options, but whenever he wanted to leave and return to his connection with the world, he could choose the leave option.
Satisfied that he was not, then, in any danger, Pensole investigated the other options. The pass time option seemed straightforward enough; when he chose to concentrate on this option a handful of other options became available, that is, to pass time until it was morning, noon, or night. The flasks option was more confusing. There were further options having to do with golden seeds and sacred tears, neither of which he any clue as to what they might be. There was another option to allocate his flasks, and from this option he saw that he had three Crimson Tears (he thought of them as red flasks), and one Cerulean Tear (which he thought of as his blue flask), but while resting at the site of grace he could choose to turn one, or all, of the red flasks to blue flasks, or the other way around. He decided not to make any changes, though, since he had no way of knowing yet what he would need. The sort chest option also didn't make much sense, since it seemed to be just another section of his inventory.
Having perused all the available options, Pensole decided to leave his rest at the site of grace. As he stood up, he made a mental note that this site of grace would be a very handy place, and he should be sure to remember where it is, so he could always come back when he needed to.
Pensole next turned to the arches on the right side of the room, the ones filled with a cloudy white substance. He could see, dimly, through to the other side, which dropped off into a cavernous room. He noticed the top of a ladder to the right, presumably for getting down to the floor of the room on the other side. Approaching the ladder, Pensole discovered that the cloudy white substance was impenetrable. Not only could he not reach his hand through, but when he attempted to use the power of his club to force his way through, it bounced off as if the white cloud were as stony as the other three walls around him. Even a Barbaric Roar was not enough to give him the power to penetrate the cloudy white substance. It was then that the thing took a new name in his mind; he took to calling it a fog wall.
Just then, Pensole also noticed a statue in front of the fog wall, to the left. It was a stone pedestal, with two small stone-carved creatures on top. The entire thing was little more than waist high. As he approached the statue, a message appeared to "use stonesword key." Pensole went ahead and tried to comply but was promptly notified that he did not possess any such key. Making another mental note that he would have to return as soon as he took possession of a stonesword key, he left the fog wall behind and walked to the far end of the room. There, he once again saw a corpse seated against the wall, with a bright bluish light sat above. As he approached the corpse, he was given an option to retrieve an item. Remembering the Tarnished's Wizened Finger that he had retrieved from a glowing light in a similar fashion back in the Chapel of Anticipation, Pensole now took it as a given that a glowing light indicated an item for him to acquire.
This time, the item was actually two items, both a Finger Severer, and a Tarnished's Furled Finger. Becoming more familiar with the use of his inventory, Pensole discovered that the Finger Severer, despite its horrific sounding name, gave one the ability to send another person, or oneself, home. How the Finger Severer knew where a person lived so as to send them there, there was not further elucidation. The other item, Tarnished's Furled Finger, was said to create a summons sign for cooperative. Pensole was equally confused by both descriptions, so just as before he decided to put it behind him and move on.
Taking a quick look back over his shoulder there appeared to be nothing else to interact with, so he turned once more to the side opposite from where he entered the room, and took a few more steps up a short set of stairs. This led him to another room which had something like a circular pavilion in the center, with columns around. In the center of the pavilion was a circle of stone, raised a few inches above the rest of the floor. Pensole walked around the perimeter of the room. Having found several items that had been just sitting around, he felt compelled to make a perfunctory search in each new room he entered. He found nothing of interest, and so turned his attention back to the pavilion, and the raised stone circle. Although it may seem strange, Pensole had a belief which bordered on certainty that there must be something to do in this room, and that he just hadn't found it yet. And so, because the only apparent point of interest was the raised stone circle, he decided to do what you do when there is a raised portion of the floor: he stepped on it.
His weight was more than sufficient to press the stone circle to the floor, and when he did he heard the sound of stone moving against stone, and then the circular floor of the pavilion started moving straight up, in elevator fashion, and at an impressively swift rate. He could not see well; not only was it exceedingly dark, walls stood close-fast around the pavilion elevator, so there would not be overly much to see even were there more illumination. Before long the elevator came to rest, this time in a room that was more finished and refined, constructed of smooth stone bricks rather than rough-hewn from the rock.
Pensole's look around the room for points of interest was quick. The only thing that caught his eye was a large jar in the corner of the room. It was unremarkable as of itself, but there was a white glow seeping out from behind. Pensole surmised that the presence of an item of value was the best explanation for the glow, so he strode to the corner and unashamedly bashed the jar with a mighty swing of his club. There was indeed an explanation for the glow behind the jar, but it was not an item. Rather, there was a message that had been left by a previous Tarnished.
Intrigued, Pensole puzzled for a few moments, wondering what information should be hid behind a jar: was it some secret, destined only for those few Tarnished of a jar-bashing disposition? Perhaps this could be a clue to a rare item which to provide him aid or succor on his adventure. With his anticipation thus duly swelled, Pensole stepped on the message to release the as yet hidden knowledge unto himself. The answer, which proved to provide insight in a measure equal to fury, merely said, "behold, message."
Pensole, at first dumbfounded and dismayed, wondered what kind of monster would leave such a message, and for what? "Behold, message." Worse than a waste of time, the prior Tarnished who left this message had calculated the delivery such as to maximize its apparent utility, only to leave a message of such trifling nothingness it was as interesting to himself as a volume of the History of the Lands Between would be to a one-winged butterfly. His emotions vortexed around and among a bitter feeling of betrayal, disgust at a shyster's hoax, and a kind of crystal-thin impatience only a first-born sibling could truly embody.
However, as the red mist subsided, Pensole took the opportunity to learn for himself a lesson, which is that as helpful and thoughtful a prior Tarnished's message may be, there were some who used the medium for something other than brotherly love. The messages may times be left by those who amused themselves in the messaging, and perhaps far worse. Be vigilant, to himself he exhorted, for messages may or may not be helpful, but must never be wholly trusted.
Having taken what he might from the lesson, Pensole approached the only other point of interest in the room: a heavy door. Ready, he thought, to take on whatever came next, he pushed the door open and stepped through. Before him was something he didn't quite expect, for he was out of doors and in the brilliant springtime light of a green and rolling landscape. Having been underground his entire life (this time around at least), his eyes stung at the adjustment. He was vaguely aware of a message that came to him as he stepped through the door that the land before him was called Limgrave.
As his eyes and mind came more into focus, he saw beyond the horizon a tree unlike any other. It seemed larger than the earth it grew out of, larger than all the buildings ever built all in one place and stacked together. He could not see the top, but only the bottom portions of the canopy which, if it weren't actually infinite in size he could not tell. The tree entire was gold in color, brighter than the sun, source no doubt of the ever spring of Limgrave. It was marvelous indeed, and Pensole marveled for a time he would not later be able to scale, dumbstruck beyond words. Suddenly, as if cognizant that another moment's focus on this arbor of heaven would transmute his wonder to dread, Pensole looked away, deliberately forcing his gaze and thoughts to any alternate thing. In that effort, he soon became aware of a castle, high up on a cliff in the distance. A little lower down, closer, there were remnants of a stone building, a church he thought, by the shape and steeple. And, as his awareness continued to move from far to near, he saw a person on the other side of the rocky rise upon which he now stood, standing and looking directly back at Pensole. Between that person and himself was what he had no doubts was another site of grace, for it looked identical to the golden spike at which he had rested a few minutes before.
Instinctively, he proceeded forward to the site of grace. Before touching the grace, he noticed that to the left and nearby was a person hung up on a kind of cross. This discomforting observation jolted him out of the sense of wonder which had taken him upon stepping out of the dark stone room into this fair land. Aware but undeterred, he continued to the site of grace, touching it on his way by, but not yet sitting down to rest. That could come later, he was curious to engage the only other person he had seen in the flesh on this journey. (He didn't think of the Grafted Scion as a 'person').
Drawing closer, he believed the figure was male. He was also white of face, as if wearing a white-faced mask. The masked stranger held hands together in front of his chest, giving the appearance of someone trying to portray glee. And yet, his clothes included what looked to be a formerly white canvas apron, but now stained with blood, as if he were a surgeon, or a butcher. What a strange combination of features, thought Pensole, all exhibited in this singular figure.
Pensole did not see any indication that the man meant to be threatening or to do harm, so he continued up to the man to see if he had anything to say. And the man certainly had many things to say. He started off emphasizing that Pensole was maidenless, as if every tarnished is supposed to be guided and aided by a maiden. The man said more than once that Pensole did not have a maiden, and intimated that this would put him at a disadvantage in achieving his quest.
The talk of being maidenless tolled Pensole's memory of the dead female at the beginning in the Chapel of Anticipation. Without even forming the words, he instantly considered the possibility that his maiden had been ready to join and assist him there, but had befallen some terrible and unfortunate fate, where she was struck truly dead and unable to fulfill her purpose. This thought both saddened Pensole and caused concern, given the importance this gleefully masked surgeon-butcher seemed to think a maiden would be. Along those lines, Pensole heard the man say "fated to die in obscurity," in a way such that Pensole believed the man was talking about him.
Pensole then picked up that the man's name is Varré, who went into a long explanation of the sites of grace, talking about something called the "guidance of grace." While Varré continued, Pensole looked over his shoulder, and saw a distinct golden glow coming from the site of grace behind. The best he could figure this golden glow was pointing toward the castle high up on the hill, or maybe just toward the church nearby. Although Pensole would not remember the words used, Varré's soliloquy let him to believe that he should follow the guidance of grace if he were going to find the Elden Ring. He also said something specific about the castle ahead, calling it Castle Stormveil, the home of a demi-god named Godrick the Grafted. Whatever else may have been said, Pensole definitely came away believing that Varré thought killing Godrick was going to be a critical step towards claiming the Elden Ring, and that he should set off towards the Castle posthaste. There was a final crack about being maidenless, and then Varré had finished. At least, when asked for any more information, Varré started to merely repeat what he had said before.
And so, with the scant information available to him, Pensole meant to make his way toward Castle Stormveil, while at the same time maintaining that sense of vigilance necessary to account for the distinct possibility that this Varré was the kind of Tarnished who would leave a message saying, "Behold, message." But first things first, it seemed to be a good time to rest and think about all that he had seen and heard, so Pensole took a few steps and then rested at the nearby site of grace.