It has been a week of explorations for him, but he has yet to venture out of the large gates to Stormveil Castle. Navigating through the thick flora, ruins, and catacombs proved useful, somewhat.
He takes one Rowa fruit and pops it into his mouth. At the moment, he isn't reducing the numbers of Godrick's soldiers nor is he taking care of the imp infestations at the catacombs. No. He's currently at the Gatefront Ruins, merrymaking with the new regiment of Godrick's soldiers sent to this side of Limgrave.
It seems that they can't tell friend from foe when he wears the same armor as them. The helm obscures his features, but he can't help but wonder if these soldiers are accounted for. These groups should have lists of the names included in their regiment and roll call is a must at the end of the day.
Vaughn still thinks that he's rather fortunate given the circumstances.
They are a raucous sort, their tongues loosened by the flagons of wine they ingested. It's a change from Melina, his faux maiden. She offered him an invaluable boon, turning the runes he acquires into strength. Vigor comes back to his weary and tired bones and the small cuts on his person are gone immediately with but a touch. She only asked to be delivered to the foot of the Erdtree. She does not speak to him often even when he rests at the sight of grace.
His first interaction with her was awkward, he made it awkward.
Upon sealing the deal with his finger maiden, Melina presented him with a ring. His mind flew to him being proposed or propositioned to.
"Forgive me, but I've already promised myself to someone else." He cried, bowing his head.
Her stoic façade broke, a small smile upturned her frown. "Tis no promise of marriage but another boon. I bequeath to you this ring to call forth the Spectral Steed named Torrent."
When she touched his hand for the first time though, the smile faded upon seeing his memories. He could make out the pity in her eyes and it further confused him. His head is a mess, and his past knowledge only comes back when engaged in battle. What could she have seen to make her look like that?
He does not ask. Everything' a blur in his head and any further information might not help.
Someone shoves another flagon of wine at him, not that he's complaining. They're serving week old bread and he needs something to wash it down with. He remembers Kale back at the Church of Elleh, the merchant only has wine soured under the heat of the sun. The Tarnished sets aside a flagon and some stale bread for the merchant after this festivity.
Vaughn hides the parchment of the crafting recipes he's bought inside his surcoat. It was a mistake to try and study the recipes when he's with company. He gives the middle of his armor a good pat.
"Where's the so called 'Tarnished' they've been yapping about?" He gets elbowed in his middle. "Did he really kill them all in one night?"
"Uuuhh… Probably hearsay…?" he answers carefully. Not trusting his mouth now that he's drunk a few pints.
Thankfully, another soldier interjects, pouring at the other's cup until it spilled on the grass, "Who cares? Supplies came and we're finally free from drinking water."
Most of the soldiers are too eager to share war stories and beddings to a complete stranger like him. Vaughn nods at them to show that he's listening.
He walks on the dirt road to the ramshackle church, tipping his chin at the patrolling soldiers, they pay him no mind. He fixes the chainmail coif and puts the long knitted metal above his nose. He doesn't want to take any chances of getting recognized.
On the crook of his elbow is a tied cloth carrying the stale bread and jerky he swiped from the encampment, and on his other arm carries the flagon of sweet wine.
The familiar glow from the merchant's fire colors the of what's left of the ruined place of faith. He sees the merchant and his donkey in deep sleep.
He puts the flagon and food down to where Kale rests.
He plops down near the site of grace and peruses the recipes he's bought again. Some he recognizes and the rest peaks his curiosity. The grace crackles like a hearth getting his attention. Vaughn reaches out to touch the threads of gold, only for it to pass through his fingers but an unceasing thought at the back of his head rears itself and makes a pull at him to enter the Gatefront Ruins.
"The banishment is already a reprieve."
"A lover, perhaps?"
"She picked the better warrior."
He pulls his hand away from the wisps of gold. A voice from his past whisper of memories he has long forgotten.
"That's enough for today." He tells himself, folding the page where he left off.
He wonders if Melina will begrudge him if he just stays here in this part of Limgrave, maybe he can help her find another Tarnished to accompany her in her quest. Surely, these memories are more trouble than its worth.
But the woman he held in his arms…
Her face was obscured in his dream but the press of her warmth and softness against him was real. If she was important to him then he should've at least remembered her face, right?
A passing fancy probably. There is no way in the Lands Between will he trouble himself with-
The little hairs on the back of his neck stand, his hand finds purchase on the handle of his blade. Someone's watching him.
A thick mist surrounds the church bringing along a chill that went past his armor and clothes, nipping at his skin.
He faces the stranger. Hoping once again that this will not end in bloodshed.
What greets him is a woman sitting atop the decrepit masonry. He studies her, noting the four arms, a pair resting on her lap and the other with its fingers only touching the tips, a habit perhaps when in thought.
She wears a white pristine dress beneath the thick furs on her shoulders. The top of her head is covered by a hat with a wide brim.
His hand loosens its hold on the sword handle, posture at ease.
When she faced him, his apprehension vanished, leaving him with a sense of melancholy and q hitch in his breath.
Before him sits a goddess. The light of the moon haloing her mien, and a specter's face shares one closed eye.
There's a tug on his chest and a buckle behind his knees, a practiced response to get closer and kneel.
"This way, Tarnished. May I have a word?"