Pain. War. Blood. Huna. Alessia. Morihaus. Rage.
The Dream.
CHIM.
Pelinal roared, sending the Ayleid kings back. His sword, once blessed with the might of Akotash, laid uselessly across the tower, broken in eight places. His shield, once a symbol of might, sliced in half by Umaril the Unfeathered. Pelinal relished the sight of the aforementioned warriors intestines that were now splattered across the floor. He now only had his arm, warped into the familiar shape of a cannon, which was blessed by the eight divines themselves, along with his gargantuan mace, which had the head buried in a dead Ayleid king. He raised it high above his head, and screamed to the sky once again.
"PATHETIC DREGS, YOUR CORRUPTION OF THE LAND WILL GO NO FURTHER. I AM PELINAL THE BLOODY. I AM THE DIVINE CRUSADER. AND I AM DEATH." He smiled a sick grin under his helmet as he saw the fear flash through the remaining kings eyes. To any normal human, they would see Pelinal, standing tall, bloodied mace in hand, and rejoice for the battle has been won. The Ayleid kings were not normal humans. They had the mightiest magics at their disposal, and were backed by Meridia herself, now enraged at the sight of her champion Umaril defeated. They noticed how the once dazzling red light of Pelinals heart was dimmed to not even a fraction of its former self. They noticed the labored breaths that he took during his speech.
They also noticed the bloody, gaping wound across his chest. It was time to act.
Using the combined power of the remaining kings, they channeled the remaining magic they had left into one last, final ditch effort, creating a blast strong enough to level Hammerfell to ashes. Pelinal would not let them create this easily. He rushed forward, slamming his mace into the head of a king, and incinerating two others with divine light from the cannon. Three more were slaughtered, his mace meeting flesh and bone, tearing them into two. He was over the main caster, the mightiest king, in an instant, but was thrown back by a magical prescence. The Ayleid kings eyes widened when they realized that Meridia herself had joined the battle, seeking vengeance for her champion. "My lady! You must not interfene. You will bring the divines to action!"
"Pelin-el. You have slaughtered and butchered your way across Tamriel. You were created by the gods, blessed by them, yet here you are, a raging brute who is more fit to serve Dagon than Akotash. I am Meridia. Lady of Light, Prince of Dawn. And you will be felled by my hand."
Pelinal sneered. "So, the whore decides to finally show herself, too busy crying over your 'precious' champion to join earlier?" Pelinal knew he was going to die. He was up against a Daedric Prince, along with her little lapdogs. But he would not grovel, he would not yield. He would fight. All the way to the bitter end. He took up his mace, readied his arm cannon, and charged towards the god.
"REMAN!" He roared as he met Meridia in single combat, meeting her with the fury of Aetherius itself. He used every move in his disposal, every attack, every incantation, and all his might. His efforts were rewarded with a singular, abysmal cut on the Lady of Lights face. He laughed bitterly before noticing her about to strike. One minute. He lasted one minute against a Daedric Prince. He smiled to himself. He could live with that. He will tell Huna of this the moment he got to the afterlife.
The last thing Pelin-el Whitestrake, The Star-made Knight, experienced was a flash of light, the scent of burning, and then darkness.
However, the wheel turns once more, and Pelinals course to the afterlife was knocked astray, sending him hurtling into the abyss.
Morgott caressed the Erdtrees thorns, and snarled to himself. "Why? I have given everything to you. Why do you still not accept me?" He was met with silence, the ever present vibrations of the Erdtree reaching his hand. He turned away, walking down the stairs. Deep in his mind, he knew. He knew why the Erdtree will never accept him. Someone like him. He could feel it. The Crucible that was ever-present in his soul. The horns. Everything about him disgusted himself. If his siblings had not been so foolish, so ignorant, then maybe they could have lived in an age of peace. He sighed, such thoughts were simply distant dreams.
And then, the Erdtree- no. The world shook. Morgott looked up in astonishment as a meteor fell from the sky. "Has General Radahn been vanquished?" He muttered to himself, summoning Margit, his persona, to the wilds of Caelid.
Radahn was still there, roaring at the sky.
Morgott dispelled his summon. "Must be a natural event." He whispered to himself.
Radahn felt it. In some deep, still sane part of him, untouched by scarlet rot. He felt the prescence of something, no, someone that made his heart beat, his blood run wild with adrenaline. He hefted his great swords, dulled and cracked by constant warfare, up into the sky, and roared to the heavens in challenge. He saw the asteroid crash into Limgrave. And then, for the first time since Malenia bloomed, Radahn felt something that wasn't his own rage nor the constant burning of the scarlet rot.
He felt bloodlust. He felt rage. He felt hatred. All burning within that singular asteroid.
He reached down to scratch Leonards neck, something that despite his rot-addled and ruined brain, he managed to do because of the muscle memory. Breaking out of his moment of sanity, the scarlet rot took over once again, and Radahn returned to his meal.
Patches is not a coward. Patches is a survivor. Theres a clear difference! And no matter how many times he explained it to his merry band of thieves, he was met with laughter and jeers. Fools. The lot of them. Without him they'd all have gone mad by now! He chuckled to himself as another fool opened up his chest, and he rammed through them with his pike straight into the back. See! He wasn't a coward! If he was, he wouldn't have fought that person! As he picked off the runes of the dead mans body, he noticed that the cave was.. shaking? Weird. Probably a cave-in from a deeper cavern. A pity. Some of his crew was down there.
And then, a meteor crashed through the roof of the cave, collided, and everything went black.
Patches woke up to one of his crew feeding him the liquor from his flask. Ah. At least their good for something. He groaned as he got up, and noticed that his crew, usually bickering and arguing, were dead silent. "Well? Speak up ya sad sot-" Patches fell silent. He could feel his jaw hanging loosely and his eyes widen at an alarming rate. He picked up his pike and shield and decided to use some of his piss poor army experience from his homeland. "F-form a shield wall!" It was pathetic really, a group of ten thieves, in rags and daggers, all in a line. And to be fair? Patches knew that they were going to prove no match for this man- nay, monster.
The being that crashed through the roof was massive, he estimated that if it stood up it would be around nine feet tall. It was covered in a set of red armor, which Patches then horrifically realized was meant to be white. It had a greathelm, with wings sprouting out of it. The armor accentuated the shoulders of the being, and the rest of the armor just seemed like a standard plate for a paladin. Well, if that paladin had the most masterfully crafted set of armor to ever exist. But it wasn't the armor that scared patches the most. It was their weapons. He shivered as he looked at the mace, probably a good two feet taller than him, and noticed the blood dripping off it. And was that- He resisted the urge to throw up when he realized that there were organs hanging off of it. The next item was mounted? No, infused with his arm. A cannon, it seemed like, with smoke coming out of it.
What was this? Some sort of experiment from Raya Lucaria gone wrong? A knight of Llyendell? Patches looked around, expecting to see his men shaking with fear. He blinked when he realized that they had left the cave already.
And if he wasn't scared shitless already? The thing laughed. Yeah. That's it. He'll meet up with his crew later. He turn around and was about to bolt out of the cave, but then he stopped as soon as he heard one word.
"HALT."
Yeah. He was going to die. He was going to miss his mums cooking, his fathers crooked grin, his little sisters giggle as he hoisted her up. Damn him and his cursed luck.
Pelinal felt the searing pain course through every fiber of his being. His soul, mind, and body screamed in agony, yet he was whole, intact. The gaping wound in his chest a stark reminder of the battle that had brought him here. However, the most alarming thing was the absence of Akatosh's blessing. He did not feel the eight divines presence. He always did. Watching over him, guiding him, calming him down from his ungodly rages.
His heart still saddened whenever his mother cried, and the rain fell onto Tamriel, after one of his rages.
He looked around, confused. Shouldn't he be on top of the White-Gold Tower, confronting Meridia? He laughed. The whore could not best him, even when her power dwarfed his. However, he noticed a being opposite him, about to run. He had a pike and a shield and looked like he couldn't use it at all. Probably some upstart thief, looking to gain riches from the war. "Halt." Pelinal said, throat burning. 'By the gods, everything just flat out hurts.' He saw the thief turn around, fear running rampant in his eyes. Pelinal grunted. "I mean you no harm, thief. But I warn you, if you try to steal anything from me, your punishment will be quick." Despite the fear in Patches eyes, he steeled himself, and looked at Pelinals eyes through his helmet.
Pelinal was suprised, not many mortals were able to look at him in the eyes. This one must not be a thief, but a fearless warrior looking for riches. He could respect that. But first. He needed the mans help. He pointed to the gaping wound in his chest. "Do you have anything for this wound?" The warrior then takes out some sort of red liquid? Must be a healing potion from a different land. The man then pours the liquid on his chest. To Pelinals astonishment, the wound starts to stich up and close. Pelinal feels adrenaline seep into his veins, blood boiling hot. He grabs his mace and roars to the sky, invigorated by the strange liquid. He noticed the poor man shaking. Out of pity, he also didn't look at the liquid running between his legs. Maybe not as fearless, but still a warrior none the less. "I thank you." Pelinal says, "Where is the closest Alessian outpost? Fear not, for I, the mighty Pelinal, will talk of your brave deed."
The warrior did not know of the Alessian order. Nor did he know of Pelinal. It was confusing for the Divine Crusader. Pelinal sighs and gets up. "I thank you, friend, for your generosity. I, Pelinal Whitestrake, will not forget this. Anytime you are of need of aid, I will come. Now, I must depart. The Ayleid Kings are on the backfoot, and our justice will be swift." Pelinal walked out of the cave, and narrowed his eyes at the sight of the river. Somewhere in High Rock? Cyrodill?
He dropped to his knees when he saw the massive, yellow glowing tree at the center. He stormed back into the cave. He roared at the poor man. "WHERE AM I, SORCEROR!" He snarled out, cracking the cavern walls with his immense strength. Patches was able to form words now, overcoming his fear. "T-the Lands Between boss! I'm no wizard never had the knack for it! Grrk- I swear I got no idea what happened to ya boss! You just came falling from the cave roof like a bloody meteor! L-look mate, I'm not the one you should be mad at its Queen M-Marika I swear! She's bloody called us all to this god-forsaken land!" He gasped out, noticing the massive beings grip soften a bit. He's let down, and the being sits down on the floor, looking at Patches. "You are going to explain everything. And then I am going to ask you questions. And if you do not match up, or I do not believe you, you are going to die." Pelinal snarled out. "Y-yes boss! I got ya!"
Pelinal sat on the floor, his eyes fixed on Patches. The thief was trembling, but Pelinal could see the resolve forming behind his eyes. This man, despite his fear, was trying to compose himself. Pelinal respected that, but he needed answers. The immense, glowing tree outside was unlike anything he had seen in Tamriel. "Speak, and do not waste my time," Pelinal commanded, his voice a growl. Patches gulped and nodded. "R-right, boss. This place is called the Lands Between. It's not like Tamriella- Tamreal, if that's where you're from. We're all drawn here by Queen Marika's Shattering."
Pelinal's eyes narrowed. "Queen Marika? Shattering? Explain." Patches took a deep breath. "Queen Marika, she's... well, she was the ruler of the Lands Between. After her son, Godwyn, was assassinated, she raged and destroyed the Elden Ring, and it threw everything into chaos. The great Erdtree you saw outside, it used to glow even brighter, but now it's in turmoil. Everyone's fighting for control, trying to become Elden Lord and restore the Elden Ring. It's a right mess, really."
Pelinal processed this information. A shattered ring, a world in chaos, and a struggle for power. It was not unlike the conflicts he had faced in Tamriel, but this place seemed more twisted, more... foreign. "And this Queen Marika, where is she?" Pelinal asked, his tone dangerous. Patches shrugged helplessly. "No one knows for sure. Some say she's gone, others think she's hiding somewhere, or maybe she's still manipulating things from the shadows. But the power vacuum has drawn all sorts of powerful beings into conflict."
Pelinal stood, his massive form towering over Patches. "I see. So this world is in need of a conqueror, someone to bring order." Patches nodded fervently. "Y-yes, boss! But it's dangerous. The demigods, the tarnished, and all sorts of creatures—it's not going to be easy." Pelinal smirked beneath his helmet. "Easy? Nothing worth fighting for is ever easy."
"One last question, what is your name, warrior?" Pelinal ordered. Patches blinked. He was never called a warrior before. His heart, despite its beating, swelled. "It's Patches boss!" He proclaimed proudly. "And your title?" Pelinal enquired. Patches felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead. He didn't have a title, he was a thief for gods sakes! Pelinal noticed his silence. "Very well. I will give you a title. You will be Patches, the Fearless. And I am Pelinal. I have many other titles, but they do not matter in this land. I will acquire them as we bring this land to heel." Patches couldn't hide his crooked grin. "Patches the Fearless eh? Cheers boss! I'll make ya proud."
Pelinal emerged from the cave, with Patches following behind him, still visibly shaken but resolved to survive. Pelinal gazed upon the landscape, noting the twisted beauty and the pervasive sense of decay. He would need allies, information, and perhaps most importantly, he would need to find this Queen Marika. "Come, Patches," Pelinal ordered. "You will guide me through this land. We will find this Queen Marika, and I will bring order to this chaos."
Patches nodded, his fear slightly abated by the fact that he had been given a purpose, even if it meant serving this terrifying warrior. "Yes, boss. I'll do my best."
Pelinal started marching towards the horizon, where the massive Erdtree loomed. His mind was set. This land would be brought to heel, and those who stood in his way would be crushed under the weight of his divine wrath.
The runt of the litter. The weakling. The grafted. Godrick hated it. It was just so subpar. Everything. His warriors, his castle, his body, the stock he uses for grafting. His only useful troops were the grafted scions he had created, a tinge of guilt filled his heart as the memories of his grandchildren came to mind, and even then, there was truly only one of them actually defending the castle itself!
And deep in his mind, Godrick raged at the fact that the only reason he was not cut down yet was because of the presence of Margit at the entrance of his castle. Sure, he had physical might, alot more than those of his other siblings, but like Malenia showed him, he was still just a runt at the end of the day. And it infuriated him to absolutely no end.
And Godrick also knew, that his castle was getting weaker. He could feel it. His absence from his men, staying in the courtyard for years- nay, decades had left them leaderless. The rune of death no longer in the lands between had twisted their minds, made them weak and volatile. Godrick was unsure if they would attack him if he left the courtyard. He glared at the walls of the castle, feeling trapped in them. Not physically of course, but the feelings of his own insecurity kept him anchored to Stormveil.
Because despite everything that was taken from him, and despite everything he took from others, Godrick still had hope. Hope in that he would one day restore the Elden Ring, hope in that one day he would stomp that bitch Malenia into the ground and graft her arm onto his body, hope in that one day, he would become king of the lands, and be not known as Godrick the Grafted, monstrous being, but instead known as Godrick the Golden, last heir of the golden lineage.
His fantasies were interrupted by a knight walking into the courtyard. He snarled. No knight had interrupted him in decades, why now of all times.
"Thou dares interrupt me, foul wretch. Speak quickly, or lose your tounge." Godrick sneered. The knight quickly kneeled, much to Godricks surprise. Surely all of his knights were broken at this moment? The knight spoke, forcing the words out of its mouth. "My lord... There have been.. Concerning reports.. From misbegotten scouts." The knight painfully rasped out, throat dried up centuries ago. Godrick bellowed out in fury. "Name your concern at once! I grow tired of your meaningless drivel." The knights head went down deeper. "Reports of... A blood soaked warrior, clad in armor, as tall as protector Margit himself." Godricks eyes widened. Another Demigod? A hidden one? Or maybe a broth- no. He would not subject himself to inaccurate fantasies. "The figure... A mace. As big as himself.. And an arm.. Made of a blinding light coming out of the end."
Godrick's interest piqued, though he hid it beneath a veneer of disdain. "And why should this concern me? I have seen countless would-be conquerors and pretenders fall before me."
"The scouts heard one of their conversations my lord.. They seek an army. Our knights.. Morale is extremely low my lord. We need a figurehead. A guide. We need you, my lord." The knight spoke, voice hopeful. Godrick stopped to think. If this.. person, nay- conqueror wanted to overthrow Stormveil, he'd be damned if he just laid there and died. He was Godrick! Last of the Golden Lineage! Godrick smiled a demented grin to himself. If this warrior wanted a war. He would get one. "What is this... pretenders name." Godrick inquired. "Well my lord... The scouts couldn't get too close. But we believe it to be the name of Pelinal." the knight said.
Godrick laughed into the sky. "Very well then! Contact Castle Morne! If there is resistance there, slaughter them! Muster the troops! Gather the trolls! And if this false king wants to meet me in the heat of battle, he will get the rage of Godrick the Golden bearing down on him!" Godrick stared at the dragon in his courtyard, laying a hand on it, before ripping off its head.
If the reports were true.. He would need power. A lot of power. As he dragged the dragon into his throne room, he got to work.
He would be ready. Stormveil would be ready. And when the time came, he would show this Pelinal the true meaning of power.
And then, maybe, his siblings would realize the power he holds.
However, before he started to graft, he noticed Margit, standing in the corner of his throne room.
"Margit." Godrick sneered.
"Godrick. We need to talk." Margit said distastefully.
"So, uh, boss. I'm not one to question you of course not, but erm.. How exactly are we going to raise this army of yours?" Patches asked. Pelinal kept walking as if he had the answer to every question he was going to ask. "Before we raise an army, we need an outpost. One to conduct our operations. I do not wish to raze Stormveil to the ground while sleeping on grass and stones." He said as he looked at Patches inquisitively. Patches stood for a minute before finally realizing what he wanted. "Uh right! An outpost boss! So.. The closest outpost we could probably take right now is some ruins that are southeast from here." He said. Pelinal dismissed his suggestion immediately. "I will not have my warriors sleeping on sticks and stones. They will carry my wrath with them." He claimed.
Then, Pelinal looked at a massive castle in the distance. It was the perfect strategical position. "What is that place." He ordered. Patches saw he was looking at Castle Morne, and swallowed. "U-uh boss thats Castle Morne.. You uh.. I don't think that's a very good place to-" "Nonsense. We will take it. And then we will start our mighty war."
Pelinal knew he seemed like a brute, lusting for glory, but he also knew that if he spent time explaining the importance of taking Castle Morne, the supply lines and vantage points, he would lose Patches bravado and courage.
"Castle Morne it is," Pelinal declared, his voice echoing with resolve. Patches nodded, though he couldn't mask his apprehension. "Y-yes boss. Castle Morne. It's not going to be easy though. The place is crawling with misbegotten and Godrick's knights."
Pelinal sneered. "Good. Let them try to stop me. They will fall like the rest." He turned his gaze towards the distant castle, already formulating his plan of attack.
However, they were interrupted by a hearty laugh, and Pelinal brandished his mace and turned, with Patches doing the same.
"Hello warriors! I apologize for the interruption, but I simply heard your courageous speech and I couldn't help but wonder who these mighty warriors were!" The man- being? Jar thing? said, long arms closing around his circular body. "I am Alexander the Iron Fist! And I am here.. To ask for a duel!" The talking jar proclaimed.
Pelinal was many things. Rageful. Hateful. A butcher. A slaughterer. But he was rarely ever confused. "Is that.. A talking jar?" He spluttered out indecorously. Patches let out a scared laugh. "I-it seems so, boss..." They were interrupted by Alexander. "Fear not, warriors! As a sign of my respect to you, I will allow you to have the first hit of the mighty duel!" He boomed out. "Hmm. Alexander the Iron Fist. We need not duel here, friend. In fact. I think we have a proposition for you." Pelinal said, standing tall infront of the jar. Alexanders head? Body? tilted up. "Oh-ho, a proposition you say? Well my friend, I am quite disappointed at the lack of fighting, but I, Alexander, am willing to hear you out."
Pelinal could feel himself smiling. "Take Castle Morne with me, and we will conquer the Lands Between."
Inside Alexanders soul, he was giddy. This man was gargantuan, not simply in body, but in spirit too. It reminded him of the tales he heard of the legends of old. His heart steeled. He was going to serve this man until he died. Alexander kneeled. "You have my wrath, my lord." He said. Pelinal looked down on the jar, before finally speaking. "Very well. You will be my hammer. You will be my frontline against my enemies. You will meet them with fury and steel, Alexander, the Iron Fist. I strip you of your title. And bestow upon you a new one. You are now Alexander, the Indomitable, my bulwark."
Alexander, much to his embarrassment, felt a few tears slip from his non-existent eyes. He had a purpose! He had a lord! Sure, he was having fun dueling whoever crossed his path, but now, he was apart of something much greater. It reminded him of when he would stay up all night protecting Jarburg from threats. Well, of course none came, but still!
He was so caught up in thought that he didn't even notice his lord walking away, and he quickly chased up to them. He stood beside his other associate. This one was alot smaller, and dare he say, weak looking, but Alexander was sure it was simply just an illusion. Probably a mighty skilled warrior like Malenia! "Hello fellow warrior! My name is Alexander, the Indomitable! And you are...?" He questioned. "Uh, yeah mate I was there, watching.. Anyways, the names Patches, Patches the Fearless!" Patches proudly proclaimed, puffing his chest out. Alexander widened his non-existent eyes, this warrior must be truly formidable. He laughed. "It is a pleasure to meet you Patches the Fearless! Come friend, let us take this outpost!" He boomed out. Patches let out a genuine laugh, not one of his hyena-like ones when he successfully ripped off a poor sod. "Alright mate, lets get moving. Boss is gonna get fed up if we don't hurry up."
It was a shoddy castle, nothing compared to the mighty Imperial City, but it would do for now. Pelinal stared upon Castle Morne from the hilltop, Alexander and Patches at his side. And there were two main threats that Pelinal could see.
One, the colossal golem guarding the front gate to what seems to be a sort of lift system, and the massive bonfire from the center of the castle which reeked of corpses, feces and decay.
However, along with the two threats, he also noticed two glaring disadvantages to the castle. One of them, a seemingly makeshift bridge that let right to the top of the castle, where the bonfire is, and the other being that Pelinal will have full access to the courtyard where the bonfire is if he gets onto the lift. Pelinal hefted up his mace to his shoulder.
"Patches. You will scour up the bridge and scout the main area where that bonfire is, and report back to us when you have gathered sufficient evidence. I expect a detailed explanation on what they are, what weapons they have, and any significant genetical advantages they have. Am I clear?" Pelinal ordered. Patches gulped. He was a thief! He barely bloody knows how to handle the pike he's using! He steeled himself. He could do it. He was given a title, a real, genuine title! He was Patches the Fearless, and he would not yield. "A-aye boss! I'll get right on it!" Patches said, running off to the bridge.
Pelinal turned to look at Alexander, pointing at a distant ruin, which was stationed right above the golem. "You will be there, waiting. I am sure you know what to do." Pelinal commanded. Alexander broke out into a non-existent grin, rubbing his stony hands together. "Aha! A mighty adversary! I knew it was a good idea sticking with you my lord! Fear not, for Alexander the Indomitable knows no fear!" Alexander boomed, voice scaring away birds. Pelinal grinned under his helmet. 'If only I had warriors like you with me in the rebellion' he mused, then broke out of his stupor. "After you slay the golem, we will go up that lift and charge through the main gate. I do not know your prowess, Alexander. And you do not want to find me wanting." Pelinal said, a dark glint in his voice. Alexander ignored it, moving to his designated spot. "Aye aye milord!" He barked out.
Pelinal found a spot to himself, and let his mind wander. He wondered how the rebellion was going. 'The Divines would have blasted Meridia from Mundus seconds after she vanquished me, and I'm sure Morihaus could deal with the few remaining Ayleid kings.' With that, now happy at the thought of his nephew slaughtering Ayleids, he drifted off into sleep against a tree, waiting for Patches to finish scouting.
Pelinal was awoken to screaming.
"Boss! They found me! We need to run! We need to-!" "Be silent. Report." Pelinal ordered. Patches took a deep breath, explaining what happened.
He finally finished climbing the bridge, climbing from vantage point to vantage point. He nearly vomited at what he saw. Thousands of misbegotten warriors, flying and screaming and roaring at the sky, all the while fighting what looks to be hundreds of Godricks infantry, with around fifty banished knights.
He had heard stories of Castle Morne from other Tarnished warriors, but he assumed them to all be mere rumors, but as he pushed the vomit back down into his throat, Patches doubted if they could even take this castle. There were simply too many, and there was only three of them!
And then, two banished knights, guarding what seemed to be a throne room, rounded the corner. Looking straight at Patches. They roared out, and it seemed around twenty warriors came storming onto the bridge.
It was time to go.
Patches bolted, running for his life, using a surprising amount of speed to close the distance between the bridge and the ground. He never even noticed the warriors stopped chasing half way through, he just had to get down.
Well, Patches never mentioned anything about running away of course, he would never do that, not in a million years! Pelinal simply just stood, and shot some sort of holy light into the air with his arm cannon. And then, walked off straight into Castle Morne.
Patches was flabbergasted, he was fully convinced now. His master was a lunatic, sent from the sky as punishment from the gods. He told him of the thousands upon thousands of warriors there, and now he is going to storm the castle with the Jar?
He sighed. He never really could get a break could he?
Patches saw Alexander standing on the body of the golem, with its head completely flattened. Patches wondered how he dealt with it. Maybe all that bravado really did get backed up by something! How interesting.
"U-uh boss.. Theres.. Thousands in there. Not including the soldiers of Godrick." Patches muttered out, scared for his life. He could, he should run! Everything in his body was screaming for him to run!
But, somewhere, deep inside him, Patches wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save the princess from the castle, he wanted the glory, the riches and the fame. He also wanted the approval.
So, that's how Patches, the Coward, the Thief, and the Fearless, boarded the lift with Alexander and Pelinal to go face down thousands of enemies.
His heart pounded, a mix of fear and exhilaration coursing through his veins. As the lift ascended, Patches took one last look at the world below, a silent promise to himself that he would make it out alive, and perhaps even a little bit of a hero.
In that moment, amidst the clanking gears and the rising platform, Patches realized that courage wasn't the absence of fear, but the willingness to move forward despite it. With a determined breath, he tightened his grip on his pike and shield and prepared to follow his mad, unstoppable leader into the fray.
Patches might have been a coward, a thief, and a schemer, but today, he would stand his ground. Today, he would fight.
Edgar let out a deep sigh, sitting on the throne of Castle Morne. He knew he would not be able to hold this throne room for long, and would have to retreat up to the higher battlements soon. He sent out Irina recently, with the intent of her getting reinforcements for the castle from Godrick, and he whispered a prayer to the Greater Will that his lord was not completely insane.
He was also grateful that his lord was now acting, with ten banished knights from Stormveil itself coming to bolster their ranks as of late. However, his numbers were thinning everyday, and soon the misbegotten will claim this castle.
"Commander Edgar. The misbegotten grow stronger everyday, I suggest we send down a party of banished knights to eliminate their breeding nests." A knight said. Nover was his name, that's right. Edgar spoke up. "If I do that, who will hold the line against the thousands of misbegotten dregs out there? They grow stronger everyday. We must hold. And we will keep holding. Until Lord Godrick sends reinforcements."
And then the entire castle shook.
And then Edgar heard the most rage filled, hateful roar he had ever heard in his entire life.
He simply prayed that Irina was still safe.
Pelinal ripped a misbegotten in half, and then slammed the lower corpse on three more dregs. He hefted his mace up and slammed down, shredding apart ten more into chunks of meat. He raised his arm cannon, and fifty got incinerated, erased by divine light. Pelinal then took off and raised his bloodied helmet to the sky, and ripped out a misbegotten warriors neck with his teeth. He roared out to the sky, his hatred overwhelming him. An ocean of blood pooling at his feet, covering his greaves.
Neck veins in his mouth, chewing down and swallowing, he roared out one word to the sky.
"REMAN!"
It blasted the warriors back. Fear registering in their eyes for the first time in their lives. Pelinal charge into the thousands, ripping and tearing and cutting like a butcher would to meat. He felt nothing. He thought nothing when in this state. Bloodlust overwhelming him. Of course, it was nothing compared to his black rages, erasing entire islands from existence, but in this state, his rages were all the same.
Alexander was a shield. His fists were iron, his mind was steel, and like his lord said, he was indomitable. Every mighty blow with his fist send tens of misbegotten tumbling around, and Patches was there to finish them off, stabbing his pike into their brains. "Follow the lord mighty Patches! We will join our lord in his wrath against these foul creatures!" Alexander rumbled out. One part of his mind in fascination at the might of his lord, and the other part with deep respect.
If his lord was capable of this, then imagine what he could do when they conquer the Lands Between! He blasted away a misbegotten with his arms, grabbing a second one and throwing it into the air, catching three flying misbegotten warriors and sending them to the ground. Right where Pelinal was.
'Poor bastards' Alexander thought, chuckling to himself.
Patches was terrified. His lord, his boss just murdered two hundred sentient beings by himself. In the span of thirty seconds.
Patches rammed his pike through the brain of a misbegotten, feeling nothing. Huh. Maybe his lord rubbed off on him a little bit after all. He raised his pike and shield, looking around, and noticing the circle of misbegotten surrounding him and Alexander, Pelinal long gone, ripping and tearing his way into some other place. He was about to bolt, use one of those items he found that takes him back to a grace. But then, he felt Alexanders hand on his shoulder.
"My friend, Patches the Fearless. Are you ready? Today we face the mightiest challenge of them all! Proving ourselves to our lord!" Alexander says as he lets out a booming laugh, using his arms to bat away fifteen warriors.
Patches looks down, and notices a warrior coming up to him. He lets out three sloppy strikes, one got blocked, the other hit the misbegottens chest, and the other pierced the brain. Patches grinned.
"Well? Come at me ya sad pieces of dung! I'm Patches the bloody Fearless!" He roared out, adrenaline taking over his body. He could barely hear Alexanders hearty laughter. "Come then! My friend! Let us slaughter them together! Patches and Alexander, the mightiest duo the Lands Between will ever see!"
Patches grinned. He could live with that.
Pelinal turned around, slammed the pommel of his mace into the head of a misbegotten, sending it crashing back into its siblings, and then ripped the head off the next one, and slamming the head into another. He raised his mace, and ripped it down overhead, killing and maiming. He was smiling a sick grin under his helmet. They died easier than the Ayleids.
And then he saw it.
Its head is unmistakably leonine, crowned with a tangled mane of matted, dark fur that frames a fearsome visage. The face, a nightmare blend of human and lion, with piercing yellow eyes that burn with intelligence. Its mouth, filled with rows of jagged, predatory teeth, is constantly twisted into a snarl, and its breath comes in low, rumbling growls.
The Leonine Misbegotten's skin is a patchwork of thick hide and fur, crisscrossed with old scars and fresh wounds. Patches of its fur,stained with dried blood, both its own and that of its victims. Around its neck and wrists, rusted chains dangle, relics of its enslavement and torment.
It lasted five seconds against Pelinals onslaught.
The Leonine tried rushing forward, raising its greatsword, but Pelinal simply brought down his mace, right down to its head. Too slow to maneuver, the head was crushed, killing it instantly. Pelinal then started brutally mauling the dead body, rage overtaking him. He only started to slow when there was no body left, just a red puddle on the floor. Then, and only then, Pelinal started to cool from his rage.
It was time to regroup with his comrades. The misbegottens seemed to be in a trance, cowering in fear over the loss of their leader.
"Today, my friend, we become legends!" Alexander's voice boomed over the noise, his iron fists clenching in anticipation.
Before Patches could respond, a wave of misbegotten warriors crashed towards them. The first creature lunged at Alexander, who met it with a powerful punch, sending it flying into its comrades. Emboldened by Alexander's display, Patches thrust his pike forward, piercing the throat of an oncoming enemy. Blood sprayed, and the creature gurgled its last breath.
The ground was littered with the bodies of the fallen, but still they came. A particularly large misbegotten, its eyes burning with malice, charged at Patches. He barely had time to react as it swung a massive club at him. The blow glanced off his shield, numbing his arm, but he held his ground. With a roar, he drove his pike into the creature's eye, twisting the weapon as it screamed and thrashed.
"Patches the Fearless, indeed!" Alexander laughed, the sound booming even above the chaos.
Edgar and ten banished knights, along with countless infantry units were holed up in the throne room, the silence getting to them, making them tense. They all had their halberds and great swords aimed on the door.
And then they heard it.
Mighty footsteps, slamming the floor, making the very floor beneath them shake and creak as the footsteps approached. The monster behind the door then slammed against it, creating a sizeable dent, the next hit jarring it open, and the third one slamming it open and sending the doors flying into the room. And then, Edgar, fought the urge to run away and hide into some hole in the ground.
He beheld a monster clad in plate armor. Carvings adorning nearly every inch of the red armor, which he realized was colored white. The shoulder plates were brought out and accentuated, and the leg armor was reinforced with thick, multi layered steel. If that steel was ripped off the body of a god and used for the armor, of course. Blood dripped from every orifice of the things body, organs and limbs falling off it.
It's weapon.. A mace, twice the size of himself. It had blood leaking out of it, a creatures intestine still wrapped around it. And on the other arm, a smoking, glowing light. Coming out of the cannon-looking arm.
The next thing he noticed was a living jar, covered in blood. This one did not look like the ones holed up in Stormveil. It was larger, more cracked, and had bigger arms and legs than their siblings. He recalled one of his knights saying that this one called himself 'Alexander the Indomitable.'
The next person he noticed was, to his delight, a human male. At least there was some normalcy in their besiegers. However, this one had a crooked grin, one expected to find on a thief, and his eyes glinted as he looked around the room. If this man wasn't covered in blood and his pike wasn't covered in gore... He would have looked down on the man.
And then the man in armor spoke.
"I am Pelinal Whitestrake. You will kneel to me, or you will die."
Edgar looked around and already noticed the entirety of his basic infantry kneeling. Two of his ten banished knights that still lived were kneeling. And Edgar sighed to himself, and brandished his halberd.
"To my troops, my infantry. I understand you for kneeling. However, unlike you all, as Knight Commander of Stormveil castle, I have sworn an oath to Lord Godrick myself. If I were to break it, then I would turn my back on everything I have ever lived for." Edgar claimed proudly. He noticed the rest of his banished knights had kneeled. Very well then. If he were to die here. He would die standing.
"I, Edgar Hainsworth, Knight Commander of Stormveil, challenge one of you to death by combat."
The being in armor simply looks at him with a look of.. confusion? No. Respect. Pelinal respected this man immensely. It would have been a great boon to have him by his side.
"Very well. You will fight my second."
Edgar looks as the living jar lumbers up to him, his troops now standing and making a circle. He looks at the jar.
"A marvelous speech warrior! I am truly humbled to fight one such as yourself. If only you had joined us, friend. Then we could conquer the lands together." The jar shouted, Edgar had a smirk on his face.
"Just shut up and fight me ya bastard."
Alexander's massive fists swung with calculated precision, each blow aimed to overwhelm and subdue. Edgar parried and dodged as best he could, but the sheer force of Alexander's strikes rattled him with every impact. The knight commander gritted his teeth, his halberd becoming heavier with each parry, each block.
"You can not keep this up forever, knight!" Alexander boomed. "I can feel you wavering!"
As Alexander swung a massive fist downward, Edgar sidestepped and drove his halberd upwards with all his might. The blade pierced through the joints of Alexander's armor, finding a vulnerable spot between the plates. Clay and metal cracked under the force of the blow, and Alexander staggered back, surprised by the sudden counterattack.
But Edgar wasn't finished. He moved with a speed and agility that belied his heavy armor, dodging Alexander's attacks and landing precise strikes with his halberd. Each blow weakened the jar warrior further, chips of clay and metal falling away with every hit.
Realizing he was at a disadvantage, Alexander changed tactics. He feinted a retreat, luring Edgar into a false sense of security. As the knight commander moved in for what he thought would be the finishing blow, Alexander spun around with surprising speed and power. His massive fist connected with Edgar's chest, sending him crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring impact.
Pelinal walked up to him, respect in his eyes.
"You have fought well, warrior. Join us. And we shall usher in a new age. An age of order, of duty, stability, and peace.
Edgar groaned. "Promise me one thing. Spare my men."
"They will have the choice whether to die with honor, or serve me to bring about my new age."
Edgar looked around, and saw his men. Kneeling. They had been lost for so long. Lord Godrick had been holed up in his courtyard for decades. This monster- no. This lord was offering them purpose. Mercy. Edgar stood, looking the man in the eyes.
Through the monsters helmet, he saw war. A raging tempest. One that made him want to go into a maddening rage, to scream and roar to the heavens, challenging the very gods themselves.
Edgar slammed the tip of his halberd onto the ground, and kneeled.
"Castle Morne is yours, my lord. We await your next command."
Edgar felt an armored hand on his head. Pelinal hefted his mace, and brought it to either side of the knight.
"Knight Commander Edgar of Stormveil. I strip you of your title. I, Pelinal Whitestrake, Lord of Morne, hereby grant you a new title. Because of your resolute nature, and overwhelming courage, you are now Edgar, the Iron-Willed. Do you accept this title?"
"Yes, my lord. You have my blade for now and forever more." Edgar said, newfound determination blazing within himself.
Pelinal smiled grimly under his helmet, and looked at his new troops. They were a pathetic lot, most looking like civilians that were forced to pick up a blade, however each of them had a certain fire in them. One that had been reignited by their new lord. They wanted action, they wanted adrenaline, they wanted to be apart of something bigger than themself for once.
They wanted war.
"Warriors of Castle Morne! You know who I am, and you know what we are going to achieve! You now have two choices! Join me, and we will slaughter our way to the Erdtree in glorious conquest and be granted audience with Queen Marika! Or die here, serving your lord who has been absent for centuries!"
A thunderous roar shook the walls, and reverberated through the kingdom.
In that moment, they were no longer a motley group of lost souls. They were an army, bound by a shared purpose and the promise of glory. Under Pelinal Whitestrake's command, they would march toward their destiny, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with unyielding hearts.
Pelinal roared with them, and marched up, sitting upon his throne. He raised the heads of misbegotten warriors, and throws them into the frenzied crowd.
"Alexander the Indomitable, Patches the Fearless, and Edgar the Iron-willed, come forth, and kneel."
A moment passed.
"Rise, my champions," Pelinal's voice was powerful, reverberating through the hall. "You are the pillars upon which this new age will be built. Your bravery and strength will lead us to victory. Alexander the Indomitable, you will be my bulwark, my everlasting shield and hammer that this age will use to crush our enemies. Patches the Fearless, your cunning and resourcefulness will outwit our foes and turn the tide of battle in our favor. Edgar the Iron-Willed, your steadfast loyalty and courage will fortify our resolve and lead us through the darkest of times."
"Now come forth, and take your place as my generals."
Another crazed roar came from the crowd, with even the banished knights slamming their weapons onto the floor. Their roars all merged into a single, three syllable word, carrying from Castle Morne all the way to the outskirts of Caelid, and to the gates of Stormveil.
"Pe-Li-Nal!"
"PE-LI-NAL!"
"PE-LI-NAL"
"PE-LI-NAL!"
Pelinal's voice toned down, after getting his point across. "Warriors!" He roared. "Clear out this castle! Find the feast hall! And then, with the corpses of these... dregs.. we will create a mighty feast!" The crowd roared even louder at that. Pelinal slammed down his mace on the floor. "I expect this castle to be battle ready in one week! Go now, my warriors!" Pelinal thundered. The warriors rushed out of the room, eager to start.
Edgar grinned. "A fine speech, my lord." Patches also let out a whistle, and Pelinal noticed a tooth of a misbegotten secured around his neck. A spoil of war. Patches piped up. "He aint wrong boss, almost had me jumping in the air!" He cackled.
Before Alexander spoke, Pelinal got his attention. "Alexander. I have something to give you." Alexander perked up at that, a weapon? From his lord himself? Alexander could barely hide his excitement. "My lord.. I cannot accept." "Nonsense. I found this off of the corpse of the leader of those foul beings." Pelinal claimed. And then Pelinal brought out the weapon. Alexander, if he had eyes, would have them wide open by now. It was a gargantuan sword, made of welded blades all together into one massive lump of metal.
Edgars eyes also widended. "My lord... The Grafted Greatsword... It is a legendary armament... Using it would be considered blasphemy!" Pelinal simply chuckled. "A weapon is not legendary if it has never been used. What makes this weapon any different than a dagger some shoddy blacksmith threw away?"
Alexander was already on his knees, arms and hands shaking. He was thankful he was a living jar, otherwise his fellow warriors would be able to see the tears of joy. "My lord.." He took the mighty weapon in his arms. It was covered with an ornamental cloth. He slowly unraveled it, and ran his hands along the blade. It was perfectly balanced for him. "I...I can not accept this!" Pelinal glared at him. "Are you disobeying your lord?" Alexander shook his jar body instantly. "Of course not, my lord! I will wield this weapon until my body breaks!"
Alexander gave the weapon a few swings. Aside from the perfect balance, it fitted his combat style perfectly. The blade was lethal on all sides, and any normal being would cut itself using it. However, his ancient clay and metal plating counteracted that all together. Alexander jumped up, impossibly high for a jar, and slammed the sword down.
"I, Alexander the Indomitable, will go now, and vanquish evil beings with this gift! I will return soon, thank you my lord!"
And then, Alexander bolted out of the room with the speed no jar should have.
Pelinal focused on the present.
He had taken Castle Morne. It was a strategic vantage point. No glaring weak points, and only one entrance to the castle after his men cover up the holes and sink the bridge. He would have to send out hunting parties for the wildlife he saw along the way, possibly sending out some of the heavily armored knights to fell the massive bears he saw. Luckily for him, the castle was surrounded by wildlife and forestry, along with being near the ocean.
He would have to check out the massive golden tree he saw near the castle, not wanting to risk losing troops to whatever danger laid there.
Then, after that, he would set up outposts all throughout this 'Weeping Peninsula' as Patches called it. There seemed to be only one entrance to the region, which made defending it extremely easy for him.
And then, when the Peninsula is fully secured, and all enemies have either been crushed or forced to submit, he would then move upon Stormveil.
Pelinal knew he could quite possibly storm the castle singlehandedly, slaughtering everything on an ocean of blood.
He closed his eyes as painful memories came back from that. His mother, crying over the innocent blood he had spilled. His rage, erasing everything from existence. Huna, so fair and beautiful. Arrow pierced straight through him.
Pelinal noticed his hands shaking. He would not be distracted by this, not at this time.
"Edgar, take those knights that you had with you. I want you to train the lesser abled of this army. After you have knights training sections of the army, I want you to set up supply lines with wandering traders and merchants I have seen on my way here."
"Yes, my lord." Edgard said.
"Does this place have a functioning forge?" Pelinal asked.
"Yes, my lord. Two of my knights have blacksmithing skills, and iron is rich around here."
"I was hoping for more than two, but more than zero is acceptable parameters. You will activate this forge, and start smithing quality weapons for this army. You will get the two knights and make them teach a division of men how to smith. This will arm us sufficiently, and let us discard of the rags that Godrick has equipped you with. Dismissed.
"Yes, my lord."
"When Alexander gets back, he will oversee the reconstruction of the fort, along with helping with whatever heavy lifting needs to be done. It is up to you two to inform him of this. If no reconstruction job requires him, he will guard the front gate."
"Yes, my lord." "Got ya boss." Both of them said. Edgar left the throne room.
"Patches."
"U-uh... Yes boss?" Patches nervously said.
"I want you to take a group of people and scout around the Limgrave area. Make sure they are not noticeable, and you move in silence. If you get caught, you are not to say my name at all. You are going to look for holes in Stormveils defense, and also look for towns that can be converted to our cause. If you can, bring somebody with bardic experience so they can sing of my exploits here. It will be useful for spreading our cause around."
"Got ya boss! I'll make ya proud!" Patches proudly said, turning to leave.
"Also, Patches." Patches froze. This was it. He was going to be outed as a fraud. And his lord would murder him.
"Y-yeah boss?"
"Congratulations on the kill. A fine spoil of war."
Patches nodded and left the throne room. He looked around, once, and then twice, checking if no one was in the area.
Patches then jumped up into the air, pumping his fist, and dancing.
"Ya hear me ya sorry sots! I'm Patches the bloody Fearless! I'm the meanest bastard in the Lands Between!" He said excitedly, before noticing a group of knights round the corner and kneel.
"U-uh be on.. your way?" He ordered. The knights rose, and kept moving through the hallway.
He smirked. He could definitely get used to this. But first course of action: Getting information from Limgrave.
Pelinal was.. Reminiscing.
The thrill of battle still coursed through his veins, a familiar companion that had guided his hand through countless conflicts. The faces of the misbegotten and their monstrous leader flashed before him, the memory of their final moments etched vividly in his mind. He had felt no pity, no remorse. Only a grim satisfaction as his mace had crushed skulls and shattered bones.
"Always such a brute." A feminine voice called out to him, giggling. Pelinal's eyes ripped wide open as he looked at the source of it.
"Huna." He whispered.
Huna turned to face him, his eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrored his own. He reached out, his delicate fingers brushing against his armored cheek, a touch so gentle it seemed to melt away the years of bloodshed and pain.
"Pelin-el," He said softly, his voice a balm to his tormented soul. "Why do you torment yourself so? You were always a warrior, but this path of endless rage and destruction will consume you."
Pelinal growled. "The Ayleids.. They butchered you. Their foul arrows marred your flesh. And you ask why I rage. I do this for you, Huna. I will not stop till every one of them gets the vengeance that you deserve."
"Find peace, my love," Huna whispered as he vanished, leaving him alone in the throne room.
Pelinal gasped, the vision dissipating as quickly as it had come. He found himself back in the castle hall, his hand still outstretched, grasping at nothing. The warmth of Huna's touch lingered, a bittersweet reminder of the life he had lost.
Pelinal opened the balcony doors, staring upon Stormveil castle.
He would take the castle, with an army at his back. And when he does, he would march upon this land, bringing order to the chaos that plagues it.
He was Pelin-el, Lord of Morne, and none shall find him or his army wanting.