The last tendrils of moonlight painted the sky in hues of muted grey as I stirred from my fitful sleep. The warmth of the fire had long since faded, leaving me with an aching chill that mirrored the emptiness of the world. Melina's words echoed in my mind, a grim reminder that sleep and rest, while necessary, offered but a temporary respite. Each time I had rested at the golden grace, every enemy I'd fought and fallen would rise again, doomed to repeat their tragic dance of violence. With a sigh of resignation, I packed my meager belongings and turned towards the path that stretched away from the barracks.
The desolate landscape, shrouded in the pre-dawn gloom, was strangely alive with sound. The rustle of unseen creatures, the mournful cries of distant birds, and the bone-chilling roars of monsters far more terrifying than mere wolves or bats – these were the whispers of a fractured world. With each footfall, the knowledge that any previous foes slain would be reborn sent a thrill of apprehension through me.
Seeking to avoid needless bloodshed, I raised a hand and gently blew across the ring gifted by Melina. A warmth unfurled from my chest, blooming into a shimmering golden mist. Ethereal blue sparks swirled around me, dancing on the edges of vision before condensing into a breathtaking spectacle. Out of the swirling glitter a majestic steed materialized, his spectral form solidifying with each beat of my heart.
It was a creature born of starlight and ancient magic – its coat an unbroken expanse of white, untouched by any earthly blemish. A mane and tail flowed down its back, shimmering strands catching the fading remnants of the night as if woven with moonbeams. Powerful muscles rippled beneath its luminous skin, hinting at both speed and unmatched strength. But it was Torrent's eyes that held me captive – pools of molten gold, filled with an intelligence that could rival any man's, yet tempered by a gentle warmth. A snort escaped his nostrils, resonating with a strange, almost musical tone. More than mere sound, it felt like a challenge, a call to action. Shivers ran down my spine as he pawed the ground, sending tremors through the earth. A flicker of recognition danced at the edge of my awareness, as if some forgotten memory stirred, hinting at a bond forged long ago yet lost to the mists of time.
Hesitantly, I reached out a hand. My fingers brushed against his velvety nose, and an unexpected warmth bloomed through his spectral body. He nudged me with his head, a playful gesture that dispelled my lingering apprehension. This was no ordinary mount, but a creature of extraordinary power, a spirit ally in a land where shadows held sway. Torrent nudged me again, urging me forward. With a grin spreading across my face, I swung onto his back, marveling at the strange, cool texture of his spectral form. Settling into the saddle, a sense of purpose surged through me. No longer was I a lone wanderer, a speck lost amidst the desolate expanse. With Torrent by my side, and Melina feeding me power, I was ready to face the trials ahead, to carve my own path through this fractured world.
Guiding him gently, I circled the ruins, navigating through moonlit shadows to avoid rousing the patrolling guards. The return journey through the woods was swift, Torrent's spectral hooves barely disturbing the fallen leaves. As we emerged from the trees, a thick fog rolled in from the sea, cloaking the landscape in an eerie stillness. In the distance, the broken silhouette of the church loomed, barely visible against the shifting mist.
Dismounting, I released Torrent, whose form shimmered and scattered into a trail of fading blue light. Cautiously, I made my way into the church. Kale and his mount lay in a deep slumber, their rhythmic breathing a faint counterpoint to the unsettling silence that had swallowed the world. As I turned to further investigate the church, a flicker of movement in the gloom caught my attention. There, silhouetted against the crumbling north wall, sat a small, hunched figure, legs swinging gently in the heavy air.
The shadow shifted ever so slightly, then whispered in a voice laced with an unsettling chill, "This way, Tarnished. A word, if you would."
With every step I took towards the figure, a gnawing unease prickled my skin. As I drew closer, the moon's ethereal glow, barely piercing the crumbling walls of the church, bathed her form in ghostly light, revealing a young woman, yet shrouded in an aura of the uncanny. She wore a midnight blue robe that rippled and swirled around her slender form, adorned with shimmering silver embroidery that seemed to writhe and pulse. Her skin shone with an alabaster luminescence, yet somehow chilling in the fractured moonlight.
Her face, though, was both captivating and horrifying. Framed by a midnight waterfall of hair, her left side was delicately beautiful, a single tear clinging to a pale cheek. But the right side…there, an abomination of flesh and spirit merged. Where an eye should have been, a spectral skull leered at me, its empty socket holding an ethereal flame that danced with an eerie intelligence. This ghastly face mimicked her left eye perfectly, both twin pools of an unnaturally bright blue. There was an intelligence in those mismatched eyes, both youthful curiosity and a chilling detachment, as if I were a curious specimen to be dissected.
Upon her head rested a tall, steeple-like hat, casting strange, dancing shadows across her two faces. From beneath it, four ghostly arms extended – spectral limbs that twitched and twitched with a sickening mockery of life. They shimmered and warped like heat rising from a distant fire, sending a fresh wave of shivers down my spine. Her presence held an almost regal air, a poise that felt at odds with her ethereal visage. It was as if centuries of forgotten wisdoms and sorrow were etched into those mismatched eyes, as if she were a mirror to the broken world itself.
Yet, the nagging sense of fear did not entirely override my determination. This woman, or perhaps, something more, was here for a reason. Perhaps, beneath her chilling presence, there was knowledge to unravel, or even an ally to be found in this wasteland. Steeling myself, I halted just before her and lowered my head in a respectful bow.
"My lady, it is an unexpected honor. But to what do I owe this summons?"
Her gaze pierced me, lingering uncomfortably as she scrutinized me. At last, her voice flowed forth, tinged with an ancient echo. "The pleasure is mine, Tarnished. I am called Renna, a witch in these shadowed lands. Word has reached me…whispers of a Tarnished gifted with a spectral steed, one chosen by forces beyond the ken of most." Her voice dropped lower, "And these tales…they speak of you, do they not? You wield the power to summon the spirit steed, Torrent?"
I nodded, holding forth the strange whistle Melina had bestowed upon me. "Indeed. It seems a maiden named Melina has taken me for her own, and Torrent has chosen me as his rider."
Renna withdrew a small object from a hidden pocket – a bell, aged and worn, yet shaped with an undeniable, if unsettling, beauty. The handle was of twisted wood, smooth from the touch of countless hands seeking aid in desperate hours. The bell itself was of mottled bronze, a testament to battles long fought and forgotten. Ancient symbols covered its surface, and a clapper of bonelike material hung motionless within, suspended by unseen forces.
"As I had surmised," she whispered. "This was entrusted to me, and now, it is yours. A gift from Torrent's former master. This is a bell to summon spirits – those lingering in ash, denied their return to the Erdtree. They will heed your call, though their obedience will be fleeting, a brief echo of wars long past. Use it…wisely"
An almost primal shiver ran through me as Renna pressed the bell into my hand. It thrummed beneath my touch, not with the cold of metal, but a strange warmth that hinted at a dormant power. It was a beautiful thing, yet it sang with an undertone of disquiet, a promise of companionship born from death and lingering regrets.
"You have my gratitude, Lady Renna."
"Forgive my intrusion, but I doubt our paths shall cross again. The grace of the Erdtree leads you true, Tarnished. Yet, tread with caution. Your might is untested. A demigod is hard to fell. Seek out others in this fracture realm before approaching that castle. Strength lies not only in your blade, but in the bonds forged with those you encounter."
I nodded, "For the lessons imparted, I am in your debt. Know this – I shall heed your guidance, and seek hidden strengths in this broken land. And one day soon, I shall seek the challenges within the castle walls that loom yonder."
A slight nod was her only response. Her form appeared to glow in an ethereal energy. "And who knows, perhaps one day, even the Tarnished will heed a call other than that of the Two Fingers…"
…Her words faded as she vanished, leaving a shimmer of blue light hanging in the empty air for a few fleeting moments. Only the lingering echoes of her cryptic words, an ancient bell, a small pouch of dust, and the haunting image of her mismatched eyes now filled the shadowed sanctuary.
"One final gift," her voice seemed to whisper from the fading remnants of her spectral form. An object materialized beside me, seemingly woven from the last wisps of blue shimmer – a folded piece of ancient parchment. Picking it up, I unfolded it to reveal a strangely familiar, yet incomplete map with markings scrawled upon its surface. The contours of the ruins surrounding the church, the winding paths through the woods, even the site of grace where I had first encountered Melina…these were outlined, yet much of the parchment remained blank.
"This map is attuned to the Erdtree's fractured power," Renna's voice returned, a mere echo now. "As your travels unfold, its secrets will be revealed. Sites of grace you discover will be marked, and you may focus upon them, should you wish to return with swiftness. Tread carefully, Tarnished."
With those final words, silence filled the church once more. Yet, the warmth of the map against my skin, and the promise of guidance amidst the desolation, stirred a flicker of hope within me.
With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside the smoldering embers of Kale's fire. The chill of the night still clung to the air, a dampness that settled deep into my bones. Tendrils of mist, thick and strangely luminous, coiled around the crumbling walls, retreating only reluctantly as the first faint rays of dawn painted the eastern horizon with hesitant strokes of gold. As I coaxed the embers back to life, a warmth bloomed in my chest, a small rebellion against the oppressive stillness that had settled over this forsaken church.
The crackle of flames and the hiss of roasting meat offered a comforting contrast to the unsettling silence, finally rousing Kale and his mount from their slumber. The old merchant awoke with a start, blinking at me with an expression of bewildered surprise.
"Tarnished! By the Two Fingers, I didn't expect to find you at my hearth this morning." He rubbed his eyes vigorously, as if trying to dispel the remnants of some strange dream.
"Nor did I dream of lingering here, Kale. Yet, another visitor held me captive in the heart of the night," I replied, weariness edging my voice. "The witch, Renna, came cloaked in mist and moonlight. She offered me…gifts, and cryptic guidance that echoes in my mind yet."
Kale scratched at his beard, his brow creased in thought. "Aye, tales of Renna have reached even a humble merchant's ears. They say she walks the shadowlands, a specter granting boons and warnings in equal measure. I misdoubt any good comes without a price." He paused, then a flicker of recognition crossed his weathered face. "Wait, have you heard tell of the wolf in the Mistwood? Blaidd, they call him. Half-man, half-beast, and loyal to the witch, or so the rumors say. They speak of him howling amidst the ancient trees, a mournful, chilling sound. He's a blunt, gruff sort, with all the subtlety of a war troll, but true of heart, so I've heard."
Kale held up a hand and snapped his fingers sharply. "If fate takes you to the Mistwood, answer his call with this. It's said to be a sign of respect among his kind."
I mimicked his gesture, committing it to memory. "My thanks, Kale. May your journeys be safe, and your wares find worthy buyers." With a final nod, I turned and stepped out of the crumbling church. The air hummed with the familiar warmth that accompanied summoning Torrent. As my spectral steed shimmered into existence, my heart quickened with a blend of anticipation and resolve. Though my purpose remained shrouded in mist and prophecy, Renna's words and Kale's tale had offered a sliver of direction.
Drawing upon the fragments of knowledge passed down through generations, and bolstered by the witch's cryptic map, I had a rough sense of the lay of the land. If the whispers held true others lingered amidst those shattered ruins and shadowed forests – souls who might aid my quest, if only I could find them. While the road ahead was uncertain, my path was, for now, clear. With a gentle word of encouragement, I guided Torrent back towards the gatefront site of grace, leaving the ruined church and its mysteries behind.
For the time being, my destination lay to the southeast, where the mist shrouded a cursed wood. Whispers told of a beastly warrior, bound by oaths and hidden loyalties. Perhaps, within those tangled branches, I might find an unlikely ally…or a foe disguised as a friend. Only time, and the echoes of a wolf's howl, would tell.
I paused momentarily just outside the gatefront ruins and readied myself for the next journey. The camp was busy. The mindless stare of the ruined soldiers held no sway over my path. With a gentle nudge, I guided Torrent around the crumbling barricades, leaving the gatefront ruins at my back. My heart ached for a time when these shattered fortifications served as bulwarks of order, not silent totems to decay. Yet, the path southward stretched before me, a well-trodden dirt track winding through the desolate beauty of the Limgrave plains.
To my left, the land rose sharply, a vast plateau scarred with the remnants of ancient battles. Ruined structures, stark and forlorn, dotted the landscape – watchtowers reduced to rubble, makeshift camps overgrown by thorny vines, and the haunting sight of lonely crucifixes, their burdens lost to time. Each broken stone, each wind-gnawed beam, whispered of spilled blood and shattered dreams. It seemed there was no patch of soil in the Lands Between untainted by the echoes of conflict.
To my right, the plains gave way to a starkly contrasting vista. A deep ravine yawned open, revealing the parched remains of a vanished lake. In its skeletal embrace lay Lake Agheel, a name etched upon the ancient fragments of my map as I'd traversed these lands. Scattered ruins and withered trees spoke of a time when these shores teemed with life, before the lake's waters receded and its vibrant heart was stilled.
My gaze swept across the desolate basin. Fiendish creatures scavenged amidst the overgrown stones – monstrous mosquitos with needle-like proboscises, overside bats with leathery wings that whispered through the stagnant air. Everywhere, the land bore witness to ceaseless struggle, a never-ending contest between life and death.
As my journey continued, a grand bridge loomed in the distance, a weathered stone span defying the passage of time. It arched over a dried-up riverbed, a stark testament to the lake's former glory. It was then that a flicker of the map's strange magic filled in the blanks around Agheel, the name and its tragic history searing themselves upon the ancient parchment.
In ages past, this lake had been a thriving realm. Small settlements, their names lost to the mists of time, had dotted its shores, their people tapping into its bounty and forging trade routes that breathed life into these lands. But it was both the lake's riches and the primal energies that swirled beneath its surface that drew the covetous gaze of the dragon Agheel. It was said that a fragile coexistence had formed – villagers wary of the dragon's might, yet finding a measure of safety beneath its territorial wings. Then came the shattering, the world's fracturing, and with it, the delicate balance between man and beast was swept away on a tide of chaos.
Agheel, enraged by the encroaching conflicts, became a force of unbridled destruction. Factions clashed for control of these dwindling resources, their battles scarring the land and further invoking the dragon's wrath. In the tempest of war and draconic fury, the once-prosperous lake was bled dry. Settlements burned, their remnants now home to spectral soldiers locked in an eternal phantom battle, and vile demi-humans, wretched scavengers clinging to vestiges of lost power. Agheel lake, the map proclaimed, was but a haunted echo of its former self, a wasteland guarded by a furious, broken beast.
My eyes scanned the desolate basin, searching for the legendary dragon. Yet, for now, the skies remained empty, save for circling carrion birds. Whether Agheel had met its own end amidst the chaos, or simply retreated further into the wilds, was anyone's guess. With a mix of relief and a lingering unease, I prayed I would not find out first hand.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a flicker of gold amidst the sun-scorched grasses. Another site of grace, a beacon of respite amidst the decay. I made a mental note of its location upon my map, but feeling no immediate need of its restorative embrace, pressed onward. As the path curved eastwards, a strange cry pierced the air.
"Oi! You there! Could you help us out, cully?"
I dismounted Torrent, sending him back to the spectral realm with a grateful touch. Weapons drawn, I scanned the overgrown fields and gnarled trees lining the road. My eyes darted from bush to boulder, the source of that unexpectedly cheerful, yet strangely disembodied voice, elusive as a ghost.
"You, yeah, you there! Stop pretending you can't see me!"
The voice seemed to emanate from the copse of trees to my left. Stepping cautiously off the beaten path, I approached a particularly unremarkable cluster of bushes. Yet, something felt…off. The colors seemed slightly warped, and an ethereal shimmer pulsed beneath the leaves, barely perceptible to the eye.
"Why won't anyone look me in the eye? I'm not that ugly…"
Now convinced the source of the voice lay within the foliage, I moved to investigate. Just as I drew close, a monstrous mosquito, bloated and hungry, emerged from the shadows, buzzing with bloodlust. Reacting on instinct, I swung my axe, cleaving the foul creature in two. My weapon's momentum carried into the offending bush, slicing through branches and sending a shower of leaves into the air.
In an instant, the bush vanished, revealing a sight that froze the blood in my veins. Where lush greenery had been, now crouched a diminutive, fur-covered creature. It was less like a person and more like a strange, pitiful hybrid of man and beast. A thick, reddish-brown pelt covered it from head to toe, obscuring most of its features save for a pair of mournful amber eyes. Their depths held a world-weary sorrow that belied the creature's grotesque appearance.
As I drew closer, a myriad of details materialized – a long snout protruded from beneath the fur, twitching as it scented the air. Its ears, tall and pointed, swiveled alertly at every tiny sound. But it was the creature's hands that held me transfixed. They were delicate, almost human-like, with nimble fingers ending in surprisingly long, sharp claws. These clutched a crudely-stitched garment - a sign of its trade, and its unexpected connection to the vanished normalcy of the world.
Despite its unsettling appearance, there was a gentleness about it. Its movements were hesitant, almost timid, and when it finally spoke, its voice was soft and tinged with a heartbreaking vulnerability. It seemed simultaneously out of place in this harsh world, yet also deeply attuned to its hidden sorrows. It was as if the cruelty of the Lands Between had stripped away the creature's outer shell, revealing a heart full of quiet vulnerability and unexpected sensitivity.
The creature reached up to rub its head with a furred hand, a touchingly human gesture, then looked at its surroundings with confusion. "Ow! What'd you go and do that for!"
I quickly sheathed my weapons, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "I meant you no harm," I assured it. "My apologies."
The creature rubbed its chin thoughtfully, its eyes narrowing. "Hm? Oh, yes, I remember. Some clod turned me into a tree. You were just breaking the spell, weren't you?"
Nodding, I offered a slightly hesitant smile. "Uh, yeah. That's definitely why I hit you."
A hesitant smile bloomed across Boc's strange face. "Thank you," he murmured. "The name's Boc." He extended a clawed hand, and I took it, surprised by the calluses against my palm, a testament to a life of hidden labors.
"And how is it that you found yourself so cruelly ensnared, Boc?" I asked, my voice edged with concern.
His scowl was immediate, a shadow clouding his sorrowful eyes. "They cast me out of the cave. Told me never to return, the cruel lot of them. Then this...this transformation..." His voice trembled. "Lucky fate sent you, truly." He bowed deeply, his furred form almost comically ill-suited to the formal gesture. "Boc the Seamster, at your service, master."
"It is a pleasure, Boc," I replied, genuine warmth lacing my words despite the unsettling circumstances.
He grunted, a sound more beast than man, and began pacing in an agitated circle. Frustration radiated from him, a palpable thing that made the air crackle with unease. "Oh, the shame of it!" he cried out, halting abruptly. ""When they cast me out, they took everything! All my possessions, gone! And thus, I have only this to offer..." He thrust a small bundle of mushrooms towards me. "Please, forgive my meager thanks."
"No forgiveness is needed," I assured him. "And these mushrooms...they might be more valuable than you think."
A flicker of surprise danced in Boc's eyes. "This cave, Boc," I pressed gently, "Why is it so special to you?"
"It was my home," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm not like the others. They...they drove me out. Threatened to hurt me if I ever came back." Then, a strange resolve flickered across his face. "But, if you could spare a moment, I might...I might sneak back, fetch something of real worth. Something to show my gratitude, truly."
He was looking at me with an almost desperate hope, a plea for acceptance and purpose. "There's a site of grace a short way up the road," I told him. "I can wait there for you."
Joy flared in Boc's eyes, incongruous against his battered features. "The map! Let me mark it." He snatched the parchment, his claws tracing a rough circle. "Here, the cave, for when you want adventure. It'll just take a moment. A moment to...to steel myself. My knees start knockin', just thinkin' about that wretched place on the shore."
"Very well. I'll see you at the grace shortly." I gave him a final nod, then turned away, a thread of unease twisting in my gut.
I returned to the site of grace, where a restless energy overtook me. The fire I kindled sputtered as I prepared a simple meal. Later, I practiced combat forms to keep my muscles limber, oiled and mended my gear. Yet, time stretched into a shapeless eternity, punctuated only by the mournful sighs of the wind. Hour after hour, Boc did not return. The fellowship we'd shared, however brief, pulled at me. He was a strange creature, not of man or beast, yet there was a kindness within him, a flicker of spirit the Lands Between sought to extinguish. Concern began to gnaw at me.
Packing my things, I summoned Torrent once more. The wolf would have to wait. There was a mystery by the sea to uncover, and I could not abandon this gentle, mistreated soul to whatever foul fate lurked within that shadowed cave. Committing the map's markings to memory, I rode forth, driven by a warrior's duty and a strange sense of kinship with the outcast seamster.