AN: Hi all! I'm cross posting my story from A03, I'll be posting a freshly editing chapter a week, but there won't be any significant changes from A03.
The full summary is as follows: Owain, Lord Commander of the Order of The Tree Sentinels, awakes to find a world far removed from his first life. The Lands Between lay in crumbling ruin; his great order rotted. The demigods he was once oath bound to protect; dead or in disarray. Most distressing of all, his beloved is trapped in the body of a doll! Memories of gilded days bombard him, and he begins to realize that perhaps The Golden Order was only that, flaking gold over rusted iron.
A winding tale of a scattered past, a long held love, and one man's wavering devotion to a goddess he is unsure he can still believe in. Follow Owain as he fights desperately to restore his family and the lands he loves, all while the creeping madness of the shards of the elden ring ever gnaw upon his heart and mind.
Anyway, always happy to hear what people think, thanks for reading!
His world was cut into many lines, or at least, his view of it. Owain fumbled a hand at his face, only for it to be halted by the metal of a visor. Ah, he was armored. He knew what armor was. He slid up the faceplate and stared in confusion at the…ceiling? Why was he laying down? What an odd bed this was too, to be made of stone in so narrow a manner.
Not a bed. No, as his gauntleted hands wrapped around the edges in a bid to pull himself up, he realized he lay instead in a coffin. It was not sleep he woke from. Owain heaved himself to a crouched stance. Gods , was his armor heavy, heavy and somewhat comforting. Ornately molded and shining with an untarnished golden gleam in the half-dark of what he could now see to be a chapel of some sort, a faint memory of white stone and falling leaves drifted through his mind.
He sat heavily on the edge of his coffin, the large seal at his hip clanging against the stone. He need take stock of what he knew and give himself a moment to think. He knew his name, Owain, but knew not his own title. He knew armor of such a fine make would require a high station, but he knew not how he knew. He knew he must have been dead, but not how he now lived once more. His heart felt a profound sense of loss and shame, as if he had just been met by a great personal failure, and of course he did not know why. A woman, red of hair and stern faced flashed behind his eyes. The ache in his chest almost knocked him over.
He took a slow breath. Owain did a long cursory sweep of the chapel and was greeted by several surprises. In his coffin lay a great spear, fashioned of golden metal just as his armor, and made to resemble living wood. As he hefted it free of the dust that had blanketed it, he realized this was the weapon of a mortal man could wield. Such was its weight and the power of its innate enchantments, Owain must have been a mighty warrior indeed. He hummed low in his throat as he looked at the second of the surprises.
A massive round shield, fashioned of the same gold metal and in the same living wood motif was leant against the side of the coffin. The scene engraved on its face gave him curious pause, but he grasped its rim all the same. A spell of protection pulsed as he straightened and strapped the armament to his back. The way that it sat over his tattered cloak was familiar and novel at the same time. Owain distantly wondered how he could determine the spells on his weapons, perhaps his body remembered them where his mind did not?
A few heavy steps brought him to the last of the surprises. A bloodied and battered woman lay collapsed against a rickety chair. By her dress, he judged her to be a disciple of some religious order. Would the ancillary knowledge that came unbidden to his mind at the slightest provocation become less frustrating over time? Owain hoped so.
Owain sighed, he desperately yearned to recover his full memories soon. He frowned as he crouched to skim a gauntleted hand over the woman's eyes; they need not gaze endless in unrest. She was young, and her wounds and pained expression denoted a gruesome death. A righteous fury surged forth from his chest only to sputter quickly. Her corpse was cold, dead for at least a few days. Her killer would be long escaped.
Her tiny form seemed swallowed whole as he placed her gently in the coffin that had been his before, Owain must be quite a large man. He covered the poor girl with a heavy stone lid, scooped up his spear and made for the open arch that was the exit.
Erd tree, O' Erd tree.
What magnificence! How sublime! Owain wiped stealthy tears from dusty cheeks. The largest tree he could have imagined filled his view of the horizon. Glorious and golden, it caused a great stirring in his heart from its beauty. He must have served this noble tree, his armor and weapons were fashioned in its likeness! Owain smiled, at least he knew had some connection to the lordly tree before him. He must have been a goodly man to serve so goodly a tree. He knew not how long he stood there, lost in its radiance, before he roused himself.
Late noon it seemed, if the sun's position were to be trusted. Excellent, it would give him opportunity to seek out a proper place to camp. Owain used the many stairs and few bridges he walked past to stretch out aching limbs. No surprise that he would be stiff, he had been dead after all. as sureal as the thought was. He had just reached the largest of the courtyards he'd yet been to when he halted abruptly.
Some ill presence fouled the air. Corpse-stench, and the iron of too much loose blood. A foe? He shrugged the shield from his back, trying and failing to call forth the enchantment he knew lay upon the spear.
It was but a moment's time before his suspicions were confirmed. A grotesque amalgamation of limbs, torsos, wailing faces, and golden weapons launched itself high in the sky to land in a jumble before him.
He slammed down his visor with a jerk of his head, this beast would not find him easy prey. Owain fervently prayed his body remembered its old ways even if his mind did not. He brought his shield up just in time to deflect a weighty blow from two of the many blades at once. His greaved feet slid back from the impact. Such power! He jabbed thrice in swift succession with his spear, satisfied when the creature cried out in pain.
Their contest was maddening to say the least. He blocked and struck and rolled and dodged. Long minutes passed and he could not fight the feeling that this would have been child's play for him before his death. Owain kept tripping over his own impulses; like his body knew a path that his mind, in its rush, could not quite follow.
The creature stuck him heavily in the side, golden blade glancing off golden armor. It did not draw blood with these attacks but still it wearied him greatly. Breathing was his true opponent, if he did not finish this swiftly he would die once more, never having found out why he'd been revived in the first place.
Dodge, dodge, block, there-! He thrust forward with all his might, spearing the creature to almost halfway down the haft of his spear. He cringed at the anguished wail it let out as it slumped forward, twitching and sobbing even in death. Owain cleaned his spear as best he could on the creature's tattered rags, all the while trying mightily to catch his breath. The image of massive warrior, gray of hair and bronze of skin, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder seared through his mind. He stumbled slightly. Who was that?
Owain took the next few minutes to find his breath and attempt to find his bearings. He was on a small island abreast of a much larger coast line. Spying a rocky outreach, he decided it would be wise to try and find a way down from this lonely graveyard, perhaps he would be able to sight stairs of some kind from there.
Only as the rock gave out from under him did he recall that one should not stand so close to such a precarious edge, especially not one so weighty as he. These late coming memories really were quite irksome. Owain did not feel the blow that must have knocked him incognizant.
Time passed in blurry cuts from muddied visions. A woman's low voice, the sound of a horse's hooves, the feeling of washing ashore on cold sand.
When Owain finally dragged himself up the shore, he was utterly spent. Combat was wearying, his wounds ached, but most of all his mind strained from such convoluted dreams. Laughing golden eyes, shining red hair, a dragon's whisper, a dank room filled with children's cries. He longed to remove his helm to rub at his throbbing temples but he knew not where he was nor how many foes lurked in the shadows of the cave he found himself in.
It held the ordered structures of an architect on one side, with stairs leading to a carved stone door. At his back was a shore crowded with debris. Was this an undercroft of the chapel he had awoken in? Owain trudged forward in his soaking armor, grimacing at the way his leathers chafed. He would see what lay beyond this door.
The man made his way through a dusty hall, ensorcelled sconces still lit with lingering flame guiding his way. Eventually he entered a circular room; a lift? He somehow knew that if he placed his feet just so on the raised center that it would magically rise. It ascended swiftly, surprising him with its smooth function. At the top he could see sunlight through yet another door's cracks!
Owain rushed forward, he wanted out of this crypt! The low burn of new dawn greeted him. Had he truly been laid low for so long? His vista was interrupted by a white clothed man. Owain's brow furrowed, he misliked the man's groveling stance, his stench of corpse, the stains of blood across his front.
"Tarnished are we, hmm?" The man's voice was reedy and thin, it made Owain think of a gnat.
"State your name, man. Who are you that is so besmirched by blood?" His own voice was deeper than he expected, husky and strong. Owain slammed his spear haft on the ground. Like the limbed beast before him, this gnat would not find him unawares.
The man startled then let loose a wheedling laugh. "I am Varre, friend to the tarnished, your only friend in all these Lands Between~. You, I'm afraid, are maidenless."
Owain swayed on his feet as memories rushed over him. He held a russet haired babe in his arms, one eye sealed closed. He knelt before a half-wolven man, voice like deep thunder. A woman with golden hair ordered him to stand guard over her sons. Through all these strange visions, golden leaves fluttered. Owain cleared his throat, it would not do to show weakness.
Varre's cold blue eyes watched him, bereft of all grace . Owain knew him to be an enemy, though he could not say why. "You are no friend to me, get your corpse-breath far from my nose, wretch." He leveled his spear at the man.
"No need to be so testy, tarnished. As I said, I am a friend." He raised his hands placatingly.
Owain moved his spear ever closer. "As I said, out of my sight. I'll brook your foul stench no longer."
Varre made a hissing noise through his white mask. "You will regret spurning my kindness, filthy tree lover." He slunk away down a winding cliff trail, Owain watched him avoid the gaze of a massive golden warrior on an equally massive horse. This time, the memories made him fall to a knee. His own steed, pure white, fiery and ill tempered. Osgalath. Long rows of golden knights, a sprawling training yard of eager recruits, ever golden eyes looking to him with admiration. He knew this knight, or at least, he was of his order.
Once Owain regained his footing, he made to call out but was halted by a curious golden light he had not seen before. It sprung forth from the ground almost crystalline in its structure. Without thinking, Owain reached out to touch it. He could not resist the pull as yet another memory knocked him flat.
"Owain! Owain! Tricia says you will accompany us on our next outing to the city!" Two young boys rushed to embrace him. One of dark hair, one of light, they had odd little bumps sprouting from their heads but their eyes blazed gold just as his did.
"Yes, my young lords. I am to be your escort. Your lord father bade me show you one of the upper market places, that you both might pick out name day gifts from him." That was his voice, but he could not control his movements or speech. Was he reliving a moment from his past?
The boys' eyes sparkled with excitement, almost banishing the murk around them of what Owain thought to be a…sewer? Why would children be in such a place as this? "Can we go now? Please! We promise not to tell!"
Owain laughed, it was a breathy noise for such a large man. "Apologies, my lord Mohg, but I am escorting your lord brother for the rest of today. Nay, we shall go forth tomorrow."
The children's pleading whines almost made him send his squire Oswald to guard Godwyn in his stead but he managed to stand firm in his duties. "Well, must we wear the mimic veils? It is our name day and they are ever so stifling!" The lighter haired boy pouted.
Owain frowned, he despised those veils, despised that these wonderful children were forced to be cloistered from the public due to such baseless prejudice. "I am sorry, my lord Morgot, but I can not disobey a commandment from the queen herself." He said softly, squeezing the boys' shoulders. His response caused both boys to hang their heads and draw back from him slightly.
The lighter haired child loosed an exaggerated sigh. "I know that, Owain. I should not have asked it of thee."
Owain ruffled both boys' curls affectionately as he rose to his full height. "One day for certain, I am ever your advocate, my lords. One day you will see the golden city with eyes unhindered by the veils."
He surged upwards with a gasp. That had been different, not just small tidings but a true experience. Morgott and Mogh, two of his charges. He knew at least his old position now; Lord Commander of the Tree Sentinels, Highlord of Leyndell's defense. The names and people were yet muddied but he knew that he had been protector to those two young boys and their elder brother, this Godwyn .
Off came his helm, he needed air. As he heaved through steadying breaths, he studied the ornamentation atop it. A winding tree capped the scores of glittering rubies. A mark of his station, a measure of his power. This was a covetous set of armor.
Owain wiped the sweat from his brow, he now knew what his next goal would be. He must find those children and keep them safe, he only hoped that he had not been dead so long that a calamity had happened in his absence.