"The fallen leaves tell a story.
The great Elden Ring was shattered.
In our home, across the fog, the Lands Between.
Now, Queen Marika the Eternal is nowhere to be found, and in the Night of the Black Knives, Godwyn the Golden was first to perish.
Soon, Marika's offspring, demigods all, claimed the shards of the Elden Ring.
The mad taint of their newfound strength triggered the Shattering.
A war from which no lord arose.
A war leading to abandonment by the Greater Will.
Oh, arise now, ye Tarnished.
Ye dead, who yet live.
The call of long-lost grace speaks to us all.
Hoarah Loux, chieftain of the badlands.
The ever-brilliant Goldmask.
Fia, the Deathbed Companion.
The loathsome Dung Eater.
And Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-knowing.
...and one other. Whom grace would again bless.
A Tarnished of no renown. Cross the fog, to the Lands Between, to stand before the Elden Ring.
And become the Elden Lord."
Nathaniel cautiously explored the old building, the musty smell of aged paper and dust filling the air. The ancient tome he had found on the desk was a curious lead, but there was something unsettling about the house that made him want to leave quickly.
He moved to another part of the house, drawn by a sense of unease. The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds being his own footsteps and the occasional creak of the floorboards. As he approached a narrow hallway leading to what looked like a series of small rooms, he noticed a faint, eerie light emanating from one of them.
Pushing open a heavy, wooden door, Nathaniel entered a room that was dimly lit by a flickering lantern. The room was a small, abandoned bedroom, its bed covered in tattered, dust-covered sheets. The furniture was sparse, with only a few items strewn about.
It was then that Nathaniel noticed something on the wall directly opposite him. His heart skipped a beat as he took in the horrifying sight: a dead woman was slumped against the wall, her body frozen in a grotesque, unnatural position. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly into space, and her clothes were tattered and stained. The scene was unsettling and morbidly surreal.
Nathaniel's breath caught in his throat. He approached cautiously, trying to make sense of the grim discovery. The woman looked as though she had been there for a long time, her skin pale and lifeless. He could see traces of old blood and marks on the wall that suggested she had tried to claw her way out.
"What the fuck happened, here?" Nathaniel said to himself.
His mind raced with questions. Who was she? What had happened to her? It was clear that whatever fate had befallen her was dangerous.
Nathaniel took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He noticed a few items scattered around the room—a small, dusty journal lying on the floor near the woman's feet. With a trembling hand, he picked it up and flipped through its pages.
The journal was filled with frantic, scrawled notes and drawings. The entries described the woman's growing fear and confusion, her attempts to find a way out of the house, and cryptic references to "dark forces" and "cursed objects." The last entry was especially chilling:
"He has discovered me. He comes to take my life. If any find this message, beware of that man. Tarnished, if you are reading this, press onward without me and claim your place as Elden Lord."
Nathaniel felt a shiver run down his spine. The journal confirmed his fears—this world was far more dangerous than he had anticipated. The dead woman's presence and the ominous warning in the journal made it clear that there were darker forces at play.
He put the journal down, his mind reeling with the implications. The house, and this grim discovery—all seemed connected in a way he couldn't fully comprehend yet. He knew he had to be careful and vigilant if he wanted to survive and unravel the mysteries of this world.
"Fuck. What kind of place is this? Dammit. I was in Ohio a few minutes ago, and now I'm here. What can I do? Never mind that, I need to get the fuck outta here."
Taking one last look at the woman and the journal, Nathaniel left the room.
Nathaniel emerged from the abandoned house, his mind reeling from the horrifying discovery. Dense fog enveloped the forest, making the world seem surreal. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves as he surveyed his surroundings.
The forest was eerily silent, with only the distant rustling of leaves and occasional snap of twigs. His heart still pounded from the grim find inside the house. A narrow path led away, winding through the trees. Following it, he reached a clearing with an old, rickety bridge spanning a deep chasm.
The bridge, a makeshift structure of wooden planks and fraying ropes, swayed with each gust of wind. The chasm below was a dark abyss, obscured by swirling mist. Nathaniel's pulse quickened as he approached the bridge. Hesitating, he peered down, the thought of falling terrifying him. The instability of the bridge made it even more daunting.
He took a tentative step onto it. "Don't look down. Don't look down."
The planks groaned and shifted beneath his feet, the bridge swaying dangerously. "Fuck!"
He glanced back at the house, tempted to turn back, but the idea of staying there was even more frightening.
Nathaniel took a deep breath and moved forward, focusing on his footing. "Take it slow..."
The bridge mocked him with its unstable structure, the ropes creaking loudly. He could hear his footsteps and the eerie creaks of the bridge amplified by the fog.
Midway across, a loud snap echoed, and Nathaniel's heart leapt into his throat. The bridge swayed violently, and he stumbled, arms flailing for balance. The planks beneath him shifted and groaned, some splintering and bending alarmingly.
"Fuck!" Nathaniel yelled.
Nathaniel forced himself to keep moving, each step a battle against the bridge's instability. Cold sweat mingled with the mist, making his hands slippery on the ropes. His breathing grew ragged, heightening his fear.
Suddenly, the bridge lurched violently, and Nathaniel nearly lost his footing. His heart raced as he grasped the ropes tightly, knuckles white with effort. The planks shifted dangerously beneath him.
With a final, desperate push, Nathaniel reached the end of the bridge. He lunged onto solid ground, collapsing onto the grass, legs trembling. "Oh, thank God. Oh, thank God."
As he looked back at the swaying bridge, he felt a profound sense of relief mixed with dread. The dangerous crossing was over, but he knew the challenges in this strange world were far from over.
Nathaniel steadied himself after crossing the unstable bridge, his legs trembling from the ordeal. He wiped sweat from his brow, trying to shake off the lingering fear. The forest seemed to close in around him, dense fog and twisted trees casting long shadows that danced in the flickering light.
As he continued along the path, an eerie silence fell over the surroundings. The usual rustling of leaves and distant calls of birds abruptly ceased. Nathaniel's senses were on high alert, an unsettling chill in the air. He took cautious steps, scanning the dense underbrush for signs of movement.
Then, from behind a cluster of gnarled trees, he saw it—a figure emerging from the mist. It was a grotesque amalgamation of human and spider-like features, with grey, mottled skin rippling with an otherworldly sheen.
"What the fuck!?" Nathaniel screamed.
The creature looked like a human spider, with a segmented torso and eight spindly arms ending in sharp claws. But most horrifying was the face—it resembled a young boy's, with wide, innocent golden eyes contrasting sharply with the grotesque body.
The boy's face was eerily calm, but there was palpable malevolence in the creature's gaze. The golden eyes gleamed with unsettling intelligence, and the creature's mouth, though childlike, twisted into a faint, mocking smile. The eyes followed Nathaniel's every move, their intensity sending shivers down his spine.
Nathaniel froze, his heart pounding in his chest as the creature slowly approached. "Shit. Shit. Shit!"
Each of the many hands moved with a disturbing fluidity, like a macabre dance. The creature's movements were silent but purposeful, and Nathaniel could feel the weight of its gaze as it drew closer.
He took a cautious step back, but the creature responded with a sudden, skittering movement, its many hands clacking together in a rhythmic, unnerving pattern.
Nathaniel tried to run, but the creature was too fast. Its limbs reached out with predatory precision, and before he could escape, the creature's many blades—sharp and glistening—struck him with brutal force. The pain was immediate and searing as the blades cut through his flesh.
He stumbled forward, his vision blurring as the creature's grotesque laughter echoed around him. The creature's multiple arms grabbed him with an iron grip, and with a final, agonizing heave, it hurled him through the air. Nathaniel's body flew through the mist, and he crashed violently into a pile of debris.
Nathaniel's fall felt endless. He landed with a sickening thud in a grotesque sea of rotting corpses. The stench was overwhelming, and the sight was horrific—bodies twisted into unnatural positions, their lifeless eyes staring blankly.
Barely conscious, Nathaniel lay among the corpses, his body broken and bloodied. The fog thickened, obscuring his vision. Through the haze, a figure emerged—a woman in a dark hooded cloak.
She approached with an eerie calmness, untouched by the macabre surroundings. Her hood obscured most of her face, but her voice was clear and measured.
"Don't worry, Torrent," she said softly. "Fortune is on his side. We found him here, after all."
Her words were cryptic, and Nathaniel struggled to understand them through the haze of pain and confusion. She knelt beside him, her hands gently brushing away debris and blood.
"One of his kind is sure to seek the Elden Ring," she continued. "Even if it violates the Golden Order."
The woman's words hung like an enigma. Nathaniel felt his consciousness slipping, the edges of his vision darkening. He tried to focus on her face, but the effort was too much. Despite the chaos and pain, her presence offered a strange comfort.
The mention of the Elden Ring struck him—he'd seen that name at the store. Was he inside a video game? The pain felt too real to be virtual.
But that didn't matter now. He was consumed by the fear of dying. He had wasted so much time in his life. He thought of all the things he had left undone—never getting married, never having children. Was this really the end for him?