Yo, sorry I didn't attend to this sooner! Apparently the chapter wouldn't load for people, so imma try reposting it to see if that works. Thanks for everyone for reaching out, and again, it took me a bit to get to this, my bad! :p -Corroded Vortex
I wake up with a start.
A bated gasp exits my lips.
Sweat clings to me, my eyes widened and alert. I grip at my left arm, like a terrible wound was crawling across it. My body feels ready to take on an army alone, but the feeling diminishes in an instant. With it, my waking self takes in his bearings, and I quickly realize I'm not in any danger.
In the dark of a cloudless night, under the silver and golden glows of the moon and the Erdtree, I'm on a thick groundsheet, which has been laid out in the soft grass. It's plain white surface devoid of dirt or twigs, texture similar to an animal's hide.
I had my shirt draped over me, like something of a makeshift blanket. It's still summer, and we're still far south; the weather is fair and even the nights are relatively warm. Even so, I feel cold, and it's not because of the light breeze.
I had a nightmare.
As to what it was, I don't have a clue. I can't remember even a lick of it, but all I know is it frightened me greatly. It made me reduce to a sweaty mess; my long hair sticks to my face incessantly.
I whisk the stubborn locks away, frowning at the need to do so. I really need to cut my hair. I am partly afraid to do so, so I might just tie it up at this point.
As I look out further from myself, three things stick out to me.
We're camped close to a cliff face in a dense forest, which yawns up and away, receding into the darkness. The small golden aura of a Site of Grace flickers a good arm's reach away, bathing me in a warm light. And, despite my nightmare, Melina is still fast asleep.
She's beside me on the groundsheet, turned away and partly curled up. Her breaths are soft and slow, body devoid of any stress or strain. It all clues me in, and I remember where I am.
We just barely crossed over into Limgrave. Backtracking the same path that Kalé and I took three days to traverse, Torrent did it in a day. This is the Site of Grace that rested just before Bellard Bridge, which still bore the scars of what happened the last time we crossed it.
I'm here, and I'm safe; nothing is out to get me. At least, not yet.
I work myself to standing, doing my best to be quiet about it. The desire to sleep has left me completely, and I'd rather not risk jostling the groundsheet about anymore. I have no clue what time it is, but not even the beginning of light rests on any horizon. The coming of the sun is still long and far away.
Guess I have some free time, then.
Carrying each of my steps, I retrieve my two Light Greatswords that I left by the Site of Grace, looping one of them over my shoulder. If I'm awake, I might as well make the most of it.
I take off, but stop just as I reach the edge of the golden light.
I take a lingering glance back at Melina, hesitating. She's chewing on one of her bangs, exuding a form of grace even when she's asleep. She's beside a breach, so she's not in danger of fading if I leave.
But will she be alright?
We haven't met any opposition yet, but that's not to say there aren't highwaymen out there.
Like a passing thought, I get the image of Melina being held down upon my return by bandits or wayward soldiers, with them holding a knife to her throat. But the image quickly devolves, and I instead picture Melina standing over blackened bodies and piles of ash, looking back and giving me an almost apologetic expression. The flames surround her.
I shake my thoughts away. Who am I kidding? She'll be fine.
Trey's final moments finds its way into my head instead.
Honestly, I'd be sorry for anyone stupid enough to cross Melina; I've seen firsthand just how painful burning to death can be.
With that grim reminder, I jog off and make myself scarce, prepared to spend the rest of the night growing closer with my new blades. That is, until I hear a grunting noise as I pass a mess of bushes and trees, and I spot the last thing I expected to see.
...
Is that a boar?
Melina has not gotten used to sleep.
It is strange to lie down and simply lose one's sense of self. To become almost lifeless, unable to defend one's own body.
When it first happened to Melina, nothing but fear and uncertainty gripped her. Having genuine emotions again felt like a blessing from the Greater Will, but in that moment, Melina wanted them gone. She hated the feeling of fear, of uncertainty, just as much as she hated that her eyelid began to droop, and her new body began to grow slack.
She figured she had become paralyzed somehow, and the fear on Lance's face in that moment only compounded her own anxiety.
But when she finally broke free of that paralysis, and her eye opened again, she found Lance right next to her; never once did he leave her side. He had begun to nod off himself, but he was filled with relief when she sat up. It was then that he told her she "slept" for nearly an entire day; it was then that she came to the realization that she was not paralyzed.
Soon after, she fell back into the realm of unconsciousness, receiving only moments of lucidity a handful of times. After a week of it, of consistently blacking out for hours at a time, she finally was able to stay awake for the entire day, only retiring to that lulling paralysis once night arrived.
She still does not like it; she's spent millennia without a wink of sleep before. But now, suddenly, she has found that half of her days are robbed of her, to satisfy such a mortal desire. It is demeaning.
She still dreads sleep, and when her eye flutters open, and the paralysis recedes, she feels a wave of relief. Another night, survived. Nothing came for her while she slept; no beast or vagrant attacked her as she was vulnerable.
That alone gives her consolation.
She rises, quickly losing her composure as she rubs at her itchy eye. There was another part that she forgot to mention, that comes right after sleep, which she despises nearly as much.
Drowsiness.
The feeling like a weight has been placed on her, threatening to drag her back down into the dark. Her movements are slow and without measure, muscles stiff and bone structure cemented. She does a little stretch, brushing her cloak out of the way for her arms. It helps alleviate the stiffness, but not much else.
She immediately becomes stiff once again, when she hears a blade drive into flesh.
Her drowsiness burns away in a rush of adrenaline, body tensing and fingers twitching. Her unsealed eye open and alert, as she twists her head at the noise.
Blood drips onto the grass, staining the green blades crimson.
The Tarnished boy Lance hunches over with his back turned to her, dropping to a knee as the facilities of life spills out in front of him.
Melina rockets to her feet, the beginning of an incantation on the tip of her tongue. On something of a muscle memory, her right hand grips over thin air, as if she were trying to clasp onto a blade.
She has no such weapon, at least to her knowledge.
But for a moment, nay, a second, it feels like there is something there, grasped in her hand, ready to cut and lacerate and burn.
Yet no such weapon manifests, and when Lance rises again, flicking his hand to cast off the blood that coats it, Melina loses her composure. Lance must catch on, because his head turns, and he gives her a surprised look. It quickly changes into a smile.
"Oh! My bad."
He wields Darriwil's claw like a butchering knife; its hooked edge coated in red. He faces the wall of stone that borders the southern side of the breach, where he drove Roard's spear in just above his head, using the ascended edge as something of an anchor. He tied rope over the spear's shaft, which hangs the freshly skinned carcass of a boar from it.
Torrent stands idly beside it, giving the dead pig a wary eye. He turns his long head to Melina, snorting. Lance wears a most unaware expression.
"Did I wake you?"
Melina survived the night in this wilderness, and it seems Lance has as well.
Melina loses the rigidity in her posture, recollecting herself.
What I thought was a curved dagger she had must've been a figment of my imagination; there's nothing in her hand after all.
She gives me a skeptical eye, as her empty hands disappear back into her black cloak. She turns away from me slightly, as if she wanted to show off the sagged hood that hangs across her shoulders, bunching up just beneath her cherry blonde hair.
"You gave me quite the fright." She says, letting go of a breath she was holding. "I had a thought that something terrible had befallen you."
I take a glance down at my bloodied hands.
"Oh. Well, no worries here. I just found us some breakfast."
I resume my morbid work, feeling Melina's gaze land onto my turned back.
Personally, I'm trying to remember how I did this last time, when Kalé was giving me the rundown. I didn't get sprayed with blood this time, but I just gutted the boar, and now I'm dealing with having to scoop everything out that didn't immediately spill to the ground.
I don't dwell on the intestines I kick away, and I quickly carve out the heart and lungs, taking care not to puncture the stomach. Other organs I can't identify come out as well, as I make a cavern of the boar's chest cavity; I didn't pay much attention in my anatomy class. Though, I don't think pigs and humans have similar anatomy to begin with in the first place.
"How long have you been awake?"
Melina walks up to join me, inspecting my work. I get to sawing the boar's head off, finding that it doesn't nearly gross me out as much as the last time.
"I'm guessing a few hours at this point." I gesture with the blade-like claw Blaidd gifted me in Bellard, pointing out toward where the unseen bridge rests. "Saw a boar foraging around in the woods, and I spent a long while chasing it around."
The sun has risen since then.
Melina seems to find that humorous.
"And? How did you finally catch it?"
I give Torrent a side-eye, the spectral steed returns it. He hasn't retreated into his ring yet and seems to just want to stick around for now.
"Torrent helped me."
It wasn't even a chase at that point. The boar didn't stand a chance. One good slice to the back of the neck as we galloped by, and it dropped like a sack of flour.
Melina pets Torrent's snout, which he happily leans into.
I toss the head aside, backing up. The carcass begins to constantly drip blood from the neck, swaying a little in the wind. It's exposed muscles and flesh are strung up and stiff, ending on nubs where I removed the cloven hooves. The rope it's tied to groans ever so slightly in the wind, and Roard's spear sticks out of the cliff face just over my head.
"Say," I utter, looking Melina's way. "Mind if you get a fire going? I'll see if I can get some bacon off this thing."
We work at taking down camp, chatting with one another about meaningless things all along the way. Torrent chews at grass and bides his time wandering around, sometimes nosing into our business like a curious overgrown puppy.
I slice at the boar's belly, where the cuts of meat look marbled in alternating colors of red and white. I know this cut all too well. It's not as savory as a domestic pig's, and it's like chewing on jerky when you eat it, but I already feel my mouth watering a little.
I can't think of anyone I knew off the top of my head who didn't like bacon.
Melina gets a fire going, collecting twigs and fallen limbs, igniting a handful of kindling to get the blaze going. She works methodically, only stopping to humor Torrent if he interrupts her. I can already tell who the steed likes more out of the two of us; he's practically begging for Melina's attention.
Realizing that makes me grumble to myself.
In terms of cookware, I was able to get a basic set off a merchant a couple days back. Mosty cast iron, with a small pot, a large pan, and a cauldron the size of my head; I could make a killer stew one of these days if I learned.
I've never used cast iron before, and we mostly used spits the weeks prior if we needed to cook something. But, if there ever was a time to learn, I can only assume now is that time.
Randomly, Melina asks about my night, as the limbs burn down to coals, and I place a metal grate atop it, before situating the pan down. I tell her about how I had a nightmare, though I can scarcely remember it.
I lay thick strips of the pork belly down, asking about Melina's.
She rolls up our groundsheet, swatting off any bugs or forest residue. She tells me that she's yet to have a thing like a dream, and her nights are complete darkness until she rises.
Sounds depressing.
I use the Bloodhound claw like something of a spatula to flip the sizzling cuts over, as the sun finally escapes the horizon, beginning its slow march across the pale blue sky.
Time passes, and we're having breakfast, combining fried bacon with the loaf of bread we have. I collected a few rowa berries, so we eat those too.
As we eat, we plan.
"Shouldn't we just go straight through the main gate? It's the quickest way to the castle."
I ask, dragging my finger across thick parchment, detailed with colors and lines that look vaguely familiar to me. It's a map, of Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula, along with Stormhill that rides the top of it all. We've marked Sites of Grace we've found, along with other important locations, such as Town, the village by the gate, and Stormhill Gate itself.
I tap Stormhill Gate, popping a rowa berry in my mouth. The things taste sweet and vaguely sour, similar to a raspberry.
"There's a breach right next to it, so it would be the most straight forward as well."
Melina nibbles on her slice of bread.
"Yes. But we must assume that Godrick knows we are coming."
"How do you figure?"
Melina rests her slim finger on the village where we fought Roard, and where I was imprisoned.
"After defeating Roard, the soldiers retreated through Stormhill Gate, and we can assume that they journeyed to the castle."
Torrent steals one of her rowa berries, nearly stepping on the map. I shoo him off with a stiff arm.
"If they informed Godrick of us," Melina continues. "Then he may have sent a force to guard the gate."
She points to the sky with one finger, making a point.
"His paranoia is not something to trifled with, as he may have been the one to have sent the Tree Sentinel after us. If he has learned of Roard and the other soldiers meeting Destined Death, he may take more drastic measures to oppose us."
I stoke my chin, brushing some of my hair out of the way.
"Well, that is concerning. You figure something worse might be waiting for us then?"
Melina makes a small nod, her sleepy eye staying level with me.
"Yes. I fear that I do."
I think on it, and I tap the Site of Grace next to the village again, biting a chunk out of my bacon.
"Then, how about we use our breach here and travel to this one. Check the gate to see if the coast is clear. And if it isn't, we look for another way."
Melina hesitates.
"It would be too close, they may be waiting for us there."
She taps the Site of Grace on that lone hill we called our home for my first week here.
"I suggest we begin here, and make headway through the forest."
I finish off the bacon.
"Sure. Torrent could make the distance in minutes. It's not a total loss of time."
Not that we're on a schedule, but we plan to reach Stormhill before nightfall. I have no clue how long it'll take to track down Rogier once we pass the gate. It may take weeks to find one guy, so I'd rather we not waste time if we can help it.
Melina stands, giving the rest of her bread to Torrent.
"Then, let us depart."
I rise, rolling up the map, and stuffing it into my satchel. The day is still young.
"Lemme double check things."
I look about, studying Torrent over with a discerning eye.
"Camp supplies, check."
Melina turns, watching me make silly theatrics.
"Map, check. Swords and spear, check. Medical supplies, check. Boar meat, check."
I look Melina over.
"One-eyed maiden, check."
Melina rolls her one open eye. Randomly, I wonder what it would look like if she wore an eyepatch.
It's a stupid thought.
I walk over to Torrent, looking through his satchels. Still have the crafting kit, and I stuff Darriwil's claw in next to it.
Along with that, I have our funds, a heap of different size coins of five different degrees.
Tals, the highest form of currency, look like a circular coin of clouded quartz, or a similar ivory-colored crystal, with lingering flakes of gold that run through it in thin lines like veins. Vaguely Nordic designs are carved into it, that form a shape similar to the crosses Trey and friends were burned upon yesterday. A mark of the Golden Order.
Rels are a step down from tals, though I don't know the rate of exchange. They are your more typical coin, made of silver if I can guess. Their designs display a visage of a fair woman, who I've seen in statues, and I think I saw in that vision when Rick unleashed what lay inside the Grafted Blade Greatsword.
It's Marika. Queen of these lands, who hasn't been seen in centuries. Reminds me of someone back on Earth. I wonder if the Golden Order believes in a Second Coming too.
Probably not.
Melina filled me in on the names of the final three coins: mults, breams, and ticks.
Mults look as if someone cut a rels like a pizza; they're small silver wedges with a simple plus sign stamped into them.
Breams are a mid-sized iron coin, coated in a lacquer to prevent rust. They're about the size of a Washington Quarter back in Missouri, and the phrase "By Grace" is etched into one of their sides.
Ticks are essentially pocket change, and work as an in-between for the other coins. They are small rods of an unknown metal, thin enough that someone could use them as a toothpick if they wanted to. A single tick couldn't buy you anything at a store of any degree, and bringing a handful to the desk would only make a merchant give you an exasperated look. It's the type of currency passerby's toss into the cups of beggars, the type one could easily find stamped into the dirt of a street with a lot of foot traffic.
They're worth the metal they're made of, and that metal is soft and unable to hold an edge. If I had to guess, they're made of aluminum.
The currency in this world is weird, though if I had to pick, I like the wedge shaped ones the most.
Kalé gave me a good amount of coins, but Neil nearly doubled it. He was very generous with thanking me.
Along with the coins, are the other gifts Neil gave to me, as thanks, and as a "down payment" that I slay Godrick for him.
A small pouch of smithing stones, that I don't even know how to begin using.
A fresh set of mail, to replace my destroyed set. He sought to make me true plate armor, like what knights wear, but those take time to smith, and Melina and I already decided we were to leave at once.
So, it's fresh mail, along with a familiar black and white cloth, and the final prize, which I don't even know how to begin to feel about.
I stare at that last pouch, that moves faintly inside the satchel, like what was inside it was alive.
The mail is nice; it's the best Murdoc had. The black and white cloth is the remnants of the Morne surcoat I was given to wear before the final battle, of which only the bottom half survived.
I'm keeping it for sentimental reasons.
The smithing stones are worth an atrocious amount, and they work both ways: As a reward, and as a tool to better prepare me for what lies ahead. A true down payment on Neil's part.
But the last prize is a heart.
The heart of Agheel.
I didn't know what to expect of a dragon heart, considering the size and power Agheel had. But when it was given to me, it fit neatly in my hand. Agheel's heart is about the same size as mine, freckled with strange stone scales as it is. I don't know how such a small organ kept such a massive beast alive, nor do I want to know.
But, what gets me the most is that it still beats.
No blood leaks, yet the heart thunders away.
I don't know why Neil gave it to me, and I don't know what to do with it. But I have it now, and I can't bring myself to throw it away.
Finally, I can feel the weight of Irinia's seal in my pocket, in the design of two fingers shaped like a "v". Per Edgar's word, its ownership has befallen to me.
"Gifts of Morne…" I take the seal out, thumbing it absentmindedly. "Check."
I stash Roard's spear on Torrent, and dress up in my mail, putting my black shirt and pants over the silverine links. I fasten my gloves on, readjust Torrent's ring, strap my two swords to my back.
Finally, I pat Torrent's side, shifting my feet around into my boots.
"Time to return buddy. Just for a little bit."
Torrent snorts, and in a mess of blue lights, simply falls apart, returning to the ring on my finger. I take a deep breath, and I turn, where Melina already waits for me by the Site of Grace, arm extended.
"Well," I say walking over to her. "Let's get this over with."
She nods, and in a flash of golden light, we de-materialize, entering into the breach, and firing north through the countless roots of the Erdtree.
A scream is all I hear when we leave the rivers of grace and gold.
Melina and I exit out onto the lone hill by the Stranded Graveyard, piecing together into reality from flecks of golden lights. My boots land atop green grass, and I nearly stumble over a fallen woman.
I start, stepping back.
My widening eyes cast downward, down at a lady on the ground, whose been stricken heavily by Loss of Luster. Her foggy eyes stare at mine in shock, haggard and greyed face contorted in a cry of fear. She shields herself with a fraying arm, balling up into a fetal position.
"Ohhh! Ohhhh! A devil!" She wails. "A Tarnished Devil!"
Melina exits the breach; she looks as equally surprised as I do.
The woman shudders, covering her face with her rags for clothes.
"Spare me! Please!"
I open my mouth to say something, raising my hands to try and show a sign of peace. But another figure enters my vision; a greyed man wielding a weathered sword charges me, ready to strike me on the exposed head.
"Die foul Tarnished!" He bellows.
Melina animates to life, turning to me with an arm outstretched.
"Lance! Don't-"
I didn't even realize it; I drew one of my blades and took up a stance without thinking.
I grit my teeth, curbing the fledgling lust for battle in my heart as I work to switch my posture.
These people are not my enemy.
The man swings; I deflect the blow. In the same stroke, I wrench my hands right, and the flat of my blade slaps the man on the side of the head. He falls and tumbles, losing grip on his sword.
The woman lets out a shriek, and that's when I finally take in our surroundings.
We're in the middle of a camp.
Others have already stood, and some run in terror. Some grab broken weaponry and rusted cooking utensils, clutch boards and stools in hand like they hoped to bludgeon me to death. There must be nearly fifty people here, and half of them aim to take my head. Melina reaches to grab me by the hand, aiming to take me back into the breach.
"Let us-"
I dodge her grasp, snatching Irina's seal from my pocket. I speak quickly, dragging the seal across my left eye.
"Tears of a Maiden. Blood of an Empyrean. It all burns the same."
My clenched hand bursts into golden flames, and I coat my blade in that heavenly hellfire.
"Kindling, accept this meager flame."
The seal leaves the tip of the blade, and I give my flaming sword a broad flair, leaving trails of lingering embers behind in wide arcs. I take a deep breath, and I bellow with every inch of my entirety.
"STOP!"
My eardrums pop, my voice carries and echoes. The people that draw in slow to a combined halt, stumbling over one another like a mob facing a wall of police.
I make one last broad sweep, before raising my sword to the sky, like a torch held aloft.
"Come any closer, and I will burn you all to ash!"
They watch my sword; they watch me. They watch Melina, and they look to one another, waiting with bated breath for someone else to take the next step.
None do.
I catch my breath…
Now what?
What the heck happened? Why are there so many people here?
This place was empty just over a week ago, when Melina brought me here during the battle in Bellard.
What changed?
The woman on the ground drags herself away, being accepted into the wall of terrified eyes. The man I knocked out moans, rolling over behind me. Melina watches everyone, keeping close to my side.
I do not know. But we must make a decision soon.
Either we take the breach, or we make a run for it. But we need to leave. We can care about questions when we are not surrounded.
Even so… don't these people look familiar? I'm certain I've seen these faces before. Where was it...
In Bellard?
No… somewhere else…
"Lance?"
An old and gruffly voice speaks up from somewhere within the crowd; I slacken my raised sword somewhat. A few haggard people look behind themselves with confused eyes, before they are parted, to let a large man with eyes far too small for his head to pass through.
The man looks me over with cautious eyes.
"That was your name, wasn't it?" He tries, tapping his chin with a thick hand. "Kalé's friend, if I can remember right."
Recognition takes root in my expression; I can't help but look incredulous.
"…Dals?"
Dals, the blacksmith of Town: the small settlement Kalé, Melina, and I passed through nearly a month ago. This man was one of the first people to show me any form of respect, and he taught me about the elusive art of ascendancy.
Dals's expression softens; a few people look at the blacksmith like he's mad.
"Long time no see son." Dals says, crossing his arms. "What has you coming here, of all places?"
He eyes up Melina.
"…With company?"
"Town is no more."
I cock an eyebrow.
"No more? As in, it's gone?"
Dals leans back on a small stool, keeping his burly arms crossed.
"Wiped off the map not five days ago. All three hundred of us either dead or displaced."
We're situated in the dilapidated chapel near the entrance to the small patch of forest before Stormhill Gate, kept sheltered from the breeze by the degrading stone walls around us. Dals has set up shop here for the time being, making use of the location to house a makeshift forge and an old, rusted anvil.
Melina stays relatively close, making herself comfortable high up on the steeple above. She still doesn't like strangers, and everyone's already seen her face. If she becomes a smoldering butterfly now, everyone will just start asking questions.
So she lingers, watching Stormveil Castle to the north with an expressionless face.
Other people peek in on us from the many gaping openings in the walls, staring holes into my back like they wanted to keep tabs on me. Just outside, small tents and groundsheets dot the landscape up to that lone hill, where a temporary fort has been constructed, complete with a small, rickety watchtower to keep an eye out for Godrick's men.
The man I knocked out was one of their best soldiers, prepared to defend these refugees if the time called for it. The speed at which he was dispatched gives me a vague idea of the state of things around here.
It's not good.
I lock eyes with a kid that peeks in, seemingly hoping to get a look at the big bad Tarnished in his camp. The child runs away screaming.
"Was it Godrick's men?" I ask, though the answer was already obvious.
Dals nods, speaking with an accent vaguely British.
"Aye. Stormed in and razed the whole town to the ground, slaughtering anyone they could get their hands on." He gestures out at the encampment outside. "What you see are the refugees, least the ones that were able to band together. The rest of Town have probably either been slain or lost in the Mistwood. That, or made a gamble for Bellard down South."
I knit my eyebrows together.
"Why would they do that?"
Dals grunts.
"Orders from Godrick himself. Don't look for sensibility when it comes to that man, you'll get a sword in the throat if he so much as suspects you don't adore him."
"Then, why come here?" I ask. "This place is even closer to his castle. Aren't you all even more in danger here?"
Dals shakes his head.
"We never had a choice son. The soldiers more or less herded us here, where they can keep an eye on us. We have little in means of defense, and we're all still seen as fugitives in Lord Godrick's eyes."
He makes a sweeping motion with his hand.
"His men will come through here, slaughter us all any day now. Please hold no ill will toward the attitudes of the folks here; they've been at their wits end for nearly two days straight."
I find my eyes staring into the ground.
"Sounds like things are pretty grim here."
Why would Godrick order such a thing?
Melina looks down at me, and I meet her gaze.
Is he insane? These people aren't any danger to him.
Melina wears a small frown.
From the times I have been through his castle, Godrick the Grafted has deteriorated in recent centuries. He no longer makes rational decisions… and I believe we are at fault here as well.
I return the frown.
You think they were looking for us?
News must have traveled about what happened down south. Godrick already knew of our presence since we defeated Roard, and our recent involvement in Bellard has only enlarged our infamy. He may have become truly paranoid of us.
I cause problems for people everywhere I go.
I eye Dals, who's fallen silent as well.
"What have you heard," I ask. "About what happened recently in Bellard?"
Dals sighs, finding his words.
"Heard the servants rebelled against their masters, and a small army from Godrick's lot joined in the fray, looking to take the place over. Recently, my ears caught onto rumors that a Tarnished with a light following him around rescued the whole city, downing Agheel and repelling the entire army."
His gives me a mischievous smile.
"I take it that was you?"
I'm mad that makes me blush.
"I didn't rescue anything, and I didn't take on an army. I helped. That's it."
Dals points at me with a thick sausage of a finger.
"But you killed Agheel, didn't'ya?"
I reluctantly nod. Dals chuckles.
"'Flew through the air,' they say. 'Wielding a flaming spear and knocking the dragon clean out of the sky.'"
"I was launched by a trebuchet, and I wasn't aiming for Agheel. I was trying to kill the guy riding atop him."
Dals's pudgy eyes gleam.
"So, the truth holds more intrigue than the stories? You must tell the people here sometime son. Maybe a little tale will help calm their nerves."
I nearly stutter. Behind the banter and joking, hope lies deep in Dals's small eyes. It's been there a while, but I misinterpreted it. It's not hope for their situation, it's for me. Or because of me, rather.
Hope that I'll stick around, hope that I may be able to deal with the Godrick soldiers that come for them.
I feel a sinking feeling in my gut.
"Dals, I'm sorry." His smile goes slack; I meet his receding gaze. "But I can't stay. I'll need to head out soon."
"Son, please." Dals says, frowning. "We need a light in times like these, less we all succumb and die with our bellies to the sky. They won't spare us; we'll be burned to ash."
He places his large hands together.
"We'll scrounge up what we can, and we'll pay you for your services. But we need your help, son. If I didn't know any better, then the Greater Will sent your through that breach for this very cause."
I shake my head, and Dals slumps in his stool. In his eyes, I'm leaving them to their deaths.
"Hah… after all these years. Like this…" He rises to his feet, looking toward the sky. "I don't blame you, son. I mean, who would risk their neck for such a sorry lot as this, right?"
He lumbers toward the entrance of the chapel, sparing words for himself I can still hear.
"Damn it all."
He goes to leave me alone, probably looking to stay out of my way until I leave. Even if he says he doesn't blame me, his eyes give him away. My simple presence appearing here was like a person reaching out to him with arm extended, capable of dragging him and everyone else out of this mess…
And I just moved that arm away.
There is something we can do.
To help them?
Melina lands next to me, light as a feather. Her voice is quiet; she places a hand on my shoulder.
"I appreciate that you desire not to prolong our journey any longer, but you can see it. You already know what we can do."
Please, do not make me an excuse not to help others.
I'm not that selfless. I don't want to get wrapped up in another debacle, especially after the one in Bellard just ended. I still won't here, but I have an idea.
And if Melina is fine with it, even if it means putting us in unnecessary danger, then I'm willing to give it a try.
"Dals, wait."
I call after the blacksmith. He turns to look back, knitting his eyebrows together upon finding Melina next to me. In his eyes, she simply appeared out of nowhere.
"If Godrick's men weren't after you," I begin, turning toward him. "Where would you all go?"
He looks suspicious of my words, slowly lumbering back into the chapel. He can't decide whether to humor me, or simply walk away and not look back.
"I know of a small settlement up in Stormhill, and it was our original goal as far as we travelled north. We planned to make housing there." He shakes his head. "Curse it, if we really had free reign, we might as well try to bring that rundown village in front of Stormhill Gate back. But it's hopeless. They have us boxed in."
He plops down on his stool next to me, facing me on. The beginning of a twinkle creeps back into his eyes, but he doesn't get his hopes up.
"They've snatched anyone that wanders away from camp and stuck them on crosses, burning them to smoldering husks and leaving them out in the sun. It's like they find some sick form of pleasure in it. They won't let us leave, son. That much, we already know."
I stand, considering the ring on my gloved finger. I blow into it, and Torrent pieces together into reality next to me. Dals nearly rises to his feet.
"Marika's braid?!" He exclaims.
I fish into one of Torrent's satchels, as the spectral steed sniffs Dals's bald head. Melina leads his snout away, petting him tenderly. Dals looks more or less overwhelmed.
I find what I'm looking for, and I procure the small bag of smithing stones. I give them a shake, and it's almost as if Dals recognizes the noise.
"Those are.." He starts, rising back to his feet.
I take Torrent's attention from Melina, running my fingers through the top of his mane.
"Thank you."
Torrent snorts, and recedes back into cerulean lights, retreating to his ring. I turn to Dals, holding up the bag.
"If I may be blunt," I sigh. "I'm after Godrick's throat."
Dals looks at me as if I grew horns. I think about my deal with Melina, shrugging.
"I need his Great Rune, and I'm on my way to his castle now."
I think over what I plan to say, glancing at Dals's anvil. I don't know if he has what he needs here, but I'm honestly happy I ran into him. I debated making a trip to Town before reaching Stormhill, for one reason only
"I can help you, but I won't stay here and play defense… I assume they have the gate guarded?"
Dals nods.
"Fashioned it into a blockade; we'd be slaughtered if we so much as drew near."
I jab a thumb and Melina, before bringing it to my chest.
"My friend here and I will take care of any soldier hiding out in the forest, and we'll smash through that blockade for you."
Sorry about our initial plan.
It is fine. I have come to expect that our plans will never fail to fall apart.
I point a finger at Dals; hope has begun to return to his eyes.
"But we're doing it tonight, and you can't expect me to deal with anyone that comes after you all if you guys loiter. Get everyone mobile and get them ready to go."
Snooping eyes hear everything I say. They look to one another with disbelief. Afterall, I'm a 19-year-old kid saying this; my 20th birthday isn't until the new year.
But Dals finds his smile again.
"Hah! Seems there still is hope in this world after all."
I stop him before he can meander off.
"And, I need something from you, Dals."
I hand him the bag of smithing stones, before taking my swords and scabbards off my back.
"If I'm to slay a Lord, I need ascended blades. Can you do it here? With what you have"
Dals looks my Light Greatswords over, unsheathing one with a discerning eye.
"Well, I'd notice Murdoc's work anywhere. These are some fine swords… I can do it." He sheathes the blade. "Free of charge."
I shake my head, procuring five tels from my satchel, placing them in Dals's hand.
"Maybe next time."
His eyes widen.
It's enough to buy an entire home in a city. If it's my fault they were attacked and harassed and murdered like this, five tels aren't enough, and it isn't even close; one can't put a price on the human Soul. But it's a start, and I'll see to it that the survivors of Town make it to Stormhill safely.
And if Godrick goes after them, then I simply need to make enough noise in his castle to keep him preoccupied.
"I'll see to it people like you live." I say, fueled by my conviction. "In this world, we need every good person we can get."
Dals unsheathes my sword again, staring at the darkened steel of the blade. He looks his age, and his sigh speaks the long centuries he's been alive.
"We're not good people, son." He turns to his forge, placing my sword's blade directly into the glowing coals. "But we are thankful."
He sets my other sword aside, and opens the bag of smithing stones, fishing two of the small angular rocks out.
"Henry!"
He shouts, placing the two smithing stones on his anvil. Nobody answer him; Dals grunts.
"I know you're there Henry, you weasel! Make yourself known!"
Reluctantly, a thin man rises from where he was eavesdropping behind one of the fallen walls, quickly giving me an uncertain glance.
"What."
Dals grabs ahold of one of his hammers, testing its weight.
"You heard the lad, get everyone ready to move."
The respect this Henry character has for Dals finds confliction on his face.
"But… are you sure?"
He gives him a side-eye, testing his arms.
"I am sure. If we fail, then we'll only perish early. But if we shall succeed?" He gives his anvil a testing strike with his hammer. "Now get going!"
Henry makes a weird noise, and he scampers off.
"Boc!" Dals calls next; I feel a buzz in my head. "Come on out. I need my apprentice."
Nothing happens; Dals eyes me up.
"The boy won't bite you lad. Out. Now."
When I see the creature that's a cross between a child and a baboon, I feel something stir within me. Boc appears from the entrance, moving with a timid gait, shying from my gaze as he passes by. He gives Melina and I a wide circle.
"Apologies, master. I meant no ill will."
Dals hands him a pair of tongs.
"It's alright lad. It's been a rough few days for all of us."
Boc accidentally locks eyes with me, and I feel my jaw clench.
Human emotions, in the eyes of an animal. He quickly looks away, leaning into Dals like a son clinging to their father.
My hands clench… and…
And…
Blaidd, with the head of a wolf, giving me a skeptical look.
The misbegotten, blatantly gorging on their lust for death, as they chop victims into pieces.
Torrent, with his alarming intelligence, giving me an inquiring eye.
That Leonine Misbegotten, staring at me with wild eyes, as sunset flames licked at his pawed feet. His desire to bite my head clean off, to rake his claws across my gut and slice me open.
Then when those eyes filled with fear, as the Leonine realized he was about to die for eternity.
Genuine fear. Genuine emotion.
The mark of sentience.
The mark of a Soul.
I let out a deep sigh. I'm being ridiculous.
"Boc." I say.
The demihuman ceases up. He slowly turns, looking up, up, and up at my head looming over him.
I lower to a knee, lightly clapping a hand on his slumped hairy shoulder. A warm smile spreads across my face.
"Thank you."
Boc takes a moment, but he looks like a child on Christmas.
"Oh! Of course kind sir!" He says happily, bleeding such naïve kindness that it makes my own reservations of him eat away at me. "I will make extra sure that your weapons are tended to with the utmost care."
"See to it."
I back away, leaving the master and his unlikely apprentice to their work.
Melina gives a small smile next to me, watching on.
"It would seem that we can all change, after all."
I cross my arms.
"Yeah, I don't know."
She looks me over, I continue.
"It's just, I've seen plenty of animals now, acting like people. Some good, and some terrible." I shrug. "By comparison, the little guy's all right."
I might even find his polite speech endearing, in a way.
Five hours later, I move as quietly as I can manage, keeping one sword drawn and held low to the ground.
Here, at the edge of Limgrave, the bordering clouds of Stormhill choke out the sun, draining all the color out of the sky. The region past the gate is dark, shrouded from light by parallel running cliff faces.
The forest was fairly devoid of soldiers; Melina and I only found a small camp amongst the trees. Melina practically sniffed them out, finding their runes amongst the clutter as they joked with one another.
When we sprung upon them, they didn't last long.
My ascended blades, while only upgraded to the first degree, cut through their mail and gambesons like the armor was made of paper, allowing me to cut each down in three strokes or so.
Five souls, lost in a matter of seconds.
We silenced two others that patrolled the path through the forest, before giving the all clear for the refugees. Just over a hundred dependent souls, lumbering through the forest in a staggered line. They glanced around at the shadows in fear, ready to scream and cower at the first sign of a blade.
None came, but the group was never relaxed.
Boc stuck right next to me the entire time as I led them, constantly glancing up to make sure I was still there. Dals stuck nearby too, though he seemed less nervous. He carried his favorite hammer like it was a weapon, and with his stocky arms, he could certainly break bone in a single swing.
They all wait in the village now, staying in the shadows in case a patrol comes by in my absence. They wait with bated breath, as Melina and I enter the gate, preparing to remove the last obstacle in the way: a blockade.
The path ahead is cluttered by familiar wooden battlements, strung up like rows of large spikes that make the most of the confined space. Only a small opening rests dead center of the path, and there are multiple rows of it.
Perfect chokepoints, meant to bottle in infantry and calvary alike, where they can be torn apart by blades and bombs that hide to the sides of each opening, swung and tossed by arms poised and ready to hack and slash away. For a ragtag group of fleeing refugees, it would've been a slaughter if they tried to come this way.
Such brutality, would be provided by the Limgrave soldiers that populate the checkpoint, their red and green surcoats illuminated by the many lanterns and small bonfires set ablaze on metal dishes hung by crosses of wooden limbs. Smoldering butterflies flutter about those flames, drawn to their heat like moths to a lightbulb.
The smoldering butterfly on my shoulder takes off, quickly finding herself a fire to hover around. From there, she gains a vantage point, and none of the soldiers and footsoldiers are the wiser.
Six… Seven… There are eight. Four keep watch and wield crossbows. Four rest just behind the battlements.
I duck out as a soldier looks my way, kneeling behind the small cobbled wall that borders the road.
Any big nasties?
…Excuse me?
I shake my head to myself.
You know, ballistae? Traps? Another Sentinel?
None of the sort.
I slowly draw in toward the first line of battlements.
Only eight? Isn't that number a little... small?
It won't be a cakewalk, but not a challenge either. If I can slip past the crossbowmen, then I only need to worry about daggers and swords. Wielding two swords myself, with each blade as long as my outstretched leg and then some more, I pack both the range advantage and offensive power.
I would've expected something more, even if they won't fight back, does Godrick think only eight soldiers are capable of repelling a hundred bodies running at them?
It is.
We can take them, but we need those crossbows gone.
I must agree. Stay low, and attack the two soldiers closest to you. Take cover after that, and we can remove the rest of them periodically.
Working on it…
At least, that was the plan.
"Oi!"
I stutter to a halt. Melina sounds almost disappointed.
Well, they have spotted you.
Are you sure?
"You think I'm a blind oaf?! I can see yeh!"
I am sure.
Well…
I rise to my feet, taking a step out onto the main road. Seems I'll need to get better at sneaking.
The other soldiers look surprised, but the one that saw me only stares with suspicion and hatred.
Change of plans. Mind if you cause some ruckus? I'd rather not get shot if we can help it.
Melina breaks away from her fellow butterflies, landing lightly on one of the battlements.
I will see to it… Do not get hit by a bolt. I cannot heal you if you are dead.
Gee. Thanks for the advice.
Honestly, I'm just glad she's putting trust in me.
For what it's worth, I can only imagine what would've happened if I came this way before we got sidetracked down to Bellard. Would I be so confident marching toward four armed men then?
No. Of course not.
I draw into the light of their fires, and recognition runs rampant through each of the soldier's eyes.
"Hey." I call to them, slowing to a halt. "You guys miss me?"
None of them look familiar, but I look all too familiar to them. The one that first spoke growls, leveling his crossbow at my heart.
"Tarnished bastard. So, you finn'aly show yer face then eh?"
If the soldiers of Morne had a vaguely Scottish accent, then the Godrick soldiers of Limgrave have thick British accents. The other soldiers level their crossbows, boltheads glinting in the firelight.
I raise my freehand, palm open toward them. I know I can't dodge those bolts, not all at once; I can only hope Melina's ambush works.
"Hold up! I'm not here to fight!"
...
They don't immediately make a pincushion of me, so I can take that as a good thing.
"You come to surrender then?" The soldier inquires. I don't answer that.
"I recently passed through a small camp of refugees," I start, crossing my arms. "Nearly a hundred in total, and they looked scared out of their minds for their lives. Does any of that ring a bell?"
None of them answer. I continue anyways.
"They're tired, sick, and hungry. They have little food, and they're completely out of their element. If they stay camped out in the woods any longer, they'll start to drop dead from starvation. They need supplies, and they need to pass through this checkpoint if they hope to find a bed to sleep in tonight. Can I ask you all lower your weapons, and let them pass through?"
I know what I say is useless… but I want to confirm something. Such selfless words are almost too tantalizing for the selfish not to tear down; I've learned that much in my own experience.
I feel my spirits fall when I'm proven right.
The first soldier barks a laugh.
"So, you admit those traitors are acquaintances of yours's, Tarnished? Fine, bring them here. We could use the target practice."
I grit my teeth. It is my fault.
Maybe someone saw me in Town and brought that news to Godrick. Maybe suspicion arose that I was hiding out there, and so the order was passed down to torch the entire settlement.
But I wasn't among them, so why do the soldiers continue to berate the people of Town further?
I can only think of one answer, and it makes my blood boil.
"You all are sick." I proclaim.
One of the soldier snarls; I quickly point him out. I'm not letting him get any ideas.
"You saw what I can do!" I grip my sword handle, thumbing the silver designs in the leather. "You saw my duel with Roard! You saw that he and your buds never came back to life!"
Melina lands lightly on one of the soldier's helmets; the other four rise to discover the root of the commotion, and eight pairs of eyes all stare at me with boiling contempt.
"Face me, and I'll take your souls. Fire those crossbows, and I promise you will meet a fiery end." I snarl, putting up my best front. "You don't want this fight soldier. It won't end well for you. Leave now and let me and everyone else behind me pass. Or I will burn you all down."
That soldier chuckles, fishing for something in the satchel at his side.
"You got one thing wrong Tarnished. Seems you understand why the traitors need to die. But we're not here to fight you. We're here to hunt you."
I cock an eyebrow.
"Our orders are from Lord Godrick himself: Bring in the Tarnished that killed Roard, dead or alive. Search the settlement south of Agheel lake for his whereabouts, and lay a trap for him if he doesn't show."
We waves a hand to the others.
"What you see before you are not your opponents. We're bait. The folk you spoke of are bait. This entire blockade is bait. We're all playing our parts to lure you in."
He pulls out a hollow metal rod with a notch in one of its sides…
It's a whistle.
He brings it up to his lips, and he gives me a smile, one that misses nearly half of its teeth. He enjoys every word he speaks, like he's trying to get in the last laugh.
As if he has something that he knows can kill me.
"And you just walked into the trap."
He blows into that whistle…
…
…
…
It emits no noise.
Nothing happens, nothing changes.
I was ready for something, but…
That soldier looks to the heavens, grinning like a lunatic.
ABOVE!
Melina's voice bellows in my head, and I look skyward as well…
I'm only given a split second to react.
It comes like a guillotine, a mess of pale skin and muscle and bone, slamming into the ground where I once stood. I jump back, just as a noise of crunching stone and a thunderous engine echo about in my ears…
No, that's no engine.
It's a guttural growl.
The ground shakes and shudders. I skid to a halt, planting my free hand to the ground as I nearly lose my balance.
From the risen cloud of dust dead ahead, which obscures all I can see, a mass of…
Not a mass.
A man.
A giant man.
A horribly disfigured giant man, with deep wrinkles and fraying skin wracking the entirety of its starving body.
Skin-tight arms and legs, branch-like protrusions circling about and long tendrils hanging from its featureless head. Its torso is carved out, its mouth hangs open like a monster's. Its small eyes look down upon me as it rises high above me, looking past sunken sockets and uttering a deep, guttural, growl.
Animalistic rage burns in those eyes.
A Troll.
The troll roars.
"Kill 'em lads!"
The soldier shouts, leveling his crossbow. The Troll charges me, teetering five stories tall and shaking the ground with every step.
It makes me freeze up.
The crossbow bolts come…
My second sword flashes out, and I duck, swinging at those four glinting heads baring down on me. I deflect one, two miss, and the last skids over my head, nearly sticking into the back of my cranium.
I move, dodging out of the way as a fist the size of a man comes crashing down over my head.
The ground beneath me cracks.
Lance! I-
No!
I shout in my mind, leaping into the air as a pale arm as thick as a telephone pole sweeps by just beneath my feet; I need to tuck and roll as I land, because a crossbow bolt deflects off the cobbled stone where I would've been a moment prior.
Take care of those crossbowmen! I'll keep the big guy busy!
The Troll roars, stomping and nearly squashing me flat.
I spin about its calf, slashing right across where the Achillies Tendon lies. Ascended blade whistles in, but it's too shallow.
The four soldiers laugh like madmen, firing at me every chance they get. The other four close in on me, ready to stab at my legs or spear my chest if I get too far from the Troll. They close in like a beartrap, slowly digging their metal teeth in.
If something doesn't change, I'll slip up eventually, and I'll die.
It's only a matter of time.
The initial soldier that first spotted the Tarnished loads his next bolt and takes aim. He levels his crossbow where he can guess the Tarnished will land next. He'll hit the Tarnished in the foot, trip him up, and let the Troll finish him 's the perfect plan.
He rests his gloved finger on the trigger… and…
Is that a woman next to him?
In a flash of fiery light, a young lady with one eye closed appears out of thin air, her open eye fierce, and face tense with determination. Her outstretched hand plants on the bewildered soldier's cheek, and her voice reverberates in a realm beyond the Lands Between.
"Kindling, accept this meager flame."
Fire roars to life, enveloping the soldier in a split second.
His hair shrivels and disintegrates; his skin blackens and sags away. His nerves singe, his blood boils, his fat crackles and pops. He lets loose a morbid scream, his fingers curling in like dying spiders as his arms flail about. Reaching for his melting face, reaching for the heavens, reaching for his comrade, who looks on with horror.
The young lady lands light as a feather, black cloak concealing her hunched form.
The other soldier levels his crossbow, as his comrade falls to the earth, burning down to misshapen lumps of charred flesh and ash. The young lady's golden eye centers on him, looking past the crossbow between them, glowing as if a raging inferno rests just within it.
She's like a demon.
"Fukin' spirit!" He bellows, and pulls the trigger.
The young lady disappears in a flash, appearing again above the soldier. She latches onto his head like a pouncing feline, exerting an alarming strength in her grip.
The soldier isn't given a chance to retaliate.
"Kindling, accept this meager flame."
The second soldier's screams enter my ears, and his runes enter my body, as I slash a footsoldier's throat, running between the Troll's legs before it crushes me.
Like a mad janitor with a rat he discovered in a bathroom stall, the Troll stomps and slams and swings, seeking to reduce me to a bubbling lump of flesh with each blow. It gives chase, attacking me unendingly, pursuing me unendingly, roaring and bellowing with such tenor that I feel it reverberate through every bone in my body.
My vision is a dance of different colors flashing over my view, as a pale arm swings, nearly taking my head. I duck under, skidding on my knee, burning a hole in my pants. A soldier that gave chase is struck dead on; his mangled corpse flings through the air, splattering with a lingering mess on a cliff face.
I dig in my heel, and my right sword twirls about, aiming dead ahead as I lock in my arm. A soldier brings his straight sword high, ready to split me in two. My ash of war activates, and I tear forward in a blast of compressing air, until a red and green surcoat is all I can see. A small shockwave kicks us both, and a noise like distant thunder sounds.
My Light Greatsword pierces the soldier's mail like a hypodermic needle, passing through his body as if it was never there. A thin tip ruptures out the other end, and the entirety of my blade runs through him, ending with a jolt as my crossguard rams into his torso.
He shudders, losing grip of his sword.
I feel something bearing down on me from above, and spin the soldier and I around, kicking off him and dislodging my sword. He stumbles back a floundering set of steps, before a large foot connects with the top of his bronze helmet. He compresses like an accordion; horrid noises of bones snapping and organs popping berates my ears.
The Troll slips on the red smear, and I kick off my anchored foot.
The ground rumbles like a raging earthquake, as the Troll falls, letting out a wail. I jump, and I spin my right sword around into a reverse grip, bearing down atop the Troll's face with an awkward landing.
The third soldier's screams enters my ears. His runes come not a moment later.
The troll tries to shake me off, raising a hand to swat me away. But I anchor myself with his holes for a nose, and I drive my sword into his left eye, as deep as it will go.
The living ground beneath me contorts.
Blood sprays me.
A large mouth opens up just beneath my feet, and foul breath erupts. The Troll roars in pain.
The blast of wind practically throws me up and away, taking my dislodging sword with me.
I grit my teeth, covering my face, as I'm sent nearly forty feet into the air.
Such a thunderous cacophony; such a powerful sound. My hearing cuts out, and my world spins. Yet despite it, my mind takes the surprise in stride, preparing for the next move instead of losing itself in the fear that clings to the back of my throat.
I try to remember how to land, as I come falling back down. I try to orientate myself; I can't hear the final fourth soldier's scream.
Tuck and roll, Lance!
Working on it!
I stick out my feet, flailing about my arms to stop my spin. The ground draws in, and I land, compressing my legs, whipping back my head, driving my momentum into a clumsy backwards somersault.
I lose grip of my swords; I tumble and skid to a stop.
The Troll turns over on the ground, roaring and chattering its teeth. It slams a fist into the ground with frustration, hunched over, blood dripping down from its left eye socket.
My mind is underwater, and my hearing is a quiet whine.
I shake my head, unsteadily rising to my feet, as my hearing tunes back in to reality.
I come to my senses: Melina is standing beside me. Seven of the eight soldiers are dead; the last footsoldier drops his shortsword and runs away, wailing in fear. The Troll twists its head to look at me, its remaining right eye sent over the edge upon spotting my kneeling form.
It growls.
I reach for my closest sword, snatching it from amongst the blood-stained stone. I catch my breaths, working to calm my rampaging heart.
Adrenaline makes me feel lightheaded.
I rise despite it.
"The sucker has a pair of lungs on him."
I utter, spitting, wiping beading blood from my chin. During the madness, I bit my tongue. That's the only damage I took… besides the stinging feeling in the back of my heels.
"Has some rancid breath too."
Melina studies the Troll over.
"Yes, you reek of it now."
The Troll fights to its own feet, flinching from every cut I made around its ankles. It reaches behind its head, gripping onto a faded gold handle.
Amongst the chaos, I never did see what the Troll had latched to its back.
But a large sword howls through the air as the Troll brings it about face, kicking up dirt and cracking stone as its dragged up into a guard position.
The Troll roars.
"Uh… any tips on fighting a troll?"
Melina thinks on that.
"Do not get stepped on."
"This is serious."
She shares a small smile with herself.
"Their senses are incredibly dull, as is their sense of balance. Cause significant damage to one of their legs, and they will topple over."
I eye my right sword, which rests nearly perfectly between us and the Troll.
These beasts looked like forces of nature in the vision I saw, and even though this one is thinner and more bare than they were, it still packs a punch. If I want to bring it down, I'll need to be fast, and I'll need to be aggressive.
I swallow. My favorite.
I take off, feeling the lust for battle taking hold of my rampaging heart.
"Give him a quick tan!" I yell, Melina discerning my intentions on the fly.
The Troll bellows, charging, bringing its sword back for a large windup.
It swings as we meet in the middle.
The blade tip skidding across the stone, spitting sparks and aiming to cut me completely in half with a blade the size of a car.
Melina flashes to a smoldering butterfly, homing in on the Troll's bleeding eye.
"Kindling, accept this meager flame."
Fire flashes over the Troll's head, spreading out, but stopping just below its shoulders. Yet, the Troll flinches, body stumbling as the head veers away, trying to escape the sudden fire that burns at it.
The sword deflects and careens, rising away, missing the top of my head as I duck, reaching for my right sword.
I grab hold; the thin blade practically whistles through the air.
Showers of sparks and clouding dust wafts over me, and my world becomes unobscured a moment later as a pale foot slams into the ground dead ahead.
I sidestep, swinging with both blades.
Metal tears into flesh, an invisible ascended edge millimeters above my own blades' edges parting bone like a heated rod through Styrofoam. Severed vessels burst, compromised muscles tear from the added strain.
I leave behind a deep gash, and I'm not done yet.
I turn and slash again, and again, and again. Muted silver flashes over my vision like the beats of a hummingbird; the spilt crimson practically rains down.
I dodge and dance between two massive legs that stampede about, as the Troll stumbles and spins, flinching from every new wound I make.
"Come on..." I stress.
The massive blade comes, stabbing into the ground like a pillar falling from the sky.
Dodge!
I leap backwards, and my world spins. I land facing upside down on one hand, pushing to launch myself to my feet.
I don't even hesitate. I'm drunk on adrenaline.
"Come on!" I roar, tossing my left sword aside, leaping and reaching.
My gloved hand grips onto a metallic ledge of a crossgaurd, and I'm sent up into the air, as the Troll yanks its sword free.
"Come on, you bastard!"
My left arm strains, my boots leave the ground. G-forces threaten to tear me away, but I've held onto a dragon as it dove out of the sky.
This is nothing.
I free my hand from the blade, tossed up, and for a heartbeat, I'm weightless.
But then I begin to fall, fall toward the Troll's rising head.
It sees me, its jaw goes slack. It tries to raise its other hand, to reach me, to swat me out of the sky.
It'll be too late.
I spin my blade about into a reverse grip, holding on with both hands. I lock in my elbows, brace with my knees, and at the last moment, I stab down.
"Fall!"
The crisp noise of a blade entering flesh rings out.
My knees slam against the Troll's top jaw, my elbow bangs against its cheekbone. My sword pierces its left eye, driving in, falling past the rising eruption of blood.
The Troll bellows, taking one step back, two.
With ragged breaths, I twist my sword, plant my feet onto the teeth of its bottom jaw, and jerk the sword left.
Ascended edge cuts through facial bone and the cerebellum of the brain, severing occipital nerves and vertebrae, splitting the brainstem in two.
It happens in an instant with a sickening muffled pop.
…
…
…
The runes of the Troll come to me before the lumbering beast even begins to tilt backwards.
Like a chopped down tree, it falls, losing grip of its sword.
I jump off, skidding to a halt as the pale head crashes down behind me.
The ground shakes, shifts, vibrates, then falls still.
The Troll is no more.
Melina and I retrieved the refugees of Town after scouting out the rest of the path, finding no other encampment or blockade barring the path to Stormhill.
There may be more soldiers out there in Limgrave, searching for me. There may be more innocent civilians out there, suffering because of what Godrick unleashed upon them because of me.
The more I hear of this man, the more I come to despise him.
I've never met him, never even seen his face.
Through word of mouth only, have I heard of his actions, and they are sickening. A king of thieves of sorts, sitting atop a stolen throne. Exerting his power and his heritage to sway the will of his subjects, enacting harsh taxation of Bellard, and by extension, Morne. Laying claim to three separate kingdoms, making himself into something of an abomination through the sacred rite of grafting.
Making sport of my people, the Tarnished. Cutting them up into pieces, and creating creatures like what attacked me in my home. The grafted scions.
I can only imagine what he must look like.
People suffer, and if Dals's and Melina's and the Morne soldier's words bear truth, then Godrick has become paranoid. Tarnished like this Rogier character and I intend to take his head, to claim the Great Rune he holds, and if what I've heard reflects the man, he'd burn everything down if it meant he can keep such power to himself.
If I hope to help the people of Limgrave, then I can either run around, trying to put out the fires the Lord of Stormveil creates. Or, I can take the head off the serpent.
I've come to decide, that I must claim the head.
As we finally enter Stormhill, a rugged highland of alpine forests carpeting jagged mountains, I get a good view of Stormveil Castle.
It rests almost dead ahead, with nothing but a narrow winding valley between us. Connected to it, is a massive bridge that has since begun to deteriorate, running over the valley and toward a northern ocean, a northern tower, and the closest I've been to the Erdtree yet.
Its golden gleam, partially obscured in the dark clouds of the constant storms that wrack this land. Branches obscured, trunk barely piercing through the gale. It's as if we're cut off from it here, here where the winds howl, and the pines whistle.
I readjust my scarf: the tattered remains of my original navy blue shirt. My ascended blades stashed on my back, boots digging into the barren soil as the wind picks up.
Melina walks up next to me, cloak fluttering like a dark flag behind her. She looks off to our right, where the valley bends away, leading off to other mountains and valleys; it's where Dals and company have gone.
"Do you suppose they will be alright?"
She asks, eyeing Boc from afar, who scampers alongside the blacksmith, as the two of them disappear into the woods.
"I suppose that is up to us." I say, thumbing Irina's seal in my pocket. "I don't think Godrick would suppose they came up here, but we can't be certain."
Melina nods.
"Then, if we intend to keep his attention, we must make haste."
I blow Torrent's whistle, and the spectral steed forms into reality. I mount him, extending a hand to Melina. She accepts it, and joins me, as we ride off into Stormhill.
For now, we must find Rogier; I'd appreciate all the help we can get taking on the castle.
For now, we ride away from Castle Stormveil, in search of this Tarnished spellblade, amongst the teetering mountains and the dense forests.
But we will return, and when we do, we will seek out this Godrick and what he carries; the very thing Melina needs, and what I can call the first step toward breaking the barrier over Leyndell.
A Great Rune.
Sup. Winter will soon come to an end, which puts a little frown on my face. But, at the very least, I can enjoy the snow a little longer where I live, so It's not the end of the world just yet. I do feel bad for taking so long to get to this point, considering a new player could reach Stormhill in about ten minutes if they wanted to. I've got the whole core story figured out all the way up until Morgott in Leyndell at this point, and I'm just waiting to finally get to the juicy stuff. I'm having to reel myself in too; I keep wanting to spoil everything with subtle foreshadowing or a random throwaway that'll raise a question. Honestly, it's difficult, and it hurts more for me to know that I need to sit down and write it and everything that comes before out; I can't simply wish for it all to materialize and I can call it a day. Anywho, fun fact for the day, writing dialogue for Melina has always been a part lacking for me. With most other characters in this story that one meets in-game, I just read through all of their lines on the wiki until I get a feel for their mannerisms and style, imaging their voices saying the lines I write in my head as I write them. It's worked thus far, with Ranni being the most fun, but Melina's case is just so out of left field. Unlike her in-game counterpart, the Melina here has the story (so far lol) of a spirit or Soul that's spent millennia alone; she acted just like she would in the beginning: softly spoken, with little emotion in her; she's been without company for a while. And, without her memories on account of the loss of her body (Mind) ? Forget nature vs. nurture, she had essentially nothing at first. Just a soft voice to a little light, flying around Lance's head and giving him guidance. But slowly, through random moments of emotional turmoil for her, she would manifest herself for fleeting moments in Lance's eyes, as she came to terms with her growing Mind, until it came to a pivotal moment that her body essentially restored itself, and she suddenly had emotions again. She still keeps her peculiarities and mannerisms, and her body is essentially artificial; she'll still die if she leaves the Light of the Erdtree. But there's now moments where she shouts and screams, where she plays jokes, or where she has her own reservations, worrying and considering and stressing and growing content. She simply can't speak like she does in-game anymore. Her one rule has always been to never use shortened words in her dialogue: no it's, they'll, don't, I'll, or I'm, etc... That rule still holds; she only does when she gets too stressed, in moments of emotional jeopardy. (The Sentinel on Agheel Lake, or Lance and Melina's argument during the Battle of Bellard being good examples.) Even so, I'm having to change Melina. Slowly, but surely. There may come a point that she may be weened off not using shortened words completely as she develops, with Lance's modern way of speech influencing her more than anyone else. I can still hear her voice saying the lines I write from time to time, but the consistency is growing thin. I don't even know what Melina would sound like now, if she would be as softly spoken and monotone as she usually is, or if she would be something else entirely now. I guess it's up to you, the reader, to decide! Have fun with that. Anyways, until next week. Network test for Nightreign was gas aside from network issues, and I guess I can promise something big (and I mean story altering big) will happen the chapter after the next, so stay tuned for that. (Not that you should skip the next chapter, you get to meet Rogier! Yay amirite?!) Cheers lads and ladies, catch ya'll real soon.
-Corroded Vortex