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smoughenthusiast · 3 months

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Elden Ring Chain 2, Part 2

This time we did the chain a little differently. Two people got the same prompt, but instead of letting eight people do one chain with eight entries, we split them in two groups. Once the first half was done, the other group did receive the last art piece/fic and continued with it, so we got two chains for the price of one ^^ Please be aware that one of the chains is an entry short, because I, the mod, had to drop out thanks to life circumstances. For now, let's start with the first chain. Prompt: A tale of Godwyn's favoured Servant, Fia

@sputnstuff

Inside a tomb, where the dead are put to rest, where those who have reached their final destination in their travels of live, there is a woman, Fia, with skin almost as pale as the lifeless skeletons she sleeps with, blond hair whose shine has been lost with time, and a peaceful look on her face as she sleeps among the perished, almost looking like she died not too long ago herself. No living man or even tarnished would pick a tomb as a place to rest, not intentionally at least, yet the self proclaimed deathbed companion sleeps peacefully, under a red sheet that covers both her and a rotting corpse, whose name will be forgotten with time.

But tonight, Fia sleeps with a cold sweat as she sees in her dreams a male figure held by two cloaked ones as they carve a massive scar on their victim’s back with their dark and twisted daggers, and throwing the now bloody and lifeless body to the floor. Fia is horrified by what she just saw and slowly approaches the corpse of the golden haired man, gently turning the body so she can see his face, but the man’s eyes still moved and as they meet with Fia’s, she wakes up from her dream, gasping for air as she tries to calm herself down.

FIA (shaking): Who was that man…

As she gets herself calmer, she sits down, comforting herself from the dream by holding the red sheet.

FIA: His eyes… it’s like…

Fia gets up, walking across the tomb with the sheet, seemingly aimless and lost in thought.

FIA: They still glimmer with life… But how… Isn’t he dead?

She sits near the corpse she was sleeping with.

FIA: Maybe it’s just a bad dream… but his eyes were staring directly at me.

She looks over the corpse near her and sighs.

FIA: Just a dream…

She tries to fall asleep again, but to no avail as no matter how she positions herself, the golden haired man remains in her mind. Eventually she gets up and puts on her black hood. The outfit she’s wearing, a dress as dark as the tomb she’s currently in and a hood that covers her head ans shoulders, both pieces of clothing made her look like a widow, mourning the death of a loved one. She goes over the corpse that she slept with and caresses their head.

FIA: Sorry for leaving so early, but someone calls for me. Someone who yet lives in death.

She leaves the tomb and the perished that reside within.

Fia heads towards a house in Leyndell and in the house, inside a room, is a knight, wearing a round and heavy looking armour with a steel helmet that resembled an over sized hat, who lies sitting on a bed looking downwards to the floor. Although his face is covered by the massive headgear, Fia knows the knight is feeling down, as he greets her in a very melancholic tone.

KNIGHT: Ah Fia, good eyes see you my daughter.

FIA (bowing): Lionel, how are you feeling today?

Lionel coughs for a while before answering.

LIONEL: Worse. I feel the ailment taking me over. I fear it’s a matter of time until it’s my time.

Fia nods sadly.

LIONEL (cheerful): But enough about me! Are you alright? Has D bothered you while you were away?

FIA: No, I haven’t seen him for a while. But Father…

Fia sits next to Lionel as he coughs for a while.

FIA: I had this strange dream…

Fia hesitates for a while before Lionel wraps his arm around her, in an attempt to comfort her.

LIONEL: A bad one?

FIA: It was about a man… with golden hair…

LIONEL: Could it be someone from the Golden Lineage?

FIA (surprised): You think it is?

LIONEL: Not really, I was just joking.

Fia pouts at Lionel’s attempt at a joke.

LIONEL: Still, what was it with that dream that gave you a strange feeling?

FIA (takes a deep breath): Well… The man in the dream… He was murdered in front of me… and yet…

Lionel puts his arm around Fia’s shoulders.

FIA: His eyes stared at me, still gleaming with life.

Lionel Looks at Fia worried.

LIONEL: It’s just a dream Fia, You’ll get…

FIA: NO! It didn’t felt like one.

LIONEL: But how can someone who’s dead still be able to look at you? Try to rest, Fia.

Fia gets up and puts her hood on her head.

FIA: Forgive me father, but I will be gone for a while more.

LIONEL (sighs): If you must…

FIA: Don’t wait, for I do not know when I’ll be back.

LIONEL: Promise me that you’ll be safe.

Fia doesn’t answer and leaves both the house and Lionel, who sighs to himself in sadness.

Inside a dark tomb outside of Leyndell, Fia picks up a grave glovewort, a bright white flower whose bright contrasts the lifeless mood of the tomb. She continues to wander until a skeleton shows itself, ready to attack the deathbed companion. However, Fia puts the glovewart on the floor, in front of the hostile being, and smiles at it.

FIA: I seek the one that lives in death.

The skeleton lowers its weapon looks at her with less ferocity. Its skull is unable to show emotion but it seems eager to lead Fia deeper into the tomb. And deeper they went until they reach a stone coffin, which the skeleton opens and then points at it. Fia understands what it meant and heads inside it, with the skeleton closing the lid afterwards.

After some time, Fia removes the lid from the coffin she’s in and realises she’s in a very unusual place. Her feet touch the water of a white river, flowing from roots that seem like are infected with some sort of aliment. The ruins present in the area look like they’re sinking into the earth itself, and the beasts present seem to consist in large lizards with even bigger eyes and giant ants. Despite the unusual sight, Fia carries on, heading upwards on a root. The more she moved, the thicker the stench of death becomes as she then enters a small cave that lead her to the most impressive sight of her life. In front of her, is a deformed body, its head twisted sideways, lanky arms hanging from the ailed roots, a lower body resembling that of a fish and dark branches around it. As Fia approaches it, the wider she smiles at it, the more confident her walk becomes, the less shy her arm becomes as she touches the figure without fear.

FIA: You’re the one from the dream…

Fia then lies down to its lap and closes her eyes.

FIA: Godwin.

She falls asleep, despite the strong stench of death emanating from the fallen god, the still warm body of his is comforting enough for her as she sleeps happily. @patchesenthusiast

@dbzespio

He didn’t remember what his life was like before.

Could he have been human? Tarnished, even? Or had he always merely been a monster? Perhaps some abhorrent conglomeration of both?

Well now, at least, he knew he was naught more than a pile of bones, occasionally rising up to roam throughout the crypt he called home. His thoughts, perpetually angry and restless, though he was thoroughly uncertain as to why.

For all he really knew was darkness. Darkness and seemingly endless walls of stone.

Whenever anything dared disturb him, whether that be a slight gust of wind here, an unexpected noise there, that was one of the rare moments where he felt reason to stir. An unseen force would grip and take hold of his bones, urging him to seek out and gather his armaments. These weapons were old; though not without a certain shine, and an undeniable bite. However, any identifiable portions had long since been smoothed away with the corrosion of age. He knew not what he was, but one thing he did know was how to fight.

He fought often, and perhaps that was what fueled his rage. His opponents were always foolhardy Tarnished lost within this labyrinth he called home. They ruined any and all chances of his meager attempts at finding peace, always fumbling and traipsing about as they were with their incessant noise and blatant ignorance of their surroundings.

The vast majority of them were offensively loud, and therefore there certainly was no mistaking their presence. But a handful were more devious, only making soft sounds barely within the range of his hearing. But even the softest of noises were enough to rouse him; his home should be silent, and his heart filled with rage when it wasn’t.

And today was just such an occurrence.

The slightest of sound… a flutter of a cloak, perhaps?

It was more than enough to re-animate him, his hatred practically manifesting itself while his skeletal fingers clenched about his scimitar. His teeth grit together, but he managed to keep his steps light while he searched for the source of the disturbance. It drew him down a corridor he had never visited before, at least not within his recent memories.

And here it was... beautiful.

Light. A wonder he had not witnessed before, aside from the occasional angry burst of flame from a Tarnished pyromancer. But here, it was soothingly constant, a gentle, warm presence. It stirred something within his hollowed chest, something he did not quite understand.

It came from the flowers. Their delicate petals shone with the luminosity of the spirits dancing about them. They shone with a tender glow, one that resonated with every step of their slow, seemingly heartfelt dance.

But then, a noise. A startled gasp.

And that’s when he saw her, a lowly Tarnished, wrapped in a dark cloak, the cloth nearly drowning her slight form. Within her hand was a plucked flower, its glow already fading.

An insatiable fire burned in his heart, an anger he could not fully describe but one he somehow knew quite well; and this familiar nostalgia overtook him, as if he had finally returned home from an arduous journey, though without any of the comfort such a feeling should evoke.

He began to draw himself to his full height, his blade poised to strike.

The Tarnished scrambled for a weapon, and in her haste, tripped upon her too-large robes, falling to her knees before him. He loomed over her, relishing the spark of fear in her eyes, amplified by the glow of the spirits, still dancing and shining away.

A spear met his heart.

His entire body fell apart from the force of the impact, scattering his bones everywhere.

The Tarnished breathed a sigh of relief, her talisman finally in hand. “Thank you, Lhutel.”

Finally able to recover from his reeling, he began to re-animate, but Lhutel the Headless smashed the blunt end of her spear into his skull, sending him back to the void. She shuffled in place a moment, before turning to watch the light fade from his eye sockets. Watching without eyes.

The Tarnished and Lhutel were long since gone before he finally regained himself, his mind’s eye still stuttering from the unexpected display of force.

And what a display of force it was.

That woman was a phantom, one who had taken her own life in the effort to protect another who had fallen beyond the grave. How he knew this was beyond him, but one thing he did know for certain: she had beaten him into the earth without so much as a single sigh of effort. Right before he had banished to the ether, he had seen the scorn she had had for him, the way she had barely bothered to wipe his very existence away…

There was something fascinating about that.

And now, he didn’t want to find and destroy the Tarnished. At least... not as much as he had wanted to before.

No, now he wanted to find Lhutel the Headless.

He would roam the rest of the world forever if he had to. For he needed to feel something again.

For in that moment, he had felt... alive.

@fateoftheundead

@redsixwing

The roots of the Erdtree cradled her. She lay without consciousness, without time, until-

A presence in her tomb awakened her.

The knight knew herself as spirit, insubstantial as a breeze. She, spirit alone, lingered where she had laid her body to rest. Roots wrapped her bones, fibers in the shape of the woman that was. They trailed from the crevices in her armor. Her fine feathered harness was gone to dust. Her shield lay in bands of rust, its crest vanished. Her helm was who-knows-where, unimportant now.

The feathers were not her honor. The bones were not Lhutel.

Swift as thought, she stood free. Without sound, she skimmed across the floor. Without eyes or ears, she knew: the intruder was high above in the first stretch of the catacombs, rattling into combat with the unquiet skeletons.

How blessed was Lhutel, who was not beholden to such crude matter. Her Prince of Death had given richly to her. Her second life had begun; unlike the first, it would be eternal. She felt nothing, no surge of elation, no beating heart - rather, she soared on a wind the merely physical would never touch. Even she had not, before her burial. Even she, most faithful of the Mausoleum Knights.

She would marvel later. For now, there was a Tarnished bandit to drive away. Having laid the skeletons to a temporary rest, the intruder was getting closer.

Lhutel found that she could still feel emotion, even without bodily sensations. Anger, thin and cold. Spite for the invader.

Lhutel lifted a hand and darkness gathered. Motivated by her determination and anger, it rose as a shapeless vortex. Her soldiers too gave up their darker passions. Their spite, their grasping at the last straws of life, gave the thing shape. The dust of her own bones gave it physical reality. As swiftly as a drawn sword, the Shade stood before her. Its body was no more than a parody of humanity, a black shape cut into the fabric of the world. Its eyes were two white sparks, unseeing and hostile.

No matter. Her Prince's eyes were woven into the roots that draped the chamber walls, and thus, Lhutel saw. By her bones she would guide it.

Energized by all the dead of the Catacombs, given purpose by her silent command, the Shade whipped outward. The Tarnished bandit met it midflight.

The bandit wore a mausoleum soldier's coat, she noted. They must've stolen it from one of her own. They fought not with an honorable sword, but a pair of vicious clawed gauntlets. No helm sat on their head. Their short red hair was tousled and dusty from intrusion into the tomb.

She'd have that thief's head for a sacrifice. The Shade, feeling her rage, pressed the attack.

Long arms reached out, holding spectral blades; the bandit ducked beneath, grunting as the shade caught them with a wide swipe. Steel claws ripped through its insubstantial body. Neither Lhutel nor the Shade were capable of pain.

It retaliated with a summoned glob of reeking liquid, but the nimble bandit leapt back just in time. The Tarnished whipped forward again, claws reaching to tear through shadow-stuff again. The Shade blinked from place to place, avoiding the attacks. Its assailant was living, and living things required rest. It would exhaust the intruder, then add their bones to the catacomb’s floor.

It stalked its prey for a moment, then advanced in a lethal sequence of swings. The Tarnished backpedaled, unable to dodge as quickly as the Shade.

Finally the Tarnished accepted a strike with a pained cry. The cost to the Shade was another onslaught of claws, this time tearing its barely-coherent form entirely apart. Lhutel felt it shudder and vanish.

The Tarnished stood with one hand clasped to a wounded side, panting. A bright new bloodstain bloomed to join the old, dull ones.

The bandit drank deep of a flask on their hip, looked around, and then crouched to scuff up the ashes with the flat of a claw. They made a tidy little pile and muttered over it.

"When I take the rune," the Tarnished said.

Lhutel, impatient, would have snorted if she had a nose to snort through. Dreams, or delusions.

"There'll be a choice for those like you. Undeath has to have its place. Death must return. I swear to you, I'll do it."

She would have spoken, had she a mouth to form words. Impossible - the Tarnished in the mausoleum surcoat was not one of her soldiers, and yet their goals were not unlike hers.

The Tarnished hummed over the little pile of ashes. "Don't suppose you want to join me?"

In their hand, there was a bell. The Tarnished shook it and Lhutel, bereft of ears, heard the chime.

Lhutel lost her grasp on the eyes of the Prince. The sound compelled her into the ashes. Quick as a breath, she stood in her own shape, partisan in hand and shield on her arm. The Tarnished had the nerve to look her up and down.

"So you're the guardian. Was it you that sent that thing after me? Well, no matter. Pleasure to meet you," the Tarnished said.

Lhutel slammed the butt of her spear on the ground by way of comment. Summoned, incarnate, she could feel the feathered harness rattle on her back. One wrong word and she'd skewer the miserable thief, and never mind that they'd called her up. And how exactly had that happened? Necromancy atop thievery. She ought to-

"Fierce one! Well, Headless Knight, you coming with me? Or would you rather shout at me for my ambitions? I got a good big one. I want to lay the Prince of Death to rest."

If she'd had a tongue, she'd have been speechless. That was ambition enough to deserve a lecture! But her life - her death - had been given to that cause.

Lhutel, one arm outstretched to hold her spear upright, swept into a deep bow. The bell spoke again; she felt herself falling, and her final waking thought was that it would not be so bad to leave her tomb at last.

@shadowsheik14

@palepious

Devotion.

It was all he was now. All he had been reduced to. It too was devotion that had driven him to this fate. A disembodied armor, called time and again to battle to defend a master even longer gone than himself, with nothing or no one to remember who he once was.

How long ago was it that he, blinded by hope and ambition, had left his home and love to swear fealty to him? It had been all he had dreamed of as a young man, serving his lord and becoming a knight. Worthy to rival even the knights of Leyndell in their golden light themselves.

The reality of it was of course different than his dreams. Less riding into a war glorious war in lad Marikas name and more law enforcement and the dispatching of local bandit groups. Quickly he had learned then that the battle field was not the place of knightly honor he had fantasized about in his youth. There was no honor in the blood of his allies and the corpses of his foes. Still he had persevered. He had returned home, knelt before his lord and delivered the enemies head.

Neither did he find honor in the snow swept mountains the high queen called them to. On her word his lord picked up his own sword, eager to prove his own fealty to her. Oh what horrors she lead them into. Never before in his life had he feared the cold and the blazing heat at the same time like then. Be it in the scorching fire of the giants or the creeping frost of the lonely nights, there was no safety anywhere to be found. Better men than him fell or lost their minds, yet he remained. He persevered and kept at his lords side.

Devotion.

That was what kept him from falling apart completely. His lord was still alive and as long as he was there he would remain. His lord, still bright eyed and hopeful despite the horrors around them. He who still believed that this war could be won diplomatically and without the total annihilation of either side. What a idealistic fool he was. And oh how much he loved him for it.

The war ended with most of the men he had ridden with shattered on the mountains side, each a charred corpse too mangled to be retrieved and brought home. Not that they even had the space to bring back all the fallen to be buried beneath the Erdtree. But his lord lived, his light remained undimmed and he lead him and all that remained of his people back to their homeland.

With the giants felled peace fell over the lands between once again and he was raised to be his lords closest protector. A new generation of young hopeful knights swore themselves to his lord, all under the misconception that they would find glory in combat. Though just as he had, they too found none of that in their service. Some stayed, some left. Some fell in the battles their lord send them to.

And yet, be it on the battle field or in his lords bedchambers, he was his. Forever his.

So when the illness started rearing it’s hideous head, he was distraught. Within months his lord faded away. Golden hair turning almost ashen before beginning to fall out bit by bit. Once full cheeks growing hollow and sunken. And there was nothing that he could do about it.

Yet he stayed by his side. Day by day he paid vigil, took over responsibility where he could to alleviate the burden on his masters ailing shoulders. And once again during these bleak hours, it was devotion and love to keep it all together. To keep a loving smile and warmth in his eyes. Even when it felt like his world was falling to pieces around him.

It was on a rainy evening, not uncommon at this time of the year, that his lord had suggested it. Them joining together in death. Forever wandering the lands together. Him forever entombed in a wandering castle while he would watch over him for all eternity. He had looked so hopeful when he suggested it. That same spark that had rested in his eyes even in the coldest of nights atop the mountains lit his eyes aflame as he looked up at him.

How was he supposed to do anything else but agree? After all, what would he even be once his lord was gone? His lord had no children and would inherit everything to a niece of his. It would never be the same. No. He belonged by his masters side. Nowhere else.

So when the day came where his lord breathed his last breath. He was ready. He attended his entombment in the Crypt. And, when the stone doors fell closed for a final time, he and the other knights set upon their vigil.

As he knelt there in the fresh grass, still wet with the mornings dew, he considered that he hadn’t really thought about just how he was going to go about it. How does one decapitate oneself with a sword? For a moment he feared that his strike would not be strong enough and only partially split his flesh in two, leaving him to die pathetically in the grass while the other knights would be with his lord and love forever.

Devotion.

Once again it stilled all fear in his heart and allowed him to breath clearly for the first time in months. He would do what was required of him. He always had, he always would. For him.

So he bared his neck, raised the sword and breathed his last breath.

And so it was now. His body had been brought into mass tombs to store and keep their bodies while their spirits lived on. Each time someone came too close to the wandering crypt they would be called forth to defend their lords peace. And each time, he fought to the last. Each time the tarnished and all that would dare sully his loves rest fell to his blade. Their blood feeding the soil along with the shadowy dust of his comrades.

With time his body rotted away, his consciousness in and out of it as he was called to arms. Though in the end there was little difference in fighting or laying scattered on the ground of a dank crypt. Both were inevitable consequences of the other. Time after time again he would be called upon the fields to fight enemies of his lords peace, only to be slain or to fall to dust once his quarry had been slain. Though the latter of the two tended to be the more common occurrence.

Lately it had been the same tarnished again and again. He did not know how it was the same, he just did. They had first fallen easily to his blade, though now they put up more of a fight. Last time they had even come to besting him, before one of his former comrades in arms had brought him town through a blade in the back.

As he reveled on he felt his mind being pulled out of his bones. Soon enough he knew that he was once again as close to his prime as he could be. As much as he could be without a head. In the distance he could feel the approach of a spirit steed, its wretched master atop. No doubt intending to steal away his loves peace. Though only if he fell first.

#yay

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smoughenthusiast · 3 months

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Elden Ring Chain 2, Part 1

@redsixwing

Title: A Banished Companion

Prompt: A tale of Godwyn's favoured Servant, Fia

Limit: 4k

Length: ~2500

Summary

Fia’s departure from Leyndell is sudden and unwanted, but even after the tragic death of Godwyn the Golden, all is not lost.

Warnings

Very sad. Canon character death.

Notes

In proper Fromsoft fashion, the only concession I’ve made to early English is to use thee/thy for informal speech. “You” is used between strangers or to mark that the speaker is of less rank than the listener.

This isn’t meant to be a full reflection on the role of Destined Death - rather, it’s an attempt to view the effects of Marika’s rage from the outside. In her anger and grief, she shatters more than she knows, and sows the seeds of her own destruction.

Fic Body

Before, Godwyn, demigod ascendant, pride of his family, was called the Golden.

Before, he was the conqueror of dragons, the bosom companion of fearsome Fortissax. He took after his father in charisma and his mother in might. As the only child of the Eternal Queen and the Elden Lord, he was welcome everywhere, favored everywhere. Of course he had enemies, just as She did. Of course the divine family expected his grace and power to protect him.

When the Black Knives came, the accolades and expectations all proved hollow.

***

That bleak morning, Leyndell was in chaos. The gold-and-white banners lay limp beneath black mourning streamers that had not flown since the end of the war against the Gloam-Eyed Queen. The knights were out in force, patrolling the streets in threes and fours and shouting at everyone who stepped out their doors to go back inside.

Fia was in the lower city’s sole Church. All three of the active Deathbed Companions stayed there, along with their Revered Mother. Along with Fia herself, whose apprenticeship had ended so recently that she had not yet performed her rites.

The sanctuary was empty this morning. The Companions, fresh from their morning prayers, occupied a half-circle of chairs before the ornate seat of the Revered Mother. Light poured in the windows and the open door from the Erdtree, brighter than the sun. The plain walls and waxed wooden furnishings made a homelike setting, and the five black-clad figures huddled together, trying to understand what was the matter.

No black-clad messenger came to ask the Companions’ boon. No noble scion or spouse lay grieving on the front steps, begging to have a beloved relative borne back to life. Instead, knights clustered around the Church in ominous silence, and sent groups down the nearby alleys as if searching for something..

“What has befallen us?” The Revered Mother, Sarah, spoke from her chair. “Will one of ye go and ask the knights what it is they are doing?” She looked to rise, but her vigor had faded years ago, and it would not be easy for her to walk even so far.

“Of course, Mother.” Fia rose. Iris, one of the older Companions, followed along behind her.

“Sir knight?” Fia called through the Church’s open door. The nearest one turned, crisp, hand on his weapon.

“Go back inside,” he commanded. “This is no time to be out.”

“What news, sir? Please - we haven’t heard.” Fia stepped obediently back, peering around the door. Iris, behind her, leaned to peer out too.

The knight shook his head. “You don’t know? The Golden lies slain, by some foul-”

Whatever he would’ve said was cut off. With a clap of wings like thunder, the dragon Fortissax cruised low overhead. Toward the base of the Erdtree! The knight ducked by reflex. Iris squeaked and hid behind the door. Fia stepped back into shadow, hand over her mouth. In moments, the dragon was past, the shattering noise gone.

Fia closed the door with a mournful creak of hinges. Iris slumped against it. “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be-.”

Fia crouched by her side, patting at her shoulders. “He is a god,” she said, barely believing. “Yet even gods may die.”

And dead he was.

The Companions spent their afternoon trying to guess what would be next. While Leyndell tolerated Those who Live in Death, it seemed past belief that the Eternal Queen would recommend one of Her own for the ancient, sacred practice when She could grant Erdtree burial instead. And how had the Golden fallen? They, who studied death and knew it intimately, had not known he was close to his ending.

They split for a time, the Companions to their quarters to worry and to prepare. Fia stayed with the Revered Mother, tending to her needs.

A knight came as the sun was setting, tacked a bill to the door under the Golden Seal, and left without speaking a word. Fia retrieved it and handed it to the Revered Mother. A handwritten note was wrapped inside it. When Sarah read it, her face went pale.

“So it is true.” She sagged in her chair. Fia, anxious, moved to pat her thin hand. The Revered Mother said first, in a flat voice: “I am not to show this to you, or share this warning.” She put the first, handwritten slip of paper into a candleflame, watched it crumble to ash, and read the formal bill aloud:

“Mourn, Leyndell! Godwyn the Golden lies slain by a blasphemous conspiracy.

He will be buried in two days’ time at the foot of the Erdtree. His faithful companion Fortissax shall attend his grave, as is the custom among dragons. All loyal citizens of Leyndell may attend ceremonies on the grounds of the Church of the Order. All faithful of the Golden Order are welcome within the Erdtree Sanctuary or upon its grounds.

Fear, traitors and blasphemers! Ye shall bow to the wrath of the Golden Order, and all those who practice the arts of Death shall fall beside ye.

Heed now my words: Never again shall Death sully the Divine.”

Sarah laid the scroll across her knees. Below the final line, the seal of the Eternal Queen glowed golden. Fia stood stock-still, stunned.

“Apprentice mine. My last, precious student.” Sarah grasped both her hands. “Gather the others, now.”

Iris was easy to find in her quarters, reading a book before her long mirror. Shannon was examining his wardrobe. Ciara was at the altar, as was so often the case. Fia called them all together, and the four Deathbed Companions knelt before their leader one final time.

Once again, she read the dreadful scroll. Sarah waited for the gasps and soft cries to finish, and folded her withered hands over her knees.

“My little ones. Faithful Companions all, who have borne so many back to life. This is the last assignment I will ever give ye.”

Iris stifled a sob.

“Flee now, Companions. Flee before the knights come, or Death will hold us all before morning.”

“Revered Mother.” Shannon spoke through a handkerchief of black lace, held over his mouth. “What of you?”

“I will remain.” Sarah lifted her chin in pride, white hair curling over her shoulders. Her beauty had outlasted her vigor.

“May we not stay beside you?”

“Lovely Shannon! Someone must speak for Death, but it need not be thee.” Sarah leaned forward to place a hand on his head. “Flee Leyndell. Go far and fast.”

Only Ciara did not speak, but knelt with head bowed, silent and still. Tears streamed in silent protest.

“Go now, Companions.” Sarah rose with difficulty from her chair, and walked to the door. “I do not know how long we have.”

“Come, Shannon.” Ciara was standing in a flash, holding a hand out. Shannon grasped it and they made haste for the door. Iris followed after.

“Fia? Aren’t you coming to pack your things?”

“No. I’m going now.” Fia looked from her elders to her Revered Mother, and saw pride in Sarah’s pale eyes. Her cloak, her stipend -

Well, she would figure out a way, if only she had her life. There was no reason to believe the knights would hesitate.

“Good girl,” Sarah whispered. “Go with my blessing.”

Fia fled.

***

Leyndell lay unrestful in the evening.

Fia left the Church by an entrance she had used as a child: a gap where the wall did not quite meet a mighty limb of the Erdtree. As a girl, she’d scrambled through that gap to play among the golden leaves. Now, the limb was bare, and she used its bulk to hide from a patrol of passing knights. Working fast, she stripped her distinctive headdress off, tucked it into her dress for safekeeping, and let down her hair. Her Companion’s dress might give her away, but there was no time to change it.

That group of knights formed a loose line around the front of her Church, her home, and paused. Their superior, notable in a golden cloak with the Erdtree’s emblem woven in white, walked the line in approving silence.

Out of sight but not out of hearing, a mailed fist hammered on the wooden door. The hinges gave their mournful creak.

Fia slunk down out of sight, took to the road, and ran for all she was worth.

Within the area around the little Church, all had been quiet. When she reached one of the main thoroughfares, she found it packed with people. In the throng, she was only a pale woman in a black dress, one of many. Some, tears on their faces and offerings in hand, were going to the Erdtree Sanctuary. Others, wearing cloaks and bearing bundles on their backs, were heading for the gates. Knights on horseback tried to control the crowd, to little effect.

Fia put her head down, feeling the lack of her headdress like a pressure on the back of her neck, and stayed as far from the mounted knights as possible. The currents of the crowd would bear her toward the gates, if only she could avoid notice. It was a long walk in the best of circumstances; she guessed it would be hours, if all the roads were so crowded.

Snatches of conversation came to her ears.

“I can’t believe it-”

“Blasphemy against the Eternal!”

“He’s going to prepare their home in Caelid-”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“Heard it was a demigod…”

“That can’t be right.”

“Liurnia is nice this time of year.”

“The Heir is fallen too, didn’t you know?”

“Whole Order is up in arms, it’s war, no mistake.”

“We need to go.”

Dire news, if it was true, and Leyndell gave her no reason to believe it wasn’t. Everywhere, on every tongue, murmurs of blasphemy and conspiracy. The notices were everywhere, posted on doors all through Leyndell. With her heart in her throat and a burning blur in her eyes, Fia wondered how many others had been taken by Leyndell’s knights. She couldn’t let herself think of the Revered Mother or her friends and fellow-students, or she would betray herself and them with her grief.

Grief, and anger. The Eternal claimed that the Gods would never again be touched by death - but was she not a mortal queen, before she took the throne? Was not her consort, father of that so-beloved son, a mortal man? She claimed immunity from something she could not begin to understand! Like anyone, the bereaved mother screamed and beat at the coffin, as if it would bring her son back to her unchanged.

But unlike just anyone, Marika’s fury had consequences. She had, with a stroke of a pen, consigned Fia and all those who she loved to the very same fate she would not admit for herself. Banned the arts of Death! Why, as well she could outlaw Death itself. Forbid anyone to die! And in such ridiculous fashion, doom the whole world to stagnation.

And, insult to injury, strip away the purpose of one woman she’d never met.

Never had Fia lain with a noble; never had she completed the sacred rites and borne someone back to life. Now, she never would. No longer could she call herself Deathbed Companion, if the Eternal had declared all the arts of Death anathema. Would her gifts even work, without the blessed perfume? Without the ceremonial bed in its gorgeous drapery of brocade?

No, she thought. They were components of the ritual for good reason.

She was just Fia, now and always. Just Fia. Just a silent, resentful enemy of the Eternal Queen herself.

Fia passed the gates in a crowd so thick that the knights could not stop everyone, not without spilling blood and making the situation a hundred times worse. When one of Leyndell’s mighty sentinels lowered his lance for a barrier, she and half a dozen others ducked under it, so close the breath of his huge steed ruffled her hair.

“Stop!” cried the knight, but nobody did. To pursue would have been to let even more of the milling crowd flow out. The knight stayed in his place, shouting at the tide of people to slow down.

The golden road across the Altus Plateau lay open. Fia left it as soon as she could and hid. She shivered unseen in a hollow beneath a tree until she was sure the knights were not coming for her.

***

Morning came, and Fia realized she was hungry.

Hungry meant alive. Waking meant she’d slept. Her sore eyes and dry mouth said she’d wept for the Companions, for Godwyn, for herself.

As she’d been trained, she hovered between sleep and awake, and took stock of what was around her. Hard earth below, barely cushioned by fallen leaves. Birdsong, distant. The itch of an insect bite. The shush of rain, falling just outside her leafy shelter.

The sound of someone breathing, very nearby.

Her eyes snapped open unbidden. Every muscle tense, she saw-

Another woman, perhaps twenty years her senior, anonymous in a heavy cloak of thick grey fur. The stranger had shoulder-length hair of an indeterminate shade and appeared no more prepared than Fia herself.

“Shhh,” she said.

Fia, half a heartbeat from leaping to her feet, trembled with the effort of staying put. “Who are you?” she hissed.

“Just another traveler fleeing Leyndell ‘fore it gets any worse. I don’t want to be found any more than you do.” The traveler tilted her head. “So, please- let me rest here where it’s dry.”

“All right.” Fia lowered her head. She couldn’t stop the traveler, and making a fuss would just draw the sentinels down on them both. She was no longer a Deathbed Companion, to cloister herself away. Her home, her friends, her pride, all gone, with Marika’s fury to ensure she would never return.

“Hey,” came the soft voice. “Hey.”

Fia did not look up.

“Is there some way I can help you? I’ve got food, drink. Even a little sorcery.”

“What confidence you have,” Fia managed, in a choked voice.

“Well, I’ve been on the roads before.”

“Then, if you will - let me hold you, only for a moment.” The cadence of her training came back, easing the words. “Share your vigor with me, and I’ll ask for nothing more.”

The stranger smiled, quizzical. “Is that all you want? Well then, by all means.”

Fia uncurled, surreptitiously dabbing her face with a sleeve, and spread her arms.

There in the hollow of the golden-barked tree, she took a confident stranger into her arms. There, for the first time, she felt the rich force of another’s life flow into her body, given by that willing touch.

Even without the rituals, without the blessed perfumes or the embroidered baldachin to hide her from profane eyes, she was yet a Deathbed Companion. The raw loss of her church and title, even her Revered Mother, became just a little more bearable.

She was Fia, Deathbed Companion, and some day, she would bring the truth of Death home to the very gods.

The stranger sighed. “I’ll stay a moment longer.”

“Please,” said Fia, and began once more to don her veil.

*****

Character notes

Sarah: Revered Mother of the Deathbed Companions. Taught all of the current active Companions as well as Fia, the apprentice. ~60 years old.

Iris: eldest Deathbed Companion. ~38 years old. she/her

Shannon: active Deathbed Companion. ~34 years old. he/him

(I hope this doesn’t offend anyone; my hc is that Deathbed Companions are not restricted to women only)

Ciara: active Deathbed Companion. ~29 years old. No pronouns.

Fia: newly made Deathbed Companion. ~18 years old. she/her

Note: Fia may be a diminutive form of “Delphia,” meaning ‘womb’

@shadowsheik14

@mrslittletall

Fia was sitting in the fields of Leyndell, in the shelter of a hollow tree, waiting.

How long had it been since she had been forced to leave her homeland? How ironic it was, that she, a deathbed companion, whose whole existence was to lie with corpses to grant them a second chance at life, was chased away once her own corpse had stirred again, awakening still hugging the noble she had tried to revive back then.

A Tarnished she was now and therefore she had come to the Land's Between, in search of her purpose and soon she had found a purpose.

It could be said that the Land's Between were a broken land... and one of the things that were broken was the concept of death. That had led to a bunch of corpses reanimating, not as Tarnished, but simply known as “Those who live in Death”. Fia had been drawn to them, maybe because she always had laid with corpses and it was in her nature?

She didn't really know the reason, but she knew that she had to protect those beings that were neither alive nor dead... even though the ruling order of the Land's Between, the Golden Order, was very against their existence.

Fia had taken up residence at the Roundtable Hold then, the place at which Tarnished gathered. She had offered her services to the many champions that came along, starved for a gentle touch, and in return taken their vigor. At first she hadn't known who to revive with all this vigor that she had collected, but then she had met Rogier.

Sorcerer Rogier... a very sweet man... who had come to take her services quite often... and then he had talked to her, told her about things that he had found... below the castle of Stormveil...

It was how Fia figured out the origin of “Those who lived in Death”. Their origin, a prince whose soul had been killed but not his body, forever being trapped in a state that was neither alive nor dead...

Fia was sure of it, if she would lay with him, she could change the order of this world.

And thus, she was waiting. Before she could go down to the depths, to fulfil her purpose, she needed her champions once more... it would have been easier at the Roundtable Hold for sure, but she had killed that awful D, that had made it his life purpose to hunt and kill those that she protected... she wasn't able to stay there anymore.

However, her champions were finding her regardless... and soon she was hugging the last of them, taking their vigor. Once they left with the Baldachin's Blessing, she knew she was ready. All of the Tarnished who had her blessing... they would be able to be summoned for her trial, to make sure that the one she had her eyes on would find the child she was about to create.

Soon Fia was waiting again... but this time not for her champions. This time she was waiting for the one Tarnished. The special one. The one that had managed to collect not only one, but several great runes.

Her eyes were on the not yet living, not yet dead body of Godwyn the Golden as she waited. She had it with her, the cursemark of death that had been carved into him... but it was only half of it. A true death had been denied to him. She could only breathe new life in him if he would be fully dead... and for that she needed the help of the Tarnished.

They came, eventually, facing her champions. A variety of all of the ones that she had taken vigor from... even sweet Rogier was there... even though the deathroot eventually got to him, his phantom was still helping her out, that was how sincere he had been about helping her and “Those who live in Death.”

And after the Tarnished had bested her champions, proving to her that they were strong enough, she braced herself. For there was no guarantee that they would help her... If they would cling onto the teachings of the Golden Order, Fia would accept her death at their blade...

So she asked them a question. She directly provoked them, telling them that they intended to deny her and her children. Their answer, however, surprised her.

No, I want to be held.

So she held them and whispered to them, she told them about the hallowbrand, that there had to be the second half of it anywhere, somewhere... and they left and Fia was left waiting again.

It might have felt lonely for anyone but her. She was used to lying with the dead, the ones who didn't talk, didn't even know she was there. The solitude felt like a part of her, so it barely bothered her that she had to wait... even though she never knew if the Tarnished came back, but a part of her just knew that they would come back.

After all, in a Land as cruel as the Land's Between, which warrior didn't crave to be held?

And just as she had predicted, they came back, carrying the other half of the cursemark of death. She didn't know how they managed it, how they found something so small in a land so big, but she thanked them nonetheless. With one last hug. They were her true champion and she made sure that they would know about the child she was about to bear inheriting their warmth...

And so, Fia laid with Godwyn. After he was finally granted a proper death, she could use all the vigor and warmth that she had collected from the champions and raise him as the lord of the dead. After a good while, her child was born... the beautiful rune of death. Now the Tarnished only had to claim it... but Fia couldn't talk to them anymore. Laying with Godwyn had taken a lot out of her and she had to rest... only her dreams were telling her what was going on...

The Tarnished came indeed back, but before they could claim the rune, a dragon was in their way... ah, the Lichdragon Fortissax, an old companion of Godwyn... but of course the Tarnished managed to overcome this challenge and they could claim the rune.

Fia wished for them to become the Elden Lord, that they would make it possible for “Those who live in Death” to not be hunted anymore, so that they might find peace...

That was the last time Fia ever sensed the Tarnished... in fact, the last thing she managed to notice was a voice that she thought had been quieted by her... and this armour set and... the sword...

Fia was helpless against the revenge of this figure that looked like an exact copy of D. But it was fine... she had done her duty. The rune of death had been created. The Tarnished had taken it and would integrate it into the Elden Ring... She felt like she was ready to leave now...

Because what greater blessing could there be, but to be born a Deathbed Companion?

@palepious

@sputnstuff

INT-DARKROOT DEPTHS A stone coffin opens up near a white river surrounded by dark roots ancient ruins and an overbearing stench of death and decay that welcomes the Tarnished to this strange new land. Leaving the coffin, the wanderer stares in awe at the sight of a kingdom long forgotten, like something was built on top of it and it had no choice but to sink further into the underground.

Who were the people that used to inhabit these forgotten structures and how did they lived? Those were some among the many many questions that the Tarnish asked themselves as they crossed the ruins, went up a root path leading to a cliff and reaching a stone archway leading to a massive open area where the stench of death and decay is stronger than ever. The Tarnished at first hesitates in entering due to not only the smell of death, but also due to a much bigger factor: A massive deformed body, twisted and tangled up on dark roots catches the Tarnished’s eyes as they tremble at the sight of it. After taking quick breaths in an attempt to gather courage, they go in, still trembling at the sight in front of them and hand on their weapon’s hilt ready for whatever that comes next.

The Tarnished’s caution was well founded for within the open area, some spirits made their appearance and started to attack the lost knight, with one of them being a familiar face. It was Rogier, the sorcerer the tarnished met at Stormveil castle and who perished due to the deathblight he caught there. Despite the familiar face present in front, the Tarnished unsheathed their longsword and one by one, each spirit that was protecting the area, including Rogier himself, fell to the knight’s blade. Rogier didn’t seemed to have recognized the Tarnished, but they knew him and driving their longsword to the sorcerer’s chest left the Tarnished sad for a couple of seconds before returning their attention towards a new spirit that has emerged, one wearing a massive steel hat shaped helmet, a round chest piece and using a rapier as his weapon of choice. His weapon attacks were fiercer than any of the other spirits that were summoned to protect the area and the magic he used had the same feel as the area the fought, one of heath and decay concentrated within each bolt cast.

This was the tougher battle the Tarnished had to deal with, but after many back and forth, after lots of blows traded, the knight of the massive steel hat falls and the Tarnished comes out victorious, falling on their knees, gasping for air and breathing in the stench of death and decay that surround this large open area.

After catching their breath, the Tarnished stood up and walked towards the massive deformed figure, only to find a familiar face, one whose skin is as pale as a bone, whose dress is as black as the night sky, one whose stare is as fierce and cold as death itself. It was Fia, the tarnished who once resided in round table hold and who left of her own accord after the death of the knight D.

FIA: Ah...there you are. I knew you would come. What is it you intend? To deny us, and our ways? Like the dogmatic brutes of the Golden Order?

The Tarnished, who is visibly tired, walks towards the lady. Their arm is dragging their longsword down, too tired to wield it properly. Their feet drag through the ground, too tired to lift them. Then they fall on their knees and stare at Fia’s eyes. Their eyes, covered by their helmet, can’t hide the sadness and exhaustion they endured up until now.

TARNISHED: Fia, I have travelled far and beyond only to have stumbled upon this place. Never would I have thought to find you here of all places. Your missing presence was felt for too long, I wish to be with you, I wish to stay at your side forever.

Fia’s eyes widen in awe at the Tarnished’s words. It’s almost like they were asking her hand for marriage.

FIA: I am the guardian of Those Who Live In Death. Iam called a foul and rotten witch by many. Yet you…

Fia Is suddenly interrupted by the Tarnished grabbing her tightly around her as their head rests on her cold shoulder. The arms, unable to control their strength, wrap Fia with the strength of one who crossed a desert and found a source of water. The grip of the Tarnished’s fingers is felt as they grab her shoulders with the strength of someone who’s been starving for too long.

FIA (Subtly Surprised): You are an odd one indeed. But your warmth is just as comfortable as it was when I fist held you.

Saying that she wrapped her arms gently around the Tarnished. One hand behind their back and the other behind their head. The gentile hug of Fia is a massive contrast when compared to the Tarnished, more similar to a caring mother or a grieving widow, and just as honest as the Tarnished’s hug who starts trembling, as if they’re crying.

FIA: I don’t wish to ruin this lovely moment, but I have a request for you.

The Tarnished raises their head and looks at Fia’s eyes.

FIA: Many who live in death also live in fear of the Golden Order and its brutes. What I ask, I ask because you have more than earned your place as a champion of the unfortunate. Fia caresses the Tarnished’s helmet that covers its face.

FIA: Once you become Elden Lord, I ask you to replace the Golden Order, so that we who live in death can roam freely in these lands.

The Tarnished looks at the massive deformed figure above them and then at Fia, giving her a simple nod. Fia, satisfied with the answer, puts her other hand on the Tarnished’s head and approaches her head towards the Tarnished’s.

FIA: I will never forget this act of kindness, my lord. Lord Godwyn and I will forever be grateful for your kindness.

Saying that, Fia removes the Tarnished’s helmet and kisses them on their lips.

@patchesenthusiast

@dbzespio

The Kaiden sellsword heaved a breath, dragging his latest kill through the sand.

Something at the edge of his vision glittered, but he paid it no mind at all. He knew he needed to devote what little energy he had left towards trudging his way back to his meager camp, for his heavy boots still struggled slightly within the shifting sand. Every step forward was a wearisome challenge, despite his eagerness to return and quell his still-growling stomach. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the emptiness within his gut, he surely wouldn’t have even found the motivation to leave his little campsite in the first place. Not that it truly provided him much shelter at all; he hadn’t even a spare blanket to his name. But at the very least it was out of sight from those monstrous crabs...

Pausing only briefly to catch his breath, he set his tiny bonfire alight using one of the firebombs he had tucked away for safekeeping and promptly tossed his lunch over the flame. The man glanced up towards the sun with a grimace; ‘twas only noon, and here, he had eaten a second breakfast mere hours ago. Stifling a sigh, he collapsed to a seat beside the fire, his eyes only barely open enough to watch his crab cook.

He ran a hand over his heart.

Ever since receiving that Baldachin’s blessing…

He grew ever more hungry and weary by the day. Would it ever end?

But still… he frowned, considering.

No, it was all worth it.

For Fia, he would bear it. Would do anything.

It was odd, though.

Admittedly, he had never felt such for anyone... aside from his sweet wife, in the short years they had spent together. Her life had been taken by wolves, back when their homeland had first become ravaged by ever-worsening conditions. Even he, hale as he was, was eventually forced to flee, with the soil unable to sustain him and the creatures of the wilds growing yet deadlier as time passed.

He felt no love for Fia, certainly not like that which he had held for his dear wife, but he could not deny that there was something there. Something he couldn’t quite describe, but rather, felt, deep within his very soul.

She made him feel… Even now… his soul felt... alight.

Fia. And it was all because of Fia.

He rose uncertainly, kicking sand over his fire. His lunch was not quite finished, but such trivial things could certainly wait.

Yes, he truly wasn’t quite so hungry now, and, yes... he needed to see her.

His steps light, he rushed along the shoreline, and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized all the terrible creatures were gone; the beach was laid bare for him. For them.

But such things truly didn’t matter. At the end of the day, it was all because of her. Fia.

He soon reached a little grotto, a place he would never have noticed, were it not for her and her subtle guidance, reaching out to him, as if he were within a dream.

“Fia…?” he called, his voice uncertain, and quiet, so as not to disturb the inherent peace of the place. He could practically smell the incoming rain in the air, but the heavy clouds still allowed for a tender light to spill through. For the delicate foliage in her hair nearly appeared to be shining, or perhaps... ‘twas merely his fondness for her shining through instead.

She was seated just within the mouth of the cavern, and he could see her face, pale and bright within the fading light. That was when he realized: he had never before seen her face. She was always shrouded, her features hidden away beneath her cloak. And now he knew for certain: she was even more beautiful then he had ever imagined possible.

“Fia…” he whispered and abruptly noticed tears upon his cheeks.

Wordlessly, she held out her arms to him, her expression unchanging from a gentle smile. She already knew; how he felt, how they fit together, in that certain way only they could.

He felt himself collapse to his knees before her, tears still streaming from his eyes. “Fia…”

She guided him into a loose embrace, and he felt himself collapse upon her more so than return the gesture. A sob caught his throat. “Fia…”

“Thank you, my dear…” she whispered, turning her gaze towards the sea.

For soon he would be waiting for her... among the waves

@fateoftheundead

#nice

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