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huntinghornenjoyer · 3 months

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Further Elaboration upon the Four

so recently, someone gave a damn near poetic response to my post asking if I should speak of my boys, and so I shall answer some of the questions about them that weren't super elaborated on in the original two posts.

Lysandre tends to wear the Elite Knight armor, due to his trying to pass himself off as an Astoran knight. He still uses his knife, but also has the Rapier of the Undead Prince Ricard in order to keep appearances. Patches would tell you the man was a schemer- a dishonest and opportunistic creature. Let not his words deceive you, for he still becomes cross with those who would agree. Lysandre cared a great deal for Rhea of Thorolund- to the point of murdering Petrus for what he did- and mourned her loss to the paledrake as though she were his whole world. Given how he learned all the miracles she knew despite having no aptitude for them, perhaps she was.

Mardus wore the armor of the Darkwraiths, as well as the Warlock's helm. Their darker nature appealed to him, made him feel more adept in his practices. Despite his inclination to darker magics, he held Lucatiel and Lenigrast close to his heart, as dear friends. Possibly more, in the Knightess' case, although he doesn't talk about it much. He was a boisterous man, even before his learning of Hexes, and was not very humble, even by the standards of sorcerers. After Lucatiel's death, however, he became much more subdued. It is said that in his travels after abandoning the Throne of Want, he wears the armor of a traveling Mirran knight and carries an odd mask with him. Despite clearly being a Gentleman's dueling mask, he says it belonged to someone named Lucatiel, imploring all who hear such things to remember her name.

Genguchi, being unabashedly blind in his faith in the ways of old. wears the gauntlets of the famed Dragonslayer Ornstein. His chestplate having belonged to the Holy Knight Hodrick, his greaves those of the great Paladin Alva. The only thing not belonging to a great holy warrior is his helmet, that of an unremarkable knight. His shield is not unlike those you would find in the sunless realms, and his sword one that despite appearances, carries a great deal of holy power. He cares greatly for all who he has met, but demonstrates a particular fondness for any who were once prisoners, namely the Witch Karla, the saintess Irina, and the thief Greirat.

Argus, for the most part, retains his loyalties and attitudes from the time before Tarnished were even a concept. His admiration for Radahn is seen in the fact that he wears the Demigod's Armor, or at least a very finely made replica. His respect for Godfrey is seen in the fact that every so often, one can find portraits of the former Elden Lord on the moonlit plateau, painted by a shaky hand and steadily getting closer and closer to the true likeness of the First Tarnished. Once in a while, those who dare to explore the Haligtree find bouquets of flowers in a secluded spot, near a body that seems to have been there for a relatively short amount of time. Letters of apology are always there, too, addressed from someone named "A" to the woman, calling her "The Daughter he Never had". And sometimes, at stormveil castle, cold gusts of wind will work their way to the throne room, reminding the Lady of the Castle of a great Warrior and the conquests in which they shared.

I'll talk more about them later as well, obviously, but this is like a part one of the extended lore

#dark souls #dark souls 2 #dark souls 3 #darksouls2 #dark souls 1 #ds2 #elden ring #pvp #lucatiel of mirrah #nepheli loux #millicent #godfrey the first elden lord #starscourge radahn #rhea of thorolund #lenigrast

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tarnishedinquirer · 1 month

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Stormveil Castle Chapel

At this point my only options were to press forward into the gauntlet, or go to the bridge. Neither one seemed productive, so I returned to the tower and exited out the main door.

A bunch of Stormhawks sitting on explosive barrels. So that's how it's gonna be then.

Once I'd dealt with them (with only minor burns for my troubles), I went down the stairs to discover the walkway terminated at a roof. That's a bit strange, I thought. Clearly, there were different architectural plans at work. Which one came first though?

I continued across the roof, into a round tower, out onto another roof, and it was about then I recognized this architecture as a church. It was in much better condition than any other church I've seen so far, which could be chalked up to either novelty or frequent use.

I dropped down through a window and saw Sorcerer Rogier waiting for me near the altar. Well, I'm flattered, but we barely know each other.

We talked for a bit and he asked why I came here. I told him I was here for Godrick's Great Rune, and he extrapolated from that that I must still be able to see the Guidance of Grace. Impressive. Definitely a good head on his shoulders. He can't see it anymore, but offered me his help in the form of combat arts, including a way to throw glintstone pebbles from my sword and a couple Carian sorceries. One for use by "Carian princesses." Of course, I bought that one.

Rogier had this to say:

The battle art you've learned is of the glintstone family. They were conceived at the great Academy of Raya Lucaria, to the north of this castle. In the past, they obeyed laws which contravened the Golden Order, or so I'm told. Fascinating, isn't it? That the Golden Order was pliable enough to absorb practices that contradicted itself in the past. With the Order broken, twisted, and in need of repair, such adaptability is more important now than ever.

A similar sentiment echoed by Kenneth Haight. I wonder if the loss of this flexibility coincided with the rise of Golden Order Fundamentalism? After all, if all truth is to be found in the Golden Order, then everything outside that order must be a lie. Was it the Shattering that gave rise to such a rigid orthodoxy, or was it already on the ascent beforehand? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Before leaving, I took a look at the statues on the altar. Elsewhere, I've only seen representations of Marika or Godfrey. So who's this? Three bald androgynous figures, one of them surrounded by sprouting plants, the others just holding branches.

Reminded me of representations from a heretical religion back home, the Carpenters. The Carpenter's Father was often depicted with a branching staff, sometimes with some dejected male figures with regular staves. The story is, he was selected to wed the Carpenter's Mother through a ritual. Seeds were planted in men's staffs, and the first to flower would be chosen. One man's staff immediately burst into white lilies (Note: St. Trina??), and he became the father of their god.

I mean, yeah, a staff bursting into seed is the traditional way a man becomes a father, but religious types rarely find the humor in pointing that out.

Regardless, there are clear parallels. The two on the sides look downcast, while the one in the center is consumed in ecstasy as hers explodes in blossoms. It was clearly a selection ceremony of some kind, but what for?

I bid Rogier good day and left the chapel, but it was only on my way out that I realized he hadn't told me why he was here.

What was the selection ceremony for?

Who was depicted as the winner?

Why does this chapel alone reflect this ceremony?

Is this the remnant of some older religion, or a more recent heresy?

What is Rogier searching for in the castle?

What is his relationship with the Carians?

#elden ring #elden ring lore #in character #in character blog #in character post #let's play #rogier #carians #raya lucaria #stormveil #st trina #bald statues elden ring

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mx-lamour · 3 months

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24 - Unseen

From the personal journal of Sir Godfrey Gwilym:

I will attempt to keep a record, lest the memories fall away from me again. I know not where they go when they are absent. I know only that I feel the unseen thread of their existence, even though I cannot follow its path. I am lost in the woods.

I was standing at the edge of Argynvostholt—so quickly it has gone to ruin—I know not for how long. My legs no longer feel the pains of stiffness or fatigue. They simply exist, and carry me where they will. So there I was, at the edge of Argynvostholt, standing sentry, staring out across the misty landscape, when a lone man walked boldly down the road and toward me.

I thought very little of his presence. I thought very little at all. I thought only that I was waiting for something, or perhaps someone, but this man was not for whom I waited. And so I stood, within an evening breeze which touched my bones, and continued there to wait.

I watched the man as he approached. I had the vague sense that this was unusual. People no longer came or went from here. Ravens flew overhead, but even those were seldom seen—or perhaps I only took no notice. What else had I missed? The fields were pastel yellow-green.

The man approached, and finally he reached me. He looked at me much harder than I looked at him.

“Godfrey?”

Was that who I was? Yes. I began to remember.

My face was resistant to expression, like my limbs had been when… when buried in the earth. Tangled with... I heard the clash of metal ringing faintly in my ears. But slowly it faded, and some other glimmer in the distance filtered through the veil upon my mind.

“Alek.”

A relative. A friend? My cousin. Our fathers were brothers. We played together in the afternoon sun, far, far from this place.

“Yes!” he said, brightening. His face was too pale. “It's been a long time! I suppose I won't ask how you're doing…” He meant it humorously, I thought. He had been an energetic boy.

“I am…” I could not remember. What was the feeling?

“I heard that you’d gone off to be a knight somewhere,” said the cousin. A pearly sense of wonder floated through the fog. Yes. A knight.

“Yes. A knight.” My voice scratched the air. “The Order…”

“Order of the Silver Dragon,” he said, glancing at the fortress behind me. His mustache twitched. “So this was where you ended up.”

A new feeling grasped me by the throat. A stronger thread of my existence tugged, but still I could not see its source. “My…” I stammered, a sense of dread arresting all my joints. Remember. “My lo…”

“Your lord?”

“My love!” It shattered me. “He was here.”

I forgot the presence of the man in front of me. I clawed through the wreckage of my ruined mind for scraps of what had been. Where was he now, this love of mine? I would not—could not—leave him behind. I am needed. I cannot find him. The dirt in my throat and my eyes and in the space behind my nose. Cold limbs pressed against my face. I could not breathe. Would not ever breathe again, but still I persisted. O… An oath.

A hand on my shoulder. “Godfrey.” Gone. They were all gone. This man was gone, to look at him. Just as dead as I was, more or less. His eyes, like a frosted pond, with shadows underneath.

“Sir Godfrey,” I said, clinging to something I had found again.

Alek laughed gently. “If you insist. I won't make you call me Captain or anything. Not now,” he added to himself.

Now. The charge. The rush of battle. There! There he was. His armor and his sword. His hand, covered by a gauntlet, but underneath it I remembered. I remembered the soft protrusion of a vein around his knuckle. His skin, I knew. The adrenaline of movement. The sweat on his brow, older now, the hairline carefully receding. All the more room to plant kisses. And still—and still—his face was lost to me. I could not remember that.

I grabbed ahold of Alek's arm. His words were seeping into me, swatting at the mist inside my mind. I needed more of them. Return my thoughts to me, my kin. “Tell me what happened.” He was there.

“I was there,” Alek solemnly agreed. “When I left home, before you, all I wanted was adventure. I would see the world.” Yes. The swords we gripped in children’s hands were wooden. They clacked together harmlessly in play. Alek—small fists on narrow hips, victorious grin—helped me back onto my feet.

“I met a man,” he continued. Had he said something in-between? A man—a man. Who was he?

“His name was Strahd.” No, that wasn’t it. That wasn’t right. It was…

“It was just a job, at first.” It was never. I became a knight because I’d dreamt it for myself. I wanted to protect all that was enchanting. What better master to serve than benevolent Argynvost? Even before I knew he was a shimmering silver dragon, a paradigm of myth and legend.

“He can be severe, but his convictions are founded.” When I met him, he was frowning, but I saw Fate smiling down on me. His lips… Gods, but he was beautiful, Argynvost’s commanding officer. I could wait forever if he would only glance my way. Turn around, my love. Turn your face to me and let me see it. I would know you once again. How could I forget?

“I don’t regret our mission,” Alek said. Nor do I, I thought. It was only unfortunate that our feet had carried us along opposing roads, our wooden playthings traded for sharp implements of war.

“It would seem you got the short end of the stick.”

I nearly thought my mind had fled my grasp—horror, when so much had since returned—but I found instead that it was reeling. Everything my cousin told me was a reflection of myself. His dour lord, his sacred mission, the deep abiding loyalty of love. He didn’t say as much, but it was written in his piercing gaze. Alek, do you truly know what you were fighting for? Were you too proud? Afraid? Or were you deaf to your own heart?

“Did I?” I replied. Where was Alek’s dark beloved now? Why was he out here, wandering the valley all alone, with shadows in his face where light should be?

I don’t know why my cousin walks this land, but I remember now why I am here. I felt the pull of that strong thread—the one which bound our hands together, when my love and I were wed. Not even death would part us. I felt his soul retreating from the resting world and knew that I must follow. Wherever he would go, he would not go alone. I dug myself out of the massive pit of weathered earth and fallen fellows. Some of them grabbed onto me and we crawled out of the mud together, to follow Vladimir back home.

“Thank you, cousin. For reminding me of myself.” I pulled him into an embrace. My shoulder crackled with the force of it. “I wish you all the best in your journey, but there is something that I must attend.”

I raced back to the fort, its crumbling stonework a welcome sight despite its disrepair. It was familiar, at last, not by rote but conscious memory. My Vladimir would be inside the place, I knew.

“Vladimir!” I called out, finding more of my own voice within my battered throat. My heels might have sprouted wings for the way I bounded up the stairs with such bright ease.

I followed that invisible line between our souls until I came upon a door. I grasped the handle, and the moths that might have been inside my ribs fluttered with anticipation. The door swung open, and there he was, seated on a high-backed chair, head resting on his hand.

“Vladimir.” I spoke his name with such relief.

Vladimir looked up. His neck cracked as he moved. “What?” he snapped. The glow within his undead eyes was dim and lackluster. It was then I noticed all the dust piled on his shoulders. Swaths of spider silk clung to his arms and legs, almost tethering him down. He had not moved in years… Perhaps decades. I did not know how long we had been lost.

He did not remember me.

“In all things, a silver lining,” I said gently.

Vladimir sneered in response. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Close the door.”

I pulled it shut by his request, and patted the old wood. There was little I could do for him, if he was in this state.

But all is not lost. This, I know. I remember days when he was tender—knights like us cannot exist without the desire to be kind, however deeply buried. I remember the sweet tears that glistened when he pledged himself to me, as I had done for him. To share in one another’s pain, and seek to protect each other from it, and ease each other of its searing bite.

Not to worry, my love. I will find a way.

* * *

[Ao3 Collection]

[prompt list by @syrips]

Update! It has been brought to my attention that "Vovochka" is generally only used for children or in jest. "Vova" is a more suitable nickname for Vladimir as an adult. (But this in particular is a bit on the awkward side to my English-speaking brain.) Anyway, I have updated the story, and I hope you enjoy this wonderful little nugget of information! ♡

"Vovochka" pet name inspired by this post.

(I'm a sucker for Russian diminutive suffixes.)

#vampentine's 2024 #godfrey gwilym #alek gwilym #godfrey pov #alek's journey #loss and recovery #revenants #argynvostholt #curse of strahd #silver lining #love will find a way #love all gwilyms #lamour dms cos

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pillowenvelopchair · 6 months

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A quick long-winded analysis on Magdalene's character design

Hi again!! this is me being insane again lol. The character I'm doing an analysis is Magdalene, who is the Tarnished from Still Waters Run Deep that's made by @un-local (hi again... erm... ignore me being crazy about your fic again... for who knows how many times at this point)

This was supposed to be a short analysis but it quickly grew wayyyy out of hand (as all my rambles tend to do, this one just happens to be a bit more coherent... maybe... I hope so at least.)

Magdalene's Character design and my read on it

Character design can be broken down into two groups: Functionality vs Fantasy (see this video by Proko and Knight Zhang, it’s explained wonderfully). And funnily enough, Magdalene and Rogier just happen to be on opposite sides of each other!

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Magdalene, at the start, is someone who is aimless and refuses to follow Grace no matter what. And because of that, she’s covered head to toe with dull neutral colors, and it even reaches her scimitar and shield. The clothing she wears is all practical, there's a reason for why it is all there.

She fits within the world of Elden Ring seamlessly and blends right in with the rest of the cast of characters we meet during the game. She's just as worn down by the world as most of the NPCs and it shows (those killer eyebags).

Her design doesn’t have any ornate patterns on it. The most pattern-y thing I can think of is her top, but even then it’s a simple design. There isn’t any of that fancy schmancy stuff Rogier has adorned all over his clothes (this guy’s garb…goodness gracious).

Because of her practicality + her colors, it doesn’t let her stand out from any of the other NPCs in the game. She blends in and it makes her almost invisible. Like she’s nothing of note.

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(I was supposed to draw something but noooo my motivation didn't allow for it to be fully rendered. It's still stuck in its sketch... So here's Magdalene edited onto the armor itself instead lol)

Her clothes and even her shield and sword are all strictly neutral colors (minus that little colored thing that's attached to the sash on her top... not too sure what that is exactly). Her clothes are all washed-out browns, and even the patterns on her top are also neutral colors. Her scale armor is silver and her gauntlets are all silver too. Hell- even her shield's all neutral colors too.

Her colors are almost a reflection of nature, albeit an almost dulled-out version of it. Soil, for growth, and wood for strength, are all that Magdalene embodies and displays (with anxiety added for flavor lol). It almost feels weakened.

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While other NPCs have other colors in their design (such as Millicent or Sellen), they sort of show what faction they belong to. But Magdalene? Her colors reflect how she doesn’t quite believe in anything these lands have to offer. She’s not keen on believing in the Order’s fundamentals, in fact, she’s quite skeptical of it all.

It does, however, show how she is aimless within this big world. With no one to really guide her in this dangerous world she just kind of wanders, avoiding where Grace points.

Interestingly enough, she actually gains color once she kind of sides with Rogier.

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Rogier's Rapier

When Rogier gives Magdalene his rapier she gets her first vibrant hue. She was given a purpose, and hope for once after coming to the lands between.

Red and gold are what she was given.

That red gem in the middle could mean blood, vigor, passion, and even life. It's the core of the Order, literally. Marika had ordered Godfrey to wage war so the Order spread. He had vigor, took the lives of many all in the name of the Order, and was forsaken by it.

Passion is what made the Order what it is today and what is needed to be able to fix its faults.

And what sprouts from the red gem? Gold branches that intertwine with each other. Fluid, curved, a show of adaptability. It's almost like a representation of the Erdtree, how it was able to adapt magic into its Order. It is what the Order was before and what it needs to be now.

When Rogier gives his Rapier to Magdalene her vigor is renewed. She finally has a new hope, a new purpose that she truly believes in. A new goal to give it her all, an escape from a destiny she had never asked for.

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Squares, people, SQUARES!

I noticed that her design has a lot of squares too.

Her top has a boxy shape (the patterns too), and her shield even has squares as a pattern. Even her bangs are square-ish too! It gives it a sort of coherency and a bit of a whisper of her general character.

Squares are traditionally used to show a character that is strong, reliable, and stubborn. They are usually straightforward and have that sort of stability that triangles and circles don't really have.

However, they aren't as flexible as a circle or as cunning as a triangle would be, and blah blah blah you get the gist.

Magdalene perfectly embodies those square characteristics. She is strong, sturdy as an ox, and reliable as hell. But at the same time, she doesn’t quite have that roundness Rogier has. That sort of adaptability he has.

She doesn't really know what's really happening in these lands and (probably) doesn't want to figure out all those fine details that don't really mean much to her (that's Rogier's job).

She may be strong in her beliefs but she doesn’t quite know what to believe in (yet).

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Also... her scavenged Banished Knight's Shield...

A tall medium-sized metal shield. Given to knights who, whether by misfortune or misdeed, were forced to abandon their homes. Most of these knights were sent to the fringes, where they were forced to start anew with only despair for company.

I just think that this is a neat little thing that I found out about while I was looking for anything that had any relevance to Mag's character. :0)

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A quick comparison to Rogier:

Rogier is a very ambitious and driven man (see my last ramble on my thoughts about him– oh and you bet I had so so much to talk about lol). He has all the vibrancy and he really stands out compared to everyone in the Roundtable hold.

Most NPCs kind of look like Magdalene, with their regards of color. They're usually covered with neutral/dulled-out colors but with a splash of hue that shows their purpose/backstory.

But Rogier uses a bunch of colors and he is covered by it, head to toe. Like... look at him!

Another character I can think of who’s also covered head to toe with another color is D with his armor (which is one of the most impractical armor I’ve ever seen. Why are you wearing that D). This gives us an… interesting show of his backstory and his beliefs (I talked a bit about Rogier's colors and how they related to his beliefs over on HERE it's at the very bottom of the whole ramble lol)

But compared to Magdalene? Well, if Rogier's covered by vibrancy, vigor, and life, then she is covered by dullness. Lifeless and purposeless.

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Magdalene's scar:

Her scar is what you notice first about her (or at least it was for me) and it lets her stand out from her invisibility. And since it's on one of her eyes it really makes you focus on it. It shows us that there is a story behind it, how she had a life before coming to the Lands Between.

She was able to survive WOLVES, you guys. WOLVES. A PACK OF THEM. WOLVES.

Even though it's "a very painful acquisition" (Ch. 4) it shows that she was able to survive despite it. It is a show of stubbornness, strength, and vulnerability all in one. You can even consider it a 3-in-1 shampoo if you so desire...

Though, despite all her strength, it does show that she's still human. She's able to be cut, bleed, and scarred like one.

Also, it totally gives her intimidation points too lol. With those eye bags and a nasty scar hoooo boy.

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Anyway, that's it for the ramble!! I hope you guys enjoyed my insanity lol. I had so much fun trying to pry out some stuff from Magdalene's design andI believe that the choices made for her design were purposeful to be able to tell her character :0)

This is probably just me reading too much into it and seeing things I'm imagining, but I still hope I was able to give some more insight into her character

Feel free to add in stuff you've noticed if you want too! This is just what I've noticed

an extra thing but this is totally her lol:

have a good week everyone!!! I'll be going back to drawing hell.

#hi again un-local... im going crazy over mags again... i swear im a normal not insane person who does normal things in her free time #this is the product of a shower thought that has quickly spiraled into insanity #I probably missed some stuff but oh well #for rogier's shape language he's like... kind of a mix of all three #triangle = deception | squares = stubbornness | circles = adaptability and yada yada yada #<- maybe i can make this into another post #mags ended up more pikachu looking lol #i'll add in some stuff in the morning as i usually do #this will proooobably be my last ramble for a while at least #I've been feeling that sweet sweet burnout (send help)#elden ring #magdalene #swrd #envelope rambles

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landoftheway · 1 year

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Doing my first playthrough of FE: 3 Hopes now that I finished Elden Ring, and I realized my brain was even bigger than I thought for basing my Tarnished on Edelgard:

I initially made that decision to create both a parallel and a contrast to Ranni since that was far and away my favorite ending and she’s my favorite Elden Ring character. Both Ranni and Edelgard are bisexual women obsessed with overthrowing the status quo for the sake of a better future even if it means committing evils in the present. However whereas Ranni is associated with ice, magic, and a blue and white color scheme, my Tarnished by the end of the game becomes associated with fire, strength, and a red and gold color scheme. Ranni tends to take an indirect path to her goals; plotting from the shadows, acting through multiple agents, and perfectly willing to deceive if necessary. My Tarnished instead always takes a direct path to her objectives, relying first and foremost on her own strength (with the very occasional ally when the opportunity presents itself), and is honest to a fault. I’d like to think within the more unstated aspects of Elden Ring’s narrative that the two wind up drawn together because of both their similar goals and all of the above differences.

However, I realized that this basis for my character actually worked diagetically in more ways than I’d initially realized. I used the Hero class to build my Tarnished since it’s what was the most optimal to get the final stat spread I needed, but it actually makes a lot of sense for my character along with her Aristocrat descendance. Like Edelgard my Tarnished is from a noble family who experienced a trauma in their relative youth (exile from the lands between in the Tarnished’s case) which would go on to shape their desire to seek power to overthrow the status quo that caused that trauma in the first place. Given that the Hero class is described as “a stalwart Hero, at home with a battleaxe, descended from a badlands chieftain”, if we treat that descendance as being more metaphorical in this case I’d like to think my Tarnished after their exile specifically chose to emulate Hoarah Loux. His leadership of the other Tarnished, overwhelming power, and belief in the right of those who’ve obtained power to rule would definitely appeal to my Tarnished, and would thus explain why they show up in the Lands Between in badlands attire and wielding an axe (she’d also probably look up to Nepheli Loux for much of the early game after meeting her for similar reasons).

The way my Tarnished would develop as I pursued my final build also works diagetically. She starts with a crude battle axe whose associated Ash of War is Wild Strikes, reflecting her likewise crude imitation of the person she’s chosen to emulate to grow stronger. As she gets stronger she switches to using a greataxe with the Ash of War Lion’s Claw along with a hodgepodge of more weighty armor, showing her improvements in both strength and skill as well as her pursuit of an identity and strength distinct from just emulating Hoarah Loux. By the time she’s fought through Leyndell and decided to burn the Erdtree with Melina, my Tarnished has at last settled on the Gargoyle’s Halberd with the Ash of War Flaming Strike; the slight change in style of weapon reflects her settling on her own fully distinct style of combat and way of life, the fire ability is a parallel to her now directly blasphemous actions against the Golden Order while still tying into her core belief in personal strength (and also creates a parallel with how Edelgard is able to imbue her axe with fire in 3 Hopes), and her final armor set is a mix of different once-noble warriors (Leyndell Knight Greaves, Cleanrot Knight Gauntlets, Radahn’s Lion Armor, and a Great Horned Headband) sharing a motif of gold accented by red (again, tying back to burning the Erdtree and the creation of something truly new from the old).

All of this of course culminates in the fight with Godfrey. Like him my Tarnished is fighting for the sake of her god-queen to put the old order of the world to bed, but quite clearly the Age of Stars she’s fighting for is fundamentally distinct than anything Godfrey would make with Marika at his side once more. And more directly apparent, by this point my Tarnished has surpassed him in martial ability with an axe-like weapon to the extent that he has to stop acting as a lord at all and revert back to fighting as the real Hoarah Loux (who I’d presume my Tarnished never saw given the presence of Serosh during Godfrey/Hoarah’s time leading the Long March of the Tarnished). So by the end my Tarnished has surpassed both the figure she idolized and who he truly was by finding her own identity and strength.

#i honestly don't usually put this much thought into designing video game OCs #but once i realized all these parallels were there i couldn't stop thinking about them #elden ring

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fellomenking · 2 years

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[vaeltan-louxser]

"You-" he said, pointing a gauntleted finger at the Omen- "are worthy of respect as a warrior, a defender, a leader, and as a person. You, not any veiled illusion of you that those Leyndellian nobles project their imaginations onto, but you, horns and all.

And anyone who shares the blood of Godfrey ought to be damn proud to count you among their kin!"

He then holds up a slightly steaming satchel.

"Also, you looked hungry, so I brought you some boiled crab to lift the spirits."

TELL MY MUSE SOMETHING THEY NEED TO HEAR.

The omen looked down upon the satchel with a seemingly unchanging expression.

The omen's tail came to a rest.

"... There... Is no need."

Though he would not deny that the crab smelled good...

#meme: something they need to hear #vaeltanlouxser

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lordless-not-maidenless · 2 years

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Lordless: Butting Heads

(this took a while to get done, but I hope you enjoy!)

He was in the far-left corner of the room he had dedicated to late-night work when the sound of someone barging into his chambers had Morgott reaching for his cane and froze at the sight of Boros with Fenris carried in his arms.

The crucible knight hurried in and strode over to the pile of blankets and furs Morgott used as bedding. He gently placed the whimpering Hound down on the nest of bedding and stepped away as the omen walked over to inspect the situation.

Morgott took in the way Fenris was curled up in pain, thin golden chains of hardlight wrapped around her limbs and neck. Her gauntlets and weapons missing were something that worried him. He knelt and reached out to touch one of the golden links wrapped around an arm.

And recoiled at the heat the binding gave off, a voice ringing in his ears.

“Stand before the Elden Ring. And become the Elden Lord.”

He would know that voice anywhere. The firm tone of The Eternal Queen, his own mother, was not something he would ever forget. He frowned at the implications and looked at Boros. “What happened?”

“She just appeared at the outpost like this,” Boros explained. “Her maiden suggested that her oath to you was too weak to fight it off.”

“And what are thine thoughts on this?” Morgott asked.

“She’s cursed by something, no idea what, she was in Stormveil Castle last I checked—”

Morgott growled. “And why didst thou send her there? I ordered thee to keep her and any other tarnished away from the castle.”

Boros scoffed. “Godrick still has the mimic veil. My thinking was that you’d appreciate having it back. The poor girl was working herself into a tizzy, doubting if you even want her around…”

“Then thou should have brought it to my attention—”

“I did, but you never listen.” Boros pointed out bluntly. He crossed his arms and looked down at Fenris. “…Got any idea what this is?”

Morgott had a rather good idea what it was that was the cause of this, loathe he was to admit it. Wolfborn were tamed by The Golden Order during Marika’s rule with such an incantation. Though the texts painted the spell as a necessity to curb their beastly instincts, Morgott looked down at the bloodhound knight curled up on his bed and knew that was not the case.

He remembered her distress when he fought her originally, when he had first rejected her offer of servitude, how she clearly indicated she wanted nothing to do with the sole reason she had been granted grace to begin with.

Yet wolfborn were resilient, Bloodhound Knights even stronger from what was known about them. If Fenris was ever spurred on by the same ambition that many other tarnished had, Morgott doubted that even he could fend her off for long.

Boros was still waiting for answer. And Morgott sighed.

“I believe this a result of my mother’s scheming…” Morgott admitted. “Fenris can see grace?”

“Same as me, yes,” Boros replied. “Wait…is this because of the guidance of grace?”

Morgott nodded gravely and sighed in resignation as Boros began swearing up a storm.

“Mind thy tongue Sir Boros.” He said on reflex.

“But—look at her!” Boros exclaimed. “That ain’t right!”

Morgott bristled, he had tolerated Boros’ heresy, his use of fire incantations on the field of battle, because of the man’s unshakable trust in him despite being an omen. Because of the care and consideration born from Boros seeing Morgott not as an omen, but as Godfrey’s son.

As a friend.

A strained whine came from Fenris and Morgott looked down at the chains once more. They would torment her, plague her until she finally obeyed their encoded orders. And since he held a Great Rune, Fenris would be forced to turn against him.

The fact that she had lasted this long so close to him spoke volumes to the strength of her will. The lengths she would go to uphold her oath to him.

The healing incantation came to mind before he could stop himself. He placed a hand on Fenris’ side, golden light imbued with the intent to soothe, to heal, rolled out over her in waves from the point of contact and Morgott saw the tension in her body relax.

Yet the chains remained.

“…Do not start,” Morgott snapped at Boros. “This will take time to unravel.”

“Grace isn’t supposed to act like this,” Boros commented. “Something isn’t right about any of this.”

“…Tis another of mother’s machinations,” Morgott admitted. “Fenris is the first wolfborn to walk these lands in eons, t’would make sense for mother to use the strength of the wolf’s blood.”

“So you agree with this?” Boros replied accusingly.

“I said no such thing,” Morgott growled back as he poured more power into the healing spell. “Merely that with the tarnished clearly failing to secure the throne, Fenris was chosen, a being that could be bent to her will by the guidance of grace.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it...” Boros stated strongly. “Why do this when you’re right here doing everything you can to protect her?”

“Thou knowest why,” Morgott gave Boros a stern look, he didn’t have the time, nor energy to argue. “All we can do is wait for father to return.”

Boros muttered another obscenity, clearly directed at Queen Marika.

“Wilst thou cease with thy foul language…Tis unbefitting of a knight.”

“Everything is falling apart, you’re the only one with enough sense to do anything about it but continue to let things go to shit because you care more about the damn tree than your own people!” Boros shot back.

His focus on the spell wavered, the incantation flickered out. The accusation stung, but he knew, deep down he knew Boros was right.

But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Get out…”

Boros, tight-lipped, turned on his heal and marched out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Morgott felt drained. It wasn’t the first time the two of them had argued due to their differing opinions. But to have things so strained between them was starting to take its toll on him.

The slight shifting of Fenris’ armour had looking down to see she seemed to be regaining her senses and trying to sit up.

“Stay still, Knight Fenris,” he instructed. “Thou hath been through an ordeal that will take time to recover from.”

That only spurred her to continue, Morgott stood and stepped back to give her room since it was clear she would not be content to just lay about.

Her helmet was pulled off with a gloved hand and dropped beside her as Fenris reached into the pouch attached to the belts around her waist and pulled out a healing flask.

“That will do ye little good,” Morgott warned again as Fenris downed the flask’s contents. “What ails thee is not cured by healing draughts and spells alone.”

She turned to him as she put her flask away. Her grey hair, reminiscent of the very wolves she hailed from, was scruffy, reached went down her neck, and tucked behind her ears. Large yellow eyes, the left unfocused—blind he noted, looked up at him in confusion.

He gestured at the chains still wrapped around her. “Thine bindings, do they not burn?”

She shrugged. She didn’t seem particularly concerned now that the pain seemed to have receded.

Morgott walked over to his desk where he was working before Fenris had been brought to him, opened a drawer to grab one of many empty notebooks, and returned to Fenris to give her the tome to write in.

She perked up at the offer and pulled out a wooden box from her pouch. Within was all manner of writing implements, from the largest, and likely enchanted crow’s feather Morgott had seen, to calligraphy equipment more common in The Land of Reeds, to even metal implements to carve into stone or clay.

His guess on the quill was proven correct as Fenris grabbed it and flipped the notebook open to an empty page to write without the need for an inkwell, the book tilted towards him. He was once again impressed with her dedication as she her writing remained neat even with the speed at which she wrote.

They burn, but whatever you have done has eased the pain considerably.

She bowed her head towards him in thanks.

He nodded in respect, her gratitude, though expected, was something he was unused to. He focused on the golden links wrapped around her arms. “T’was only a healing incantation…”

A voiceless scoff met his ears, followed by the sound of her scribbling away in the book.

The book was gently placed within his sight once Fenris was done.

It was enough to regain my senses. I admit I have been plagued by the pull of this thing since I awoke.

“So, thou hath some inkling as to the curse that now binds thee?” Morgott asked and took a seat by the edge of his nest. It would not do to have these chains continue to be a threat, lest they turn Fenris into one of the many emboldened fools he sought to keep away from The Erdtree.

He had grown somewhat fond of the bloodhound knight over the short time she had been put to work scavenging the Limgrave countryside for resources. He had, in what little idle time he had, found himself reading through Boros’ reports on the useful and bizarre things she had brought back to the outpost. The dragon, delivered in pieces, was still fresh in his mind, along with the several rune bears, the pelts of some he had taken for the bed she now sat upon. She was certainly an efficient hunter.

More scribbling filled the calm, quiet silence as Morgott’s recollections of those same reports sent a shard of guilt and regret through him. He had acted poorly, Boros was perhaps as—if not more—worried about Fenris than he was.

Morgott would not apologize for his stance on protecting The Erdtree, it was all he was good for after all, but he would apologize for snapping as he had. Boros was only trying to help, he knew.

But Morgott was not in need of help beyond what Boros already did for the capital. They both had their own duty, and Boros could happily drag Morgott’s father into his restoration project once Lord Godfrey returned.

It would be better that way, restore the land with the one that helped build it, not with the cursed, castoff son unworthy of such holy lineage.

Morgott was drawn back to the present when Fenris yipped at him, the notebook held out towards him.

He accepted it and read the passage she had written.

It is trying to suppress my Oath as a Bloodhound Knight, the very bond that binds you and I. As my Lord, I have sworn to uphold your will, follow your orders, and this purpose acts as a surrogate to the bonds once held with my Legion.

Though not all Bloodhound Knights are also wolfborn, the training and practice of we Hounds began with wolfborn. And so, the bonds of family and kindred souls bound by blood are altered to better allow a Hound to serve their chosen Lord.

This curse is in direct conflict with my Oath to you, My Lord. But your presence, your own power has given me enough strength to resist it.

“Yet it still pains thee,” Morgott commented as he looked up from the page and Fenris nodded solemnly. “It drives thee to seek Great Runes even now…One of which is in my possession.”

Fenris looked stricken, horrified at the implication that she would be driven to fight him. That look shifted, eyes focused on the Hound’s bindings, as sharp focus dominated Fenris’ features.

Morgott watched with rapt attention as he felt the beginning wisps of some foreign power stir from within the wolfborn. Watchful, and morbidly curious to see if Fenris had some manner of handling this herself.

Wolfborn had been gone from The Lands Between for many an age after all, they would have broken their shackles somehow.

A dark red aura rose from Fenris, and the scent of ash and blood filled the air. Morgott tensed at the sight of embers as the blood-soaked ash latched onto the golden chains.

“If thou art set aflame, I will throw thee out of mine chambers and into the city reservoir.”

Fenris shook her head, still focused, and the ashen aura receded. It sunk back into the Hound and dragged the chains down with it.

Morgott did not move until Fenris broke her concentration, the aura had faded, and the last of the embers had vanished. He was already on his feet when he remembered that Boros would not be happy to see him.

But he needed to be informed of Fenris’ condition regardless. With a sigh he walked over to where his cane was leaning against the wall.

“Thou art to remain here, I have matters I must attend to,” he intrsucted and Fenris nodded. He made his way to the door, staff in hand, and turned to face her. It looked as if the curse had been quelled for the moment, but he wanted to be sure before he left. “…I assume the immediate danger to us both has passed?”

She nodded firmly, a determined glint in her eye that gave him pause. He wondered why the Hound had chosen him to serve. He was not worthy of the burden of leadership, not worthy of the very mantle he had donned to protect The Erdtree to begin with.

But that was a puzzle he could ponder some other time. For now, he would inform Boros of Fenris’ health, and apologize for his harshness.

“I will return shortly,” he said, hesitance and worry niggling in the back of his head. “…Take the time to rest, as I have said, thou hath been through an ordeal this day.”

With his orders given, he left in search of his advisor and most loyal of knights.

#lordless au #elden ring #morgott the grace given #tarnished

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maldrontheassassin · 2 years

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Metamorphosis | Drabble

─╠═► What is the Crucible of Life?

This question Haunted Maldron, as he took more and more of its power into him. With the heart of a dragon in his gauntlet, he could feel closer to its energies. From seeing the Magma Wyrms that others became, seeing the ancient dragons during their hunts, visiting the places of communion, and even visiting the Evergaols of those who tried to rebel against the divesting of Lord Godfrey, did the Nightrider find time during his patrols to study, combat, and learn.

Every blow on his battered form was a lesson learned in blood. Every cut in his armor, something new to repair, something new to rest and collect splattered blood, only to darken and further stain its surface.

But as Glaive was traded for Siluria’s Spear, Maldron began to don the armor and vestments of her knighthood more and more often, only wearing the armor of the Night’s Cavalry when in the presence of Leyndell and his Lord Morgott. He could feel the armor heightening his connection with the Crucible, and so it was akin to an aid. As though its former wearer was resting upon his shoulders, guiding him.

Or, perhaps that was simply wishful thinking. What mattered now was that he was growing bolder, and more comfortable. The changing of steel and its intermingling with flesh was becoming a familiar pain to him, something he could smother with sensations of warmth. But he was learning too, that he could use that pain to tap into something feral. An instinctive pain response that many would consider the way to a battle-trance. A berserker-state where warriors would never return, given into the beast within.

Perhaps it was solely the dour nature of the Long Mourn, that Maldron had learned to be so divested from his emotions and sensations, that he could let his body be goaded to such fury, whilst his mind remained unclouded. As his maw snarled and snapped, as gauntlets became as talons and steel became dark scale.

He was growing more familiar with the inner beast. And it, was growing more familiar with the taste of blood, seeping between fanged teeth and bones shattered against a clubbed tail. The Night’s Cavalry were at peace with the beasts by their sides, and Maldron simply aimed to be at peace with the beast within, as well.

After the fighting, his chest heaved with effort. He was growing more capable, yes. But he was not invulnerable. His body was not used to the toll of embodying the Crucible. And he had so much left to go.

It was only a shame that he couldn’t well practice in his Lord’s old estate anymore. Oh, how he’d wish for Lord Godwyn’s and Fortissax’s presences both, on the day he’d finally... attained....... ... The Night’s Cavalryman fell unconscious in the grassy knolls of Liurnia, exhaustion having taken its toll.

#On the Vestiges of Consciousness | Drabble #Night’s Cavalry; Seen by Day | Elden Ring

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goodandbadhearts · 2 years

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Three Houses/Hopes verse for Pit

Name: Pit Regis Steelland Birthplace: Derdriu, Leicester Alliance. Gender: Male Birthday: 5th of the Harpstring Moon Imperial year 1162 (may 5th) Height: 5'4 | 163 cm Age pre timeskip: 18 Age post timeskip (3 houses): 23 Age post timeskip (3 hopes): 20 Proficient in Reason, with a hidden boon in Faith and Gauntlets Secret class: Geomancer. Allows to learn Quake Σ and other special earth related spells. Sexuality: Bisexual Starting class: Commoner Starting house: Golden Deer Appearance pre timeskip: Typical student uniform at Garreg Mach. A bit on the chubby side though. Medium length brunette hair with glasses on, he needs them to see. Appearance post timeskip both three hopes and three houses: Basically the look found here. Though to note he's got a scar in three hopes on his right cheek, and in three houses and hopes he's a lot more fit and toned build wise. Special notes: Has a weird talent of being able to 'read' people. As in he can basically tell a person's motives by talking with them for a bit. He can be wrong, or not be able to read a person. He can join any house, but if you go with the Crimson Flower route. He will betray you during Chapter 14: The master tactician.

Background: Born to a family of mages in the capital of the Leicester Alliance. Pit was happy for many years, though he wasn't a noble, his family was basically treated like one as for generations they served under the Riegan's. Pit's Mother, Regina. As well as his father, Regis both served Oswald Von Reigan for many years. Pit lived a nice life as he was welcomed to many places thanks to that status. Even to a special library in the capital. Pit would go there daily and read all sorts of books on magic. Though, one day while he was in there he bumped into a book case and a strange book fell and bumped him on the head. Oswald was there and picked up the book and read it for a bit. Looking it over he would hand the book to him and said to keep it a secret from even his parents. At least as fun treat, Oswald really didn't think nothing of it, but he just loved how happy Pit was about getting a 'special' book from the Duke that his parents worked for. Of course, what came to be would be Pit's life work. He spent day and night reading this book, trying to figure it out. As he soon discovered it was a long lost type of magic. Geomancy. He tried putting his heart and soul into using the spells and such, but never could he figure it out. Of course while this all happened, the sad events of the passing of Godfrey came to pass. Though when it was learned of a new heir to the throne of Riegan, Pit was happy to hear this. When he met Claude before going to academy he treated him with the utmost respect. After all, if Oswald approved of his grandson. Why shouldn't he? Indeed, Pit never held any ill will towards Claude, and neither did his parents. His mother and father welcomed Claude with open arms just like his Grandfather did. They were happy just to know Lady Tiana was alive after she disappeared. When the time came to join the officer's academy. Oswald recommended Pit to go, as he wanted Pit to get all the lessons and skills he could to become the next great mage for the house of Riegan just like his parents. So he went with his blessing and came to the Academy to be in the same class as Claude in the Golden deer.

#out of rock boys #FEverse #FE3h verse #FEverse Pit #FE3h verse Pit

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grace-sketches · 3 years

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More dnd sketches. We’ve reached argynvostholt and Osric got some good rp moments.

#osric #dnd oc #Vengeance Paladin #paladin #Kavian's spear #Godfrey's sword #holy hell I hate drawing those gauntlets #dungeons and dragons

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lizbert-megafig · 7 years

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when u wanna know Mr. Pickles’ intentions with your sister but he won’t tell you, despite your having the proper title and relationship to your sister to be judging his conduct

#godfrey gauntlet #ap lit #ap lit memes #ap lit meme #mr pickle #peregrine pickle #ap lit 2017 #ap lit and comp #ap literature and composition #ap memes #the adventures of peregrine pickle #search tumblr #meme

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quotesfromall · 7 years

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Peregrine Pickle

Tobias Smollett

#ap lit #ap lit memes #peregrine pickle #mr.pickle #godfrey gauntlet #quote #apblr #ap exam #disciplines with a horse-whip #chehov's gun i guess #tobias smollett

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jordanstrophe · 3 years

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War of Royalty, Blood and Rain

[Masterlist] CW: Medieval whump, medical whump, whip wounds, painful wound cleaning, manhandling, held down, p a i n (did some research, apparently medieval times often used vinegar to clean wounds, ouch!)

Godfrey bundled Eden within his cloak and held him against his chest. He tugged his gauntlet off and rested his fingers over his face.

“He’s barely breathing...” He rasped, feeling slow jagged breaths between his fingers. “Hey!” Margrave called, pulling his horse next to his.

“Take him home, put our majesty's heart at ease. He’s been wallowing in worry for far too long.”

Godfrey gave a subtle smile before tightening his arm around Eden, sending his horse into a gallop. -

---

Godfrey slid his arm under his legs and lifted him off the horse’s back. He bolted to the throne room, the guards at the gate seeing the broken boy bleeding in his arms and immediately slammed the doors open for them.

“MY LORD!” He yelled, the King’s worried pacing before his throne subsided. His head snapped up, seeing the unmoving figure in Godfrey’s arms dripping with a mix of blood and rain. One arm hung limply at his side from underneath the cloak, a series of open whip marks lining down to his wrists.

King Arvend’s eyes widened, his hand clutching at his heart.

“Into my chambers... NOW!”

---

‘Keep him very, very still.’

‘This’ll burn, but hopefully he sleeps through it.’

It felt as if someone poured a bucket of acid down his back, his open wounds burned and screamed. He couldn’t move. His whole body throbbed and struck in flashes of pain. He could only twitch one hand slightly into a fist, grasping a handful of soft fur. He couldn’t shout or beg, cry nor plead.

‘Keep breathing, you’re going to be fine, son.’

Another wash slid down his back seeping into the whip indents, this time, he screamed. He jolted off the king’s chest, his hands grabbing his wrists and pinning him back down.

“Eden! Calm down!” Arvend yelled, wrapping his arm around the boy’s head.

“ST-STOP IT! ENOUGH!” Eden cried, violently tugging and thrashing against his hold.

“One last rinse should do it.” The physician spoke. “Is that necessary!?” Arvend snapped, holding Eden more protectively then he was steadily.

“My apologies, your majesty, but the boy’s wounds are filthy. You did say to treat him as if I were treating you-” “-I know! I know what I said...” Arvend rasped, holding his hand up to silence him before gently resting it on Eden’s cheek.

The physician hesitated, seeing blood and vinegar soaking the King’s royal robes. “Please my lord, fetch for the servants to hold him, your robes are getting bloody.” He gestured.

Arvend looked down at the quivering boy in his arms. “This is the least I can do! I don’t want anyone else to even touch him. This boy means so much more to me than some robes... I wasn’t sure if he was even-” He trailed off, his eyes threatening to gloss over as he relaxed his fingers into Eden’s hair.

“Pl-... se... pl-p... st-..” Eden sobbed, gasping for breath. "Shhh, we're almost done." Arvend hushed, slowly brushing his hair back. “Finish this so I can put the poor thing to bed... His rest is long overdue.” He spoke, holding him tighter and bracing for another rinse.

---

‘You.’

‘Who are you?’

The words of a feint memory reappeared.

Eden awoke to smooth fabric against his cheek. He was lying on his chest in bed with a light sheet draped over his waist. Red-tinted bandages tightly wrapped around his chest and shoulder, he groaned and twisted around, a hand instantly snapped out and grabbed his wrist.

“Easy does it.” A voice lulled.

Eden squinted an eye open, seeing Arvend sitting at a desk scooted next to the bed spilling with countless papers and letters. His eyes looked swollen from exhaustion, yet he still gave him a sweet smile and slowly combed through his hair.

“Mm-..!” Eden cringed when the soreness became apparent, he furrowed his brows and shuttered.

“Shhh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.” Arvend lulled, pulling the blankets higher around his shoulders and thumbing his cheekbone.

“You’re home.”

ʕっ• ᴥ • ʔっ Thank you for reading!~ @tears-and-lilies @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @starnight-whump @bumpthumpwhump @whumpcreations @myst-in-the-mirror @heathenville @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @thegreathowdini @kim-poce @digitalart-dwa @princessofonward @andwhump @sunflower1000 @kim-poce @lonesome--hunter @cupcakes-and-pain @as-a-matter-of-whump @nicolepascaline @neverthelass @octopus-reactivated @jadeocean46910

#tw blood #tw whipping #tw medical #medieval whump #Whump #recovery whump #wound cleaning whump #protective caretaker #hurt/comfort #comfort whump #injured whumpee #medical whump #broken whumpee #over protective caretaker #hurt comfort #rescued whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #manhandle whump

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