My mind is on fire.
Curling flames have filled the void, burning everything I've built up, down. The runes beneath my feet; sputtering about like dying insects, are lost in the blaze. I can feel own skin burn, feel my face char and twist. My world that I've known feels like it's falling apart; it is my fault.
You did this to yourself.
Melina; my guardian, my ally.
My best friend.
She stares me down, a dark expression pasted on her grief-stricken face. Her voice without emotion, but it feels like it's practically screaming into my soul. Her ember colored eye burns holes into me; fire burns at her feet. Her silhouette illuminated in the colors of hell; her body slowly being lit ablaze. Blood trickles like tears down from her closed eye...
It's all my fault.
You did this to me.
Earlier that day...
It seems I've stumbled into quite the treasure.
Kalé, dopey horse, Melina and I promptly left town the next day. The name of that town, Kalé never said. Seems everyone agrees not to call it anything, just "town." Not sure why, but I'd rather not ask Kalé.
If I try saying anything about town, he might just beg me to sell him the spear again.
After Dals exposed the priceless spear I've been haphazardly carrying around, the merchant has been constantly giving it a glance, like it might disappear if he doesn't check on it often enough. The man is a penny pincher, though I guess that has already been established. He tried buying it off me as soon as Dals finished his little seminar on smithing stones; the blacksmith tried to beat Kalé's price.
I declined them both.
Dals accepted that; Kalé still occasionally pesters me.
"Come on. Come on mate! I'll give ya top coin for it! 30 tals. No, 32!" He paced circles around me, throwing out different sets of fingers like he was throwing out gang signs. "34? Come on mate, sell it to me!"
Trying to change the subject; that, or delaying the inevitable; I asked him what tals were. He said 30 tals could easily purchase an entire suit of high-class armor, with enough change to fund a small army.
That was a surprise.
As to why this merchant is wandering around with such deep pockets is beyond me, though wanting a guard makes sense. If I had enough money to feed an entire kingdom on my person, I too would want someone to protect my skin.
If I'll be honest, I was beginning to debate whether I should take up his offer or not.
It was at that time he reiterated that he didn't have the coin on him; it was at his place in Bellard: The stronghold-like city surrounding Castle Morne, down on the Weeping Peninsula. I gave him an exasperated expression and said: "I'll think about it."
Truthfully, I don't really want to sell it.
I can't fight with a spear, haven't quite been able to grasp it. I'm used to using swords and rapiers, with only little experience wielding axes. Such novice skill came from when I would join my neighbors on their little boy scout camping trips up in Minnesota, north of Minneapolis. That was mainly trying my hand at chopping logs for firewood, didn't really try swinging the thing around like a weapon.
Same story with hammers, so flails aren't really my calling.
Putting it bluntly, I suck at anything that isn't a sword.
But I was dwelling on back when I was attacked by the Sentinel in the woods, mulled over the terrifying experience while I laid in my tent last night, a short walk from town.
The Sentinel's halberd chopped cleanly through multiple trees, adult trees, in a single stroke; it even parted boulders like they were made of butter. I chalked it off as the Sentinel just being that powerful, but a weapon would surely bend, chip, or at least roll from taking blows like that, no matter how finely crafted it was. Yet, that halberd's axe head was sharp and clean through the whole encounter, even going so far as to cut through dragon scales after already crashing into heaps of wood and stone minutes prior.
That halberd was probably one of these ascended weapons; it would at least make sense. If ascended weapons are as destructive as Roard and the Sentinel demonstrated, selling it would be a terrible decision.
Basically, I want to hold onto the spear for the time being. Maybe I could use it on my off hand as a sort of "armor cracker" for whenever I'm facing opponents as dressed up as Roard was. If not that, then at least it can be used for that bit of extra range; I could even try hunting with it.
Then again, if such weapons like the partisan and halberd exist, why wear armor in the first place?
I echo the question, just after we can no longer hear the noises of town.
"Hey Kalé. If such things as ascended weapons exist, why use armor in the first place?"
Kalé leads the way, dragging his dopey horse behind him with a rustic set of reins. The horse's saddle is now filled to the brim with baskets and stuffed sacks, all of which probably contains foodstuffs and other necessary resources, like fat for starting fires, spare clothes, etc...
Kalé shrugs.
"As Dals so eloquently put, ascended weapons are rare; only knights, demigods, and rich men have them. You will not run across a highwayman or villagers wielding such things."
He adjusts his grip on the reigns, giving his dominant had leeway to point a single finger up in a "matter of fact" sort of way.
"What's worse is ascended armor. Now that is expensive equipment. If you had a breastplate in your mits with even a single level ascended; no blade short of your spear would be able to pierce it." He points back at the tears in my clothes, at the metal skin underneath. "If I may be frank: only the top hundredth of folks can afford such things. So, unless you plan to face Godrick's personal guard, you can expect that your mail will stop most blades in Limgrave."
That rare, huh?
Guess it's a lot like the reasons for wearing armor on earth. Standard kevlar and plate won't stop some of the higher caliber rounds, but at least they protect you against small arms fire. Just stay away from people with powerful weapons, and you should be at least relatively safe.
At least, that's how it makes sense to me.
Though I would like to know more about ascended armor; I can only guess what it means.
Before I can get the chance, Melina flies up next to me, getting close like her flashing needed to be discreet.
We are being followed.
If this were two weeks ago, I'd probably jump out of my skin. Instead, I find my head going on a swivel.
Fellow travelers?
No.
They are hostile.
I find my hand resting on my sword's hilt.
"Kalé." I say in a low voice.
Kalé keeps walking.
"Yeah." He mutters. "We're not alone anymore."
The town is no longer in sight, even Agheel's lake is becoming a little obscured in the early morning atmosphere. Our trail has taken us into a bunch of ruins, ones that look vaguely roman. It's like if parts of the famous Colosseum in Italy have fallen from the sky, scattered across the scene, and buried themselves into the dirt. Not many trees, no sight or sign of anyone else. But there's too many hiding places; these hostile entities could be anywhere.
Do you know where they are exactly?
Melina wavers.
These ruins are interfering with their runes, so I do not know the number.
But I know that some are tailing us, and there are many behind the pillars ahead.
Those pillars are maybe a hundred feet away.
White stone monoliths, that have severely degraded with time. Some are crooked, others partly buried. It really gives off the impression that they fell down like thrown spears some time ago, and stuck themselves here; no foundation or connecting structures between them to speak of. A strange sight, and it mixes with suspicion, now knowing that something dangerous awaits behind them.
It makes me uneasy.
"They're behind the pillars."
I mutter to Kalé as I overtake him, slowing our small caravan down to a halt.
"Got a read on how many?"
I shake my head.
"There are a few behind us, but most of them are ahead."
Kalé sighs.
"An ambush then."
My heartbeat picks up in my chest, a shiver travels down my spine. It's weird, it's almost completely quiet. I could never guess we weren't alone. I'm not as scared as I have been, but I'm not vying to attack our enemy either.
Unlike my past encounters, I'm trying to protect someone. I can't just run away like with the Sentinel, can't just retrace my steps and sneak around like when I stormed Roard's garrison. I need to stand my ground or leave Kalé to die.
I don't plan to abandon anyone.
I take a deep breath, slowly drawing my sword. I trust Melina to keep an eye on our backs, so I give my full attention ahead.
"Who are you trying to fool?" I shout, fighting to keep my voice on an unimpressed tone. "A blind man could spot you lot."
Silence.
Too late to go back the way we came, and the enemy would press in if we waited here. Might as well get this over with. If push comes to shove, we can always try to escape; I can cover the retreat. Might have to leave the dopey horse and all of our foodstuffs behind if that becomes the case. But, as long as we can make a clean getaway, it won't be the end of the world. We could go back to town for safety; I could sell the spear to Dals for funds. Not a fan of parting with this partisan, but I'd rather do that than be stuck in town without a coin to our name.
More silence.
Was Melina imagining things?
No.
She's never been wrong before, more so in situations like these. There are people lying in wait behind those pillars, I'm certain of it.
Crunch.
A single footstep sounds from one of the pillars, as a boot wrapped in ragged cloth steps onto the chunks of rubble near the base of the ruin. With it, comes the leg, the blade, and…
Huh.
A man, near the height that I am, stalks out and away from his cover, wielding a short dagger.
His arms and legs are wrapped in frayed and soiled rags, a thin coat and what looks to be an encompassing hood covers his torso; both equally dirty. The only piece of real armor on his body are two simple greaves wrapped about his shins, the rest of him is left rather unprotected.
More like him emerge, eight in total. There may be more, but there are only so many more places to hide. I can only guess these are highwaymen, or bandits. All wield simple daggers, their bodily movements are a little uneven, like they haven't eaten in days.
Is this our enemy?
Yes.
I shouldn't underestimate them, especially when there's a group this size.
I should be cautious; I need to keep in mind that I should run if this proves too dangerous.
The first highwayman to emerge charges me, wielding his dagger like it was a stick. A big windup swing, accompanied by a muffled grunt.
...
This is my enemy.
...
A Grafted Scion, tearing through my home and impaling me like a fish.
A trained soldier, effortlessly throwing me and beating me to an edge of death.
The Sentinel, leveling a forest and pursuing me even off a sheer cliff.
The Dragon Agheel, scalding my back by just being near his hellish fire.
A garrison of trained soldiers, hunting me down with wolves in the night.
Roard, An eight-foot tall, armor encased murderer with a blindingly fast weapon, capable of splitting stone.
I… what is this?
Melina flies up next to me.
Lance. Let me-
I take a step forward, taking up a defensive stance.
No need.
I've seen this same attack nearly a hundred times before. A favorite of the wanderers beneath the Stranded Graveyard: Swing down really hard.
"Grrrrrgh!"
The highwayman grunts, swinging down with a sharper grunt once he reaches me.
I execute the first move Melina ever taught me, one that ingrained itself into my head.
Diagonal swing, hands opposite the tip.
The tip of my sword meets this tiny dagger halfway, my hands rise, and my blade lowers. The dagger careens away, riding my sword without even so much as nicking me. The dagger is already past me now, and I smash my sword's gilded pommel into the highwayman's face.
I'm not strong, but I didn't need to put much force into the bash.
It's already like somehow running headfirst into one of those trailer hitches one can usually see on the back of a pickup truck; it breaks the highwayman's nose and drops him like a sack of flower.
A second highwayman is upon me, and a third. I sidestep the second's swing, and kick the third one in the gut with a heavy roundhouse kick. I quickly follow it up by bashing the third with my pommel again, striking him between the shoulder and the head, breaking his clavicle.
I thought the chain mail would weigh me down, but I barely notice it. I've heard that weight is manageable when it's all across your body, especially when it hugs to you. Really, I just feel about 20 pounds fatter, which isn't too bad. Does make me feel warm though, I'm already starting to sweat a little.
How did Roard manage a full suit, and a helmet?
I get a little too lost in my thoughts, because Melina yells into my mind.
Duck!
I duck, just before a falling blade misses cutting into my head. It carries on and collides with my back.
The second highwayman slashed me.
It feels like I got cut with a butterknife.
The dagger's blade cut through the fabric of my shirt, but didn't go any farther than that. It deflects off the chain mail, not leaving so much as a scratch on the links.
Having even minor armor makes the world of a difference.
I spin around, kicking the highwayman in a vulnerable spot below the rear and behind the knee, causing his right leg, the leg he has most of his weight on, to buckle.
He falls.
A fourth slowly creeps up to me as I dispatched the third, hoping to take me by surprise.
Melina sees him coming from mile away.
I spin on him, swinging before he can even begin to attack. I twisted my sword, so when my blade hits the fourth on the side of the head, he gets violently slapped by the flat end, wrenching his head off to the right.
Four down, no blood shed.
The fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth stay where they are, eyeing me warily.
Three unconscious at my feet, one opting to stay on the ground where he fell.
I take in deep breaths, quickly wiping sweat off my forehead. It was only about five seconds, but I already feel hot.
I'll need to get used to wearing armor.
I get back into a stance, facing the remaining four.
"Well? Any takers?"
They don't draw closer.
If they were soldiers, they would rush me. Even after I killed Roard, the surrounding soldiers looked ready to kill me then and there. All murderous looks, with hands on swords. They left me alone begrudgingly, like they were ordered to, against their wishes, to do so. These highwaymen look scared, without a care for their fallen comrades at my feet.
What a spineless bunch.
I raised my voice, hoping I don't need to face any more of them. I'm trying not to kill unnecessarily, and I run the risk of accidentally killing when I fight them. If I'm not careful, I might make a mistake and cut them, might break something that rather needs to remain working. I was afraid to get overwhelmed, but I'm more or less afraid that I might kill someone now. These aren't the opponents I anticipated; they're nowhere near Roard and his garrison.
I speak up again when none of them take so much as a step forward.
"Okay. Then let us pass."
"Oi, What's all this!?"
A carefree voice rings out behind our caravan; sounds similar to Boc's voice. Heavily British, newer English, unlike Melina.
It's a man talking.
I take a glance back, keeping my blade pointed at my final four opponents.
There's a lone man, no, a lone man and two highwaymen, moving up the trail. They must be our tail. The highwaymen are nothing new, but the loud newcomer looks wildly different.
A bald man, with a mocking and mischievous smile. Olive green shirt, dark pants covered over by leather stirrups. He has a patchwork of belts and pockets across his person, with throwing knives and flasks with orange liquid stashed across the arms and hip. Ramshackle plate armor across the chest, a black cape with a hood loosely fitted about his shoulders.
At a glance, one could tell he was the boss of this little pack, but I can go one step further.
Back home, my friend Daniel was a huge Soulsborne fan, to an almost aggravating degree. He got me hyped up for Elden Ring, played it alongside me, and told me so many things about FromSoft's previous titles.
There was a character he really enjoyed, with an unmistakable bald head and ridiculous smile, who had been in nearly every Souls title prior. A gag character, with apparently numberless theories about his repeated existence. From how Daniel described him, this man I see fits almost too perfectly.
"...Patches?"
I utter, utterly bewildered.
Patches gives me a confused smile, his eyes are a rushing current of emotions, none of which are serious.
"Don't think I know you." He bares teeth in a self-pleasing grin. "Might you be a fan?"
Do you know him?
Not at all, just recognize his face.
So it really is Patches, I almost feel relieved.
Kalé pipes up, giving the bald man a questioning glance.
"Patches? What type of name is that?"
"It's a great name! Don't suppose you have a better one."
Kalé rolls his eyes.
"Like I'd tell you my name, Tarnished highwayman."
Patches lets out an aggravated sigh, looking over to the highwayman at his right.
"Oh that is a terrible name!"
The highwayman looks at him with a dead expression.
"I feel like the word Tarnished has become quite the insult these days. Everyone, throwing it around as if they were rays of sunshine themselves."
He claps a hand on the highwayman's shoulder.
"Quite the hypocrisy, isn't it?"
He only gets a silent stare.
Patches shrugs with an accepting pout, slowly removing his hand. He turns back to us, never losing that smug expression of his.
"You know, my men aren't fans of idle conversation. A rather boring bunch if I'm being honest."
I take a quick glance back at the remaining four ahead of me; they have yet to move.
"So, I do quite enjoy this… witty banter, we've got going on here. But my time, is valuable; so if you could please hand over your valuables, cough up your coin, and leave that here with me- *ehhhh -I might just consider letting you walk free."
He gestures to my partisan, making a bunch of other unnecessary movements with his hands and head as he talks. I thought Kalé was expressive, but Patches here is on another level.
"Sound good?"
"No." I say flatly.
"Not a chance." Kalé says almost right after.
"Fine. Be that way."
Patches make a signal with his hand, I get back into my stance.
"Don't say I didn't warn you first."
He swings his hand down, cocky smile spread across his face.
"Attack!"
...
Nobody moves, Patches's voice rings out, before silence comes back again.
About three seconds pass.
...
...
...
"I said attack."
Another few seconds.
...
...
He shouts at the four ahead, a disgruntled expression pasted across his face.
"That means you lot! Attack them! All together now!"
He makes a motion with both his hands like he's presenting us to a crowd, or like a conductor with their hands out just before the band begins to play.
Still, nothing happens.
Kalé mutters something under his breath, fetching his reins. I can't hear most of it, though one word sticks out.
"…ridiculous…"
He goes to leave.
"Wait! Wait. Okay wait just a moment."
Patches quickly turns to the highwayman to his left, who carries a large box shaped shield, and a normal spear. He snatches these two armaments off the silent bandit, adjusting the shield and spear in his hands.
"Reckon I ought to take you on myself then. All of you, watch me; and you better learn something!"
I can see why Daniel likes this character. For the type of world this is, he's much too carefree, and rather entertaining.
I square up with him, hoping to make this fast. I don't know how talented he is, but considering his lackluster armor, his similar height, and his lower quality weaponry; he's basically an off-brand Roard, with the same, most likely inferior, shield and spear combo.
I trust you have this?
I give a small smile.
I think so.
I'm at a disadvantage here weapon-wise, so I stash my sword in it's scabbard, taking Roard's spear into my hands. I still don't know how to use a spear; Patches is certainly better at it if he's using one. But he also carries a shield, which means his spear's range of motion is limited. Only single thrusts, with the occasional swipe. Normally, a shield would make up for that; it's like putting a spike on a tortoise.
But if this partisan can do what it did back in Dals's shop, then it can certainly go through a normal shield.
I rush Patches, spear low, whistling through the air near a foot to the ground.
Just like how Roard did it.
I'll do this just like Roard.
I can't execute twelve thrusts in under three seconds, like he could. I can't rely on my armor, like he could. But it doesn't take much experience, or effort, to stab someone.
Aim for the shield, that's my plan. If my partisan can't pierce it, then I'll temporarily retreat, switch to my sword, and ask Melina to help me. I'll hold out until she can predict his moves, stand my ground until victory can be assured.
That's the plan.
But Patches sees me coming, clearing the distance in a matter of seconds. My determined eyes, superseding my dark scowl. My spearhead low and coiled like a viper ready to strike, attached red hair on the shaft fluttering in the wind. My overall figure, poised and ready to skewer him in a single thrust. Patches is a smart man; he is an opportunistic man. He always picks the path of least resistance, that's how he always lives. So, to counter me, he does the one thing I would never expect, not even if I trained against a spear user for the rest of my days.
He ducks, drops his spear, and hides behind his shield.
"Wait, wait, please! I surrender! White flag and all!"
Patches waits, and waits, and waits; longer than he'd ever admit to anyone.
The boy with the fine spear never attacks… did Patches's ploy work? Well, he is a genius after all. It wouldn't surprise him if it worked.
Why, what a generous kid. Truly, must be a fan after all!
He thinks to himself, cracking a smile.
A foolish kid, even if he is a fan.
He peeks out from under his shield, finding the boy and the merchant gone. His men are still here, three of which lay on the ground like a bunch of lazy bums.
His ploy worked. How wonderful. How positively excellent! He knew he was clever, just never knew how clever.
Until now, that is.
His smile gets wider, until he drops it into a disappointed frown, looking around at his cowardly men.
"What the bloody hell was all that? You cowards!"
He works up to a sitting position; his legs still hiding underneath his shield.
"What is wrong with you lot! Have I taught you nothing!?"
His men just silently watch him, the mindless fools.
"There are ten of you!" He explodes, showing ten fingers to prove it. "Ten! You could have easily won if you all just attacked together!"
More silence, Patches grinds his molars. That spear must cost a fortune, he saw what it did to some wood in the blacksmith's shop. He was so happy he decided to tail the merchant; he thought he struck gold. But his men held him back.
Patches growls.
"Well!? What are you fools waiting for, an invitation? Get after them! Don't let them escape!"
What Patches doesn't realize, in light of his cleverness, is that his quarry left over two hours ago.