I had a nightmare.
By the time I awoke, studying my surroundings as I tried to figure out where I was, I'd all but forgotten about it. Bad dreams about terrible things are nothing new for me; more than half my nights in this world have been plagued by them.
I used to wake up in a cold sweat, with a sour taste in my mouth, and a strange shiver that would run up and down my spine; I even used to make a cry of fear or two. After being imprisoned, chased through the woods by the Sentinel, and surviving Agheel's ire, I had nightmares of being brutally and indifferently murdered. After gutting that soldier in my cell, killing Roard and his men, and learning of my Rune of Death, I had nightmares of being someone I can't recognize anymore, standing atop contorted corpses with a blood sullied blade in my hand.
But this recent nightmare, leaving not fear, but a sinking sensation in my chest; it felt like a selfless form of terror.
Not fear for my own wellbeing, but fear for others.
Fear that I was too late, fear that I watched someone die, and it was all my fault. I can't remember it; it was simply dashed away by the time I truly felt awake. But there was one image, a flash of an echo in my consciousness.
It was a young maiden in my trembling hands, with a tattoo over her closed left eye. She was slowly burning to death, watching me with an apologetic and downcast expression, a single normal tear forming and trickling down her face, before evaporating to steam by the time it reached her cheek. My own tears were blurring my vision, I think I heard my own cry of anguish. Despite it all, and what broke me; past the young maiden's sorrowful countenance, she gave me a smile, a real smile.
I felt my heart shatter.
And that's when I awoke.
I sat in the darkness, alone, in a room of shelves and maps and sleeping soldiers. What a truly terrible dream, whatever it was. It didn't terrify me like my nightmares before.
It feels like it hurt me.
Soured my mood, made my already conceited face look downcast.
I feel sullied.
Good morning.
…Morning.
How are you feeling?
Melina's light gives the room a simple golden glow, dim enough that I can barely make out any certain shape. Her light itself hovers over, landing on my protruding knee like a butterfly perching on a branch.
To be 100% honest, I don't feel very good.
It was that dream, right?
Yeah. It was.
I saw Melina burning, in that one lingering image stuck in my mind. Does it have something to do with what Ranni said? I can't be sure. I can only assume Melina can actively watch my dreams, considering they work in a similar way to my thoughts and memories. She's seen my nightmares before, even consolidated me when I awoke. She could tell me what my dream this time was, probably would if I asked her. But this time…
I don't think I want to know.
Are you certain?
Yeah, I'm certain. I think it'll make me sad if I hear about it.
I look about, duly taking notice that Dalia, that eight-foot-tall knight currently without a helmet on, got closer to me in the night, so much so she could easily grab me if she wanted to.
Even sleeping, her face looks serious; she didn't even bother taking off her armor. She just passed out like that, sitting up, head lolled against the cellar wall.
Like her, the other soldiers around the room sleep in a semi-readied position with their weapons in their laps, like they're ready to rocket to their feet at the first sign of trouble. I guess it makes sense, as they're basically guarding the warden's daughter. Still, looks madly uncomfortable.
I, Kalé, and Irina are the only ones sleeping normally, though I guess Kalé is currently sleeping on a table too small for him, so he's debatable.
Speaking of the merchant, he's still fast asleep.
That's a rare sight, as he tends to wake up rather early. Either he's being lazy for once, or it's before dawn.
As for Irina, she's awake.
Sitting up like me, covered in the strangely designed blankets from Kalé's bed. I can't make her out, but she looks restless.
How long?
For a time now.
She awoke not long ago frightened, and she has yet to rest since.
I consider myself, finding my hands on the seal she gave me in my pocket. The ornamental metal feels cool in my fingertips; I nearly feel some sort of dormant power dwelling within it.
I can only assume Irina wants someone to talk to.
Considering the state of things, she probably feels alienated. Stressed, scared, and alone...
Alone… huh?
My heart feels heavy itself…
I don't know why… but I want someone to talk to.
Not somebody that knows my situation, just a conversation between two people, who don't know what keeps the other up at night.
A normal conversation.
I slowly shuffle away from Dalia, who somewhat stirs as my presence leaves her. I make my way quietly past two sleeping soldiers; Irina's ears perk up upon my approach. She slightly tips her head my way, wearing a hard frown on her face.
"Can't sleep?" I mutter.
Melina's accompanying light illuminates more of Irina's face; her frown turns to a complicated expression as she dips her head back down.
"Sir Tarnished. Why are you awake?"
I take a seat next to her.
"Had a nasty nightmare."
"What was it about?"
I chew the inside of my cheek.
"Not sure. I just remember it being pretty sad."
"You… can have sad dreams?"
I crack a small smile for myself.
"Well, they're usually terrifying. So, it was a weird change of pace. I think it was about me losing someone dear, failing to save them when they needed me most." I turn my head her way. "It was something like that."
She falls silent, her frown never leaving her face.
Now that I'm closer, I notice telltale signs of tear stains on her cheek, makes me shiver a little.
She's been crying recently.
"…What are you doing awake?" I try.
Irina hugs her knees closer, wrinkling her skirt.
"I… I am worried."
"What about?"
"About father, about Lord Neil and Mister Trey; about all my friends in the castle. I think I may have had the same nightmare as you, Sir Tarnished."
I consider my words.
"Well, it can be a big downer, having a dream like that. I know the feeling."
"You do?"
I feel that sensation again, toiling somewhere down deep in my heart.
"My parents… My mom and dad… There's a chance I'll never see them again."
Something stings.
"You know how Tarnished are trying to become Elden Lord, right?"
Irina gives a small nod.
"Well, I hope to become Elden Lord, so I have the power to see them again."
"Have they… died?"
"No, I don't think so."
They were gone on a business trip, they weren't home when the Scion attacked me. They were supposed to return later that day, so there's always the chance that Grafted Scion was still around, but it most likely moved.
Though my parents most definitely found our house in a wreck, probably found my dead corpse in our neighbor's yard too, as long as the neighbors didn't already find me.
They're safe, that's what I've gone on believing.
I have faith they're still alive.
I talk in my hushed tone with a melancholy hue to my voice.
"Let's just say they're really far away, and there's no chance to get back on foot."
Irina makes a timid noise, burying her face in her knees.
"I am sorry to hear that, Sir Tarnished. It was not my place to ask."
I shrug, vaguely recognizing the stinging sensation on the corner of my eyes as forming tears.
"It's fine. I'm sure they're alright."
Why am I feeling sad? I have my plan to get home. Melina said whoever holds the power of the Elden Ring should have limitless power, the ability to change the world at their whim.
If that's the case, then I can go home… Right?
I rub the corner of my eyes, taking steady breaths. It'll be fine, I just need to keep telling myself that.
It'll be fine.
…
Wait.
This is the perfect chance.
Focus. I say to myself. I needed a chance to talk to her about Dalia, didn't I? Now's the time.
I have no time for my own problems. My issues can wait. I'll just put them off for now, like I have been doing.
"Irina." I say quietly. "Your father-"
A tear drips down Irina's face, sourcing from beneath her black blindfold.
I freeze up, berating myself with insults.
Crap.
I messed up, somehow. I just messed up.
Irina grimaces, wiping the tear away.
"I apologize… I-It is nothing you need to concern yourself with."
She tries and fails to straighten her posture, her head dipping back into her knees.
"I-… I just…"
She raises her head a little, taking in a breath.
"I am sure they are fighting so… hard. I am sure they will try to protect everyone. I am… I'm… I…"
Her chin quivers, fighting the intent to break down. She's a very emotional person, and has trouble with facing those emotions. She's quick to tears, quick to back down. Probably spent her whole life unsure of what lies ahead, both because of her vision and her position as a warden's daughter. She's timid; that's the best way to describe her. It was my first impression of her.
But despite that, as I've been beginning to learn: she's pretty selfish.
Just like her dad.
"I- I just…" Something breaks. "I just want everyone to run."
She buries her head in her knees, fighting to keep her voice low, but it's stricken with grief.
"I want them to run. Just run away with me, please. I- I don't want anyone to leave me. I don't want to lose them."
Tears roll down from beneath her black blindfold; I feel a sinking feeling in my chest.
"I- … Why? Why can't they run? Why can't they come with me? Why? Please tell me… why?"
She chokes on her own words, spilling something she was holding in for a while now.
She's needed to keep up a guise, listen to her father, and believe in others, all at once. Unable to truly defend herself, unable to express herself in a meaningful way. Her life's been tossed about between different hands; she's been giving out trust like it was free. She had no choice otherwise; a blind girl with no fighting experience… in a world like this one.
Simply surviving is a challenge to begin with.
She's needed to stay calm, and accept her situation, trying her best to make the most of it.
But underneath it, she just wants things to go back to normal.
She wants to go home, where her loving father and friendly soldiers would be waiting for her. She wants to go back, back in time, before everything falls apart.
I find myself stroking my chest, feeling the spot where the Scion's straight sword once pierced through. The desire to go back, that selfish hope that everything might just go back to normal if I will it. I feel I'm in too deep into this world now for that desire. But still… Mother… Father…
…
It feels hard to speak, but I speak anyways. I talk almost vicariously; I may despise what I say, but I need to say it. If I hope to make Irina feel strong enough for change, I need to say it.
"They have a duty."
I hate my words, they go against my own thoughts, but I utter them regardless.
"Everyone in the city needs to be saved, don't they?"
"But, but why them? Why father?"
"Bellard needs a hero. They need someone to come to the rescue."
"But why father?" She relapses, tears coming unendingly. "Why?"
"Your father is a strong guy."
She stifles, not raising her head.
"He's cool, collected… Hell, he sure knows how to fight."
I turn toward Irina, meaning every word I say.
"I saw him take a whole army of misbegotten head on without batting an eye, throw himself into danger without hesitating, and even sparing time to rescue his fellows. He's a hero."
He was the spearhead of our charge; he didn't even falter as he found himself constantly being berated on all sides. He was even injured enough that he found it hard to stand after Agheel attacked, and half a house fell on him. Yet, he still raised his weapon and charged back into battle.
I found myself relating him to Blaidd; warriors experienced in their craft, sure in their blade.
Irina sniffles, I continue.
"He wants to help as many people as he can. He wants to save Bellard. And I'm sure only he can do it. And as for his daughter he loves: He wants her to live."
"But…"
She grips her skirt hard enough to wrinkle the fabric, losing faith in her own words. I know she wants her dad to run, anyone can see that. But Edgar has chosen his battle, and he expects me to make sure he doesn't have any regrets. He wants me to get his daughter to safety.
But Irina…
She tries again and again to say something, but in the end, she just utters out a few words.
"I want to see father."
…
No.
No no.
Nononono crap.
I messed up big time.
Irina wants to go back.
Why did I share my own worries? It didn't help at all. It didn't even make me feel any better, just made me feel more alone than I already was.
I got her worried, talking about my fears of losing someone.
I questioned my own intentions, opened up to someone I barely know, and instead of consolidating her and getting her to help oppose Dalia, I just made things worse.
I tried to patch it up, help her understand that her father wants to stay, and her to go.
But I'm terrible with words, I let more slip out than I should. I spout nonsense, hoping something good will stick.
But it didn't.
I screwed up.
She was at first confused why Dalia wanted them to return last night; I might've had my chance if I spoke privately to her then. If I just gave myself a moment to prepare, and talk to her when she was still questioning it; maybe the turnout could've been different.
But Irina must've dwelled on it, becoming more and more enticed by the idea as her own desires lined up with it. She might just know if Dalia's lying or not, might know returning is against her father's wishes.
But she's a selfish girl; she's ready to put us all in danger, toss lives into the grinder and break her father's heart, because she wants to be reunited with him.
She's not ready to say goodbye, and I just cemented her decision…
She's on Dalia's side too.
I understand her reasoning, got it all worked out in my head. I can relate, I can understand.
I can.
...
So why am I getting mad about it? I feel myself getting worked up, teeth gritting behind a small frown on my lips.
Why am I pissed? Why do I want to yell at Irina?
She just wants to see her father again…
So why do I just want to storm off, force my way outside, and find a misbegotten to murder?
Why?
…
I know.
Somewhere deep down, I know.
It's because I'm failing, again.
That sting of frustration, the sour taste of defeat without even getting the chance to play.
I failed at getting Edgar out of Morne, failed at convincing Irina against Dalia's plan; and now I'm failing Edgar, at making sure his daughter gets out of the city.
I didn't even get to try, things out of my control just, kept, happening.
And it always ends up being my fault in the end too.
I just keep messing up.
It's annoying; really, really goddamn annoying.
I've been trying to just deal with it… but I feel like a doormat; people have just been walking all over me.
Is it because I'm a Tarnished?
Is that it?
That why?
I try playing nice for once, try trusting soldiers instead of killing them, and this is what I get? Pent up frustration from constant failure of everyone's expectations? Constant opportunities to dump a bucket of water and purposely slip on it for all to see?
I fish Irina's "v" shaped seal out of my pocket.
I nearly throw it, but I place it atop Irina's knee; she flinches at the contact.
"Here." I don't bother lowering my voice. "I'm giving this back."
"…W- what?"
Maybe she wanted me to keep it, meant it as some sort of gift. I don't care. A part of me feels a sense of guilt, but I'm not in the mood.
I leave Irina's side, leaving her alone to fester in the dark.
When everyone bothered to wake up, we were all rather quiet.
Kalé tried to strike up conversation, as we had a hodge-podge breakfast of stale biscuits and water, but it quickly sputtered out.
He leaned my way, whispering: "Did I miss something? Everyone looks like a band of starved highwaymen."
The hell does that even mean?
"Don't know." I ended up saying flatly.
He gave me a look like I just grew horns, reacting to my prickly words.
He tried to say something clever, but gave up, quietly nibbling on his biscuit to himself.
When it was time to leave, Kalé decided to stay.
A part of me would feel bad if his decision is based off recent events, but he read my face easily like he always does.
"Don't know what's got your gutters clogged mate, but don't worry about me." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "I'll play some tunes down here until this all blows over. Shouldn't take long if you're helping, eh?"
He talking about my Rune of Death?
I wonder about that.
Do I even want to help anymore?
... I do.
I may be mad, but I still want to help.
I took a deep breath.
"You sure you're not coming?"
He nodded.
"Aye. Would just get in everyone's way if I come along, not that the local lord would be much too happy to see me anyways."
Sure.
Cool.
Whatever.
I said another goodbye, and we left; I could hear the song Kalé always plays begin to ring out before we even closed the cellar doors completely.
Against our expectations, our trip to Castle Morne was as uneventful as a simple walk to the library; there was neither sight nor sound of the enemy.
The streets were vacant, littered with weapons and armor as heavily as a field after a concert. Spilt blood and stacked bodies are common, the signs of misbegotten feasts lie everywhere in grotesque images.
Spilled guts, exposed ribs and snapped bones. Festering bile, the stench of ruptured bowls mixing terribly with the ocean air.
Amongst the carnage, I saw what I probably never wanted to see: Someone revving.
I assumed it was similar to simply waking up for the "intact" people, your wounds stitching up as you slowly rise to your feet. There were some like that, citizens rising unsteadily during this moment of temporary peace in the city.
But I also saw a certain man revive with everything but the top half of his eyeless skull and his shattered spine missing…
You know, I once saw a timelapse of a deer carcass decomposing from bugs in the woods on YouTube once. Don't ask why, it was just one of those weird moments at 3 a.m. I'm honest when I say I was grossed out, and I never watched something like it again. But for obvious reasons, that video stuck in my head.
This man reviving looked like that video, but in reverse.
Things simply appeared, growing together like a rapidly assembled 3-D puzzle with pieces appearing out of thin air. In tandem with the grotesquely revealing reconstruction, Melina said she saw the man's runes return to his body from the expansive roots of the Erdtree, running just inches beneath the surface.
His golden soul returned to his body like a water bottle being filled, and his body returned to its prior shape like someone genuinely hit rewind on a decomposition timelapse of a corpse.
Within about five seconds, the man was back to his normal self, and his eyes opened not a moment later.
He revived screaming bloody murder; his wails were not alone in Bellard's salty humid air, where the smoke lingered in dark clouds, partially blotting out the rising sun. For those that revive, it's as if they still feel the pain they felt just before death, none of them awaken peacefully.
Amongst the reviving victims, Morne Soldiers were a few of them. They looked bewildered, confused, and partially relieved. They didn't scream or cry.
Death is nothing new for them.
They naturally flocked to our group when they saw us, which grew our band in size until we reached nearly 120 armed men by the time we reached Castle Morne.
Some civilians tried joining in too, drawing to the sight of Irina like moths to a flame, uttering her name like she could save them. The soldiers forced them away, kept them at bay with swords and spears and warhammers, turning on their own people to keep Irina safe.
In times like these, especially when the enemy has disappeared, it's better to trust nobody besides those you know. Only those wearing the black and white surcoats of Morne numbered our small army, any else were forcefully evicted.
The cries for her name, the sounds of fists slamming against jaws and boots stomping on chests because of her presence; Irina looked a mess. She quietly cried to herself next to me, clutching the seal I returned to her with both hands…
I felt terrible.
I without a doubt overreacted, and I'm fine with anyone condemning me for that.
I lashed out at her, practically cut ties, and now I won't talk to her.
The guilt I felt overpowered me once my anger died down, and I find me hating myself more than anyone else.
It was not my right to be so abrasive, it's not Irina's fault.
But I couldn't find the courage to talk to her; I didn't know how to start.
I could simply say something, but I can feel it. I just know it.
She hates me now.
I stayed silent, and even when a newly revived soldier grabbed me by the shoulder, suspicious of my presence, I didn't even react.
I felt numb.
Dalia was the one to step in, threateningly tearing the soldier away.
"Don't." She growled.
The soldier backed off, and it sent a clear message through the army: I'm either an ally, or a valuable asset.
When we finally made it back to Castle Morne, passing through a large crowd of soliciting distraught civilians and walking over the castle's fallen gate, we were greeted with a horrid scene.
I'll spare the details, but imagine dumping a bunch of Lego Figures everywhere, with limbs and heads peeking out amongst the carnage like springtime flowers piercing the winter snow. Snow the color crimson, with clouds of flies hovering over it all.
The stench is palpable, the sight is enough for me, who has seen many terrible things in this land thus far, avert my gaze.
Still, there is not a living enemy in sight, and there are footsoldiers walking amongst the death, loading corpses into wheelbarrows. They cart the soldiers into the keep, and they toss the misbegotten into a growing pile near the center of the courtyard, which is nearly three times my height and many times more wide.
It's not all bad.
It was a Morne victory.
Many soldiers of our temporary band break off here, naturally moving to assist in the cleanup. But others linger, following us as we enter the keep, move past the growing number of bodies in the mess hall, walk up several flights of stairs, and return to that dimly lit room that smells faintly of Rowa Berries.
Doors swing open, and our less than merry band saunters into this familiar war room.
Almost immediately, I hear unfamiliar voices echoing within the expansive place, erupting out from a crowd of gathered soldiers; erupting out from where that large table rests, taking up the center of the room.
Irina breaks off from me, following Dalia with a lingering glance back my way.
She can't see me, that much is obvious. But It's like she can feel my presence leave.
That is, until I'm rejoining her against my will.
I was planning to hang around the back, not wanting to show my face to the warden.
I'll just wait around with the others.
But the soldier named Faxin shoves me forward, not saying a word as to why.
Kal, a rather stoic one, speaks for Faxin, giving me a difficult expression.
"Got some explaining to do, on all our behalf."
Well, I guess we're all equally in trouble with the warden. Great. Seems I've been chosen to be the face of the failures.
I slip through the sweaty and restless crowd, popping out in front at the table, beside the blind princess and almost stone-like female knight. Many soldiers give me incredulous stares, not that our initial entrance was covert. But they still look like they're in disbelief. If I didn't know Melina was by my side, I'd assume I'm alone here.
If there was any respect for me amongst these men, even a sliver; it's good as gone now.
And when I look out across the table, I don't see Edgar.
The warden is not here.
I stifle my nervous jaunt, crossing my arms.
Just thinking the same thing.
No warden, and it seems the voices were coming from two figures that stand almost opposite to me. They had since stopped their conversation, looking at the three of us like we were aliens that just fell from the sky.
One is a knight, who's more on the burly side than Dalia.
The other, is a rather plump looking man with smooth blond hair and a face full of vigor, no wrinkles in his skin unless you count a double chin as a such.
He has a snooty expression, even graced with a small pout on his lips.
He looks at me with interest, while the knight stares me down behind the darkness of that "t" shaped visor, exuding a murderous aura.
The knight speaks first, deep voice muffled behind his frogmouth helmet.
"What is the meaning of this?"
Scary.
He gives of an air of stubborn disdain, like he'd rather kill me than bother with memorizing my name. He has a greatsword, like Dalia, but he has a large oval shield beside him too, its smooth surface embossed with what looks like a large sword with multiple other blades branching off of it.
He presses when I say nothing.
"Why have you returned, Tarnished?"
I give Dalia a sideways glance, trying to best express an expression that says "It's your problem, fix it".
She turns to look down right at me, saying nothing.
What?
She wants me to deal with her mess?
I scowl.
Between our hostile auras, Irina shifts about uncomfortably, clutching onto the seal I returned to her.
"M-Miss Dalia ordered us to return, so we did." She doesn't know where to aim her head, so she lets it go slack after a few uncomfortable seconds, as if she were residing herself to stare at the ground. "She said it was father's order."
Dalia refuses to stop looking at me… what does she want?
Did she expect me to take the fall?
She think I'm that desperate to stay in her good graces?
I'd like to flip her off, but I don't even know if that gesture means anything in this world. So, I give her the best irritated expression I can manage; it feels like we're in a staring contest.
The burly knight turns on Dalia, somewhat noting the exchange she and I are having.
"Dame Dalia Leuvel."
Dalia turns to stare the other knight down; their tall helmets giving none of their scarce emotions away.
"Explain yourself."
I don't know the hierarchy here, but from what I've been able to piece together, the two knights of Morne are of equal standing.
As such, Dalia addresses this knight like she would an equal, no honorifics but no condescending tone.
"Warden Edgar asked me personally to return Lady Irina to his side. I was merely fulfilling my duty." She slightly turns her head, like she wanted to glance at me. That, or she's averting her gaze. "I see no fault in my actions."
Mirroring me, the knight acts like he's skeptical. His voice is a deep and venomous one, and it reflects his words perfectly.
"Oh? Is that so?"
"Ask him if you find fault in my words, Sir Trey. I'm sure he will affirm my actions."
The knight named Trey slightly cocks his head to the side.
"Well, I'm afraid we won't be able to hear from the warden for the time being."
...What?
He goes to say more, but Irina interrupts him; I too raise an eyebrow.
"Wait! Mr. Trey, what do you mean we cannot hear from father. Is he alright?"
The man next to Trey, that plump guy in expensive clothes with blond hair; he speaks up, sounding something like an opera singer mixed with a preacher.
"I do apologize, Mistress Irina, but your father Edgar had unfortunately died in this last battle."
…Oh.
I feel my heart sink.
I nearly blurt something out, but I catch myself. Irina likewise looks shocked at first, but she collects her composure.
"Was he recovered?" Is all she says.
The pompous man gives a nod, his head never lowering past where a normal person would hold it.
"Quite. After your father bravely repelled that dastardly menial horde, he passed quietly in his bed last night. Our best doctors say it was most likely because of his rather grievous wounds."
He can revive.
He can revive.
That's why everyone's talking like this.
That's why nobody's worried.
I need to remind myself, let it sink in before anything else does. Death works differently here, saying somebody's dead could just be simply regarded as "unconscious"; they'll be out for a while, but they'll wake up within a day. As long as the enemy doesn't get ahold of his body, Edgar will be just fine.
I don't think any of the runes yesterday came from soldiers, and I personally liked Edgar, thought he was cool as he fought. I was impressed by his conviction too, going to such lengths to make sure I have the chance to save his daughter.
He's an admirable man; I'm certain I didn't take his soul or anything.
"Last night?" I say out loud.
More than a few heads look my way, but I ignore them.
"Then we'll need to wait until nightfall for him to awaken, right?"
I have time to change things, that's the impression I'm getting. Though, it also means nobody can validate Dalia for the time being. For some reason, that rubs me the wrong way.
The plump man regards me for a moment, looking more interested than disgusted. He strokes his chin; only partially noticing that the two knights have gone back to staring holes into each other.
"My. Are you that Tarnished Edgar mentioned? You sure are smaller than he made you out to be."
Huh.
I can't tell if I should be offended or flattered.
Either Edgar hyped me up to this guy, which I seriously doubt, or this plump man likes to overinterpret words, which I also doubt too. I'm not sure how to feel, so I simply answer with:
"Yeah. I guess I'm him."
The plump man cocks his head up a little, like he wanted to look at me past his nose. A snobby gesture, but I so far find this plump man entertaining. Compared to what I've been through this past day, and considering the atmosphere, he almost comes off as normal.
"Well, I guess introductions are in order, are they not?"
Hardly the time for it, and Trey seems to agree. Plus, I'm fine with continuing to call him plump man; he's not exactly fat, but let's just say he has a constant double chin no matter what he does. Still, he straightens his posture, taking up a reverent stance.
"I, am Neil Haight, the current Lord of Bellard, and permanent resident of Castle Morne. A pleasure to make your acquaintance…"
"Lance. Lance Thompson of Springfield."
Someone used their last name for once, so I answered in kind. But Neil raises an eyebrow to that.
"Oh, then you are a noble?" He sways a hand about as if he were causally mixing one of those alcoholic drinks. "I may have recollection of the Thompson family, but I have no knowledge of this land of Springfield you speak of."
He leans in, giving me that strange pouting expression as he examines my face.
"You certainly have the features. Might you be a son of one of Caelid's latent lords?"
I sigh. Don't know what he's talking about, though I was wondering why some people just don't have last names in this land.
"My homeland is far from here. Very far. If there's nobles here with the last name of Thompson, then it's just a coincidence."
I don't know too much about astronomy, but I've yet to make out any of the constellations I know in the night sky. No Orion, no Leo or Little Dipper of any of those things. If this world isn't a different reality altogether, then I assume I might not even be in the same galaxy as earth anymore.
Well, considering there's no way to space travel, I might as well be on the other side of the universe.
It's as I said to Irina: I'm far from home.
…
I shouldn't be thinking about this.
If nobody else will say it, and Neil is too caught up on my last name, then I'll be the one to ask.
I turn on Trey, finding it easier than I thought it would be to talk to him, though we've never met.
Maybe I'm getting better at talking to intimidating people. That, or this swirling disdain and sour feeling in my heart is starting to loosen my tongue.
"If Edgar's out until nightfall, what's the plan for now?"
Who calls the shots when the warden's out of commission? I'd think it would be Trey and Dalia, but it feels like the order in the room naturally gravitates to Neil. Makes sense, since he's basically the governor. Still, he listens to Trey, so the knight must be something of a leader here too.
Trey regards me with disdain for a moment.
I know I'm butting in when I shouldn't; I'm a random Tarnished that arrived yesterday after all. Everyone either hates me or finds me as a nuisance, and I'm definitely being a little too cheeky.
But I'm not in the mood for small talk.
I stare Trey down, ignoring Dalia's gaze on me.
The burly knight grunts.
"Plan for now is dealing with cleanup."
He looks to Neil, who nods.
"Yes, quite." The noble says. "Before present company arrived, we were merely discussing disposal procedures… Shall we continue the discussion then?"
Trey gives me another glance, but he nods. Neil returns it, and puts one hand on the table between us.
"The usual steps would be to simply burn the corpses, as these things normally go."
I realize quickly that he's speaking to more than just me; his words are for everyone in attendance. But despite that, he looks directly at me, speaking in a summarizing way, as if he wanted to catch us up to speed at the same time.
"This was a rather harrowing battle, but seeing as how Edgar maintained hold of the castle, I can confidently say this was our victory."
He looks down, never losing that pompous expression despite his serious words.
"If we can successfully dispose of the menial bodies we have, then we would surely deal a major blow to the enemy's number. Burning would be the simplest method, but…"
"There's too much."
Trey takes over, talking like he's spitting on our situation.
"Even if we can keep a blaze lasting long enough torch it all, we cannot do so within our walls."
He grabs a large, rolled up parchment, rolling it out. It's a massive map of Bellard, enough to take up the entire table. Soldiers standing around the table help roll it out; I stand and watch. Trey places a metal finger on Castle Morne, resting on the very southern end of Bellard.
"For your information, Tarnished, this castle is in a dead zone; no wind ever blows here. There isn't a sufficient current to remove excess smoke. If we burn the Misbegotten bodies where they are, there's a high chance we suffocate in a dormant cloud."
Huh, is that why there's so much smoke hanging above Bellard? The fact I felt no wind when Edgar and I were atop the castle comes to mind too. Though, how does that work so close to the ocean? If my time in Florida meant anything, beaches are almost always windy.
"Practically smoke ourselves out."
Neil remarks. He looks my way.
"The lack of wind was a true blessing when it came to our defenses and their accuracy." He explains, as if he wanted to protect the reasoning for the placement of the castle.
He slightly loses face.
"But, in this case, it seems luck isn't on our side. This has been our dilemma."
Trey stares at the map, quietly growling.
"That, Tarnished, is where we are now. We are at a pass."
I consider the map.
"Couldn't we dump the corpses in the ocean?" I ask.
Both Trey and Neil look at me, I return the gaze.
"When I was crossing Bellard Bridge, I saw Godrick soldiers doing something similar. The ocean's close, so couldn't it be a possibility?"
The two men exchange a glance. Trey is the first to speak.
"It's too shallow. If we dump them off the beach, they'll just surface before they drown."
Neil speaks next.
"And there would be the difficulty of transportation. We haven't got a clue where the enemy is now. The menials and terrorists both have disappeared from the streets, not leaving so much as a trace behind for us to follow, as far as we can see. We assume they must've entered the sewer systems, sometime early this morning."
Trey snarls, like he's heard this before. Neil gives him a quick glance, continuing to talk.
"Whoever they listen to wants them to regroup for now. Whatever the case may be, if we conduct such an operation, we can only assume they will try and stop us."
So, there is a leader. Assumed as much.
As for the bodies…
Should I tell them?
Is it safe for them to know?
Kalé's and Melina's words both echo in my mind.
My own fears contaminating my thoughts.
Do I tell them I stole the misbegottens' souls? Reaped their runes? Administered them Destined Death?
…
…
…
I can't decide.
I can help, in ways outside of my skill alone. I can be their trump card, their saving grace even.
The bodies will definitely decay now, disease and the smell will still be a major problem.
Not all of the dead misbegotten lost their runes, some within that pile outside will revive.
It doesn't stop the problem of the bodies… but at least it gives us more time, makes things less urgent.
I still don't know why I only take the runes of those I consider my enemies, without taking from those I consider my allies. Not sure why it only works at a certain distance -I stopped receiving runes from deaths in the castle after we left yesterday-, or why the runes only come right after an enemy dies; I don't take from those who I come across already dead.
It's fickle, strange, and unnatural.
But it's still hope.
Yet I can't guarantee I won't be used.
These soldiers and knights may value my life just a little more than dirt, but a power like mine is -I can only guess- worth more than my weight in gold. What's stopping them from chaining me up, and carting me out into battle whenever they wage wars?
I guess I'd just make them my enemy in my head too if that happened, completely defacing my the advantage.
But they can trap me in other ways too.
Play on my guilty conscience, bribe me, threaten me, beg me, see me as nothing more than a tool. The possibilities are endless, and I can only assume word would spread if they ever let me go; I might only ever be treated as a tradeable asset from here on out.
Melina. What should I do?
I would have to say it is your decision. I cannot in the right mind make a call that will influence you directly like this.
But I will say this: I have tried to keep my abilities close.
I can do nothing of my appearance, and my fire is open for all to see. But nobody other than you know of my healing incantation; nobody other than you know I can see runes.
Share what you will with those you trust.
Give the minimum required to those you do not.
I almost hear her with my own ears.
Do you trust these people?
I look over Neil, Trey, and Dalia.
I look down at Irina down at my right, she somehow feels my eyes on her, because she turns her head my way.
If I'm being honest…
I don't. I don't trust these people.
I don't even know if I trust Edgar, and he's probably the one I think highest of in this place. Irina is a close second… but not even Kalé knew everything; he only learned because he heard about it from someone else. Melina might be the only person in this world that I truly trust, and I don't know if that will ever change.
I might never trust them.
Then, keep your secrets close.
If the bodies stay, they'll find out eventually. I have my own reasons to get rid of them too. We're all running out of time.
Everyone fell silent as I thought to myself and conversed with Melina, all of them wondering about their own things. They hope to get rid of the bodies before they can revive en masse, I need them gone before people start asking questions.
Reasons may be different, but we want to same outcome.
I look over the map again, scanning across the southern end of the city.
Is there a place it isn't a beach?
Is there another way to deal with the bodies?
They need to burn, but they can't burn here.
They could be dumped in the ocean, but it needs to be deep enough.
Nobody knows where the enemy is, they could ambush us if we go anywhere outside Morne's walls.
I know otherwise, but Neil and Trey both don't want to risk that; if they lose hold of the bodies before they're disposed of, then those same bodies could be their opponents tomorrow.
Can't burn them here, can't carry them anywhere.
Don't think this world has acid, can't dissolve them.
Can't bury them, it'd take too long to dig that large of a hole.
And on the off chance those that revive dig themselves out, we'd have enemies popping out of the ground.
The only option is the ocean…
Need to get them there…
…
I just had a really stupid idea.
Well… That certainly is a thought.
Could it work?
I suppose.
Think they'll laugh?
I am sure they will take any idea at this point.
Can't see Trey's eyes, but Neil's are easy enough to read.
He's uneasy, a little nervous, and certainly stressed. If they don't deal with this before sunset, they'll have a huge problem on their hands. The enemy has retreated, yet they don't even have time to breathe. Time's ticking, and unless they come up with a better idea, they will just need to burn the corpses here and now and hope the accumulated smoke will miraculously get blown away instead of hanging around within the walls, dropping visibility down to almost nothing, along with partially suffocating everybody.
If they leave this castle, the city is lost.
No other defendable position for miles around, the misbegotten and Limgrave Horde would be victorious.
Burning would make everything worse.
So, I speak up, breaking the silence that's persisted for nearly 10 minutes.
"I still think the ocean is our best bet."
Neil gives me a tired expression.
"It would take time, and we don't know where our enemy is. I am regrettably sorry, Milord Lance, but your idea holds no weight."
Trey snarls again, slamming a hand down on the table, leaning in at me.
"I will not waste my men's lives any more than I need to, Tarnished. So, unless you want to carry the corpses yourself, then I suggest you shut your mouth until you have a better idea."
I knit my eyebrows together, giving the knight a guarded expression.
He's very intimidating, seems pissed by nature. He's been on edge ever since I simply graced him with my presence; I can only guess he hates my kind with a passion.
"You are here by mere chance; the only reason why I haven't disposed of you myself is because Edgar desires you guard his daughter. You have no real weight on this council. If you decide to continue running your mouth, then I'll have my men escort you out, by force if necessary."
…
…
…
Tsk.
I feel something welling up again.
I don't want to; I know I shouldn't.
But I lean in myself, drawing the courage to stare Trey down.
I have a good idea, and I won't let this knight brush me off, simply because he hates what I am.
"You have a better option? We can't bury them, and I'm certain you guys don't have enough acid or something similar to dissolve the bodies. What better alternative is there?"
Murmurs run through the surrounding soldiers, Trey looks like he's ready to flip the table aside and beat me to a pulp.
He tenses up, growling under his words.
"You dogmatic bastard. Do you know how to do anything other than yap and whine?"
Irina lightly rests a hand on my shoulder.
"Sir Tarnsihed, Sir Trey, please. Don't fight."
Lance, you are taking this too far.
He started it.
What has he started?
It is you that is getting worked up.
The voices amongst the soldiers heighten. My blood feels like it's starting to boil. I've been a little… no… really ticked off since this day began.
I've been getting tossed around, pushed about, and I'm getting sick of it. I've been like a doormat since coming here; everyone's just been walking over me. They told me to do something, and I complied. Someone tells me to do something different, and I let them.
I'm the one that fails in the end, as I try to appease everyone.
It's pissing me off.
I should apologize, but I jab a finger at Trey.
"You pin-headed idiot. You know how to do anything other than threaten people!? If your bite was as good as your bark, then maybe Edgar wouldn't need to take a dirt nap for a day!"
What a childish thing to say, a low blow too.
I wanted to get back at someone, anyone.
It just takes me a second to realize that Trey probably was the worst person to finally push against in this whole kingdom.
I could have denied Irina's request, held fast in convincing Edgar to leave. Opposed Dalia, truly insisted upon Irina telling Dalia off. I could've pushed back so many times…
But I finally snapped at the worst possible time.
Trey draws his sword.
"Breathe your last Tarnished."
"ENOUGH!"
I jump, Irina winces and hugs me for support. Trey freezes, his non-dominant hand placed and ready to flip the war table over. I don't know why, but Dalia had readied to draw her sword too; she stares Trey down with a murderous posture.
The rest of the soldiers fell silent; it was Neil who shouted.
He has quite the pair of pipes on him, son of a gun probably rivals Agheel's roar in volume.
The pompous man clears his throat, giving me a complicated glance.
"That will be enough Sir Trey. Please, sheathe your blade."
Trey begrudgingly complies, slowly sliding his sword into his scabbard while staring holes into me behind the darkness of his "t" shape visor.
"You too, Milord Lance. Stow your sword."
…When did my greatsword get in my hands?
I don't remember drawing it. It's heavy, so I'm sure I would've noticed.
I sheathe it, breaking my gaze from Trey to look at Melina.
You don't need to do that.
Her aura flies off where she planted herself on his chest plate, returning to my side after slipping by beneath the table. A few soldiers noticed, but Trey never did.
I do. If he decided to ignore Neil's words, we would surely need to kill him.
And ruin everything?
If necessary.
Noted.
Alright, I'll watch my temper.
As soon as my blade's cross guard clicks against the metal band of its scabbard, Neil loses the tension in his shoulders.
He reassess himself, getting back into a snobby posture.
"Now… Milord Lance, it seems you have an idea." He says.
"One you believe it fit enough to oppose Sir Trey" His face seems to finish.
I nod.
Despite my blunder, it seems Neil still finds worth in me. Guess I should count my blessings.
I face Trey down, fighting to keep the hostility out of my expression. Despite our odds, we're still comrades here, even if he regards me as something he accidentally stepped in.
"How many of the trebuchets still work?"
Neil's face almost immediately changes, like he just guessed where I'm going with this.
"Three." Trey answers after a few seconds of sour silence. "Four if we can fix the rope on the last one."
I nod along.
"And? How far can they volley something?"
Neil's suspicions must've been answered, because he gives me an incredulous expression.
"I say! Could it be, you want to volley the bodies into the ocean?"
Trey makes a physical reaction; confused voices go through the surrounding soldiers. You know, the expression on Neil's face is priceless.
I make a fist, twirling my finger around it.
"If we wrap the corpses up with a rope or cloth with something like a big rock to weight them down, then we could send them into the ocean in mass."
I look at the map, at a spot slightly east of Castle Morne. The city of Bellard rests on what looks like a cape, with the ocean encroaching even past Morne in some places. The plateau gives way to beach in most of the region, but it looks like there's one exception.
"If I'm not mistaken, it would be possible to throw the bodies into the water around there." I point it out, where the beach falls away, and a sheer cliff face takes its place. "That's a coastal cliff; the water at its base is full of sharp rocks and such, but the sea floor quickly falls off after that. It should be relatively deep, and if not, the current should carry the bodies out into open water."
My 8th grade geography lessons are coming back to me. I may be wrong, but this is how I remember it: Waves typically crash against coastal cliffs, and the surface current would just keep smacking the bodies against the cliff face. But if we weigh them down, the undertow should help drag the bodies out deeper into the ocean. If I remember correctly, the sea floor should drop off quickly.
Now that I'm explaining it out loud, making connections as I go, it doesn't sound like a stupid plan.
Doesn't mean it's not a crazy plan though.
Neil seems to consider it, stroking his chin.
"I see. A peculiar idea."
Trey doesn't sound the least bit cooled, like he'd love to chew into me if Neil permitted it.
"You think the enemy will just let it happen? Once they find out, they'll surely-"
"Oh no, no, I think it just might work."
Neil cuts the knight off. Trey turns on him.
"Lord Haight. Surely you jest. A plan like this is too foolish." He jabs a finger my way. "And coming from a Tarnished, no less."
He turns on me.
"They are nothing but lowborn fools, rightfully abandoned by the Erdtree's light. This boy is not even a native to this land."
He wants to start something again; I might just comply.
"An invader, a liar, spouting nonsense that Queen Marika asked that he return from the cesspool from which he came."
I grit my teeth, feeling my blood begin to boil again. I don't even know what he's talking about, but if what he describes are Tarnished…
"He doesn't even have a guiding maiden. He probably already killed her; may just be one of those blood-crazed heretics."
Do not listen to him, he seeks to provoke you.
Do not give him an excuse to attack you.
Irina's tense, she clasped her hand over mine. I want to wrench my hand free, jump on this table and drive a blade through this bastard.
Neil merely watches Trey. Why is he only watching? Why won't he stop him?
Does he agree?
"How do we know this boy didn't sabotage our gate? How do we know he's not an enemy?" He leans in, almost sounding elated. "I don't like that look in your eye, Tarnished. Why are you here? Why do you have that little light following you around?"
I see his eyes in the firelight, they read nothing but what his words reflect.
"Why do you have Stormhill Knight Roard's partisan strapped to your back?" Something flashes over his eyes.
"You one of Godrick's rogues?"
"Sir Trey."
Neil speaks with a sharp tone, one that he projects over everyone.
"Excuse yourself from this room. Right now."
Trey lingers.
"That is an order, knight."
Trey stalks off without another word to me, marching away without so much as a glance back.
"Excuse me."
He slams the door closed behind him hard enough to crack the anchors on the hinges.
Stale silence ensues, until Neil is the first to talk.
"Milord Lance, I find your idea most interesting, and it may be the answer we need."
He looks unfazed, like this was a daily occurrence.
"Would you tell me more of this plan?"
Gladly.
What did Irina do? What did she say?
Sir Tarnished… Lance is mad at her, but why?
She knows not what he looks like, she has no clue.
He said he is Tarnished, which Mr. Trey and Miss Dalia have only ever said are evil.
But Lance has been kind to her, he has been considerate and thoughtful and sincere.
He has a voice that's pleasant to listen to; smooth and sure, almost like Father's. He has no familiar accent, but his words are easy to understand. She enjoyed listening to his voice, in the short and few exchanges they had.
She enjoyed his company; it was almost as if he had a form of warmth that was constantly around him.
Her life has always been darkness; she's been blind since birth. With that darkness, she almost always felt cold.
A enwrapping chill that always seems to threaten her to become lost in that never ending darkness. She can only hear, only smell and touch and taste. She can never see the ocean her Father describes, never witness the moon and stars that wandering and vagrant sorcerer Rogier once told her about.
She will never glance upon the violet roses native of Bellard that Dalia picked for her, never perceive the faces of her friends and family, never see the large dog Trey adopted from the streets.
She will never be able to see Morne's treasured sword, Father's prized armor, or Lord Neil's proud collection of books and poetry that he always reads to her.
Sights she will never experience, images she could never conjure, all lost in that cold.
That chill that threatens to get her lost in that never ending darkness.
Only a few people can chase that dormant chill away, only a small few that she could easily count on the five fingers of her hand.
Lance was one of them.
His warmth was like Father, like Lord Neil and Mr. Trey.
Like the subtle warmth she feels in the seal her mother gifted her, before she was lost at sea.
And unlike the warmth of Mr. Trey and Lord Neil, his warmth was genuine.
Like Father's.
Lance had that warmth, and she wanted to keep him near.
She gave him her seal, begged him to rescue her father, and asked him to return for her. She wanted to run away from Bellard with Father, and she wanted Lance to come along too.
No matter where the three of them went, either north to Limgrave, or west and east to the unknown lands, she didn't care where.
As long as she kept that warmth close, she would be happy.
As long as she could have them with her, she would be happy.
But Father refused to leave the castle, and now that Irina wants to return to him, Lance's warmth toward Irina has gone cold.
He returned Irina's seal, and he has gone cold.
And now, as he talks with Lord Neil, he fails to regain his warmth.
What did Irina do? Did she mess up somewhere? Lance sounded like he liked Father too; isn't he happy to be back here again? What has happened? What did she do? Dalia said it was what Father wanted, but was coming back a mistake?
She was overjoyed that Father wanted her to return, but did Dalia lie?
Are they all lying?
Is there no more warmth here for her?
Will Father be angry?
Did he cast her aside because he doesn't want her anymore?
Was his warmth a lie too?
Him?
Father?
Is he going to leave her too?
Like Mother?
Will they all leave her?
...
Will Lance leave her?
Is there no more warmth in this darkness?
...
No.
...
There is warmth.
...
She feels it, but where?
There is warmth, warmth like sunlight. Stronger than Father's, Stronger than Lance's. She can almost see it; see light in this eternal darkness.
Where is it? Where is this warmth coming from? Accompanied by that alien light that almost calls to her? She looks northward, far north, past Limgrave, past Liurnia, past even Altus. Deep underground, underneath Leyndell...
She feels warmth...
Was returning to Father a mistake after all?