Luna
"So, isn't this quite the little trick of yours?" She spoke very softly, hidden down near one of the ramparts leading to the stormveil entrance. Marika had turned instantly to some spirit form that allowed her to hover by the reluctant knight like a specter.
"I do not recall saying I knew the stipulations of my resurrection." Arms crossed.
"Lucky you," she retorted as she lept aside, armor clacking softly as another bolt shattered the barrier she had hunkered down. On landing, she continued to fiddle with a few mushrooms and a pot.
"What in the Greater Will are you doing? This is no time for leisure!" The specter queen barked as she fluttered around her would-be savior.
The reluctant knight chuckled just as she sparked the pot. "No such thing as no time for leisure," as she hurled the pot overhead, leading to a loud bang as the handcrafted firepot turned the ballista to smolders and gave an opening. With a swift step, the knight rushed forward. A small dagger slashed and quickly backstabbed one of the distracted shieldmen before two more were thrown and buried into the neck of an infantryman.
A loud roar came as the lead knight rushed towards her just as she drew the wrapped blade she had recently ripped off the hands of a rider. A long curved heavy blade that came down quick and hard, splitting steel and armor as easily as flesh. She sighed, slowly appraising the area as the bodies quickly faded onto spirit dust, back to the tree.
"You are still a spirit," she commented with a raised brow as she removed her hood, sighing briefly as the fresh air splashed across her face with a cooling kiss. "Which means that doorway leads to far worse foes I would wager."
Marika seemed to sigh, visibly annoyed as her brow arched in a thoughtful yet frustrated manner. It made her golden eyes gleam with a subtle orange glow that denoted tinges of fury that had made the reluctant knight curious about that. The glow only ever formed during negative emotions. The thought made her curiosity run with possibilities, and worse yet, the secret storm she kept as locked as she could in her mind began to spin. Countless possibilities, so few kind.
She did her best to silence the thoughts, but Marika's expression told her of that failing. Quiet, stifled worry painting her features. It was clearly played off as dismissal, but Luna's true years had taught her the fine details in the face that were lieless. The quiet way her brow furrowed up even as she tried to make it resemble her turning her nose up. The soft quiver to her lip at the bottom right of it that extended subtly to her jawline.
It was these little details that gave Luna a strange kind of hope to the goddess. She fronted as dauntless when deeply she cared. It made her wonder to the motivations of her ward, or victim, depending on one's view.
She bolstered herself after a moment as they moved through the brief castle walkway, enjoying the moment to breathe before redoning her hood as they came out to a bridge. Countless weapons littered the stone walkway, carved as a bridge from what once must have been a mountain to further guard the daunting castle coming into view.
Slowly, the wind began to curl across the dirt pathway, as a great voice began to echo through the open air. "Foul Tarnished." It rung with a mixture of grandeur and contempt, and Marika's eyes were the first to glisten.
"That's -" she had begun as the voice materialized nearby upon the vast wall.
"In search of the Elden Ring, emboldened by the flame of ambition," he spoke softly, yet his voice carried across the winds with weight. A soft unfurling of arms and a tap of his cane that resembled a vast, knotted tree branch with a handle fit for the needing grip as well as the bloody one. The being himself was tall, with greyish blue skin by her reckon and horns growing all over his head that was maned by silvery hair. His body clad in a ragged robe tied with only a roughspun rope at the neck. He was a harrowing figure that seemed born to the sewers or to violence itself.
He lept, landing after a few moments with a crash. Dust and debris whipped along the air as Luna covered her face, shielding her eyes as the figure began to stand. How he towered over them both. His cane now held more like a sword in his right hand. "Someone must extinguish thy flame," he spoke as his body righted upwards, preparing for battle, "Let it be Margit the Fell!" He barked out almost like a battle cry, leaving no room to question his intent. Yet the call of his name brought a confused look to her spirit Queens face. Still, now was no time for questions as the reluctant knight drew up the great sword on her back.
"Then let the moon smile upon this battle," she intoned, two hands gripping it as soon, metal ripped against wood. Heavy and towering blows that split dirt, stone, and steel alike around them, as his now unfurled and knotted tail split across embedded spears like a club across twigs. Deft where the would-be saviors movements, quickly leaping and dodging between blows, but he was a persistent and powerful foe. Fast and quick to recover, she was soon finding openings for attack small. A few slashes got through, but she was beginning to lose ground and be backed against the open chasm. Death would not be a conclusion, thanks to the strange laws this land had, but a setback she hoped to avoid as often as she could manage.
A footstep back as a few sprinklings of dirt dusted off the edge as she breathed. Quietly, she allowed the Storm in. She would win. She had to.
Marika
She watched from the sidelines, mind agast at her son's pseudonym, or that he was here impeding their progress. If only she could speak with him. She would ..
She would what? Beg his forgiveness? Ask him to simply step aside as some woman claiming to have his mothers spirit with her? Even if she could form, she was powerless. She didn't even have the talents to be a fingermaiden for her knight. She watched their duel, eyes fixed in frustration and confusion as the deep well of sorrow began to fill her. Even if it was her at her full might, why would Morgott ever forgive her for what she had done to him?
She had cast her own two sons into the sewers among the other omen. Blinded by her hate ages ago, she had not been willing to hear that they were different. Even now, her mind ached to rip those horrible horns from her son's flesh. The sight only brought back visions of a lone minor Erdtree in a sea of flowers, with no one left to heal.
She saw her would-be savior backed to the edge, and her chest clenched. She knew this world was protected from death, but she had no clue how long it would be before Luna re-materialized. How long she might be left alone.
She wanted desperately to intervene, to stop her son, to tell Luna to just run past, but her voice seemed to fail her. The whole sight left her shaking, as true powerlessness began to fill her chest and mind. A painful ache that had not truly set in until now. A feeling she had done so much to avoid ever feeling again.
'You can always let me out.' he burned at the edge of her thoughts. 'I still hold our power.' "MY power," she hissed back. Angry and dark eyed for a moment, she clutched her head as his voice barreled against her mind, "and I shan't be supplanted by You!"
Her voice was like molten heat against rock, burning, yet ineffective. His presence banged against her mind like a battering ram, seemingly only emboldened by her attempt at retaliation. It hurt so badly that it felt as if her own mind was being lit ablaze.
Suddenly, she heard a sound that silenced Him and herself. Looking up at her would-be savior, she saw her eyes suddenly glowing. Bright glacial blue that seemed to glisten with an etherealness as she roared with all the might of an actual beast, just as Morgott slammed down his cane onto her. To both their shock, he instantly received a slash across the face, sending him stumbling back as she had moved so finely as to be missed by his strike by mere measures of hair widths.
Her movements became so fast and precise as to resemble a machine made of water. Dancing slashes that barely dipped past strikes that often she should not even have seen. Within moments, a slogging loss turned into a deafening barrage of a thousand cuts delivered by throwing knives and that fierce dismounting blade. Each little opening so minute was exploited, until at last it seemed Morgott grew tired of the slog himself.
"Well, thou art of passing skill," his voice sounded the tiniest bit more respectful. As if his prior disdain had been shaped into proper respect for a fellow warrior, if only by margins. His hand formed a massive hammer of pure light, swiping once to push back the reluctant knight before leaping high, "Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished." It grew sorrowful there, remorseful mixed with frustration. It was like a realization that both bring good futures, yet a bitter taste to the tongue. His hammer crashed thunderously, far faster than predicted by the cry of pain that rang in her ears as she caught Luna rolling away. Her left ankle crushed within her boot.
She seemed to breathe haggardly, pain rattling her as Morgott stalked closer, a dagger of light formed. Marika shook, desperate and angry. Angry at herself, angry at Morgott, angry at herself and her weakness. She clasped her hands as a silent prayer passed by her thoughts. Save her.
Morgott
With a rush of golden light, a barrier briefly pushed back Morgott before bathing Luna in a brief light of gold.
Morgott watched with confusion. "What is this... Mother...?" His voice tinged with sudden disruption as surely his mind became a mess. Before him was a slowly forming minor Erdtree, that, brief it existed, bathed the warrior in healing light as she rose back to her once broken feet. She gripped the handle of her long curved blade, and something struck him in her stance.
It reminded him of the malice of his brother, Messmer. The raw, barely contained fury held back only by a mask of chivalry. A hand on her blade leaned forward with those haunting glacial eyes and a face, where it was visible, full of violence. It was like staring into the eyes of a truly terrible monster that had convinced itself of its bravery and adorned itself with a mask of knighthood. It made him feel as if he was gazing into a mirror, and it frightened him. In that instant though, he also saw that beasthood backed by an incantation only capable of by the most heralded of his mother's faithful, and to have someone backing this talented knight unseen capable of such power left him questioning whether to stay, or retreat, and consider his options. Gather more information.
The projection soon began to step back, placing its staff back into a walking stick position, as the knight's eyes briefly met his. Morgott was many things, but a fool had he proven yet to be not. "We shall meet again, ye Tarnished." And with that, he vanished into dust. His quarry would wait for today.
"So... ain't this quite the little toy ye got?" Luna muttered softly, her back pressed tightly against the cold, crumbling masonry of a Stormveil rampart.
Beside her, Marika leaned heavily against the stone, her knuckles white around the grip of a short, iron-headed mace. The pale skin of her wrists was raw, and her breaths came in shallow, ragged hitches, but her feet remained firmly planted in the mud.
"I do not recall stating I was privy to the exact stipulations of my resurrection," Marika rasped, her voice carrying the cold, elevated weight of a queen forced to endure lower accommodations. She shifted her weight, her toes curling into the cold earth as she readied her weapon. "Nor did I ask for thy commentary on my posture." She snorted with a curt aggressiveness. Why is that almost cute?
"Lucky you," Luna grunted, trying to tug her attention back to their pressing issue and not how the sweat made Marika's robe cling to her chest rather closely.
She ducked sharply as a massive ballista bolt slammed into the brickwork directly above her head, showering both of them in gritty mortar dust and stone splinters. Unbothered, Luna squatted low in the mud, her gloved fingers deftly grinding dried cave mushrooms into an unglazed clay pot before packing it with coarse black powder and oil.
"What in the name of the Greater Will art thou doing?!" Marika barked, her golden eyes flashing as she raised her small mace to deflect a stray shower of gravel. "This is no hour for idle tinkering!"
Luna let out a dry, raspy chuckle, striking a flint against her iron buckle. "Ain't no such thing as no time for leisure, Your Grace." Her tone carried a slight sassy wit in the last few words.
With a quick, fluid snap of her arm, Luna hurled the ignited pot overhead. A sharp, thunderous CRACK shattered the air as the ballista crew was consumed in a geyser of flame, orange embers, and splintered wood. It left the gilded former-goddess a little jawdropped, for a second or two.
"What was that 'bout tinkerin?" She muttered.
"Oh HUSH!" She spat in indignation.
Before the smoke could even clear, both women moved.
Luna burst from cover, her boots cutting deep into the mud as a thin throwing dagger whipped from her belt, burying itself straight into the throat of a distracted shieldman. In one continuous motion, she closed the distance, ripped the heavy curved Dismounter off her back, and brought the iron down in a brutal arc. The motion sundered right through shield, armor, and man alike of another unfortunate soldier.
Marika moved behind her. She had a slower pace, deliberate, each step heavy with the lingering trauma of her shattered form. A soldier charged her flank with a rusted spear. Marika didn't dodge; she stepped inside his guard with cold, terrifying precision, bringing her short mace down in a short, sickening crunch directly against his knee. As the guard collapsed, she brought the heavy iron flange across his temple with the practiced, mechanical weight of a monarch executing sentence. I almost miss how that felt. Almost.
Steel bits, wooden splinters, and the fallen soldiers dissolved into shimmering gold dust, returning to the distant roots.
Luna pulled her blade clear with a wet slide, letting out a long, slow breath as she wiped soot off her cheek. She glanced back at Marika, who was leaning heavily on her mace, her chest heaving, a thin line of blood trickling from a split on her lip.
"Ye're hit," Luna remarked, her brow hitching up slightly. "And ye move like a statue." Her gaze turned briefly toward the looming archway. "Whatever's lurkin' past that gateway... it ain't gonna be friendly."
Marika let out a sharp, aristocratic sigh, wiping the blood from her lip with the back of her sore hand. Her brow furrowed in a mixture of royal haughtiness and deep frustration, her golden eyes flashing with a sharp, orange-tinged flicker.
Luna's eyes narrowed slightly at the sight. That orange glow... only ever comes out when she's downright pissed or terrified.
'Perhaps she is more like us than meets the eye.' Duchess added.
"Mine own limbs are more than equal to a touch of exertion, I thank thee!" She spat with a dark and snappy tone, eyes narrowed and heavy with the orange tint for a moment or two longer as she whipped a bit of hair back from her brow.
Despite the queen's visible attempts to mask the agony while Marika straightened her spine, Luna caught the subtle cues. The tiny quiver at the corner of the Queen's lower lip, the slight tightness around her jaw as she fought through the raw physical pain of holding real steel once more. The way her toes seemed to almost grip at her handsewn sandals.
Fronts like she's made o' iron, Luna thought with a faint, softened curve to her lips. But there's a heart bleedin' underneath all that gold.
Marika
They stepped out onto the vast, windswept crossing leading toward the main keep. A stone bridge littered by countless broken spears, shattered shields, and rusted swords across the cracked flags that dotted it's perimeter like a graveyard of forgotten sieges.
Marika kept her mace held low at her side, her knuckles bruised and aching. Her physical body felt heavy, unbelievably heavy. An unyielding vessel of stone and bone that refused to move with her former divine grace. It was almost like trudging across mud in the air that had grown thick and congealed to a heavy paste. It was like everything about her was daring to be crushed or fade into an ocean of weighted essence she could not see, yet the weight of the iron in her hand was a grounding, visceral reality.
Suddenly, the biting autumn wind curled sharply around the chasm. A voice, heavy with immense age and suffocating contempt, echoed off the stone walls.
"Foul Tarnished..."
Marika's eyes widened instantly. That voice...
High upon the battlements, a towering figure stepped into the light. A knotted cane, thick as a young oak, thumped against the stone. He was clad in ragged, roughspun robes tied with hemp, his grey-blue flesh scarred and twisting beneath a horrific crown of tangled, jagged horns.
He leaped with a terrifying grace and speed. The ground shook violently as he slammed into the dirt walkway, sending up a blinding cloud of dust and gravel.
He towered over them, raising his massive cane like an Executioner's blade. "In search of the Elden Ring. Emboldened by the flame of ambition..." He straightened his massive, hunchbacked frame, his golden eyes burning from beneath his matted silver hair. "Someone must extinguish thy flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!"
Marika felt her breath catch in her throat. Her grip on her mace slackened for a fraction of a second.
Margit...? No... Morgott...?
Her mind reeled as she stood anchored to the flags. Morgott... my son. Why art thou here? Why dost thou bear a false name?
She wanted to step forward, to lower her weapon and reach out to those broken, horned shoulders, ut the suffocating weight of her own guilt slammed into her chest like a physical blow. Her offhand gripped at the hood of her robe, pressing it ever closer over her face while she reeled softly behind her would-be savior.
What would I even say... She thought bitterly, real tears welling in her tired eyes. Beg forgiveness for casting thee into the dark damp of the subterranean sewers? For hiding thee away like a stain upon my order? Thou wouldst rightfully strike me down with that staff.
He was a stain. He belonged in the sewer. Even now, he impedes our golden light. She growled silently inside, silencing him as she turned her focus back to the battle at hand.
Beside her, Luna drew her curved heavy blade with a rasp of iron, her feet planting deep into the dirt. "Then let the moon smile upon this slaughter," Luna growled low in her throat.
The duel erupted in a deafening flurry of violence. Morgott swung his knotted cane with monstrous force, shattering stone flags and snapping embedded spears like twigs. Every step sent dirt, debris, and danger at the battling party. He was a whirlwind of sharp edges and blunt force, despite his visible aged appearance.
Luna moved with fluid, terrifying efficiency, leaping and rolling through gaps to deliver sharp, bleeding slashes along the Omen's arms and ribs. She was as graceful as a dancer with every step able to pivot with the speed and deftness of a performing artist, yet wielding a blade twice her side like a pendulum of death.
Marika fought from the periphery. She was too slow to match his speed, but whenever Morgott turned his focus entirely on Luna, Marika would step into his flank. With a low, guttural grunt of effort, she drove her heavy iron mace against his tail or back, delivering slow, bone-rattling impacts that forced the Omen to stagger and adjust his footing. He often was left open for a more viceral strike by Luna during those brief windows, but they rarely garnered fruit.
Yet Morgott was a relentless mountain of violent vigor. A backhand from his massive horned tail caught Marika square in the ribs, sending her tumbling across the cracked stone with a harsh spray of dust and blood.
"Marika!" Luna shouted, but Morgott was already upon her, driving Luna back toward the jagged edge of the chasm.
No... no! Marika gasped from the dirt, clutching her cracked ribs as she pushed herself up on one arm, her small mace slipping from her numb fingers. She cannot fall here! I shall be left alone in this wasteland!
Thou art always alone, Little Queen, a burning voice hissed from the darkest embers of her skull. Unless thou yieldest the reins to Me. I still hold our power.
"MY power!" Marika spat aloud into the mud, coughing up blood. "Thou shalt not supplant me, Radagon!" A hand clasped her head with a furious rage as the crashing of his will banged on. His presence hammered against her mind like an iron battering ram, setting her blood ablaze with blinding heat.
Suddenly, a primal roar cut through the pain.
Marika looked up through blood-splattered vision just as Luna's eyes ignited with a brilliant, terrifying glacial blue. The reluctant knight's movements transformed instantly. These were no longer the motions of a graceful warrior, but a roaring wave of water. She dipped under a crushing strike by a hair's breath, her heavy blade delivering a blinding barrage of a hundred precise, bloody cuts.
Morgott snarled, forced back three paces by the sheer, mechanical fury of her assault. "Well... thou art of passing skill!" he roared, a fleeting drop of warrior's respect bleeding into his deep voice.
A massive hammer of golden light materialized in his left hand. "Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished!"
He leaped high into the afternoon sky, descending like a falling meteor. The golden hammer struck the earth with a deafening THOOM.
A sickening CRACK of shattered bone rang out. Luna rolled, but her left foot was crushed at a gruesome angle inside her iron boot. She sank to one knee, clutching her blade, her chest heaving as blood trickled from her lip.
Morgott stalked forward, a dagger of pure light forming in his grip.
Marika felt her heart shatter. Dragging her broken body across the flags, she reached out with a trembling, dirt-stained hand toward her falling companion. She didn't pray as a helpless spirit, not this time. She threw her spirit itself forward, forcing her remaining strength into a desperate, grounding incantation. All her mind could see in those moments was the one she failed to save.
"SAVE HER!" Marika cried out, slamming her palm flat against the cracked stone beneath Luna's boots.
A blinding, warm light erupted from Marika's hand. A golden sapling sprouted directly from the cracked flags where her palm met the earth, showering the wounded knight in a cascade of soothing, radiant amber leaves. A small, Minor Erdtree.
The crushed bone in Luna's ankle snapped back into place with a warm surge of holy magic, while the raw ache in Marika's own ribs eased just enough to let her draw breath. The golden glow was her last sight as Marika began to slip away. Her last vision was her knight, rising to rush towards her while bathed in that golden light. For a moment, she invisioned the knight with golden eyes. For some reason, it didn't look quite right...
Then, the dark took hold.
Morgott
Morgott stumbled back, shielding his face as the golden light washed over the bridge.
His golden eyes widened in utter disbelief. The physical scent of holy sap... the undeniable hallowed aura of Erdtree grace flowing directly from the bleeding woman clutching her iron mace on the ground, even as she slumped over in pure exhaustion.
"What is this...?" he whispered, his voice cracking with sudden, raw vulnerability. "Mother...?"
The sapling faded, but the warrior before him rose slowly to her feet.
Luna's glacial blue eyes locked onto his through the floating golden dust. Her posture shifted. It became low, predatory, holding her Dismounter with a cold, terrifying promise of absolute violence, stepping directly between Morgott and the bruised Queen on the floor. It was like watching an animal guard it's mate.
That was when the similarities made Morgott's blood ran cold. In Luna's stance, he saw the horrifying and unbridled malice of his brother, Messmer. A monster wrapped in a cloak of chivalry, playing at heroism to hide it's bestial ferocity below. Yet behind this terrifying beast stood the unmistakable, living presence of his divine Mother, bleeding in the dirt.
He looked between the terrifying knight and the golden-haired woman collapsed behind her, gilded hair spilling from the shrouding hood she had worn. A heavy, rare knot of caution tightened in his chest. This... changes much.
"We shall meet again, ye Tarnished," Morgott grunted bitterly, raising his staff.
With a low rustle of wind, his projection dissolved into a cloud of coarse grey dust, leaving only the quiet howl of the wind over the bridge to accompany the knight and the sleeping goddess.