Find her Tarnished and guide them to the throne. That was Melina's guiding principle on her god-given mission. From the mightiest warrior to the meekest miscreant, the throne cared not who sat upon it so long as they were guided by Grace. It was by God-Queen Marika's own designs that it was made so, and so it would be.
She had searched far and wide across the Lands Between, and Melina, despite her immortality and dogged perseverance, had grown disheartened and weary. She had found many Tarnished on her travels, those without Maidens to guide and strengthen them, but they all came up short of the requirements for Lordship. Many broke against the bulwark of Stormveil. Others succumbed to despair and begged her to leave them be. There were even those who stubbornly refused the calling given to them by Marika, spurning Melina on the spot. Each of these Tarnished she had placed her trust and faith in, and each time she was disappointed and once more alone to wander.
She ran a gentle, burn-scarred hand across her mount's neck. No, not alone. She had Torrent, her faithful spirit steed. Melina wondered if any Tarnished had the mettle to ascend the throne. It was never meant to be easy, that much was true, but were the descendants of Lord Godfrey's legions not made of sterner stuff? Be it despair, temptation, or madness, the Tarnished were so far little more than bumbling, craven, immortal children who craved more than they deserved. Losing heart at the thought, Melina nonetheless continued her mission. There had to be one. There had to be. Surely Marika would not have gambled on such flawed creatures.
As he cantered towards the Church of Elleh, Torrent snorted and came to a halt, drawing Melina's attention. She followed Torrent's gaze and saw someone sitting with their back to the outer wall of the church. The figure was garbed in utterly dark, burnt armour with a burning ring on its chest, with a brown, hooded cloak pulled over them. A simple sword rested at their side while a strange item was fixed to their hip.
''Torrent? What is it?'' Asked Melina. As if in reply, the spirit steed snorted again and tilted his head up. ''This one is Tarnished, you say?'' Torrent had something of a talent for sniffing out Tarnished. Whether it was truly his sense of smell or something else owing to his nature as a spiritual being, she did not know, but he had never steered her wrong. However, his assessment for what constituted a worthy Tarnished had left her wanting more than once. Still, this was the first one they'd found in months. Torrent took her closer.
''I find myself in a ruined world once more, it seems,'' said the Tarnished. His sudden speech took Melina by surprise. The voice was that of a man, one that sounded tired.
''Greetings. Traveller from beyond the Fog,'' she greeted. Torrent leant down and inspected the seated knight, taking sniffs of his ragged cloak. Intelligent, goat-like eyes peered into the warped visor of the man's helmet. The man raised a gloved hand to Torrent's snout and was surprised when he was able to touch the animal without startling it. Seeing this, Melina was quietly taken aback. Nobody save herself had touched Torrent. Not even the other Tarnished she had accompanied. The spectral steed had made his dislike of them rather apparent despite choosing them. Perhaps there was something worthy here, after all. She dismounted and knelt down a respectful distance from the man, removing her hood from her head. ''I am Melina. And I offer you an accord.''
''And it begins. Like clockwork, it begins,'' the man muttered. Melina was feeling somewhat put off, but looking to Torrent, she could see that the steed was strangely insistent this time around. Was being pet under the chin all it took to win his favour? Ridiculous. Torrent was an intelligent creature who could not be easily bought by attention or biscuits. Pushing on, Melina continued to speak.
''Have you heard of the Finger Maidens?'' Asked Melina.
A dry chuckle followed her question, ''Cursed maidens who exist to help champions on their journey? I believe I am familiar with the concept,'' he said, ''fate is often cruel to such people,'' he stood, grabbing his sword and fixing it to his left hip. Now that Melina had a better view as she stood, the object on his other hip was unlike anything she'd ever seen. It was a tube of iron held within a frame of wood, with a bulbous grip at one end while open at the other. She was uncertain of its function, having previously thought it may have been a horn or type of bugle, but it lacked anything that suggested that function. When she next spoke, she had to look up into the dark visor of his woefully battered helm.
''I see. So you are somewhat knowledgeable of your situation, then?'' Asked Melina.
''No... just familiar,'' he said, then his voice became quiet, ''the cycle never truly ends, does it?'' he said with a note of resigned bitterness. ''You have found me here, then I assume you have business with me. Or people like me.''
''That is so. I would have a favour, if you would hear my request,'' a nod prompted her to go on, ''I seek a Tarnished to take me to the Erdtree,'' she said, gesturing to the gargantuan golden tree that dominated the view of any vantage in the Lands Between, ''however, a Tarnished must have a Maiden to guide and strengthen them. And you, I'm afraid, are Maidenless. I can play such a role, turning runes into strength. You need only take me with you in your search for the Elden Ring. A fair exchange, no?''
The Tarnished cocked his head to the side. 'Maidenless'? What an odd thing to say. Only context permitted it not to be taken as an insult, so he made no mention of it. But the Elden Ring? Another prize sought after by unfortunate souls caught up in the schemes of cruel gods and vile things from beyond the veil. Fire, blood and thrones could easily be substitutes for this so-called Elden Ring. Truly, the cycle didn't end, it just changed its mask.
''Say no more. You will grant me strength as I slaughter my way to this tree, kill its guardians and somehow alter the world for better or worse? Does that cover everything?''
That gave Melina pause. ''Yes, in a roundabout way. You will ascend the throne and become Elden Lord, and your ambition shall shape the world. It would be my role to aid you in this endeavour.''
More titles, then. He had a list by now. He had been many things already. What was one more? By now it was just a matter of going through the motions. Go to a decrepit castle or swamp, kill its mad or tragic occupants, take something of importance to his quest and move on. Rinse and repeat. Though, a thought had crossed his mind several times. Was he just a cosmic cleaner, sent to different worlds to kill its gods and bring an end to their respective cycles? He'd been at this for... he didn't even know how long. From Boletaria to Lordran to Drangleic, to Lothric to Yharnam, it had been the same each time. Melina's mention of Fog had thrown him for a loop more than he suspected it should have, too. The patterns repeated, history rhymed. Melina could have been any of his guiding maidens from worlds lost to time. He wondered, then, what tragic fate would befall this one.
He already discovered the function of the golden light inside the church. Resting at it revitalised him, though fatigue was a thing committed to distant memory now. Sleep was unnecessary, as was the need for food and drink. Resting at these spots was just another symptom of going through the motions. As old a hand at this as he was, he still had accidents from time to time. Gravity was a merciless killer no matter how strong his body had become, and so having convenient places to rise again just made the process just that little bit more tolerable. 'Grace', the strange merchant, Kale, had called it. Sites born of some God-Queen's power uncounted years ago.
''Fine,'' the Tarnished said. Melina's lips held the ghost of a smile at his agreement. Good, so he wasn't a let-down right off the mark. It struck her in that moment how tragically low her standards had sunk. Simply agreeing to help her was enough for him to be a cut above the others. This man with his strange utterances of cycles and his ramshackle armour was the best she could do now. She schooled her errant thoughts. There was no need for doubt, not right now.
''Then it is settled. I will travel with you and grant you the strength of runes,'' she cast a quick glance at Torrent, still having his chin rubbed, the Tarnished seemingly forgotten he was even doing it, ''I would like to give you this,'' she fished Torrent's whistle ring from one of her pockets and held it out to the Tarnished.
''I am flattered, when do we say our vows?'' he asked after a moment. So her Tarnished had a sense of humour, and a rather dry one going by his tone. She decided she wouldn't humour him.
''This ring will call Torrent forth. Treat him with respect and he will carry you far.'' The Tarnished took the ring, seeing his joke had fallen flat. However, that was unimportant in the face of this development. He'd never had a mount before. In every world he'd fought through, he'd had to slog through them all on foot. As enduring and tireless as he was now, he didn't fancy doing the same within the Lands Between. Even a cursory look told one just how vast this place was.
Melina walked past the Tarnished and knelt by the site of Grace, beckoning him to follow. He sat next to the sliver of golden light opposite the woman. Once again, she held out a hand. ''Before I depart, allow me to rest a hand upon you, for but a moment.''
Ah, a familiar sight indeed. Just like his maidens of old, she would channel power into him through touch. It went unspoken, but it was a consistent rule when enacting the transference of power. It was a rather... intimate act, in a way. Whatever maiden performed it would peer into his very soul, changing its shape, sharpening and tempering it into something unrecognisable. He didn't care to know what form his soul took now, so warped from so many forces enacting their influence upon it. The Maiden in Black had nurtured his soul into a furnace of power, wild and mighty. The Emerald Herald had shaped it, moulding it into a kingly form that exuded royal authority, uncompromising and unconquerable. The Fire Keeper tempered it further, honing its finer points until all other souls paled in comparison. And finally, the Doll. His demure, motherly companion that had saved him from utterly breaking. He wasn't ready for the horrors of Yharnam, but through blood, the Doll had steeled his soul against anything that could break a mortal man, all while imbuing it with a taste for bloodshed he'd not had previously. He reached out and placed his palm in hers.
The effect was immediate. Melina's single open eye widened. In her mind, she saw the full, unvarnished form of her Tarnished's soul while all perception of the physical world burned away. It was an utterly void in color, colossal amalgam, something stitched together from a madman's most feverish dreams. Multi-hued flames and whipping lightning swaddled a core that was so bright and searing hot, it was like gazing into the heart of a star. At the centre of the core was circle as black as night, ringed with a burning orange corona. At the bottom of the circle, the mass of black poured in an unending waterfall into the surrounding flames. Overwhelming pressure assaulted her mind. Some etheric force demanded absolute obedience, commanding her to kneel in deference as if she weren't already on her knees. She felt as though she were about to be devoured, all while the scent of blood filled her nose and the myriad whispers of hundreds -no, thousands- of souls cried out, babbling madly, roaring their defiance or some place between the two.
As quickly as it came, it went, and the Tarnished had his hand to her face. Melina flinched away, her eye blinking and unfocused. Her breath was rapid and sweat had beaded on her face.
''What... what was-'' Melina gasped.
''You saw it, did you? My soul,'' the Tarnished said knowingly.
''It... it was...''
''A long story. What I am interested in is if you still want my help. Clearly what you saw wasn't pretty,'' behind his helm, he gave her a sympathetic look. Melina shook her head and held up a hand.
''No, it is... of no concern. You are steeped in strength, indeed,'' she took another moment to collect herself. No Tarnished had anything even close to resembling a soul like that. In the brief moment she bore witness to that inferno, she felt as though her own soul would be swallowed up by it. How could a being of flesh and blood contain such a thing? How was he not bursting apart at the seams? Was he a god? One of Marika's yet unknown to the world? Surely not. No, he must have been simply a singularly powerful Tarnished. Only their kind could make use of Grace. Though shaken, Melina was overall pleased with this state of affairs. Perhaps Torrent really did have a sense for these things. She cleared her throat before addressing another matter.
''Tarnished, though I merely glimpsed your soul, it was enough for me to know that there is nothing I can do for you. The strength of runes would hold no meaning to a soul such as yours,'' she looked into the golden light of Grace, her next words hard for her to form, ''it... would seem our arrangement has become rather one-sided. If you would terminate it, I would understand.''
The Tarnished sat back and watched her for several long moments. Though she kept up an impassive front, he had lived far, far too long to fall for such a ruse. She was desperate, likely having searched for an age for someone like him, and now her patience and resilience in the face of constant failure had paid off with interest. However, he knew how this worked. Fortunately for her, his fragile heart loved helping fair maidens.
''That is unnecessary,'' the Tarnished said, ''I will do what I must, whatever the case may be. What I don't have is information. Share what you know with me, and we'll call it even.'' Melina's shoulders sank with relief. From there, she explained the Two Fingers, the Elden Ring and the goal of becoming the next Elden Lord. The Tarnished nodded along as he made mental notes, checking them against his prior experiences. For the most part, it all followed a similar path with some deviations here and there. It would be a simple enough task in his estimation.
As for Melina, partway through her explanation, she had a feeling that he had stopped listening. He nodded along idly, saying nothing. He had no questions beyond the fundamentals he needed to embark with her on their journey.
''Tarnished?'' she asked after several quiet moments.
''Hmm?'' he grunted.
''Does something bother you?''
''No. Everything aligns as it always does. I know what must be done,'' he stood and offered a hand to Melina. Not wanting to risk gazing into his soul once more with them being so close to a site of Grace, she stood on her own. ''I will take you to this Edrtree, but first, I think some sightseeing is in order.''
''Sightseeing?'' asked Melina. While claiming the title of Elden Lord wasn't a particularly time sensitive undertaking, she could safely say that sightseeing was not something she expected her Tarnished to prioritise. Unless... yes, that must have been it. He wanted to familiarise himself with the Lands Between. Devise the best strategy to get to the Erdtree and ascend the throne.
''Yes indeed. There must be some stunning sights here in this land of ruin. And best of all, I get to engage in one of my favourite pastimes,'' she could hear the grin in his voice.
''And that is?'' she almost wished she hadn't asked.
''Shameless pillaging!'' he stated proudly. Oh. So that's what it was. He was as much a magpie as the other Tarnished, it seemed. She swallowed her consternation. Everything had its drawbacks, just as every solution had its flaws. Her Tarnished was a veritable nova of power, well suited to her goal. What was a little bit of kleptomania when compared to that. Let him have his treasures. It didn't matter to her so long as it didn't distract him from their stated goal.
''May I have your name, Tarnished?''
''My name... I have had many,'' Slayer of Demons, Chosen Undead, Bearer of The Curse, Ashen One, Good Hunter... and now Tarnished. More titles than names, but they served that function while his given name didn't. In fact, it had been so long since he'd used his name, its recall had nearly slipped from him many times in his long journey. A being as transient and in flux as he began to lose the relevance of names after enough time had passed. ''My name, Melina, is Talos.''
''Talos. A fine name,'' testing it on her lips, she found it to be an unusual name. ''Before I take my leave, allow me a moment to offer guidance. To the north lies a mighty fortress, resting on a hill wreathed by storms. There you will find the current lord of this land, the contemptible Godrick the Grafted. I beseech you, Talos, dispatch him and claim his Great Rune. Only then can you truly set out on the path of lordship.''
''You're leaving?'' asked Talos.
''I will still be with you, worry not. When next you rest at a site of Grace, call for me and I will come. I wish you luck, Talos,'' with her piece said, Melina's form quickly faded from view as motes of blue light signalled her departure. Left alone with Torrent, Talos mounted the steed and set off.
Day turned to night and night turned to day. For days, Talos and Torrent wandered the Lands between. He had no particular destination in mind, simply taking joy in the freedom afforded to him by this new world. He had explored Limgrave, mapping out its entirety in his quest for loot. The withered denizens of Godrick's fiefdom offered pitiful resistance. His sword, a venerable blade pilfered from one of Lothric's long-dead knights, made easy work of even their most heavily armoured warriors. He dashed and dodged around slashes and spear thrusts as easily as the wind weaved through reeds. Beasts and mounted warriors were also cut down, while giants pulling enormous black carriages were brought to their knees and their cargo liberated.
If Talos took any joy in being thrust into new worlds on the edge of calamity, it was this. There was a simple satisfaction in taking what he wanted, and he took no pains to hide it. After all, if he had to endure whatever these worlds had to throw at him, then he figured he deserved to take as he pleased in return. He had a bottomless box for a reason.
It was on his tour of plunder that he found a long and winding road. Along the way, mounted warriors with great, curved blades pursued him. Talos took his trusted pistol from his days as a Hunter from his hip and turned back to face them. He raised his arm, pointing the gun at one and pulled the trigger. A loud bang echoed like thunder across the plains and the rider fell from his horse, rolling bonelessly across the cobble. The other rider, distracted by his fellow's death, failed to notice Torrent had turned and was charging towards him. Talos stood and balanced on the saddle, and when he was close enough, he leapt from Torrent, slamming into the enemy rider. His feet found purchase on the rider's shoulders and both Tarnished and rider flew free of the larger horse. Talos' sword was drawn and was buried into the soft meat of the rider's neck before they even hit the dirt. Both hands on his Lothric Knight sword, he twisted the blade, burying it deeper into the flesh before pulling it free and standing straight. Mounting Torrent once more, Talos passed the threshold to the Weeping Peninsula.
He found a bridge guarded by soldiers, their livery faded, but distinct from the other men-at-arms he'd encountered in Limgrave. In the centre of the bridge, there was a wooden structure mounted with a ballista. Walls of sharpened logs were arranged at either end to prevent the passage of horses or large formations of enemy soldiers. Logic dictated that this was a defensive position, and so something beyond this bridge was worth defending. Opting to ignore the soldiers, Talos and Torrent charged for the bridge, the spectral steed leaping over the first wall in a single, elegant bound. The ballista swivelled, its user training his aim on the Tarnished and his mount. A bolt shot out, but the steed was too swift, and the bolt sailed harmlessly past them. The second wall was fast approaching, and once more, Torrent cleared it with utmost ease. Hooves hit the dirt on the other end of the bridge and they were away.
Of course, as the cycle seemingly took delight in, Talos found a most familiar sight. By the side of the road, surrounded by the remains of soldiers and smaller, malformed creatures, a young woman in a simple dress sat on a rock behind a stone wall. A strip of cloth lay across her eyes, tied at the back of her head of blonde hair. She tensed at his approach, fearing what she could not see. A blind maiden in need of aid. A favourite fixture of his journeys.
''Hello? Is someone there?'' she spoke in a soft, hushed voice, as though she feared more assailants would find her. Talos approached carefully and knelt an arm's length from the girl.
''Be at ease. I mean you no harm. I am Tarnished. Can you tell me what has occurred?'' he scanned the area for anything that might be out of place. Judging from the smell of his surroundings, the dead here were recent kills, so decay had yet to set in. Fires burned further up the road.
''Y-yes, of course. I am Irina, and I have just escaped from Castle Morne, to the south'' her hands clenched in her lap, ''the servants, you see... they rebelled. They just seemed to... go mad. I heard them howling from all over the castle, and the next moment, I'm being escorted from the castle by my father's men. As the Castellan, he remained behind. Only now, my companions are dead and I know nothing of my father's fate.''
Talos had to recover briefly from recoiling as if slapped. A blind girl named Irina? Castle Morne? Was this some kind of joke? Was her father's name Eygon? His jaw tensed, the memory of the girl he'd failed opening an old wound. He forced his self-loathing down to the depths of his mind, choosing not to dwell on that most bitter of personal failures. Was this a second chance perhaps? A thinly disguised chance to right an old wrong? If it was, then he had to seize it. ''These beasts, are they who attacked?'' he asked, referring to the disfigured corpses intermingled with the soldiers.
''They are, though they were content before. We treated them well, but they suddenly just...'' her lips trembled.
''I see. And you await your father here?''
''He said he would find me once he had secured the treasure he was charged with protecting. Lord Godrick's orders,'' Irina replied, though a note of hurt was present in her voice. Her father had chosen duty over her.
Rolling his eyes, Talos sighed. ''Bloody fool.'' Irina was quick to defend her father.
''Please, do not think ill of him. He only does his duty,'' she said hurriedly.
''Duty is often the death of reason, Irina. What is some lord's trinket compared to a daughter?'' Indeed, Talos had seen it many times. It was that same sentiment that placed him in his current, fluctuating state. If she stayed here, she would surely be found. If he could prevent a senseless death, then he would do so. ''What would you have me do? And before you ask, I will not leave you here. To do so would invite death.''
''I cannot leave. I promised I would await my father!'' she said insistently.
''Your father's men are dead to a man, Irina. All that remain are beasts. Just up the road, more of those creatures are lurking. You cannot remain,'' making up his mind as his patience wore thin, he placed a gloved hand one of her dainty ones, ''It will be dangerous, but I will go and aid your father. But you will be coming with me.''
''What?! But I-''
He would brook no argument. ''Shut it,'' he ordered, before pulling her up and blowing Torrent's whistle. The steed materialised and snorted. Talos picked Irina up as if she weighed nothing, making her squeak in surprise, and placed her on Torrent's back. Then he climbed on himself, taking his seat behind the girl and placing her hands on the reigns in front of his own. ''Hold on tight. I've got you.''
For several minutes, Irina screamed. The barrage upon her senses was too much as the Misbegotten brayed and cackled in pursuit, a giant roared, hounds barked and growled. Giant arrows from the massive stone golems guarding her father's castle crashed into the earth with mighty explosions. All the while, Talos remained quiet and calm. They weaved a path through every obstacle until they made it through the gate and into relative safety. From there, they went on foot. He took a moment to search through his bottomless box, searching for a weapon he could use to keep enemies at a distance from Irina. Finally, he found something he knew would be a good fit. From the box, he pulled out a heavy, segmented cleaver lined with saw teeth. The aptly named 'Beast Cutter'. It was a brutal weapon for a more civilized time, fit only for rending flesh and crushing bone in the crudest fashion. It had been an age since he'd wielded it, and the scent of blood still clung to it thickly, stinking like an abattoir. Just that caused Talos' blood to stir. He bade Irina to stick close to him.
What followed was carnage. Drawn in by the scent of blood, rotten, emaciated hounds and the jabbering Misbegotten were on them within mere moments. Talos set about his visceral work, the heavy blade of the Beast Cutter coming apart to form a whip of cleaving blades, clanging and rattling as it did. The heavy blades swiped through the air, parting bodies in sprays of gore as the weapon slammed like a dragon's tail into the floor, shattering stone. Nothing could get close before being cut apart. Some tried to run, but the weapon's reach was too long for them to escape being eviscerated.
Talos cut a bloody path all through the castle. Irina, though unharmed, was shaken as blood spray wet her face and clothes. In this instance, she was thankful for her loss of sight. The sounds of death, the destruction of bodies and the subsequent smell of iron had already made her retch. To see Talos' work would only make her evacuate her stomach's contents. Explosive booms and the following ringing in her ears made tell of Talos firing his pistol at the winged Misbegotten as he dodged and pulled Irina with him to avoid their arrows.
Soon there was a break in the fighting, which Irina was glad for. Castle Morne was quieter than ever now and it was something that disturbed her. She realised that with this act, there was almost nothing left of her former home. All that was left was to find her father. They found him swiftly, resting at the top of one of the corner towers. His head hung low and his hands lay on his knees. His armour, finely crafted and intricately decorated, was spattered with blood. He looked up, seeing the dark, ragged and bloody form of Talos. He took a hold of his ornate poleaxe and stood, assuming the worst.
''So, a carrion brigand comes to pick over what's left of Castle Morne?'' Talos watched him intently, ''look around. Can't you see there's nothing here for you? Begone, or on my name as Edgar, Castellan of Castle Morne, loyal servant of Lord Godrick, I will skewer you where you stand!''
''Father?'' Edgar's face, once hard and ready for battle, softened considerably at hearing Irina's voice, ''father, are you well?'' Talos gently guided her by her elbow, helping her walk in front of him.
''Irina!'' he called, rushing forward and embracing the blind girl. He looked her over, seeing her awash with the blood of Misbegotten. He held her close and shot Talos an accusing look. ''My dear daughter, you are unharmed?'' he asked pleadingly. She nodded and moved to speak, but he was too quick. ''You!'' he spat the word at the Tarnished, ''what manner of fool are you to bring her here? What were you thinking?''
''A question I would ask you,'' Talos said scathingly, ''when I found her, the compliment of soldiers she was with had been slaughtered. It was fortuitous that it was I and not one of those creatures that arrived, or this meeting would have been under grimmer circumstances.''
''What?'' Edgar blinked and looked at Irina.
''We didn't make it far, father. We were attacked by the servants. Your men managed to kill them all, but the last of them died from his wounds shortly before this brave Tarnished found me. Please, father, don't blame him. He killed everything on the way here and protected me the whole time. I believe he was right to bring me, and now we can leave. Together. I beg you, let's leave this accursed place!'' she implored, her hands grasped tightly onto Edgar's pauldorns. He gave her a anguished look.
''I can't. While the castle still stands with me as its commander, my duty holds,'' his voice wavered as he was torn between his duty to his lord and to his daughter.
''Fool,'' Talos growled, ''you told me to look around, well, I bid you do the same. Your castle has fallen, your men are dead or missing, your people are but corpses piled in the courtyard. Where is your lord, this Godrick? Do you think he cares what happened here? Tell me, when did you last see him or his own men?''
The Castellan was quiet as his mind tried to piece together an answer. When had he last heard from Godrick? Months? Years? The days seemed to blend together in recent or perhaps not so recent times. Little had changed since he had been granted this post. It wasn't even Godrick who had named him Castellan of Castle Morne. It was one of his emissaries speaking on his behalf. Communication had been sparse at the beginning, but now there was nothing. No tidings from Stormveil or wider Limgrave, no visits from Godrick or his representatives. There was only his station and the duty handed to him. Keep the Grafted Blade out of the wrong hands. And so, that's what Edgar did, even before Irina had been born. After the servants rose up and began their massacre, he'd had time to send a messenger falcon to Stormveil to request aid. The falcons of the Lands Between were swift as the very wind, and those trained by the falconers were of the highest quality. Correspondence should have come already, and yet there was no reply. Could it really be that Godrick had forgotten about them? It felt treacherous to even consider, but even a cursory look at the sorry state of the castle begged the question.
''I... cannot rightly say,'' Edgar finally said, resignation in his voice, ''by the gods...''
''You have but one chance, Edgar. Heed my words. Take your daughter and go. You needn't lose everything over this,'' Talos' words were softly spoken. Edgar hadn't felt it before, but he suddenly felt as if he were in the presence of a monarch. Beneath the torn and stained hood and cloak, the abused black armour, was a king. He didn't know how or why, but it was there. The feeling of regal authority pressing in on him was felt as keenly as the cold wind upon his face.
Edgar gave the remains of the castle a long look. There was nothing worth fighting for here. Not with his daughter here now. Piss on Godrick's orders, and piss on his sword too! He'd be a fool to refuse this chance. It had been his intention to leave the castle eventually anyway and take Irina with him. This man, this king in rags, had merely helped him see that his duty was to an absentee lord who did nothing to aid him, despite all his years of faithful service.
''Very well. You are right, Tarnished. There are things I must think about, but first, we must leave. I shudder to think what might have happened had you not found my dearest Irina. I know of a safe place. In truth, I had hoped to avoid going there since I refused the call of Grace. But I know Irina will come to no harm there,'' a look of relief overtook Edgar's face, ''please, help yourself to Godrick's treasure. I believe a Tarnished such as yourself will find it very useful. Come, Irina. Let us be gone from here.''
''Wait,'' she said, ''sir Tarnished? Might I know your name?''
''Irina, it is almost certain we will see him there sooner or later. Ask him when we are safe,'' Edgar said.
''Please, father. It is but a moment,'' Irina insisted. He sighed and nodded. The old warrior was too exhausted to argue, and too overjoyed to be free of Castle Morne to rebuke her.
''My name is Talos. Farewell and be safe,'' he gripped her arms turned from the pair, ending their conversation. As he set his sights on taking what treasures resided within the castle, Talos breathed easy. So far, so good. He'd managed to avert a tragedy. What the future held for the pair was uncertain, but death and despair had been thwarted this day. He spared a thought for Irina, the blind nun from Carim. She would have approved of this. As always, he resolved to save whoever he could from the myriad cruelties of the world and cycle within. He only hoped he would get it right this time.