Keeping Melina's warning about the dangerous group of Tarnished in mind, the Tarnished remained vigilant as he prepared for the journey to Caelid. He returned to Ranni's Rise one last time, where he found Blaidd overseeing a kneeling, repentant Darriwil in front of the tower.
"Reflect on your actions here, Darriwil," Blaidd grunted. The Bloodhound Knight looked utterly soul-crushed, silenced by the weight of his own stupidity.
"You're back, partner. Any news?" Blaidd asked as the Tarnished approached.
"Jerren of Redmane Castle is calling for a Starscourge Festival," the Tarnished reported.
"Jerren? Ah... I see. A festival of war to honor Radahn. It's fitting; only a warrior's death honors a man like him," Blaidd nodded in approval. "But what about invitations? Can we just walk in?"
"Getting there alive is the only invitation you need," the Tarnished reassured him. He then asked Blaidd about Jerren's character.
"Jerren is an old friend of Radahn's. He's a 'Witch-Hunter' and a 'Castellan,' but his true title is Jerren the Revenger. It's an ancient profession. He's a good man, but like Radahn, he's rigid—stubborn to a fault. He's currently hunting a certain sorceress on behalf of the Academy."
"You mean Sellen?"
"You know her?" Blaidd was surprised. When the Tarnished explained she was his teacher, Blaidd's expression became conflicted. "That's a tough spot, partner. Jerren isn't evil, but his sense of justice is binary. He's a butcher when he thinks he's in the right. Between us, Ranni and Sellen used to exchange research—they shared a certain 'transcendental' outlook on the stars. But during the family's collapse, Ranni couldn't intervene."
"What does Ranni think of her?"
"She has no ill will. But you'll likely have to choose between them eventually... unless you find evidence to change Jerren's mind."
Leaving Darriwil in Iji's custody, the Tarnished and Blaidd set off toward Caelid. They cut through Stormveil—now a hollow shell of a castle where the remaining soldiers were too broken to even raise their spears—and reached the Stormhill.
As they moved along the main road, Blaidd suddenly pulled the Tarnished back. "Look up there."
A group of about twenty Tarnished were moving in a tight, disciplined pack. The moment they sensed eyes on them, they vanished into the treeline with unnerving speed.
"Who are they?" Blaidd asked, confused. "Tarnished usually travel alone or in pairs. A group that large is... unnatural."
"Extremists," the Tarnished said grimly. "They aren't just anti-Erdtree; they are anti-life. They are descendants of those exiled to the Badlands who lost their minds to slaughter."
"Is there someone leading them?"
"Have you heard of the most reviled man in Leyndell's history? The Dung Eater?"
Blaidd's eyes widened in horror. "The one who defiled corpses to prevent them from returning to the Erdtree?"
"Exactly. He was hung in the capital, but his 'omen' of madness lives on. Even if these people never met him, they worship his cruelty. They are madmen who find common ground in filth and murder. If they are heading to the festival, Caelid is about to get much bloodier."
As they continued east, a loud, boisterous voice echoed from a nearby ridge.
"Hello! Is anyone there? I seem to have found myself in a bit of a... sticky situation!"
The duo followed the sound to find a massive, ornate warrior jar stuck waist-deep in a hole in the ground.
"Ah! Travelers! Perfect timing!" The jar spoke with surprising joviality. "As you can see, I am a warrior jar. My name is Alexander, also known as the Iron Fist. I was testing my mettle when the earth decided to claim me. Could you give me a hand?"
"How do we get you out?" Blaidd asked, looking at the massive ceramic vessel.
"Quite simple! Just give me a good, hard smack from behind to pop me out! You there, wolf-man, your greatsword looks like it would do the trick! Don't be shy, I'm quite sturdy—WAIT, WHAT ARE YOU—?!"
Before Alexander could finish, the Tarnished didn't reach for a weapon. He stepped forward, grabbed the rim of the jar with his bare hands, and with a grunt of pure physical power, hefted the entire massive jar out of the hole and set it on level ground.
Blaidd watched, stunned. "Well... I suppose my sword wasn't needed after all."
"Magnificent! Simply marvelous!" Alexander exclaimed, dusting himself off. "What a display of strength! Please, take this as a token of my gratitude!" He handed them both a slab of Exalted Flesh.
"So, 'Iron Fist' Alexander," the Tarnished said. "Are you heading east too?"
"Indeed! I hear word of a Combat Festival at Redmane Castle. A gathering of champions to face the strongest of the demigods! Does the heart not throb at the very thought? Gwah-ha-ha!"
Blaidd and the Tarnished shared a look. The word was out. The festival was calling to everyone—from heroes like Alexander to the madmen following the shadow of the Dung Eater.
•
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