"Are you two also warriors heading for the Combat Festival? You both look incredibly fierce; it seems this festival will be quite the spectacle!" Alexander looked at the two before him, his ceramic fists itching for a bout.
"If we had the spare time, I would truly enjoy a spar with you. But unfortunately, we are in a hurry," Blaidd replied. As a warrior, he loved combat—fighting the strong was the only way to perfect himself and better protect Ranni.
"Gwah-ha-ha! I understand... one must conserve energy before the Great War!" Alexander bobbed his rounded body up and down in a gesture of profound understanding.
"Oh, my valiant warrior friends, did you happen to notice that other group on your way here? They seemed quite aggressive—not the sort of folk who look open to conversation." Alexander had called out for ages, but only the Tarnished and the Half-Wolf had stopped. The others had been so engrossed in their own discussions that they hadn't even looked his way.
"The festival will be lively. That's all you need to know," the Tarnished said simply. There was no point in saying more. Alexander might seem a bit dim, but he was a warrior to his core; he wouldn't be soft-hearted when danger struck.
"By the way, do you want to travel to Caelid with us?" the Tarnished asked.
"Hmm... a tempting offer! But I prefer the solitary path of discipline. Gwah-ha-ha!" After a moment's thought, Alexander declined the invitation.
"It seems we shall meet again at the festival, then," Blaidd said, crossing his arms calmly.
"Haha! Until we meet again, friends!" With that, Alexander tilted his round body and began to propel himself forward by rolling.
"What a peculiar way to travel," Blaidd remarked, find it quite amusing.
After befriending Alexander, the duo continued their trek. Before they knew it, the sky had turned to night—a fickle shift in light that mirrored the chaotic state of the Lands Between. They eventually arrived near a small village surrounded by water. It was quiet, devoid of any human presence. Suddenly, the Ghostflame Lantern in the Tarnished's pouch began to glow, its flame flickering toward the front.
"What's this? What does that thing do?" Blaidd could feel that the fire was unusual. It radiated not heat, but a bone-chilling cold. He looked in the direction the flame was pointing and saw an unfriendly purple mist enveloping the small village.
If the mist of St. Trina was the elegant color of violets, this mist was the hue of purple flowers growing in a graveyard—the scent of death. A horn sounded from within the thick fog.
"What's happening?" Blaidd watched as ranks of skeletal undead manifested at the sound of the horn. The village waters began to rise, eventually swirled around their feet. A hunched, ragged skeleton rowing a rickety boat and blowing a horn emerged from the mist.
"So this is the 'boat' D mentioned..." Seeing it in person, the Tarnished immediately connected it to the mariner D had warned him about. The fact that it reacted to the Ghostflame Lantern suggested that these boats were once linked to the Deathbird forces. It looked like a ferryman of the Stygian seas.
The skeletal mariner cracked its jaw, revealing a terrifying grin as deathly purple vapor drifted from its mouth.
"Talk about bad breath," the Tarnished remarked.
"Is now the time for jokes? They don't look easy to handle... this is my first time fighting a boat. I've heard legends, but I didn't expect such a grand display." Blaidd gripped his greatsword, wary of the mist that had completely cut them off from the world.
"Lost... lambs... come... come here... we shall lead you to the Shore of Death..." the ferryman let out an ethereal, piercing call. The surrounding skeletons echoed his words like a macabre choir. It was a call from the abyss, a soul-hooking melody.
"This is... truly something," Blaidd steadied his mind. He couldn't pass on yet—he had a duty to fulfill. The Tarnished, however, was completely unaffected.
"Ferry my soul? You're not worthy," the Tarnished sneered, drawing the Crescent Blade and signaling Blaidd to follow. The Tibia Mariner moved; the horn blast grew clearer, and the "Those Who Live in Death" began crawling out of the earth in droves.
"Lambs... go greet your new brothers... lead them to Tibia!" At the ferryman's command, the spirits and undead launched an assault.
They came like a tide of death, but Blaidd and the Tarnished were no ordinary men. Blaidd unleashed his full strength, his ornate gold-trimmed greatsword erupting with frost. With his wolf-like leaps, he shattered the undead, turning them into frozen sculptures with explosive bursts of ice.
They broke through the tide and reached the boat. Seeing them so fierce, the Mariner tried to flee, but the Tarnished slammed his hand onto the stern, tilting the boat upward and nearly tossing the skeleton into the water. In desperation, the Mariner swung its oar, turning the clear water into the purple, deathly fluid of the Styx.
The deathly water was treacherous. Even the Tarnished didn't want to take a direct hit. He called out in his mind: (Your turn.)
(Understood, Host...) Asimi manifested behind the Mariner. Crucible shoulder-horns sprouted from her shoulders, and she lunged forward, impaling the Mariner through its open back. With a shriek that would chill the living, the Mariner and its boat shattered and vanished. The purple mist dissipated instantly.
"That... I didn't expect you to have another card up your sleeve. Who is this?" Blaidd asked, surprised.
"I am Asimi... pleased to meet you, partner of my Host," Asimi bowed politely.
"A Silver Tear?" Blaidd had heard Ranni speak of the legends of the Eternal City. "I hope you can tell us more about the Eternal City later. Information is vital."
"Of course... I will tell you everything I know. I shall retreat for now." Asimi returned to the Tarnished's body.
"Where did you meet her?" Blaidd asked.
"A shack in Stormhill. She's unique among her kind; she has her own thoughts and can speak like anyone else."
"Haha... it really is a blessing that you allied with us." To Blaidd, the Tarnished's presence felt like the guidance of fate, favoring Ranni's cause.
Deep in the night, a group of men in filthy armor moved with predatory eyes. The Erdtree symbol on their chest-pieces had been violently defaced with filth.
"Heh heh! To think the Erdtree would still grant us its grace!" a man with hollow eyes laughed crazily.
"Then let's raise some hell in the Lands Between!" the group cheered. These were madmen, steeped in the bloodthirsty traditions of their ancestors. They hadn't come for justice; they came for slaughter.
Normally, without the guidance of Grace, they could never have returned. But the desperate Erdtree was now reaching out even to these dangerous elements.
"Hey, heard the news? That 'strongest demigod' Radahn? They're holding a festival to kill him! Ha! How arrogant. How strong can this Radahn really be? Just a brat." They were arrogant to a fault.
"Now, now, look at the stars. Legend says that man pinned them there himself," one of the more grounded members noted.
"Heh, sounds interesting. We'll kill this 'strongest' demigod to announce our return. We'll shroud the Lands Between in blood!"
As they approached the border of Caelid, the Tarnished found the spot D had marked—the hidden portal leading to the Bestial Sanctum.
"Blaidd, go on ahead. I have business elsewhere."
"I see. The festival won't start for a while, we have plenty of time." Blaidd nodded and moved on.
The Tarnished touched the gate. After a swirl of dizziness, he stood in a massive cathedral. At the far end sat a gargantuan, brown-robed figure, hunched over and obscured.
"Are you Gurranq? No... should I call you Maliketh?" The Tarnished walked toward the familiar silhouette.
"Who... are you...? I smell death. Give me... Deathroot. Let me swallow... I will give you claws and eyes..." Gurranq's speech was fractured and bestial.
"Has your intellect regressed... is it the Deathroot, or...?" The Tarnished sighed. Long ago, Maliketh had told him that beastmen weren't born with wisdom; it was granted by a benevolent deity who later vanished. The beastmen had built statues and murals in her honor, waiting for her return.
Maliketh had eventually become Marika's Shadow, but he had always held that ancient gratitude in his heart. Seeing Gurranq now, regressing into a primal beast, the Tarnished wondered: Does this mean that deity is truly gone forever?