Chương 29: Chapter 29: The Boy, The Maiden, The Empyrean
As Blaidd had reported, the Tarnished is a young fellow.
And as Ranni had hoped, it would seem the Gloam Eyed Queen has chosen her consort.
…
It's strange.
This Tarnished, as frail as he seems, carries the soul of a fallen empyrean; no mere mortal should be capable of such a feat. Ranni's synthetic frame has wrought old and worn simply from housing her soul, and she deems herself rather tame.
By comparison, the Queen of Black Flames is a volatile warmonger; this Tarnished surely would've bled from the eyes and burned down to ashes long ago. Yet here he stands, accompanied by an undead godslayer, and one would never guess he's unstable from looks alone.
How interesting; how very intriguing.
Did Melina know?
Did she seek out this Tarnished, knowing he could be her new consort? To carry such weight, only two have ever been capable of it since ancient times. Both housed the god Queen Marika, and both were of a countenance above mere mortals.
To carry a divine soul, and have the capability to bring her to godhood; this Tarnished…
The Tarnished boy, with the glint of grace in his eyes; branching down into black roots and crimson-gold flames that surround his beating heart. His alien and fledgling Rune of Death; it seems almost predatory in nature. Reaping the runes of his prey, and devouring them in heavenly hellfire, thereby strengthening himself in the process. Even now, souls of gold swirl about in his head, numerous trapped runes waiting to be burned and absorbed.
Such is the power of that mysterious Rune of Death.
Ranni can only guess it was planted there by an unknown outer god; not many other ways can explain its existence. It is only a seedling now, just beginning to germinate in his heart. But it seeks to bloom soon, very soon.
Ranni can't help but crack a sinister smile.
What a find. What a positively exceptional discovery.
She will have him; she desires to understand his secrets. Even if she proves unsuccessful now, she will prevail. She will take him from the Gloam Eyed Queen, and acquire that divergent Rune of Death for herself.
"Ranni."
I utter that name without even a thought with it.
I saw flashes, locked memories that were open for only a moment. Unlike the names of others, her name dredged up many other things, as if I personally tied that name with other experiences, and it got hooked by many things. What's more, the memoires… they weren't through a screen. I wasn't looking upon a screen, at a game; it was as if I saw the images through my own eyes.
But as soon as they came, they left.
They were regurgitated up from that black serpent, before they are devoured again. The dark line receded into the spell on my memories, coiling back up with those like it. Only the name Ranni remains.
The smooth doll's face slightly cocks a navy blue eyebrow as thin as string. She speaks, uttering that almost melodious and mysterious voice.
"Oh? Thou knowest my name? It seem'th that Blaidd must watch his tongue."
I scowl, clutching my head. The spell taking those memories away sent my mind reeling, rebounding with a splitting headache. It hurts, like something was literally ripped open in my skull.
"What did you do to Melina?"
My voice borders with a growl.
Ranni slightly cocks her head down, displaying only that creepy smile from under her large hat.
"My words are for thy ears only. The maiden hath been sent away for a spell."
I can't see her; I can't even see Edgar. I simply stand alone in a realm of shadows, accompanied by what I can only see as a threat in my eyes.
"Is she safe?"
"Her safety hast been taken into account. She rest'th in thy grace; I hath simply silenced her speech."
I go quiet for a moment; a million thoughts rush through my head.
Melina?
…
…
…No answer.
I sigh, never letting go of Roard's Partisan.
"What do you want from me?"
Ranni's smile grows wider; she raises her head; her one open eye stares right through me.
"First, a question."
She leans in, lifting away from an invisible backrest.
"What is thy knowledge of Melina, the Queen of the Black Flames?"
Melina is in utter darkness.
?
It is a familiar sight, one with thousands of runes swimming around underneath her. She can see her own body, can govern her own movements. She is in Lance's mind, but her partner is nowhere to be found.
...
...
...
Lance?
Her silent voice carries off into the unending void, never receiving an answer.
Lance!
No answer.
Tarnished Lance Thompson!
Nothing.
What is this? What is going on?
Melina glances left, glances right. She didn't ever think she could feel panic, but her thoughts feel like they speed up uncontrollably, slipping on her worriers and concerns.
What happened?
Why is she in Lance's mind?
Where is Lance?
Why is she alone?
She saw a spell, a vague and difficult to trace sorcery fall upon Edgar; it drifted him into a slumber akin to St. Trina's work.
Then… after that…
Melina clutches her strawberry blonde hair with her burn-scarred hands, wincing.
What did happen after that?
It frustrates her; her memories simply trail off.
Is he in danger?
Did she do something?
It all feels like a lost cause.
Did Lance fall asleep too?
That would explain why she is capable of dwelling in his mind, and it would be validated by the fact that Edgar fell unconscious too.
But if that were the case, then she could simply leave.
Yet, as Melina begins to pace about, she gets nowhere.
It is like she is trapped in this black realm; it does nothing to quell her unease.
Leave.
She tries.
Wake up.
She frowns.
Arise.
What is happening?
She grits her teeth, stamping her foot on the ground.
Curse it, just move!
"You know, if you could just shut your mouth, then you might just think up a better idea."
...Who?
Melina spins about, her one eye expressed with a cocked eyebrow.
Who goes there?
There's nothing around her, just the floor of swirling runes, and utter darkness.
"So, are you that blasted spirit that did me in? The Tarnished's little burning firefly?"
The voice is not like Melina's and Lance's usual voices here; it does not come from all angles. It is pointed, as if it were being carried by an unseen wind. It allows her to pinpoint the source…
There is an armored man sprawled sideways on the unseen floor.
…
…
…
"… … …What? What are you staring at?"
The man gives Melina an unimpressed expression, almost judging in nature. He is in all-encompassing armor; a partisan and large shield lay atop one another next to him. He has a gauntlet covered hand propping his head up; his face composed of vibrant emerald eyes and jet-black hair that curls about his head, his scowling mouth tinged with an air of bravado.
His voice is deep, countenance dripping with open mockery.
Melina had known his name for a while, but she has only seen his face once before, at a time when Lance had no knowledge that she had been following him around. Since then, she saw this man only once more, back when a tall helmet covered his face.
She watched him burn to death.
Roard?
The armored man cocks an eyebrow, maybe finding it strange that she know his name. His mouth opens and closes as he speaks, his words travel through this absent space.
"The one and only."
His expression darkens; he rises to his towering height as he speaks.
"You know, while I have your attention, could you answer something for me?"
He leaves his spear and shield behind, approaching Melina with a scowl.
"What in cursed gales is this place?"
Melina cannot hide the bewilderment that plagues her face.
Roard, how are you doing that?
"Come again?"
She points down at the runes beneath the two of them.
How have you remained indivisible?
How have you kept your runes from separating, like all of them?
She looks him over again, failing to hide her amazement.
How are you still… you?
Has he become a spirit?
No, that would be impossible.
He had been slain only recently; there is no chance. What is more, he is dwelling in Lance's mind, yet he has retained his sense of self. How?
"Look, used a lot of big words there princess, never was a fan of it."
Roard, Knight of Stormhill, take a step closer, jabbing a finger at Melina.
"Got no clue what you're going on about. Now, if you would please: Why am I here? Why haven't I gotten back to my body yet?"
He sneers, his green eyes filled with accusation.
"What did you do to me?"
"Ages ago, before the Night of the Black Knives; there was an empyrean, born with a vision of fire."
Ranni speaks methodically; a hint of nostalgia in her voice.
"She was a child of Queen Marika the Eternal; cursed; same as all of Markia's offspring by the machinations of the hornsent. Like her brothers: Miquella, abyssal twin Messmer; and her rot blighted sister, Malenia; she too bore'th the transgressions of her mother, that were wrought at the time of her ascension to godhood."
She raises a pale blue hand, hooking a single finger under her open eye.
"In her youth, the smoldering black fire that rest'th under her left eye burned her without end, scarring her very soul. Were it not for Marika's intervention; the young empyrean would surely hath destroyed herself, and her curse would'st surely committed the cardinal sin. Once the dust settled, the young empyrean was with a right eye of amber gold, and a left eye stricken to the hue of a pale twilight sky; the gloam after sunset."
A single face comes to mind; my frown deepens.
"The fire was sealed within her, yet it cease'th to extinguish, and it smoldered, slowly burning away the empyrean down to her heart from within."
Ranni drags her finger from her eye, tracing it down her chin, over her neck, and onto her chest.
"Long did she suffer; long did the fire feed off her godhood. It devoured her divinity whole, till she was't but a shell of her former self. Yet, in her turmoil, Queen Marika abandoned and exiled her, severing all ties with her dying daughter."
!
I see a flash; her words dug something up.
I-
I-
I'm in a place of gold, where the shining light and white marble architecture bathes everything in a divine hue. My hands are over a young lady… Melina; comforting her. She's in agony, clutching the left side of her face as smoke leaks out between her fingertips. Burning blood tears trickle down from her…
Her…
…
Her left eye is open.
The skin around it clear, with no dark tattoo to speak of. The pupil is wrought in the deepest shade of obsidian, the iris a pale velvet, almost violet color. Her tears burn her; my hands can do nothing but keep her company.
With a sensation of a chill, the spell in my mind devours the memory again, but not before I can react.
What was that?
When was that?
Is that the future? Is it the past?
Ranni keeps on track with her story, monitoring me closely.
"Soon, the empyrean returned, seeking vengeance; having succumbed to her smoldering fire, and wielding it within a heretic blade of her own making. She had amassed a following of stout believers, all worshipping of her black flames, her fallen divinity, her gloam eye. She brought war to the capital, killing untold numbers with a flame capable of slaying gods."
She puts her hands together, resting the outstretched fingers against their mirrored selves.
"It was Markia's shadow, Maliketh, that defeated the empyrean and her followers in battle, slaying her divined body, but failing to slay her undead soul."
More memories. It hurts to remember.
Red lightning and black fire. Screams of victims and roars of monsters.
I'm flying through the air, standing atop a large, pale white body that stays aloft on 4 outstretched wings. I circle high above a lone figure that levitates in the air; staring me down me with an enraged pair of amber and violet eyes.
We're above a massive gleaming city at the base of the Erdtree; plagued in ongoing war. The lone figure wields a massive sword of swirling alabaster branches, black and white fire trailing from its tip as she swings it about face.
She's clothed in white fabric that looks almost like skin, cherry blond hair whipping about in the current she creates. She shouts something, her shrill voice echoing over battling armies, burning cities, and dying deities.
She shouts a name. Was it my name?
My flying mount lets out a bone chilling roar; I swoop in, my hands crackling with blood red electricity.
I feel remorse, anger, and sadness; the symptoms of betrayal.
I roar.
"Now, this fallen empyrean wander'th the land as if she were an apparition, searching for a host to house her soul."
Ranni leans in, cocking her head slightly to the side.
"She is a curse to any who meet her; she cannot be trusted. If she become'th capable of revival, she surely will burn these lands to ash. Such is her curse."
Ranni feels satisfied with that.
While it was not all completely true; it was close enough.
She filled in most of what she didn't know with her best assumptions, taking into account everything she knew about Melina before her gloam eye was sealed; before the Rune of Death was sealed also, giving the mortal and divine the prolonged immortality they have now.
It was all so long ago, that many have lost their sense of time, being alive for these thousands of years.
But Ranni kept a record of the passing seasons, as dictated by the moon. 57,533 full lunar cycles since the Rune of Death was sealed; nearly 4,650 years since Melina was defeated and promptly erased from the Golden Order's records.
In that time, many things could've happened, but Melina is still, at her core, cursed.
If this Tarnished, with a living Rune of Death, stays with her any longer, he will surely be burned to ash.
If Ranni were to guess; Melina will take Lance's Rune of Death, steal that new path to Destined Death. If she obtains such a power, her black flames will become complete once again, restored to their former glory. The godskin would rise back up to power if that comes to pass. Melina would be capable of slaying the demigods if that comes to pass.
She would resume her campaign once more, and Maliketh would not be present to oppose her this time around. The fearsome rite she performed has shown her what became of the Rune of Death after the Night of the Black Knives. It is no longer in this time, and it may never return. Wherever Marika has sent Maliketh, it is in a place beyond this reality. The Black Blade no longer seeks refuge in these lands; nobody else was able to defeat Melina. Not even Godwyn the Golden. If she returns to her former power, not even the barrier about Altus would be able to stop her.
Such a reality would be the worst-case scenario.
She will take his Rune of Death instead; she trusts herself far more than a decomposing empyrean. She needs only convince this Tarnished to defect to her side and leave Melina behind.
The Tarnished boy hesitates for a spell, frowning to himself. Ranni does not like the expression he gives her; maybe he is not as clever as she assumed.
"…What's your point?"
Internally, Ranni sighs.
It seems he's not very bright after all. He may have assumed she's lying, but it's more likely that he doesn't get it.
"Melina is not what she seem'th."
She says, leaning back onto her unseen chair.
"If thou stay'th with her, she wilt surely burn thee to ash. The one who walk'th alongside flame, shall one day meet the road of Destined Death. Thy soul shall perish, and thy body shall perish also."
She gestures to him, as if extending an olive branch.
"Serve me. If thee value thy life, and agree'th to assist me; I wilt surely protect mine alone, and bring thee to the semblance of a lord."
Surely now.
It's a wonderful offer.
The Tarnsiehd have been called back to the Lands Between for one purpose; it's all that's ever on their minds. Such a promise from her is enticing; she can see it on his face.
But that frown never leaves him, and he promptly refuses after a moment of silence.
"No." He says flatly.
…
Ah, what a grave misjudgment of character.
Before she can press him; possibly convince him of the error in his ways, he cuts her off.
"Look, I don't know who you are, what you're doing here, or why you're interested in me. But whatever you're selling, I'm not buying, okay?"
Selling?
She is selling nothing; this is nothing more than a chance at an agreement.
What a peculiar choice of words.
She sighs for real this time; it seems his eyes haven't been opened enough quite yet.
...
Well, not all is lost. She can be patient; she can wait for this Tarnished to become disillusioned with the high praise he seems to give for Melina.
She only hopes that he doesn't burn before she can speak with him again.
Still, she needs to put in an investment; provide some way to stay in this Tarnished's good graces. Such revived warriors are tricky; it is difficult to bewitch them. There are few shortcuts to gaining a Tarnished's trust, and Ranni isn't Miquella.
"Very well."
She finally says, considering her options.
"Forgive my intrusion. It was not my intention to put us at odds."
She hesitates, and slowly procures a golden ring of curious craftmanship.
"I consider thee an ally, even if thy eyes see nothing of the sort."
She sends the ring on its way, levitating it over to the Tarnished. He snatches it out of the air, though he holds it like he expects it to explode.
"I shall give thee that, as recompense. Use it to traverse great distances. The spirits look fondly upon thee, Tarnished; they seek to serve thine interests."
She gestures to the ring.
"That ring house'th a spectral steed named Torrent; and it seem'th that he has taken a liking to thee."
She originally brought the ring for other reasons; she wanted to confirm something. But Torrent came out all on his own once Ranni reached the Tarnished, seemingly excited to meet the young man. What's more, the Tarnished was able to perceive the steed, to conjure him into an ethereal form with his presence alone. That wholly confirmed Ranni's suspicions.
This Tarnished carries the Light of the Erdtree with him.
"I hope we shall again meet, Tarnished; at another time. Till that day come'th, remember well my words: The Queen of Black Flames bears no allies in her gloam eye; her mind is too far gone. She will burn like kindling, and take'th the Lands Between with her."
"Do not trust her."
With that, Ranni de-materializes, dissipating into a thousand stars.
Melina reappears in the world like a sunrise, slowly phasing back into a perceivable form.
Her glow grows in intensity, and with it; her rune awakens. She feels groggy, like she just awoke.
It is an alien sensation; she has never slept before.
A better example would be returning from unconsciousness; she simply remembers her place in reality.
...?
Huh?
When did she return?
She was talking to Roard not a moment ago; she did not feel any indication that she would leave Lance's mind. It happened suddenly, without warning or explanation; a setting sun choked by rising smoke replaces utter darkness.
She looks left, she looks right, and finds Lance staring at Edgar, who sleeps soundly at his feet.
Lance doesn't move, staring off into space.
In this realm devoid of wind, where the sounds of war are nothing more than a distant thunder; Melina's partner vaguely notices her return.
"Hey." He says half-heartedly.
Melina walks over, her aura hovers about where her head is.
"Lance?"
Is he alright? He looks unscathed.
Melina feels a ping of relief, but she never loses the frown on her face.
"What happened?"
She stands over Edgar to get a good look at him; his eyes fail to rise and meet her's. He wears no emotion; his mind is a rush of thoughts and feelings. It is like stepping into a rushing river, every words and image threatening to whisk Melina away.
"Had a visitor; she didn't seem like she wanted to meet you."
"She?"
He plays with something between his thumb and index finger, fiddles with an open gold ring inlaid with intricate designs. A spirit rests within it; Melina can see its pale white runes swirl about within the thin gold.
What is it?
It looks familiar, but her mind cannot place where she last saw anything like it.
He stashes the ring away in the satchel at his side, taking a knee.
"It's nothing important; she just spoke a bunch of nonsense."
Ranni. Ranni. Ranni.
Amongst the torrent, that name presents itself over and over again in his thoughts. With it, he begins to frown, troubled by something. When he gets like this, Melina can only bide her time. Like the morning after their run in with the Sentinel, that time after they met Boc, and now. She cannot hope to get anything from his thoughts, so she needs to depend on his words alone.
But it is obvious he does not want to talk about it.
He jostles Edgar's shoulder.
"Edgar."
The warden looks peaceful in his slumber; that stern expression of his is softened. His runes lazily swirl about his head, his heartbeat slow and controlled. It is a similar effect one would get from concoctions of St. Trina's lilies; mere words will not awake him.
"You may need to strike him." She tries, backing up. "It should swiftly awaken him from sleep."
Lance is on edge; that much is obvious. He is not his usual self.
Yet he does not question Melina's advice or ask if there is a "nicer" way to go about things. He immediately kicks Edgar's arm, hard enough to ring out a dull thrum as his boot collides with the silvery armor.
Edgar starts, grumbles, and opens his eyes.
Who is Melina? What is she really?
I don't know what to think of Ranni's story, but some parts dug deep beneath my skin.
Edgar's heavy laden eyes meet mine; the fatigue promptly leaves his expression.
"What in blazes?"
He looks about, bewildered as to how he ended up on the floor.
"Did I…"
I thought about what to say, how to explain the situation. I'll leave out everything with Ranni; something tells me throwing that name around will bring only bad news.
"You passed out." I extend a hand; Edgar takes it. "When was the last time you slept?"
I help heave him to his feet; I try my best not to show that I'm struggling to stand myself. He rises to his near eight-foot-tall height, clutching his head.
"Well, I'll be. I'm sorry you had to see me in such a state."
He steadies, catching himself from toppling over.
"It seems this last week has finally caught up with me." He says with a groan.
I'm not sure how much time passed, but the sun has begun to land on the western horizon. Edgar gives that bright glowing ball a forlorn gaze.
"Honestly..."
He trails off, before he takes in a deep breath through his nose, nodding at something unsaid to himself.
"Tarnished Lance. I apologize again for my blunder. My years of youth are long behind me. This old man you see before you, he's nothing but a failure."
I'm sure he's done his best.
One man can only do so much, and the fact that he's kept hold of this castle when it's been assailed for so long preaches to his tact. He must feel remorse, must feel sorry for the people of Bellard, who are being discovered and brutally murdered as we speak. He must be stressed, staying awake for days on end as he fights the tide. He loves his daughter dearly; anyone can see that. He had every reason to escape with her, but as he holds the flood gates closed, he refuses to leave. He wanted his daughter to live, even if he were to perish. He must've entrusted her to his best soldiers. He put everything he holds dear before himself. And here he is, apologizing to a stranger because he thinks he's a failure.
If only I was so selfless.
If only I could trust others.
Yet here I am, doubting Melina because of choice words from a stranger. I'm easily swayed, cowardly, and foolish. I want to help Edgar, I want to assist in any way I can to preserve this city. But it's not a selfless act; I want to do so to settle my own gripes.
I have no right to say anything.
In the silence, Edgar turns.
"I have no right to ask for a favor from you, but I will drop to my knees if need be." He looks me dead in the eyes. "I implore of you, get my daughter out of the city. Take her somewhere, anywhere, other than here. She has a long life ahead of her; she has many more good deeds to give. If anyone deserves the right to live…"
He trails off; I feel a sinking sensation in my chest. That metallic mitten clasps me on the shoulder.
"Can I entrust her to you?"
Melina's silent.
Blood tears trailing down her face, hellish flames burning in my mind. She lost her memories, Marika is her mother. Her father… Radagon. Ranni. Tattoo. Sealed gloam eye. Queen of Black Flames.
Leyndell.
"It was beautiful. So many buildings, all built from bricks of alabaster stone. Golden rooftops and stained windows, the streets filled with people from all across the Lands Between. The music, the light, and the tree; so large you could never take all of it in."
I'm flying above a white and golden city at the base of the Erdtree; a city thrown into the bloody chaos of war. I'm circling a lone figure wielding black flames. Red lightning crackling from my hands, my war mount roaring.
"It sounds dreamy."
"…Yes. It was."
It was. It was beautiful.
I meet Edgar's gaze.
"Yes."
Before he can say anything else, before he can even try to smile, a deafening crack rings out from the castle grounds below.
Voices rise, the sound of massive chains screaming over twisting gears drowns it all out.
Something terrible just happened.
Edgar runs past me with a crestfallen expression growing on his face; I join him at the edge of the tower.
From here, we can watch as the front gate of Morne falls, tearing chains and sending wooden splinters everywhere. The gate, that massive door the size of a modern rocket; it crash lands with a violent thump; we can feel the vibrations from here.
Mania within Morne's walls rise. The first misbegotten enters, crawling in like a gecko on the stone wall. More like it come, then more, and more. I sense Edgar tense up next to me; he curses under his breath.
"Milord!"
Echoing footsteps clear up as the knight named Dalia joins us, her breaths controlled but underlined with panic.
"We have been compromised!"
Edgar is already on the move; he growls choice words behind clenched teeth.
"Bloody sabotage."
That man, the man who let his emotions out in the open to me only minutes ago; that man is gone. He no longer holds that air of remorse.
His expression is dark, forged with hardened eyes and a set jaw. "
Tarnished! Dalia! With me!"
I'm moving before I made the decision to.
…
I don't know why I follow Edgar; this breach has nothing to do with me. I wanted to help; I feel at fault for what's happening to Bellard. But I'm not a solider. I was never trained to listen to orders.
I follow Edgar more like a discarded puppy, but I still fall in line, brushing up against Dalia. She pays me no heed, obeying her leader without a second guess.
Melina lingers, eventually following me more out of need than obligation.
Still, she remains silent.
I'm moving along, and soon I'm surrounded by conjoined marching by the time we reach that mess hall in the keep. The buzzing doctors are gone; the corpses and wounded are as still as stone. Soldiers have filed in and lined up all around me; they don't bother to look down at me. They have no expressions of fear; I'm surrounded by hardened faces and enraged eyes. They knew this day would come; I'm just unlucky enough to be here when Castle Morne finally falls. It's all happening so fast, but I feel I'm getting used to this life. There's no schedule in war, no preemptive warning. You could be enjoying a glass of tea one minute; you could be plunging your spear into your enemy's abdomen the next minute. Some here were probably playing games moments ago, throwing around rumors and cracking jokes seconds before the gate fell. Thye were ripped from their lives, and they show nothing but a contempt form of acceptance. These men take what they can get, fight when the call arises, and ask nothing in return. Such is the life of a soldier. Such is the fact that everyone around me may be dead before night comes.
The stench of death finds my nose again. Edgar speaks out loud.
"Tarnished Lance."
"…Yes?"
Edgar stares ahead, at the large pair of reinforced doors that make up the entrance to the keep. A thick log has been placed across, to bar it shut. Even now, the doors jolt and shudder, like there's a massive monster on the other side, vying to break in.
"We will carve a path for you, even if we must dig with our own bones."
The surrounding number of nearly 200 soldiers chant in agreement. They don't question Edgar's words; they comply without hesitation. They fall into their roles, accepting that, even if they disagree; they need to put my life above their own. They respect Edgar, wholly respect his wish for me to rescue his daughter. Even if they spit at me behind closed doors, they will do what is asked of them.
One soldier hands Edgar a tall weapon, essentially designed like a halberd. He tests its weight, holding it with practiced hands.
"If you see your chance; take it. Save my daughter."
Another chant, accompanied by blades against shields, and boots against stone.
He mutters something to Dalia to his left; the knight makes a signal.
Something gets shoved in my face not a moment later; the soldier next to me hisses under his breath.
"Think your thin arms can handle this, Tarnished?"
He drops what he was holding; I nearly stumble when I take its weight.
He gave me a sword, a large sword.
A wide triangular blade stashed in a decorated leather scabbard; its gilded pommel, checker patterned handle, and ornamental cross guard are without varying colors, all that same clean silver. It perfectly matches Edgar's armor in design; it's heavy.
Why?
"Got a smaller sword?" I whisper.
A greatsword; it's a good 5 feet long, and it feels like it weighs nearly 30 pounds. I may be stronger these days, but there's no way I can use such a weapon. I still have Roard's partisan too.
Can't I just have another straight sword?
The empty scabbard for one is still fastened at my hip.
The soldier smiles with rotten teeth; I just now realize he's the same soldier who first greeted me at Morne's back entrance.
So, he's here too.
"A misbegotten won't stop, even if you stab it through the heart. Taking off their limbs is a better idea."
He jabs the sword with his finger, making sure it bounces abrasively off my forehead.
"A mere twig in your puny hands won't even take off a Leonine's pinky toe. If you want to stay useful to the Warden, then learn to swing a bigger stick."
He leans away, disappearing back into the surrounding crowd.
…
I really hate that guy.
I sling the large sword over my free shoulder by its scabbard's belt, fastening it to me. It's heavy, holy crap it's heavy.
But, for better or worse; I take it in stride, not daring to show any weakness.
I can wield this.
I'll show him.
The prick.
"Open the doors."
Edgar barks; that log is quickly raised by thin chains.
…
…
…Wait.
It just dawned on me.
I'm about to go into battle.
…
Whatever.
I don't particularly care.
In fact, I think I might just be looking forward to this.
I'm dying for a good distraction right now.
"MORNE!" Edgar bellows, as the doors are swung open, and vermillion light of the setting sun bathes over us. "TAKE THEIR HEADS! SHED THEIR BLOOD! AND REND THEIR SOULS!"
I'm surrounded by a conjoined war cry.
I find my own voice ringing out amongst it.
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực