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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
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"Ah, there's a face I've not seen before. I'm Edgar, warden of this castle as ordained by Lord Godrick himself. But you can see how things have turned out. The menials have all rebelled. They gave me good service, or so I thought, but it seems it was all an act. Foul creatures, as it's said. And true enough they're foul inside and out. I'm sorry to disappoint you, But whatever you've come here to do, I'm afraid Castle Morne won't hold much longer."
Edgar, Castle Morne Castellan
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Weeping Peninsula, Castle Morne
Aerion
Castle Mourne was a massive structure, perhaps not as large as the hilltop behemoth of Stormveil Castle or even Winterfell, but it was still impressive. Crafted from dark gray stone, the structure rose from the cliff face into the sea, towering over the coast like a lonely sentinel on the Weeping Peninsula.
There were misbegotten roaming around and near the castle gate, which he had already dealt with; now he had to clear the interior of the fortress and try to find Irina's father, or at least his body.
From within, he could hear the piercing cries of the misbegotten, but he also thought he heard more human voices among them, which meant that, despite the long time that had passed since the mutiny, Godrick's soldiers were still defending themselves, probably in some strongholds.
With a battle hammer in his right hand, the gleaming light of Glintstone Sorcery, and a staff in his other hand, he slowly entered the fortress's main gate. The first thing that caught his eye was a mound of bodies, on which the misbegotten seemed to be praying to something.
Whether it was some cursed idol of theirs or one of the Outer Gods, such as Greater Will or Frenzied Flame, he didn't know. One thing he was certain of, however, was that it wasn't good.
The whole place didn't reek physically, but something was attacking his mind and psychic senses, something incredibly foul and evil. He immediately thought of the Others, for he sensed that malevolent aura from them as well.
If he'd previously harbored any sympathy for the misbegotten, they were slaves, after all. That feeling was gone forever now. He knew he had to not only burn this place to ashes but also thoroughly cleanse it of these hideous cultists.
He had taken only a few steps into the courtyard when a commotion broke out among the praying misbegotten, and they began to turn with cries of hatred toward him. He immediately summoned the Dragon Communion Seal instead of his staff and cast Agheel's Flame Incantation.
With a mighty roar that shook the attacking creatures, a dragon's head, set on a long neck, manifested, its maw pouring searing sapphire flames. The Misbegotten were immediately at the mercy of the scorching fire, but they received none.
Screams of agony and fear spread across the courtyard, drawing nearby creatures. But upon seeing the river of flames spreading across the courtyard, they began to retreat in a flurry, though some were caught in his embrace. Aerion ended the incantation, his Focus draining enough to make him feel slightly dizzy.
Another few minutes passed before the flames began to slowly die down, consuming not only the bodies of the misbegotten but also the pile of human corpses they had piled up for their deity.
On the opposite side of the courtyard, a group of several dozen misbegotten had gathered from a large section of the castle. They watched him carefully but were afraid to cross the slowly dying fire. More and more of them arrived with each passing moment.
Aerion summoned the Flask of Cerulean Tears and took a long drink, feeling his mind sharpen again and his Focus return to normal. Then he strode across the courtyard, fire indifferent.
The Academy Glintstone Staff appeared in his left hand, the tip of which he swung gently, followed by others. Five Glintstone Arcs flew towards the gathered misbegotten, striking the crowd one by one.
Again, cries of terror and pain rang out as spells cleaved the creatures in half, severing heads and limbs that flew around. Some of the enemies rushed towards him despite the fire, but they were met by the head of his hammer, which sent their bodies shattering.
bodies to the sides one by one. Aerion aimed the tip of his staff at the remaining misbegotten, who were swarming in place, unsure whether to attack or flee.
Suddenly, a volley of glintstone crystals shot from the tip of his staff, striking them. The sharp crystals ripped through their flesh until their fear overcame their fury, and the dozen or so survivors fled deeper into the castle.
Aerion followed them, sending claystone shards after the fleeing ones, and those he caught or wounded behind he mercilessly finished off with a single blow of his hammer. He crushed skulls, shattered ribcages and spines, and ground them to pulp. Twice.
He encountered the remnants of Godrick's men, but upon seeing him, they began to flee immediately. The interior of Castle Mourne became a hunting ground, where he became the hunter and everyone else the hunted.
Room after room, corridor after corridor, he cleared the place of misbegotten. Then he started from the western ramparts, following the sounds he heard, approaching the last remaining stronghold of Godrick's garrison of soldiers stationed there, where he hoped to find Edgar, Irina's father.
Around him, as well as inside the keep, the bodies of both rebels and defenders were strewn. And the surviving misbegotten he encountered along the way soon joined them, whether under the onslaught of his hammer or, in the case of the flying, bow-wielding creatures, struck down by a spell.
Finally, as he neared the castle's northeastern ramparts, the sounds of fighting intensified. The last few defenders seemed to be holding out on a massive square tower, which the misbegotten were sporadically attacking.
However, as Aerion came into sight of several of them, their bestial and twisted forms turned towards him. Before they could take a few steps, glintstone arcs and numerous glintstone shards flew towards them, turning their bodies into a tangle of shredded flesh.
Aerion ascended the wooden stairs leading from the ramparts to the top of the tower, while Godrick's four surviving soldiers retreated before him, weapons raised, to where a wounded man lay leaning against the battlements. Judging by his clearly superior armor, it was the commander. If luck was on his side, it was Edgar.
He could feel the fear, exhaustion, and determination radiating from them as they gritted their teeth and tightened their grips on their weapons.
He stopped a few steps away and looked at the wounded man, whose tired eyes regarded him with wariness but also appreciation for his strength.
"You're Edgar?" he asked bluntly.
The man frowned in obvious surprise, then replied, "It depends on who's asking," but there was no aggression in his voice, only fatigue and distrust. Natural in these lands.
"I am Aerion, the Tarnished," he introduced himself, and a moment later, golden particles appeared in his hand, coalescing into a letter. "I have a letter for you from your daughter."
Relief and fear mingled together on the man's face. "Irina? How? Where did you meet her?...They were supposed to escort her safely."
Aerion sighed slightly, "I don't know what you expected, but your people didn't manage to leave the peninsula. I found your daughter alone, defenseless, and covered in blood, surrounded by the bodies of both your people and the misbegotten."
Edgar, wincing in pain, struggled to his feet. "Where... where is my daughter? Please tell me you didn't abandon her."
Aerion shook his head. "She's safe. I left her in the care of my companion in the lookout tower on the hill. I think her name was Oridy's Rise," he assured her, then approached, holding out his hand with the letter.
"She told me to give you this letter."
The man took it and unfolded it. His eyes quickly scanned the text, once, then twice, before he sighed in relief, immediately wincing in pain.
Not about to let Edgar bleed out after all Aerion had done to find him, he summoned the Flask of Crimson Tears and handed it to the man.
"Drink," he commanded. "It's medicine."
Edgar looked at the gold-veined flask with hesitation for a moment, then understanding dawned on his face. "Is this what I think it is?" he asked with disbelief and a hint of reverence in his voice.
Aerion frowned at the question. "I don't know what you think," he replied. "It's my Flask of Crimson Tears. It heals practically any wound."
Now not only Edgar but also the soldiers seemed to gasp, and Edgar glanced from him to the flask in admiration. Then his gaze fell on Aerion's left eye, where the Elder Ring symbol gleamed amidst molten gold.
"Ah, I see now," the man whispered, "I see you don't understand the significance of this artifact. It may not be common knowledge, but for those high enough in rank and who remember the time before the shattering, as I do, this flask and its twin were one of the symbols of anointing.
Queen Marika the Eternal received two flasks from the Greater Will, made from the very essence of the Erdtree, which were self-filling with the Erdtree's own sap. One to heal wounds of the body, the other of the mind. The Queen was the only one who possessed them."
Aerion looked at the flask in his hand from a completely different perspective. He hadn't previously given them much thought; he simply took them for one of the wonders of these lands. One of many.
However, it hadn't occurred to him that they were so priceless. The fact that they had previously belonged only to the goddess of this land, one marked by Greater Will, and now he had received them carried implications he preferred not to consider.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew his goal was the Elden Ring, but there was a difference between becoming the Elden Lord and Marika's successor, the nominal god of the Lands Between.
He shook his head slightly, dismissing those thoughts. He had neither the time nor the inclination to think about it now.
"Drink," he ordered, holding the flask out to the man once more.
The man hesitantly took the flask from him, then took a small sip, as if sensing that taking more would be some kind of sacrilege.
Immediately, his visible wounds began to heal, color returned to his face, and his posture straightened. He gazed at the flask in his hand with amazement and even greater reverence, then handed it back carefully.
"Thank you, my lord. You not only saved my daughter from a surely terrible fate, but you also saved my life. Even if I hadn't bled to death here, sooner or later these vile creatures would have overwhelmed us completely."
"Don't think anything of it. Now that you're healthy, you can leave the castle and go to your daughter. I'll escort you out of here," Aerion replied, wanting to leave the place; after all, it reeked of death and rotting bodies, mingled with the smell of burning still wafting from the courtyard.
Edgar shook his head awkwardly. "Forgive me, Lord Aerion, but I cannot do so yet. Knowing my daughter is safe in your companion's care, I can now focus on fulfilling my duty."
Aerion felt irritation rising within him. On the one hand, he understood the sense of duty; it had been practically drilled into him by Lord Stark, but the castle was lost, and Godrick himself was not worthy of such loyalty.
He took a step toward the man, grabbed him by the collar of his jerkin, which peeked out from under his armor, and pulled him closer, glaring at him with smoldering anger.
"Fool, your daughter is blind and needs you now more than ever. You have no use for this castle and serving that monster. You could have lost her forever."
He could see in the other man's eyes, however, that he still stubbornly held on to his honor. "The castle no longer concerns me, but I allowed the priceless heirloom in my care to be stolen. I must get it back, or I will never erase this shame."
Aerion snorted in irritation and released the other man. "What is this heirloom?" he asked, his tone somewhat calmer.
"A Grafted Blade Greatsword, stored here for centuries or even longer. It's hard to tell when time can play tricks on you in these lands. It's a legendary weapon wielded by a forgotten hero," Edgar tried to explain.
"If it's a legendary weapon, why didn't you use it against the butchers? It must be powerful, after all?"
"The sword is powerful, my lord. However, no normal person can wield it. It weighs as much as a grown man. Furthermore, it drives the weak-minded mad, filling them with a constant thirst for revenge, even unjustified ones. In return, it supposedly offers increased strength."
Hmph. If I could get my hands on this weapon, it would probably be a boon for him. He was much stronger than normal people, even those living in this world.
He looked carefully at the castellan. "I could try to recover it, if the thief is still around, of course. But surely you would like it returned to your hands?"
Edgar shook his head and replied firmly, "All I want is for it to return to worthy hands. If you manage to recover it, Lord Aerion, it is yours. Perhaps it is destined to return to the hands of a hero? All I want is to be sure it is not still in the hands of those wretched creatures."
Aerion was genuinely surprised by these words and realized that the man was truly a man of honor and duty. However, this sparked another thought.
How many others like him were in Godric's service, serving because they had no other choice or nowhere else to go? After all, this world was completely fucked, as far as he knew.
"Do you know where the misbegotten might have taken that blade?" he asked, now seriously interested in finding the greatsword.
Edgar shook his head. "It wasn't just ordinary misbegotten who took it, but the leader of this entire rebellion. Leonite Misbegotten. Larger, much stronger, and faster than those other creatures. It resembles a humanoid lion with a red mane, but its tail belongs to a snake or some other reptile.
At first, it hid in the ruins on the shallows behind the castle's southern walls, but whether it's still there, I don't know."
Aerion nodded to himself, making a quick decision. "You will take your men and go to Irina and wait there. I will deal with the beast, retrieve the sword, and return to you. How does that sound?"
The man clearly considered his words for a moment, a furrow clearly visible on his forehead, suggesting he was thinking hard. After a moment, however, he nodded. "Agreed, my lord."
"Then go. The path to the gate is clear. Everything I encountered on the way is dead," he ordered, then added, "I will deal with this beast."
After his words, Edgar and his four men gathered the bare necessities and left the tower, his gaze following them. A moment later, he set off towards the southern rampart, finding a way to the beaches below and the ruins.
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However, finding the thief and leader of this whole rebellion turned out to be not difficult, because he only just reached the southern rampart and started descending to lower and lower levels a terrible roar suddenly cut through the castle, far louder and more powerful than the misbegotten's screams.
It was a call to Aerion, who had dared to trespass on the creature's territory. A moment later, another roar rang out, longer and more resonant. And much closer. Whatever the beast was, it was approaching.
This must have been the Leonine Misbegotten Edgar mentioned. The one who stole the Grafted Blade Greatsword, Castle Mourne's most prized treasure.
The beast might have been certain that she was the predator and he was just another prey, but she would soon discover that it was quite the opposite. Tonight, Aerion joins the hunt..."
Aerion gripped his hammer hilt tightly and held his staff out in front of him, waiting. Listening. Suddenly, movement from the shore caught his attention, where the ruins of a building lay amidst the shallows. The few Spirit Jellyfish floating around scattered before the speeding figure, which moved so quickly it seemed a blur in the dark of the night.
However, once his eyes fell on it, they never left it. His left eye sees as well at night as it does in the day.
Beast turned out to be massive misbegotten but different from the others, as Edgar described it. Its slender body, a mix between that of a human and a large cat, sprouted a distinctly reptilian tail from its rear. Its most distinctive feature, however, was its head, resembling a slightly deformed lion's head with a fierce red mane covering it.
In one hand, it held a stolen sword, resting it on its shoulder. Calling this abomination a sword was a stretch. For though it had a long hilt and a crossguard, it still resembled a sword only in its shape.
It immediately reminded him of the description of the Iron Throne, which was said to be made of thousands of blades partially fused together. The same thing happened with this sword.
Composed of dozens of smaller blades, many resembled rusted or worn-out straight swords fused together to form one massive, jagged slab of steel.
As Leonite Misbegotten began to climb the wall, Aerion jumped down, covering a few meters before landing and rolling to break the impact.
He then dashed towards the ruins, preferring to have far more space to fight than the ramparts offered. The beast immediately spotted him, and he jumped down mid-climb and ran after him.
Its roars of fury accompanied him as he made his way between the walls and the patch of land between the ruins. Without slowing, he glanced back and noted with considerable satisfaction that the misbegotten wasn't catching up at all and that their speeds were similar.
A moment later, he passed through the ruined archway and ran onto a sand-covered patch of land the size of Castle Black's courtyard. He could have used spells, or even incantations, to try and engulf the beast in flames, but he chose not to.
He intended to face his opponent head-on. Strength against strength, speed against speed. His skills against the ferocity of the half-beast.
He summoned Ornamental Straight Swords to his hands, then activated their special ability, and they glowed with the golden light of Holy power.
Leonite Misbegotten furiously rushed through the ruined arch and, without hesitation, lunged at it, while the Grafted Blade Greatsword hurtled toward Aerion like a meteor.
He jumped aside, knowing that due not only to its weight but also to the specific structure of the greatsword, parrying was impossible. The heavy blade struck the ground, carving a deep indentation in the sand and sending it flying.
Aerion swallowed, immediately recalling Tree Sentinel and its powerful halberd, except that Sentinel, like the trolls, was much slower.
His current opponent moved with the speed and ferocity of a shadowcat, possessing, like Aerion, strength far beyond their natural capabilities.
The first attack was followed by another, and then another. The beast used its extraordinary flexibility to give its blade even greater impact, leaping and twisting in the air.
Aerion avoided each attack for now, but the surface they were fighting on didn't help. He tried to land his own attacks with one or the other of his swords but only managed to leave two shallow wounds with their tips.
His opponent's skin seemed far more resilient than it should have been, and Leonite twisted his body in such an incredible way that he always avoided a blow at the last moment.
So Aerion changed tactics. He sent one of his swords away and instead summoned a throwing dagger into his hand, sending it flying at his opponent. And then he did it again and again.
Perhaps the daggers thrown normally wouldn't have done much damage, but with his current strength, the ones he threw struck the beast's flesh like bolts fired from a crossbow.
Leonite howled in pain as one dagger managed to graze his shoulder, and another sank halfway into his thigh. Unbalanced, his opponent was unable to avoid the arcing, glowing golden blade that severed it left arm mid-forearm.
Aerion, having gained the advantage, practically leaped into the beast's range, eager to press his advantage. As his blade slashed at Leonite's thigh, he spun around, summoning the Battle Hammer in his left hand, which fell on the beast's right shoulder, shattering it with both its sheer weight and the force of its impact.
Leonite howled in pain, trying to jump back, any thoughts of attack dashed by instinct, but it was too late. Now Aerion wasn't about to give up. Now he himself took advantage of what Loenite had done earlier. He began to use the hammer's weight and gravity to make his blows faster and more powerful.
The golden blade sliced deep into the side, and the hammer struck the half-beast's right hand, shattering it and knocking the weapon from its grasp. A moment later, the horrifying roar of agony was silenced as the blade split the skull in half, down to half the mouth.
Aerion stopped, panting, trying to catch his breath. Golden letters appeared before his eyes, bringing relief and the adrenaline rush of victory.
GREAT ENEMY FELLED
You receive 38 000 runes.
You receive Grafted Blade Greatsword
Grafted Blade Greatsword
The storied sword of Castle Morne. A revenger's weapon, it is burdened with oceans of anger and regret. One of the legendary armaments.
A lone surviving champion from a country now vanished was so determined to continue fighting that he claimed the swords of an entire clan of warriors.
He sat down on the sand for a moment and allowed himself a moment of rest, feeling a sense of satisfaction fill him. He felt stronger, more experienced.
He felt that the horrors he had faced in the Lands Between were increasingly preparing him for what awaited him in his own world. He slowly rose to his feet, thinking that Edgar couldn't have gone far and might still catch up with him, but a moment later he decided he might as well completely clear the castle and search for any useful items he might find.
He had never expected to use the daggers he had found, but in his hands they proved to be quite dangerous weapons.
With that in mind, he devoted a good two hours to combing and clearing the entire Castle Mourne of misbegotten.
Now standing before the bar of the deserted castle, he cast one last glance before his gaze fell on the road ahead. He could have teleported directly to one of the Sites of Grace near Oridys's Rise, but he decided to ride Torrent's back. He simply liked the feeling of them traveling together.
He raised the finger containing the ring to his lips when a shiver ran down his spine, as if the gaze of a dangerous beast had fallen upon him... or something far worse.
"Foul Tarnished, in search of the Elden Ring," came a low, powerful voice from behind him. He whirled around, spotting a massive figure standing on the rampart above the gate.
"Emboldened by the flame of ambition," the figure spoke again, then leaped, landing with a thud on the ground in front of him. The force of the impact sent dirt and small rocks flying in all directions.
"Someone must extinguish your flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!"