Empyrean [Elden Ring/Destiny]

Vivid scarlet eye, I can only hope that's not Vex. It's not described as glowing, but it's still the first thing to come to mind.

It's likely the Will reached out to everyone nearby with Grace- at least, I think Millicent has gold eyes? Anyway, the Greater Will probably poked at what it thought was one of its followers, and the Rot took exception to that.

... or she started using it herself to hold back Blaidd...
 
I think a decent chunk of the people into this kind of crossover have probably already seen Zullie the Witch's video on Elden Ring NPC eye color and their probable meanings/connections to the various factions and lineages and such, but here's a link for those interested that can help with understanding that half of this stories lore a bit more.
 
Shadow of the Edtree trailer is up! Hype!


View: https://youtu.be/qLZenOn7WUo?si=bo_Mh1OuU8_Su8Q6

Can't say I gleaned much lore from trailer itself, but video description has interesting implications...
In the Land of Shadow, Miquella awaits the return of his promised Lord.


The Land of Shadow.

A place obscured by the Erdtree.
Where the goddess Marika first set foot.

A land purged in an unsung battle.
Set ablaze by Messmer's flame.

It was to this land that Miquella departed.
Divesting himself of his flesh, his strength, his lineage.
Of all things Golden.

Edit: Dug out more lore from Bandai Namco preorder site
A New Story
Guided by Empyrean Miquella, players are beckoned to the Land of Shadow, a place obscured by the Erdtree where the goddess Marika first set foot.
In these strange new lands, players discover the dark secrets of the world as they meet others who follow in Miquella's footsteps with ulterior motives.

Exploring a Familiar World Full of New Secrets
Shadow of the Erdtree
takes players beyond the Lands Between to explore the Land of Shadow, a completely new world from ELDEN RING.
Players can seamlessly travel back and forth between its vast maps interspersed with diverse situations and meticulous dungeons where menacing enemies roam.
 
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42. Gilded Shackles
Many thanks to @BinaryApotheosis for betareading and fact-checking.

-x-x-x-

Gilded Shackles

-x-x-x-​

"That looks like the last of them. Are you hurt?"

"A little. But I appear to be healing already."

"That would be the Light. Even without your active intervention, it should help you heal from most injuries in a matter of minutes. Soon enough we'll see what you can do when you focus it more actively—what was that?"

"…Ah. Hello. You can come out, little one. You're safe now. They're gone."


-x-x-x-​

"What the hell happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Millicent gives me a watery smile. "Ah… I must look a sight, mustn't I? Fear not—the Rot is writhing once more, but it seems content to leave me in control of my mind."

"That doesn't seem like its usual MO."

She hesitates. "Em-oh?"

"Uh. Usual way of doing things. Has it… said anything?"

"No. It—" Suddenly she winces, letting out a sharp cry of pain as Blaidd bites down on her arm in a sudden spasm. I reach for my gun, but Blaidd lets go of her arm and lets his head flop back with a sound like a dog whining in pain.

"Ah," he murmurs. "Forgive me, Millicent. I am better, for the moment."

"Good," she says, laying her bleeding hand on his chest. Her wound is already closing, and her pained smile is relieved and affectionate. "I am glad, Blaidd. Don't hesitate if the Will tries to seize you again."

"Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, lifting a shaking, gauntleted hand to rest on hers. He turns his head to look at me, tongue lolling slightly out of his mouth. "Barrett. This is not how I'd hoped we'd meet again."

"No," I agree, kneeling beside the two of them. "Me neither. What happened?"

Millicent takes a deep breath. "It's simple to explain, for all I understand little of it. We searched Nokron and the grounds overlooking it for many hours—some days, I should guess. We found Trinovar's fellow, Pretanor, in the catacombs above the city—though he cited duty and refused to join us. Rogier and Blaidd located the relic we sought perhaps two or three days ago, and we were in the process of planning our attempt to retrieve it when…"

"…When I went mad," Blaidd finishes when she hesitates. His tone is desolate. "It was—it was as if a golden haze descended over the world. I was… aware of what I was doing, but only dimly and distantly. I had nearly… nearly shattered Alexander by the time Yura and Millicent were able to pull me off of him."

"Was there any trigger?" I ask, even though I think I already know the answer.

"None that we saw," Millicent says. "It was so sudden. One moment, Blaidd was speaking with Rogier, gallant and courteous as ever. The next…"

"The next, Rogier had nearly lost his head," Blaidd grunts. "And I was little more than a beast."

"But what stopped it?" I ask.

"He bit me," Millicent says helplessly. "And as his fangs sank into my arm… the Rot rose up in answer."

"Never thought I'd be glad to contract the Scarlet Rot," Blaidd murmurs. "But somehow… somehow the Rot seems to combat the madness. The influence of one Outer God holding back that of another, perhaps. But it's only temporary. I've had to… to consume some of Millicent's flesh half a dozen times already. Whatever this madness inside me is, it burns through the Rot in a matter of hours." He looks at me, and there are no golden sparks in his dark eyes now. "The Two Fingers gave me to Princess Ranni when she was named Empyrean," he murmurs. "I have always known, down to my bones, that I am meant to be her shadow. Her loyal servant. But… but the Greater Will gives no gifts. Only gilded shackles."

"Oh, Blaidd," Millicent whispers, bringing up her healed—but still bloody—hand to stroke the fur of his head. "I never expected to be glad of the Rot, but if it can spare you this fate, then it is a kinder god than the one that would control you."

I feel like I'm intruding on something intimate. But I need to get all of us to the surface—quickly. "I think I know what caused all this," I say. "I'm so sorry, Blaidd—I never imagined things would go to hell this quickly, and I couldn't have stopped it anyway. My fireteam came and found me right around when you went berserk—and around the same time, so did the Fallen Hawks and the silver tears."

"The Hawks and the silver tears?" Blaidd asks blankly. "But… why? What connection do those creatures have to the Greater Will?"

"Not sure," I admit. "But given the Hawks' eyes are glowing gold, and given they've driven the Nox into hiding in the tunnels under the city…"

"Ah." Blaidd growls in sudden rage, struggling to sit. Millicent helps him, tucking her arm under his shoulders without being asked and pulling him up. "The Nox. Of course the Will would seek to destroy them." He looks at me. "It fears you, Barrett. You and your fellows. That is the only explanation. It wished to bury us down here—Millicent, Rogier, Yura, Alexander, myself, and all the Nox. To deprive you of any potential allies, or any information you might use against it."

"And it has failed," Millicent says fiercely. "You are still here, Blaidd. We are all still here."

"And so are the Nox," I say. "Though I'm not sure how long they'll last. I promised to help them evacuate to the surface, but I gotta admit I'm not sure how to manage it. There's a lot of tears and Hawks between them and the surface. I can do a lot, but I can't do the work of a whole army by myself. I can only be in one place at a time."

"There may be an easier path," Blaidd says. "The catacombs where we found Pretanor—they are part of the underworld aqueduct network, which once connected the three Eternal Cities. It is possible that path remains intact. If so, although it might not allow the Nox to reach the surface, it might allow them to find somewhere more defensible."

"That's a lot of maybes," I point out.

"So it is," he says. "But Pretanor might know more. We did not speak to him beyond offering him a place among our company, but he is encamped above if you wish to seek him out."

I hesitate. It's not a terrible idea. But… "I came down here to get you guys to the surface," I say quietly. "We've got the Fingerslayer Blade—Rogier has it. I want to help the Nox get out of here—but I don't want to leave you here any longer than I absolutely have to."

"It will take an army to safely evacuate Nokron entirely," Blaidd says. "You could approach the Ancestral Followers of the Hallowhorn Grounds not far from our encampment, but they are as likely to attack you on sight as to hear you out. That's certainly how they reacted to us, at any rate. You can approach Pretanor, but even if he is willing to help, and even if the aqueduct remains open, that still leaves you with the need for an army. An army none of us here can provide." He sighs. "I'm not sure what can be done, Barrett."

I stand. "Sounds like I have a few people to talk to," I say. "I'll be quick. You've got supplies for another day or so?"

"Easily," Blaidd says. "Go, Barrett. We'll last until you return."

-x-x-x-​

My first stop is that aqueduct. I see the Hallowhorn Grounds Blaidd mentioned on my way, off to my left as I walk the ridgeline towards the stone masonry of the ancient waterway. There are people down there—dressed in furs, carrying weapons and wearing headdresses made of horns and antlers. The Ancestral Followers, I assume. "We should at least try to talk to them," I tell Winchester.

Sure, he agrees, not leaving my backpack. But you can't make any assumptions about people being reasonable, bud. Not anymore.

"I know." With the Greater Will pulling the shit it has been with Blaidd and the Hawks and tears, not to mention whatever the hell the Vex are up to… there's no telling how anyone will react to me anymore. These guys were apparently aggressive when Blaidd tried to talk to them, but there's no way of knowing whether that would have changed by now, or if they'd react the same way to me. There's too much I don't know, and no way to find out in advance.

I have to pass through a cave to get to the aqueduct, and when I come out again, I can see the Crucible Knight a level below me.

"Hey there!" I call down to him. "You Pretanor?"

He looks up at the ledge where I'm standing, the light of Nokron's false stars glistening on his red armor. "Aye," he calls, in a deep, rough voice. "And unless I mistake my guess, thou'rt Barrett Twelve, the traveler from beyond the stars."

"That's me," I say. "Blaidd mentioned me, I guess?"

"Aye," he says. "I wondered if thou wouldst come here. The change that hath come over the wretches who haunt these halls, the once-warriors of the Legion of Hawks—hath it aught to do with thee?"

"I suspect so, yeah," I say. "A couple friends of mine came after me, and I think they made the Greater Will nervous." It occurs to me that maybe making it obvious that the most widely-worshiped god in the world is gunning for me isn't the wisest course of action in the short term. But the fact of the matter is, it's also not a great idea to start a negotiation by hiding vital information. And since the Greater Will has shown itself to be at least some kind of psychic powerhouse, I figure honesty is the best policy.

His only reaction is a grim nod. "I feared it was so. The Hawks are not men any longer, and thus have no resilience to the influence of a god."

"Do you have any idea why the Greater Will would be able to control them, though?" I ask. "It doesn't seem like its wheelhouse. Until they got the glowing gold eyes, they didn't seem like they were its sort of minions."

"They are creatures of Death," he says. "Old ones, from long before the late scourge of Those Who Live in Death. They were once men, aye, but are now given over entirely to the death-rites of the Twinbird. But after the immolation of the Gloam-Eyed Queen, the servants of Death were scattered by the Greater Will."

"I understand that the Greater Will basically won all its wars against the other Outer Gods," I say. "What I don't understand is why that would give it such direct control over those other gods' servants."

He shakes his head. "I could not say. Much hath been lost, and my memory is flawed. Even if it were not, I was never a scholar in such things. But if thou standest against the Greater Will, know that even if I cannot leave my post, thou hast my support."

"Why can't you leave your post?" I ask. "I want to try and get the Nox out of Nokron. They're pinned down by the Hawks and their own silver tears, and I was hoping you could help me get them away."

He hesitates. "I stand guard over a hidden passage," he says finally. "By the order of one of the few who yet hath authority to give me orders. The aqueduct is largely collapsed, but a hidden path, by way of an enchanted coffin, can yet lead one from here all the way to the Deeproot Depth beneath the Erdtree itself. That path I am bade to defend."

"By who?" I ask. "Who gave you the order?"

"Knight-Commander Siluria," he says. "She is leader of those of us who left the service of the Erdtree. If thou wouldst have our support, thou must seek her in the Nameless Eternal City beneath the Erdtree's roots."

I sigh. "The Nox could all be dead by the time I get there and back," I say. "I don't have time, Pretanor."

He's silent for a moment. Then he turns away from me and calls out into the dark tunnel behind him. "Atrebal!" he calls. "Hearest thou my voice?"

"Aye!" calls someone from the tunnel—a voice in a middle pitch, somewhere between alto and tenor.

"How goeth it with our guest?" Pretanor asks. "Hath he awakened?"

"Nay! He tosseth and turneth in his sleep, but he remaineth within it!"

"It seemeth to me," Pretanor says, "that sunlight and the air of the surface might do him good! Doth it not seem so to thee?"

There's a moment's silence. Then, "It is certainly possible," the unidentified Atrebal calls back.

"Then, as thy sergeant, these are mine orders to thee," says Pretanor. "Thou shalt take our guest to the surface. Thou shalt do so in partnership with Barrett Twelve, and in this partnership thou shalt also help him in whatever he requires to reach the surface. Dost thou understand me?"

"I do, sir!" calls Atrebal, and I hear the sound of clanking armor. A moment later, another Crucible Knight emerges from the tunnels, only instead of a sword and shield this one carries a sort of blunt polearm strapped across their back. In their arms is a man, clad only in rags, with skin so pale he looks almost like a corpse and blond hair matted across his brow with sweat. The knight gives me a nod. "Barrett Twelve!" they call up. "I hope our partnership shall be a fruitful one!"

I nod back at them. "Me too!" I reply. "Thank you. Both of you."

"Thank me not," Pretanor says. "Instead, see to it that our mutual enemies have reason to regret our collaboration."

"I'll do my damnedest," I promise.
 
Oh man...being torn between two mind controlling beings like that...I'm not sure if Blaidd is actually in a better spot or not.
Hopefully they'll find a way to get him a proper Tinfoil Hat.
 
"…When I went mad," Blaidd finishes when she hesitates. His tone is desolate. "It was—it was as if a golden haze descended over the world. I was… aware of what I was doing, but only dimly and distantly. I had nearly… nearly shattered Alexander by the time Yura and Millicent were able to pull me off of him."

I think Blaidd is in need for some Old Yeller treatment
 
43. Down by the River
Many thanks to @BinaryApotheosis for betareading and fact-checking.

-x-x-x-

Down by the River

-x-x-x-​

"Forward, men of the Golden Order! The storm breaketh before thine shields, the thunderbolt is split by thine spears! Up, men, up onto the walls! Tonight, by the grace of my mother and the iron will of my father, we shall dine in the Storm King's hall!"

-x-x-x-​

"So, who is he?" I ask as Atrebal clambers up the rock slope towards me, nodding at the man slung over their shoulder like a sack of produce.

"I know not," Atrebal says. "Nor doth Sir Pretanor." They shrug, jostling their limp burden. "He came through the passage in the aqueduct from the other direction, or so we assume. I found him curled in a corner. Of note: the Fallen Hawks which haunt the aqueduct seemed to ignore him entirely."

"That is interesting," I say. We start back through the cave, returning the way I came. "Random question, you got a preferred set of pronouns?"

"Preferred…? Ah, thou askest whether I am man or woman?"

"Or something else. I don't judge." Lex was born a woman, but they've been non-binary since the day Cassidy first found their corpse in the wreck of a ship half-buried in the Martian desert.

"I confess, I have never thought about it overmuch. Others have assumed me variously to be a man or a woman in the past. Neither hath ever irked me."

"Gotcha."

We exit the cave and crest a small hill. From this vantage point, I can see the Ancestral Followers. They seem to be gathered in small groups, each clustered around one with a more ornate headdress. They're congregating around a few obelisks scattered around the area.

"I wanted to try talking to them," I tell Atrebal, pointing at the nearest group. "I don't know if they'll want to get out of the underground too—I don't know a damn thing about their story—but they don't have any Fallen Hawks or silver tears around, which either means they're being ignored or that they've killed all the ones that tried to come calling. You got any idea which?"

"Sir Pretanor and I scouted the Siofra River and Nokron some years ago, after we were first assigned here by the Knight-Commander," Atrebal says. "But I confess we did not speak to the Followers, beyond telling their envoys of our encampment in the aqueduct. From mine observations, I do not believe they were either enemies or bosom allies of the Nox before the recent chaos. But I could not say how the tears or Hawks would react to them now."

"Worth asking, I guess," I say.

"Is it?" they ask. "Their numbers are not few, Barrett Twelve."

"Just Barrett," I say. "And, true, but I can punch well above my weight. Still, yeah, I should see if I can find a smaller group to approach. They didn't attack you when you were scouting?"

"Nay," says Atrebal. "But if thou intendest to speak with them, they may react better to my presence. While they have never sought our company, they have known about mine and Sir Pretanor's presence for some time."

"If you're willing," I say.

So instead of heading straight towards Blaidd's camp, we change course slightly, heading towards the nearest group of Ancestral Followers. I'm doing my best to look non-threatening, which means not trying to sneak up on them, so they see us before we get within comfortable earshot. I see two archers nock arrows, but they don't draw them back as we approach.

"Hail, Knight of the Crucible!" calls the leader of the group—the one with the fancy headdress. Where most of them are wearing fairly impressive pieces with two curved horns on a hairband, this woman's braid of silver hair is overshadowed by two massive antlers, like those of a full-grown elk. Her skin is the same dusky gray as that of the Nox, and I can't help but wonder if there's a common ancestor—someone or something later than whatever brought all these humanoids to the Lands Between in the first place, I mean. "What bringeth thee from yon aqueduct? And what is this creature with thee?" Her voice is sonorous and deep—the tones of someone who uses their voice a lot, and does a lot to keep it in good condition.

"Hey there!" I call back, waving. "Name's Barrett-12, call me Barrett. Just here to talk, if you don't mind."

"Thou speakest," she says in apparent surprise. "Fine and well. Strange times are these, and thou'rt no stranger than all else I have seen these several days. On what wouldst thou speak?"

"Wanted to ask if you folk have been having trouble with the silver tears and Fallen Hawks," I say. "I can confirm the Nox have."

She nods grimly, headdress dipping before her and casting her face in shadow momentarily as it blocks the false starlight. "So we have seen," she says. "We have no great love for the Nox, with their cities, and their artificial servants, and their lingering bitterness over their long-ago defeat. But they have long been our neighbors, and neighbors with whom we have learned to coexist. Abominable as the silver tears are, that they would so suddenly rise up in rebellion is something our wisest shamans could not have foreseen."

"Abominable?" I ask. "Sounds like you didn't like them even before all this."

"They are false beings," she says. "False life." She peers at me. "Thou appearest also to be a being of false flesh, Barrett."

"Eh…" I wiggle my hand in a so-so gesture. "It's a long story. I was once a human being, biological and fleshy as anyone else. The process of turning me into this was… well, let's just say I'm not the biggest fan of the guy who did it. And I've lost my memories a few times since then." Twelve, to be exact. "But my mind and soul are still human, even if the hardware they're running on is a little different."

She looks relieved, intrigued, and still wary all at once. "Then though thy flesh is false, thy life itself is not. A being both luminous and dull. A curiosity for the wise to debate at length, to be sure."

"I'd love to chat Exomind theory some other time," I say. "But right now, I'm on a bit of a clock, I'm afraid. See, there's still a few surviving Nox down there—hiding from the tears and the Hawks, sheltering in secret passages and the catacombs under their city. My friends and I are going to try and help them escape to the surface, where things haven't gone quite as crazy, least as of a day or two ago. Thought I'd ask if you'd be interested in either helping us do that, or in getting to the surface yourselves?"

The woman considers me, dark eyes hooded. I notice, however, that some of the people behind her look intrigued—even hopeful. "We are sealed beneath the Lands Between, but we settled in the Hallowhorn Grounds long before the paths to the surface were shut," she says. "The spirits of our ancestors have long rested here, beside the Siofra River. 'Tis our people's duty and privilege to watch over them, to be the servants in their primal court."

"But, Shaman Hazi," one of the men behind her says. "If the paths are open again… should we not at least try to reunite with the lost tribes on the surface?"

"No one's saying all of you have to leave," I point out. "Hell, none of you have to leave—if you really don't like the silver tears, I'd appreciate your help getting the Nox through their blockade even if you decide to stay down here."

She nods slowly. "I shall call the other Shamans to the Ancestor's Courtyard," she says. "We shall discuss. Outsiders are not welcome in the Spirit's presence—where shall we find thee when we have come to a decision?"

"We have a camp on the cliffs overlooking Nokron. But I don't know if we can stay much longer. A few hours at most."

"Then we shall decide quickly," she says simply. "Go, Barrett. I shall come to tell thee the Shamans' decision."

I take the dismissal as it's intended. "Come on, Atrebal," I say. "And—thanks, Shaman Hazi, for hearing me out."

She nods, then turns and walks away.

-x-x-x-​

"Hail, Barrett!" Alexander calls. "And I see you bring with you a Knight of the Crucible? Not Pretanor, by his armor and weapons. And who is his burden?"

"Hail, Living Jar!" Atrebal calls back as we approach. "I am Sir Atrebal, former squire and current subordinate to Sir Pretanor."

"In that case, well met, Sir Atrebal! I am Iron Fist Alexander—I spoke with Sir Pretanor some days ago. The rest of the party is at rest—"

"Or we were," Yura growls, stomping out of his tent, still securing his massive hat over his head. "Until you started shouting." He gives me and Atrebal a nod. "Welcome back. I see you've secured the assistance of a Crucible Knight, albeit not Pretanor himself. I am Yura, a warrior from the Land of Reeds."

"Well met, Yura," Atrebal says. "If I might ask—Barrett tells me that ye wish to aid the Nox in escaping Nokron. But what business first drew ye down below the surface?"

"That business is Blaidd's," Yura says, gesturing to the closed tent on the other side of the campfire. "I'm here to help him, and in exchange he offered his assistance with my own work back on the surface."

"And I am here for no other reason than that Blaidd's affairs place him in conflict with foes most worthy to test myself against!" booms Alexander.

"And I came down after them to see if they needed help," I say. "Things happened on the surface that made me worried they might run into trouble. Didn't think it'd be this bad, though."

"What happened on the surface to warn you of events down here?"

"Long story. Some friends of mine ran afoul of some old enemies of ours somewhere they shouldn't have been, and I was worried they'd go after my friends."

"…I suspect I lack much context."

"Yeah," I acknowledge. "But we have more pressing things to talk about. Yura, Alexander—how are Blaidd and Millicent?"

"Well enough," comes Millicent's voice from the entrance to the tent she and Blaidd were sharing when I was here earlier. She's gingerly stepping out through the flap, still half-overtaken with growths of the Scarlet Rot. But they don't seem to have progressed.

Atrebal doesn't know that, though. "Greattree preserve—" they exclaim, slinging the limp man in their arms over one shoulder so that they can draw their sword. "Is that the Scarlet Rot!?"

"Yes," I say quickly, stepping between them and Millicent. "But she has it under control. You do have it under control, right, Millicent?"

"For now." Millicent sounds even more exhausted than she did when I was here just a couple hours ago.

"And how's Blaidd?"

"He managed to fall asleep not long after you departed. It seems to be taking longer each time before the Will burns through the contagion."

"A relief," Yura says.

"No," I say grimly, shaking my head. "What happens when it fails to burn through the Rot? We're not lucky enough for him to hit an equilibrium."

"Just so," Millicent says quietly. "I'm worried, Barrett. Worried that eventually, he will bite my flesh, drink my blood to suppress the Greater Will—and then be consumed by the Scarlet Rot instead."

"We won't let it come to that," I promise. "I've got Lumina, after all. And even if that fails, the Nox wear helmets to keep out the influence of Outer Gods—one of those might help Blaidd, if nothing else works." It's risky, of course—Katerina thought it might kill him—but I'll have time to ask him his opinion before it comes to that. Assuming it even does.

"I pray that you're right, Barrett," Millicent says. She gives a small bow to Atrebal. "Hello, Crucible Knight—Sir Atrebal, if I heard your name correctly?"

"Yes," Atrebal says slowly, watching her warily. "Thou seemest… remarkably cognizant. It hath been many years since last I encountered one afflicted with the Scarlet Rot, but I do not recall it ever being so benign. And what saidst thou about the Rot suppressing the Greater Will?"

"Those would be the more pressing things to talk about," I say. "I—"

"Ah, Barrett, you've returned," comes Rogier's voice as he steps out of his tent, yawning. "Forgive me, I was sleeping. I see you've…" He trails off, staring at Atrebal.

"Hail, Sorcerer," says Atrebal. "I am Sir Atrebal, Knight of the—"

"Who is that?" Rogier cuts him off.

Atrebal blinks, then follows his gaze to the limp body on their shoulder. I do the same. "I know not," Atrebal says. "Sir Pretanor and I found him curled and insensate in a corner of the aqueduct."

Rogier approaches slowly. I see that his face has gone pale. "It can't be…" he murmurs. "His face. Let me see his face."

Slowly, Atrebal pulls the man off their shoulder, turning him over in their arms.

If Rogier was pale before, now he looks ashen. "D?" he whispers.
 
A lovely update!

I have no idea who D is, but I'm down to find out! :p

(It's been... a long few days)
 
I really do love how this story makes the world of Elden Ring come alive, rather than everyone being mindless enemies of the protagonist.

I'm sure it gets said a lot, but I think that's one of the best ideas you've had.
A lovely update!

I have no idea who D is, but I'm down to find out! :p

(It's been... a long few days)
It is in fact the brother of D, Hunter of the Dead! They are twins, as indicated by their armour being the "Twinned" set. That and looking alike, I suppose, but it's not like we can look under the helmet to confirm. Minor characters, but their involvement in one of the ending plotlines is very compelling.
 
44. Contagion
Many thanks to @BinaryApotheosis for betareading and fact-checking.

-x-x-x-

Contagion

-x-x-x-​

"Who… who are you? What are you?"

"I am Parvati-9, young man. As to what I am… I'm not quite sure. My friend here tells me I'm a Lightbearer. What are you doing here? Do you know where your family is?"

"…Dad was out scavenging when the Fallen came."

"Fallen?"

"The aliens. Mom's… not around anymore."

"I see. When do you expect your father to return?"

"Tonight. If he's still alive."

"Well, then, until tonight I suppose I know one thing I will be. I will be your guardian until he returns."


-x-x-x-​

"Thou knowest this man, then?" Atrebal asks, gently putting their burden—D?—down. I study the man's pale, thin face. I didn't see what D looked like under his gold-and-silver armor when we encountered him in Limgrave, so I have no idea if it's really him.

Rogier doesn't answer Atrebal for a moment as he kneels down beside the body. He brushes his hands against the man's pale neck, feeling for a pulse, then over his chest to feel for a heartbeat. If the touches look a little more tender than strictly necessary for a medical examination, I don't feel a need to comment. "He's the spitting image of D," Rogier says softly. "But… I do know D has a brother, one I never met. It's… possible this is he, instead of the man I know. Regardless, he is still alive." He looks up at Atrebal. "You intend to bring him to the surface?"

"Aye. Such are mine orders."

"D said he was going to talk to someone in Caelid, right?" I ask.

"Yes. Gurranq, the Beast Clergyman." Rogier's head suddenly whips around to stare at me with wide eyes. "Barrett, if the Greater Will itself is the enemy… Gurranq may have reacted to its change in strategy in some way."

"Trinovar was—is—sworn to Marika's family," I point out. "It didn't seem to drive him crazy."

"Gurranq is not human," Rogier says. "I do not know what he is, exactly, but they call him the Beast Clergyman for a reason. It is possible he is more like Blaidd than like Trinovar."

I grimace. "And we saw what happened to Blaidd."

"Just so."

"Then even if this is your friend D's brother, and not D himself," Yura observes, "that does not mean your fellow is in any way safe."

"No," Rogier says. "No, it does not. Barrett—is there anything you can do to help this man?"

I consider the pale figure. He looks thin, but not emaciated. He looks like he's been like this for a matter of days, a week or two at most. I don't want to assume that, though. Not given how weird and unreliable mortality is in the Lands Between. "Winchester," I say, holding out my hand, palm up. My Ghost appears above my fingers. "See what you can figure out about whatever's wrong with him?"

"On it," Winchester says, beginning to scan the man.

"What manner of creature is that?" Atrebal asks.

"That's Winchester. He's my Ghost. We're partners. I keep him safe, he gives me power."

"That's a simplistic way of looking at it," Winchester grunts without looking away from the body.

"Call it shorthand," I say. "Anything?"

"Mm. Yeah." He stops scanning and turns to look at me. "Be right back."

"What?" I ask, but Winchester is already darting away, zipping around Millicent and slipping inside Blaidd's tent.

"What?" she asks, looking in after him. "Winchester?"

"One minute," my Ghost says. "Scanning."

Millicent looks at me. I just shrug.

"Doth he perhaps think that what troubleth this man is the same as what troubleth thine other companion—Blaidd?" Atrebal asks me. "Thou saidst that the influence of the Greater Will was being held at bay by that of the Scarlet Rot."

I blink. "But… what Outer Gods could be competing over D? Or D's brother, whichever he is?"

"I'll tell you what one of them is," Winchester says, emerging from Blaidd's tent. "Because, yeah, that's exactly what's going on. Paracausal tug-of-war, and Blaidd and this guy are the ropes. Pretty sure the Greater Will is on one end of them both—but the other side is different. Couldn't say beyond that."

"Any idea how long he's been like this?" I ask.

"Can't you guess?" Winchester grunted. "A couple of days. Same as everything else. But I think he was already… deteriorating, before that point. He shows signs of malnutrition or starvation going back a few weeks, at least. But until two days ago, he was at least conscious. It's only about then that serious muscle atrophy started."

"Shit. And we don't have a way to help the other side beat the Greater Will this time?"

"Nope. Not sure that would even help." Winchester looks down at the pale man. "After all, Blaidd's not catatonic. Something else is going on with this guy. Might have something to do with whatever god is on the other side of the equation. I will say—he's cold."

"Hm?" Rogier says. "We have blankets."

"Might be a good idea. His body temp is way below normal," Winchester says. "Low enough that I'm surprised we're seeing cardiac activity at all."

I nod at Rogier. "Get him in a tent and under some blankets. I need to think."

"Should we not get to the surface quickly?" Yura asks.

"I want to wait until we hear back from the Ancestral Followers," I say. "You all get some sleep. Winchester and I will keep watch."

"You've not slept since descending into Nokron," Millicent protests. "One of us can—"

"I'll be fine," I cut her off. "I need to talk to Winchester anyway, and he can keep the symptoms of sleep deprivation at bay for a good while. Seriously, Millicent, get some sleep while you can. I'll wake you if Blaidd needs attention. Assuming he doesn't wake you himself."

She hesitates, then sighs. "Very well."

As the group goes into their tents, Atrebal clears their throat. "Forgive me, Barrett, but I did not pack a bedroll. Is there a spare stowed somewhere? If not, I can make a bed on the grass."

"Chester, can you fabricate something for them?" I ask.

"Sure." A flicker of blue light as the glimmer is programmed, and there's a bedroll on the ground between a couple of tents. "Don't think you need shelter from rain, down here. I can get you a tent when we're back on the surface."

Atrebal blinks at the bedroll for a moment, then gives Winchester a respectful nod. "I thank thee, kind Ghost."

They start stripping out of their armor, exposing the cottony undergear beneath, as Winchester provides some kindling in the center of a makeshift firepit. I set it alight with a momentary flare of Solar Light, unleashed with a snap of my fingers. Then I sit and gaze into the flames, one ear pricked for the sound of anyone or anything approaching, as Atrebal settles onto their bedroll. After a few minutes, their breathing evens out.

"Talk to me, Winchester," I say, quietly enough to avoid waking anyone. "What happens if we use Lumina on the guy?"

"Best case, it purges the influence of both Outer Gods," said Winchester. "But I'm not about to bet on that. Lumina's been inconsistent, and we still don't know the rules."

I nod. "My thoughts exactly. You got any guesses?"

Winchester is silent for a long moment, hovering a couple feet away, his electric-blue eye fixed on the fire. "Millicent is the key here, I think," he says. "Call it a gut feeling. Even if I don't have a gut. I think the default behavior of Lumina is still the same as it's always been—purge and purify paracausal influences. Worked with Rogier. Worked with Radahn. But it didn't work with Millicent. I think the reason is something to do with her."

"You think she has any idea what it is?"

"If she did, I think she'd have told us by now," he says. "I'm pretty confident, at least, that she didn't know when we were in Sellia, and she first heard that the Rot was still somewhere inside her. If she's figured it out since then, maybe. But I'm not sure what…" He trails off.

"What?"

"Radahn…" he says. "Didn't he mistake Millicent for someone else? Melina's sister?"

"Malenia." My metal brow shifts as I frown in concentration. "She's the Empyrean who unleashed the Scarlet Rot on Caelid in the first place. Melina said… what was it exactly? That she was bound to the Scarlet Rot somehow."

"Right, she said that all the Empyreans, except maybe her brother, were tied to one of the Outer Gods," he says. "And, yeah, Malenia was tied to the Rot. And Millicent is her spitting image. But Melina didn't know what her relation to Malenia was, and nor did Millicent. How'd that happen?"

"And what is their relation?" I shake my head. "Wait. Step back. Let's theorize—what happens if we use Lumina on Malenia?"

"I've got no way of knowing," Winchester says. "Not like I've had a chance to scan the woman."

"Guess. Talk me through it."

"It depends on what exactly the relationship between the Empyreans and their would-be patron gods is." His flaps shift. "And how strong it is. But if that relationship is less like Hive poison clinging to someone, and more like the bond between a Lightbearer and his Light…"

"Then Lumina wouldn't do anything," I finish for him. "Because at that point it's not a paracausal contagion. It's a part of the person's identity. Built into them."

"…Seems likely. But where does that leave Millicent?" He looks over at the tent where she and Blaidd are—hopefully—both sleeping. "Lumina did do something, even if it didn't cure her."

"Let's assume that was the Rot talking to us when we tried to use Lumina on her," I say. "What did it say? Did you happen to record it?"

"Probably. Let me check." He's silent for a moment. "Yeah, here we are."

A moment later, Millicent's voice emerges from his shell—Millicent's voice, but with none of her warmth, her determination, her innocence, her humanity. "Thou knowest not what thou hast done."

My own voice, then. "Starting to suspect that. Care to elaborate?"

Then the Rot once more: "Thou hast inserted thyself into a thing thou dost not understand. A struggle for power and identity where thou knowest neither the combatants nor the stakes. A conflict with no victors—only he that loseth existence, and he that loseth himself. But thine aimless stumbling… hath offered opportunity. It may yet offer more. Let it not be said that the Rot is not a gracious god to him that offereth service, even unwitting."

The voices fall silent. For a long moment, Winchester and I both sit quietly, turning the words over in our heads.

Then Winchester says what we're both thinking. "What conflict was it talking about?"

"The war over the Elden Ring, maybe?" I suggest. "Maybe the Outer Gods are all vying to have their Empyrean be the one that takes Marika's place."

"But what does curing Millicent have to do with that? And obviously that conflict does have a victor—whichever god gets their Empyrean on the throne." He looks over at me. "Let's think through all the times we've come into contact with the Rot—the god, not the effect."

"I think it's just the one," I say. "When it spoke through Millicent. Even that time I died to the Scarlet Rot when we were fighting the infected dragon, the entity that contacted me wasn't the Rot. It was the Frenzied Flame." I remember the dragon's silhouette in my mind, composed of writhing tongues of yellow fire.

"Right. Even at the time, I wondered why the hell the Frenzied Flame would show up when you were killed by the Rot."

I rub my chin, thinking back. "The Frenzied Flame," I whisper. "The Yellow Fire. Yellow… Winchester, why do most of the people we've met in the Lands Between have golden eyes?"

"What?" He blinks his eye at the apparent non-sequitur.

"Humor me. You got any idea?"

"…Let's assume, for the sake of argument, that it's not simple genetics," he says. "Could it be an indicator that someone's carrying Runes?"

"Could be. But hear me out. We've heard a lot of mention about this concept of 'Grace'. The 'Grace of Gold.' Melina said that the Tarnished had lost their Grace, and that it was returned to them when they came back to the Lands Between. But no one's really explained what Grace is."

"She and Rogier both mentioned the 'guidance' of Grace," Winchester says slowly. "She said something about it leading the Tarnished to their destiny."

"But we're paracausal, and so are most of the people we've met," I say. "To one extent or another, at least. We know that paracausal beings don't have destiny in the traditional sense. So what is this grace actually doing?"

"…Setting a path out for them. Pointing them where something wants them to go. Top candidate: the Greater Will."

"Rogier said he'd lost sight of the guidance of Grace," I say. "Didn't he also say something about faith?"

"He did," Winchester says. "He mentioned that a friend of his still could see the guidance, and theorized that it was because his friend was still 'faithful' and he wasn't. That friend was probably D."

"So. The guidance of Grace is a tool the Greater Will and/or the Golden Order use to steer the people who follow them in the direction they need to go. A voice for them to hear."

"The best voices…" Winchester murmurs. "Okay. Say you're right about all this. Lotta guesswork, but it fits. That doesn't explain why Rogier has golden eyes."

"His are definitely more faded than Melina's," I say. "But good point. Still, let's assume it's a gradient. Say Rogier still has some Grace, but not enough to see the guidance anymore."

"Sure. For the sake of argument."

"Then let's look at who doesn't have golden eyes."

Winchester pauses, thinking. "Blaidd had dark eyes before all this."

"Right. So did Godrick's soldiers.

"When the Rot spoke to us through Millicent, she had red eyes."

"And now she has one red eye. And Gowry had yellow eyes. And…" I pause, thinking back, straining. "What color were Millicent's eyes before we used Lumina?"

Winchester is silent for a long moment. "They weren't red," he finally says. "I… think they were somewhere between gold and… yellow."

"But she was infected with the Scarlet Rot. And we know that the Rot gives her red eyes, because that's what it did when it literally spoke through her, and what it's doing now when she's covered in growths of it. So why the hell would she have yellow eyes?"

"…They call the Frenzied Flame the 'Yellow Fire', right?" Winchester asks. "You don't think…"

"There's a connection between the Scarlet Rot and the Frenzied Flame," I say. "That's why I had a vision of the Frenzied Flame when the Rot killed me. I'm confident saying that much. There's a link between those two gods."

"But what kind of link?" Winchester asks.

"I have a guess," I say softly. "Think, Chester. Assume there's some kind of particularly tight connection between Millicent and Malenia. Maybe Millicent is Malenia with amnesia, maybe she's a clone, maybe she's an astral projection. Doesn't matter. Assume Millicent functionally is the Scarlet Rot's Empyrean, and that the connection between her and the Rot is too tight for Lumina to disrupt. So what does it disrupt instead?"

"…Your dream," Winchester whispers. "The hand being split. Three fingers lighting on fire—yellow fire. Two turning gold."

"Lumina did exactly what it was supposed to," I say. "It burned away a paracausal contagion, purified what it hit. But the Rot wasn't a contagion on Millicent. The Frenzied Flame was a contagion on the Scarlet Rot."

"Barrett Twelve?"

I turn away from the fire to see a figure approaching, wearing the simple headdress of one of the lower-ranked Ancestral Followers. "I have found thee," he says. "I bring word from the Shamans. We shall join thee. We shall not abandon our groves, but neither shall we abandon those sundered from the Ancestors. We Who Follow shall see the sky again."
 
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You know, there's one thing that makes me wonder.

Above all else, above its own frenzied desires, there's one thing we mostly know about the Frenzied Flame. It preys upon despair.

Now, while it seems fairly unlikely that the same would apply to an Outer God, infested with it... what if?
 
If the Frenzied Flame is a contagion, does that mean the Scarlet Rot... isn't? An alien (or perhaps native?) god's biosphere attempting to assert itself as a dominant Order? That brings into question a lot of things, including how old the Scarlet Rot actually is, because the timeline of Elden Ring according to psuedo-archeology studies makes it that if the Scarlet Rot was previously the primary Order, it can't've been after the Meteorite Civilization (the one who built the divine towers).

Being unable to regain primacy after thousands of years would sure make anyone foster deep feelings of despair and hopelessness...

This is definitely the most unique take on the Diety of Rot I've seen.
 
If the Frenzied Flame is a contagion, does that mean the Scarlet Rot... isn't?
It's not quite this simple. As we've seen, Lumina is able to cleanse the Rot, when the person being cleansed doesn't have a preexisting connection to it like Millicent does. So it wouldn't be accurate to say it isn't a contagion. But no one has suggested it can infect other Outer Gods, the way Barrett theorizes the Frenzied Flame to have done.
 
It's not quite this simple. As we've seen, Lumina is able to cleanse the Rot, when the person being cleansed doesn't have a preexisting connection to it like Millicent does. So it wouldn't be accurate to say it isn't a contagion. But no one has suggested it can infect other Outer Gods, the way Barrett theorizes the Frenzied Flame to have done.
The difference is that the Scarlet Rot performs the role of a contagion while the Flame of Frenzy is one, down to the very core of its being, a malediction upon the current Order and by extension (though more explicit in this fic), Higher Beings. The Scarlet Rot is, as I briefly mentioned earlier, in all accounts an invasive Order, that by which of the very nature of invasion is corruptive due to converting plantlife, animals, sentient beings and the landscape itself. Things dying to the Rot are overcome by the Laws of another Order and stop living afterwards, dissolving and/or calcifying due to being incompatable with it. Kindred of Rot are a race borne of the Scarlet Rot, much like the Dragons and later Humans were to the Golden Order, leading us to the conclusion that the Rot is an Order, merely one hostile to the current one in primacy. Another example could be the Meteor-Fire God of the extinct Fire Giants, but there is little solid information on that topic, hopefully just until when the DLC comes out. I'm not saying that the Rot isn't extremely damaging and shouldn't become the primary Order, because it would kill most of everything before it, but is most definitely an invasive biosphere, not a true contagion which infects biospheres.

And Lumina is able to remove unnatural contamination and connections from a target, yes, but that... doesn't really mean much? Throw anything into a cup of water that isn't water and that by definition is a contaminant, but as long as the contaminant is regarded as helpful or benign by either the cup of water and/or the one holding the gun, you wouldn't want to get rid of it, would you? I don't know too much about the Destiny side of things, but that logic should be correct, right?
 
45. Battle Plans
Many thanks to @BinaryApotheosis for betareading and fact-checking.

-x-x-x-

Battle Plans

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"Father? Art thou not pleased with the feast?"

"Nay, my son. The feast goeth well, and the food thy cooks have prepared is surpassing fine for something served mere hours after a battle. I am well pleased with the feast."

"Then why sittest thou sit here alone, instead of carousing with thy men?"

"When the Storm King fell… the same despondency came over me once more. I spoke to thee of it before, ere thy mother gave me these orders."

"I remember. But father… all will be well. Every war endeth, and every soldier must one day lay down his sword."

"I am not sure whether I can. My son… look into my eyes. Tell me what thou seest."

"…"

"I see by thy face that thou seest as I do. Mine eyes are dark. The Grace of the Erdtree—of the Greater Will, to whose Empyrean I am wed and whose Order I have helped to enshrine—hath abandoned me. No, my son. I am not sure there will be any peace for me."


-x-x-x-​

Blaidd unlatches his jaws from Millicent's arm with a rough gasp for breath. "My thanks, Millicent," he says, stumbling to his feet.

She gives him a watery smile as she clutches her arm, the wound already healing closed. "Of course, dearest Blaidd. Of course."

For a long moment, they hold one another's gaze, something passing between them. Then Blaidd turns to me and the shaman who came after the Ancestral Followers had started to mobilize. "Apologies. I'm once more in control of my mind."

"Good," I say. "Now—Shaman Zua, you're the expert on the underground. We have a lot of people to get out of here. Hundreds. Do you have any suggestions?"

"I know not how thou camest to Nokron," says the shaman. "Perhaps thy road is superior. But mine instinct would be to try and reach the Siofra River wells. They are below Nokron, along the edges of the riverbed."

"Our path down won't work," I say. "Lotta long drops. I could make it up and throw down rope, but you can't make an evacuation up a rope ladder. Not if you want to get more than a couple dozen people out."

"The riverbed, then."

"You got a map?"

"Aye." But instead of producing a piece of paper, she kneels and starts sketching out lines in the dust, narrating as she goes. "We are here—just at the edge of the Hallowhorn grounds. There are the temples where the Ancestors rest—thou didst see them from where thou metst Shaman Hazi. This area is the Eternal City—here is the bridge, which once connected the upper city to the aqueduct, but hath long since broken over the Hallowhorn grounds. The lower city is here."

"Night's Sacred Ground," I say.

"If that is what the Nox call the region," says the shaman dismissively. "But here—down the cliffs from the Eternal City itself—is the Siofra riverbed. The ancient palace of the claymen lieth here, by the river's shore, and ruins of its surrounding city lieth strewn all along her banks. The Siofra River doth curve thus, flowing northward. Nokron's eastern buttresses arc over its breadth, connecting the city to the riverbed. But those buttresses are now in poor repair, by the word of those scant few scouts among We Who Follow who explore below the Grounds."

"Too damaged for the Nox to travel down?"

"I suspect so—at least for those not sufficiently agile to leap the gaps. And in the numbers that must travel to the riverbed, the buttresses would likely crumble."

"Okay. Not ideal."

"The Greater Will intended none to escape the underground," says Zua. "It would be most odd if there were an ideal path of escape."

"Point. Okay, at least by your path we're getting people down a drop instead of up it. Much easier. Say we figure out that problem—what's next?"

"There are two wells in the Siofra riverbed," says Zua. "Both are sealed from this side, and would require either that the seals be broken or that they be activated from above. One is to the north, near the mouth of the river where she floweth into the Sea of Ginnung. The other is to the south, where the many tributary streams first form the Siofra River true."

"And these wells both lead up to the surface?" I ask.

"Aye. They are platforms, bespelled by ancient magics, connecting the ancient wells on the surface to the Siofra River below. One platform should be able to comfortably bear a dozen Followers—and likely more of the slight Nox."

"That's still slow going," I say. "Hell of a lot better than a rope ladder, though. Where do they let out?"

"The southern well lets out in Limgrave," Blaidd says. "I found it early in my search for the Eternal City. It's deep within the Mistwood, in the shadow of the minor Erdtree there."

"The northern well is situated in a deep gorge in the Caelid Wilds," says Zua. "At least, that is what the lands were called when last any of us were on the surface."

"Yeah, we're not doing that," I say. "South well it is."

"That still leaves us with three problems," Rogier says. "First, getting the Nox and the—They Who Follow to the well. Second, unsealing the well once we reach it. And third, defending the well long enough for the Nox to escape."

"That last part isn't too hard," I say. "I've done that sort of thing before, although it's been a while." I remember standing between a huddled mass of Eliksni refugees and a tide of Vex in the blasted ruins of the Botza district, the rusting hulk of Insurrection Prime half-buried in the middle of the square. I must have died more than a dozen times in that battle. The whole fireteam did—except Siver, who was still MIA at the time. "The other two, though… that's a challenge."

"You've no spells that can give us a path down to the riverbed?" Blaidd asks. "No way to repair the buttresses with your magic, or some such?"

"The Light can do a whole lot, but it's limited by my training and skill," I say. "There probably are people who have studied Solar Light enough to be able to 'heal' broken buildings, but I'm not one of them."

"But you wield two forms of magic, do you not?" Rogier asks. "You've mentioned before—the Light and the Darkness."

"Stasis," Winchester says suddenly. "Barrett—you could use Stasis crystals to bridge the gaps in the buttresses. Make a bridge out of them."

"Stasis crystals don't stay solid more than a few minutes. Not unless…"

"Unless the person who created them is concentrating on keeping them solid," Winchester finishes.

"…I won't be able to fight while I'm doing that."

"Then we shall defend you!" Alexander exclaims. "After all you've done for us, Barrett, it is high time we returned the favor! You may be a great warrior—but we are no slouches either!"

It goes against every instinct I have, letting other people fight to keep me safe. I'm a Guardian. I'm supposed to be the spear on the wall. But this time, something else is needed—and I'm the only one who can provide. "Fine," I sigh. "All right. I'll create a bridge with Stasis, give us an evacuation path."

"Once we have reached the riverbed, it may be that the claymen will seek to halt us," Zua says. "But that is a trifle. They are slow, weak creatures, so long have they gone unmaintained by the dynasty they once served."

"That may not be necessary," Atrebal cuts in softly. "I shall travel at the head of the column. It may be that I can take the loyalty of the claymen for myself, or at least convince them to allow us passage."

I blink at them. "How would you do that?"

"They served an ancient dynasty, one from the days before the Erdtree was stained with gold," Atrebal says. "I am a Knight of the Crucible, similarly tied to the Greattree that was. A tenuous link, perhaps—but if we can turn these constructs to our aid, that will make holding the well far easier."

"Worth a shot."

"Then we shall hold the rearguard," Blaidd says. "Millicent and I, with Rogier, Alexander, and Yura. We shall keep the Hawks and silver tears from slaughtering the Nox as they cross your bridge."

"We Who Follow shall stand at the Nox's flanks, then," says Zua. "Our archers are far superior to anything they can field—the only 'archers' they ever fielded were the very tears that have now turned against them. While they cross the bridge, we shall ensure that they are not harried from the sides."

"Atrebal and I will cross first," I say. "That way Atrebal can try to take control of the claymen, and I can be on the far side so that Blaidd and the others can cross as soon as the Nox are through."

"That's our first problem solved, then," Yura says in his hoarse voice. "What of the second?"

"I could use a Site of Grace to travel to the surface," Rogier offers. "Open the well from that side?"

"Absolutely not," I say. "The Sites of Grace are manifestations of the Greater Will's paracausal power, right? We can't afford to use them—not now. Not unless we have no other choice. We have no way of knowing if they'll do what we expect."

"I've seen you leap great distances unassisted," Alexander says to me. "Could you not ascend the way we came, emerge from the crater, and find the well from the surface?"

"If we can't come up with anything better, that's a good plan B," I say. "But it'll take a while—both because it'll take me a while to even get back to the surface, and because once I'm there I have to find this well. The Mistwood is big, and I've only been through it once, when we came back from Caelid. Besides, I don't want to split up any more than we have to." I shoot Blaidd and Millicent each a glance, then spare another for the pale man slumped against a boulder not far from the campfire. "I'm the only one who can use Lumina, if it comes to that."

"True," Rogier says. "On that topic…"

"I don't want to risk it," I tell him. "Not until I have more time to figure things out. There are a lot of ways his situation"—I jerk my head in the direction of the still man—"could go wrong when exposed to Lumina."

"You mentioned no such risks when you used it on me. Or on Millicent. Or Radahn."

"We saw how it affected Millicent differently, didn't we? We have more information now. I'd rather explore other avenues first—but, yeah, if I have to use Lumina on him, I will."

I haven't had the time to think through all the implications of what I've pieced together about the Outer Gods. About the nature of the Frenzied Flame, about its connection to the Scarlet Rot. And until I've had the time to figure that out, I really don't want to be throwing Noble Rounds around in situations where they might complicate things, like they did with Millicent.

"I might have a solution," Blaidd says slowly. "Though I'm… loath to use it. Given the state I'm in."

I cock a metal eyebrow in his direction. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Lady Ranni gave all of her servants a way to contact her in an emergency," he says. "In case we could not report urgent news any other way. The magic will only work once, and it was very costly to the Princess. And there's no guarantee she'll be able to help, even if I do get word to her."

"How costly are we talking?" I ask.

"She…" Blaidd hesitates. "I oughtn't speak of such things without her permission. Suffice to say she was… incapacitated, for some time afterwards."

"Some time, a few minutes? Or some time, a few years?"

"Neither. A matter of several weeks. Perhaps two or three months. I believe it varied somewhat."

"Then I guess it's up to your judgement," I say. "Do you think she'd want you to use this, knowing the alternative is me going up myself—leaving you and Millicent to deal with your situation without a fallback plan for at least a day, maybe more?"

He meets my eyes for a long moment. Then he nods. "Aye. She would."

"Then that's what we'll do," I say. "If she can get the well open from the surface, great. If not, we'll go back to plan B."

"I believe that is a plan in full, then," Atrebal says. "How will we make contact with the Nox?"

"I'll handle that," I say. "Shaman Zua—get your volunteers gathered and assemble with Blaidd and the others. I'll go down to the city and make contact with the Nox. When I give the signal—make a beeline for the buttresses on the east side."

"This is assuming Lady Ranni can help," Blaidd says. "Which… I should check. Now."

"You need privacy for that?" I ask.

"Yes," he says. "The Princess would not want me sharing her secrets. But…" He grimaces. "I fear to be alone. I fear what the Greater Will might do with me. Millicent—would you swear to keep what you see secret, if I bring you with me to speak with the Lady?"

"Of course, Blaidd," Millicent says, resting her hand—still pale and smooth, despite the mottling of the Rot along her arm where Blaidd's teeth have repeatedly sunk into her flesh—on his arm. "I'm honored by your trust."

He reaches out and runs the gauntlet of his other hand over her arm, and the Rot growths there. "I am honored by yours," he says softly. "Come—the tent will be privacy enough." He nods at me. "We'll return shortly."

I nod back, deliberately biting back a joke.

"Have fun, you two!" Winchester, who has no such reservations, calls after them.

I don't think I imagine the way Blaidd's shoulders hunch in embarrassment, or the way the back of Millicent's neck goes red for reasons other than the paracausal plague she carries.

"We Who Follow can make ready to march within two hours," Zua says, gesturing at the encampment of Ancestral Followers a few hundred paces from our small campsite. There's only a couple dozen of them—but given I doubt there's more than maybe two hundred of them total all over the Hallowhorn Grounds, that's still a hell of a commitment. Besides, when I was in the Nox catacombs, I didn't get the feeling there were more than a couple hundred of them in need of evacuation.

Surprise attacks from a massive population of previously docile servants will do that to a people.

"If Blaidd comes back and says Ranni can get that well open for us, I'll head down and coordinate with the Nox right away," I say. "I should be able to send up the signal in not much more than that, assuming they're ready to go."

She nods. "And if he doth not, we are prepared to wait some days for our opportunity."

"Who will carry… him?" Rogier asks, gesturing at the still-unconscious man.

"I can bear him," Atrebal says. "If the Claymen try to bar our path, I will have time to lay him down, or pass him to one of the Nox, before I fight them. They truly are slow creatures."

Rogier nods stiffly. "Please be careful with him."

"Of course."

The tent flap opens. Millicent steps out first, Blaidd looming behind her. "Lady Ranni has promised her help," he says. "She says she can open the well for us in a few hours. Four or five, at most."

"Isn't she based in Liurnia?" I ask. "How's she going to cover that distance that fast?"

"She is unlikely to make the journey herself," Blaidd says. "But she is capable of projecting images of herself great distances—images which can interact with the world. I've told her where to find the well. She'll project there and open it for us. The process is… taxing, for her, but she's assured me she has no doubt she can do this much."

"Then it sounds like we have a plan. It'll take us at least a couple of hours to do the evacuation, so there's no reason to delay." I turn to Zua. "Get your people ready to move when I give the signal from the city."

"And what will be thy signal?" she asks.

I'm tempted to say something dramatic, like 'it'll be obvious'. Unfortunately, it's possible I'll have to do something spectacular with the Light just to get to the Nox, and I really don't want to screw this up because I didn't bother to set up a signal in advance. "Keep an eye on the city," I tell her. "When you see two or more bolts of orange light shoot straight up in quick succession—that's the signal. Make sure you keep watch, because they'll be quick and easy to miss."

"Understood," she says. "Ancestors guide thee on thy way, Barrett."

I grin. "As we Guardians say… carry the Light, my friends. See you all soon."
 
The great escape begins... I'll admit, I always though the claymen were people that turned into what they are now, rather than constructs from the get go. Your interpretation is definitely interesting as well, whether or not they heed the crucible knight.
 
No chapter this Friday, unfortunately. I've had a ton of errands to run this week, and I also have them misfortune of hitting arc climaxes in both of my active stories at the same time.
 
No update tomorrow either, unfortunately... I've been doing the avoidant-behavior thing all week. Hopefully I can get my head screwed back on this weekend.
 
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