The Outer Lord
Chapter 3: Rot
There were few who remembered Caelid before the Rot set in. Most who did were few and far between, with the majority of their number having been swallowed by the blighted swamps of the decaying region of the Lands Between. Remnants of the cataclysm that was The Shattering still occupied parts of Caelid. The Redmanes, they called themselves, along with their enemies, the Cleanrot Knights of Malenia the Severed. The last vestiges of Starscourge Radahn's forces still fought to beat back the nightmares spawned from the death the region, while the Cleanrot Knights gathered at the heart of the deep swamps, where they stayed and kept vigil over the Rot-spreading Aeonia flower.
It was a world unto itself, unlike anywhere else in the Lands Between. Day or night, the sky remained its sickly scarlet hue as if the clouds themselves were flush with pox. The earth was red with corruption and the blood of warrior's long dead. Plants and fungal growths overtook the fauna, creating alien mushroom-like growths that spread their malignant spores on the sour wind. The animals were mutated, freakish things, alive yet rotting. Maddened and ravenous, they engaged in the eternal game of kill and consume with the inexhaustible bands of Radahn's fractured army. When they weren't doing that, they stalked the wastes and preyed upon each other. The dominant predators were massive, malformed hounds, formerly the war dogs of the Redmanes, twisted by the Rot. Their direct competition were the carrion birds, crows swollen to gargantuan proportions that swooped down on anything unfortunate enough to catch their attention.
Amongst the ruins of towns and bastions, flame-belching war machines trundled along the uneven ground, dousing anything they found in cleansing fire. Amongst them, Radahn's men carried out their general's final orders, honouring them forever more. They wandered Caelid, purging and slaying until finally slain, only to do it all again.
Greyoll the Elder watched it all, day after day until measurements of time lost all meaning. There was nothing else she could do, grounded as she was. The Shattering had stripped Caelid of its everglades and deep pools just as it had stripped her of her flight. Oh, how she wished she could take wing once more and put this whole cursed place to the flame.
As the Mother of Dragons, her dear, dear children had taken up the task in her stead, attempting to scorch the blight from these lands. Alas, poor Ekzykes and his brothers and sisters had been touched by the Rot, their scales flaking, their flesh sloughing, their flames extinguished and replaced by the breath of decay. Greyoll forbade her children from venturing out and kept them close, terrified by the disease that could lay even her mighty species low. So she lay at the foot of Fort Faroth, crippled, vulnerable and waiting to die.
A shriek roused her from her sleep. A warning call from one of her brood. She lifted her immense head from the ground and returned the call to calm the broodling. What approached? A mutant stray or one of the malformed corvids? Perhaps Radahn's men had grown bored and sought a greater challenge.
Then she smelled it. A dragon, yet not a dragon. This one smelled different, borne of foreign skies. She knew all dragons, both living and dead as she ranked amongst the oldest. This wasn't Lansseax, as she yet prowled the Altus Plateau, still grieving for her lost Tarnished. Fortissax had... vanished, never to be seen again. Gransax was dead, last she'd heard. The ancient ones were elusive these days, sequestering themselves in within the city hidden in the maelstrom. Her own children and their children were similarly scattered. The smell in her nose was ancient, like a sepulchre newly opened after countless ephochs, with traces of blood and ash and the touch of Grace. It was strong too. Akin to Lord Placidusax in his prime.
'Is this my time?' she wondered. Dragons were not kind to the weak. Strength ruled and those without it were to be given no consideration. Were a dragon of another bloodline to find her, it was likely to kill her or worse. Power was a muscle to be exercised. That was the way of dragons. It rankled her that her children were her only line of defence, and she would not risk drawing Ekzykes here or Greyoll the Younger for different reasons.
Coming up the hill was the 'dragon' in question. His scales were of dull gold, and three eyes crested his head, flanked by upward-curving horns. Closer to her blasphemous Wyrm cousins, he had no wings, but the other differences stood out above the others. He was small. Barely taller than the average human. A rumble in her throat was the facsimile of a chuckle, betraying her incredulity. Dragons could, if they deigned to do so, assume human form. She could do it. Lansseax, her proud and mighty ancestor, spent much longer in her human guise than all others. But the one before her looked as though he were stuck between the two, unable to fully shift form one way or the other. It was bizarre, frankly.
By instinct, her children backed away with their heads lowered in the presence of a powerful elder. They, too, were put off by the uncanny appearance of this dragon, but they showed deference all the same. That didn't mean they didn't stand ready to defend their mother, should the need arise.
''Hail to you, matriarch,'' Talos greeted. He spoke as dragons did with each other, through a method unique to their kind. Dragons did not speak verbally unless in human form, but through a type of communion of the mind. His voice was strong and clear, yet aged like old vellum in Greyoll's mind. It was in that brief moment of contact that she was sure that this entity was beyond ancient. The tongue of the mind was the most honest of all tongues, where intent was laid bare and the truth of one's being was exposed. Her initial assessment was correct. He was a dragon and yet, he was something lesser, but also greater. His being was a morass of contradictory existences, each crammed into a single shared vessel. Human, god, dragon, beast, monster, demon, he was all of them at once. It defied reason. There were aspects to him that were so far removed from the natural order of the world, that he couldn't be anything else but a foreigner to not just the Lands Between, but the world itself. He sat outside the cycle and the tangled web of the Golden Order, his thread of fate absent. And it was speaking to her. Were she not crippled, she'd have fled.
Greyoll took mastery of herself. She was the Mother of Dragons, the ancient progenitress of her two-legged draconic breed. She could not show fear. Not now, not here. Not while her children bore witness to this meeting.
''State thine business, Tarnished,'' Greyoll intoned. Her voice was deep and resonant. It was soft, but belied unseen power like velvet hiding a blade. She looked into Talos' eyes, black pearls gazing into amber-trapped lightning.
''I have come seeking an audience, my lady. I wish to know the state of this place, but between you and me,'' he leaned forward as if sharing a secret, ''I don't think the locals like me very much,'' he whispered conspiratorially. Greyoll huffed through her nostrils.
''My lady?'' she parroted mockingly despite her trepidation, ''my, my, thou speakest like a whelp. Art thou truly a dragon?'' she asked. Manners were reserved for your betters in dragon society. Talos hadn't spoken to a dragon before, not in any meaningful way. He thought for a moment, knowing he had forgotten something. What was it his father had told him?
'Dragons, Talos. Stubborn beasts. Proud like giant, scaly peacocks. They might spare you if you grovel, but they'll listen if you show your worth. The best way, I find, is to tell 'em to eat shit. And look 'em in the eye while you do it. They'll grumble, oh, will they grumble! But you'll have their ear then, lad.'
Of course. That was it! Dragon's only respected strength. In truth, 'strength' was a great reduction of their values. Strength of body, of skill, of mind, of will and convictions. They were the keys to a dragon's attention and respect. How could he have forgotten? His father was the caretaker for Boletaria's dragons when Talos was a boy. He knew them like he knew his own children. Scolded them like his own children too. And the most unbelievable thing was that the fire-breathing bastards listened!
Talos shifted his approach. ''Your disrespect is unbecoming, you who are clipped of wings,'' his voice was a harsh growl, ''I will show you courtesy. But your barbed tongue is noted.''
Greyoll dipped her head as she acquiesced to his authority. ''As befitting thy standing, wingless one,'' though her pride took a blow from acknowledging this tiny creature's superior status, Talos could hear her amusement, and she was right to be amused. He didn't even have wings, so his jab at her fell somewhat flat. ''So, thou wishest to be learned of this land awash with Rot? I bid thee, look around. Thou canst see it, can't thee? The corruption that hast taken deep root within everything?''
Indeed, he had. After returning to Roderika and helping a foppish man named Kenneth Haight reclaim his fortress, Talos journeyed eastward. The fetid stink of the wind made him gasp, but he knew the stench well despite its strange taste on his tongue. When he found the swamp at the centre, dominated by towering... thing with boughs stretching and winding their way across the wastes, he cursed. Looking at the sky, he'd scowled at whatever gods may have been watching.
''You're laughing at me now, you bastards! I know it!'' he roared at the sickly clouds. Why? Why was it always poisonous swamps? His anger gave way to curiosity, and so he went in search of answers. He explored the swamp and found in the centre of the colossal plant, was a hollow, occupied by a single person bedecked in old and rusted armour. Commander O'Neil. He tried to communicate, but any kind of conversation was impossible. The man was mindless, operating on some scrap of who had once been, following outdated orders from a long-dead general. He summoned phantom soldiers, but numbers meant little to Talos. They all fell swiftly until the commander himself was dead, leaving behind his standard and a curious broken needle of gold, both of which Talos collected. He moved on, eager to get away from the fetid cauldron of putridity.
A dragon wasn't his first choice, but he knew they were intelligent creatures who typically went untouched by blight. Spotting Greyoll had been an accident, but he took a chance. Maybe she had answers. He dug out one of the Dragon Torso Stones from his box, stripped off his gear and pressed it to his chest.
''The dire circumstance that grip this land are not lost on me. I want to know why. What happened here?'' Talos questioned.
''Curious,'' Greyoll let out a rumble, tilting her head, ''I will share with thee the tale. I do find it curious that thine knowledge is lacking. To whom, exactly, is it that I speaketh with? Propriety dictates we announce ourselves. I am the Elder Greyoll, the Mother of Dragons.''
''My name is Talos. My titles, however, bear no mentioning. They would mean nothing to you, Greyoll. Consider me a tourist.''
''Tourist?'' it was an unfamiliar word to the elder dragon.
''A visitor from lands far abound,'' he clarified, ''I know very little of the Lands Between.''
''Thou mayest wish to be seated, then, for the tale is as long,'' Talos took the invitation and sat on the ground, Greyoll's children relaxing fractionally, ''The Shattering, it is called. The event that facilitated the catastrophe that hast warped Caelid. With the Elden Ring broken, the Demigods each received power. But with that power came the corrosive touch of madness, for power is a heady thing for even Demigods to imbibe. They waged wars of succession with each other, each staking a claim to the throne of Elden Lord. It is upon this barren earth that the two mightiest locked horns. Malenia the Severed and Starscourge Radahn. Their armies had already killed the land, but it was the Rot within Malenia that now festers here.''
Talos hadn't known any of this. What kind of power was required to cause this level of devastation and for it to persist long after the battle's end?
''One woman is responsible for-'' he spread his arms, ''-all of this?''
''Not a mere woman, nay. An Empyrean of near unrivalled power. She bears the curse of the Scarlet Rot. Where she walked, blood flowed in rivers. The Redmanes learned this truth and more when they marched against her. She and the Starscourge duelled in Aeonia, where that reviled flower blooms, their armies decimated. Neither had tasted defeat, and for Malenia the Severed, her very pride hung on this accolade. She could not kill Radahn, and when the jaws of defeat nearly closed around her neck, she bloomed. The Scarlet Rot writhing beneath her flesh boiled forth, and this was the death knell of Radahn and of Caelid.''
''To alter the very world around you with such power. That echoes the work of gods...''Talos' jaw flexed. The so-called Great Ones... such a thing reeked of them. Had their dark influence slithered its way here, too?
''T'would would seem so. The curse within her is not of this world. Whatever has hold over her is a malignant tumour on reality. It is unnatural,'' Greyoll narrowed her eyes at Talos, ''Rather like thyself.''
''I know not what you imply, Greyoll.''
''I believe thou do, Talos. Do not think me a fool. I can feel it as keenly as mine own heartbeat. Thine origin lies far from here, under a different moon and stars. Whilst I know not what brings thee here, thy soul telleth much else. Thy guise is that of a dragon, though how thou hast achieved this, I do not know. But thou art human, this much is true. At least, thou were born human.''
''You are perceptive indeed. It seems that lying will do me no good, will it, Greyoll. I will tell you a bit about myself if you care to slake your curiosity. But first, tell me more of Malenia and Radahn.'' Talos said.
''Very well. The Shattering wars concluded in the final clash between the Severed and the Starscourge. Malenia left unconscious and in shame, whilst Radahn remains. His body lives, while the mind died. Little more than a beast, now, still scouring the wastes for his next meal. Where Malenia went is unknown to me, though 'tis rumoured she yet lives, isolated from the world.''
''And to tread the path of Elden Lord, I would need to best them?''Talos felt he already knew the answer to that.
''Indeed, thou wouldst,'' Greyoll looked to the sky, ''I remember them both from better times. Under Marika's order, we dragons were close allies of many of her Demigod children. Many humans also venerated my kind. Malenia was a prodigy, even as her body betrayed her. No finer swordswoman hath existed since she quit the field of battle. She was kind, never letting herself grow bitter at the world or those around her, though her rancour would be justified. But she was far too proud,'' a great huff indicated a sigh, ''and Radahn. Oh, Radahn. Pure of heart and conviction. He held back the stars and still does even in his current, tragic state. He adhered to the Golden Order as strictly as his father, Radagon, and so despised change. 'Tis why the stars are still, where once they moved along their cosmic journey.''
Talos looked up in amazement. To still the very stars... it was inconceivable. It was the first time Talos had envied someone in a long time. If he could have had the same oppressive power over the cosmos as Radahn during the Night of the Hunt, those malformed blue bastards in the Astral Clock Tower would have thought twice before throwing comets at him.
''I see. So these are the forces I must contend with...'' Talos mused. Greyoll focused her gaze on him.
''Do not pretend to feel challenged. Thine is a might I hath not encountered since great Lord Placidusax still graced the Lands Between with his majesty. If any soul can best them, 'twould be thee, Talos. Whatever thine ambition, thine vision for our world, the means with which to take the throne and forge thine own order are thine in abundance.''
''I am aware of myself, Greyoll. Taking the throne is not a concern. I will do it. It is just...'' it was his turn to sigh, ''I tire of bringing death. Wherever I go, others must die so I might achieve my goal. True, sometimes it is unavoidable. Even necessary. But there have been too many times where I wish I'd stayed my blade. I wish I could have saved them instead. But fate is cruel, no matter where I go.'' A face as clear as day was in his mind. Maiden Astraea on his very first journey. She was a victim of circumstance, she and her guardian, Garl Vinland. A saintly figure who just so happened to possess a Demon Soul, one he needed to complete his quest. She begged him to let her be, to leave her and her forsaken congregation in peace. Their encounter ended with her death. He wept like a babe afterwards, consumed by guilt. He was utterly numb for the remainder of his journey. As he'd told Irina, duty was often the death of reason.
''Thine regrets run deep. I am glad,'' Greyoll said, ''to see thou art not an unfeeling killer is a reassurance.''
''Sometimes I wonder, Greyoll...'' he muttered. For uncountable years, he had killed as easily as he drew breath. It had become little more than a chore. Where once his heart may have ached for his enemies, now he felt nothing. He wasn't certain if it was because he was an old hand at dealing death, or it was a result of his declining humanity the longer his journey went on. It was all so tiresome.
He looked at the great dragon before him. Parts of her body were submerged in the sand. Her wings were ragged, their membranes riddled with holes, while from one of them, the bones had punched through her scales. Thanks to her wondrous physiology, the wound had healed around the bone, but the damage done was permanent. She would never fly again. But why couldn't she move her body?
''Thy mind layeth unguarded, Talos. I know what thou mean to ask. My body was broken during the Shattering, my wings picked apart by bolts and arrows and mine spine split when I crashed here. 'Tis a wonder I yet live. I fled from my home atop Mount Gelmir when Rykard's army began to occupy the mountain. I'd have fought them to the death, but I would not stand to have them butcher my brood in the nest should I have fallen.''
''I... may be able to help you, if you would allow it,'' Talos said. As she had learned of him, he had learned of her. Sifting through the tides of her thoughts and emotions conveyed through their speech, he saw a figure that would be regarded as a kindly matron if she were human. Her children were her world, and she would fight and die for them a thousand times over if need be. She had even helped to facilitate the tenuous relations between them and Marika following the formation of the Dragon Cult. Seldom found were such kind souls. Greyoll did not deserve this fate. She did not deserve to lie here until the Rot claimed her, or some would-be Tarnished dragonslayer make easy prey of her. Talos also needed allies. If he were to become Elden Lord, who better than to stand at his side than the Mother of Dragons? More pragmatically, she could take flight once more and tell her kindred that setting him on fire was, perhaps, a bad idea.
Greyoll was silent for a while, her black eyes boring into him. ''Thou wouldst... no, I can see it'' her voice was a whisper, ''thine intent is pure. Why? What wouldst thou stand to gain? I am a dragon and thou art a man at your core. Shouldst thou not seek to slay me as thine enemy?''
''You praised me for not being an unfeeling killer, did you not? I told you that I am sick of killing unnecessarily. You are not one in need of slaying, Greyoll,'' Talos said tersely. The Mother of Dragons tilted her head down as a sign of respect.
''Thou art correct. My apologies, Talos. But thou must understand mine surprise. Never again will I be so easy to slay, should thine intentions bear fruit.''
Talos growled, growing tired of this particular back-and-forth. ''Do you want me to help you or not?'' he snapped. A deep rumble thrummed though her throat. She was laughing.
''I am at thy mercy, thou understand? Thou art mine senior and mine superior in strength. I am subject to thy whims, as tradition demands. Kill me or heal me. There is naught I or my children could do to halt thee.'' Though she sounded hopeful, there was still a hint of resignation, as if she expected sudden betrayal. One didn't live as long as they did without a healthy dose of paranoia, Talos supposed.
''Than allow me a moment, if you will.'' There was a rather conveniently placed site of Grace behind Greyoll's titanic form. Sitting at it, Talos sifted through his bottomless box until he found what he was looking for. Amongst his treasures were four vials of something simply known as Divine Blessing, a panacea of holy water given power by the goddess Gwynevere herself. It was said to cure any ailment, and Talos could attest to that himself. The other was from his vast collection of dragon scales, each from the immortal dragons that had once inhabited Lordran. He took one of each item then returned to Greyoll, standing close to her head with his items in hand.
''I need you to trust me. I can't guarantee it'll work, but it is better than nothing,'' Talos said. Greyoll eyed him curiously.
''Whether or not it works, 'tis the attempt I appreciate all the same. I...'' she hesitated, ''...have faith in thee, Talos.''
''Very well then.'' he popped the lid from the ornate golden vial and doused the dragon scale with the blessed liquid within. ''Open wide,'' he ordered, like a doctor to a patient. Greyoll stared, thoroughly unamused. Talos insistently prodded her upper lip with the scale. Her nostrils flared and a great gust of air sent sand billowing before she opened her cavernous, razor-fanged maw. Talos took a steadying breath as he leaned in, feeling her abnormally hot breath wash over him as he tried very hard not to focus on the fact that he was, indeed, inside a dragon's mouth. He placed the blessed scale on her massive tongue and quickly pulled himself out. Without prompting, Greyoll swallowed it.
At first, nothing happened. A silent stare was maintained between dragon and human. Her children shifted, muscles tensing as they deliberated on what to do while keeping Talos in sight.
Suddenly, Greyoll roared, her black eyes wide. It was so loud that Talos backed away, feeling the sound rip its way through him and set teeth rattling. The broodlings hunched, prepared to kill Talos for causing their mother pain, but a silent command rendered them still. The sand shifted, bones cracked and creaked as they fixed themselves and atrophied flesh became revitalised. Greyoll freed her back legs as she slowly stood on shaking limbs, sending great showers of sand raining down on all below. Her wing membranes reformed, pristine and whole, with veins of gold weaving their way through them like vines. Her one crippled wing broke itself again, sending a fresh wave agony through her. The jutting bone sunk back into reopened flesh, which then knit itself shut with fresh scales. Her mighty tail thrashed, sending quakes through the ground and cracked Fort Faroth open with one errant swipe. She threw her head back and shrieked louder, belching forth a column of fire into the blighted sky.
She was immense, glorious in her renewed splendour. The cracks and wear on her scales were buffered out by the curious combination Talos had given her, making them shine radiantly. Her face took on new life as age, if it were even a factor for her, regressed. She had entered a new prime, as mighty and vigorous as she was in ages passed.
''Simply majestic...'' Talos released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Greyoll's chest carried the rumble of thunder as her flames died out. She looked down at her children, then to Talos. Her head lowered and she nuzzled the broodlings affectionately. Her black eyes glittered. Talos could feel the sheer joy and disbelief within the elder dragon at this turn of events. She could move. She could rule the skies once more. She could take her children and flee Caelid and fight if she had to. He couldn't remember a time when he'd seen such happiness without a bitter aftertaste. A mother was restored and her children could take wing with her as was always intended. An unfamiliar emotion stirred within Talos. He liked it regardless.
''I...'' Greyoll began, ''...I scarcely have the words to express mine gratitude for thine magnanimity,'' now her snout was within touching distance of him, filling his vision with only her. ''Know this, Talos. What stars bore thee to this realm are beyond mine comprehension, but whatever their final aim for thee, I hope beyond all hope that they deliver thee unto all the good that remains. For thou hast done more than thou couldst know. To be bound to the earth like the accursed wyrms is shame enough, but to bear the shame of being at the mercy lesser creatures is greater still. To dominate the heavens is the right of dragons. Thou hast returned the gift of my wings to me. 'Tis a deed that wilt not soon be forgotten.''
Taking a chance, he extended an arm and placed a hand upon Greyoll's snout. Her rejuvenated scales were as smooth as they looked under his palm. She remained there, her eyes firmly locked upon him. If he could, he'd have smiled, but his draconic form stole expression from him.
''That you are restored is enough. It does my heart good that I could help,'' the broodlings edged close, curiously sniffing at the golden not-dragon that had healed their mother. They still towered over him, but there was an infantile intelligence in their dark eyes. He pet them under their chins as one would a dog. ''What will you do now?''
''What cometh naturally, of course,'' she sounded younger, free of burden, ''I shall take to the skies with my children and see what hast become of the Lands Between. I vow to spread word of thine deed this day. Thou shalt have no quarrel from us, friend of dragons. I wouldst see thee become Elden Lord. Thine order is of great interest to me, whatever form it shall take.'' Before he could utter a single sound of protest, a tongue bathed his front in saliva. ''Hurry to thine ascension, my lord. The Mother of Dragons awaiteth thee.''
With the force of a gale, her eclipsing wings spread and beat. She became a shadow across the world below her as she and her children left for skies unknown. Stunned, soaked in dragon spit and utterly confused, Talos stood locked in place for a solid minute. When his senses finally returned, he walked to the site of Grace, returned to human form and donned his gear once again in silence. He sat for what felt like an age.
''What was that?'' he asked dumbly.
In his efforts to aid a good soul in this forsaken land, Talos, Godslayer, Monarch, Hunter of Beasts and Dark Lord, had wooed a dragon. If only he'd known of the expedient nature of dragon courtship.
He looked at Fort Faroth and saw a blessed reprieve from his conflicted emotions. He stood and took a calming breath, ready to plunder a derelict fort as he did in much simpler times.
''At last, back to normal,'' and into the fort he went.
''You are a curious Tarnished indeed, Talos. I'd thought there would be only one such case as yours and that of a dragon,'' Melina said with a small smile on her face.
''Well, I'm glad that one of us is amused. How was I supposed to know... that, would happen?'' Talos grumbled. Melina had remained true to her word and shadowed her Tarnished along his entire journey, a fact that he'd forgotten about. In all likelihood, she'd seen him bereft of his armour between transformations. She rather conveniently made no mention of it.
''The lives of dragons are often fraught with strife. Relations are forged and broken many times throughout their lives. From what I have learned, they perceive the truth of intent and emotion with ease, making profoundly strong bonds or mortal enemies through brief encounters. The Elder Dragon Greyoll took your measure and found you a promising prospect,'' even now, Melina struggled to hide her amusement, ''congratulations on your engagement, Talos.''
''I'd ought to roll you up in your cloak and leave you in Aeonia,'' he said flatly, only to make her chuckle. Her smile faded and she took on a more serious demeanour.
''There is a matter I must discuss with you. There is a place where fated Tarnished gather. To you, I extend an admittedly belated invitation. To the Roundtable Hold. 'Tis a safe place, fit for weary Tarnished to rest and replenish themselves. You already have friends there, I believe,'' she extended a scarred hand, ''if you would like to depart, then allow me to rest my hand upon you, for but a moment.''
Talos shook his head. ''I will, soon enough. But I wish to understand something,'' he withdrew the broken golden needle he'd taken from Commander O'Neil, ''this. This bothers me. I can see something about it. A power unknown to me. It was made for someone to serve a purpose I don't yet understand. I believe it was in Caelid for a reason, and so I want to see if anyone yet lives in Caelid who might know something.''
''I recognise it,'' Melina said. Talos' head snapped up, his dark visor fixed on her.
''You do?'' he sounded surprised.
''Indeed. 'Tis of Miquella's make. To quell the Rot within his sister, Malenia, he crafted needles of unalloyed gold. I know not if anyone would in the blighted lands with knowledge of it yet lives, but I believe you may find the answers you seek. You have proven yourself amply to me. If anyone can find the truth, it is you.''
That the needle was made for Melania narrowed down his search. Aeonia within Caelid was the epicentre of the Scarlet Rot, and so there must be answers there. If the cycle held true as it had before, someone would be there. Each cycle had its uses, being predictable as it was.
''Thank you, Melina. Your guidance is appreciated.'' Melina nodded and Talos stood up. She vanished as she usually did as Talos resumed his travels.
It writhed beneath her flesh as her body warred with itself. It had always been there, always a part of her. Her affliction was a poison in her bones, a spreading fire in her blood. But it was worse now. Before, she was sickly and of a frail constitution, but she could still navigate her daily tasks with some effort. She had even taken up the art of the sword as a means of strengthening herself. If she were so bold to say, she had grown rather adept. In the past week, her disease had stirred with a vengeance. It first manifested as aches and pains in her sword arm, then her muscles began to waste away as red-hot agony lanced through her withering nerves. Then her skin grew paper thin as her veins blackened. It split and sloughed away in ribbons. When she could take it no more, she put her arm to the sword, severing it to stem the tide of infection.
This was Millicent's lot in life, and though she hated it with every fibre of her being, she endured. It was her strength to endure, for what she lacked in body she made up for in willpower. This wouldn't be her end, she wouldn't let it. A calling had come her way, a gnawing in her mind that compelled her to journey out and find what sung this siren's song. She only needed to keep her eyes open.
Millicent's breath was shallow as black vignettes seeped in at the edges of her vision. Her hair was stringy with sweat and clung to her face and neck. The iron stench of her own blood made her sick as it had cooled against her clothes and skin. Caelid was a strangely warm, humid place, but shivers ran through her cold body.
How fitting it was that she, afflicted by something so malignant, would be sat slumped against the wall of a church. Maybe she should try praying again? Perhaps Marika would hear her this time. Of course, she knew no salvation would come. Not for a wretched thing like her.
Millicent heard sand crunching under boots and she looked up, her head feeling like a leaden weight atop her neck. She squinted as her vision swam. She saw a dark figure. She couldn't make out any details besides the fluttering of a cloak or coat of some kind. They crouched down, observing her. Getting close to her was a mistake and they needed to leave. Now! Couldn't they see she was sick?
''Please... stay away...'' Millicent gasped, ''...my flesh writhes with Scarlet Rot.''
''So you're Millicent. I've been looking for you, as it happens.'' So the figure before her was a man, it seemed. How could he know who she was? She had no friends to speak of. In fact, the only people she knew were her sisters and Gowry. Unless...
''What did Gowry tell you?'' her mouth was dry as she spoke, tasting of iron.
''That I'd find a sick girl in a church. One of his daughters. Though I wasn't expecting to find you like this,'' she heard the creaking of leather as one of the man's hands balled into a tight fist, ''I'll be having words with Gowry,'' he finished darkly.
''Why would he-'' she coughed. It was a wet, rasping sound caused by the flesh of her lungs bleeding and peeling. The man fearlessly placed a steadying hand on her good shoulder. She flinched, not wanting to infect him, but he kept a gentle yet firm hold.
''Forgive me, but it looks like you're short on time,'' he took out Miquella's needle from a pouch on his hip, ''it's far from ideal, but I need you to trust me. What I have here will help.''
''What... what is it?'' trust was no longer a concern. If he had something that could help, she'd take any gamble necessary. Be it a cure or a poison to end her suffering, she'd take either, goals be damned. No. She had to stay strong and live. There was something out there too important for her to simply die.
''A special needle that will quell the Scarlet Rot. You need only embed it in your flesh.''
Millicent mustered her focus, seeing only the hazy outline of the needle against the blur of the man's hand. She reached out, fingers trembling before all strength left her arm and it fell back to her side limply. Between the ravages of the Rot and exsanguination, her body had no more strength to give. Talos grunted. This wasn't good.
''I'd wanted to let you do it yourself, but it seems that isn't an option,'' her eyes tracked him, ''I will need to open your shirt. And before you protest, I ask you, is propriety worth your life?'' After a moment, Millicent weakly shook her head.
''Do... it...'' she said as her voice quickly became a faded whisper. He undid the buttons on the front of her shirt, just under her breasts. The skin beneath the cotton was clammy and ashen like a corpse. Her sweat was tinged red as blood began to seep through her pores. Talos had never seen anything like it, and it disturbed him. Aligning the fine needle point with the flesh below her left breast, he pushed it into the skin with almost no resistance, until only the widest part of it was left exposed. Millicent winced and gave a quiet hiss of discomfort rather than pain, but after a few moments, her breathing became more regulated, no longer shallow and quick. Talos buttoned her shirt back up and sat back on his haunches, watching her carefully.
Several minutes passed in silence. Slowly, Millicent's tremors lessened, and the deathly pallor of her skin had warmed back to a somewhat golden hue. With steady breath, she lifted her head and looked into Talos' visor, a jumble of thoughts and emotions swimming in her head. She shifted, causing his fingers to tense on her shoulder. Her vision no longer swam, and so she saw a man in battered black armour and swathed in a ragged brown cloak with a hood pulled over his helm.
''Easy, easy. I wouldn't advise moving just yet,'' he checked her over, looking for anything amiss, ''how do you feel?''
How did she answer that? She'd never heard that question with sincerity before. While she considered Gowry her father, the old man seemed to only ask out of curiosity. Like he was expecting something. What it was she didn't know, but the feeling conveyed differed greatly from the way this man asked.
''Better. The Rot has gone silent. It is still there, but the needle has somehow suppressed it,'' her mouth and throat were still dry, ''I hesitate to ask more of you, but do you have any water?''
Fortunately for her, he did. On his travels, he'd passed by many streams and waterfalls across Limgave. He'd filled up one of his old Estus Flasks with clean, fresh water from one of the falls. The Estus Flasks had lost their power, becoming little more than nigh unbreakable, decorative jade flasks. He didn't need to drink these days, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy it. He took it from his hip, uncorked it and offered it to her. Millicent took it and downed its contents greedily before handing it back and wiping her chin.
''I am sorry you had to witness such a thing, kind stranger. It must have been rather unpleasant,'' Millicent was grateful she couldn't see his face. She dreaded to think what kind of face he must be making. She knew her condition made her untouchable, disgusting. Why else would he be here than running an errand for Gowry? That was who'd sent him, after all. What she didn't expect was a chuckle.
''Would you believe it's not the worst I've seen? It is unpleasant, as you say, but not the worst,'' he said, ''I am Talos, a Tarnished.'' He had yet to move his hand, but Millicent, despite still being worried about causing him harm, found that she didn't mind. Being touched was unfamiliar to her, and there was something about him that she couldn't quite place that made her comfortable.
''You have my deepest thanks, Talos. I wasn't sure how long I'd have lasted had you not come,'' she could feel her fatigue catching up to her. Fighting the Scarlet Rot was no easy feat, especially when you were losing. With its writhing ceased and her agony soothed, Millicent felt her eyes begin to droop. Talos saw that she was exhausted. Her ordeal was horrific, so he wasn't surprised her body demanded rest. Looking at the site of Grace, he made the decision that he would stand guard while she slept. It would be poor form to just up and leave the poor girl in this place. She was already asleep when he turned his gaze back to her.
He sighed. He could see the taint of one of the so-called gods as a red shimmer around her sleeping form. Smokey tendrils of corrupting malevolence wafted like steam from her skin. Greyoll was right. This thing, this Scarlet Rot was not of this world. So, they were active here, too. Typical of their vile kind. They exerted their influence like a pestilence upon the mortals of whatever world they'd claimed as their playground, like puppeteers with their marionettes. Words from an old acquaintance rang in his mind, the words of the entity that had made him aware of the sorry state of things.
'Men are props on the stage of life...' props to be moved and discarded as the director saw fit. Quelling the righteous anger boiling like oil in his guts, he stripped off his hooded cloak and draped it over Millicent. It wasn't much, but it was the best he had. He looked not to the sky, but into the cosmos beyond, glaring through his visor where they dwelled. Though the stars were in stasis above Caelid's crimson night, he knew something out in the dark beyond was paying attention.
''Whichever one of you is responsible for this, hear me. Know that I hunt you. Know that I won't rest until you and your abominable ilk are slaughtered to the last. Nothing will stop me. Nothing will save you. Plot and scheme and laugh while you can. For tonight, Talos begins the Hunt.
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For now, that's Caelid wrapped up with a little extra with Millicent next chapter. Took some creative liberties with Greyoll since there isn't a whole lot of lore for her, and the basically psychic communication between dragons is just a fun little thing I thought worked.