《Covenant of Fire [Elden Ring SI-OC]》


 Chapter 1 - John

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    A pair of plain brown eyes were narrowed in concentration as they stared into the large golden wisp floating above the ground. Or at least, if the eyes could see the wisp of gold, they would have been staring into it.


    But these eyes could not see even a speck of the gold the owner knew with absolute certainty was there. So they remained a plain brown, like they had been for so long.


    The owner of these eyes, sat on the ground relaxed with an arm resting on his knee. He had plain brown hair the same shade as his eyes, with a face so typical it would be hard to describe it with words besides generically "being european/caucasian" with how unnoteworthy it was in all aspects.


    He wore a raggedy cloth gambeson with only a few bits of ill-fitting plate that were marred with spots of rust; along with a pair of worn leather gloves and metal greaves that were beginning to rust as well. On his head he wore a plain metal helm without its visor that had long since fallen off. Laying at his feat was a simple spear, the only thing in his ensemble that seemed to be in excellent condition.


    The man sat in the decaying ruins of a small church that only had it''s walls left standing. Dirt, grass, and small shrubs had long covered the stone floor.


    Ruins


    A few yards away from the man with the raggedy gambeson, on the opposite area of the church, was a man dressed in red with colorful feathers in his cap. He had stark almost-glowing orange-yellow eyes. The yellow covered the entirety of his eyes and was only broken by the black rings at the edges of his sclera and iris.


    Red-Dressed Man


    Yellow Eyes


    The red-dressed man sat in a bedroll sprawled out in front of a a campfire with a donkey laden with a large pack just behind him. Next to him was a sizable pile of firewood and a lute-like stringed instrument that he wasn''t playing for the moment. Sitting off long neglected in a corner from him was a crude anvil and primitive hammer.


    Off in the other corner opposite of the anvil near the plain man staring into the air, there was a pile of various supplies and tools. Nets, a bow and quiver, a small box filled with plump red berries the size of grapes, and various other assorted tools and supplies neatly arranged. Next to this was a roughly constructed wooden table with quite a few books stacked on it.


    The long familiar sight of the Church of Elleh and Nomadic Merchant Kal¨¦. The sun had set already, leaving only the moon and the campfire to light up the night and only the crackle of the fire and the singing crickets disturbing the quiet.


    Kal¨¦ moved and tossed a few pieces of firewood onto the campfire before he laid down in his bedroll. Kal¨¦ looked over to the man a few yards away who was sitting on the edge of the fire''s light, futilely staring at where he believed a large wisp of gold must be.


    "John, would you toss a couple pieces of wood onto the fire before you go to sleep?"


    The staring man, John, nodded distractedly.


    "No problem Kal¨¦."


    John sat in silence for a few minutes, his eyes still narrowed in concentration before the quiet was once again broken by Kal¨¦ laying in his bedroll.


    "You know that it isn''t going to work."


    John frowned, his eyes narrowing further staring at nothing.


    "We''ve had this conversation before Kal¨¦."


    "Just for tonight, take a break. One night will not hurt."


    John just kept silently concentrating on what he was doing.


    "You have been at this for a long time my friend. Sometimes there are things in life that cannot be done no matter how hard we try."


    John closed his eyes for a moment, repressing a sigh, before turning himself to face Kal¨¦.


    "I''m not going to give up on this Kal¨¦. I know how long I''ve been at this. I am from a place where the Golden Order has not touched. I am much more aware of the passing of time than you.


    "This land, the Lands Between, time is strange here. Time has less weight to it. It is much easier for the days to slip by without one noticing. I''m sure if you asked someone from the Land of Reeds, they would probably say something similar.


    "So I know exactly how long I have been at this, more than you are. And I''m not going to stop until I figure this out."


    John''s voice was resolute.


    "John. You are the first friend I have had for a long time. It has been so long; I cannot remember most of their faces anymore.


    "Listen. Every time I finish on my route to sell my wares, you are here. And when I leave to once again trade my ware and come back months later, you are still here. Alone in this church.


    "People have a need to speak with others, John. As a nomadic merchant I know this more than anyone. It never ends well when a man is left alone for long periods of time.


    "I cannot stay here for long this time; I could only spare this day. Why don''t you join me on my route and see more of Limgrave?"


    John couldn''t deny the truth of Kal¨¦''s words, but he had a reason he didn''t want to leave the church yet. One he didn''t want to have to explain to Kal¨¦. Leaving before then would be an extremely dangerous risk in his eyes, and he had always been averse to taking unnecessary risks. He absolutely hated gambling, especially with his life. So John just stayed silent.


    Kal¨¦ saw John''s back still straightened in stubbornness.


    "If that won''t sway you, my friend, I know you have seen those listless wandering nobles. Us in the Lands Between may not die thanks to Queen Marika the Eternal, but we are not immortal. Our bodies do not grow old, but time can still take its toll. We can wither.


    "Those who lose the will, the drive, to continue on, those who do not live and change as life goes on, they slowly wither away body and mind until they are left just as those wandering nobles are. They become hollow shells.


    "Those nobles became that way from relentlessly pursuing their goal with everything they had until they had nothing left to give anymore. They didn''t eat, didn''t sleep, didn''t move their minds from their goal. I have seen this happen to my fellow nomads before as well.


    "I do not wish this fate for one of my friends. Please, come with me when I depart tomorrow."


    Seeing Kal¨¦ stubbornly trying to help him, John sighed before smiling wistfully.


    "Thank you for worrying about me Kal¨¦, but I think you are overstating things. Yes, every night I''m here trying to figure this out, but during the day I do different things. I am not stagnating.


    "Sometimes I''m hunting or catching crabs or fish at the beach. Other times I''m practicing with my spear. I try cooking and eating different things in different ways. I might work on my physique or just enjoy a walk seeing the majesty of Limgrave.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "And I eat a meal every day. I am not just sitting here for months on end doing nothing but wracking my brain about this. If I was, I might have figured this out by now.


    "And Kal¨¦, thanks for looking out for me, but you must admit I have come far from where I was when we first met."


    "Yes," Kal¨¦ said grudgingly after a short pause. "I cannot deny that. You are far from the man that first walked into this church in your strange waterlogged clothing only able to speak your strange language and not able to even gut a fish. You have come far over these 5 years.


    "And if you really are so stubborn that you cannot be convinced to come with me, then I will drop the subject."


    "Thank you Kal¨¦. Speaking of that, I still own you for tricking me into calling myself a woman and that the word for greeting was cuss-"


    "Let us not change the subject," Kal¨¦ hurriedly interjected. "This is about you messing about with your runes. Just because I will not try and convince you to come with me does not mean that this fixation of yours is not foolishness. You have been at this for more nights than there are stars in the sky and you have gained naught. When will you accept that whatever it is you are doing, it is not possible?"


    "I have already told you many times before. I''m not going to give up. It''s not like I''m trying something that has never been done before. I know for certain that this can be done, I just don''t know how to do it. Half the battle of figuring something out is just knowing it can be done in the first place.


    "And it''s not like I''m uselessly doing the same thing over and over again hoping it will work this time. Every night I try something different. And when it doesn''t work, I add it to the list over there and try something else.


    "Normally it doesn''t take me this long to try an idea, but this one is a little trickier than usual. I''ve already long since went through all the simple and straightforward ideas. If it wasn''t hard to do, this wouldn''t be a something that most people can''t do."


    Kal¨¦ just sighed and laid his head down, closing his eyes.


    Seeing no more immediate interruptions coming, John turned his focus back to what he was doing.


    His eyes may have been open, but he was totally focused inwardly. He could feel the runes that he had collected in his body. They sat low in his gut in a ball of them that grew more concentrated, but not bigger, as more and more had accumulated over time. The runes in his gut, somehow they felt golden in a way that was clearly unnatural.


    To someone from Earth that had never felt anything supernatural before, the presence of this feeling that just felt, implied, screamed golden in his mind whenever his focus drifted to the runes, had immediately become apparent after he had killed and eaten his first crab. Nothing mundane impressed that sort of sensation; something similar to what John imagined synesthesia felt like.


    The runes themselves were just various tiny geometric designs that were vaguely letter-like. Some were common and some rare. Some simple and some elaborate. Just looking at them, there was more to them, a depth, that was hard to describe. It was like they were more real than the rest of reality.


    John could control the runes inside of him with a sort of mental hand made of his will. He could shuffle them around his body. He could arrange them beside each other or superimpose them on each other. None of this seemed to actually do anything though.


    He had tried every night for over 1800 days straight to figure out their secrets. He had done his best to be thorough and try everything that made logical sense to him.


    He had long and meticulously documented and tried various ways of trying to get the runes to do anything, but all his attempts had ended in failure. They were clearly magical, but John didn''t know at all how to tap into whatever power they held.


    At this point, John was sure that only the Gods, or those close to them, could use them.


    The only thing he could do was move them around his body or transfer them to another person with a touch and impress his will on the runes that would temporarily ''absorb'' it but soon go back to normal.


    One day the Chosen Tarnished would come along and things would be put into motion. With the Guidance of Grace, with that, as a Tarnished he would be almost-uniquely able to be revived over and over as he threw himself at seemingly impossible challenges until he won. Not even the power of Destined Death would be able to stop him.


    John was not the Chosen Tarnished. With his inability to see the grace in front of him that he knew for an absolute fact was right in front of him proved that. He wasn''t even a regular tarnished as he hadn''t woken up in the Church of Anticipation nor somehow traveled here. He had to treat any risk to his life seriously.


    And the Lands Between were full of dangers that a regular mortal man would easily succumb to. Even a demihuman bandit, one of the weakest of dangers in the Lands Between, could kill him. And while John was willing to face danger, he wasn''t stupid, and he was perfectly capable of being as patient as he needed to be.


    As for why he was so focused on this, John could either stay insignificant and just hope things turned out alright, or he could take things into his own hands.


    John would much rather take control of his own life. And really, in his opinion, there was no truly good ending to Elden Ring. To him they were all different flavors of bad, some worse than others. Two in particular stood out.


    So his plan was this: he would make his own good ending! He would craft his own mending rune for the Chosen Tarnished!


    But that was far into the future. For now, he had to take the first step. He had to be able to travel around without getting killed by a fat from Radahn.


    Hence, the task at hand. These runes.


    John had long since tried hundreds, thousands, of different things he thought might work. First it had been the obvious things like copying ideas from how magic worked in some of the games and books he knew. Things like FATE, Lord of the Rings, or even Dark Souls, but none of those had worked.


    Then he had moved onto more other ideas like channeling them to specific body parts, making ''sentences'' using them, aping pagan rituals like pentagrams, or even more scientific ideas like laying them out like electric circuits and trying to channel other golden runes through them.


    And this was only the barest sampling of what John had tried. He''d spend the day on tasks or chores, occasionally thinking of an idea for what might work and how he could test it, and then he would extensively try things out in the evening.


    Some ideas even seemed to somewhat work. For some things, when John impressed his will into the runes, they somehow changed. But as soon as he stopped concentrating, they would revert back to normal. These ideas, he recorded for later in journals in case they could prove useful somehow.


    John had been doing this every day for over 5 years. And not a single success.


    Recently, he had actually completely ran out of ideas. So instead the past few weeks he had been going with vague esoteric bullshit. He''d already tried that off and on over the years, but now it was all he had left. Just throwing shit at the walls and hoping something stuck.


    John directed his will inwardly to the runes low in his gut. That mass that had been slowly built up over years of hunting animals from just a few scarce runes to a whirling indistinct mass. He willed them with all his strength. To make himself a step closer to perfection.


    Better in every way. His arms stronger, his legs faster, his skin tougher, his mind brighter, his will stronger. His body to be more unrelenting, and his mind and soul to be harder to exhaust. To be more all encompassing, to have more depth. To be, like the runes themselves, more real than reality itself. To not just allow him to better resist the laws of the world, but for the laws to directly support him, pushing him forward.


    He willed them to not just improve him, but to become him. To have no distinction between him and them. Just as Marika''s very body was inextricably one with the Elden Ring, these runes would be with him. Irrevocable and irremovable even after his death.


    John took this intent and affixed it to his runes in his stomach. As the runes grew potent with that intent, he stretched out his hand in the air and shoved the runes into that unseen wisp of grace that he knew to be there and was, despite the great distance, still connected to the Erdtree and Marika.


    Then he put his hand where he knew that wisp of gold, of grace, to be even if he couldn''t see it, couldn''t feel it.


    It was like he touched a live wire. But instead of electricity flowing through him, it was gold-runes. That mass of runes sitting in his gut rushed to through his body, down his arm, into his hand, and into the unseen wisp of grace.


    John felt euphoric. He could feel that it had worked.


    Himself becoming better, becoming more in some indescribable way. It wasn''t something extreme, but having lived in his body for his entire life, he could tell when from one moment to the next, his breath came ever so slightly easier. When his back became ever so slightly less strained. When the clothes on his body chafed ever so slight less. And the many other small ways he was better.


    By themselves, barely noticeable, but when all happening at once, they stuck out like a red sign. Just on how lighter his armor felt and crunching a couple numbers in his head, he''d say he could lift around 5% stronger.


    But what most of all told him that he succeeded; he could see the barest impression of a golden wisp in front of him. Too faint to be seen in the daylight, even now in the darkness of night, he could barely make it out only because he was looking for it.


    John luxuriated in combined feelings of being ever so slightly improved along with achieving what he had so long attempted.


    "John! What is going on!?" Kal¨¦ gasped.


    Kal¨¦ was now sitting up in his bedroll staring at his chest with wide eyes. John looked down and noticed his body was faintly glowing gold. Just as he noticed, the runes he was channeling slowed down and stopped flowing into the grace. He tried to channel them into the grace once again but a pressure was stopping them from flowing. Like a blockage in a water hose, John was sure he''d need the power of more runes to be able to break through the pressure.


    With the flow of runes and the golden glow faded. John still had a sizable amount of runes, but it was only a fraction of what it had been before.


    After all this settled into John''s mind, he turned and smiled at his friend.


    "Well Kal¨¦," John said smugly, "Looks like I am going with you on your next expedition after all."


    __________________________________________________________

 Chapter 2 - John

    _____________________________


    John walked down the dirt path through the forest using his spear as a walking stick. The sun flickered between being covered and uncovered through the leaves. His head turned to and fro, eyes sharp and alert.


    In contrast, Kal¨¦ on his donkey beside him was as relaxed as a man in a saddle could be and if his eyes weren''t open, he could be mistaken for having fallen asleep there.


    Kal¨¦ looked at John and tilted his head slightly.


    "What are you looking for?"


    "Patrols," John responded. "Aren''t there patrols of Godrick''s soldiers in this forest?"


    "There may be," Kal¨¦ said, "The garrison sends out regular patrols all over Limgrave. To keep down monsters and bandits and such. I''ve met a few coming through this forest before who quell the wolf population that seems to often grow too numerous in this area. Why are you looking out for them John?" Kal¨¦ questioned.


    John just shook his head.


    "Just paranoia I guess. I''ve had enough bad experiences with authority to know better than to just trust them."


    "John, the only people Lord Godrick''s men attack on sight are his enemies. The men of other demigods and the tarnished. You are just a foreigner. They may not like you but they won''t attack you."


    "Fine, fine." John relented holding up his hands and stopped outright looking around as if expecting an ambush and instead kept a watchful eye on the road.


    They kept traveling through the forest in companionable silence for a while before a memory popped into John''s head. A mischievous grin came over his face and he suddenly began singing.


    "Oh, we''re on the road again! On the road again. Goin'' places that I''ve never been. Seein'' things that I may never see again. And I can''t wait to get on the road again-"


    John continued with the song, and his singing voice was without peer. For every line that he got the tone right, he got another three wrong. And it was a coin flip if he would get the tone right again when a line came back around.


    When he was done he turned a shit-eating grin towards Kal¨¦ who''s expression was granite.


    "I do not know why you insist on referencing things that only you know."


    "Come on Kal¨¦," John insisted, "If I don''t make cryptic disconnected references to jokes only I know, then who will make these references? Isn''t this a tradition in the Lands Between? Maybe it is my true calling and why I was even why I was brought here in the first place."


    Kal¨¦''s face broke into a pained smile.


    "It is confounding to me that I cannot completely deny your accusation."


    John laughed.


    "I should write them down on some tablets and scatter them through all these ruins. No doubt some scholars will eventually come across them."


    "Please do not." Kal¨¦ begged with a note of pain.


    John laughed again, while Kal¨¦ broke into a rueful chuckle.


    As they continued their journey through the forest, the light winds gently shaking the trees'' leaves and the sun slowly made it''s way across the sky, they kept a comfortable silence between them that was only interrupted by the occasional question from John.


    Question such as:


    "Kal¨¦, what is the name of the instrument you play?"


    "It is a rebab. It comes from the original homeland of my people before they arrived on the Lands Between and made them our home."


    ... or ...


    "How long does it take you to get from Stormveil to Castle Morne?"


    "Just traveling from one castle to the other without stopping at any villages or trading? Spending almost the entirety of your day journeying? About a month at a normal traveling pace. Maybe twenty days on a terribly hard march. A month and a half if I make stops to peddle my wares along the way frequently. Why do you ask?"


    "Just satisfying my curiosity. I have a vague idea about how big the regions in Lands Between are compared to each other, but you know I''ve never walked more than a day or two away from the Church of Elleh, so I don''t have a reference for how big any of the regions actually are."


    ... or ...


    "Hey Kal¨¦, a few years ago I found a cave along this cliffside that had a pack of wolves led by a single wolf the size of a bear. Why was that wolf so much bigger than the others?"


    "What are you asking about ''why was the wolf bigger''? I am not sure what you are asking exactly? That is just how things are. Just like with people, some animals are born more blessed and with stronger vitality than others. Why would some of them not be bigger?"


    "Speaking of animals, aren''t animal attacks one of the major dangers that people worry about? Why doesn''t everyone learn magic or something to fight them? Wouldn''t that make everyone safe from animal attacks?"


    Kal¨¦ looked at John as if not understanding why John thought regular people would learn magic.


    "People do not need to learn because their Lord''s men protect them. Very few people die from such things in lands that are run by competent lords.


    "And they do not learn magics themselves for a few reasons. One is the same reason why lords do not go out of their way to give all their subjects powerful blades reinforced with smithing stones. It breeds rebellions and removes the proper role of the lord as the leaders of society. If a lord does not ultimately hold the strength of arms, then they are ultimately not truly the lord, but are instead civil servants that serve only until those with the strength of arms decides to be rid of them.


    "Sorceries and incantations are arguably better as sources of power for lords of the land than weapons because one can maintain better control over magics than one can weapons. Noble lines take care to make sure they and those loyal to them remain the only ones who know their unique magics. Some houses have their own unique magics that their founder created that allowed them to establish their noble lines.


    "Any man can pick up a weapon easily once a weapon is made. Once a powerful weapon is made, it is easy for it to fall out of the grip of a lord. Wars, battles, rebellions. It is common.


    "But knowledge and skill of a magic is much harder to transfer than it is for a man to lift a sword from a corpse on the field of battle or from an armory when no one is watching.


    "This control of magic is not perfect however. There are plenty of magics that were once closely held secrets and now are in the hands of many. Some lords even volunteer their secret magics to strengthen their own men, like the Carians of Liurnia."


    Kal¨¦ looked at John who nodded his head in understanding as Kal¨¦ continued.


    "Magics also need the correct sort of catalyst along with knowledge and skill to use. This presents yet another barrier to those looking to steal the power of a lord or remove themselves from his dominion.


    "And finally, not every man is capable of learning a particular magic, whether it is because of their lack in sharpness of wit, or strength of mind, or innate aptitude.


    "Most men can learn most magics if they try hard enough, but not all of them, and most men are not willing to put in such efforts in areas they have little talent for. Studying for a year to be able to learn a spell of glintstone sorcery and paying a high price for a rare glintstone staff as a catalyst when a spear is just as good for killing a wolf that is preying on their livestock.


    "Most are content with their lot in life. Besides, why would they want to know these things or put in such time and effort for something their lords men are charged with and better at? Do you make everything you wear, use, and eat yourself? No. Every man has their role in society. A soldier does not farm and a farmer does not hunt bandits.


    "What use does a farmer have to be able to look to the stars and read the future, or pull upon the strength of the Erdtree to infuse his shovel with gold that banishes Those-Who-Live-In-Death, when that farmer could spend the time and expense that he would have on that to instead expand his farmland to trade for more goods at town or learn to grow a different crop to grow his family''s and the village''s prosperity?"


    Kal¨¦ finished as John started wrapping his mind around what he had just been told.


    "Really? They are living in a fantastical land filled with magic and they don''t want to learn any of it? I can''t even imagine..."


    "Fantastical?" Kal¨¦ snorted in amusement. "The Lands Between are indeed blessed in many ways compared to most lands even in our reduced state since the Shattering, but I do not see how it is fantastical. Why would everyone wish to learn magic? Why this fixation on magics with you?" Kal¨¦ shook his head in exasperation.


    And so on and so forth John''s questions came and went as they walked through the shaded forest path.


    Questions John had slowly built up over the years since his arrival, but had put off asking for later. Some things Kal¨¦ knew and explained to John, but others Kal¨¦ didn''t have the answer to.


    When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped to break and eat.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    As they were eating a light lunch of rowa fruit and sheep jerky from the stores John had built up over his time at the Church of Elleh, John had drawn out a map a rough, undetailed, and poorly proportioned map of the Lands Between, and was gesturing to it with a stick.


    "Have you ever noticed something weird about the coastline Kal¨¦? See how the Lands Between have a roughly crescent moon shape? All the beaches are on the outside of the crescent while on the inside of the crescent are just sheer cliffs."


    John gestured towards the bottom left and bottom center of the map.


    "Even here in Limgrave, the beaches are on the southern coastline, but the northern or inner coastline is just sheer cliff-face."


    "I have never thought of it before, but yes, now that you point it out, it is indeed like that. Why do you say that this is strange? I do not see how beaches being at one place and not the other is strange."


    "You know how I told you I was a scholar before waking up in the Lands Between? Part of my studies included the natural states of the earth and how it should be. The coasts on the inside of the crescent are unnatural. There should be beaches there as well, but there aren''t. It''s like there used to be land here that was suddenly ripped away."


    Kal¨¦ looked at John skeptically.


    "Alright, look at these little bits off the inner coast here." John tapped the stick on the little bits of land jutting off into the center gulf from the bottom half of the landmass.


    "These three Divine Towers and this coliseum. See how the land they are on juts out into the sea like small but strangely steep and tall islands? Are there any islands on the outside of the crescent like that?"


    "Not that I can recall. None as stark in the peculiar way they are."


    John brandished his stick.


    "Exactly. And look at this isolated tower here completely off in the ocean by itself."


    John continued.


    "How and why exactly was this tower built here? Did they ship all the stone over there? Why here?


    "Now watch," John said as he drew a line between all the tower locations on his map.


    "The towers are all perfectly spaced to form a hexagon," John traced with his stick. "This type of thing isn''t an accident. Why would the builders place them here in a hexagon formation around the gulf where it looks like a lot of land was supposed to be there? Especially the isolated tower in the ocean. It wouldn''t be in such a difficult place to get to unless they needed to put it there, or it used to be attached to land.


    "This all points to there once having been land alongside the inner coast here."


    "How curious."


    "Curious?" John repeated jabbing at Kal¨¦ with his stick, "That''s it?"


    "You have convinced me John, but I am not sure what you want me to tell you about this."


    "I want to know what happened to that land. How was it all destroyed? Do you know what may have happened?"


    Kal¨¦ put his hand to the side of his head for a minute.


    "Well, there are ancient legends of a cataclysm like no other. The world being cleansed by an ocean of fire as a punishment by the Greater Will for the Giants worshiping their Fell God.


    "With time passing so easily, knowledge of history, myths, and stories passed down the generations in the Lands Between often have their details change over time. Only the demigods and the oldest of champions know the complete truth of things having seen these things with their own eyes.


    "Maybe the tales changed over the years. Instead of an ocean of fire cleansing the world, it may be the original myth may have been much of the Lands Between sinking into the ocean. If that is true, it could be that the entire gulf in the center of the Lands Between had been land."


    John shook his head and crossed his arms.


    "That doesn''t add up. Myths do change over time, but going from ''Most of the land sinks into the ocean'' to ''ocean of fire'' is a very extreme change. And whatever myths may say, earth doesn''t just ''sink'' into the ocean. The rain slowly washes the mountains away and carries the dirt to the ocean. That much earth doesn''t just ''fall into the ocean'' like a crumbling cliffside. That just isn''t how the earth works.


    "There is even more earth under the earth that is above water. The continent isn''t just floating on water. Land only exists outside the ocean because it is a pile of earth big enough to rise above the water level. It can''t just magically ''sink'' unless you use, well, magic."


    "So then we are at an impasse with this John? Because I know of nothing else that may be relevant to this except that myth."


    John hung his arms and head in disappointment.


    "Shit. I guess we are stuck. I really had hoped you would be able to tell me about this. It''s a huge mystery that I suspect connects to other things like the true purpose of the Divine Towers. That hexagonal arrangement of them just screams some sort of magical or symbolic purpose."


    Kal¨¦ looked amused.


    "There are many mysteries in the Lands Between. It is just how things are when the lands are so ancient. And I know of one more mystery that can be added to the total now." Kal¨¦ made a show of eying John.


    "The land being destroyed?" John asked, confused.


    Kal¨¦ chuckled ominously.


    "No. The mystery of how you, a man who has barely left the area near the Church of Elleh, noticed something about the coastline of the Lands Between you have not seen than I, a Nomad Merchant who has traveled more of these lands than most who have ever lived on them."


    John began sputtering-scrambling to explain when Kal¨¦ just laughed, interrupting whatever John was going to say.


    "Do not worry John. I know you wish to keep some secrets to yourself. I will not pry. I have my own secrets as well. It is just amusing when you accidentally reveal something like this when you normally take such great pains to not reveal anything.


    "I do not demand an answer from you. Unlike yourself, I am content to leave mysteries be. Much less dangerous that way."


    __________________________


    John and Kal¨¦ were still steadily making their way along the forest dirt path when John suddenly stopped and readied his spear.


    "Did you hear that?"


    Kal¨¦ pulled back on his donkey''s reins and cupped his hand to his ear.


    They both listened quietly as they heard sounds of something shuffling in the brush off the path to their left and turned to face the noise. The warily tried to pin whatever it was. Kal¨¦ was the first to place the noise grabbing hold of his reins as he whispered to John.


    "It is a-"


    An angry ungodly squeal erupted from behind them on the other side of the path!


    "CURSES!" Kal¨¦ shouted as his donkey panicked while John spun around speartip forward!


    A boar that came to John''s knee charged out of the brush and was nearly upon him, and it was all John could do to try and get his spear between them! John''s spear struck true, sinking the entire hand''s length of the spear blade into the boar until the spear''s wings slammed into the boar''s body.


    Seeing this, John felt an instant of triumph, but the boar stubbornly didn''t stop for John''s feelings as it kept charging, ignoring its wound. Its charge shoved the spear back in John''s hands, and he stumbled, his footing poor after the quick spin. His spear was ripped from his hands, and John was tossed off to the side as the boar ran past him!


    Landing hard on his shoulder, John grunted and rolled back onto his knees in time to see the boar turn around lining up to charge him again as his stuck spear was dragged behind it. It charged at John again! and he rolled at the last moment grabbing hold of his spear once again! The boar turned trying to follow John, but John kept hold of the spear and was drug around with it.


    John and the boar began struggling on the ground, John holding and pushing on the spear to keep the boar facing away from him and the boar trying to face John to charge again unleash its wrath on him.


    They spun around each other pitting their strength against each other. Despite its much smaller stature, the boar was more than half of John''s weight, most of that pure muscle, and while John had gotten a boost in strength yesterday, it was very slight.


    As the boar spun and dragged John in a circle across the ground, the boar kept bleeding profusely from its spear wound. It spilled blood onto the dirt path that John and the boar were rolling around in, clumps of bloodied dirt smearing into John''s armor. In the background John could hear Kal¨¦ was still struggling to get his donkey under his control.


    John got his footing and was able to arrest the boar''s spin and use his strength and weight to directly pin the slowly weakening boar in place despite being stuck on his knees on the ground.


    Just as John got the upper hand, he heard another squeal and looked to see another pig charging at him out of the brush they had heard the original noise from, its face level with his stomach only protected by a gambeson.


    John nearly let go of his spear and jumped to the side when Kal¨¦''s donkey kicked the second pig right in its thick head as the boar passed by it. The boar stumbled from the blow and the donkey stepped backwards following the fleeing pig. The donkey kicked it in the head again and again, the donkey''s hooves more accurate and unerring than John''s spear had been.


    John kept his own squealing boar pinned as the boar under assault from Kal¨¦''s donkey completely collapsed after a series of blows. But Kal¨¦''s donkey was a vicious thing and despite the pig''s form not moving it delivered another half dozen meaty thwacks to its head.


    Not at all embarrassed about being outdone by a donkey, John kept his boar pinned until a minute later it had fallen silent as runes rushed into John, the boar''s fury leaving it as it finally bled out.


    John wrested free his spear that was stubbornly stuck in the thick armored hide of the boar.


    Breathing in and out as the adrenaline started coming down, John began cleaning the blood and bits of flesh from it using some cloth as Kal¨¦ finally calmed his donkey down and dismounted.


    "Those were angry little buggers were they not John?"


    "A pain in the ass is what they were. Now I have blood in my gambeson. I''m gonna have to wash it if I don''t want to stink like something rotting by tomorrow."


    "I do not understand your obsession with being overly clean, but you would not have a dirty gambeson if you had not scuppered it when you stuck that boar and ended up on the ground.


    "It got a little dangerous there at the end. If it was not for the ever dependable Rabbit here," Kal¨¦ patted his donkey on the side, "that second one may have got you a little. Your plate greaves could handle the tusks, but I would not trust a gambeson to completely stop them."


    "I know. I knew pigs are deceptively strong, but I wasn''t expecting the boar to be strong enough to just knock me over like that. It surprised me. I think now that I know what to expect it wouldn''t knock me over again. I hadn''t braced myself properly for it''s charge.


    "I haven''t had much of a chance to actually use my spear outside of getting a good feel for swinging it around on my own. I paid you to trade for one because I don''t have much experience using a weapon and I had heard the spear is a good option for those like me.


    "The bow I had you get I''m much better with, often having hunted animals in the forest and birds and crabs down towards the beach."


    Kal¨¦ crouched by the pig his donkey Rabbit had done in.


    "It looks that this one is a sow. I bet the other one was a boar in rut. If we stick around other boars might show up following the lingering scent of the sow.


    "Let us get these butchered. It is unfortunate they took us by surprise, I am sure plenty of the meat is ruined by how sloppily we killed them. Maybe some fortune will come our way and another boar will show up before we are done."


    John started making a campfire as Kal¨¦ started prepping the tools. They spent most of the rest of the daylight butchering the sow and boar and preserving the pork by lightly smoking and salting it as best they could. Their work was not especially impressive by any means but it was perfectly serviceable.


    After they were done, seeing that there wasn''t much time in the day, they traveled a short distance away far enough where the smell wouldn''t attract animals, and made camp.


    As they laid down to rest John thought about everything he had learned that day. Some things were mundane like the true scale of the lands between, but others were more important like how the Lands Between operated on a kind of feudal serfdom system. The fact that Godrick had over ten thousand soldiers under his command.


    Many of the bigger mysteries he had hoped Kal¨¦ might help him finally figure out ended up being dead ends like the question of the missing land which should have been where the gulf in the center of the Lands Between was.


    There was many things that John was unable to ask Kal¨¦ at all because there was no way he would know about them, like where all the Two Fingers come from and their connection to the Greater Will or why Melania had invaded Caelid to fight Radahn. It couldn''t have been for his Great Rune because she didn''t take Godrick''s despite the fact it would have been relatively easy for her to do so. John suspected that it might have something to do with the fact that Radahn was somehow preventing fate or something by stopping the stars.


    As for the Two Fingers, John wouldn''t trust them as far as he couldn''t throw them. The entirety of the Golden Order seemed to be stuffed full of convenient lies that justified all the Golden Order''s actions, and all the Two Fingers seem to be near the top and majorly involved even if he didn''t know how.


    The only other ''order'' John knew about outside of Marika''s was that of Dragon Lord Placidusax, and as far as John knew, the Two Fingers had no connection to them at all. But he didn''t know much of the deep lore or if that was accurate or not. John mostly just knew what he had casually gleaned from reading important items and a couple of youtube videos.


    Something was definitely fishy between the Two Fingers and the Golden Order though. He had no evidence for it, but John''s gut just suspected they weren''t actually hearing the Greater Will at all and were just saying whatever suited them. Religious charlatans claiming to hear God to get whatever they wanted were a dime a dozen and the Fingers were triggering that instinct for John.


    John didn''t think asking people who weren''t high up the totem pole, like Kal¨¦, would yield any answers to this big picture stuff he didn''t already know.


    It seemed that much like how it was back on Earth, most of the people didn''t know a whole lot concretely about the wider world or history and mostly concerned themselves with whatever was relevant to their local community. Not to be unexpected because they were still people.


    As John thought about everything he had asked Kal¨¦, a final question came to mind, but it seemed a bit personal.


    John thought about whether or not he wanted to ask this, but decided to bite the bullet and decided to ask as he and Kal¨¦ laid down their bedrolls by the campfire.


    "Kal¨¦, tell me, what is it actually like to be as old as you are? To be ageless? I can scarcely imagine what it will be like 50 years from now."


    Kal¨¦ didn''t say anything for a minute making John worry he had made a mistake in asking that. Before John assured Kal¨¦ he didn''t have to answer, Kal¨¦ spoke.


    "More than anything else, it makes starkly clear what is truly important to you. And these things are often not the things you think are important, only realizing long after they are gone how important they were, or that they were important at all.


    "As the ages pass, your mind discards things that aren''t important to you, and you learn what is truly important by what remains.


    "In the thousands of years since the Shattering, the demigods have enacted countless schemes against each other. In the moment, those schemes and conflicts between the demigods seem so important.


    "But for most of those schemes after a century, it will be as if they never happened. A few towns or forts or sections of borderlands change hands back and forth, noble lines change allegiances or die off and are replaced by another, or armies are devastated and brought back to full strength once again.


    "Now, after so long, I can only name a few such schemes and conflicts that have had enduring effects and have long forgotten a dozen more for each of those.


    "Even the memory of champions who held Great Runes eventually fades.


    "I cannot remember the face of the first woman I bedded or what I wished for my life when I had been a child. I can no longer remember the largest amount of runes I have ever possessed at one time or the taste of the finest wine I ever drank.


    "But I remember the taste of the stew my mother used to make and the rough calluses of my fathers hands as he raised me up to sit on his shoulders. I remember the mischief me and my childhood friend got up to as young men who had yet to fully grow. I remember the names and the deeds of people that were important to me and the bonds we had shared.."


    John stayed up for quite a while thinking on Kal¨¦''s answer as the campfire crackled nearby before eventually going to sleep.


    ____________________________________________________

 Chapter 3 - John

    "I can see a patrol coming up ahead of us, John. Remember not to mention anything about having learned the secret of the Finger Maidens given to them by the Greater Will." said Kal¨¦ as he sat in his donkey''s saddle while John walked beside him.


    John wasn''t stupid nor eager to share his discovery with others if he didn''t have to, so Kal¨¦ had nothing to worry about. If he could, John would rather Kal¨¦ not know either, but he hadn''t actually expected to have figured it out while Kal¨¦ was there.


    Their years together allowed trust to build between them and they both knew which secrets the other was unwilling to share. John was sure Kal¨¦ wouldn''t blab either as it would seal both their fates for numerous reasons.


    Besides, John suspected his method wasn''t the same thing as the one that Finger Maiden''s used. He knew Melina in the game had somehow given the ability to the Chosen Tarnished, and his method wasn''t some ability he could magically give others. He couldn''t pick which ''stats'' to enhance, instead improving everything at once. The blindingly obvious golden glow. Nothing lined up.


    Not that he thought that those nuances would save his life if the Golden Order took offense at an obvious outsider like him ''having'' one of their most closely guarded rites. Everyone else who would want to be able to use runes to become stronger.


    No, John had something far different on his mind than sharing his secrets to the first people he''d met besides Kal¨¦ since his arrival to the Lands Between.


    "Are you absolutely sure that Godrick''s soldiers won''t try and attack me?"


    Kal¨¦ rolled his eyes at his question. This wasn''t the first time John had asked something similar since they had left the Church of Elleh.


    "They will have no interest in you. There is more to being a tarnished than their eyes lacking gold."


    "Alright," John relented. "But if Godrick takes my arms and legs I''m going to haunt you."


    With that John dropped the subject.


    Despite believing Kal¨¦''s words, John couldn''t quite quiet his paranoia. As they kept walking through the forest and slowly approached the group of armored soldiers including two full soldiers and a handful of less armored footmen further ahead of them in the forest.


    John did his best to appear outwardly relaxed while internally being ready to react in a moment if they made any moves towards him.


    As they got closer the shade of the forest no longer obscured the soldiers'' features.


    What surprised John now that he could clearly see them, was that he had unknowingly expected a silent, angry grimace like he remembered from when he played the game. Yet, these men were smiling and talking with each other, even if John couldn''t quite make out what they were saying. Their faces and features had noticeable differences with the armor and weapons also having small differences in how well maintained they were, and they were even different heights.


    Just seeing them acting like that, like people instead of unthinking automatons, caused most of the tension to leave John.


    While most of the men they were getting closer to had lively skin, one of the lesser armored footmen unfortunately had the pallid grey skin and milky white eyes reminiscent of the wandering nobles. He had withered. The lights were on but no one was home.


    "Halt," called one of the soldiers dressed in the red and green surcoat of Godrick. "Lord Godrick has proclaimed that all travelers will undergo inspection. Dismount and discard your spear."


    Taking a deep breath and trusting Kal¨¦''s words, John set his spear on the ground while Kal¨¦ dismounted his Donkey.


    Once they were done, the soldiers standing a few yards looked them over, and the speaker tilted his head towards one of the footmen. The footman came over to them.


    He took a deep look into each of their eyes, before turning around and shaking his head and walking back to the group.


    "What''s he doing with you?" the speaker addressed Kal¨¦ with narrowed golden eyes while motioning towards John. "This is the first time I''ve seen one of your kind traveling with someone else."


    Kal¨¦ smiled.


    "This is my friend John. He has newly arrived to the Lands Between and wishes to travel the land. I invited him to join me, for two men are more safe on the road than one. I know that demihuman brigands have been a growing problem over the last decade as well."


    The soldier scoffed.


    "Yes. More safety. It''s not like you will ride off on your donkey at the first sign of trouble leaving him by himself.


    "But that''s his business if the fool wants to trust you. I care not for what happens to a foreigner. I''m more concerned about your intentions, merchant.


    "Maybe a more thorough inspection of your wares is required. The packs on your donkey look awfully full to bursting for a nomad. Have you not paid your tax? I think Lord Godrick is deserved his due."


    Kal¨¦ met the man''s predatory smile with a guileless one.


    "Oh, that is just because of the boar meat. You see a pair of boars accosted us a day ago and my companion slew them. We ate well that night thanks to our good fortune.


    "Maybe a bit too much good fortune, my friends, because we only had enough supplies to salt one of them. I''m afraid the other one will rot before we are able to eat.


    "In fact, why don''t you men take that boar''s meat. If we keep it will just go to waste."


    Kal¨¦ struggled and took one of the large heavy bags off his donkey and set it onto the ground with a heavy thud. He bent down and untied it. The sheet of leather came undone and spread out across the ground showing off pounds upon pounds of boar meat, all of it salted and lightly smoked.


    "If one of you men have a bag we could use?" Kal¨¦ asked.


    One of the men produced a bag which Kal¨¦ took half of the meat and filled it with before retying his bag.


    "Now that that is done, is there anything else sir, or may we continue on?"


    "Yes, you may go on your way. I''m satisfied you aren''t cheating our lord."


    John kept silent and picked up his spear as Kal¨¦ mounted his donkey and they both continued walking through the forest on the dirt path.


    They stayed silent until the men could no longer be seen.


    "I thought you said they wouldn''t do anything?" John asked pointedly.


    "I said they would not harm us. It is unfortunate that Lord Godrick picks his men for their strength of arms rather than strength of character, but there is a limit to what his men will do.


    "They keep the bandits like demihumans, marauding tarnished, Bloody Fingers, and others out from the lands close to Stormveil Castle and keep the wolf packs and other animals from growing overly large and encroaching on villages and farms. They deal with the occasional One-Who-Lives-In-Death. Generally, they keep the lands nearby safe from most serious dangers.


    "Lord Godrick''s soldiers actually have a certain standard of behavior and duties they must maintain when interacting with the common folk as they represent their Lord, but it is the mercenaries in the employ of Lord Godrick you have to be most wary of as they do not have the reputation of Lord Godrick to restrain their actions.


    "And if some of the less scrupulous of Lord Godrick''s men wish to occasionally take a toll, I would rather pay that than have a pack of demihumans supping on my corpse."


    "And if we had refused to pay?" John pressed.


    "They would have beaten us and taken whatever they wanted as recompense. And if we had raised a weapon, we would have been ''rebelling'' against Lord Godrick and been killed for our treachery."


    John felt himself growing hot under the collar at Kal¨¦''s placid, unbothered answer to being the victim of armed robbery by the Lands Between''s version of police. John tried to tamp down his anger as knew he was far too weak and impotent to actually do anything about the situation. It was like dealing with corrupt cops back home.


    Kal¨¦ must have still noticed his anger though as he spoke up.


    "It does me good to see you be outraged at their behavior John. Not many in the Lands Between would care about what happens to a one of my people. But that is just the way it is here, and we must do our best to live within our means the best we can.


    "I know you do not wish to speak of the lands you hail from, but they must have been a truly just place if you care so much about this sort of thing." Kal¨¦ complemented him.


    John shook his head, calming down.


    "No. I wish I could say we were better, but there isn''t much of a real difference between here and where I come from. There are differences of course, but for every area my homeland was better in compared to the Lands Between there are areas it was worse in.


    "This is more of a personal hang up of mine about this sort of stuff. These men took up a duty, and they are betraying themselves and others and their duty itself with these actions. They are scum. But we had people like in my homeland as well. Far too many of them.


    "I guess the only real difference is that the common folk there came far more about this sort of thing than the ones in the Lands Between, so the corrupt people where I come from just take efforts at hiding it so people do not become angry at them.


    "I just am not used to seeing it done so blatantly even if I know this sort of thing happens in my homelands as well. We may spout words about how just we are or should be, but we don''t make much real effort into putting our words into practice."


    Kal¨¦ hummed in thought.


    "Enough of this topic. Let us think of better things.


    "By noon tomorrow we will be at the foot of Stormhill. There is where the largest fortification and encampment of Lord Godrick''s forces are outside of Stormveil Castle itself: the Stormgate. A gatehouse built into a cliff pass. It is guarded by an army of soldiers, footmen, and even trolls, and headed by Knight Commander Torrin.


    "You''ll finally be able to see part of Limgrave that isn''t wilderness, and I''ll be able to trade the wares I got from the lands of Castle Morne. Depending on what I can trade for there, we''ll either head south or north."


    John listened as Kal¨¦ went into detail about the various things that usually traded well from these locations, for example fulgurblooms, a type of lightning flower, being cheaper in the Weeping Peninsula and more expensive in Limgrave or the reverse being true for smithing stones from Limgrave to the Peninsula.


    As he did, John''s thoughts were on his goal. His real final goal now that he had finally achieved the first step that even gave him a chance.


    To make sure the Chosen Tarnished didn''t fuck everything up by picking a ''bad ending'', because whatever happened John was stuck here to deal with the consequences. John didn''t want to be burned to death or cursed or whatever.


    To that end, John was going to try to make his own mending rune to try and achieve an actually good ending even if he didn''t have any concrete ideas for that yet. But right now he could stack the deck further as well.


    Why not... remove some of the bad options entirely.


    For example, if Irina never dies, her body never becomes Hyetta. And the Chosen Tarnished never has the opportunity to be bewitched by the Flame of Frenzy.


    Of course, this was real life with infinite choices, and not a video game coded for things to happen in a certain way. So there is always the chance the Chosen Tarnished could still find a way to the Frenzied Flame, but removing all the roads that lead down that path that John knew of would improve the odds of preventing that terrible end from happening.


    John quite liked being a distinct thinking being and not an unthinking primeval mass thank you very much.


    John waited until there was a pause in Kal¨¦''s explanations about goods and their regional prices before he spoke.


    "Tell me about Castle Morne. What was it like last time you were there? Was there anything interesting going on?"


    "It has been some time since I last went all the way to Castle Morne itself. But at the time the ruler of the castle, Lord Edgar, who comes from a long line of superb warriors and is sworn to Lord Godrick, was throwing a festival to celebrate his only daughter reaching her majority. He emptied the castle''s larders allowing everyone no matter how lowly to eat their fill for three days and nights.


    "The castle sits at the top of a cliff. I have never been into the keep itself, but I can say from the outside it is imposing. Its thick and tall walls and isolation at the top of a cliff make it as impregnable from attack as Stormveil Castle. Maybe even more so. I cannot imagine the castle ever being breached and captured by someone short of a true champion like one of the demigods.


    "Below it is the castle town filled with all the servants and common people that help support the castle itself. There is a large portion of the town built vertically along the cliffside in a confusing maze of wenches and lifts which they use to connect together and traverse the castle town, the cliffside town, and the castle itself.


    "Most of the time I am doing business in the middle and lower portions of the cliffside and those are the parts I know best."


    "Really? That sounds like a very interesting setup for a town. I''d like to see it."


    "That may be our next big stop on the route depending on what I can trade for in the Stormgate."


    Kal¨¦ went on to start describing various regular customers of his, but John had already gotten what he wanted to know.


    It seemed the misbegotten rebellion at Castle Morne had yet to happen. John had suspected years ago that he had arrived before the Chosen Tarnished, but this confirmed it to him, as the Chosen Tarnished would arrive as the misbegotten were finishing off the last of those at Castle Morne.


    If he could figure out a way to keep Irina from dying, it would eliminate the primary way the Chosen Tarnished could become involved with the Three Fingers.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    But even if that hadn''t been the case, John would still want to at least try and save her from her fate. She seemed like a nice person and as a blind woman was probably innocent from what grievances misbegotten had.


    Later when the sun began setting, John and Kal¨¦ made a small camp off the road and enjoyed an evening meal of boar meat stew. They set up camp and went to sleep for the night.


    ____________________________________


    Waking up the next morning they continued their trek through the forest.


    The sun was cresting the sky as they finally broke through the other side of the forest.


    At the dip in the valley ahead sat stone ruins that had been converted into a military encampment. Where in the game there was only half a dozen crumpled building''s walls left with close to a dozen soldiers, in front of john was an entire neighborhoods worth of buildings with at least a couple hundred soldiers that he could see milling about, some of which were doing tasks and a lot of whom were just standing around talking with their fellows.


    The ruins were covered with tents and incorporated the remains of the stone walls everywhere, with barrels full of various supplies spread everywhere. The only building that was remotely left intact in the ruins beyond crumbling walls was a decaying three story tower near the center of the ruins.


    A dozen huge carts or wagons that a merchant might transfer goods in but scaled to giant size were off one side of the encampment and there was even a troll pair of trolls holding large chains in their hands pulling one of these wagons filled with wooden crates up the stone-paved road into the massive gatehouse that was built into the large crack in the nearby cliffs.


    Seeing the brightly colored tents and surcoats dotted among the dreary grey and mossy stone ruins overgrown with brush, the small army of people in the dead remains of an older civilization... experiencing it in flesh at full scale instead of the limited replica in a game through a screen, John felt he could see the faintest glimpse of the glory that must have been what the Golden Order once was.


    Even this glance of part of the least of the demigods'' army had the reality, the wonder, of his situation pressing on him in a way it hadn''t since his first month here. It was like a millstone that had been on his back for a long time was lifted.


    Maybe Kal¨¦ had seen something that John hadn''t when he had been speaking last night before his success. He''d have to be more careful to heed his friend''s advice.


    They left the edge of the forest and made their way down the valley towards the southern entrance of the Gatefront Ruins military encampment.


    At the entrance they were halted by a pair of soldiers. After John and Kal¨¦ explained that they were there to sell supplies, and a quick look over and warning, this time without any extortion, they were escorted into the camp.


    The soldier guiding them quickly navigated them through the twists and turns of the streets deeper towards the center of the camp. Towards a familiar crumbling tower.


    "Hey sir," John began, "I was wondering, do you guys ever search these ruins for things that have been left behind?"


    The soldier glanced back at him for a moment, then laughed and continued guiding them.


    "What does it look like we''re doing here? Wasting our time?


    "These ruins are older than the Shattering. No doubt anything of value has long since been looted before Lord Godrick even obtained his Great Rune and left the capitol. Anything left here is either worthless to start with or has rusted or rotten to worthlessness by now.


    "I can hear just from your accent that you are foreign to the Lands Between. No doubt you''ve heard countless tales about the majesty and wealth of our lands. Probably why you''re here. But this isn''t a tale from a storybook. We don''t just leave troves of treasure lying around where anyone can find them."


    John knew for a fact they did in fact leave valuable stuff lying around the place in the Lands Between. Although, on second thought, many of those valuable things required killing someone for their stuff or robbing a grave or defeating a powerful monster.


    Alright, so the man had a point, but John actually did know of a valuable item hidden in these ruins.


    The conversation stopped there, and soon after they arrived in a small courtyard. In it the decaying ruins of the building attached to the crumbling tower sat. There were quite a few soldiers going to and fro carrying things in and out of the courtyard. A few dogs sat resting in a corner of the yard.


    Standing nearby the entrance to the ruined tower were a pair of men that were obviously important just by how they held themselves and how the soldiers around them acted.


    One man was wearing the normal surcoat and equipment of one of Godrick''s soldiers excluding the helmet. The most notable thing about the man was that he was significantly larger than a normal man, being around 7 feet tall and looked to be around 300 pounds of pure muscle. John figured the guy could probably pick him up and throw him as he was a ten year old. He appeared middle aged and had a fearsome face with a scar large running down his cheek to his square jaw where it appeared a sword had once cut him deeply.


    The other man was bodily half a foot shorter though the white plum coming out of his helmet made his overall height the same as the larger man. He wore a full elaborate set of knight''s plate armor including besagews, armpit guards, overtop of which he wore a surcoat with Godrick''s colors on it; the golden Erdtree on a field of green quartered with the beast regent Serosh on a field of red.


    As John and Kal¨¦ were led to the two men by their escort, the men stopped talking and turned to them. Their escort started speaking as soon the man in knight armor made a gesture, who their escort acknowledged first as he started speaking.


    "Knight Commander, Quartermaster, sirs, these two approached the camp wanting to sell wares to the men."


    The larger less armored of the two glanced over them before smiling.


    "Ahh, I know who this is. Torrin sir, the one in red is the merchant Kal¨¦ I have told you about before. He comes by one or twice a year and sells a variety of things. He is the one I get that cheap bloom you like in your wine from."


    The large man gestured to their escort.


    "Dismissed soldier."


    Their escort held his fist to his chest in salute and left. The large man turned his eyes to John.


    "I know Kal¨¦, but who are you?"


    John felt uneasy at suddenly being involved with people as important as whatever a Knight Commander must be even if Kal¨¦ knew the quartermaster somehow. To be the head guys of a significant military base like this was a big deal.


    John decided he''d try his best to be as innocuous as possible. He didn''t want the attention of Godrick or his men.


    "John White, friend of Kal¨¦. I''m traveling with him for the moment."


    The quartermaster tilted his head.


    "White? I am afraid I am not familiar with House White."


    This caught John off guard but he recovered quickly.


    "Ah, I''m not from the Lands Between, so sorry if I don''t use the proper etiquette. In fact, I would be surprised if you had heard of my family. The Whites back home were relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things, small and of modest wealth and little influence."


    "Truly? Where do you hail from?"


    "My homeland is called the United States of America, or just America, the US, or the United States for short."


    "You must have traveled far to reach the Lands Between. I have never heard of your homeland before. What can you tell me-"


    "Duran!" The armored Knight Commander Torrin interrupted sharply and made a gesture to hurry things along. Duran nodded his head to the slightly smaller man.


    "Right, sir." He turned his eyes to John''s companion with an intense stare. "Kal¨¦, this man is truly your friend?"


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    The man examined John closely for a few moments before smiling widely.


    "A friend of Kal¨¦''s huh? Well, a friend of his is a friend of mine. Name''s Duran. I''m the Quartermaster of the garrison here.


    Come. Let''s go into my office to discuss business."


    John followed the three of them as they went into the tower and walked up a set of steps to the second floor. The quartermaster''s office was located in a stone walled room. It had slightly cramped with four people, had squeaky wooden floors, and a single storm window with moss growing around its mouth that let light into the room from outside.


    After they all entered, John closed the door behind him, and Duran and Torrin took a seat at the desk leaving Kal¨¦ and John standing on the opposite side.


    "So do you have it?" Duran asked Kal¨¦ like a mafioso asking someone if they had brought the money.


    "You know I always deliver Duran." Kal¨¦ reached into a pocket and pulled out a small bag and a pair of notes of folded paper.


    The papers had unbroken official-looking seals on the bottom of them that prevented someone from opening them without ruining the seal. Important


    The bag gave off a scent that even a few feet away immediately made John''s nose tingle with a ''clean'' smell like chlorine.


    Duran immediately handed Torrin the bag then started reading the two notes himself.


    While they did their business and Kal¨¦ patiently waited, John was taken aback. What had just happened? What the hell!?


    This was just supposed to be a relaxed journey around Limgrave! And from one moment to the next it changed from that to whatever was happening now.


    Completely out of left field, his friend drags him into some shady dealing he had going on with what seemed like the guys in charge of a major military outpost. How the hell did Kal¨¦ even know these guys!?


    As John mentally scrambled to regain his footing, Duran finished reading the two notes and turned to Torrin.


    "Hmm. It is as I feared Torrin sir. Sir Bach hasn''t been as true of a knight of our lord as he has portrayed. I had thought he had been acting unusual when he last stopped here at the Stormgate, not to mention other things I had learned of the man over the years. I had wanted to believe I had just been imagining things. This is ill-news indeed.


    "And it appears that rat Kenneth Haight is going to try to propose to Lord Edgar Morne a wedding between himself and Edgar''s daughter Irina. I thought Haight was acting suspiciously. It seems the fool is serious about challenging Lord Godrick for control of Limgrave. But even if he has some minor amount of the blood of the Golden Lineage, he can never stand up to one of pure descent like our lord. This must be put to a stop. We will have to inform our lord of this.


    "Torrin, sir, I will draft a letter informing our lord of these developments along with some suggestions. Maybe two of our lord''s problems can solve each other."


    Torrin nodded his armored head in agreement.


    "The blood of the Golden Lineage has been far too thin since that cursed Night and the events of the Shattering. It is a shame that a lesser scion is biting the hand of his better in greed instead of rallying behind him," Torrin''s voice was tinged with a hint hint of regret, "It is exactly this sort dishonorable behavior that has caused everything to fall apart after the Shattering instead of everyone rallying as they should have.


    "I will gladly leave informing our lord of these matters in your hands. I know you perform much better at these sorts of duties than myself."


    John felt like he was far out of his depth. He shouldn''t be involved with a meeting like this that was important or secret. He had nothing to do with any of these people or whatever Game-Of-Thrones shit they had going on.


    He didn''t even know why Kal¨¦ had allowed him to be brought along for this. And what exactly was Kal¨¦''s relationship with these men and Godrick? He didn''t want to be involved in whatever conspiracy was happening in front of him.


    But this was not the time for him to question Kal¨¦ about these things. Now was the time to act as if everything was perfectly fine and normal.


    "Excellent work Kal¨¦."


    Duran offered his hand to Kal¨¦ who took it. John saw the flickering golden of runes being transferred between the two. After Duran was done and pulled his hand back, Kal¨¦ tilted his head at the man his eyebrow raised.


    "More than usual due to the extreme importance of these messages," Duran explained, "I will begin drafting the letter to Lord Godrick soon. If you are willing Kal¨¦, I need a messenger once again, but the message must leave the garrison tomorrow morning and go directly to Stormveil. "


    "As long as I can ply my wares tonight."


    Torrin spoke this time instead of Duran.


    "Then I''ll ensure that some of the men that have recently received their pay and some of the officers are given the rest of the day off and are informed that you have set up in the courtyard here to trade."


    Kal¨¦ smiled.


    "Then I shall be gone tomorrow at first light."


    Duran smiled and spoke again.


    "Excellent. Our garrison is preparing for a major sortie soon. I am not sure when either of us will be here when you get back to pay you for this. If you ask for payment while at Stormveil I am fairly sure that our people will oblige. If not, next time we meet I shall make right on your payment."


    "Thank you my friend! I will be sure to ask." Kal¨¦ nodded.


    Duran gave a pointed look at John.


    "And your friend knows to be discreet with what was said today?"


    Kal¨¦ smiled.


    "Of course. I would not have brought him if he did not know what should be kept to himself."


    Duran rubbed his chin as he and Kal¨¦ stared at each other, something silently passing between the two of them before he turned to look at John with a look in his eye.


    "Well, if your friend is so trustworthy Kal¨¦, then I''m sure I wouldn''t mind having him as a friend as well. Tell me, John White, is there anything I can do for you?"


    John could pick up that there was an undercurrent to the question. John wasn''t stupid, but he wasn''t sure precisely what Duran was getting at here besides that he was fishing for a certain answer. Still struggling to try and figure out exactly what, John answered something that actually wanted to do.


    "Well, these are the first ruins I''ve ever actually been in. I''d like permission to look around them and search. There might be some interesting stuff there."


    Duran, Kal¨¦, and Torrin froze and unfroze so quickly that John almost doubted if he had seen it in the first place. Whatever they had been expecting him to say, his answer clearly wasn''t it.


    After a look between him and Torrin, Duran answered.


    "As long as you don''t go around exploring in the areas the garrison is actively using, you may do so." Duran told John a hint of awkwardness in his tone.


    Everyone was silent for a moment as Duran quickly wrote out the permission on a note and handed it to John. Afterwards he turned a look at Kal¨¦.


    "Your friend is a strange fellow Kal¨¦."


    Kal¨¦ laughed, the first genuine amusement John had seen on him since they had begun this entire conversion.


    "Indeed! John is an interesting and sometimes strange fellow! He has surprised me quite a few times over the years I have known him. Just when I think I have him figured out he goes and does something like this."


    Duran turned back to John.


    "Well, Strange John, take these as well. A gift to start off a warm friendship between us."


    The man reached his hand out to John who grasped it. The man transferred a large number of runes. Truly, it was a large number of runes. Enough to pay for the full set of armor that John knew Kal¨¦ had for sale twice over.


    It was about two thirds of what he expended in the Church of Elleh when he gained the strength of runes, bringing the amount of runes he had back to just under what he had had before he had strengthened himself. Feeling the potency of the mass of runes in him, John could tell he still didn''t have enough to strengthen himself again.


    It was with this that John realized what Duran had been asking for. What John wanted from Duran to keep his mouth shut.


    "I shall go inform the lucky men who have just earned a surprise break for the rest of the day." Torrin said before he left the room.


    After looking at the quartermaster to make sure there was nothing more he wanted them for, Kal¨¦ turned and left the room. John followed him, and they made their way back to the tower courtyard.


    Kal¨¦ began unloading his donkey to prepare to trade his goods. John considered questioning Kal¨¦ about what had just transpired in the tower, but decided to put it off until they were on the road by themselves.


    "Do you need any help Kal¨¦?" John asked.


    Kal¨¦ waved him off.


    "No. I can handle my own goods. You wanted to explore these ruins? We only have half a day before the light fades and you won''t be able to sate your curiosity until we come through here again.


    "In fact, here, take my lantern," Kal¨¦ handed him a small lantern attached to a chain, "If you go looking into some of the cellars around here you''ll need this."


    John lashed the lantern to his hip and turned his attention to the area around him. He could see a number of staircases spread around the area, but he decided to wait until night fell before he searched in the courtyard as he was sure this must be where the item he remembered was held. He had seen many other stairs built around the camp as he had been guided through it.


    John went off and started exploring various cellars and eroding buildings of the ruins. As he did, some thoughts unrelated to his exploration churned in his head.


    Over the course of five years John had forgotten many of the details about the Elden Ring game he had played, but some details still stuck around even now.


    He had, of course, written everything he could think of and remember in journals in his first year in the Lands Between as soon as he had been able to pay Kal¨¦ to get some writing materials. But at that point it had been a year since he had arrived here. It had been a couple years since he had sat down and read through the entirety of his notes and the details about item locations were getting foggy.


    John thought he knew Elden Ring pretty well. Better than the majority of players at least. He hadn''t been one of those people who knew literally every detail of every single drop location and item description because they played the game for a living. But he definitely wasn''t a ''casual'' about his game knowledge either.


    As elitist as that sounded, it was his honest assessment of his situation.


    Back when he played John had known off the top of his head where all the important, valuable, and unique drops were. He had played and replayed the game a lot in his free time for the first two months after the game''s release, and had beaten it a half dozen times since it had first came out nearly a year ago; though he had slowly lost interest in Elden Ring and switched to playing other games like the new COD: Modern Warfare 2 when it came out.


    He had even gotten a little into the lore of Elden Ring fairly at one point, enough to actually watch some lore videos on it. It had been the first time he had ever done that for a video game that wasn''t a Bethesda game.


    But by the time John had had the ability to write anything he remembered about the game down, he had forgotten most of the lore details about why he knew what he knew even if he could still rattle off item locations or dungeon and enemy placements still.


    He still remembered most of the big picture stuff when it came to the lore. Marika is Radagon, Miquella had been kidnapped by Mogh, Ranni was the mastermind behind the Night of the Black Knives, stuff like that. But he didn''t remember much outside of those sorts of big picture things.


    Back when he wrote all this stuff down, he had even remembered what lore was known as something that was ''for sure'' and what he knew that was just theories and speculation. He noted those distinctions in the journals back then, even if now years later it had all blended together into a blurry fog.


    He would have to start refreshing his knowledge of lore and item locations in the evenings now that he no longer has that time dedicated to figuring out how to make himself stronger with runes.


    The item drop locations would be of limited immediate practical use as the Lands Between in real life were an actual full sized continent not a video game his character could run across in under five minutes, but in the abstract things were still in roughly the same areas. The Church of Elleh being an example with it being near the coast.


    Now that he was traveling John didn''t know when the opportunity would come where he could grab something good. As long as it wouldn''t obstruct the Chosen Tarnished from getting something potentially vital or irreplaceable. It was why he never went after the crimson and cerulean tears flasks in the Stranded Graveyard in the Fringefolk Hero''s Grave despite it being within sight of the Church of Elleh.


    John kept exploring the ruins for hours. He searched whatever remains he could find in the cellars trying to figure out what these ruins had been long ago. What did people do here, and how did they do it? Whatever was left aboveground had long since been reduced to dirt and dust by the elements.


    The ruins themselves had long since lost many of the details about the masonry work to erosion by the weather, but piecing together something on fragmented evidence was just part of the fun for John.


    He had always loved a good puzzle or mystery as long as the pieces to answer said mysteries were present, even if it was difficult to do so. That was part of what had made him love Elden Ring when he first played it in all its cryptic and slightly-janky glory.


    If all of From Software''s games had been like that back on Earth, he regretted not playing them at the time, even if he had been unwilling to go back and play the older games. Back then he had heard that and thought that they would be just older, less refined, and smaller versions of Elden Ring, and John had thought he could play them later if he really wanted.


    How things had changed.


    As he thought of all this, John felt he had missed his true calling as an anthropologist or archeologist. He hadn''t realized that was one of his true passions until his college days were long over. He was just an amateur and knew almost nothing of the serious work of those two professions, but he felt he had some amount of talent and passion for that sort of thing. Much more than for what he had actually ended up doing for work.


    So John spent the rest of the day spelunking through the cellars of the ruins only stopping to have a meal with some of the soldiers later in the day.


    By the time John returned to the courtyard to meet with Kal¨¦, the sun had already begun setting and Kal¨¦ was packing up his goods.


    Kal¨¦''s bags were just as full as they had been at the start of the day, but the lumpy impression of the goods were different than they had been. It looked like Kal¨¦ had been successful in his trading.


    "You''re back John? Did you find anything interesting exploring?"


    "It looks like this had been a normal town once or something similar. An absolutely mind blowing conclusion I know," John said sarcastically, "I found plenty of small household tools that had rusted and a lot of pottery that were covered in dragon imagery that had once stored things. Not sure what the dragons mean exactly.


    "I think I''m gonna look around the cellars here and then call it a night."


    Kal¨¦ chuckled.


    "These ruins are that interesting to you? Whatever you desire to do with your time.


    "Duran has already come by and set me with everything we need for our business with him. We''ll be bedding in that slightly overgrown building over there next to that storeroom. I''ll leave your bedroll out for you. If you want dinner, you can just get some from our supplies."


    John made some short small talk with Kal¨¦ as Kal¨¦ finished packing his stuff up, before John began looking through the cellars of the tower area. It was on searching his third cellar that he found what he was looking for.


    They weren''t in a chest like they had been in the game. Instead John found a small ornate metal urn that gave off a faint presence of more to his infantile mystical sense.


    That faint aura intensified when he opened the lid on the urn to reveal the ashes themselves. Where the wisp of the Site of Grace gave off the faintest feeling of vitality, vigor, and orderliness, like waking up to clean bedroom with a bright sunlight and being full of energy for the day, these ashes in front of John felt more like that instant flash of recognition you get when you are struggling to place something or someone and you snap your fingers and point as it finally clicks in your head.


    In the same small urn he had found a small stone knife-like tool with a wooden handle whose blade was inscribed with the runes. Not just any runes, but the same divine runes he had used to become stronger.


    This was the whetstone knife.


    In the game this thing was able to let someone modify the ashes of war on a weapon. Not that John knew how to use this tool or even how to use an ash of war yet, but this thing was the only way John knew of that he could access that would let him interact with ashes of war like that.


    The Chosen Tarnished would be able to do that at Smithing Master Hewg in the Roundtable Hold as well, so John taking this wouldn''t deny the Chosen Tarnished of anything for long.


    Quickly pocketing the knife which didn''t give off any aura on his person, John wrapped the urn in a thick layer of cloth making sure there were no gaps. The material was enough to cut off the mystical presence the ash was giving off to where John could no longer sense it and he wrapped it more just to be sure.


    John discretely carried the small bundle out and stored them with the rest of his stuff packed away on Kal¨¦''s donkey, before John laid down into his bedroll.


    The next morning they were up at the crack of dawn, and after breaking their fast, they left the Stormgate heading east.

 Chapter 4 - John

    _____________________________________


    Early in the morning John and Kal¨¦ exited the encampment ruins and approached the Stormgate itself.


    The Stormgate</a>


    It was a towering stone gatehouse, like what would be found in a castle''s wall, but situated in the crack of the sheer over-two-hundred foot tall cliffs. This turned the sheer cliffs of Stormhill''s plateau into a defensive wall.


    The two towers at either end of the gatehouse were fantastically tall, extending above the cliffs themselves. At various points in the towers'' rise archway bridges with balconies hung between them allowing layers of men the ability to shoot down on attackers.


    The gate on the gatehouse was wide and tall enough for at least two giant carriages pulled by trolls to pass through at once. This made the gatehouse almost seem like it was made by giants, and considering that Godrick and the Golden Order had an army of trolls at his beck and call it may have well been. The gatehouse had no entrance to the towers or upper levels located on the bottom part of the structure that John could see. It would seem if an enemy wanted to access the towers they would have to enter from atop the cliffs above.


    The sheer scale of the giant fortification looked more impressive than almost any similar structure John had seen before, matching the most massive and impressive keeps he had seen in Europe.


    It must have been much easier to build stuff at this scale when you had literal giants to use as labor. And to think this was just a significant gatehouse. John could scarcely imagine what Leyndell would look like.


    Just seeing it was enough to make John look forward to seeing Stormveil even if he dreaded the idea of entering the place.


    After a small cursory inspection by the men at the gatehouse entrance, they passed through the gatehouse, and on the other side was the pass: a long incline up to an elevated shelf of land above that made the cliffs. Just as the cliffs were higher in real life than the game, so too was the pass longer.


    There were many temporary fortifications such as large wooden barriers and the wooden spiked anti-cavalry barricades called a chevaux-de-frise, or a horse from Frise, present, but they were all sat unused at the edges of the pass, ready to be moved into place when needed. The groups of men guarding the pass, most of whom looked either tired from the night or dreary from just waking up, stood in groups either shooting the shit with each other or working at some task. John spotted some men who would habitually glance at Kal¨¦, sneer, and then go back to what they were doing, but he and his friend made their way up the pass without any trouble.


    At the top wasn''t the familiar scenery that John knew by heart from the game.


    Rather than the stone road leading immediately into a gentle turn up to the shack that the Chosen Tarnished finds Roderika in, instead the road continued straight on into the distance uphill and disappeared into winding hills that John didn''t recognize.


    Splitting off from the stone road a few dirt paths branching off into different directions. To the left in the distance at the very edge of his vision, John could just make out what may have been some of those stone caterpillars that were found around evergaols, but the evergaol holding the Crucible Knight was not within sight.


    Kal¨¦ didn''t stop and kept walking up the stone road that would take them to Stormveil Castle, and John followed.


    ________________________


    As the sun rose high into the sky, they decided it was about time to rest for a short time and make lunch. They made a quick camp in a dry dirt patch right off the stone path.


    John helped Kal¨¦ find kindling and start the campfire, and then sat back as Kal¨¦, the better cook between the two of them, started making preparations to make a stew.


    As Kal¨¦ started taking out the cooking pot and readying his packs to be able to easily get what he would need to make their meal, John decided it was time to talk to Kal¨¦ about what had happened at Gatefront Ruins yesterday.


    John wanted to make sure no one was around to overhear their coming conversation. He looked around, and John didn''t see anyone within sight, only the green rolling hills dotted with small copses of trees and pockmarked with ruined bits of Farum Azula that had fallen across the earth.


    John mentally centered himself and made sure to keep outright hostility out of his tone as he started speaking.


    "Hey Kal¨¦. I wanted to know what the hell you were thinking, having me let in on this secret stuff you have going on with those guys yesterday? I don''t care that you are some sort of spy for Godrick, but I don''t want to be involved with this sort of crap. It''s not something I need to know.


    "I want to stay as far away from Godrick as I can, and now I''m involved in whatever you have going on!" John said as he let out some of the irritation from the previous day show.


    Kal¨¦ didn''t stop making cooking preparations as he responded, but he did glance up to look John in the eyes as he began speaking. He didn''t stop lighting the campfire and stayed calm, unperturbed by John''s displeasure.


    "Do you think I did that on a whim John? No, it was very deliberate. There are certain things that cannot nor should not be hidden when you are traveling with someone. This is one matter that I both cannot and should not hide from a friend who will be traveling with me for the foreseeable future."


    Kal¨¦ stopped his cooking preparations. He reached down into his shirt and pulled out a piece of folded parchment adorned with a wax seal. It was the letter that Duran had given Kal¨¦ to deliver.


    "Come sit next to me and see."


    Giving Kal¨¦ the chance to explain himself, John moved and sat next to Kal¨¦.


    Kal¨¦ presented the folded cream color parchment to John. He flipped it over and back a few times, showing off both sides of the parchment, opaque and unmarked. Kal¨¦ leaned forward, John following him, and carefully held the letter as near to the fire as he could without setting it aflame, blocking part of the fire''s light using the letter. The parchment was thick enough that no glow from the fire made it through the parchment except at the very edges.


    John was wondering what Kal¨¦ was doing but could see the man wasn''t done yet.


    Kal¨¦ then turned around and ruffled around in his packs. He took out an old-style telescope that was about the size of his arm from fist to elbow.


    Telescope</a>


    Kal¨¦ flipped the telescope upside down and held it with his knees with the large end pointing towards the ground and the small end pointing up. He used one hand to hold the letter on top of the small end of the telescope. He wrapped his other hand around the large end of the telescope, and after a few seconds John saw a bright yellow glow start to peek through his fingers.


    A bright yellow light emerged from the small end of the telescope, bright enough that its glow pierced through the parchment, and it was only then John understood what Kal¨¦ was doing!


    John could just make out inky black characters of writing on the parchment! The characters on the folded writing material overlapped each other in fragmented sections, but were still legible.


    Kal¨¦ then used a twig to write the fragments of writing in the dirt, and after a minute of puzzling out the correct order, the contents of the letter were revealed.


    "Lord Godrick, Son of the Golden Lineage,


    I have news about the important matter of Kenneth Haight that you instructed me to investigate. I have learned that it is worse than Your Lordship feared. The man is not just a particularly dissatisfied subject. He is a traitor who is conspiring to oppose you and to usurp your vassals from you.


    I obtained information from a man in the Haight household that the man regularly disparages Your Lordship''s lineage to the lesser lords who he is the liege lord of and sees you as an illegitimate ruler. He talks to family about seeking to establish a coup as well.


    I have also obtained a copy of a letter Lord Haight sent to Castle Morne that proposed the prospect of marriage with Edgar''s only child, Irina. I suspect this is the beginning of a ploy for him to gain influence over the Weeping Peninsula similar to that he has over eastern Limgrave, and to further his goal of unseating you as the true ruler of Limgrave. I do not know more of his plans for how he may be planning to achieve this.


    I will be sending copies of messages my informants sent me on the Stormgate''s next supply shipment.


    You know of my connections with the savages. My recommendation would be to utilize those and nip both growing problems in the bud.


    I fear I must write of another troubling matter as well. Over the past few years I have noticed Sir Oric has occasionally been behaving strangely ever since the death of his wife. Recently I became suspicious of this strangeness and decided to have someone look into the man. It was as I thought. A particular blood-red brooch was found hidden in one of the man''s personal chests.


    That a number of your men from Leyndell feel deep loyalty to sir Oric for his impressive martial talent makes this a sensitive matter as well.


    I seek guidance from what you wish for me to do Lord Godrick. I await your orders.


    Your loyal subject,


    Duran, Quartermaster of the Stormgate"


    Once Kal¨¦ saw John finish reading the message in the dirt, he swept his stick back and forth and destroyed all evidence of the message before turning back towards John.


    "You accused me of being a spy for Godrick? I have no loyalty to the man. I am just a messenger who carries letters back and forth for Duran, and never has a seal on a message given to me been broken. He employs me for that reliability of unbroken seals and occasionally I can call on a favor from him. He pays very, very well when messages are urgent.


    "You may hold no ill-will towards us Nomadic Merchants, but the people of the Lands Between are not like you. There is a reason why most of us you will meet are by themselves. The people of the Lands Between do not like us, especially when we gather in any notable numbers. I have seen pogroms because of it.


    "It behooves one like me to know which way the wind is blowing. To know when a problem is brewing in an area so I know to stay far away until it is over. Acting as a discrete messenger with no one the wiser of my knowledge of those messages, it allows me to know things I never could as a simple estranged wandering merchant."


    John no longer felt annoyed at Kal¨¦, but now he was confused.


    "Why are you showing me all this Kal¨¦? You shouldn''t be telling anyone this! What if they told someone!?"


    Kal¨¦ smiled at John.


    "You do not understand John. You are my friend. I am not using this word lightly as most do. I believe that over my long life I have learned how to see a man''s true character, and we have known each other for years now. I know that you will not betray me."


    Hearing Kal¨¦ say that, John felt deeply honored that Kal¨¦ thought that of him. At the same time it felt a weight of responsibility was placed on John''s shoulders. But rather than bowing him under its weight, paradoxically, that weight made John''s back stronger, made him stand straighter and taller.


    He would not disappoint Kal¨¦. Not a word of this would ever leave his lips.


    John had his own secrets, but he didn''t feel obligated to tell Kal¨¦ them even after this confession from his friend. John knew Kal¨¦ still had plenty of secrets of his own that he hadn''t mentioned to John, like that flame Kal¨¦ had manifested in his hand that John knew the true horrid nature of. That was far more dangerous to John than the secret messenger stuff Kal¨¦ was telling him of now.


    Kal¨¦ had only shown John this secret of his because Kal¨¦ couldn''t realistically hide this from John, and it could put them both in danger if John unknowing blabbed something that might blow Kal¨¦''s cover with this.


    None of the secrets that John knew of would be all that relevant to Kal¨¦''s safety. In fact a random nomadic merchant knowing them would only endanger Kal¨¦, so John felt no need to share them.


    "I still don''t want to be involved in any of this business you have going on between you and Godrick''s men, Kal¨¦. I can see why you told me about the letter and stuff, but I don''t want to get involved anymore than I absolutely have to. I don''t think it is worth the runes either."


    Kal¨¦ tilted his head towards John in acceptance.


    With that issue resolved, Kal¨¦ and John cooked and enjoyed their lunch despite the lesser quality of trail meals. After that they cleaned up and continued on their way across Stormhill.


    _____________________________


    The next couple of days passed without incident as they made their journey along the stone road towards Stormveil.


    Eventually they approached a particular turn in the road. It was just an ordinary turn swerving in and around the rolling hills on their way up the hills, like many others they had spent the last few days walking through.


    But in John''s mind the turn stood out starkly to him. To him, it was one of the most distinctive spots despite its mundanity. One that he had seen dozens of times in the game.


    It was slightly different than how he remembered it in the game''s depiction. That was not all that surprising as that was a game and this was a real, fully fledged world.


    And his hunch was proven right as they approached something notable just off the side of the road.


    Right off the stone path of before the bend in the road, sitting in a small patch of grass and clovers that had turned a rich sparkling metallic gold, was a seemingly regular young brown wooden tree. Or it would have been a regular tree, if it hadn''t been for the faintest impression of glowing gold that started appearing on the tree as John got closer and closer to it.


    Golden Sapling</a>


    It was a golden sapling, a child of the Erdtree.


    In his head, John always thought of these baby Erdtrees as being small, but the sapling in front of him was already a little taller than he was.


    Seeing John stop, Kal¨¦ stopped as well as watched as John looked at the tree.


    "Incredible, is it not? The glowing gold? Almost blinding. A tree connected to life and death itself."


    Confusion came over John''s face as he turned to Kal¨¦.


    "Blinding? I can barely see any gold at all. It''s mostly brown."


    Kal¨¦ looked puzzled at John''s words for a moment.


    "You cannot see it? The gold? Why... Ah. I see."


    Kal¨¦ turned in commiseration and placed a hand on John''s shoulder.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "You have my pity John, but I must tell you. You see, some people can more clearly see the gold of the Erdtree than others, and there are some unfortunate people who are born unable to see gold of the Erdtree at all. You seem to only be able to see the barest traces of gold."


    John tilted his head, still confused.


    "Don''t all the people of the Golden Order have the Grace of Gold? Or is it only the tarnished that can see the Guidance of Grace? And only some of them? Why would it be expected that I be able to see the gold of the Erdtree at all?"


    Kal¨¦ shook his head at himself with a rueful grin.


    "Sometimes I forget your circumstances with how insightful you can be at times. I can see how a foreigner could confuse these things. Gold, the Grace of Gold, and the Guidance of Grace are all three different and distinct things. Let me tell you the understanding of the people of the Lands Between about these things.


    "Gold, the shining gold we were speaking of, not the mundane metal or the simple color gold, comes from Erdtree. It embodies life and comes from the Erdtree. Nearly everyone can see gold, more or less, regardless of whether or not they have the Grace of Gold, or the Guidance of Grace. I am not a priest of the Golden Order so I will leave it there, but that is essentially what gold is.


    "On the other hand the Grace of Gold, or to put it another way the Grace of the Erdtree, is a blessing that Goddess Marika gave to her chosen people, those of the Golden Order. Like a bloodline, it is passed down to one''s children. However this grace is veiled from sight. Despite its presence, no one can see the grace itself, not even those who have grace. However there are signs one can use to know if someone has grace.


    "There is a saying: "the eyes are a window to one''s spirit". Despite the practice having fallen away long ago, it is known that when a drake knight undergoes dragon communion their eyes change to that of a dragon''s, revealing their now-draconic inner nature even if you cannot yet see the draconic influence with your eyes. In time, their body will shift to match their inner spirit, and they become dragons cursed to crawl on the ground forever.


    "In a similar way, one can see the glow of gold in the eyes of those who have the Grace of the Erdtree. Their spirit possesses grace and so their eyes reflect the truth of their inner spirit. So those of the Golden Order and the Golden Lineage have golden eyes."


    Hearing this surprised John. He had assumed the golden eyes of Godrick''s soldiers were just a natural eye color in this fantasy land. He hadn''t realized the significance of their color. This eye color thing made it really obvious that he and Kale were foreigners just by looking at their eyes. It was actually a really good method of knowing who was part of the Golden Order in terms of heritage.


    Kal¨¦ continued as John integrated what he had just heard with everything else he knew about the Lands Between.


    "The Tarnished are so named because they once had the Grace of Gold, but they have been stripped of it, causing their golden eyes to fade, to tarnish. Their eyes having lost their golden shine, the tarnished are left with the eyes of outsiders to the Golden Order. Eyes like that of people like you or me.


    "Not only that, they have been marked with something akin to a curse, almost like a dark reflection of grace has been placed within them. This curse of their spirit causes them to be rejected by the Erdtree upon death. Anyone who meets a tarnished can just feel that the person standing before them is a tarnished. It cannot be hidden. A darkness, a shadow, a shade has been placed on their very being and others can feel it.


    "They have not just lost the unique grace that those of the Golden Order possess and had their eye color change. Due to their curse all trace of gold has been taken from them, even that which all life possesses that ties it to the Erdtree.


    "Their inner spirit will not be embraced by the Erdtree when they die, leaving their spirits unable to pass on after death and unable to rejoin the cycle of life. Unable to interact with the Erdtree, they have been removed from the proper cycle of life and death.


    "And like a twisted version of the Grace of the Erdtree given to those of the Golden Order, this tarnished curse that was placed upon them will also be passed to their children making them tarnished as well."


    Kal¨¦ paused here to see if John was following what he was saying. Seeing that John was still following him Kal¨¦ continued.


    "The Guidance of Grace is something that is bestowed by the Greater Will only on those who are tarnished.


    "The Greater Will wishes to establish a new Elden Lord who will make the Elden Ring whole once again, and it has beckoned all tarnished to come to the Lands Between to do so. The living descendants of the tarnished as well as the dead tarnished that have fallen over the passage of time. The Greater Will has blessed every tarnished to come to life once again for a second chance.


    "This guidance lifts the veil blocking grace from one''s sight and allows grace to guide the tarnished down the path to becoming Elden Lord using grace. And this Guidance of Grace isn''t just the unveiling of grace but something that imbues the tarnished and is the cause of their undead existence, not allowing their bodies and spirits to stay dead.


    "As long as a tarnished truly strives down the path of becoming Elden Lord, they will keep the Guidance of Grace, and it will once again revive them if they perish. However once this guidance is lost by abandoning the quest to become Elden Lord, the Guidance of Grace never returns, and the next time a tarnished is dealt a mortal wound they will not revive again," Kal¨¦ finished.


    John took in all that information.


    It sparked some vague memories of item descriptions he''d read years ago, but he couldn''t remember any of the details. How all those things connected had always been murky and unimportant to him back when he had played Elden Ring. Who cares why the player revived? John had been more focused on the lore surrounding events around specific events rather than background details like this.


    Something that Kal¨¦ said did make his ears perk up. If the Greater Will only granted the Guidance of Grace to tarnished and only those who had the Guidance of Grace could see grace, how come John empowering himself with runes allowed him to see the barest hint of grace?


    At least he knew now that something abnormal was going on with him being able to see magical shit before he got himself into trouble.


    John spent a minute looking at the neat magical tree as he digested all that. Then curiosity struck and he bent down and started rummaging around in the grass. After a few moments he pulled his gloved hand back. In it was something that he recognized.


    Golden Seed</a>


    It was seed a pod. It was a brown color and John could see the faint impression of a golden glow imposed over the seed pod. The twisty and scraggly look of the pod was like one of those annoying seed pods covered in tiny hooks that got stuck to people''s clothes out in the brush in the fall. It specifically reminded him of the seed pod of a sycamore tree or a sweetgum tree, but neither quite fit it.


    Sycamore Seed Pod</a>


    Sweetgum Seed Pod</a>


    He''d never thought about what species of tree the Erdtree was exactly. The idea that it was just a magically enhanced type of regular tree instead of its own unique species had never crossed his mind.


    The Erdtree was far enough away that he still couldn''t see even an impression of gold like he could the seed and tree in front of him, so he was left with the stony facade hiding beneath the gold John knew everyone else saw. Not that the stony grey stump of the Erdtree that John could see reaching into the sky over the horizon matched what either a sycamore or sweetgum tree looked like.


    John wasn''t a tree scientist though, to be able to name what, if any, tree species the Erdtree was. It seemed to be a mix of a bunch of different trees he had seen that he didn''t know the names of.


    "You should set that down," Kal¨¦ told him, "I am not a devotee of the Erdtree, but to anyone who is, seeing you disturbing an Erdtree sapling or its seeds would greatly offend them. Especially if they found you carrying it."


    John shook his head.


    "I wasn''t planning on taking it; I just wanted to see what it looked like."


    He wasn''t the Chosen Tarnished after all. John wasn''t planning on taking anything that wasn''t easily replaceable. This would let them improve their flasks.


    John placed the seed back where he grabbed it from and stood up. As they resumed walking the stone road, John remembered something about the bend in the road they were about to get to.


    "Do we have to worry about any animals on this road Kal¨¦? Wolves or bears or anything?"


    Kal¨¦ shook his head.


    "Like in the lower areas of Limgrave, there are packs of wolves that roam Stormhill, but they are cowardly animals. Unless you are traveling alone, wolves will stay away from you. Even just me and Rabbit here rarely get bothered by them, and with you here as well I doubt any will want to make trouble.


    "Bears are much more dangerous, but unless you are being foolish or are terribly unlucky, you will not have a problem with them. Just keep your distance if you see one. The bigger problem with bears than seeing them as you travel is making sure they don''t smell your food and come upon your camp in the middle of the night. As long as you keep your food properly packed and don''t camp near where you ate, they should keep away from them."


    True to Kal¨¦''s words, they rounded the bend and there was no ambush by a pack of wolves that John knew happened in the game.


    Right as they came out of the bend there was a Site of Grace that John could only barely see as he got close and a dilapidated building.


    "Speaking of making camp, let''s use that ruined homestead there. I''ve been using this one when I come past here since it was first abandoned more than a decade ago."


    As they entered the small decaying building, there was no one else around beside them.


    John sighed in relief that Roderika, the spirit tuning girl, wasn''t here. Not only because what would happen to her and her men would be terrible, but there was no way he''d be able to deliver her message, so he''d feel terrible turning her down if she asked.


    After they were finished and cleaned up, they got back onto the road.


    Looking off to the sides, John could see in the far horizon the hills giving way to empty air. As the hills went upwards towards Liurnia the land was slowly narrowing, being choked on both sides by the encroaching ocean.


    ______________________________


    Days later, John dearly wished he still had modern transportation as he approached the crest of the final hill that led to the peak of Stormhill.


    "The march has taken the vigor out of you has it not?" Kal¨¦ ribbed. "That is why I have trusty Rabbit here." Kale patted his donkey.


    John ignored Kal¨¦ and focused on what was in front of him. Just in the distance was the massive crumbling stone bridgework that led to the Divine Tower. This massive bridge spanned across nearly the entirety of Limgrave to get from Stormveil to the Divine tower. Like the Stormgate, the bridge''s scale was literally gigantic even if it was half destroyed. So large that sections of forest were growing under it in between the supporting pillar sections holding the bridge up.


    Following the bridge to the west it disappeared into massive stone castle walls. These rampart walls made up the outer ring of the fortification that took up almost the entirety of the hilltop from cliff-face to opposing cliff-face, only a thin strip of rocky outcroppings and forest perhaps two football fields across separated the outer walls of Stormveil and the ocean cliff.


    The stone path they were following forked. The right fork kept them heading straight in a north direction under the massive bridgework ahead of them, and the left fork headed west further uphill towards Stormveil.


    Turning left, after another hour of walking the hillside gave way to the sight of a massive stone castle gatehouse.


    It was only half the height of the Stormgate which meant it was still large enough for trolls to easily enter, but it was the same large two-wagon width as the Stormgate had been. Looking into the gatehouse entrance, John could see the tunnel that would lead to where Margit fought the Chosen Tarnished was at least the length of a football field.


    Leading up to the fortification was a similar situation to the pass of the Stormgate. Groups of men were going about their tasks as a number of wooden fortifications like barriers and chevaux-de-frise stood off to the side ready if they were to be needed.


    The upper part of the ramparts and gatehouse where the men would stand on the walls in a battle, called the battlements, had a protective section of stone on the outer edge of the wall raised to protect the men on the battlements from enemy projectiles. It was a wall to prevent enemies from below being able to shoot up at them.


    This stone block wall had deliberate square sections of the wall cut away, called crenels or crenelations, for the men on the battlements to be able to easily poke out and fire back before ducking back into safety of the raised wall. All the major fortifications of Limgrave John had seen so far seemed to have these crenelations giving them the classic square-jagged castle look.


    Lining the top of the gatehouse situated in the crenelations were small ballistae, over two dozen of them stretching across the entire length. Below near the entrance of the gatehouse sat a handful of even larger ballistae mounted on wheeled wooden contraptions to make mobile artillery. John remembered the larger ones fired exploding bolts.


    As John and Kal¨¦ approached with Kal¨¦ dismounted and in the lead, a small group of Godrick''s soldiers guarding the open gate in their vivid red and green surcoats approached.


    "Hail. Who''re you and what business be you two having at Stormveil Castle?" ordered the soldier.


    Kal¨¦ took a small step forward.


    "I am Kal¨¦, and I have something from the Stormgate Quartermaster that I am to give to Knight Captain Filk."


    "You hav'' somethin'' for Sir Filk? We can take it to em''."


    Kal¨¦ shook his head apologetically.


    "I''m sorry, but I was given very specific orders by the Quartermaster. I have to give it to Knight Captain Filk directly."


    The soldier and those behind him looked annoyed at that answer.


    "Fine. I''ll send a runner."


    The soldier pointed at another man in his group who nodded and went running off. They all stood around quietly for a minute before Kal¨¦ reached into his pack and pulled out a bottle that sloshed with a dark liquid.


    "While we are waiting, tell me. Would any of you be interested in some drink? I stocked up down at the Stormgate."


    That brought a smile back to the lead soldier''s face as he and his men started haggling with Kal¨¦.


    A few of them even got their eager hands on some booze before the man the soldier had sent to get Filk returned in tow with a man in full Godrick Knight armor, quartered surcoat and all. Everyone stopped haggling immediately and stoically waited for the knight to reach them. Kal¨¦ pulled out the letter as they waited for the man to make his way out from the gatehouse tunnel entrance to them.


    As he did, Kal¨¦ immediately presented the letter.


    "Knight Captain Filk. This is an urgent letter from the Stormgate."


    The man immediately took it and broke the seal and began reading. As the knight read, none of them could read his face hidden behind his helmet, but his originally relaxed body language tensed up as he read.


    When he was done, he folded the letter up and turned to Kal¨¦.


    "I must bring this to Lord Godrick quickly. You two, wait here while arrangements are being made about this. You may be needed shortly.


    "You are a Nomadic Merchant?" By the man''s tone it was an observation rather than a question, "While you wait you may sell your goods to the men here outside the tunnel gatehouse."


    The knight turned about face and urgently marched back towards the way he came from.


    Everyone looked at each other at the knight''s response, then the men resumed haggling with Kal¨¦ as if they hadn''t stopped.


    Ten minutes later, Kal¨¦ had a satisfied smile and each of the soldiers had some variety of booze that they had slightly overpaid for, even if Kal¨¦ was probably still undercutting most other sellers.


    Kal¨¦ and John set up a spot a little off the gatehouse entrance and waited. Soon enough, the men who had first bought from Kal¨¦ had spread the word of where they had gotten their drink, and men started approaching in one, twos, and small groups. They came to Kal¨¦ when they had free time in their duties or were no longer under the watchful eyes of their superiors and could skip out on them without being noticed.


    As Kal¨¦ conducted business, now that John was paying attention to it having never stuck around to witness it, he realized that Kal¨¦ was definitely putting all his years as a merchant to good use. He wasn''t getting paid in just runes.


    "I know this wine is worth twelve runes, it is close to the perfect age. But I can cut that down to ten runes like you are asking if you know have heard anything colorful or intriguing.


    "There was a man at the Stormgate that I traded with when I was there that said he had caught Knight Fergus washing his surcoat. He told me that a woman that Fergus was pursuing as a mistress had vomited on him after he had plied her with too much wine!"


    Kal¨¦ laughed at that and the man he was speaking to joined him, before the man shared a similarly embarrassing but ultimately unimportant rumor about another low-ranking Knight who had been getting frisky with a serving girl in a storage room when another Knight walked in on them.


    Only this knight who walked in on them was actually an aspiring paramour of the serving girl, and she had scheduled a rendezvous with the knight earlier in that day to meet in that storage room. As the two knights realized what was going on they got into a small scuffle.


    John was astonished by much rumormongering happened. It was like high school with how much all these people knew about each other''s business. As John watched him do his thing, Kal¨¦ was like a fish to water.


    Not only was Kal¨¦ a good haggler, but he even ferreted out little nuggets of information from the men for a ''discount'' when the men ''couldn''t meet the price''. And most of the men were all too happy to take the ''discount'' Kal¨¦ was offering. It was blatantly obvious to John what Kal¨¦ was doing here: intel gathering, but the soldiers seemed to just think Kal¨¦ was a gossipmonger and were all too happy to indulge him if it meant cheaper booze.


    Maybe it was just what little knowledge John did know about how intelligence organizations operated, and these lowly soldiers having probably come from farming villages and the like where they wouldn''t know even what little John did, but they didn''t seem to realize what was actually happening here.


    Despite that, most of them weren''t dumb despite this lack of realization, and they didn''t share anything of serious consequence about their superiors or the goings on of Stormveil.


    The biggest thing that had been shared with Kal¨¦ about the higher ups of Stormveil was that Godrick was organizing a farewell feast soon for one of his two remaining grandsons who still remained at Stormveil. The grandson was being sent off on a mission like many of Godrick''s other descendants apparently had been over the centuries. Not an especially important thing to know.


    After a while of watching Kal¨¦ work his magic and not actually being able to contribute anything, John started feeling bothered just lazing around watching Kal¨¦. On the trail he could hunt small game or do other tasks, but sitting here he was basically useless.


    With nothing else useful to do, John picked up his spear and started doing some simple drills a short distance away from where Kal¨¦ was haggling away his wares.


    The vast majority of the men who came to haggle drink from Kal¨¦ just ignored John, but a couple of them did point out some mistakes in his form. Things like how John held his elbows or the specifics of his stance and footwork. John corrected himself as he got these tips.


    In under three hours the men of Stormveil, ravenous for any drink they could get their hands on, had haggled Kal¨¦ out of all his booze. A few also traded some items rather than runes or wanted a few small other things that weren''t booze like some homemade low quality spice Kal¨¦ had made or a part of the pork they still had leftover from the pigs that had ambushed them.


    They spent the next hour after that turning away disappointed men who had arrived too late to get their hands on any booze. Word spread just as quickly about the lack of drink as it had of drink being for sale and quickly less men arrived to ply Kal¨¦ for his ware.


    As the last of the disappointed stragglers dried up, a man arrived. Kal¨¦ started once again explaining that he had run out of drink to sell when the soldier raised his hand to halt Kal¨¦ and informed him that he was not looking to trade.


    "You are Merchant Kal¨¦ who delivered a letter to Knight Captain Filk? Sir Filk sends word that you will not be required and are free to leave. Confirmation that the letter was received in good order will be sent back with the next supply dispatch."


    "What about my payment? The Stormgate Quartermaster mentioned that people here would most likely pay me on his behalf. It would help me greatly if that could be arranged.


    It takes weeks for the supply dispatch to reach here and then return to the Stormgate, and I will not be paid for delivering the message at the Stormgate until confirmation arrives."


    The soldier sneered.


    "I refuse. Wait for it at the Stormgate. It is not like penny pinching dishonest merchants are known for doing anything of value anyways. Sitting on their arse and earning money for nothing. Doubly so for you Nomadic Merchants. You can sit down at the Stormgate and wait without earning money for nothing for a change."


    Kal¨¦ put his hands together.


    "Please! Would you ask if Sir Filk or someone else would be willing to cover my payment on my patron''s behalf?"


    The man just shook his head with his face scrunched up in repugnance.


    "You will just have to wait for it."


    The man snorted and spit at Kal¨¦''s feet and walked away.


    Kal¨¦''s face seemed unaffected, but John could see his hand trembling ever so slightly. He knew Kal¨¦ enough to see from his body language that the merchant was angry.


    John stayed silent and let his friend cool as they packed everything up onto Rabbit. Then they got back on the road towards the Stormgate.


    It would be a while before they got their payment for this. Well, Kal¨¦ would be getting the payment. This was his rodeo, and John didn''t want a part in it.


    At least the way back was mostly downhill.

 Chapter 5 - Kalé

    ________________________________________________________


    A little over a week later they arrived at the Stormgate once again. They were let through and arrived at the Gatefront Ruins. A soldier once again escorted them to the tower at the center of the ruins that was used as a headquarters for the entire encampment.


    Kal¨¦ dismounted and went to enter but stopped when he noticed John wasn''t following. He turned around and looked at John with a raised eyebrow.


    "I''m gonna stay out here and watch Rabbit." John said in response.


    Kal¨¦ nodded back. He was not overly surprised by that. John had made his feelings on the subject of Kal¨¦''s dealings with Godrick''s men clear. John wanted nothing to do with them.


    Kal¨¦ entered the tower and went to Duran''s office where he found the man pouring over parchments about camp supplies and such. As Kal¨¦ entered Duran shifted his attention to Kal¨¦ and nodded his head in greeting.


    "Kal¨¦. You just got back just in time. I will be leaving to join Torrin in the sortie tomorrow. You delivered the message?"


    "Yes, Duran. I gave it directly to Knight Captain Filk. After he read them Sir Filk said he was taking them to Lord Godrick immediately. A few hours later a man came with word from Sir Filk that confirmation of my delivery of your message would be coming back with the next supply dispatch. However when I asked, he refused to pay me on your behalf."


    Duran frowned.


    "That is inconvenient and annoying. My men in Stormveil will need to be reprimanded. You know you have to wait until confirmation arrives before I give you your pay. That will most likely be a few weeks."


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "I know. John and I will not be waiting on it. We are just stopping here to inform you that the message had been delivered and to trade for some more supplies. I''ll collect the payment next time I come through here. I assume you don''t have any more work?"


    "I do not."


    Kal¨¦ nodded in acknowledgment.


    Duran must have seen that Kal¨¦ was about to leave as he raised his hand to stop him.


    "What about your friend, John? Why did he not come in here to meet me?"


    "John is outside watching my donkey. He doesn''t wish to become a messenger for you like I am. He told me he did not want to be involved in any shady business no matter how good the pay is."


    Kal¨¦ shook his head ruefully.


    John is a trustworthy man, and I thought this would be a good opportunity for him, but he is from a humble background. Meeting men as powerful as you and Sir Torrin and discussing the business of noble families of Limgrave has scared him off.


    "If I had known that the messages concerned such important matters I would have waited longer before introducing him to you." The lies mixed with half-truths flowed smoothly from Kal¨¦''s lips from centuries of experience.


    Duran frowned again.


    Kal¨¦ could tell that Duran was thinking less of John for supposedly not having the courage to grasp the ''amazing'' opportunity Duran had offered him. Kal¨¦ did not think less of John for his decision. He thought it was wise. His was attempting to do the same thing Kal¨¦ himself normally used outside the one exception of his dealings with Duran: taking refuge in obscurity.


    As Kal¨¦ started to step out of the door again, he was stopped again as Duran spoke. His voice was dangerously neutral as he looked pointedly at Kal¨¦ from behind his desk.


    "As long as he knows not to have loose lips. It would be a shame if he had the misfortune of being ambushed by a pack of demihumans on his travels and never seen again. The demihuman problem has gotten especially bad the past decade."


    Kal¨¦ understood Duran''s message.


    "John will not be a problem." Kal¨¦ said.


    With that, Kal¨¦ left Duran and went back outside the tower where he found John and Rabbit right where they had been when he left.


    Kal¨¦ wasn''t worried about Duran''s warning. John may have been young, but his friend was not stupid or lacking in acuteness when needed.


    The next few hours was spent with Kal¨¦ going to and fro in the camp trading to refill their supplies. John attentively watched the whole time trying to learn the proper prices and worth of things.


    As they left the Gatefront Ruins on the road east, Kal¨¦ decided he had been vindicated in feeling that taking John with him was an excellent decision.


    His friend may have been self taught when it came to the bow and spear, but he was capable enough as a hunter that John could at least provide for the two of them even if it slowed their pace slightly. The goods and runes saved on rations and the improved quality of their meal made the slightly slower travel worth it.


    Kal¨¦ was feeling so good because of his profits that he was not even annoyed that he was gonna have to wait till they made their way back from their next destination to pick up his payment for his last delivery. Unlike when Kal¨¦ was by himself, with John along hunting and otherwise acquiring supplies for them as they traveled, time did not eat into his savings the same way it normally did. So waiting a few weeks or months to get paid was not particularly detrimental to his collection of runes.


    As for what their next destination would be, John had seemed especially interested in Castle Morne when the topic had come up in conversation a few times before, so Kal¨¦ was going to make that their next target.


    In recent centuries Kal¨¦ had only rarely left Limgrave for a journey into the Weeping Peninsula, but Kal¨¦ still knew the route well and there would be plenty of small stops they could make on the way.


    As for why John wanted to go to the Weeping Peninsula and Castle Morne specifically... Kal¨¦ did not know. His friend was a puzzle that Kal¨¦ was enjoying slowly solving piece by piece.


    John had as many or more secrets than Kal¨¦ himself despite Kal¨¦ being older than most, yet his friend clearly still had the energetic vigor that left most people after their first or second century. By Kal¨¦''s estimation, John seemed to only be in the third decade of his life just like John himself had claimed.


    That was not something Kal¨¦ had believed at first due to his level of education. People in the Lands Between slowly educated themselves over time at a relaxed pace. John must have spent almost the entirety of his life buried in scrolls to learn all that he seemed to know.


    At first Kal¨¦ had thought the foreigner he had discovered was a spy of some sort sent into the Lands Between for some scheme by an outside power. Such schemes never worked for any real amount of time as those outside the Lands Between were far weaker than those inside. Strength was the deciding factor in such matters, but it never seemed to stop the weaker powers outside the Lands Between from trying. So Kal¨¦ had kept an eye on him.


    But as suspicious and odd as John was, the man had not acted like the couple of spies Kal¨¦ had seen. As time went on Kal¨¦ eventually had ruled that out as the most probable explanation for what was happening with John.


    The man had stayed cooped up in the Church of Elleh as a hermit for five years, refusing to leave until he had figured out some obscure magic. Not exactly spy behavior. And there were far more secrets to John than just where he came from or how and why he had arrived at the Lands Between.


    Until recently Kal¨¦ had suspected John was some sort of exile or fugitive from his homeland. Maybe a scholar or young noble who ran from his family for some reason, who had learned of the Lands Between from travelers'' tales and came here. It was clear that John had possessed some knowledge of the Lands Between before Kal¨¦ had found him soon after he had arrived, but it was also clear he had never lived here.


    John rarely outright lied to him; Kal¨¦ had been slowly realizing as what he had thought to be lies turned out not to be. Kal¨¦ realized his friend usually just refused to answer questions he did not want to answer.


    For example Kal¨¦ had never believed John when John had claimed he didn''t know or why he had arrived on an empty beach on the coast of Limgrave.


    But with what the man had done on that night in the Church of Elleh... with him managing to copy a sacred ability that was handed down from the Greater Will itself through the Two Fingers...


    Replicating a divine miracle in front of Kal¨¦''s eyes! A feat greater than any Kal¨¦ had ever seen before!


    And it was not just that. Kal¨¦ had heard tales from those who had met demigods in the flesh, those like General Radahn or the Blade of Miquella herself. He had heard that just standing in their presence revealed to them that demigod was not just a title, that the reality of their divinity impressed itself on those around them.


    When John had channeled whatever that rite of his was and that golden glow infused him, Kal¨¦ could feel something pressing on him. Something impossible to describe precisely but that showed him as greater than Kal¨¦, more than a man, more definite than the world around him.


    It had faded once John stopped, but for those faint few moments, Kal¨¦ knew he was in the presence of divinity itself. He could never forget the feeling. The presence of a demigod! Or maybe even something greater...


    So Kal¨¦ was no longer ruling anything out about John.


    Kal¨¦ had reevaluated many of his ideas of the man since that night, since John had recreated a divine power using his own hands.


    John had proven that he was far, far more than he had appeared to be, and now Kal¨¦ actually believed his friend about not knowing how he had come to be in the Lands Between.


    Clearly John was here by the will of the Greater Will itself. Even if John didn''t realize it himself as he didn''t seem to quite understand how fantastical what he achieved was, his friend''s lack of self-confidence made him hesitate to embrace his role in the world.


    It was like seeing the beginnings of Lord Godfrey as he just began learning how to use an axe, long before he became a storied warrior.


    Kal¨¦ now thought just being near John went against Kal¨¦''s long practiced strategy of safety through obscurity. Kal¨¦ was certain that eventually as he gathered the strength of runes John would shed the over-humbleness that had been instilled in him and step into his own, no doubt attracting many troubles to him.


    Assuming John wasn''t killed while he was still insignificant and hadn''t begun fulfilling his potential. An important part of keeping John alive would be his story of how he as a foreigner got here. Most didn''t ask, but he would have to speak to John about making a story about how he arrived here.


    While any untrue story would have holes, Kal¨¦ had found that most people just didn''t believe that people lied as often and as much as people actually did, so John probably wouldn''t be found out that way as long as the story was simple and hard to contradict.


    And considering the potential that may be gained from staying by John''s side...


    Kal¨¦ dared to imagine an Elden Lord that wasn''t of the abominable Golden Order; the Order who had condemned his own people in the distant past to a fate veiled in shadow, unknown to nearly anyone who still lived.


    This sort of bold decision was usually the first step to a merchant''s death, but Kal¨¦ was willing to shoulder that risk this time. The risk was worth the reward.


    Honestly, this was almost certainly going to lead to his death, but Kal¨¦ was going to dare to dream this once. Dare to step out and bet he would not be hammered down.


    He would do it for the same reason he involved himself with Duran and Godrick''s men despite the danger, besides just getting a peak at the region''s goings-on at a higher level.


    He would do it to achieve the goal he had been pursuing for more than a millennia. To learn the truth of his roots, of his people.


    What had happened to them, and to the Great Caravan, so long ago. Why they were as they were now, and the path they are heading to in the future.


    To learn their-his-fate, past and future. And to learn the truth of just why his people were reviled.


    Just the thought of it made the embers at the center of his eyes begin to burn feverishly. Kal¨¦ had to calm himself, lest his people''s blight flare up.


    He had been debating leaving Limgrave off and on for years already before any of this had happened. Kal¨¦ had searched for every burial crow here in Limgrave, in Liurnia, in every region he could find. Crows with pieces of knowledge that his people would leave for those that came later when they foresaw their own deaths. Scraps of knowledge they wished to share before meeting their ends.


    Yet none of these had led him a step closer to the knowledge that he sought. That the Golden Order kept buried, secreted away, so that none may look upon or know of it.


    If he really wanted to plumb the depths of the Golden Order for the deepest secrets of what really happened to his people, John was how he would achieve that. And if John delivered that to Kal¨¦, he would have his undying loyalty.


    __________________________________________________


    Over the next few days as they made their way east towards Murkwater Bridge.


    On their way they made the occasional stop at places off the main path of the stone road at remote farms or small villages of just a couple dozen individuals. As they traveled Kal¨¦ noticed that John kept alert looking off the left side of the road towards the north.


    It was similar to when John''s paranoia about Godrick''s patrols in the forest on their way towards the Stormgate had the man ready to jump at any moment, but it did not match exactly.


    Rather than on guard for something, to Kal¨¦ it seemed John was looking for or waiting for something. What was it? Kal¨¦ had no idea, but this was just another piece of the puzzle that John was.


    It appeared his friend did not find whatever it was he had been looking for because as they reached Murkwater Bridge John stopped looking. Instead his attention was taken up by the bridge itself. Knowing his friend would be interested in this sort of detail about the landscape, Kal¨¦ started to explain to him the significance of Murkwater Bridge.


    The massive but shallow lake that sat in the center of Limgrave was called Lake Agheel after the dragon who prowled the lake. Lake Agheel was fed from the north by a river called the Murkwater River as well rainfall and numerous small freshwater streams.


    In a strange display of an inverse of the usual order of nature, as Lake Agheel sat below sea level, the Murkwater River was actually a river that flowed from the ocean to the lake instead of from the lake to the ocean.


    However the ocean water could only barely climb high enough to pass over the lips of the canyon and flow down to feed the Murkwater River during high tides during the spring when the tides are at their highest of the entire year. The rest of the year no water flowed down the Murkwater River into Lake Agheel except for rainwater and smaller streams.


    This flow of ocean water had carved a large canyon from the ocean to Lake Agheel and the Murkwater Bridge spanned across the large gap between the canyon cliffs.


    Kal¨¦ watched as John hungrily listened to whatKal¨¦ told him and then as he marveled at the bridge''s construction.


    The other bridges they had crossed were small bridges over small streams, mostly made of wood. Meanwhile the Murkwater Bridge was arguably the largest intact bridge in Limgrave with only the Bridge of Sacrifice that connected Limgrave to the Weeping Peninsula to the south rivaling it.


    The Murkwater Bridge was wide enough for a handful of trolls to walk shoulder to shoulder and was made of stone.


    In terms of how long the bridge was, unlike the bridge connecting Stormveil to the Limgrave''s Divine Tower, the Murkwater Bridge wasn''t a bridge that stretched across weeks worth of landscape. Instead it was only the distance of a handful of stone throws, the equivalent of a couple of minutes of walking.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    After Kal¨¦ and John crossed the Murkwater Bridge and turned south, later that day they encountered a procession. They moved off the road in respect to let pass by.


    The procession consisted of a pair of trolls that had been impaled by a chain hooked to a massive black carriage nearly the size of a swimming pool. The carriage did not have any doors and was boxy and decorated with elaborate engravings and robed figures praying.


    Hearse</a>


    The carriage was escorted by a detail of at least 10 warriors of Godrick''s soldiers and a couple of mounted Kaiden Sellswords cavalrymen along with a small herd of wandering nobles mindlessly being led by them.


    Kaiden Sellsword</a>


    John leaned over and whispered to Kal¨¦.


    "What are they pulling? That carriage looks like the huge wagons at the Stormgate Ruins but black with a stone box built on top of it. And why are those trolls impaled like that?"


    "That is a hearse with a great warrior entombed in the coffin within," Kal¨¦ whispered softly, "In the Lands Between the great heroes who fall in battle are toured across the lands for all to see and know their valor before they are given final burial rights of an Erdtree burial.


    "The trolls are impaled because they are being punished. Trolls are considered a cowardly race for a reason. They have a history of running from battles, surrendering, or turning coat when the odds turn against them.


    "When trolls are desert during a battle to save their own life, their punishment for the rest of time is to help pull the bodies of the bravest warriors and heroes who died and show those men''s glory, and their shame, to the world. They are impaled so they don''t run from their duty again.


    "These hearse carriages tour the Lands Between with an honor guard to escort them. The wandering nobles are just easily corralled helpers to assist in fighting off greedy tarnished or other bandits looking to rob the heroes'' graves for their equipment."


    The look on John''s face was something between pity, disgust, and fear as he watched the group pass by. Kal¨¦ saw John''s eyes become glued to the trolls'' guts.


    Troll Concept Art</a>


    Trolls Pulling Hearse</a>


    Troll Stomach</a>


    "Why are they disemboweled like that? And why are there roots inside their chests?" John whispered.


    Kal¨¦ shook his head.


    "I do not know why trolls are like that. The roots, the stone those roots hold, or why they have been gutted, but all trolls are like that. It is said that the trolls betrayed the fire giants and sided with the Erdtree during the Golden Order''s war against the giants. Maybe it has some relation to that? It is hard to know the truth as most trolls have gone somewhat insane by this point.


    "I do know that If the stone in their chest is destroyed a troll will die. That is why the impaling is an eternal punishment. The chain''s anchor pierces the stone and if removed would further damage it causing the troll to die."


    John was dissatisfied with that, but Kal¨¦ had already told him everything he knew.


    They waited there until the hearse and the honor guard were a distance away and then got back on the path and continued south.


    Later that day they stopped at another small village situated near a stream. It was still the afternoon but Kal¨¦ was expecting to spend quite some time trading.


    The village was composed of farmers, and it had a thicket of trees nearby. They set up a camp in the thicket and then Kal¨¦ began selling his wares. He''d had good success at trading in this village a few times.


    Farmers were always looking for drink, wool and salt, with the ones who got an especially good harvest looking to get some iron for tools or horseshoes. Kal¨¦ didn''t have iron this time though.


    As Kal¨¦ was plying his wares in the middle of the little village surrounded by fields of crops and a copse of woods, John made conversation with the townsfolk. Most of the older folk were wary and kept an eye on John, but the younger ones had more curiosity than sense and approached John to talk.


    It had been a good few hours with Kal¨¦ making some good trades and his friend enjoying his conversations with the farmers about what their lives were like when another farmer ran into the middle of the village. He was a young man that was clearly under twenty.


    "Everyone come quickly! My brother''s wife has had her baby! Come see! We''ll be having stew! Even you, the merchant! Come!" The young man waved them in the direction he came and ran off to spread the word more, his voice ringing out through the village.


    The townspeople near them, no doubt knowing who the young man had been talking about, started walking in the direction that the young man had waved. Their camp was already made, and Kal¨¦ saw that the sky had started to turn violet signalling time for him to pack things up anyways. So he and John gathered up his wares and followed the townspeople as they weren''t one to turn down a free dinner. They''d go to their camp nearby afterwards.


    When they arrived at a house at the outer edge of the village where the crowd had gathered, the crowd were chattering excitedly over the new child and offering of food.


    A few minutes later Kal¨¦ saw the family exit the house and the crowd quieted down. He saw the young man who had ran through the town exit the house contritely following behind a fully grown man whose flushed face betrayed that he was upset.


    The man''s skin was rough and deeply tanned from being weathered by many years of hard labor. The other half dozen people of the household, a few men and women stood, on the porch around the man.


    The man waved with both hands at the waiting crowd.


    "Sorry everyone. The celebration''s canceled. Please go back. My son was mistaken." The man announced, contrition in his voice.


    The entire crowd stayed silent and confused for a few moments along with Kal¨¦.


    As Kal¨¦ looked at the grim faces on the rest of the family members standing beside the man he realized that something had happened with the child. Sympathy filled his chest for the family. It was always terrible when something happened to one''s child. Stillbirths were heart wrenching.


    The crowd caught on a few seconds after Kal¨¦ and the mood turned melancholy. The crowd dispersed with Kal¨¦ and John following them. As they left, Kal¨¦ could hear the older man berating the younger man.


    "You damn bird brained fool! Why did you run off so early? Couldn''t you have just waited-"


    They walked out of earshot as Kal¨¦ and John left with the crowd. They circled back around to their forest camp in the nearby woods. As they hadn''t eaten dinner yet, they started preparing some of their rations. There wasn''t much conversation between them that dinner and as they ate Kal¨¦ saw that John looked somewhat troubled.


    A few minutes after they finished eating and were cleaning up John asked him a question.


    "What exactly was going on back there Kal¨¦?"


    "Many villages in the southern regions of the Lands Between have celebrations when a new child is born. It seems the young man of that family was overeager and invited everyone before the baby''s wellbeing was confirmed. I suspect it was a stillbirth."


    John still looked troubled.


    "But... Is there any other reason the celebration could be called off? Birth defects? Deformities? That sort of thing."


    Kal¨¦ could feel a grimace slip onto his face.


    "I am glad you saved these questions until after dinner. To answer you, yes. They are rare, but they do sometimes happen. Children born missing bits or having extra ones, or the flesh being otherwise malformed. Oftentimes the children are either accepted as servants by the local lord as a form of charity, or the children quietly... disappear."


    Disgust crawled across John''s face at this answer.


    "Is that it? Anything else about this sort of thing I should know?" John asked.


    Kal¨¦ paused a few moments as he considered how to explain.


    "I have already told you somewhat of how the Erdtree is at the center of the cycle of life and death? This is of some relation to that.


    "The Erdtree gives the blessing of life to all, and some are more blessed than others. But some people are unfortunately born cursed in one way or another. And the mundane deformities we were talking of earlier are not curses. Who knows why they happen, but they are not the result of curses.


    "There are a few different curses that people can commonly be born with.


    "Some are born with the Omen curse. It is a malediction that makes horns grow from one''s body and makes their body large and misshapen, but strong. Their horns, linked to the Crucible, are foul things and are excised immediately after birth. Often the child dies from this- "


    "What''s the Crucible?" John interjected, visibly struggling to recollect something.


    "The Crucible is the primordial form of the Erdtree. Before Goddess Marika created the Erdtree, the Crucible controlled the cycle of life and death. If you want to know more than that, you have to ask a scholar.


    "Returning to the Omen curse. If the child survives, for their entire life they will be plagued by a constant pain of the body and be haunted by nightmares of foul horned visages. This torment twists their minds over time usually making them uncontrollably violent or otherwise pushing them into all sorts of awful ends.


    "Omen rarely endure the test of time because of this as the pain chips away at their mind. Like the tarnished, they are outside the proper cycle of life and death with the Erdtree, but for different reasons.


    "Being born with the Omen curse is a matter of luck. Any child can be born an Omen, and those who are born Omen are made slaves, shunned, and used for battles and demanding labor due to their exceptionally strong and resilient bodies."


    At the mention of their enslavement, Kal¨¦ saw John grow flush with anger, but he didn''t say anything.


    "Thankfully it is a very rare curse, and the worst of the curse can be cut out of an infant even if it is at great risk to the babe''s health.


    "On the other hand, a much more common curse one can be born with is to be misbegotten.


    "Unlike the Omen who are mostly still human, Misbegotten are twisted chimeras made of multiple animals like birds, snakes, and other beasts joined together grotesquely with the form of a man. If they couldn''t talk, most would think them horrific monsters rather than men who were born cursed.


    "Like Omen, Misbegotten are enslaved upon birth if they aren''t outright killed. Unlike the Omen, their curse cannot be mostly excised as there is far more beastly flesh and getting rid of it would cause near certain death or life as a severe cripple in constant pain. So their chimeric flesh is not exercised.


    "As a result they are considered by most to be barely human, if even that, and are lower than Omen who are at least men, even if they are twisted and cursed. Misbegotten aren''t even given names. They name each other.


    "The way it is viewed, at least the Omen are born with strength. Misbegotten are often born weaker than men, their chimeric bodies a chaotic collection of random animal parts growing from a misshapen human body. Only rarely is a misbegotten born that is lucky enough to have the right parts in the right places to be stronger than a regular man.


    "Having a child of yours born as a misbegotten is considered a punishment for contravening the Erdtree in some way. Usually for not involving the Erdtree and its sap in the creation of a child and instead just basely breeding like a beast. This is considered a form of forsaking the Erdtree for the Crucible even if many don''t have a choice.


    "Lords and the well-off can afford the Erdtree sap to give to a mother during pregnancy to guarantee that a child is not born a misbegotten, but the common folk often cannot afford it even if they somehow had the opportunity to get their hands on the rare sap in the first place.


    "As a result of all this, about one in a hundred common children are born as Misbegotten."


    John normally enjoyed when Kal¨¦ answered his questions, but his face this time was devoid of any joy.


    "Why haven''t I seen a single misbegotten yet then? We''ve seen at least a few hundred people since we left the Church of Elleh." John asked


    Kal¨¦ didn''t hesitate and answered John plainly.


    "In Limgrave, those born as misbegotten are immediately transported to the Weeping Peninsula where they are put to work as servants or labor. As children they are used as servants, and if they grow strong enough to work as they age they are sent to do hard labor. Other regions also have similar places where people dump misbegotten so they don''t have to be seen, and they can be made use of."


    Kal¨¦ was not surprised his friend did not like this answer either. People being born cursed and the world''s treatment of them was not a pleasant subject.


    "I see."


    That finished their discussion for the day. A short time later they laid down their bedrolls and went to sleep.


    _______________________________________


    It was the middle of the night when Kal¨¦ was woken by a strange noise. Or rather, a lack of noise. He had grown used to John''s snoring in the over a month they had traveled together, yet he did not hear any upon awakening.


    Looking over at where John had laid down, all he saw was an empty bedroll.


    Kal¨¦ was groggy and had trouble seeing details in the dark of the night, but the moonlight was bright enough that night he could walk around the forest at night well enough.


    Wondering what John had gotten up to, Kal¨¦ listened to see if he could hear anything to get a clue of where John could have gone, and he found he could.


    Carefully walking through the woods, he followed the faint noise.


    The noises led to a small clearing in the forest. The lack of trees shadowing the clearing allowed the strong moonlight to shine down and illuminate the clearing more clearly.


    Squinting, Kal¨¦ could barely make out John on his hands and knees on the ground. He had his gloves off and was using his hands and some stones to dig a hole in the earth.


    Kal¨¦ had no idea what was going on here.


    "What madness has possessed you John?"


    Without looking up at Kal¨¦, John pointed at a dark mass next to him that Kal¨¦ could not quite make out in the dark.


    "I couldn''t fall asleep. I couldn''t stop thinking about what you said earlier. About what I heard them say as we were leaving. I''m not sure if you heard it.


    "It was stuck in my head going over and over again. Then I heard something far away in the woods. People talking. So I went to check." John


    If Kal¨¦ had not been completely sure John was sane, Kal¨¦ would have thought he had gone crazy with what he was saying and doing. Could whatever this was not wait until morning?


    "I can see pretty good in the dark, so I was fairly quick, but whoever it was left before I got there. I almost turned around."


    Kal¨¦''s eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, and they revealed a stomach churning sight.


    The dark mass was a blood soaked leather bag. From where he stood, Kal¨¦ could just barely peek inside to see small mangled limbs. The particulars were no longer recognizable but Kal¨¦ spotted a twisted piece of flesh that once had been a small featherless wing.


    "But then I smelled blood. I found him like that."


    As John kept digging, Kal¨¦ now saw his hands were slick with blood from where he had carried the bad slick with it.


    Kal¨¦ was old enough to have seen similar things many times. As grim and tragic as it was, Kal¨¦ was not especially affected. But Kal¨¦ knew for one as young as John, this could very well have been the first time he had seen such a sight, and Kal¨¦ still remembered emptying his stomach the first time he had found something like this.


    Kal¨¦ knew there were no words that would help in this kind of situation, so he remained, keeping a silent vigil as John dug a shallow grave and placed the corpse-filled bag in it. He filled the hole, and they worked together to push a couple of rotting logs over top of it.


    "Hopefully no animals dig it up," John said. "I''m going to the stream to wash my hands. I''ll be back at camp after that."


    Kal¨¦ went back to their camp and waited, rebuilding their small campfire. When John returned, his hands were clean and his demeanor was stone; Kal¨¦ could not read what was going on with him.


    "Why?" John asked neutrally, "Why would they do that to their own child?"


    Kal¨¦ mentally sighed but answered.


    "Any number of reasons. Shame, disgust, money, religious fervor.


    "To be cursed with the birth of a misbegotten, it shows that one does not have the favor of the Erdtree. A shameful thing. Most are deeply repulsed by the physical appearance of the Misbegotten and also what they represent: a living heresy against the Erdtree. Such children hurt the standing of a family and may see them shunned by the rest of the village.


    "I know in Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula the family who birthed them are often levied a tax to both punish them for their transgression against the Erdtree as well as to help pay for the expenses such as food to keep the misbegotten alive to work."


    John nodded his head slowly a few times but did not ask anything further. He thought silently for a few minutes, his demeanor still stone, before he laid in his bedroll and went to sleep.


    Kal¨¦ stayed up for a few minutes to make sure John actually fell asleep. Once he heard his friends familiar snoring he went to bed himself.


    The next morning they left early, avoiding the village entirely. Kal¨¦ carefully watched John, but his friend seemed to be back to normal after he woke up and acted as if nothing had happened the previous night.


    If Kal¨¦ had not seen it with his eyes, he would not have even known something had happened with how unaffected John seemed to be just the next day.


    Definitely not a normal reaction, but also not one Kal¨¦ had not seen before. It was just not usually in people so young. In his experience, typically people had to be hardened from witnessing a few tragedies before they were so controlled with themselves, and many never could become so.


    _____________________________________________


    Thankfully as they made their way south and stopped and traded with more villages over the next few weeks no more such incidents occurred; their journey was relaxed, uneventful, and most importantly profitable.


    As they approached the southern tip of Limgrave the land narrowed and hills rose on either rose. They met patrols of Godrick''s soldiers as well as the occasional group of Kaiden mercenaries that Godrick kept in his employ as they crossed Limgrave, but besides the occasional inspection or general inconveniencing of themselves by the soldiers, nothing came of that either.


    Finally they arrived at the place where Limgrave met the Weeping Peninsula: the Bridge of Sacrifice.


    A deep but narrow channel of ocean water cut the earth of the Weeping Peninsula away from the earth of the Limgrave. The Bridge of Sacrifice spanned the gap to connect the two separated land masses.


    The Bridge itself was made of stone and had two pairs of towers for a total of four of them. One pair on the Limgrave side, and one pair on the Peninsula side of the bridge. Kal¨¦ knew it had a significant garrison of at least a hundred men during peace times though Kal¨¦ had seen it heavily increase when Godrick was involved in skirmishes with other powers.


    Like most forts in the Lands Between there was ample supply of temporary wooden fortifications set aside at the ready for if they ever needed to be used.


    Bridge of Sacrifice</a>


    As they came upon the bridge they saw the first of their fellow travelers of the lands since he had left that church with John.


    There was a line of wagons and carts pulled by horses as lone merchants and small caravans of merchants waited for their turns to cross the bridge. Alongside them were other travelers like the odd farmer or artisan or pilgrim traveling for their own reasons.


    Since this was the only spot in all of Limgrave to cross over to the Weeping Peninsula, a singular spot that connected two regions of the Lands Between together, all the traffic was concentrated here. Kal¨¦ knew that other spots along the coast were used to smuggle people or things, but unless someone was doing something shady it was easier and safer to just come through the Bridge of Sacrifice.


    Because of this mass of traffic the Bridge of Sacrifice was actually one of the busiest places in the entirety of the Lands Between.


    Kal¨¦ and John were forced to wait a few hours in line as those ahead of them were slowly let through. Once it was their turn after a cursory inspection they payed a small toll and were let through.


    They made their way across and Kal¨¦ watched with hidden amusement at John marveling at the large stone bridge hundreds of times older than he was.


    This was his fourth time seeing John like this, but it was always funny to see his normally-unflappable friend gawking like an ignorant farmer. Even as others around them looked at John and turned their nose up at his ''ignorant'' behavior, his friend did not care one bit and kept acting as he wanted.


    Once they made it to the other side of the bridge a footman gave them a warning.


    "Beware of the forest to the west. In recent years a mob of demihumans has been infesting the woods and the lord''s men have yet to be able to hunt down their queen and root them out."


    Kal¨¦ nodded in acknowledgement and they made their way down the main road that would bring them to Castle Morne.


    As they made their way through the land the coming week the Weeping Peninsula showed why it had an apt name. Nearly every third day, it would rain. Sometimes a light drizzle and other times heavy enough to give his friend a tough time with heavily waterlogged clothing. Sometimes a week would pass with no rain and then the next two weeks it would rain every day.


    The rain made the humidity and heat a terrible thing to behold the land almost seeking to suffocate people. But the abundant rain made the vegetation all around them a vibrant green and thick enough a man would nearly need a weapon to cleave through it.


    The crops of the farmsteads they passed in the Weeping Peninsula were nearly a half again larger and more bountiful than the crops on similar homesteads they had passed by in Limgrave. This helped make up for the fact there were almost half as many of them as land suitable for crops were less common here than in Limgrave.


    On their journey south there was the occasional fort or estate placed on strategic areas like hills. Kal¨¦ knew these forts and estates were the lands of the local noble families. Many of the towns, villages, and farms they passed were situated around these lords'' lands unlike in Limgrave where things were less centrally focused around the land of nobles.


    Some of the farms had people working them and others had misbegotten. Kal¨¦ had watched John when they first came across these misbegotten, but despite his displeasure, he did not do more than frown when he saw them. Even then, Kal¨¦ saw his friend''s skin grow thicker the more of them he saw.


    Eventually they passed under an underpass made from a large ruined fragment of Farum Azula that had fallen down in between two cliff-faces on either side of the valley they were going into. The fragment had wedged itself to make a bridge between the two cliffs and made the valley entrance into an underpass.


    On the other side of the underpass was a large valley that rose into gentle rolling hills. It was somewhat similar to the Stormhill region in Limgrave except the hills here were much less steep and the weather was rainy rather than windy.


    A week into following the main road up through the rolling hills they finally approached the ridge of the rolling hills.


    At the apex they could see ramparts and a gatehouse situated between two towers. Unlike the more modest and humble forts that were the homes of the local minor nobility, these fortifications were the same incredible size and scale as that of the Stormgate or Stormveil.


    The towers rose above the nearby eastern cliff-face of the massive plateau that spanned the northeastern quarter of the Weeping Peninsula. The ramparts continued far westwards interspersed with more towers until it disappeared over the horizon.


    Kal¨¦ knew they stretched to the ocean, cutting the southern panhandle of the Weeping Peninsula off from the rest of the continent.


    Standing completely still beside one of the towers and standing at a similar height to the towers was a massive metal golem. It had the appearance of a knight''s armor and held a bow in its hand with a quiver of giant arrows on its back. The only sign of life in the utter still automata was the fiery glow that peaked through the joints in its armor that allowed it to move.


    There was a small garrison of men at the gatehouse and on the ramparts, but they weren''t acting as guards and left him and John unbothered as they headed through.


    On the other side were more rolling hills dotted with small settlements, chunks of masonry that had fallen from Farum Azula, and small forests except the hills went downhill on this side.


    Days later the hills flattened out into a large area of flat land. Here there were large swaths of farmlands rather than the more modest plots on the hilly area they had been going through before. This area was the bread basket of Godrick''s lands according to what Kal¨¦ knew, and as they neared closer to the land where Castle Morne stood the farms became more frequent.


    As they got closer to their destination, Kal¨¦ noticed that another puzzle about John presented itself.


    A tension built in the air around John as they got closer. It was similar to when his friend became agitated over a month ago when they had first left the Church of Elleh and he was jumping at shadows in the forest. But rather than looking around for something that might attack him, it seemed more like he was expecting something to happen and the anticipation was building within.


    Kal¨¦ would have thought it was excitement about finally seeing Castle Morne, but the aura his friend gave off was right for that. Kal¨¦ thought that like last time in the forest and on their approach towards Murkwater Bridge, whatever it was it would reveal or resolve itself with time.


    And finally after nearly two months of traveling east and then south, the capital of the Weeping Peninsula finally came within their sight.


    Castle Morne</a>


    Castle Morne proper was situated at the southern tip of the Weeping Peninsula. It sat on top of and was integrated into a massive stone hill. It was surrounded on three sides by absolutely massive nearly sheer cliffs that plunged nearly two or three furlongs. The fourth side faced north towards the only land around the castle and was where the entrance was located.


    In the same vein as the other major fortifications in the Lands Between it was gigantic in size and scale. The stone keep itself towered far above its surroundings.


    Unlike Stormveil, Castle Morne didn''t have a series of concentric circles of ramparts around the keep with no walls to speak of at all outside the keep itself, and instead of being spread out horizontally like Stormveil, Castle Morne was built far more vertically. Despite this it was still a large castle horizontally though not nearly as much as what Kal¨¦ had seen of Stormveil from a distance.


    The flat land in front of the castle to its north was filled with a bustling castle town filled with smaller, more humble buildings made of stone and wood and had thatched roofs. Townsfolk went about their business avoiding the occasional Misbegotten doing a task or hauling something from place to place.


    Unlike the small rural villages and military fortifications they had been allowed entrance to on their journey so far, Kal¨¦ knew from experience that most large civilian settlements required people to relinquish any battlefield arms to the town guard for their stay in the town. This was the first time Kal¨¦ had brought John somewhere they had encountered this rule so far because Kal¨¦ avoided large civilian towns. The only heavily populated places they had visited before now were military fortifications.


    But here if they were discovered to have weapons in the town the local guard would punish them for breaking the law. Kal¨¦ had nothing they would care about, but he did not wish to be put into stocks or worse. So as they approached the town Kal¨¦ took John to a guard outpost just outside the town to give up his bow and spear. The weapons were labeled and John was given a pair of wooden coins with the label numbers.


    When they entered the town John looked around taking in everything he was seeing in. As impressive as all this no doubt was to his friend, Kal¨¦ knew that neither the town nor the keep was the most impressive thing about Morne. But he would let John discover that on his own. It would not take long at all.


    As for himself, Kal¨¦ had wares to peddle to the few who would choose to do business with a nomadic merchant. Those who lived in large towns and cities were able to be much pickier about who they did business with and that sort of thing than the impoverished farmers who lived spread out across the lands.


    Kal¨¦ would be occupying himself with trading while they were in Morne, and John no doubt wanted to explore the town to see the sights and whatever else his friend had in store for why he finished to come here.

 Chapter 6 - John

    __________________________________________________


    John was led through the medieval city by Kal¨¦, who informed John of the place''s name. The entire area, the castle fortress at the top and the city combined below was called Morne, with the city that sprawled across the flat land below called by the appropriate if bland name of Castletown.


    After years of being almost completely alone in Limgrave, it was so strange to see regular people just going about their lives in such numbers. Doubly so, because the Lands Between depicted in the game was practically empty and dead. But here in the real world there were entire towns and even cities. There was an active if struggling society.


    Just the area around Castle Morne was entirely unrecognizable from the game. There was an entire small city of what had to be at least ten thousand people. Meanwhile in the game there had been one hundred or less npcs and enemies combined here and no city at all with Castle Morne being a lone fortress.


    The atmosphere of the game in general was that the world was like the corpse of a great man, and those that remained were a bunch of depraved beggars who were stabbing each over who got to loot it.


    But here in the real world, even the multiple slow-moving apocalypses this world was going through weren''t enough to break the veil of normalcy these people had as they went about their business.


    Life sprung eternal, and people were like cockroaches John supposed. Once a place was infested with them, they would never go away until all the food was gone, and as long as things weren''t on fire at that very moment they would continue on with life as usual.


    But despite the air of normalcy, John just couldn''t quite make himself join the crowd in acceptance of how things were even if he aped it well enough.


    As they walked the streets no one stopped him to talk to him or Kal¨¦, but they did give both of them looks. Kal¨¦ got his usual looks of scorn or superiority, but John got looks as well.


    Some seemed to not put thought into John beyond a glance, while others saw him and their expressions became more guarded and less open. Some were outright suspicious of him, and others would turn their nose up or cross their arms and keep an eye on him.


    His and Kal¨¦''s eyes definitely showed them to not be one of them. John also noted something that had changed as they had moved from Limgrave to the Weeping Peninsula. In Limgrave the overwhelming majority of people John had come across had golden eyes, but here the majority of people had stormy grey eyes with only as few having golden eyes.


    Despite this change in eye color of the people, it was clear John and Kal¨¦''s brown and yellow eyes still made them be considered outsiders by the people of this land.


    As they made their way through Castletown John spotted a misbegotten making his way through the street. And it was obvious the misbegotten was a man even though he was covered in dirt that turned to mud from his sweat making him look much filthier than he actually was. The nakedness of the misbegotten man left everything on display, not a thread of clothing on him.


    People did their best to always make sure they never got close enough to touch the misbegotten man, and the man also made sure to keep his own distance from them as well.


    Another big difference between real life and the game''s depiction was the misbegotten themselves. How they looked. John had seen dozens on farms as they had traveled and seen quite a few more in this city.


    The misbegotten were varied and looked different. Each one was an individual with their own unique looks unlike the same copy and pasted model in the game.


    Misbegotten Concept Art</a>


    Misbegotten 1</a>


    Misbegotten 2</a>


    Misbegotten 3</a>


    The misbegotten John had just been eying appeared short, but his body was actually the same size as a man but was just severely hunched in on itself, making him a head or two shorter than he should have been.


    He was brown haired with bald patches. Those ''bald'' patches had scales instead of skin. His mouth was lipless like a lizard and stretched from below one ear all the way across his entire face to the other eye, making his mouth grotesquely huge. The top row of teeth were human and straight while the bottom were a crooked mass of fangs growing into and over each other.


    The left side of his chest was covered in brown feathers and the right side was partially covered in brown fur and partially bare skin. The back was the same as the front but with one anemic feathered wing jutting from the feathers near his shoulder blade and another one directly below at stomach level while the right side of his back had no wings.


    Perhaps the most stomach churning part of his appearance was the tail. Sticking out of the base of his back was a long and thick tail like a crocodile''s except it was covered in skin instead of scales. Despite that, horns still grew out of the spine of the tail.


    His legs'' skin looked like it had cracks running through it and was covered in something similar to scabs. This wound-like skin looked to be the result of the flesh landing half-way between skin and scale.


    Finishing off his appearance was a pair of light-orange-furred feet with toes that were longer than his fingers and covered in claws.


    Despite all that, John could see the man had golden eyes that told John that the man had the grace that others that were of the Erdtree had. Now that he thought about it, that was one consistent thing John was now noticing had stayed true with all misbegotten he had seen. Every single one had golden eyes. Not a single one had the stormy gray eyes like the majority of people here had. John laid that realization aside to think about later.


    Those particular features were just what the misbegotten man that had just passed by John had. The particulars changed with every misbegotten.


    Some were covered in fur or scales and some had none of either. Some had so many claws, fangs, or horns that the features were prying the flesh they came from apart and some misbegotten had none of those.


    Some were as hunched as could be and some rare individuals stood with only a slight hunched. Some had no wings or feathers, and some were completely covered in feathers from head to toe and had up to four wings. The wings themselves if a misbegotten had any may have been anemic and limp or may have been large and functional.


    Some misbegotten had proportions that were wrong like arms or legs that were too long or a much bigger head than they should have had. The most unfortunate of misbegotten had asymmetrically proportioned limbs, where their arms or legs were different lengths from one another.


    Every misbegotten could have features from one extreme to another with most falling somewhere in between.


    Despite all this variation, there were ''rules'' to the bodies of misbegotten that John had begun to notice besides their universally golden eyes. Things such as all the chimeric features being that of certain kinds of animals like lizards or birds or fur from some unknown animal, presumably from a lion based on the name of the Leonine Misbegotten boss.


    But no misbegotten he''d seen so far had the features of say, an elephant, a dog, or a fish.


    Just looking at the misshapen and malformed misbegotten as they walked through the streets near him spawned a feeling of extreme revulsion in John''s gut. It was similar to looking at a pile of gore, but somehow worse.


    There was a disturbing feeling looking at a misbegotten gave John, like whatever the misbegotten were trying to look human but couldn''t fit into human skin. Like the cockroach from Men in Black, but horrific instead of comedic. The uncanniness of it added just a small note of fear to the revulsion when one looked at them and made their appearance far more emotionally potent to witness.


    And John knew fear and revulsion both led to hate.


    As bad and grimly ironic as it was to say, John preferred seeing misbegotten men over misbegotten women, despite misbegotten being forced to be naked. Misbegotten women just looked uglier than the men due to all their lady parts and their general features just not missing as well. Their more neotenous features had an effect similar to what happened with pugs where their faces are cute-ugly, but the misbegotten women didn''t have the cute part.


    John could understand how a bunch of ignorant and irrational medieval people, whose religion told them that those who looked strange were somehow bad, looked upon a misbegotten and allowed their opinion to be decided by their gut feelings of. Everything they ''knew'' and believed said so and even their base nature agreed.


    John understood, but that didn''t mean he agreed or forgave them for it. The misbegotten were treated as bad or worse than the worst treated slaves in his own world. Denied even the dignity of a wash or rags to wear as clothes.


    Worst of all, all the men he had seen were gelded as well. Every single one of them.


    But what could John do about it? Fight? He was just a regular guy, and he didn''t even reach the level of marital ability of one of the thousands of competent soldiers that were under Godrick''s command. There was no realistic or practical way John could make a difference about this societal hatred of misbegotten and their mistreatment.


    So instead John just locked the feelings away in the dark of his mind. They weren''t useful right now. Instead he would focus on why he had wanted to come to Castle Morne in the first place: the misbegotten rebellion and Irina.


    John made sure to keep an eye out


    John didn''t know when the destined tarnished would arrive and be chosen by the spirit steed Torrent. It could be years or even decades from now, and rebellion wouldn''t start until around the time the Chosen Tarnished arrived considering that when he got to Castle Morne it was in the middle of the battle between the Godrick''s men and the misbegotten.


    As much as John sympathized with the misbegotten rebelling, they weren''t the good either.


    He distinctly remembered in the game that the misbegotten in Castle Morne were celebrating over a mountain of burning corpses, and Irina''s words of how they were killing everyone with no exceptions. He doubted that that staggering pile of corpses taller than three men standing on each others'' shoulders was only made of soldiers and knights of the castle.


    Most importantly the misbegotten would hunt down Irina, an innocent harmless blind woman all by herself in the wilderness, just to kill her in their bloodlust. Their actions potentially dooming the world to the Frenzied Flame from unknowingly allowing Hyetta to come into existence after she possessed Irina''s dead body as there was a chance that Hyetta would lead the Chosen Tarnished down that path.


    That had to be prevented at all costs. It would be the first time John was getting himself into something especially dangerous, but it had to be done. John was willing to risk his life and die to prevent that, though he would try and do his best to prevent himself from having to actually do anything like that to save Irina''s life.


    He had a few different ideas on how to do that, but he would wait to take action for now. He didn''t know enough about Morne to find the best way to do this yet. John would have to get more familiar with how things worked before he acted.


    Kal¨¦ had mentioned that he would have a lot of business he could do here as it had been a long time since he had actually come all the way to Castle Morne to trade. That meant John had a lot of time to do whatever he wanted before Kal¨¦ wished to leave.


    John didn''t want to inconvenience his friend by having to stay longer than necessary, knowing it was dangerous for a nomadic merchant to overstay his already cold welcome and potentially trigger a pogrom. John would have to stay on task, and if this took too long and things got sketchy then he''d just tell Kal¨¦ he''d meet him back at the Church of Elleh.


    First thing first, John would have to learn how people in the Lands Between and more specifically Castle Morne did things before he could figure out what he should do. John wasn''t under the delusion that these people operated in the same morality or worldview of the ''modern'' world and they definitely had different routines and the like.


    That child in the woods really drove that home.


    John didn''t have a high opinion of his home country''s morality or worldview, but the Lands Between might as well be Jupiter for how different it was in those.


    Gods were provably real and could actually talk to crowds of people in the flesh and do miracles on demand for example.


    John would have to somewhat figure out what to do about Irina and the eventual rebellion by getting the lay of the land. He would have to figure out how best to integrate and interact with this society to be able to have an effective course of action.


    As they walked around the city towards their destination, John was watching as the townspeople went about their business. The people wore clean if simple clothes and ranged from especially industrious to the occasional stumbling drunk.


    John saw no beggars at. It was strange. They were ubiquitous in cities back on Earth, and John had seen some in a few of the towns they had passed through on their way here.


    Then John noticed a commotion on the streets in front of them.


    A group of people on horses were making their way down the street.


    Most of the mounted men were wearing armor, but the one at the head of the group instead wore a luxurious green robe lined with dark fur, under which he wore a tunic with golden root-like embellishments on it.


    Their high status was obvious and as they approached people would move out of the way, some stopping to bow before continuing on with what they were doing after the group passed.


    John and Kal¨¦ moved aside with others as they passed by and after they were gone the people went back to normal.


    But as John had kept going through the city he had a fresh look at how the people went about their tasks. John noticed something he had been seeing but hadn''t realized. People who were dressed more nicely rarely interacted with those who wore simpler clothes, except when the nicer dressed ones were in a position to order the simpler-clothed around.


    With this realization, John was reminded of something, and now things he had noticed became much more clear. It was something he had known intellectually, but it hadn''t quite clicked, until he was really immersed in it.


    The Lands Between, or at least the Golden Order, operated on a feudal caste system vaguely similar to Medieval Europe. Everyone had a certain social status and for the most part kept to their own social equals, mostly interacting with those lower than them for business reasons. There were exceptions but this was the general rule.


    This occupied John''s thoughts for the rest of the way, until they arrived at the other end of Castletown.


    When he saw what was there, John''s eyes widened and he looked over at Kal¨¦.


    "What''s it called?" John asked.


    "Clifftown," Kal¨¦ answered.


    Cliffside City 1</a>


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Cliffside City 2</a>


    Cliffside City 3</a>


    Cliffside City 4</a>


    It was absolutely incredible!


    The cliffside below Castle Morne and Castletown weren''t an empty sheer cliff-face. Instead there was an entire additional section of the city built into the cliffside!


    Despite the cliffside being extremely sheer, the builds built from, into, and on the cliffside were piled on top of one another haphazardly. Unlike Castletown where most of the buildings were wooden, the buildings on the cliffside were almost entirely made of stone blocks or were directly cut from the cliffside.


    In the middle of the mess of buildings built on top of one another in the sections of cliff face that had been cut away there were rocky outcroppings and large stone towers that jutted out above the rest.


    And as cramped full of buildings as the cliffside was, it wasn''t entirely covered in them. There were parts of the cliff that were untouched. The parts that were being occupied, their locations were almost organized and divided into sections like the sections in a cubby shelf with different columns and rows connected by walkways, bridges, staircases, and wooden lifts and some of the cubby sections being empty cliffside and other sections having buildings.


    The incredible height of the cliff and the sheer number of shelves intertwining with each other made it a vertical labyrinth of buildings. It was a mesmerizing and chaotic sight.


    From above, John could see some of a limited amount of what was going on down there in some of the cliffside sections of the city. Looking down, while nearly half the buildings were built in depressions in the cliffside that were hidden from view, the other half were visible from above.


    At the very southern edge of the cliffs at the bottom of the cliff directly below Castle Morne was a moderately sized area of rocky beach. It was the only bit of land at the feet of the cliffs within view as the rest of the cliffside had no earth below it, just a drop straight into the ocean.


    The floor and basement sections of where Castle Morne ended and where the top of Clifftown began weren''t clearly delineated with paths and entrances and lifts between the two intertwining.


    John was standing at the eastern cliff. If the western cliffside on the opposite side of Castle Morne was like what he saw in front of him, then Castletown on the flat ground in front of the castle was only half of the urban area by Castle Morne with the other half of the urban area being Clifftown.


    And just looking at the part of Clifftown John could see from where he stood, from the look of the buildings and the people he could see, Morne was a microcosm of the caste system of the Lands Between and the Golden Order.


    At the top looming over everything, like Castle Morne and its inhabitants towering above Castletown and Clifftown, were Marika the Eternal and those associated with her. People like the Elden Lords, Demigods, the Golden Lineage, and everyone sworn to them or who possessed close ties to them. Like a super-rich gated community separated and disconnected from the reality of those below them. They decided all the rules and how things were gonna be, and they reaped most of the rewards.


    Below Castle Morne, Castletown was where the wealthier commonfolk and minor nobility. Castletown was the nice well-to-do part of town where anything unpleasant was removed and placed elsewhere. Everything was clean, and the buildings, if they did not outright show great wealth, were of a standard of quality that only those that were well off could afford and maintain.


    And relegated to the struggle in Clifftown were everyone else. The regular commonfolk and those who were considered undesirable by those above for whatever reason.


    But even in Clifftown some were considered less than others.


    Taking up the top third of Clifftown were the regular commonfolk. The people were industrious but were not beset by poverty but would have to carefully watch their spending. Some of the buildings could be better maintained but nothing was outright bad or falling apart.


    As you went further down the cliff, the middle section of Clifftown was mostly inhabited by the poorer commonfolk. These were the people who tried but were unable to really quite make it and were struggling just to get by. The buildings in this section were starting to show some signs of a lack of upkeep. They didn''t like their life but at least they were as bad off as those below them.


    Below them, relegated to the bottom section of Clifftown were the people who were truly poor, had stigmas attached to them, or otherwise had somehow or another lost in this system. This area was the slums.


    Here, John spotted what must have been an alleyway filled with beggars. Every building had at least one window boarded up, and John was sure you had to be careful if you walked through this area after dark or you might be accosted by a mugger.


    And at the very bottom, almost unable to warrant a spot on the cliffside at all with many of them being relegated to the abandoned and decaying buildings and rocky and cold beach below, John saw the squalid mass of enslaved misbegotten.


    He could see many of them going around all the other areas, but the concentration of them at the bottom showed that to be their real home, if a prison could be considered a home.


    John couldn''t spot any but he imagined that Omen would be situated somewhere between the misbegotten''s prison and the slum section of Clifftown. The equivalent of homeless camps on the edges of a town.


    Of course, people moved up and down the levels of Clifftown and interacted with each other, but from this distance it was easy to see that far more stuck with and interacted the most with their own level.


    As John looked at the labyrinth of buildings, streets, stairs, and bridges that wound around each other like an M.C. Escher painting, he noticed that all the heaviest or most unpleasant labor, such as cleaning shit from the street or operating the wooden lifts weighed down by people and goods that let everyone navigate Clifftown, was done by misbegotten.


    The misbegotten who had the fortune, or maybe misfortune, to be born with the right features that made them bigger and stronger than a regular person were the ones operating the lifts, but he could see other misbegotten rolling barrels of goods across through the street, or doing other tasks as well.


    He also spotted some of the winged misbegotten who had a pair of properly grown wings were able to quickly hop between certain levels by flying or gliding a short distance.


    How they were able to fly with wingspans barely wider than an armspan despite being roughly the size and weight of a grown man John didn''t know. It must have been related to magic somehow.


    Looking at the beach and remembering the leonine misbegotten boss location, John thought that the misbegotten themselves would probably be as good a place to start looking for information about the rebellion as any.


    Kal¨¦ led John along the cliff to an inn that was slightly run down. It was still located in Castletown, but it was very close to the cliffside and was closer to Castle Morne than it was to where they entered the other side of the city. Clearly the inn''s location wasn''t doing it any favors at getting good business.


    They both booked individual rooms at the inn. Their rooms were cheap but small.


    Kal¨¦ stabled his donkey in the shed the owner called a stable, and John helped him take his personal items in his inn room. Then it came time for them to separate and do their own business.


    "Since we''re splitting up, let''s agree to always meet back at the inn by dark and we''ll leave a note or send notice or something if plans change," John suggested to Kal¨¦. "If we somehow get separated and can''t track each other down, we can meet up again at the Church of Elleh."


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "Agreed."


    With that settled they split up. Kal¨¦ took a bag of goods with him and left the inn, and John was left by himself.


    Deciding to go ahead and start looking around, John went back to the cliffside.


    John examined the network of lifts and staircases of Clifftown, until he found a simple way down to the lower sections of Clifftown. It only required one lift ride from a small lift clearly only meant to be used to transport people and then a couple of staircases that were close together. It would be very hard for John to get lost which was his main worry.


    As he made his way across the cliffside to the lift he would need to use, he passed a few other lifts that others were using. From how they ordered the misbegotten, John learned that the different ''layers'' of Clifftown were called levels and were labeled numerically in order starting at the bottom of Castle Morne as level one and descending from there.


    When he made it to the lift he needed to use, John examined the misbegotten running the lift. The misbegotten was a woman who had mostly extra lizard parts and she stood a few inches taller than him despite her hunch. As John approached she looked at him neutrally.


    "I''d like to go down to level fifty please."


    The misbegotten woman silently nodded at him and with a heave started operating the lift all by herself. Once he had reached his desired level the lift stopped.


    John stepped off the lift and gave a tug on a rope. A moment later the platform began being lifted back up and what was left was a pair of wooden posts that showed where the lift would be the rope he could pull to request the lift be lowered to him.


    John made his way down a few levels to the blurry area where the slums ended and the misbegotten''s district began. As he went down the surroundings became more and more dilapidated and run down, and the people more haggard. More beggars appeared, and misbegotten became more common. Even the air changed, becoming more choked and rank.


    As he began exploring the streets, John could feel stares begin to linger on his back despite the fact that few met his eyes as he walked past them.


    John walked around just taking in what was happening around him. Just like they had with the townsfolk, misbegotten made sure to stay at least an arm''s distance away from him. Beggars asked him for money, and what John thought were probably some flavor of street tough evaluated if he would be worth the risk deciding not because of his shoddy but functional armor.


    But John wasn''t worried about what these people thought of him. He was more interested in how they interacted with each other. To learn how things here operated, and maybe get a hint about the rebellion.


    As John explored the lower parts of Clifftown, he would make progress on the first objective, but not the second. As far as he could see, everything was business as usual. It turns out slaves planning some sort of rebellion didn''t conveniently scream it out into the heavens.


    Not that John expected that. It would have made everything more convenient though. The real hope for John with this entire misbegotten rebellion scenario was actually getting the lord''s soldiers involved and having them nip the problem in the bud.


    But before John could craft a convincing story to convince them to act, he had to understand how the cogs of this machine they called a society worked so that he knew what to say to have them do what he wanted instead of just ignoring him or messing things up.


    A few hours into his exploration of Clifftown, John spotted a winged misbegotten struggling to stack a crate in an alley between two shops.


    The misbegotten was slight, about a quarter thinner and smaller than was typical of a misbegotten man based on what John has seen, but his wings were large with a wingspan half again as big as John''s armspan.


    Winged Misbegotten</a>


    The misbegotten would leverage the crate halfway up but couldn''t quite lift it before he was forced to set back on the ground and try again.


    After watching a couple rounds of this and looking around and seeing no one else nearby, John approached the misbegotten from behind. As the misbegotten lifted once again John bent down and grabbed a corner of the crate and helped lift.


    The misbegotten looked over to John in shock but didn''t stop lifting. With the combined strength of the two of them the crate was lifted into place.


    After letting out the breath of exertion, John smiled and held out his hand to the misbegotten who from the front John could now see was a teen boy.


    "John White," He introduced himself.


    "Sihlas." The misbegotten boy said as he looked at John''s hand in confusion before warily putting his own hand into John''s who shook it.


    The boy''s voice was a combination of tortured frog and nails of chalkboard like the other misbegotten John had heard speak but a little higher pitched because of his age. Even the voices of the misbegotten were unpleasant.


    Sihlas looked very similar to a real life version of the flying misbegotten in the game, except his white hair had ginger roots and most of his arms from his shoulders to the tips of his fingers were scaled, but the scales were a fleshly color and didn''t look like they were complete conversion of skin to scale.


    John remarked to himself that the semi-scales on Sihlas''s hand felt similar to fingernails as he let the handshake go. The boy hurriedly jerked his hand back and started stepping away from John.


    Seeing the boy gearing up to run, John spoke.


    "Hey, as you can probably see," John waved in front of his brown eyes, "I''m not from the Lands Between. Where I''m from we don''t have any misbegotten. I don''t think misbegotten are bad. I''m actually interested in them. I was wondering if you could tell me about your people?"


    "I still have duties." Sihlas protested warily, looking for all the world like a scared stray, as if he was about to bolt at the slightest movement.


    John decided to try the oldest trick in the book to convince someone to do something against their better judgement.


    "Look, we can meet up after your duties are done, and I''ll pay you for it, alright? I''m not sure what misbegotten need or are allowed to have. I can give you runes, or if you''d rather instead, I can buy something from a shop or something."


    John saw Sihlas waver at his offer. The boy rocked back and forth as he debated what he knew he should do with taking the shiny John had presented to him. Ultimately impulsive greed won out, as it usually did.


    "Can I see some drawings of other places? I''ve never been further than Castletown, and I''ve always wondered what it was like."


    "Yes," John agreed easily. He was confident he could get some drawings. "Where do you want to meet?"


    John and Sihlas made arrangements to meet at a nearby clandestine crook near some buildings and away from any potential prying eyes. They would meet after Sihlas''s duties were finished, but they would still be leaving John with enough time to meet up with Kal¨¦ at the inn afterwards.


    With that decided John continued on his way. As John left he felt Sihlas''s eyes pinned to his back watching.


    Knowing that books and the like were probably somewhat expensive, John made his way up to the upper section of Clifftown and started asking people on the streets for directions to a shop selling drawings, paint, parchment, writing supplies, or other related things.


    It didn''t take him long to find some shops that sold what he was looking for.


    John''s first idea had been to get a map, but the shop owner he had asked informed him that detailed top-down maps like he was used to back on Earth were apparently illegal to possess if you weren''t a military officer of the lord. But landscape drawings and the like were perfectly fine, which worked out because they better fit what Sihlas had wanted anyway.


    After some shopping around John had a few selections he thought a teen city boy who was hungry to see the world would like.


    The drawings were all colored and were of the Caelid Swamp pre-and-post rot, a scene of the Second Defense of Leyendell, a drawing of the Raya Lucaria Academy floating above Liurnia of the Lakes, and for obvious reasons if you had ever been a teen boy, a large drawing of a pair of diagrams comparing ancient dragon to their descendents.


    They cost a pretty penny though. Each one of the colored drawings cost the equivalent of a half-a-month to a full month''s worth of dinners. Compared to what Duran had paid John to stay quiet, it was small but still enough that it was noticeable when the runes left him to pay the shopkeepers. He also bought a small hand-sized wooden box like one may have kept a pendant in to keep the drawings safe from the frequent rains of the Weeping Peninsula.


    John also got some writing supplies. He had used up all the ones Kal¨¦ had gotten for him, and it was always useful to have some on hand if they were needed.


    His chores done, John spent a few runes trying out some of the local cuisine as well. It was plain with little seasoning besides things like butter and salt, but despite this it was good. Strange and foreign to him, but good. What John wouldn''t trade to one again be able to eat pizza or deep fried french fries and a cheeseburger again though.


    Unfortunately for him he''d never be able to clog his arteries and fill his brain with more microplastics again.


    When the time came around, John approached the knee high bit of crumbling stone wall where he and Sihlas had agreed to meet. He sat on the stone with the box placed on his lap and waited.


    John patiently sat alone, and a few minutes later Sihlas cautiously approached him and sat next to him.


    Sihlas made to speak when John handed the box over.


    "Here you go. Go ahead and look."


    Sihlas looked at John puzzled for a few long moments before tentatively wpiding the dirt off his hands and opening the box, eyes on John as if he was going to rip the box from his hands.


    Sihlas was unable to keep his eyes on John as soon as he extremely gently unfolded one of the drawings, as if it was the most valuable thing he had ever touched.


    The one he had picked first was of the Second Defense of Leyndell.


    It depicted the duel between Morgott and Radahn as they were surrounded by soldiers. In the drawing Radahn was much smaller than John knew he was now. Radahn was only about twice as large as a regular man, about equal to Morgott''s size.


    Morgott vs Radahn</a>


    Sihlas''s eyes devoured the drawing as if it was of a beautiful lady rather than a fantastical scene of battle.


    Knowing that Sihlas had no way of knowing what John should and shouldn''t know like Kal¨¦, John recounted what he knew of the tale.


    "This depicts something from the Second Defense of Leyndell. After the Shattering, Shardbearers of Great Runes would go on to fight each other to try and defeat the others to claim the others'' Great Runes. With them they become the Elden Lord and establish their own order.


    "Foremost among these Shardbearers were the Demigods, the children of Marika. The Demigods selfishly turned on each other and fought to see who would become Elden Lord. But before they turned on one another, there was a time when they had all worked together to maintain the Golden Order before this alliance fell apart after the First Defense of Leyndell.


    "Yet one among them refused to turn coat and stayed loyal to the Golden Order after the Demigod leaders of the Lands Between went their separate ways. Perhaps the most loyal and devoted man in the Lands Between. He would go on to lead the Second Defense of Leyndell against another Demigod: Starscourge Radahn.


    "This was King Morgott. King Morgott would successfully defend Leyndell against the forces of General Radahn, even personally fighting against Radahn himself.


    "Radahn, leader of the Redmanes, was a great and honorable warrior who would later grow to massive size and become arguably the most powerful warrior in the world. But as you can see by the drawing, at the time of this battle he was only twice the size of a regular man, about the same size as King Morgott.


    "Radahn would go on to master gravity magic to such an extent that the very stars in the night sky would stop moving, earning him the name Starscourge."


    Sihlas, as if by fate, then opened the scene depicting the Caelid Swamp before and after the scarlet rot. John could see it that Caelid was much like one would expect of a foresty swamp before the scarlet rot hit it. Afterwards it turned into an alien hellscape.


    Caelid Swamp Before Rot</a>


    Caelid Swamp After Rot</a>


    Sihlas seemed just as interested in these drawings as the previous one.


    "How did this happen?"


    John was surprised the boy hadn''t heard of this, but then realized a young orphan slave like Sihlas wouldn''t have been able to be given the basics of history from his parents. All the boy would learn would be through whatever he had happened to overhear or whatever other misbegotten had told him. Who knew what he did and didn''t know.


    "This happened much later after the Second Defense of Leyndell. Malenia, Blade of Miquella," John resisted a grin, "is the most loyal follower of her brother Miquella and is another Shardbearer like Radahn and Morgott. Despite being cursed to be afflicted by the scarlet rot by an outer god since birth and losing an arm, both legs, and being blind, she is one of the greatest warriors in the Lands Between. Such an incredible warrior that she has never known defeat, outside of maybe her battle with Radahn.


    "She and her Cleanrot Knights once invaded Caelid to do battle with General Radahn and his Redmanes. Their armies clashed, and Malenia met her match in Radahn. Pushed farther than she ever had been before, Malenia, desperate to win their bout, embraced the cursed power of the scarlet rot she had been fighting for her whole life until then. Above her and Radahn, from her back, a massive scarlet aeonia flower bloomed, releasing a blast of the scarlet rot that would infect the entire region with the curse of scarlet rot and would irrevocably poison Radahn.


    "Yet despite that, Radahn did not die immediately and she and her Knights were forced to hastily retreat back to the north. Meanwhile Radahn would go on to lose both his mind to the scarlet rot becoming a feral monster that feasts on the flesh of any warrior that befell his path. It also rotted his feet off. So tough and powerful was Radahn that even the power that Malenia feared most, her own rot, was unable to completely best him. Even more, not once in their battle nor even after losing his mind has Radahn released his gravity magic that keeps the stars frozen.


    "I''ve heard a lot of arguing of who won or if it was a tie, but personally I''m of the opinion that Radahn won even if it was a pyrrhic victory."


    Having gotten absorbed by the stories John had been telling, Sihlas had unwittingly dropped his guard and decided to ask John a question.


    "Why didn''t she fight against Lord Godrick? I heard that he has a Great Rune, and I thought that the only way to Caelid was through Limgrave. Didn''t you say the Shardbearers were trying to take each other''s Great Runes?"


    John nodded.


    "You are right. She did pass through Limgrave but didn''t take Lord Godrick''s Great Rune. The reason why she didn''t take his rune and wanted to fight Radahn specifically is actually a mystery.


    "As far as I know no one outside of them knows for sure why Malenia fought Radahn specifically. It could have been to take his rune, but even when Lord Godrick threw himself at her feet she didn''t take his Great Rune, so it is probably something else."


    Satisfied with John''s answer, Sihlas opened another drawing. It was of Raya Lucaria from a distance.


    Academy of Raya Lucaria Concept Art</a>


    Academy of Raya Lucaria</a>


    Sihlas asked John some questions about the school and what it was like, but besides some surface level stuff and describing the appearance of some glintstone spells that John knew the appearance of, John wasn''t able to provide much. He knew almost nothing about how magic actually worked.


    Sihlas looked over the drawings he had seen so far again before he opened the last one: the pair of diagrams of the two types of dragons.


    This drawing was made on larger parchment similar to the size one would use for a map and was covered front and back. Sihlas enjoyed this one as well, looking at how the diagram clearly showed the differences between the two types of dragons with side by side comparisons of many different features. All of them clearly and concisely labeled.


    Sihlas spent nearly a minute looking them up, down, back and forth. Then he pointed at one of the diagram parts comparing the dragons and asked "What does this say?"


    John blanked for a moment trying to figure out what exactly Sihlas was asking. He looked at where his figure was pointing for a few moments before he realized that Sihlas couldn''t read the words.


    John had been so used to living in a country with near universal literacy that he had forgotten some people never learn to read. He hadn''t realized till now because Kal¨¦ had known how and had even taught him how to speak and write in the language that the Lands Between used.


    "This is a diagram showing the two types of dragons: dragons and ancient dragons. The ones that look like they are made of stone and have four wings are ancient dragons.


    "The word in particular that you are pointing at is ''gravid''."


    At the mystified look Sihlas gave him, John elaborated.


    "Gravid means pregnant. It is showing what dragons and ancient dragons look like when they are pregnant to show the differences between them. See how dragons have this slight bulge near the base of their tail here that interrupts the smooth curve of their body and the ancient dragons don''t? And see how the diagrams above show what they look like when they are not gravid? These are showing you comparisons to show you the differences."


    Sihlas nodded his head in understanding, and John went ahead and started telling Sihlas what each word on the diagrams'' labels was and what they meant. Sihlas knew most words when John said them; he just couldn''t read them. But some of the fancier words the diagrams used, like gravid, Sihlas had never heard before.


    The diagrams had crammed as much information onto both sides of large parchment as possible and it took some time for John to tell Sihlas every word. Each time Sihlas would mumble and repeat the word a few times. Sometimes Sihlas would ask John to repeat an earlier word he had forgotten.


    After the first few words, John realized what Sihlas was doing. He suspected that like it had been in the United States, it may have been illegal for John to be teaching a slave to read, but he didn''t care.


    By the time Sihlas was satisfied, the sun was low enough that John could tell he wouldn''t get his half of the deal between him and Sihlas today unless he didn''t meet Kal¨¦ at the inn like they had agreed.


    "Its getting late," John said. "I have to go meet back up with my friend. How about we meet here tomorrow at the same time and you can answer my questions then?"


    John knew that Sihlas might not come back and hold his side of the deal if the boy accepted, and that he was leaving himself to be taken advantage of here, but he didn''t care. If John never saw the kid again this would still have been worth it. He enjoyed teaching people interesting stuff nearly as much as he liked learning it.


    "Okay John. Let''s meet here tomorrow."


    Sihlas went to hand the box of drawings back to John, but John gently shoved them back to Sihlas.


    Sihlas''s eyes flew open, the innocence of his childlike surprise at odds with the ugly face of a misbegotten.


    "I can have them?"


    John smiled and nodded. Sihlas thrust the box towards John again.


    "I-I just wanted to see them! I didn''t mean for you to buy them to give to me!" Sihlas objected.


    John shook his head.


    "Doesn''t matter. I''m giving them to you, and the box. It''s water-proof. Make sure you hide them somewhere safe where no one will find them."


    "Thank you! Oh, thank you sir!" Sihlas bobbed up and down in his spot and sounded so overjoyed he might cry.


    "You''re welcome. I''ll see you here tomorrow." John stood up from the crumbling wall that they had been using as a bench.


    The misbegotten boy looked around to make sure no one else was looking and hid the small hand-sized box in the crook of his wing, the feathers covering it and hiding it from sight. Sihlas looked at John one more time and then scampered off, his chimeric body oddly agile despite looking like it would be awkward.


    John watched him go, the warmth of doing a good deed filling him. He just hoped the boy was smart enough to hide the drawings from others instead of sharing them.


    If Sihlas didn''t keep the teenage urge to share something and brag about it in check, the jealousy and greed of others could cause someone to steal the drawings from him. Or even worse, someone who wasn''t a misbegotten saw the kid with them and punished him. To the weak and vulnerable, good fortune and wealth could be a curse instead of a blessing.


    What was that Chinese saying? Treasuring a jade is a crime? Something like that.


    As John began walking back to the inn, he felt so good he had to hold in the urge to whistle a tune. He would see tomorrow if Sihlas would show himself again or go back on his word. Either way, John was satisfied.

 Chapter 7 - Sihlas

    _________________________________________________________


    After leaving where he had met up with that foreigner, John, Sihlas carefully made his way down to the 70th level, only a few away from the beach. On his way down he took care to not bump into anyone or anything and drop what he had in his wings.


    Non-misbegotten rarely descended this far down, which meant most of the time only himself and other misbegotten were on this level. And why would they want to come down here in the first place?


    His kind weren''t allowed to own anything to be able to trade or provide services. The lower levels were caked in filth and there were scattered bits of rubbish everywhere from things that people had once daringly smuggled down here over the years but had since abandoned as it broke or lost its usefulness.


    Anything of worth was kept out of sight of everyone, misbegotten or not, for fear of the consequences. The buildings were in disrepair with the only ''clean'' parts of the rooms being the cobweb covered ceilings. Buildings infested with bugs were sought after because they could eat them to help deal with the ever-present hunger, and those who made the others mad or were disliked were relegated to the buildings with leaks or were bad in other ways.


    As the sun started to set, Sihlas made his way through the crowd to get to an obscure dead-end section of buildings nestled into the cliffside. There were no lifts positioned to be able to get here and had buildings that weren''t inhabited by people, abandoned for better and more convenient buildings.


    Sihlas made his way through the quiet empty section of Clifftown. He stopped at a small, unassuming stone shed-sized building built into a niche in the cliff directly on the wall of the cliff. It sat in permanent shade away in a obscure corner so sunlight never shined onto it, so it had moss growing on its stones. He entered the small building whose awkward entrance prevented someone from seeing into the interior from the street.


    Inside three large misbegotten over twice Sihlas''s size lazily sat. As he entered, their eyes turned to him.


    "Sihlas." One of them said in greeting as they all stood up from where they had been sitting.


    Two left out the door behind him and the third started pulling at a particular block in the stonework. With a scraping sound, the third man pulled the entire block out of the wall, but rather than the rock of the cliff being behind the block, there was an empty blackness.


    Already knowing what to do, Sihlas reached up and into the crook of one of his wings and his hand came back with half of a twisted metal candlestick.


    He put his hand holding the ruined candlestick into the void in the wall and dropped it. He heard the clink of metal hitting rock come from the dark space in the wall.


    Sihlas pulled his hand back and the man put the stone block back into place as if nothing ever happened. The man gave Sihlas another nod.


    "We will make sure you receive your reward. Praise the Savior."


    He called the other two back in. All three went back to sitting in their spots.


    Sihlas hurriedly made his way out of there and started to make his way to the level where his house was.


    Sihlas wasn''t really a believer in this "Savior" that had gotten a hold of the minds of everyone, but he knew to keep his mouth shut.


    Over the past couple of years after that first group of those who followed the Savior arrived, the ''priests'' and their leader as they were called, they had taken over as the leaders of the misbegotten.


    They all still had to listen to their masters above, but down here among themselves where their masters never came, they made their own rules. The priests'' taking over was easy with them all being healthy and strong in comparison to those who had lived in Morne their whole lives and had been weakened by hunger their whole lives and them being similarly powerful in the mind and with words as they had been in body compared to the misbegotten of Clifftown.


    Since they claimed leadership, those who had spoken against the Savior or his followers had been suppressed and isolated. Some particularly vocal cynics had been forced to give their daily portion of food from the castle to an especially loyal follower or suffer beatings, until they learned to keep silent. He wasn''t sure they were true, but Sihlas had even heard whispers of people ''falling off'' of walkways to crash into the ocean below, their bodies washing ashore days later.


    But Sihlas and others with similar thoughts to him were in the minority. Most were true believers and thought that this Savior would rescue them all, and those like Sihlas who weren''t so sure now carefully watched what they said and to whom. He himself had never voiced any of his thoughts to anyone.


    Whether the believers were fighting for the extra food that the priests somehow managed to smuggle in, probably in the same way they managed to get down here in the first place, or if their fervor was genuine in the hope and belief that their kind would all be delivered from their suffering, Sihlas did not know.


    He didn''t believe the tall tales the ''priests'' of their Savior told about how their kind had once been considered among the likes of storied champions, like the armored knights vested with glory and noble blood that resided up in Castle Morne. That they had once been proudly held up by their parents for their curse instead of thrown into the muck as shameful.


    That long ago they had, by virtue of their birth, been held above non-misbegotten as more holy and blessed. That in the ancient past, they were considered blessed and their beastly malformations signs of holiness.


    He did not believe any of that despite the fact that everyone around him seemed to eat it up, but the priests had said and told them so many things Sihlas hadn''t known or thought about before, that at this point he wasn''t even sure what to believe anymore.


    All Sihlas knew was that when they approached him to help with their shadowy schemes in exchange for a reward because of his tasks taking him all around Clifftown, he had agreed because he would do almost anything to not have to feel the terrible gnawing in his stomach anymore.


    He didn''t know what they were planning and was certain that they would one day be caught. He just hoped that the rest of them weren''t punished when they were discovered by their masters.


    Those older than him had told him that he would get used to the gnawing eventually, but Sihlas would rather risk banishment to the mines or even death to avoid having to endure it. And if he had to give lip service and pretend their new master, their "Savior",was perfect and sing his praises to keep from being desperately hungry, he would.


    It was sunset when Sihlas arrived at his house.


    It was a small one room shed and was tucked away in a corner, but that made it so that the chilly wind had trouble blowing into the room when the weather got colder.


    In only a couple years he would be fully grown, and he would move downward to a different level and find a different house to allow another youngling to take this one, like the person before him had done, and the one before them, and so on. One of the rules was that younglings were always given the warmest rooms.


    Another small luxury of his house was that the conditions were just right so that a small covering of grass grew on the thick layer of dirt that covered the front half of the room''s floor making a softer bed than a hard stone floor that most were stuck with.


    Sihlas took the wooden box from his wing and spent what was left of the daylight looking at his drawings. His.


    Ha! He could still scarcely believe it was real. But the evidence was in his hands.


    Probably more wealth than any of his kind had ever had in Morne. He knew even most of the non-misbegotten people couldn''t easily afford luxuries such as colorful drawings. And these were now Sihlas''s.


    Just looking at them made his heart ache to leave Morne. How he hated this place! Some days, when the gnawing in his stomach was the worst, he had seriously considered jumping off the cliff and now using his wings.


    To escape and see more of the world than this barren cliff, to see what over the other side of the hills off in the distance, Sihlas yearned to explore the world. But that wasn''t to be. These drawings were the closest he would come to that.


    Once the sun sipped below the ocean horizon and he could no longer look over the drawings or read the words on the drawing with the dragons to himself, Sihlas carefully put them back into the box that would protect them and hid the box under a small pile of stones, so it was out of sight.


    That night Sihlas dreamt he was exploring the swamp of Caelid before it had been rotted.


    Sihlas woke when he felt the light of daylight breaking him out of his pleasant dream. He got up and made his way up the levels of Clifftown until he reached the bottom area of Castle Morne and then went to a particular stone plaza located near an entrance to the lowest floor of Castle Morne.


    The plaza was large enough that it could have held a jousting track if it hadn''t been made of stone and could host a crowd of nearly nearly a thousand people at once. In it were at least twenty soldiers and a knight in elaborately decorated armor as well as a handful of castle clerks sitting at tables that were processing lines of misbegotten and giving them tasks for the day.


    Sihlas got into the shortest line and waited for his turn. Eventually the last person in front of him was given their duties for the day and it was his turn.


    Sihlas stepped forward and stood in front of the clerk. Silhas kept silent and the clerk looked him up and down like he had learned to do. Those who weren''t misbegotten found their voices from their changed mouths and throats unpleasant.


    Sihlas saw the clerk gesture at his wings with his stick of charcoal.


    "Can you fly?" the soldier asked.


    "Yes." Sihlas dared not lie.


    The clerk dug through the ''sheets'' of stiff rough leather they used as a sort-of parchment and grabbed one in particular. He made a couple marks on it and handed it to Sihlas.


    "Your assignment for today will be to carry correspondence for the Castle through Clifftown. Go into the entrance behind me and report to the steward."


    Sihlas nodded his head, having expected that. His ability to fly usually had him given that task. It was a relatively rare ability among his people and that made it so he was given tasks that his ability to fly would make him more useful for. He made sure to never slack off though as if they did they wouldn''t be fed at the end of the day.


    Sihlas went into the castle''s bowels and made his way to the castle steward''s office. The steward recognized him on sight and, after taking his task-leather, had Sihlas do the usual tasks the steward often had him do: carry small odds and ends to and from shops, and to deliver letters for orders of goods for Castle Morne down to shops and then letters of confirmation back up again.


    He wasn''t the only misbegotten that could fly of course, so there were many others who did similar tasks, but the steward had a seemingly endless amount of tasks for them to do. If they ever truly ran out he had them clean or sent them to someone else to make use of.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Sihlas spent the day making his way up and down Clifftown with the occasional trip to Castletown. As he had for more than a year now, he kept a look out for any bits of discarded metal bits that wouldn''t be noticed if they went missing to give to the believers later for food. That day he didn''t have the luck to come across any.


    Sihlas carried out tasks for the steward, and once the sun had made its way most of the way across the sky, the steward was finished with him for the day. He made some marks on Sihlas''s task letter and let him go.


    Finished with his tasks for the day, he went back to the gathering plaza. Unlike in the morning where it was mostly empty besides some soldiers, the clerks, and misbegotten like him, now it also had some carts with stacks of wooden bowls and some huge pots full of food with lines of people who had finished their tasks before him.


    Unlike in the morning when there was a huge glut of people going to the clerks all at once, now in the evening it was a steady trickle of people who arrived after finishing their tasks for the day.


    Sihlas got in line for a clerk. After reading Sihlas''s task-leather and confirming he had adequately done his tasks for the day, the clerk gave him a carved wooden chip. A meal token.


    Sihlas walked over to the wooden carts stacked high with wooden bowls that were being guarded and handed out by soldiers. He handed one his token, and he handed Sihlas a bowl back. Then Sihlas joined the shortest line for the food pots.


    At the head of each line was a misbegotten servant with a large pot of gruel and a ladle. These particular servants the rest of the misbegotten hated intensely, perhaps more than their masters.


    The cooks and other castle servants that were misbegotten had received their positions after proving their loyalty to their masters, often by turning in others who had broken the rules of their masters which led to the rule-breakers suffering severe punishments.


    Or just as often making up a lie about someone to get a chance at a servant position when one became open, convicting an innocent person to suffer for their benefit.


    When Sihlas reached the front of the line and presented his bowl the servant looked him up and down and ladled whatever he thought was an appropriate amount. He walked off to the side and hurriedly shoved his gruel down his throat. It was the same grainy, oaty, bland porridge as it had always been, but it wasn''t until the last year when he started doing things for the followers of the Savior and getting real food as a reward that he had realized how terrible it had tasted.


    Before, the only thing Sihlas had to compare it to was the occasional bug or mouse he had caught and eaten, and they all had tasted roughly as ''good'' as each other, but after his first taste of bread and fruit he had become spoiled. They tasted so good in comparison that if he hadn''t been so hungry still he would be able to stomach the gruel any longer.


    His tasks for the day done and dinner eaten, Sihlas made his way to the same meeting spot as the previous day. This time he arrived before John, so Sihlas settled in to wait.


    As he sat there Sihlas''s thoughts turned to the man. The first thing that stood out about him was his eyes. They were the color of mud, so different to the stormy grey eyes of the fringefolk, the golden eyes of the people of the Erdtree, or the piercing blue of those three traveling sorcerers of Liurnia he had once met once when doing a task. They showed John''s status as a man of foreign blood.


    Over his life Sihlas had noticed that there were a few kinds of people when it came to interacting with those born cursed like him. The most common were those who looked down upon his kind. They sneered and spit and jeered at them, but as long as Sihlas acknowledged and accepted himself being lower than them, they were usually satisfied with his submission. Sometimes they felt the need to humiliate him further to prove their superiority, but not often.


    Second most common were those who did not care about his kind at all. They didn''t mind them one way or the other, but kept their distance to not attract the ire of those who held disdain or hatred for his kind.


    Thirdly, were those that truly hated his kind. They were not content just being above them, but took the very sight of misbegotten as a deep insult to themselves. Especially those with scales, as they saw them as being marked as snakes, proving their inner nature as traitors to the Erdtree. Those largely covered in scales were sometimes even shunned by other misbegotten as untrustworthy.


    This third group of people were the most dangerous, and Sihlas had learned how to spot their malicious gazes the hard way. If given an excuse or they caught someone alone, they would hurt them for their own satisfaction. They would even sometimes form small gangs of like-minded people for this purpose.


    Sihlas did his best to avoid these kinds of people even if sometimes in his darkest thoughts he felt like his kind may have deserved their treatment for being born traitorous to the Erdtree.


    Sihlas had heard others like him talk about a fourth kind of person. Very rare, they would take pity on his kind''s plight and sometimes even give them small trinkets or good food. Sihlas had never met one of those before yesterday, so he had suspected they may have been hopeful lies, like those the believers had spread about the Savior.


    But now he knew them to be true. John hadn''t denigrated him. He even broke the law and taught Sihlas the words on the dragon drawing.


    But his lack of hate and his generosity were not the only unusual things about John.


    John had tried to hide it, but Sihlas could tell his appearance and voice bothered the man, but the man ignored it and had still talked to Sihlas like a fellow misbegotten may have. Sihlas suspected the reason John acted how he did to Sihlas was because he was a foreigner and didn''t truly grasp what Sihlas''s curse meant.


    Sihlas wondered what questions John wanted to ask him. What sorts of questions would warrant giving Sihlas that box of drawings. He dearly hoped all this wasn''t a trick of some sort. Tension slowly built up in him as he waited.


    When John arrived and Sihlas saw the man was once again alone, he relaxed, but not too much. As nice as John appeared to be so far, Sihlas wouldn''t forget that he was still far below John.


    "Hi Sihlas. Nice to see you again today."


    "Hello John."


    "Why don''t we just continue where we left off yesterday?" John paused to see if Sihlas would object. "The first thing I wanted to ask you about were your differences from a person with a regular body. The wings, claws, stuff like that. Are you okay with that?"


    Sihlas nodded his head. Misbegotten were different from those not born with his curse. Sihlas didn''t know why John thought that Sihlas would care about John pointing out those physical differences. It would be like getting upset over someone pointing out that blue is a different color than red.


    "Great. So the first thing I wanted to ask about are your scales."


    "My scales?" Sihlas resisted the urge to pull his scaled arms back to try and hide them.


    "Yes. Are they like snake scales or more like lizard scales, or something in between or completely different? Do some of the misbegotten have one kind or the other, or is it all misbegotten have the same kind of scales? Stuff like that."


    Sihlas blinked, slightly shocked. He hadn''t known there were different kinds of scales. Scales were scales he had thought. But apparently the scales of a snake and a lizard were different? The thought there were different kinds of scales had never occurred to him.


    Suddenly Sihlas was very interested in this. Sihlas and most misbegotten usually did their best to shun their beastly cursed flesh, not learn more about it. But this question had deep implications to Sihlas. He really wanted to know.


    Seeing how eager John had been to share his knowledge the previous day, Sihlas took a risk and decided to just ask.


    "There are differences between snake and lizard scales?"


    John nodded.


    "Yes. Snakes and lizards use their scales differently for different things, so they are different kinds of scales. Just like the skin on my palm is different from the skin on my arm and also different from the skin on my lips.


    "For example, lizard skin can have little bits of bony plate in it called osteoderms which they use as armor. Snakes however do not have osteoderms at all."


    Sihlas had never heard of anything like that, but it sounded like it made sense. John was confident and seemed like he knew what he was talking about.


    John went on to extol the difference between snake scales and asked Sihlas questions about his own scales and the scales of other misbegotten.


    "So your own scales near your hands have osteoderms that make them tougher like lizard skin, but as they go up your arm and near your skin they no longer have osteoderms. That means those upper scales may be snake scales.


    "However, you said your scales shed in bits and pieces rather than all at once including the ones on your upper arms, and you said that not a single misbegotten you have seen or heard of has their scales shed all at once.


    "Snakes shed their skin all at once and lizards do not. The fact that not a single misbegotten has scales that all shed at once does this points to the scales not being snake scales despite lacking osteoderms.


    "That means that your scales, and the scales of all misbegotten, are most likely lizard scales and not snake scales. Or at least that is my guess as best as I can tell." John declared.


    That took Sihlas aback.


    John had just ''proven'' something to Sihlas that the man hadn''t even known the importance of. Sure, the man could be wrong, but everything he was mentioning sounded right to Sihlas''s very limited knowledge and experience.


    Some people, even other misbegotten, especially hated misbegotten with scales because they thought the scales were snake scales, marking them as having an especially untrustworthy nature.


    And here John, blissfully ignorant, had just ''proven'' all of that wrong with a few humble facts. Sihlas was still mentally reeling as John started asking Sihlas more questions which Sihlas answered the best he could.


    John asked about the feathers, horns, and fur of Sihlas''s kind. As John asked about these things John would tell Sihlas what those answers meant to him. For example John told Sihlas his wings were too small to lift his body naturally so there must have been some sort of magic involved.


    That was a surprise to Sihlas, but thinking about the birds he had seen, Sihlas realized it was probably true even if he couldn''t feel the magic he was using to fly.


    As John told Sihlas about these things and mentioned some of his conclusions, Sihlas had another question come to his mind.


    "Hey John, how do you say with confidence that misbegotten horns that sometimes grow out of our heads and tails are bone and not ivory, but then you say that you don''t have much to say on feathers? How do you know all this? Are you some kind of hunter?"


    "No. I''ve become a decent hunter since I arrived at the Lands Between, but the reason I know this stuff is because before I came to the Lands Between, I was a scholar. My main study was history, but I had a wide interest in many things so I''ve learned a lot of specific things that caught my interest.


    "For example, I know the difference between snake and lizard skin because I have always thought snakes and lizards were cool since I was a kid, and when I was older I learned about them for fun. On the other hand I don''t know much about your feathers because I''ve never really had much of an interest in birds.


    "I can tell you birds are reptiles like snakes and lizards and descend from the same very distant ancestors, though they are very distant cousins. But I don''t know much about birds besides a cursory knowledge of them and how they are related to lizards. I couldn''t tell you what sort of bird your feathers are from or about the different types of feathers.


    "Horns on the other hand, like lizards and snakes, were something I thought were cool and interesting, so I looked into them. Bone and teeth are made of different materials despite both being very hard and white-ish color. What we call ivory, tusks and the like, are just very large teeth; while proper horns are actually made of bone.


    "If I could see the fine details under something like what my homeland called a microscope, a telescope but for seeing very small things instead of very distant things, I could tell you for sure whether the horns are actually horns are actual horns made of bone or if they are just tusks made of ivory. But because I don''t have that, I have to make an educated guess.


    "Considering that, according to you, no misbegotten ever have tusks in their mouths, just human teeth and fangs. And that the horns seem to grow out of the skull and spine and no where else. It seems most likely that they are horns.


    "Really, considering the specific types of features misbegotten are born with, it seems you only get stuff from reptiles like birds and lizards, but not snakes.


    "I''m actually being a little sloppy with my language here. From what you have told me misbegotten only seem to have features from the archosaur clade, or family, of animals. Archosaurs were ''ancient'' lizards that are the ancestors of birds and crocodiles, and are not lepidosaurs, the ancestors of most ''normal'' or ''modern'' lizards and snakes. So misbegotten have the features of ''ancient'' lizards and their descendants.


    "That, of course, only applies within the bounds and rules of my homeland, which does not have any magic. Who knows what the ancestry of creatures in the Lands Between looks like with magic, and Gods, and dragons, the Elden Ring and everything else going on."


    At this point Sihlas had been totally lost as John kept enthusiastically speaking about the subject. Not wanting to take the chance of upsetting him, Sihlas kept nodding along despite not understanding whatever esoteric knowledge John was speaking of at this point.


    All Sihlas got from what he was hearing was that misbegotten had the traits of birds and certain kinds of lizards, but not other kinds of lizards or snakes. That misbegotten had horns made of bone, and that bone and ivory were different things, which Sihlas had already known, even if he hadn''t known any of the specifics of why they were different and still didn''t understand from John''s explanation.


    But John liked it when Sihlas nodded along, so he kept doing so, and John kept going into the details about the ancestry of creatures that Sihlas had no understanding of. Sihlas knew of course that all life originally came from the dragons and the Crucible, which eventually became the Erdtree, so all life was related, but he didn''t know any of the details about which animals are descended from which it like what John was going on about.


    John kept talking and asking Sihlas questions and soon enough the sun was starting to approach the horizon. Sihlas didn''t have to say anything as John quickly realized.


    "Oh, it''s about time for me to be going for the day," John said. "You''ve definitely already done your half of the deal answering my questions Sihlas, but I have more things I''d like to ask you about. Would you meet up here with me tomorrow as well? Same time?"


    Sihlas agreed and they went their separate ways for the day. Not hiding anything in his wings today unfortunately, he was able to glide down directly to the level where his home was.


    There he found a pair of apples waiting for him, his payment for the metal he had brought yesterday. He pulled out his hidden drawings and enjoyed his apples, feeling almost giddy for a moment at the wealth he had at this moment.


    That night when Sihlas went to bed he once again dreamt he was in one of the drawings. This time he was standing alongside of dragons. He stood by looking at them holding leathers and a stick of charcoal scribbling down notes he couldn''t read for John as the man blathered into Sihlas ear esoteric details about the dragons that Sihlas didn''t understand.


    As strange as it was, it was a pleasant dream, as good as the dreams he had about flying over the ocean with his wings like a bird. Then the dream suddenly cut off!


    Sihlas suddenly woke up with a jerk instantly wide awake! As he rolled onto his hands and knees, his eyes shot to the doorway, the moonlight outlining a silhouette he wasn''t familiar with. The figure was taller than a man even with its hunch hunch, being more than twice the size of a regular man.


    Moonlight cast the figure''s face into shadow but lit up much of their body. The figure was clearly a misbegotten, but one of greater stature than any Sihlas had seen before.


    They had large clawed feet with long toes like Sihlas''s. The legs bent at the ankles and knees like a dog making the figure stand on its toes. Its flesh was a dark orange color as the legs went up to its waist and were covered in a light dusting of red hair. There at the waist the figure was revealed as a woman, and from the back of her waist hung a large scaly tail as long as Sihlas was sprawled out. A single pair of feathered but limp and anemic wings with white feathers hung off her lower back.


    Her body was larger and more barrel-chested and widened as it came to her shoulders though without any visible breasts on her chest. Her arms were long and muscular ending in long clawed fingers with tufts of scarlet red hair near her elbows.


    Although her face was mostly shadowed by the moonlight, Sihlas could make out the features of her face were more beast than man. Her head had an overgrowth of hair the color the scarlet red of primal vitality. Her hair came not just on the top of her hair, but from all four sides of her face, sides and chin included, making her hair resemble a mane like the lion pelts Sihlas had seen in some knights'' chambers in the castle.


    Seeing this foreboding figure darkening his doorway, Sihlas''s breathe caught in his throat. He''d heard about red-haired misbegotten before. They were always killed at birth or when they first arrived at Castle Morne.


    And Sihlas realized why now.


    Just being near her Sihlas could feel the grace, power, and ferocity of her body. It wasn''t just that, there was a presence coming from her. A presence pressed into him, of bigness, of strength clashing against strength and coming out bloody but victorious, of overwhelming endurance, telling him that she was greater than him on a primal level.


    There was no way his masters could control one born like her.


    Sihlas knew without being told that this had to be the shadowy leader of the believers that no one had seen or would speak of. The leader of those spreading tales of the past glory of the misbegotten he had dismissed out of hand. Those tales didn''t seem so tall now.


    "You are Sihlas?" It wasn''t a question, her bestial voice something between a growl and the screech of a bird. "I have heard that you have faithfully contributed highly over this last year without complaint and without once being caught even once. Take this."


    Her massive hand handed something that looked almost small in her hands. Sihlas reached out and took it. She held it like it weighed nothing, but Sihlas nearly fell over once she let go. It was a crudely made heavy cleaver that was the length of his entire forearm and two finger thick with a wicked curve to it.


    "Hide this somewhere near where you conduct your daily tasks such that it won''t be discovered by anyone but you can easily get to it. The time for us to act is approaching, but now is the most perilous time for us.


    "The day is within sight. The plan is in motion. Many will perish in the task, but the bodies will make a gate to the freedom of our kind. When it is time our brethren who were not trusted with this will see the goings on and know they have to join us for their survival. Then we will all be acting as one.


    "Steady your heart at the trepidation of what is to come and know that you are part of something far greater than yourself, the hands of which span the entirety of the Lands Between and beyond. Take refuge in your dreams."


    With that, she left. Moving with agility and silence Sihlas almost couldn''t believe despite her large body; the only sound of her passing being a soft clap of flesh on stone as she swung herself down over the edge of the cliffside walkway.


    Gone like a spirit except for what she had left behind.


    Sihlas held the massive cleaver that was heavy enough to eventually break through all but the thickest of armors, he realized that the believers plans were far more dangerous than he could have imagined. But he was already in too deep. He knew what he had to do.


    Now, with this cleaver in his hands, he couldn''t back out even if he wanted to. He knew they wouldn''t let him. And as he thought of what he had endured since before he could remember and felt the faintest flickerings of hope, Sihlas wasn''t sure he wanted to.


    He would see this through to its bloody end. He just hoped he lived through it. But one way or another, by the end of this, he wouldn''t have to feel that gnawing hunger ever again.


    ___________________________________________

 Chapter 8 - John

    ________________________________


    This time when John went to meet Sihlas, John remembered to bring some writing supplies. He had forgotten them yesterday and had to write down his notes in the morning.


    Today writing everything down was even more important. John felt compelled to make a record of Sihlas, of the misbegotten boy''s life. He didn''t know why he felt compelled to do so, but he did. Well, actually, that was a lie. John wouldn''t lie to himself. He knew exactly why.


    Sihlas may have been insignificant in terms of the bigger picture of the Lands Between, but to John personally Sihlas felt important despite not having interacted with the kid for a handful of hours. John knew he had a soft spot when it came to kids; they always reminded him of his own childhood.


    John did not know if Sihlas would survive the rebellion that would eventually break out. Maybe it would be months or just as likely years.


    He had no idea how many years ahead of canon he had first arrived or was at the moment. He''d already been here for half a decade and nothing had really happened. It could be more than a hundred years until it was time for the Chosen Tarnished to finally arrive, and the misbegotten rebellion to start.


    But John had a sneaking suspicion that who or whatever had arranged for him to wash up on that beach with the Church of Elleh less than a day away, hadn''t just done it for without rhyme or reason. That he was placed sometime relatively close, emphasis on relative, to when the Chosen Tarnished arrived. And he knew that he had arrived before the Chosen Tarnished did because certain timely events had yet to happen, like the very rebellion John wanted to stop.


    Maybe if he was actually the Chosen Tarnished, placing him there at any arbitrary time would maybe make sense. But because John wasn''t the ''main character'' of this ''story'', his placement temporally and geographically probably was calculated in relation to the ''main character'' by whatever had put him here. The odds that he randomly arrived at this particular point of time in all of history was astronomically low.


    Those first few months after John had washed up he had been expecting the Chosen Tarnished to show up any minute, but that thought in the back of his head had stopped wriggling after the first year. Instead John had a different, irrational, fear that had been slowly growing over the years that he had kept in check by his knowledge that he was still ahead of the ''canon'' arrival time of the Chosen Tarnished. That the Chosen Tarnished would never arrive.


    But if that turned out to be the case, he could address it in the future. Worrying in general was useless, and worrying about something that may never happen was especially useless. So John put his thoughts back into the here and now.


    After the past couple of days of soaking in how people here did things, and asking the locals some particular questions, John had figured out how he was going to move forward with warning Castle Morne that the misbegotten were probably planning a rebellion. He''d walked through some parts of Clifftown to try and see if he could discretely discover some clues himself since he knew it was happening and so was looking out for anything suspicious, but that had been completely fruitless. Sticking out like a sore thumb there made it impossible to just blend in or be subtle at all.


    And he couldn''t just make vague claims like just outright telling them that there was a rebellion brewing and not give them any actual evidence. He had to have specifics they could act on or look for. Which is why he''d been looking for clues, but he''d realized something.


    The misbegotten''s weapons. They were the key.


    You don''t let your slaves have weapons, and yet the misbegotten who rebelled were armed somehow. And considering the scale of Morne in real life, there had to be a large amount of them. A massive stockpile of weapons. And there were none of those teleportation gates anywhere near Morne.


    John had asked some locals and now knew that slave rebellions were somewhat of a semi-regular occurrence across the Weeping Peninsula.


    So this was not at all out of the question, and the claim of large amounts of weapons was something that could be checked. He had other claims he could add as well, but that was the most significant one in his mind.


    John wanted to have this last conversation with Sihlas, and then after Kal¨¦ was done with his business, wait for the next rainy day to execute his plan. It wouldn''t take long at all with how often it rained in the Weeping Peninsula. Then there would be nothing else for John to do in Morne.


    He and Kal¨¦ could head back to Limgrave, and Kal¨¦ get get his payment from Duran. Then John could keep following Kal¨¦ around and build runes through hunting and trading, allowing him to slowly ''level up'' as he waited around for the Chosen Tarnished to eventually arrive.


    John really needed a new name for when he empowered himself. Using such a mundane term for something so potent and sublime felt almost sacrilegious. The feeling when channeling the runes felt like far more than just his body becoming slightly more powerful.


    It was like sticking a hand behind the curtain of reality and faintly touching the face of God, of something unknowably and incomprehensibly grand yet still infinitely vital with life. John wasn''t a believer nor religious, but he couldn''t deny that something about it had felt divine.


    He''d decide on one later. He still had quite a few runes to go til he could strengthen himself again.


    Speaking of getting stronger, maybe John could convince Kal¨¦ to go to southern Liurnia, so John could hunt down Thops. He had to actually start learning how magic worked if he wanted to start on making a mending rune at all. And maybe he could even learn some spells! Not only would that just be cool, but everything would become safer if he had more ranged firepower against all the hundreds of different things that wanted to kill people in the Lands Between.


    John put his thoughts on the future aside as he arrived at the meeting spot and saw Sihlas had beaten him there.


    After a quick greeting John dived right into his questions, writing implement and parchment ready.


    "So tell me the story of Sihlas."


    "What do you mean?"


    "The story you tell yourself about your life. Who are you, where you were born, how you have arrived at where you are now, that sort of stuff."


    Sihlas was obviously uncomfortable with John''s question. His response was very barebones.


    "I was born in Castletown. I don''t know to who. I have lived for 15 winters, and I''ve always been a servant of Castle Morne. My life story... It isn''t interesting. There isn''t much more to tell."


    John blankly nodded his head, playing dumb to Sihlas trying to deflect attention.


    "Okay. Can you tell me what the first tasks you remember getting were?"


    "Laundry. I would help wash clothes in the castle as soon as I could understand orders."


    "How old-"


    John went about asking Sihlas about his life. With Sihlas''s cutting out details with his repeated denials about how significant his life was in various ways, it was like pulling teeth. But as they kept going and John kept asking about details, Sihlas spoke more and more smoothly with more details and less and less objections.


    Soon enough, the teen was actually telling his story without John prompting him at all.


    John learned about how Sihlas once nearly broke his wing when he was first learning to fly while carrying things. How he had been cornered a few times by hateful servants looking to punish him for being born misbegotten. How he had gained and lost friends for various reasons. How twice he had gotten incredibly sick and nearly died but had recovered. And many other such things.


    It closely resembled the upbringing that could be expected from someone of a slave caste reviled by society and barely considered human but were kept around because they could be used as almost free labor.


    As Sihlas told his tale, John internally remarked that Sihlas had been right. There were not any deeds or events that would have marked Sihlas as exceptional or glorious, the most impressive thing he had ever done being lifting a particularly heavy box.


    Even so, John did not hesitate as he wrote down the tale of Sihlas the Misbegotten.


    "And then you approached me that day in the alley, and well, you know the rest." Sihlas finished.


    John wrote down the last bit of the tale and glanced at the sky. It was getting close to time for John to return to the inn.


    He could delay things for a day or two to talk to Sihlas some more, but there really wasn''t much more John had to talk to Sihlas about. It would just be procrastination because John knew that he would probably never see the boy, the young man, in front of him ever again, and permanent partings like this left John ever so slightly melancholic.


    But that would just be him wasting both their time for his own indulgence.


    It was time to say goodbye. And since they were parting, there was no harm in fishing for a bit of information.


    John looked at Sihlas and offered him a smile.


    "So I do have one last thing to ask, not about you" John started. "I''m curious. I have heard of misbegotten that are covered in red hair, but I have not seen any here. Just little tufts of orange or the smallest patches of red. There must be a few thousand misbegotten around Castle Morne and the nearby area, yet I''ve not seen a misbegotten with lots of red hair. Have you ever seen one?"


    Sihlas froze up for a moment when John mentioned red-haired misbegotten, but relaxed as John continued. Sihlas quickly glanced around and licked his lips before he replied.


    "Well, red-haired misbegotten are rare John, and when they are born or found, they are killed on sight."


    "Really?" John blinked in surprise, he did not know that. "Why?" he asked.


    Sihlas squirmed at the question.


    Seeing this, John suspected Sihlas had had a bad experience about this subject. Maybe he had come across a sight like John had in those woods near that village. For someone so young it would have been traumatic to see.


    "I don''t know. Maybe they grow too big or strong or something."


    Despite Sihlas being uncomfortable, John needed to ask.


    "So you''ve never seen one before?"


    Sihlas didn''t seem to notably react to the question except John spotted the blood involuntarily draining from the boy''s face.


    "No. I''ve never seen one John."


    Seeing how uncomfortable Sihlas clearly was and his reaction, John decided to stop there. The boy was clearly lying, but John didn''t think what he was lying about the Leonine Misbegotten.


    Hiding a hulking bright red misbegotten would be impossible in a place like Clifftown. It was completely cut off from any avenue in, except through Castletown or Castle Morne. John suspected that the Leonine Misbegotten, with how eye-catching he would be, would arrive after the rebellion started, or his arrival would be what signaled its start.


    There were many possibilities and he could be wrong, but John was making a bet that hundreds or thousands of weapons weren''t brought on the same day that the rebellion started. Much easier to sneak them in over time somehow.


    "Alright," John said, not calling him out for lying. "Well Sihlas, I know it is a little earlier than usual, but let''s call it in early today." John stood up and offered a handshake to Sihlas once again out of habit.


    Sihlas knew what to do this time and used his scaly hand to give John''s a shake. Despite the gesture being foreign to the Lands Between, Sihlas seemed to understand what it implied.


    "This is the last time we''ll meet?"


    John nodded.


    "Yes. That was everything. It is time for us to go our separate ways."


    At this John saw Sihlas frown and shift his weight from foot to foot. Sihlas was extremely conflicted, and John knew why.


    From Sihlas''s story, John could already tell from a couple of different things that unlike other misbegotten Sihlas had mentioned, the boy had few if any friends left due to a series of misfortunes. In short, the boy was lonely. He must not have wanted to part yet, but John couldn''t indulge the boy.


    Who knew when the Chosen Tarnished would finally arrive. John wanted to be able to quickly hunt him down whenever he appeared and join as a follower of his. He had to try and prevent the man from choosing one of the horrifying endings.


    "It was nice meeting you Sihlas. Thanks for putting up with all my questions, and goodbye."


    At this, Sihlas looked even more conflicted. The moment hung in the air. One of those moments that felt like forever but was over in an instant.


    "Goodbye John."


    "Have a nice life." John said as he raised a hand in goodbye, turned around, and started down the walkway.


    As he got close to turning the nearby corner-


    "John!" Sihlas called out, like it was involuntarily pulled from him.


    John turned around.


    Sihlas shuffled from foot to foot. He opened his mouth as if to ask or say something, before a look of pain came over his face, and he changed whatever he was going to say.


    "You too."


    John stood there paused for a moment to see if there was more. When nothing came, John nodded and left, feeling sorry for Sihlas. Having such a hard life, being lonely, and probably going to suffer some consequences one way or another if the rebellion was discovered or if it went off successfully. The kid was born shafted and when he was gonna be screwed over again. His life was truly pitiable.


    If he could, John wanted to help the misbegotten, omen, albinaurics, and others like them. Those hated and considered just because they were outside the Order.


    Of all the demigods, John felt that Miquella the Kind had definitely been the one on the most right track and was very sympathetic towards the demigod''s actions, but unfortunately the only kindhearted demigod had gotten kidnapped and killed by his blood-crazed rapist brother. His dead body resting in its cocoon in Mogh''s palace, torn from the Haligtree.


    Truly, GRRM''s influence showed through. And Miyazaki''s equal penchant for giving altruistic characters bad endings. Except this was real life and that had really happened, which made all that disturbing instead of humorous.


    Well John was determined to get a good ending even if he was insignificant with little power, screw GRRM and Miyazaki! Even if he had to risk his life!


    As John walked away from the meeting place with Sihlas, he put the boy away in a mental box to never think of again like he had many other things in his life.


    ________________________________


    The next few days John spent relaxing and just enjoying the foreign culture of Castletown and Clifftown as he waited for Kal¨¦ to finish his business. He ate at different places that served foods he had never eaten before made using the strange produce in the Lands Between. Turtle neck meat stew with rowa fruit, or spiced, roasted land quirt flesh. Land squirts were those barnacle-pimple creatures in the waterways that squirted poison in the air like miranda flowers.


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    He tried these and other such foreign ingredients and dishes. Some were good, some bad, but all of them were strange. Wanting to conserve his runes He did not go anywhere particularly expensive or upper-class.


    A few times throughout the day as he talked to random people he had even been asked if he would like to join a group of men at a pub for drinks despite being a foreigner, but he had turned them down.


    John was a teetotaler. Really, he never smoked, drank, or did anything else that impaired his mind like that unless it was absolutely necessary. He prized what self-control he had too much and was too paranoid to put it at risk. And besides that, as a foreigner getting drunk with strangers in a foreign country was not very smart. It would leave him practically helpless and would be an unnecessary roll of the dice to see if they wished to rob or harm him or not.


    Besides just relaxing, he workshopped on what he was gonna write to hopefully stop the rebellion before it even began, though John doubted it would all be stopped without violence.


    The letter would be to Edgar Morne, the High Marshal in charge Morne, who John was sure was the same Edgar as the npc. John had tried a few different drafts and ways to write the letter and ways to deliver it but had in the end decided that simpler was better for this sort of thing, following the axiom of ''Keep it simple, stupid''. Unnecessarily complex plans were much less likely to succeed.


    So he was just going to hide his identity and deliver an anonymous letter to a guard for his boss and hope the chain of command worked its magic.


    As for the contents of the letter, at first John was going to just write the events that could have happened like they had in the games, but he''d changed his mind as that would be much less believable than other alternatives. He had decided in the end to just claim to be someone that overheard misbegotten talking about ''their plans'' to rebel and then gave some details for things the guards could look for.


    How they would use bows with flying misbegotten and crude cleavers for the regular sized misbegotten. That a scarlet red-haired large and strong misbegotten was involved. How they were planning to steal the legendary blade of Morne that Edgar was in charge of defending. And most importantly, how there should be weapons somewhere they could find and see for themselves that a rebellion was coming.


    All this wasn''t the truth of course, John hadn''t overheard a single misbegotten say anything besides complaints about whatever tasks they were doing. But it delivered the same information but in a way John hoped was much more effective and believable to whoever read it.


    John also threw in one outright lie. That the misbegotten were going to specifically target Edgar''s daughter Irina to kill as revenge for their treatment as slaves. That they even had plans and misbegotten outside Morne to hunt her down if she fled or was sent away from the Castle. He hoped it galvanized Edgar to act on John''s letter but not do certain things like send her off with an escort.


    With the letter done, John went out and bought a plain brown leather cloak that would keep most of the rain and weather off of him, a set of rough durable cloth tunic and pants, and a pair of leather shoes. A set of the exact same type of clothes he had seen the townsfolk wearing.


    With a rainy night and the addition of the cloak to help hide his eyes, he should easily pass as a normal townsfolk, instead of the rough low quality armor he usually wore around town that was out of place, though he left his helmet in the inn when he went out into town so people could see his face when they were talking. He had even practiced what he was planning to say to try and get the local accent down.


    Almost like fate, after a few days on the very evening Kal¨¦ returned to the inn and told John that he was finished and that he was ready to leave whenever John was ready as well, came the soft pitter patter of rain that quickly grew louder into the heaviest downpour John had yet experienced in the Peninsula.


    John spoke with Kal¨¦ about his day over dinner and then they retired to their respective rooms.


    John changed his clothes to his townsfolk outfit and threw on his leather cloak. He tucked his letter in another palm-sized wooden box to protect it from the rain, tucking it away safely on his breast behind the water-proof leather cloak and his tunic. Then he made his way outside into the downpour.


    It was late evening and the sun was setting, turning the sky purple. The deluge of rain combined with the fading light made it hard to make out any details about the people John saw scrambling to make their way quickly in the heavy rain. Perfect.


    John made his way through the zigzaging, irregular streets of Castletown, a result of the city not being centrally planned but instead organically growing.


    He almost got lost as the rain and fading light made it harder to recognize landmarks but he made it to the main entrance of Castle Morne.


    Despite the rain, there were four guards covered in waterpoof cloaks at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the main entrance of Castle Morne, which was guarded by more soldiers. All the guards looked bored and miserable as one would expect with guards, many barely paying attention to anything happening around them as they achieved a zen-like state of existing unpleasantly.


    John approached one of the guards on the fringe and abruptly handed him the wooden box with the letter inside, keeping his head tilted to obscure his face in the shadow of his cloak and the rain. John spoke loud enough that the other guards would definitely overhear what he was saying.


    "This has an urgent letter to Lord Edgar. Bring it to your superior immediately."


    Before the guards could react to his ambush, John turned around and walked away briskly. By the time the guard oriented himself called out for John to stop and come back, he had already made his way down the street and disappeared in an alleyway.


    John kept going steady waiting for the clanking of plate on mail to approach, but after a couple minutes of no one pursuing him, he relaxed.


    It seemed his plan had gone off without a hitch. Now all he could do is hope that something gets done by whoever reads the letter.


    John returned to the inn and undressed down to his underclothes. He had long gotten used to sleeping his clothes and armor in the wilderness for years by himself, but in town there was no reason to keep his armor on in case of a wild animal attack.


    John laid down in his bed. Tomorrow morning he would tell Kal¨¦ that he was ready, and they could leave.


    ______________________________________


    John''s eyes shot open as a scream pierced the night and was suddenly cut off. Groggy, John rolled off the bed and ran over to his window ignoring his head pounding from the lack of sleep as adrenaline thundered in his veins.


    Opening his room window and looking out into the street, it was pandemonium. The heavy rain had let up meaning sounds were no longer being drowned out. He could just make out indistinct yelling and screaming in the city from all directions. Not screams of anger, but of fear and pain.


    People were running up and down the street pointing in different directions. In the distance John saw a small orange glow pierce the night over the rooftops.


    John immediately jumped into action. He threw the few things he had left out on the table into his bag and started putting on his armor as the sound of the chaos that was unfolding outside came in through the window. It felt like forever as he put on his layers of armor, and once he was done, John double checked to make sure he had his whetstone knife on him. Leaving his cloak and other clothes behind, he raced out of his room to the room nextdoor and started slamming his fist into Kal¨¦''s door.


    Kal¨¦ opened the door, the metal bow for his rebab in his fist, raised to strike! He saw it was John and turned back around to continue filling the half dozen bags he had with his stuff. John helped him pack the stuff away and threw a couple of the bags over his shoulder.


    They walked out into the main room of the inn and saw the few other patrons looking around fearfully. They went out the back door to the shed. As Kal¨¦ put on Rabbit''s saddle, John looked out of the alleyway towards the main street. He saw people all running away in the same direction, some yelling and pointing behind them as they did. With the cacophony of noise, John couldn''t make out what they were saying, but he soon saw.


    A drunk person stumbled and fell in front of the mouth of the alley. The running crowd left him behind, and after the last of the crowd ran past right behind them a gang of almost a dozen misbegotten with weapons came into view. They pounced on the drunk man and started hacking into his body as he screamed. Most were curved cleavers, but some were the various weapons he had seen the soldiers of Godrick using like hammer or swords.


    Once the man''s screams were cut short, John saw some of the misbegotten raise their weapons and scream a cry of victory before they all started running off after the crowd once again, the blood on their weapons gleaming in the moonlight and the water on the street turning red with the man''s blood.


    Looking at the mutilated corpse at the mouth of the alley and now realizing what was happening to cause this chaos, John drew his whetstone knife holding the hilt so hard his knuckles turned white.


    Had his letter been too late, or was this all the result of his letter? John didn''t bother thinking about it, about how this had all gone wrong. He and Kal¨¦ had to get somewhere safe as soon as possible.


    Kal¨¦ finished saddling Rabbit, and he and John then quickly tied all the bags onto the saddle. As they did so, John could now see multiple small orange glows reaching over the rooftops, and the original one was already twice as large, the barest licks of flames shooting far enough up that John could make out their tops.


    "Kal¨¦, there are fires starting everywhere and the misbegotten are rebelling and slaughtering people! We have to get out of here!"


    Kal¨¦ hopped up on a stirrup on Rabbit and looked around with increased height before hopping off!


    "Marika''s bones!" Kal¨¦ cursed, "The fires are starting all over the town. We are too close to the castle to be able to make it out of the city before the fires cut us off! We have to take shelter in Castle Morne!"


    John nodded in agreement, and he and Kal¨¦ ran out onto the streets with Kal¨¦ pulling Rabbit by his reins.


    Before they began heading south towards Castle Morne, John poked his head into the inn.


    "It''s not safe here! There''s murderous misbegotten running around and fires are starting all around the city! I''m heading to Castle Morne for safety. Follow me!" John declared to the scared people standing in the inn''s main room.


    About half of the patrons, all lone men, along with the owner of the inn and his daughter moved to follow John, but the other half stayed. He and Kal¨¦ then hurried down the streets towards Castle Morne, their entourage following.


    John''s head was on a swivel as they made their way through the streets.


    Some lone stragglers saw his group passing by and joined them. As they approached a particular intersection, they were brought to a halt as their group was stopped as another similarly sized group ran across the intersection in front of them. A pair of misbegotten armed with cleavers followed right on their tail, their chimeric steps lumbering and awkward, but quick.


    As the misbegotten ran in front of him, John saw their heads turn to see his group only a couple steps away from them. As their eyes lit up, John acted. He leapt forward grabbing the closer misbegotten and pulled the misbegotten man into his chest, holding the arm holding the cleaver still, and began stabbing into the misbegotten''s back over and over again.


    The other misbegotten who was still turning his momentum away from the other group to John''s saw this and reacted. They threw their whole body into leaping at John cleaver raised. John shoved the body of the misbegotten he was holding forward, and the two smashed into each other both dropping their cleavers as they went down.


    Heart pounding, John quickly grabbed one of the cleavers, its mass heavy and poorly balanced, and began hacking into the two misbegotten on the ground. They both wriggled around trying to escape, but when they put a limb on the ground to lift themselves John chopped. Their screeches as they screamed in shock and pain from the blows even worse than the drunk man''s earlier, but John kept going and going until they both stopped moving.


    His arms were burning from the weight of the cleaver, his blood was pounding in his veins, his clothes and face were splattered in blood, and he couldn''t say if that whole encounter had been thirty seconds or five minutes, but John was okay.


    He looked around him and saw that the group the misbegotten had been chasing had stopped running and were looking at him.


    "Follow me! We''re heading away from this chaos to Castle Morne!"


    They stepped forward to join his group and John pointed to the biggest man among the combined group.


    "You! Take the other cleaver!"


    As the man moved, John picked his whetstone knife up and sheathed it. Now three of them were armed. Him and the other man with cleavers, and Kal¨¦ with his metal rebab bow capped with a small metal hand.


    Cleaver</a>


    Rebab Bow</a>


    John and his group kept heading towards Castle Morne and as they passed through intersections they saw that people, alone and in groups, were running every which way in the chaos as gangs of misbegotten small and large prowled the streets. A few more lone stragglers joined as they went, but as they made their way towards the castle there were less and less lone individuals, misbegotten or not, as everyone sought safety in groups. They even passed certain streets and buildings that groups had taken over to act as safe zones from the misbegotten in the chaos.


    John led the group he had somewhat accidentally made himself the leader of to stay away from the roving misbegotten as much as possible, but they still ran into a few more as they went. All of them were alone. They took a look at their group, armed with John covered in blood, and ran, except for one.


    That misbegotten, looking crazed and furious, his body littered in scars, charged at them roaring barely not paying their greater numbers any mind.


    John stepped forward and blocked the obvious overhead chop with his own cleaver. The misbegotten tried to hop up and disembowel him with its clawed feet but his gambeson protected his stomach. The misbegotten landed awkwardly and impotently fell over despite its rage. Then John and the man beside him furiously began chopping at the downed misbegotten, the man shouting at the top of his lungs cursing the misbegotten out in a panicked frenzy.


    John gave the next biggest man that misbegotten''s cleaver, bringing them up to four armed people.


    As they went through the streets they passed buildings some of which had fearful faces peeking out of windows. The city streets were littered with more and more bodies as time passed. Corpses lay discarded on the ground, some townsfolk, some misbegotten, and some of Godrick''s soldiers with their weapons missing.


    Without further incident as they ran through the dark city with screaming in the distance as their backdrop.


    Then they finally arrived at the front entrance of Castle Morne only to see a battle that left them stunned.


    What looked like a solid wave of misbegotten were swarming the entire entrance area surrounding and attacking the men who once guarded the entrance.


    There were at least fifty men to combat what had to be hundreds of misbegotten. However the men were divided and trapped in small pockets of a handful of men standing in a circular formation fighting against the tide of misbegotten coming at them from all sides. They were like beetles being swarmed by ants.


    For every man there were five or more misbegotten. The regular soldiers, in their red and green surcoat covered plate and chainmail, acquitted themselves well with their well practiced strikes and moderate armor. The misbegotten despite being numerous were individually weak and could barely swing their cleavers properly. So with their fairly heavy armor, any strikes that made it past their shield were mostly stopped by their armor if there was not a lucky hit.


    However among them were two large plate-armored knights who stood at half again the stature of a normal man towering over the battle. They wore elaborately engraved armor, and their swords and shields were wreathed in storming winds as if a tornado was wrapped around their weapons. With every blow the fury of the storm would be released, the wind shearing their flesh and tossing their bodies. They might as well have been gods compared to the misbegotten.


    Banished Knight</a>


    Banished Knight Concept Art 1</a>


    Banished Knight Concept Art 2</a>


    Storm Wreathed Weapon</a>


    John recognized them as Banished Knights and he watched as they battled with impunity against the misbegotten.


    The misbegotten on the other hand with their chimeric and varied bodies and complete lack of any training could not go toe to toe with Godrick''s men. Each individual getting into each other''s way or dodging to use their fellows as meat shields, unable to hold any semblance of a defensive line at all.


    Despite all this, the numbers of misbegotten were just too many. They would occasionally get a strike past the men''s shields and through their armor. Sometimes when a man was truly struck he would pull out a golden flask filled with a red liquid and drink from it before continuing to fight on, but others had to fight on as they bled.


    The worst was when a man was struck hard in the legs or finally succumbed to their injuries. As they fell to the ground, the misbegotten could rush at the rest of the groups'' backs, and they would quickly fall.


    When one of the men from one of the groups that held a banished knight was knocked down, misbegotten around them rushed into the knight from the back. He managed to stand tall and more storm gathered around him as the misbegotten piled on, until another misbegotten, this time a large muscular one, hit his knees from behind taking him to the ground and dispersing the storm. As he toppled the misbegotten nearby went into a frenzy and swarmed over top of him.


    The knight twice tried to rise, but the weight of the misbegotten attacking him, their cleavers like raindrops, made him drop back down. On his third attempt to rise, his helmet, bent and dented from repeated hits, gave way as the large muscular misbegotten''s cleaver embedded itself deep into his helmet!


    Seeing his ally go down, the remaining knight reacted.


    "MEN!" the remaining knight ordered once his ally fell, "WE RETREAT TO THE LIFT!"


    The knight lifted his sword and let out a warcry. The storm covering his storm sword became more intense as he brought it down! A burst of concentrated storm flew forward like a cannon shot crashing into the crowd of misbegotten erupting into an explosion of blood as the wind sheared and blasted the misbegotten apart and knocked tossed them aside for nearly fifteen feet in front of him!


    Huge Storm Blade</a>


    "FOR MORNE!" the knight screamed as the storm on his sword didn''t abate and he rapidly launched volleys of storm blades into the misbegotten clearing the way between his men and the entrance, each one going off with half the strength of the very first he had performed.


    This opening with many of the enemies in their way cleared, the soldiers began making an embattled retreat to the castle entrance, fighting as they retreated backwards.


    Seeing his escape route into Castle Morne being cut off, John realized they were all in extreme immediate danger staying there.


    He turned around and marched back down the street the way he came, his group following. As they retreated, John''s mind was whirling. He looked back towards the horizon north towards the exit of the city, but by now the fires weren''t small orange glows. John could see raging flames climbing over the rooftops into the sky.


    John and his group didn''t stop running until after they were far away from the entrance to Castle Morne and the army of misbegotten besieging it. Once he thought they weren''t in immediate danger of being attacked by anything in the chaos that had engulfed the city, John stopped and turned towards his group.


    "We need to get into Castle Morne through one of the entrances in Clifftown! Do any of you know a way to get to one of those castle entrances!?" John asked, raising his voice to be heard over the screams still howling through town.


    John looked into the crowd, but no one spoke up or held his eyes. John resisted the urge to start cursing furiously.


    "Then we start heading there and hope we find someone who does or get lucky! And we have to go fast!"


    John led the group east through the streets towards the half of Clifftown he was familiar with.


    They were nearly half way there when a trio of winged misbegotten wielding kitchen knives suddenly fell upon them from above and landed right in the middle of their group of nearly twenty, slicing around themselves wildly.


    His group scattered in all directions screaming in surprise and fear. As the others ran in all directions to get away, John instead stepped towards the three winged misbegotten. They had managed to knock over five of their group when they landed and were now stabbing away at them.


    The closest misbegotten was turned around attacking a man laying below him. They didn''t see John as he approached and brought his cleaver onto the misbegotten''s head and bisected it halfway down.


    John ripped his cleaver out with a squelch as the other two misbegotten responded by charging and attacking John at the same time.


    John managed to bring his cleaver around just in time to manage to land it in the second misbegotten''s neck who immediately toppled taking the weapon with him. The third misbegotten''s knife landed squarely on John''s shoulder as his body crashed into John''s. John felt the knife part his gambeson and bite deeply into his shoulder as he fell down onto his back with the misbegotten on top of him.


    As the misbegotten raised its knife once again this time aimed at his unarmored face, someone tackled his attacker off of him from the side before one of the two men with a cleaver finished the last misbegotten off.


    Ignoring his own shoulder which he could feel a deep stinging pain, John got to his feet and looked at the people who had been knocked down. Two lied still, already dead.


    One was gasping, trying to breathe but spitting up blood. His entire chest was slick with blood where he had been stabbed multiple times. With the number of holes in his chest where his lungs were, it was obvious he wouldn''t be making it. The fourth was perfectly fine, and the last was bleeding heavily from his chewed up arms that he had used to defend himself from the misbegottens'' frenzied stabs.


    John pointed at the inn owner.


    "You and your daughter. Get that man''s arms bandaged up. Use the cloth from people''s shirts." John didn''t hesitate as he turned and addressed the rest of the group while the inn owner scrambled to do what John told him.


    "Everyone, as we go pick up weapons! Sticks, boards, large bits of metal, something, anything! The longer it is the better! You need to be able to react if something else like this happens!" John ordered.


    Everyone looked around and people grabbed the nearest weapon-like objects they could find. As they did this John had wrapped the wound on his shoulder and put his now damaged gambeson on once again and looked back at the group.


    A few took the misbegottens'' knives, but the others who did end up with something ended up with rocks.


    "Good enough for now. Just remember, if you see something as we go, grab it!" John said.


    They listened, and by the time they had made their way to the edge of Castletown most of them were holding improvised clubs. Unfortunately they hadn''t had anyone else join their group, so they had no one to show them where to go to a castle entrance in Clifftown.


    Looking down, a lot of the moonlight was blocked by the building, throwing the area around them into shade even at night, so he couldn''t see as well as in Castletown. John saw unmoving dark shapes strewn everywhere, corpses, as hundreds of little microcosms of shadowy figures chased each other through Clifftown, John unable to see which were misbegotten and which weren''t despite his improved eyesight.


    Some of the few wooden constructions in Clifftown were ablaze, and all the lifts John could see across the cliff''s edge had their ropes cut and were missing their wooden platforms.


    Looking upwards towards their objective rather than down. Down couldn''t see much besides the top of buildings at this angle, but he spotted the orange glow of braziers above. One of them had to be an entrance to Castle Morne.


    John led the group upwards through the labyrinthine streets of Clifftown towards where he could see the closest light coming from.


    As they made their winding way upwards, any dark figures in the distance would see them and clear out of the way long before his group got close enough for John to tell if they were friend or foe.


    Until they came across an imposing figure blocking the way in front of them next to the stairs up to the part of the walkway they needed to go to.


    It was a large misbegotten woman, at least a quarter again as big as a regular man. Almost entirely covered in tough scales, a series of a dozen thin scratches which slowly oozed blood spread over her body. Around her in the street was a trio of dead soldiers and some civilians with crushed heads. And she was holding a warpick he had taken from one of the fallen soldiers.


    Warpick</a>


    John could immediately see that the way they needed to go was on the other side of the misbegotten woman. Their eyes met, and John saw her eyes were full of fear. At that same moment she squared up and looked to be able to charge them. John only had a split second to react.


    "We just want to get to those stairs!" John pointed to the stairs behind her.


    That caused her to pause. She narrowed her eyes and kept her weapon ready but slowly backed off to the side.


    "Everyone, keep to the other side!" John ordered without taking his eyes of the misbegotten as they made their way past her and up the staircase a short ways away.


    Thankfully, they didn''t run into anyone else as they made their way up the streets and staircases and arrived at where the light was coming from.


    It was their first lucky break since all this started!


    It was a large plaza with entrances on three sides, two to streets of Clifftown but one that was an entrance to what must have been the bowels of Castle Morne.


    Even more encouraging was that the entrance was guarded by around forty grimacing soldiers in a line formation blocking the entrance. They looked prepared for war. And there was a halberd wielding banished knight standing in the center of their formation, helm adorned with a roaring dragon.


    Halberd Banished Knight</a>


    There was a pile of at least twenty misbegotten corpses in the middle of the plaza showing that this area had seen fighting.


    John relaxed. He never thought he would be happy at the sight of Godrick''s men.


    "We''re from Castletown! Misbegotten have overrun the castle''s main entrance and fires have started up in town!" John announced.


    The soldiers stood unmoved in a show of their discipline, and the knight spoke up.


    "Come! I''ll have one of my men take all of you to the castle courtyard. That is where the townsfolk are being gathered for safety. And you," he pointed at John, "Stay. Tell me about the castle entrance being taken."


    As the soldiers broke their line to let them through, Kal¨¦ turned around and looked at John with a question in his eyes. John nodded and tilted his head towards the castle. Kal¨¦ dipped his head in acknowledgment and followed the rest of the group as one of the soldiers began leading them into Castle Morne.


    The banished knight approached John, standing at a towering eight feet, and looking down towards him with his helmeted head.


    "So you said the Castle Morne''s front entrance has been taken by the misbegotten?" the knight asked.


    John turned and started telling him as the others disappeared from John''s sight.


    ____________________________________________

 Chapter 9 - John

    _______________________________________


    John finished giving his report to the knight.


    "This is dire news indeed," The knight said as he looked John up and down. "With Castletown burning and the only entrance to the castle block on flat ground blocked, I fear the result. We can only hope that the men of Morne have retaken it since you saw it lost or the consequences will be... catastrophic."


    John heard the creaking of metal as the knight''s fist clenched.


    "Those vile dregs. I had never thought highly of them, but to think they would do this. It seems their blood did show through in the end.


    "I can see that you are wearing armor and have risked your life and fought to save the townsfolk you came across. I can send you to the courtyard with the others if you wish. Or, can you find your courage once again to help defend against this vile attack?"


    John was brought up short with that. Did he want to fight?


    He sympathized with the misbegotten somewhat, and had many thoughts good and bad about both sides in this, but it was clear to him what he had to prioritize. The misbegotten wouldn''t have him, so his choices were to fight them or to not.


    Keeping Irina alive was more important than anything else here. The choice was obvious.


    "I''ll help in the defense."


    The knight nodded and tilted his helmet at John''s cleaver.


    "Have you trained with a weapon?"


    John shook his head.


    "Only lightly, with a spear. I am a fair shot with a bow."


    The knight shook his head.


    "The bow will not be useful here, and we have none besides." The knight turned to one of the few footmen there. "Get the man a polearm and a helmet from one of the dead.


    "Untrained, you won''t be useful in the line. You''ll join in our footmen lookout rotation and give them more rest. We don''t know how long we''ll have to hold here.


    "I see blood soaking the shoulder of your gamebson. Are you injured?"


    "Yes. A knife from a misbegotten."


    In response the knight pulled out a golden flask decorated with the image of a tree and filled with a brilliant red liquid with a faint glow.


    "I can spare a few drops." the knight said firmly as he handed John the flask, not explaining further as if everything else should be self-evident.


    John carefully took a light sip of the red liquid.


    It was the best thing he ever tasted! Like lightly spicy caramel apples. As it slid down his throat, he saw the faint impression of a flash of red aura infuse him and then fade immediately. He felt a faint itching and pulling inside his shoulder. It was healing so quickly that he could feel the wound partially close.


    Feeling the temptation to take another sip just to taste it again, John handed the flask back, even as he really, really wanted one of those for himself.


    The footman returned holding a spear and a helmet.


    Godrick Helmet</a>


    Partisan</a>


    John threw the helmet on and grabbed the spear. His view was partially restricted on the edges but otherwise was completely open. The blade of the spear the footman brought was longer than the one John was used to. It was made not only for thrusting, but also to slash at an enemy.


    "Excellent. That done, let us trade pleasantries. What is your name?" The knight asked.


    "John White."


    "John. I am Knight Lieutenant Carth, sworn to Lord Edgar and commander of these two twenties of men. Normally you would sign a contract with the lord for wage and the like, but these are not normal circumstances.


    "Now that pleasantries are dealt with, go to the front and take over the lookout on the west road to the right. If you spot anyone or anything coming, retreat back here behind the line and report it. If someone gets the drop on you start yelling immediately while trying to retreat. Do you understand?"


    "Yes. Be a lookout, make sure you guys find out one way or another if someone is coming."


    Carth nodded.


    "Yes..."


    John''s eyes widened.


    "Ah, sorry. Yes sir."


    "Excellent!" Carth slapped him on the shoulder. "We''ll make a proper soldier out of you yet if we survive this night. Now go."


    John nodded and copied the fist to the chest salute he had seen soldiers do before heading to where he was told to go.


    It took a couple of minutes to find where the lookout was located. Hidden in the doorway of a particular building.


    Explaining what he was there for, the footman gave John a nod and left, and John assessed his location.


    The street was straight for one for one of the longer stretches he''d seen in Clifftown. There were a few staircases up to this level as the street stretched away from the plaza. In this area most of the buildings were small fortification buildings like towers or other buildings. There was also the fact that the winged misbegotten didn''t have to use a staircase and could directly fly up from any point below. Or glide down from above, as despite this area leading to the bowels of the castle, the base of the proper ramparts of Castle Morne sitting above were at least at least a half dozen levels above them.


    He''d have to watch to make sure no one came from any of those directions.


    John dutifully watched. The quiet in his close proximity contrasted with the dull roar of the chaos of screams and fires echoing from Clifftown distantly below and Castletown across. But despite that, nothing happened. No one came for him to see and report.


    Despite his best efforts, there was only so long that one could keep their attention on nothing, and After nearly an hour his mind began to wander slightly, even if he still was watching his surroundings.


    His mind turned towards what had happened over the last few hours since he had woken to that scream. How he had see his first killing of a person in real life, along with a dozen more as they had moved around the town, and had encountered nearly ten times as many corpses as he had personally seen killings.


    It was unpleasant to the utmost degree to see and experience, but John wasn''t extremely upset because of it. As bad as it was to say, the gore, which would have been the most impactful to him when he had first arrived to the Lands Between, didn''t overly bother him, having butchered many animals since he had arrived in the Lands Between.


    He did feel bad to see regular people dying, but it was only moderate sympathy that one has for strangers. It was terrible and shouldn''t have happened, but John wasn''t inconsolable about it or anything.


    As for the misbegotten deaths, even the ones that had died at his hands, to John it was simply that they had gambled and lost.


    To John morality was like a giant game that society played. Many played fair. Some tried to sneakily cheat, and some tried to play rules lawyer. Some just tried to change the rules of the game, or the referee.


    But some stopped engaging in the game altogether and nakedly try to seize whatever they wanted directly.


    To John, once someone stopped playing by the rules, whatever they were, they couldn''t expect that others would continue to play by the rules either. And if the game was rigged against you, you might just have to throw the rules away to be able to have a chance at winning.


    The misbegotten were upending the game that was rigged against them, with all the consequences that brought, so John did not feel bad about meeting them there. The golden rule was the closest to an ultimate rule of morality.


    Or to put it another way you should get whatever you give.


    Even animals like bats, rats, cats, and dogs were born knowing it. It was a rule of nature if you wanted to be a social animal.


    The misbegotten were engaging in a race war, and John could understand why. Realistically they didn''t really have a choice to do otherwise if they actually wanted to effect change. If they tried to peacefully make change nothing would happen. And nearly the entirety of the rest of society would try and undermine them if the misbegotten won but the regular people were spared.


    Really, both sides here were bad, even if he was more sympathetic to the misbegotten than the people of the Golden Order. If it wasn''t for Irina, John would have urged Kal¨¦ to not come here in the first place, and would have just stayed completely out of this mess.


    But now he was involved whether he wanted to be or not, and his side on this conflict had already been drawn for him as he wasn''t a misbegotten and Irina was a human as well. Even if he could somehow convince the misbegotten to leave him alone and flee Castle Morne, he would stay and fight because of her.


    And as terrible as it was to think about, the number runes he gained when he had killed a misbegotten had been incredible. Each of the misbegotten he''d killed had gave him fifty times more runes than any of the large game, like boars or deer or sheep, he had hunted over the years. In killing one misbegotten, he had gained more runes than a year''s worth of hunting.


    He could now begin to see why people like the Bloody Fingers and Recusants could pick the path they had. John would have to make sure this ''reward'' for killing didn''t drive him to make terrible choices.


    As the night wore on John''s lack of sleep made itself apparent. His adrenaline finally crashed, but John didn''t waver in his job even if he had caught himself waking up mid-fall once.


    As the night wore on, a few times John or the lookout on the eastern street spotted misbegotten on the prowl or the rare townsfolk escaping, and they responded appropriately, heading back and informing the rest of the men. The townsfolk were taken to the courtyard and groups of misbegotten who didn''t run away and were foolish enough to attack the soldiers headed by Carth were killed and added to the pile of corpses.


    Some time in the night John was relieved of his post and was allowed to sleep in the entrance-way behind the line. He was so tired he had no trouble at all falling asleep on the hard stone floor. When he was woken by one of the men later with the sun high in the sky, he still felt like dog shit, but much less so than he had before he had went to sleep.


    "John, Sir Carth has been summoned by Lord Edgar. He is taking you with him," the soldier waking him said.


    John waved his hand in acknowledgement as he forced himself to his feet. He picked up his spear and helmet that were laying next to him and fixed his clothes and armor that had twisted itself out of place as he had slept.


    Shaking himself awake, he walked over to where Carth stood surrounded by a small handful of the soldiers. John wasn''t sure why he was coming with Carth, but he knew enough about the military to not question it at the moment. He would know soon enough anyways.


    In the daylight, John was able to see the details on Carth''s surcoat. It was a pillar made of dragons on a field of red.


    Dragon on red</a>


    "Remember men, just because we are going through the castle doesn''t mean that it is free of dregs. Our position wasn''t heavily attacked but other entrances may have been broken through at some point. We do not know if the castle has yet been cleared of any of the dregs who may have entered or were already inside when this all started."


    Carth arranged them in a diamond formation as they made their way through the castle''s bowels. As they went through a confusing series of hallways and staircases, John realized that many of the rooms in the bowels of Castle Morne were dedicated to holding resources. Many, many rooms were just filled with barrels or held other supplies.


    John also saw that the castle was like those made in medieval times back in his own world.


    It had been purposely built with a confusing labyrinthine layout and with things such as deliberately uneven steps, all of which advantaged the defenders who lived here and knew the castle''s idiosyncrasies over invaders, who would not know these things.


    The difference was that Castle Morne was of a fantastically larger scale than the fortresses of Europe.


    John did his best to memorize things as he kept alert while they moved through the corridors. No misbegotten jumped out to attack them and as they went further up and into the castle they saw more and more fellow soldiers and knights passing them in the corridors or guarding areas. Soon enough the entire area was saturated with them, the soldiers and knights like bees in the hive that was the Castle Morne proper.


    Carth led them till they reached a room with a large wooden door, built to scale with the large scale of Carth and most other Banished Knights'' bodies. It had elaborate engravings of hawks in the wood.


    "Wait out here," said Carth as he opened the door to reveal a large study filled with quite a few other armored knights similar to Carth, but some wore surcoats with various heraldry or no surcoat or heraldry at all.


    Despite the various designs, not a single one bore a surcoat with the heraldry of a tree on gold or a lion on red. Instead they bore different heraldry like that of a hawk on red, a wolf on green, a pillar of dragons on red, a beast with flowing fur-feathers on green, a tree on red, or various other similar motifs.


    Heraldry 1</a>


    Heraldry 2</a>


    Heraldry 3</a>


    Heraldry 4</a>


    Heraldry 5</a>


    Heraldry 6</a>


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Heraldry 7</a>


    Heraldry 8</a>


    They were all standing around a table. At the center of these knights was a man of lesser stature than other banished knights, more like that of a regular man. Yet he still wore the same banished knight armor with his helmet taken off and his surcoat was a coat of wolves'' fur quartered with flowing feathers on maroon.


    Man 1</a>


    Man 2</a>


    John caught sight of the man''s steel gray hair and thick, short beard before the door closed behind Carth.


    John and the men stood around waiting nearby in the corridor across from the door. John could hear the faint murmur noise coming from the door that showed people were speaking inside, but they were too faint to make anything out.


    After some time the door opened once again and knights began exiting the room one after the other. John got another look at the man that had been standing in the middle of them.


    Man 3</a>


    The man had steely grey eyes that matched his naturally grey hair. He looked to be in his prime of early middle age, the age that people in the Lands Between stopped aging.


    Carth exited among the crowd of banished knights grabbing John''s attention.


    "Lord Edgar will be holding an address in the courtyard about the dregs'' uprising. We will be there to show support. After that we have orders." Carth said, his voice seeped with irritation. Through his helmet, he audibly took a breath to calm himself and continued.


    "While the address is being organized, John, we need to get you properly equipped. There will be plenty of equipment to spare now after the number of men that perished last night," Carth commented darkly. "After the address we will return to our post. The misbegotten have ceased their attacks for the moment but who knows when they will renew their assault."


    Carth led the group through the halls of the castle until they arrived at a busy armory. Carth approached the man directing people, another banished knight.


    "Knight Major, I am Knight Lieutenant Carth. I need equipment for this man under my command. He volunteered last night to join the fight last night. We have already given him a helmet and partisan from one of our fallen, but he does not have any other equipment than what he has on him now."


    "Last night? Hmm... Daman! Get this man set up with the standard equipment for a corporal! Until this is over we need everyone in the best equipment we can spare," the Knight Major ordered a nearby man who was in the middle of changing into the same chainmail and light plate that a Godrick''s soldier wore.


    "Thank you Knight Major. I will also need provisions for my men as well. Rations and bedrolls to start. As well as-" Carth continued with the Knight Major getting into a conversation about supplies for his men.


    Daman finished putting his armor on including the surcoat with Godrick''s heraldry, and then he helped John find the appropriate armor that would fit him and handed him the same type of shield that other soldiers wielded. Once they were done John and Daman had identical equipment like any other one of Godrick''s soldiers, except for their different faces and heights.


    The man then handed John a golden flask filled with red faintly glowing liquid. A Flask of Crimson Tears. This time John got a good look at the first truly magical item he''d interacted with.


    Flask of Crimson Tears 1</a>


    Flask of Crimson Tears 2</a>


    "Take good care of this flask. It is a holy relic from the ancient past. It holds only crimson tears, the lips of the flask not allowing anything else to pass them, and keeps the tears vital energies from escaping and the tears from losing potency over time like what would happen in a normal flask," said Daman.


    "Does it not have a lid? What about spilling it?"


    "Ha! Really underestimating our holy relics huh? The flask will only release its bounty whenever someone touching it wishes so. So make sure whatever enemy you are fighting does not touch it or they will be able to dump it out with nothing but a twist of the hand.


    "Since you are a foreigner, you should know as well that crimson tears mend wounds with a whole flask of crimson tears being able to heal a whole battle''s worth of wounds on oneself. They can heal slashes, stabs, even a sword through the heart and out of your back if you have enough and drink it quickly enough, but if something is cut off it won''t let it grow back."


    John''s shoulder wound still throbbed and he remembered how good it had tasted.


    "I have a wound on my shoulder from yesterday. Should I take a sip now to fix it?"


    "Don''t be a spendthrift. Crimson tears are in short supply. We only get a small supply of them once or twice a year from our scarab hunting patrols, and we are already running low after the chaos of last night. Best to make sure a wound is at least bleeding. Wouldn''t want to run out after being run through because you fixed some scratches a few times.


    "And for the Grace of the Erdtree don''t try and pour them into a mug and dilute it with mater or mix drink into it. That will ruin the energies of the tears and make them little better than a poultice. You wouldn''t believe the idiotic things I have seen some idiots do with it, especially when they are drunk."


    John nodded and seeing that John was all kitted out, the man moved onto other tasks.


    Very carefully, using his helmet to catch any stray liquid if something went wrong, John tilted the flask upside down to test if it really didn''t need a lid. He saw the tears slosh around the neck of the flask, but not a drop of it left the lips of the flask, as if an invisible barrier kept them from doing so.


    Absolutely fascinated with his first magic item ever, he almost didn''t hear it when his superior called.


    "John! What are you doing just standing there?" Carth reprimanded.


    John hurriedly put his helmet back on and tucked the flask securely into the metal loop on his belt made to hold for the flask.


    "Sorry, Sir."


    John moved over and joined back up with their group.


    Carth looked John up and down seriously for the first time, stopping on his eyes.


    "A foreigner?" There was a faintly negative tone in Carth''s voice. "Then there is much you will need to learn, John. We''ll deal with that later."


    Carth led them all up onto the battlements that surrounded the castle''s courtyard where many other groups of soldiers stood. The courtyard was very large, able to host as many people as a small local music concert and was absolutely packed with townsfolk, at least over a thousand of them.


    Their squad stood by some crenelations looking out into the courtyard.


    To John the mass of people in the courtyard had the demeanor of startled sheep. An air of helplessness and uncertainty permeated the entire crowd as they skittishly stood around.


    At the front of the courtyard a wooden platform was set up atop a small raised stone section built into the corner courtyard that extended all the way from the corner to the middle.


    As everyone in and around the courtyard waited, John tried to spot Kal¨¦, but John didn''t see him before the wait was over.


    Coming out of a nearby entrance, a very short banished knight stepped into the courtyard with an air that commanded authority. Behind him and flanking his sides were four more banished knights who escorted him to the platform.


    At his entrance, people quieted down and turned towards the platform.


    John recognized the knight''s armor as the same exact armor as the grey-haired man had worn with all the same signs of wear and use and the same surcoat. He carried a banished knight halberd like Carth''s except this one had a red-orange tinge to the metal. John suspected he knew who this was.


    After the knight climbed the platform he took off his helmet and held it to his waist with his arm, the other holding his halberd. As he began to speak, he powerfully projected his voice, nearly yelling, to reach the entirety of the courtyard, his tone full of authority.


    "People of Morne, now that the attacks of the misbegotten have ceased, I have time to inform you all of our situation.


    "Last night, with nary a sign beforehand, the misbegotten rebelled.


    "They plotted in secret and had somehow smuggled in many crudely made weapons that they used to launch their attack. The first target they struck were my men, cutting more than a quarter of them down in ambushes coordinated to happen at the same time across the city.


    "Even worse, during this attack, they set fire to many of the guard posts in Castletown.


    "As the misbegotten rampaged through the streets bringing wanton slaughter on innocent townsfolk to sate their bloodlust, and my men were locked into combat with them in every area of Morne, a large number of misbegotten managed to take the entrance-way to the castle in Castletown, though they were stopped before they reached the lift.


    "As this was happening the fires they set grew out of control into a great conflagration."


    Edgar paused grimly, everyone dead quiet with dread.


    "The entirety of Castletown was burned."


    Wails of grief ran out in the crowd as many women and children began wailing. Those who were lucky had someone there to begin comforting them as Lord Edgar continued speaking, his words filled with the promise of violence, as a faint wind began gathering around him and increasing in intensity.


    "The cowardly, traitorous misbegotten think Castle Morne will fall to them. It will not. They scream about a "Savior" who they rebel in the name of. They do not know that there will be no one who can save them from us.


    "Knight Major Crann informed me about this supposed savior, a crimson-maned misbegotten of great size. The one responsible for this rebellion. We will hunt this horrid living insult to the Erdtree down, and make him pay!"


    The wind Edgar was howling. He stomped and his boot exploded with the might of a storm as the entire wooden platform rattled and nearly collapsed and the shockwave of wind flew over the crowd.


    "As I speak, we are being besieged by the misbegotten, boxed in the castle from every side. We cannot allow this rebellion to spread, allow this siege to continue. I am confident that soon we will bring their so-called savior low. The misbegotten will break, and then they will reap what they have sown.


    "People, I will tell you what is at stake. The explosive stone the mines in the Weeping Peninsula produce are vital to the maintenance of the wall that separates Limgrave from the rotted Caelid. Not only is our Lord Godrick in Limgrave and our fellows in the Weeping Peninsula counting on us to hold Castle Morne, but all of the Lands Between NEEDS Morne to save them from the spread of the rot! We will NOT fail them!


    "Remember this. In us we carry the blood of kingdoms older than the Erdtree! We are the only people to have breached the walls of Leyndell, going toe to toe with the full might of the Golden Order!


    "We are the fringefolk of Morne! Those who refused to give in even to the indomitable might of Godfrey! We stand in the very castle where the Revenger fought the Golden Order to the very last man! Some measly menials will not overcome us!"


    The crowd in the courtyard and soldiers on the battlements let out a roar. Edgar stayed quiet and let the crowd and soldiers express their defiance as over a thousand voices echoed out over the battlements, no doubt reaching the misbegotten in the ruins of Castletown. He let them continue for a minute before he started speaking again.


    "People, I ask that you stand firm for Morne. Able bodied men who have the courage to fight, speak to Knight Major Crann standing over there on the right side of the courtyard to join the defense. He will direct you what to do next."


    John looked and saw that it was the same knight who had fought at the entrance to Castle Morne and had used that storm blade attack to allow his men to retreat.


    "Everyone else, artisans, women, children, you can still contribute. Armor needs to be repaired, meals need to be cooked, the wounded tended to, and many other things. Speak to the steward of the castle standing over on the left side of the courtyard.


    "Now, I will return to directing our forces to crush this rebellion."


    Edgar put his helmet back on and marched back to the door he entered the courtyard from, his escort of knights following him.


    With his exit, the crowd began rumbling in conversation as people began heading to either the Knight Major or the steward. John and the rest of the men of his unit turned to Carth. Carth gestured for them to follow him as they began making their way back through the castle. As they walked Carth began giving them a brief.


    "After listening to the intelligence and advice of Knight Major Crann, Lord Edgar in his capacity as High Marshal has decided on what our forces will do.


    "You heard Lord Edgar speak of the misbegotten and their savior, the red-haired misbegotten? Knight Major Crann had an informant who was delivering information on the misbegotten rebellion that was killed in the initial attack. Before his death, that informant told Crann a number of things, but what was relevant to our orders is this.


    "This ''Savor'' is a large and powerful red-haired misbegotten who is leading this rebellion. Once he is killed the misbegotten will break as their fervor comes from their belief in him. The misbegotten''s only strength is numbers, and now that our forces are no longer spread out across Morne and their surprise has already been sprung, the advantage the misbegotten held has disappeared.


    "There are a number of locations that the lookouts on the ramparts have spotted that large groups of armed misbegotten have been defending since the initial attack.


    "We believe that one most probably has the leader while the rest doubtlessly hold other things important to the rebellion such as wherever they keep their smuggled weapons or food supplies looted from the town.


    "Units made of three twenties will be joining up and attacking these enemy locations simultaneously tomorrow. Our two twenties will be joining up with the twenty of another Knight. Our objective is a particular level in the bottom levels of Clifftown that is heavily defended.


    "While our forces are sallying out of the castle, the remaining defenders will be pulled back to better concentrate them to prevent any counterattacks from breaking through to the castle itself.


    "Once we join up with the rest of our unit I will brief the rest of the men."


    John''s thoughts swirled in his head.


    This was it. His first real battle. There was a very real chance of him dying.


    Despite this, fear did not overwhelm his mind. In fact, it was less a flood and more of a slight trickle. Sure, the thought of being attacked made his heart rate speed up and his breath heavier, but his mind wasn''t plagued by fear of what was to come.


    It was for the same reason that John hadn''t panicked back when he had first arrived in the Lands Between. Either something would happen or it wouldn''t. How he felt about it or what might happen didn''t matter. Fear and worry and anxiety over what was to come were pointless. Either something happened or it didn''t.


    Either he would die or he wouldn''t. John wasting mental energy on emotions about what-if was pointless, and the will was better spent on actually doing something that would actually affect the outcome.


    And any unwanted emotions that persisted despite this way of thinking about things John could lock away.


    But that was just how John thought about it. He had gathered from his early childhood that most others didn''t think about things quite that way. They couldn''t just turn it off like he could.


    They made their way back through the castle to where the rest of their unit. Once they arrived, the men who had stayed reported to Carth that the lookouts had spotted some misbegotten moving around below in the lower levels of Clifftown but nothing else had happened.


    Carth gave the men there the briefing about their objective tomorrow and started giving orders about who would sleep when so they would all be as rested as possible for their assault tomorrow as well as other preparations.


    While he did that, John took his first real look at the rest of his unit. There were around forty men. About half of them had the greying skin that showed that time had withered them into hollow shells of their former selves, while the rest still had their vitality.


    The grey skinned ''hallowed'' ones had an awareness, but it was limited. Like someone utterly focused on a task and unable to think of or consider anything outside of that task. John could tell they heard and understood, but they were more like fleshy automatons than people, their faces not changing at all and they could only speak in grunts or other noises, no words.


    The other half, those that still had their vitality, wore grimaces of dread or smiles filled with teeth looking forward to the coming fighting when Carth gave the news that they would be sallying out to fight.


    After Carth was done briefing and ordering the men he turned to John.


    "John. Your lack of training is not acceptable. We''ll be going through some drills and training to prepare you as best we can. It will only be a day, not nearly enough, but it is all we have. You need to be able to properly use that shield and hold the line. I''ll be excusing you from any other duties today so you can focus on training."


    And that was exactly what Carth did. The man, half more as large as a regular man like most of the men in banished knight armor John had seen, began training John by having John show Carth some strikes with his partisan spear. John did his best and performed a few thrusts, swings, and strikes.


    "You clearly have some amount of practice with a polearm, John. You hold it comfortably enough. But you are little better than a levy with two weeks practice at the moment. Watch."


    Carth performed a series of strikes. John watched as the strikes, the footwork, everything seemed to seamlessly flow from one movement into the other, like cursive writing. John''s own demonstration had been very stop and start, like writing in print.


    It was like comparing someone who knew how to type at 60 words per minute and someone who poked one key at a time. The difference was blindingly obvious.


    "We won''t be able to instill years of practice into you in a single day, but I can show you how to do things properly and show you the martial technique you should be aiming to achieve."


    John spent the next few hours being shown how to move his feet and body weight around more effectively along with a handful of strikes to practice. How to properly hold stances and their strengths and weaknesses.


    None of these was particularly hard to understand or perform. It was ingraining them into muscle memory to do them quickly and without thought that was the hard part.


    Carth had John practice for hours, most of it with John on his own while Carth came back occasionally to make sure John hadn''t accidentally started practicing something wrong, which happened a couple times. As he practiced, groups of men delivered the supplies Carth had requested by up in Castle Morne.


    Thankfully, John was in excellent shape from his active hunting and hiking lifestyle that had been further refined by the larger amount of practice he had put in as he and Kal¨¦ had spent over a month traveling the roads since they had left the Church of Elleh.


    While Carth was off doing other things and John was practicing alone, Carth had a footman come over and teach certain things to John.


    "The smallest unit is a five of men. A five is made of five men, one of who is the fivier, the leader. Four fives made a twenty which is led by a twentier, making for a total of twenty one men in a twenty including the twentier. Five twenties make a hundred with a hundrier. And ten hundreds make a thousand and thousandier."


    "Is there anything above a thousand?" asked John.


    "No. Why would there be at that point? Lord Godrick has somewhere close to fifteen thousands of men, and he has one of the largest forces in the Lands Between, only rivaled in numbers by the capitol and the Margott the Veiled Monarch.


    "There is still a chain of command between thousandiers, but it works like it does between twentiers when they are grouped up into a combined unit. The one charge is the one with the highest rank, like a Major above a Lieutenant.


    "Fivier, twentier and the like are not military ranks. It is their position in how the men are organized. You could have a twenty of Knights led by a Knight Lieutenant twentier. You will actually see that in the heavy cavalry."


    The footman explained a lot more of the stuff that was involved with being a soldier of Godrick and Edgar. Military ranks, a soldier''s duties, maintaining equipment, daily routines, certain rules about things you were and weren''t allowed to do like what is and isn''t considered a bribe, all sort of other details a soldier would need to know. Even taxes!


    Most of this information was worthless to John because he was only with them until the rebellion was over.


    Once he was satisfied that John knew how to properly practice and improve his spearmanship, Carth then went into how to instruct him in how to properly use his shield, which was much simpler. There was still technique to it of course, but it wasn''t nearly as complex as how to wield a polearm.


    Unlike when he was practicing using his polearm, Carth actually sparred with John to help him learn how to use his shields better. Well, if you could really call it a spar.


    Carth used his massive body to easily overpower and bully John. Him throwing John around like a grown man with a ten year old as John tried to defend with his shield.


    And Carth with his banished knight body wasn''t extremely tall and buff like men back on Earth, using the mountain from Game of Thrones or professional wrestlers as examples. The proportions were wrong for that. They were more like a regular man but scaled up by an extra half, rather than an exceptionally tall and buff man.


    As John was thrown around, some of the men started watching and laughing, having a good time throwing good-natured verbal jabs at John. As these spectators built, Carth had the men replace him and take turns going at John. John usually lost, but each time he lost, the next opponent would have just a bit more trouble.


    As he did all this training, John paid careful attention to his shoulder, but the wound was healed up enough at that point that it didn''t impede his functions or reopen more than ooze some blood. That one sip of crimson tears had really taken care of the worst of the injury.


    John finished out the last quarter of the day with two of the men as they practiced marching in lockstep with their shields raised and holding the line.


    After nearly an entire day of practice, John''s body screamed at him and his energy was at rock bottom. When he could barely hold his shield up again, Carth returned.


    "You have done excellently today John. I believe you have some amount of martial talent. If you really train hard for a few years you may become good enough to have Lord Godrick knight you, give you a good suit of armor. Of course, it won''t be as nice as mine."


    Carth rapped his own elaborately embossed armor and laughed at his joke.


    Being reminded of Carth''s large body once again and how his armor was different from the knights in Limgrave like Torrin, John had a question pop into his mind.


    "Sir?" John began between huffs. "Why are you larger than most men?"


    "You have none as large as me in your homeland?"


    "No."


    "How surprising! I am this size because of my bloodline. Like many in this peninsula and many in Limgrave, I am of the Fringefolk, but not just any fringefolk.


    "Long ago, before the Erdtree grew and conquered the Lands Between, there were many different kingdoms throughout the continent from the Mountaintops of the far north, to Mount Gelmir, to the tip of the Weeping Peninsula.


    "Even if we had our own internal divisions and kingdoms like the Golden Order does, we were sister and brother peoples, and we were the lords of much of the Lands Between before the Erdtree. You can see it in the old roads that span from Leyndell to Caelid. We were, are, very different than the sorcerers of Raya Lucario and the followers of the Erdtree.


    "My size is because I am descended from a line of those former kings and nobles who ruled in that distant, distant past. Those of impressive and powerful lineages often are of larger size than those of mundane blood."


    John''s eyes lit up. Kingdoms before the Golden Order!?


    There was very little to nothing John had seen about the time before the Erdtree. Only some vague references to something called the Crucible. Besides filling in a hole in his knowledge of the Lands Between, John was also just interested in the history itself because history was one of his favorite subjects.


    "Really? The fringefolk? Can you tell me more about them, and those kingdoms you talked about."


    Carth proudly nodded his elaborately embossed helmet, eager to share about his heritage.


    "As the Erdtree rose to power, they spread across the lands conquering to place all under the purview of the Erdtree. There are those who refused to convert to worship of the Erdtree and those who refused to convert and who refused to submit. Those peoples of those former kingdoms, nobility and peasantry, that refused to give into Goddess Marika and Lord Godfrey were captured.


    "Once their conquest of the Lands Between was complete, all those who refused to convert to the faith of the Erdtree or exiled, banished, south to the lands farthest away from the Erdtree: Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula.


    "Those who refused to submit to rule were stripped of everything and sent to penal colonies, to be watched over by the blood of our conqueror, the first Elden Lord Godfrey.


    "Those who submitted to rule but did not convert, like my own line, were still banished, but swore ourselves to Godfrey''s line, and we kept our noble status, though not our former lands, and were granted lands in Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula instead to helped the Golden Lineage in their role as wardens.


    "The exile prisoners of sufficiently noble blood were watched over by the Golden Lineage itself in Stormveil, the former stronghold of the Storm Lord who had been the strongest of our peoples, and those of us who swore ourselves to the Golden Lineage presided over the exiles lesser than those of Stormveil, the more minor nobles and the commonfolk.


    "All of those brother and sister peoples of the former kingdoms of the Lands Between who did not convert to the Erdrtee faith, both those who did and did not submit, are now known as the Fringefolk, our peoples'' individual names having faded to time.


    "And just like our names, the line between warden and prisoner has long since blurred and faded for all except the oldest of those who lived in those ancient times. We all now take pride in our shared history as those who resisted the might of the Erdtree to the last. Even the sorcerers of Raya Lucaria had given in eventually."


    That was incredible to learn to John. It had always been clear that something was going on with the banished knights, or he guessed he should say fringefolk knights now.


    This was absolutely fascinating to learn. It helped John understand why everyone in the Lands Between practically exalted Godfrey as a god of warfare. He hadn''t just beaten the giants, he had taken on basically an entire continent at once and won.


    "Can you tell me more about these ancient kingdoms?" John asked.


    Carth shook his head.


    "It has been far too long. Which kingdoms exactly and what their domains were have been lost to time for most who were not of Limgrave or the Weeping Peninsula originally. This means most lines do not know their former domains, including mine. I do not know if there are any fringefolk left who know. Most are distant descendants of those who lived during that time, including I.


    "I can tell you that those who wear the heraldry of the storm hawk on red are from the line of the Storm Lord who ruled most of Limgrave. My own line, who''s heraldry of a pillar of dragons on red as you can see, we have lost the knowledge of our former domain, and are content with our new lands.


    "Those who have the heraldry of the wolf-bird on green or on red or any other heraldry have lost their history over time as well."


    That disappointed John because he was really interested in finding out more history pre-Erdtree. It was interesting in general, and it may give him a clue into some of the secrets in the Lands Between, like where Marika was from.


    It was too bad Carth didn''t know more about that, but there was something else Carth had mentioned he was interested in.


    "You said your people do not follow the faith of the Erdtree?"


    "Those of us that remember our people''s heritage don''t. Our own faith has been slowly dwindling. Here in the Weeping Peninsula our faith is still strong even among the peasantry. I would say that most of the peasantry in Limgrave no longer follow our faith but that of the Erdtree instead, but even in Limgrave those with noble blood do. "


    "What is your faith exactly?"


    "We are the loyal vassals and descendants of the Ancient Dragons. The living gods of the world and the ancestors of all life. We worship them as ancestors and as our gods.


    "Our faith in them is rewarded with allowing us to tap into the power of the ancient dragons, lords of the skies, and commune with the sky. It is for this reason we cannot imbibe the fruits of the Erdtree like crimson tears. To do so would bring us away from the ancient dragons, from the sky, and towards the Erdtree.


    "We call upon the strength of the sky. Most only can achieve the most basic form of the sky''s fury: the storm. The strongest of us, a rare few individuals, are able to call upon the power of blizzards, rainstorms, and even thunderstorms.


    "However, our faith in the dragons and that the Erdtree aren''t completely incompatible, or even necessarily opposed.


    "Just like the ancient dragons with their golden flesh, Marika''s flesh and blood is gold and that of her children is as well. Just like how the ancient dragons are the children of the Goddess of Life and the first Elden Lord, Dragonlord Placidusax, so is the Golden Lineage the children of Goddess Marika and her first Elden Lord Godfrey.


    "This ties into how time has proved us submitting to Godfrey was correct and why our loyalty to the Golden Lineage endures. Godwyn the Golden was able to slay Gransax, broker a direct peace with the ancient dragons as equals and brothers and sisters, befriended many of the ancient dragons whom he fought, and learned how to directly manifest the lightning of dragons.


    "It is proof that the Golden Lineage and the Ancient Dragons are kin."


    "That is absolutely fascinating. Could I learn to summon storms like you?"


    Carth laughed.


    "Faith is not nearly something so fickle and shallow. One cannot call upon forces greater than yourself without true passion for it.


    "You have also already supped upon the Erdtree''s bounty, crimson tears, and we are in no position to make arrangements for a purging ritual."


    "Even if I believed you had such passion, there is also the matter of aptitude and time. You do not have enough of either to learn to commune with the sky properly and do anything while the dregs are in rebellion. You are much better served in improving your marital skill at the moment.


    John resisted the urge to sigh. It couldn''t just be that easy, could it? Just do a rain dance and be able to shoot lightning out of the bottom of his feet like Commander Niall.


    "Okay. You mentioned a cleansing ritual. What are some of your practices?"


    John and Carth spent a few more minutes talking about the fringefolk faith such as burial rights. The minor details of it were interesting to John, but they weren''t nearly as incredible as getting a peak at some history from before the Golden Order.


    They kept talking till a soldier called out that dinner was finished, and Carth ended the conversation.


    "It has been gratifying to see someone not of the fringefolk interested in our heritage, but time waits for none save the Dragonlord. I can see that you have trained yourself to exhaustion today. Go mess with the rest of the men and then retire for the day."


    John followed Carth''s orders and immediately went to join the twenty of men who were going to eat while the other twenty stayed ready to act in case the misbegotten showed themselves.


    Afterwards John finally laid down in the bedroll he now knew how to get thanks to that footman teaching him how and was asleep instantly.


    ______________________________________

 Chapter 10 - John

    ____________________________________


    The next morning John woke bright and early, the sky still purple before the sun rose over the horizon. His body was sore, but a quick stretch loosened him up.


    John joined the other men preparing a large breakfast. With them going into enemy territory, who knows when they would be able to eat again. As they prepared the meal, another twenty of men led by another fringefolk knight with a sword and shield, rather than a halberd like Carth, showed up. Carth met the knight and they began discussing something.


    All three twenties of men ate their meals. An oat porridge, a small loaf of bread, and a strip of very tough jerky. The men of all three twenties mixed and traded some light ribbing and humor, but as the meal came to an end the levity faded and everyone''s faces hardened.


    Carth and the other knight that John learned was named Andren, called for their attention.


    "Men! Our task is to fight our way to the enemy strongpoint and destroy whatever it holds. If we come across the dregs'' red-haired leader, then we shall endeavor to destroy him!" Carth declared.


    "Harden your hearts and firm your fists!" Andren added. "Do not show them mercy for they will not hesitate to bring you low!"


    "Ahead we face battle and glory!" Carth finished.


    "FOR CASTLE MORNE! FOR CASTLETOWN!" Andren and Carth yelled.


    "FOR CASTLE MORNE! FOR CASTLETOWN!" The men roared back!


    The knights began organizing them.


    Carth as Knight Lieutenant was top of the chain of command and led the 1st twenty. His second was Andren as just a Knight with the 3nd twenty. And below Andren, as the lowest rank of their twentiers, was Carth''s previous second, Sergeant Rickar, the twentier of Carth''s 2nd twenty.


    John had been placed in a five with four other men using polearms with Rickar as his twentier yesterday, and his fivier was a man named Ruban.


    They would be marching through Clifftown in a reverse triangle formation, the point of the formation facing their rear. The formation would be 2 layers of men deep with Carth and his twenty at one front corner, Andren''s twenty in the back at the rear corner, and Rickar''s twenty at the other front corner.


    A total of sixty men with their armor and shields, akin to a living wall of steel.


    As they began their long march down Clifftown, John''s five was on the left flank of the formation, and Carth was easy to spot to their right, towering over the rest of the men.


    Thankfully John had gotten some practice yesterday because staying in sync with the other men was much harder than he would have expected. He almost couldn''t match the movements of the rest of his five, but he was just barely good enough that he didn''t break the formation.


    Another blessing was that the first few levels were completely dead and devoid of anything except burnt or smashed possessions in empty stone buildings and the bloodstains and now-rotting corpses of townsfolk and misbegotten scattered about. The smell of decaying flesh, rotten eggs, and shit was quickly blown away by the ocean wind so it didn''t build up, but it collected in the buildings.


    But whenever they had to step over a corpse John got a noseful of the overpowering putrid smell.


    Despite the bad smell, these initial levels filled with only the dead were a godsend for John, allowing him to better acclimate to moving in formation with the others.


    But that haunting emptiness bought with the blood of the unfortunate who died on that chaotic first night did not last forever.


    They started coming across misbegotten who would run as soon they spotted their formation marching down the streets. Lone individuals and small groups would scatter like roaches.


    There were a few who threw rocks and other debris before running, but few of those reached the formation and none made it past both their shields and their mail and plate.


    Some unfortunate inattentive misbegotten didn''t notice as they marched down the street and were caught trapped in buildings they had begun squatting in. Men from Carth''s twenty would enter.


    Most of the time, John heard shouts. Misbegotten begging for their lives, pleading for mercy, but those cries were always ignored and cut short. John suspected the ones they came across were not always combatants.


    When the screams stopped and Carth''s men would come out their weapons covered in hot blood steaming in the cool ocean air, the men of the formation would cheer and smile in bloodthirsty satisfaction, or spit on the ground to express their thoughts on dying misbegotten.


    As terrible and wrong as it was, to John that was just the way the cookie crumbled when it came to pogroms. He had no power to stop these people, even if presumed to have the right to, even if they were taking their vengeance on the wrong people. Especially when the other side wouldn''t show any mercy to John either, and those were now being made victims now would not have spoken up for John had their own killers came to him.


    He wasn''t very interested in moral finger pointing, even if one side or the other was more in the right. It was a tragedy all around, and it should never have been allowed to reach this point in the first place.


    But as they kept making their way down and passed the halfway point, a response from the misbegotten showed itself. On a level above them they could hear the movements of a large number of enemies and winged misbegotten were spotted on the edges of roofs on the level above following their formation''s movements.


    They listen to the ominous sounds of the misbegotten who were following them echoing down to them as they kept moving.


    As the sounds of the misbegotten got closer, Carth guided the formation to a a chokepoint where the only way the misbegotten force could reach them was by coming up a short and wide twelve-step staircase that connected two large landings and was on the edge of the cliff. The steps could hold a single five of men standing abreast at once and a wooden rail as thick as a man''s thigh prevented people from falling off the cliffside.


    John actually recognized the staircase having walked up and down it to get to his meeting place with Sihlas.


    "Polearms to the center-front! Choke the staircase! Everyone else, form a second line behind them." Carth ordered.


    John''s fivier led led his five to the staircase along with the other two fives of polearms. The three formed a line three layers deep a couple steps from the head of staircase with John five in the front. They brandished their weapons with one arm, the other arm holding up their shields. The points of the polearms from the other two layers of men stuck out between them John''s five making a small phalanx formation, a porcupine of spears. Their spears shorter than the classical phalanx but still an intimidating thing to face.


    Phalanx</a>


    John was positioned off-center with only one man between him and the guardrail.


    They waited and soon the misbegotten approached.


    It was a small horde that dwarfed them. Triple the size of the own force, but looking just as underequipped, unorganized, and untrained as every previous misbegotten they had encountered.


    The leader barks orders was a large muscular misbegotten almost the size of Carth with scales everywhere a man would have had hair. He wielded a large axe and unlike his smaller fellows, when his eyes looked up at their sixty organized men didn''t fill with trepidation.


    The misbegotten came to a stop. The next two minutes, John and the rest of the men glared down at the misbegotten as both sides stood across from one another as the misbegotten calculated what he would do.


    In the end the misbegotten leader simply pointed his axe forward.


    "ATTACK!"


    The horde of chimeric humans rushed forward. As they approached the staircase the landing narrowed, so the misbegotten were funneled as those in front were pushed forward by the crush of bodies behind them.


    The tension in John quickly reached a breaking point as the misbegotten charged with their warbling screeches and cries of battle.


    The men stood still and silent, sentinels against the chaos of the approaching misbegotten.


    They came closer and closer, the first of them reaching the bottom of the staircase. As the misbegotten at the very front looked up and saw the layers of spearstips pointing at them, they hesitated. But the press of bodies behind them didn''t slow, didn''t stop. They were pushed forward up the steps.


    Only right as the misbegotten were almost on top of them, climbing the last pair of steps, did John''s five start thrusting as they unleashed warcries.


    The misbegotten at the front of the charge screamed out in pain as the spears sunk into their chests. The force of the blows caused them to be lifted up and thrown into the horde charging up the steps, disrupting but not stopping them. The next misbegotten arrived and their hesitation cost them as well as they too were thrown back.


    John made sure to keep a firm grip as his spear hit his opponents'' bodies and sunk into them, his enemies'' weight shoving back on the spear. As they fell back down the stairs rebuffed, the speartip John stuck into their flesh wanted to pull John''s spear with him, but John held tight to his weapon pulling back. As soon as his spear was free, he immediately thrust it into the misbegotten who had been shoved forward to replace the last.


    But this only lasted for a few moments as the misbegotten behind saw what happened to those who hesitated in front of them. When they reached the top of the stairs, they threw themselves forward in a desperate hope to strike and break the men¡¯s line.


    The battle for the staircase devolved into a brawl.


    John held his place beside his five as they all thrust into and out of the unrelenting horde that did not cease charging at them. Screams of pain and rage filled the air, only thing piercing through the dull roar of battlecries from both sides.


    All thought fled John''s mind as he became totally consumed by thrusting his spear and holding his shield. As an ending stream of misbegotten came up the stairs. If he faltered now, he would die.


    As the stream of misbegotten came up the steps faster than John''s five could deal with them, those that tried to close were struck down by the deeper layer of the phalanx. And when one passed all three layers of spear, John braced himself and threw all his weight behind his shield, smashing it into the misbegotten and tossing him back into the rest of the charging misbegotten.


    As they fought and struggled to keep the stairs, some misbegotten threw their crude cleavers and scavenged weapons at them. Unable to move or dodge, John just had to ignore them and keep thrusting. Most crashed against his shield or deflected off his armor uselessly, doing little but making him lurch for a moment and leaving bruises and welts. John ignored them and kept fighting.


    The minutes passed by as John stood his ground giving it his all sweat already climbing down his brow, when the man next to him cried out a gurgling scream of pain. John could barely spare a glance to see the man drop his weapons, going to his knees holding his throat. Instantly seeing the break in their line, the misbegotten tried to push there.


    But even as John thrust his spear to try and stop them, he saw a gauntleted hand reach out and pull the soldier back out of sight as another spearman stepped forward and took his place. Their line reestablished, the deadly tug of war teetering back and forth between their sides continued.


    John was so focused on the enemies in front of him trying to kill him when he heard Carth scream other orders, he did not have the ability to check beyond knowing they weren''t for him.


    As John fought he realized the only reason someone with little training like himself could even keep up with their opponents is that the misbegotten they were fighting were weakened from a life of malnutrition and weaker than regular men and disadvantaged in many other ways.


    No matter what happened in the chaos around him as the battle raged, John kept his shield up and kept thrusting. He did not stop for anything. Not when cleavers rattled his helm inches away from hitting his face. Not when rocks pelted him. Not even when his arms started burning from strain. He thrust and thrust over and over again. Misbegotten would charge up and be struck down, only for more to keep coming.


    The only thing that John could use to distinguish that time wasn''t repeating was the start and stop of runes filling him as he fought and the misbegotten in front of him died.


    John gave it his all as he held his place beside his fellow men, then he saw the misbegotten leader with his axe at the foot of the staircase.


    He pushed through his men, his large straight-backed form towering over their hunched figures, a giant among men.


    "Polearms! Fallback, five steps! 1st twenty, advance, surround the stairs!" John heard Carth shout from behind him.


    Recognizing the order from his training yesterday, John did his best to move with the other men as they stepped back step by step. John''s movements weren''t nearly as smooth, but their phalanx held as other men spread out to their sides to form a concave around the stair entrance.


    The wind picked up as Knight Lieutenant Carth stepped forward taking up place at the center of line almost next to John but a single step forward in front of the rest of them. Storm wreathed Carth''s halberd as Carth planted himself in front of the line like a stone to break the rushing rapids of misbegotten coming up the stairs.


    The misbegotten kept streaming over the top of the steps only to be met with spears from the front and blades from the sides. Carth himself was death incarnate right at their head. He struck rapid blows with his storm wreathed halberd, and each strike he landed ended in a small explosion of blood from the enemy, the storm shearing their flesh as they were picked up and tossed backwards through the air or over the rail to fall down the cliff.


    That was when the misbegotten leader then ascended the steps himself. In one hand he held his axe, but in the other he held up the corpse of a misbegotten by its neck almost as a shield.


    The leader stood at the threshold watching as his misbegotten streamed around him to keep charging at the formation but were struck down by Carth and the men all around them. Then the leader moved.


    As Carth struck down a misbegotten, the leader screamed "DOWN WITH THE ORDER OF SIN!" and threw the corpse at Carth, charging right behind it raising his axe with both hands.


    Unfortunately for the misbegotten leader, Carth was prepared and did a spinning strike. The body crashed off his plate armored back mid-spin and was tossed to the side as Carth came around with and landed the blade of his halberd right into the neck of the charging misbegotten leader. Like an executioner''s blade.


    In an explosive gust of wind that made everyone on the landing falter, all the storm Carth had gathered crashed into the leader and blasted back. His head exploded into mist and his large heavy body was launched into the thick wooden guardrail, smashing it into splinters, and sending the leader''s corpse straight over the cliffside.


    Seeing their leader die, immediately nearly half the misbegotten streaming up over the steps faltered and started to stop before turning around to run screaming about the leader''s death. The other half futilely kept charged right into their spears.


    But this futile charge only lasted for a few moments as the rest of the misbegotten heard the news of their commander''s death and their resolve broke. More and more turned and ran.


    As John wrenched his spear blade out of the neck of one of the last misbegotten to charge and his corpse fell to the ground, the all misbegotten started to run. As the men in the line stepped forward to start to chase the routed misbegotten, Carth screamed an order!


    "Let them go men! Do not chase! Killing them all isn''t our objective. We will not break formation!"


    The men stopped and watched the misbegotten run away. As the tension started to bleed out of everyone, their arms soon drooped in exhaustion.


    As John felt his blood stop thrumming in his ears, he realized his heart was beating a mile a minute, and he was bringing in huge gulps of air. His entire gambeson under his armor was absolutely soaked in sweat.


    The moment he let his arms fall they felt like noodles, barely able to hold his spear and shield. He felt a deep throbbing pain from repeated impacts shaking his bones, and his hands involuntarily shook from all the adrenaline.


    John looked around him and saw the men in the line begin to raise their arms and shout and cheer their victory. He saw a few men begin pulling out golden flasks and pressing them to their lips.


    Behind the lines he saw three men laying on the ground. John recognized one of the downed men was the man in his five who had been hit in the throat. He had a large crude bandage around his neck, and his rising and falling chest showed he was clearly breathing. The lack of blood on the bandage meant he must have been given crimson tears.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Next to him were two other men equally as injured, but they looked to have been patched up as well. He had been so focused he hadn''t even realized others had been hurt.


    A short distance from the three was another pair. One whose face was wrecked with a giant gash between his eyes. This man was not breathing, obviously dead. And the other had a similar injury.


    With how abused his body felt John debated on whether he should pull out his golden flask. Realizing that there was no way he''d be able to keep up for the rest of the day with how weak and bruised he felt now if there was another battle, he took a very small sip. What had been minor soreness faded completely, and the deepest of the pain and weakness faded into more minor aches. And he got a taste of that spicy caramel apple flavor once again.


    Ruban, John''s fivier, started looking over John and the others in the five and asked them a few questions. He said they were fit to continue and then moved to report to Rickar that their five had one casualty, the man who''d had his neck sliced open.


    After taking account of everything, Carth remade the reverse triangle formation and ordered them all to rotate their positions so the fresh took the front and the injured or those tired from fighting were in less critical positions. Any casualties were carried by men assigned and were on the inside so they could be protected.


    Everything organized, they continued their way down the destroyed cliffside town. As they exited down the stairs John saw that there had to be close to a hundred corpses. They''d cut down nearly half the enemy force.


    They continued down Clifftown, occasionally coming across more misbegotten small numbers running or caught hiding in the buildings as they marched past.


    ___________________________________


    They met a couple more large groups of armed misbegotten, but those clashes are short with the misbegotten numbers matching their own or being lesser. The misbegotten charged and suffered heavy losses, before quickly routing.


    During these skirmishes a few men would be lightly injured, but sips from a golden flask would fix them. Besides one unlucky man who had taken a scavenged hammer to the head and never stood up again even after being given a sip of tears.


    They got to the bowels of Clifftown and finally they approached their target.


    It was located only a handful of levels above the beach below, close enough that John could see some of the features, the individual eyes of clusters of unarmed misbegotten looking up at them from below when their path took them next to the cliff.


    It was a tightly clustered ''neighborhood'' of rooms cut out of the cliffside and a few larger stone buildings that were starting to crumble from lack of maintenance. Many of the buildings cut into the cliff were protected from the ocean wind by the placement of the large crumbling buildings. The street of this area was wider than was typical of Clifftown, able to hold nearly 20 men side-by-side.


    After thoroughly checking the route behind them to make sure no misbegotten were going to come from behind, they had rearranged the formation to have two line formations staggered from each other. The upper half of the most capable men in terms or skill or condition were in the first line and the others, the wounded or less skilled were the second line ten paces behind the first.


    This second line was where John''s five had been placed, on the left flank, with most of the first line being made of Andren''s men. Carth and Andren themselves stood in the space between the two lines, and the few casualties were safely tucked into a nearby building safely behind the lines.


    As they approached from down the street the misbegotten guarding the area began gathering. At first it was a few, but the numbers grew and grew until the misbegotten outnumbered them two-to-one.


    Unlike the last time, there were at least a dozen of the larger misbegotten, some with large tails, armed with a variety of weapons. Greatswords, axes, huge clubs, and more. John spotted a small handful of misbegotten with wings flying up onto the ledges of buildings to leap down on them at opportune times.


    As they gathered and arranged themselves, John noticed that there was something different about these misbegotten from the rest.


    The way they moved, the way they held their weapons, the way their body looked. The hard look in their eyes.


    These misbegotten weren''t like the ones they had fought till this point.


    John glanced at the other men, but they were unmoved. Did they not see what he did? Or did it not unsettle them?


    As their two lines marched closer and closer and closer the misbegotten this time did not wildly charge them. They waited.


    When the lines got within charging distance, one of the large misbegotten holding two cleavers stepped forward and opened its too-wide mouth. Its voice, a deep, screechy, and garbling like what John imagined an angler fish would sound like if it could speak, brought their march to a halt.


    "Tyrants of Morne. Head back the way you came. The only thing that awaits you here is death."


    "HA!" Carth mocked. "Without the advantage of surprise against your betters your kind''s cowardice emerges. Not satisfied with just betraying us despite our kindness to you, you even have to betray yourselves with your fear!"


    John wasn''t so sure that the misbegotten in front of them looked scared, but Carth continued his scathing assessment.


    "It appears you lot can only fight true men under the cover of dark with a knife to their back. Biting the hand of your masters who gave you everything you have ever had, even your own life. Well, we shall put you down like the rotten treacherous snakes you are.


    "Enough talk. MEN! Advance!"


    Their two lines advanced orderly one behind the other.


    They resolutely marched forward with the misbegotten holding their ground. When their front line was under ten paces from the enemy, the misbegotten abruptly charged. All at once, in unison.


    Living walls of meat and steel crashed against each other with a ring of metal as the misbegotten''s cleavers met their brass shields.


    As the battle raged it quickly became apparent that these misbegotten were different from the ones they had fought before. They were less skittish, less hesitant, and much more aggressive. They were climbing over each other to try and get strikes with their cleavers on the men. They would look out for themselves and their fellows, blocking strikes and creating openings rather than just wildly throwing themselves weapons first at the line.


    Any time a soldier struck down at a misbegotten who had exposed themselves, another misbegotten''s cleaver would take advantage of the opening and strike at the soldier with impunity. They could do this because the misbegotten were actually using their hunched forms to their own advantage. Able to easily climb over each other and attack simultaneously. Despite the misbegotten''s line mirroring their own, the misbegotten had twice as many fighters in the same space. Each of their own men was fighting two misbegotten at once.


    And just seeing how they blocked the strikes from the soldiers, these misbegotten were not nearly as weak as the ones they had fought in the previous horde, matching the soldier''s own strength. This combined with the misbegotten''s ability to put twice as many against their line, gave the misbegotten an overwhelming offense that almost made up for having no armor at all.


    Unlike their previous battles where they rapidly dispatched the enemy, this battle started off to a grueling melee, but one they seemed to be winning.


    Then the dozen large misbegotten made their presence known. Their massive size, huge weight, and great strength forced men to their knees when they struck their shields. They were large enough to prevent other misbegotten from clambering about them, but even when the men struck back, their flesh was tougher than a bear''s and strikes would leave inconsequential wounds.


    That is when John saw the first of their men fall as a cleaver finally broke through his greaves and bit deeply into his leg. John feared the line would break, but he was quickly pulled back and another stepped forward. Another man on the back line stepped forward and ripped the cleaver out of the injured man as the man lifted his golden flask to his lips.


    Seeing the large misbegotten nearly breaking their line, Carth summoned the storm to his halberd once again, but this time he swung above the men''s head, sending storm blades above their heads at the large misbegotten. The misbegotten would raise their weapons to defend, and the men would get a few strikes in before they once again turned defensive as Carth moved on to the next misbegotten. Andren joined Carth, his own sword and shield becoming cloaked with storm as well.


    Casualties started to build up on both sides as the misbegotten were killed one by one and their soldiers were brought down and stayed down, or were lucky enough to be able to be pulled away to drink from their flask.


    One man was hit by a large misbegotten with an axe and tossed backwards. He landed right in front of John, a giant gash across his chest, his breastplate a ruin.


    The man was so injured John could see him struggling to move and grab his flask. John crouched down and pulled out the man''s flask for him, but it was empty. He had drunk the entire thing already.


    John hurriedly pulled out his own flask and stuck it into the man''s mouth as he struggled to drink it. John felt and saw the tell tale red surge from the man that signaled that he had drunk the tears, but his chest wound barely healed. It kept gushing with blood pouring down onto the stone street below even as he brought his hands up to John''s flask and kept drinking.


    John felt a hand on his shoulder that pulled him back up, ripping his own hand from his golden flask, leaving the man holding it alone as he struggled to gulp it down. Looking back he saw his twentier Rickar.


    "He''s already had as much as someone can take! More tears won''t help him!"


    Understanding instantly, John turned back and tried to pull the flask away. But the man wouldn''t let go as he desperately tried to keep drinking from it trying to keep himself alive. John had to pry it from his grasp, and when he did, the flask was half empty. The man, one of the greys, had drunk two entire mouthfuls for nothing. Left with no flask, the man incoherently and blindly flailed his arms around and gurgled as he coughed up more and more blood.


    John put his flask away and rejoined his spot at the front of the second line, even as the man in front of him spasmed and coughed, futilely trying to find his empty flask where John had left it on the ground.


    A few moments after John rejoined the second line, John saw the misbegotten break through their line on the opposite flank of the formation. They swarmed out into the space between the two lines and began attacking the front of the second line and the back of the first line.


    As Andren paused, sending storm blades to push back the large misbegotten and stepped forward to deal with the breach. The middle of the second line advanced to cut off the misbegotten from swarming the back of the left flank of the first line. The cause of this break in the line revealed itself as it stood up from ripping a pair of cleavers from the heads of two men who had succumbed to him.


    It was their leader, the large, dual-cleaver misbegotten who had spoken before the battle had started. He was covered in a litany of cuts that oozed little pebbles of blood. They looked like cat scratches on his large frame. He stepped forward and exchanged blows with Arden, preventing him from slaughtering the misbegotten that had gotten between the lines, leaving the men on their own.


    At that moment, the two handfuls of winged misbegotten who had been laying in wait on top of the nearby building pounced. They flew the air and divebombed towards Carth like missiles at the same time.


    Carth, still dealing with the other large misbegotten, was blindsided by the flying misbegotten. Just their weight alone as they crashed into him pushed him to the ground.


    Carth began struggling to match his own strength against that of ten misbegotten as they held him down and began swinging their cleavers into him as some of the misbegotten between the lines attacked the downed knight as well.


    Meanwhile, Andren found his match in the misbegotten leader, as even with the storm and his clear skill with the blade, the misbegotten was just a far more skilled with his two cleavers and deflecting strikes and getting hits in past Andren''s shield that heavily damaged his arm.


    As their champions were tied up and could not assist them against the bigger misbegotten, the first line began suffering heavily. Being attacked from the front and from the back, men from the right half of the first line began dropping.


    Seeing the other two commanders tied up, Rickar acted.


    "Second line, left flank, reinforce the right flank!"


    John stepped forward in lockstep with the other as they turned and charged, falling upon the misbegotten swarming Carth.


    As he battled the misbegotten swarming Carth, John saw the misbegotten leader''s large and misshapen but powerful body flow through coordinated strikes with his two weapons.


    It seemed almost unnatural for something that seemed so awkward to be so skilled. He attacked constantly with ferocity ignoring any attacks that hit him from regular men, his exceptionally tough hide preventing any of their strikes from doing more than scratch him and striking them back devastatingly with his tail; meanwhile any dangerous strikes from Andren''s storm covered sword would be deflected, sending the power of the storm blasting away from him and into any unfortunate nearby, friend or foe.


    John and the men of the left wing battled the misbegotten standing over Carth, their assistance allowing Carth to begin to struggle free.


    Out of the corner of his eye, John spotted Rickard charging the misbegotten leader and striking him with the spike of his warpick. The leader roared in pain and fury before he struck him with a cleaver sending him flying back, but this allowed Andren to get a solid strike on the leader''s head, the wind shredding one his eyes to.


    The battle to free Carth turned when the knight managed to free one of his arms and used his gauntleted first to pulp the head of one of the other misbegotten holding him, freeing himself enough to throw the rest off of him and stand. Though he did not have his halberd, stuck below the feet of the misbegotten nearby, Carth picked up a warpick from a fallen soldier and swung it around as if it weighed as much as one of those hollow plastic bats for children.


    With the assistance of Carth, they pushed the misbegotten back a few paces, saving what little was left of the right wind of the first line. Leaving only the second line of men, who impressively hadn''t broken yet despite themselves being diminished and heavily hammered.


    Meanwhile Andren managed to press his advantage with the misbegotten leader having lost an eye, and struck a killing blow to his head. Their two champions now again free, this time they began hunting down the half a dozen large misbegotten still left.


    Despite the other side having lost half of their elites, their champions, the regular misbegotten still had great numbers, and the vicious battle continued.


    John found himself in what became the center of the zigzag shape their line had become. John fought until a cleaver he hadn''t seen made it past his shield and broke through the chest of his armor, biting inches deeply and cutting through at least one rib.


    John fell to one knee dropping his spear to bring his hand to his chest as pain flooded him. The next moment another cleaver came at his head, and he threw his shield. Blocking the hit but nearly falling to the ground, despite the blinding pain, John had the presence of mind to throw himself backwards out of the fighting before his head was taken off.


    He took out his golden flask, thankful for the non-spill magic as his hand shook from pain. He brought it to his lips and drank three entire mouthfuls, until the pain in his chest faded. Pulling the flask away from his face, he saw it was down to less than a fifth. He had maybe three more drinks from it then he''d be out.


    John staggered to his feet, feeling mental whiplash from the sudden shift from one moment having a sore body and massive pain in his chest to a moment later feeling as if he had never been hurt in the first place.


    But John ignored how much his confused mind was shouting at him to slow down for a moment and stabilize. He picked up his spear and stepped back up to the back of line.


    He placed his spear in the gap between the two men in front of him and began thrusting at the enemies once again. He heard more fighting at the line far off to his sides, but John didn''t have time to worry about others as he focused on the enemies in front of him.


    The next few minutes of fighting were a gritty struggle between their two sides as each tried to simply bluntly grind away and killed the men of the other.


    But slowly the tides began to change.


    The misbegotten were starting to thin. The overwhelming offensive pressure from their superior numbers and unique stature was letting off as their numbers lessened from twice as many, to half again as many and lower, and champions died.


    But their own side paid dearly for it. One after another, men would fall.


    Slowly John felt the now combined line start to rotate. His place at the center of the line became a fulcrum as the left flank stayed where it was and the right flank, aided by Andren and Carth who had retrieved his halberd, began slowly moving forward and swinging around towards the back of the misbegotten''s own line like a mouse trap snapping closed.


    By the time the misbegotten realized what was happening, it was too late. They were trapped inside the now v-formation the line had transformed into, and were stuck with their backs against the unguarded cliffside off the side of the street.


    Despite seeing the hopelessness of their situation the misbegotten didn''t try to surrender in an attempt to save their lives. They kept on fighting, not faltering or breaking despite the end they by now knew was coming, trying to take as many of them with them as they could.


    Due to this, the trapped remaining thirty or so misbegotten managed to kill another handful of soldiers before they were cut down to the last few remaining.


    As they were slaying the last handful of enemies fighting valiantly, one of them dropped their weapon and fell to their knees. It was the last of their champions, the large misbegotten with the oversized club.


    She began hideously laughing. A deranged full belly laugh, even as the last of her fellows dropped to the ground to not rise again.


    Carth stepped forward and raised his halberd high. Its perfectly clean blade gleaming in the sun, the power of the storm that had cloaked it for much of the battle having blown any blood from it.


    The misbegotten looked up at her executioner and his blade and somehow laughed even harder.


    "You are all fools! You think you have won!? Your de-"


    With a thud, Carth''s halberd cleanly split her head from her body.


    Everyone paused for a moment as the last of the enemy was dead.


    Then Carth turned towards them.


    "Men! Reform and address any injuries! Be ready for more enemies to come out at any moment!" Carth''s orders rang out.


    John hadn''t been injured again in the battle, so he started helping the men near him. As he did, he looked over the remaining men. They had lost nearly thirty in that battle. Almost half of their entire force, leaving less than half after the losses of the other battles. It was absolutely devastating.


    As he helped gather and treat the casualties, John could no longer see even one bloodthirsty smile of victory like many had sported before any time they had clashed with misbegotten on their way down here.


    All that was left were grim frowns as the men who weren''t helping with the injured began gathering valuable resources from the dead like golden flasks or weapons and moving the corpses of fallen men and misbegotten out of the center of the street.


    Even John wasn''t left unmoved. These were not his people, his friends, or even people he liked. In fact he found them to be morally repugnant on one level, noting the ground covered in the corpses of rebelling slaves, even if they had other admirable traits. Yet seeing so many of the men he had fought beside dead did make John feel a smidgen of melancholy.


    A little under thirty men left out of their original sixty something. There was only one other man from John''s own five still alive, and it wasn''t his fivier.


    How had they lost so many of their men?


    That is when it hit John. Those misbegotten. He hadn''t just been seeing things. The way they had used their weapons and their tactics. They had been trained. And not for just a couple of days like John had been. It was nothing at all like how the other gangs of misbegotten had been.


    As everyone finished with the immediate after battle regrouping, John wasn''t given time to think on it further as Carth gave out new orders.


    "It appears we have defeated the last of the enemy. Andren himself will be the tip of the spear as we investigate what they were defending here house by house. Remember, if you see the enemy leader, a red-maned misbegotten, killing him is our main priority above anything else."


    So they arranged themselves into a formation behind Andren as they approached the closest building, which also happened to be the biggest. When they got close, Andren held his hand up.


    "Hold here."


    They stopped as Andren entered the building by himself. A sound of scuffling and a cry, and moments later Andren came out dragging by the arm what was clearly a misbegotten child. A little girl covered in filth, maybe 6 or 7 by John''s estimation of her size. Her misshapen face combined with her childish features made her exact expression hard to tell, but John could see the deathly fear in her eyes.


    " I saw some as young as this, some younger, and some nearly adults. This isn''t an armory or where they keep their food. This is where they are keeping the younglings!" Andren announced. He turned his armored head to Carth at an ominously deliberate speed.


    "Orders, Knight Lieutenant Carth." Andren asked, his voice full of malice.


    "Our orders were clear." Carth began matter-of-factly with a vicious undertone.


    John could hear the malicious smile on his face behind the helmet. He knew what was going to be said, even as his mind had trouble comprehending what was about to occur. John turned his own helmet to look directly into the misbegotten child''s eyes, who looked back at him, even as Carth finished what he was saying.


    "We are to destroy whatever they are guarding here."


    The little girl''s face scrunched up, tears pooling in her eyes at his pronouncement. She opened her too-wide mouth, a sob about to escape. The instant noise began to leave her mouth Andren moved-


    ____________________________________


    John stood at the end of the street alone as high pitched screams of fear and pain sounded across the cliffside, yet he was completely silent and utterly still. He was staring up at the sky as the uncaring sun crawled across the sky, his face completely covered in the grime of the battle. Dust, dirt and blood.


    The only spot on his face that was clean were two thin lines going down his face from the corners of his eyes.


    John''s guts roiled, his fist on his spear so tight it was hurting his palm. His chest was so tight he felt like he could barely breathe. John hated. John hated himself. For... for so many things. Being weak. Knowing too much. For not being able to stop what was happening. For the events since that night. For having come to Morne in the first place


    For not knowing.


    Weren''t the misbegotten winning in the game''s timeline? Had this happened there? Had it not? Had his actions somehow set this in motion, or was his timing bad?


    As John stood there, violent emotions swirling in him, his thoughts raced trying to make sense of everything. Of how something like this could have happened.


    But John only had a small amount of control over what had been happening. Slowly, the hate he was feeling for himself was turned to something else. And as his surging emotions slowed and his thought steadied, the tightness in his chest gathered and coalesced into a small diamond-hard pit of emotion in his heart.


    A pit of hate, so cold that even touching it would give you frostbite. Hatred of what had caused this evil in front of himself that he refused to trick his mind into justifying. A hatred, not for himself with whatever his hand in this had been. Not for the soldiers of Morne or the Golden Order, pursuing this end. Not even for the misbegotten for provoking it in some way.


    But rather a hatred of what John thought had truly led to this outcome. The quest for purity. Purity of an ideal, perfection of it. And the zealotry that always came from it, destroying everything in its pursuit. Rationalizing why one particular arbitrary thing in their head was more valuable than anything else, even the lives of innumerable children.


    The world was more complex and nuanced than any man could conceive of. And reduce it all down to purity being the answer was folly. Purity of the Erdtree. Purity of freedom. Purity of anything.


    It was a lie from someone who tricked themselves with their own rationality to favor the abstract over the real. To ignore reality and sacrifice everything in pursuit of a fantasy land that doesn''t and could never exist. A totality of arrogance and pride, often unknowing, and refusal to humble oneself and admit their favored idea''s imperfection because they believe it would show their own imperfection.


    The ultimate form of the refusal to admit one was, or could be, wrong.


    As the screams echoed through the air, they fed this small pit in John''s heart. Becoming colder and harder.


    He didn''t know how long exactly, but some time later the screams and sobs went quiet. It left the area filled only with the newfound malicious joy of the remaining men as they came back from their ''victory'' and stood a short distance away from John talking about it.


    They did it knowingly, to twist the knife. John''s outburst and pleading for mercy to Carth had not been well received by anyone. It had been useless, only able to buy himself the role of a ''lookout'' while the rest of the men carried out their orders.


    But as they spoke, John''s ears perked up. He heard something, a fragment of conversation that lit up a lightbulb in his brain. John ran his thick gloves that were covered in dried blood and dirt and grime, and drug them down his face from the corner of his eyes, once again making his face uniformly smeared.


    He shoved everything he was feeling in a little box inside his head for later, and turned around with a thoughtlessly neutral expression fixed on his face.


    Spotting the group whose conversation had tickled his ear in their spite of him, John approached. He saw one of the men holding a familiar small wooden box, now speckled with blood.


    As John approached the men''s conversation died and they frowned at him. This was not unexpected; John had known there would be repercussions for what he had done even before he had opened his mouth.


    "I overheard you talking about that box there. Where did you find it?" John asked, ignoring their unwelcoming looks.


    "One of ''he little monsters was holding onto it when I gutted ''em," The man holding the box said derisively with an obnoxiously thick accent.


    "Oh really? What''s inside it?" John kept his tone casually curious.


    "It ain''t none of ''ur business what. It''s me box now," the man denied.


    "No reason to be that way. I''m interested to see if I wanna trade for it."


    "Ye wanna know what''s in''er? Trade fer it."


    John kept his building frustration from his face.


    After some back and forth, they struck a deal for a price a little over three times what was reasonable. John transferred the man his runes and stuck out his hand.


    "There you go. Now the box?"


    The man looked down at John''s hand for a moment, then looked right into John''s eyes as he snorted and spit right down onto the box. He gave John an ugly, knowing smirk and put the box in his hands.


    "There ye go. Yer box." The man and the guys around them started laughing.


    John''s blood was on fire. He wanted to take out his knife and gut the man where he stood. But instead he just raised his eyebrow before he calmly bent down and wiped his glove and the box off on a nearby corpse from the battle.


    Without another word he walked away from the men back to his nearby lookout position, discretely keeping an eye out to make sure they didn''t do anything else. They didn''t do more than badmouth him under their breath but still loud enough so he could hear it.


    Opening taking off one his dirty gloves and opening the box, inside he found three familiar drawings, pristine. The waterproof box had kept any of the blood from ruining them.


    At that moment, John was just done. He could understand why some sought the Frenzied Frame. It was the entire reason he had even come here in the first place, and here he was tempted by an impulse to feed it instead.


    But it was just a momentary impulse that John rejected. Irina had to be saved or everything that had happened would have been for nothing.


    John did get some dark amusement from the fact that even if he hadn''t rejected that impulse though, there wasn''t anything Frenzy related that he could do at the moment anyways. Too incapable for even the Frenzied Flame.


    Folding the drawings and putting them securely back into their box, John tucked the box behind his chainmail, behind his gambeson, against his breast.


    John kept watch in his position until about ten minutes later Carth called all the men to assemble.


    As everyone gathered, John looked around, memorizing the faces of everyone here. At this point no one was untouched. They were all covered in scuffs and scratches, with many having bloody clothes and makeshift bandages from their battle injuries that had been addressed with crimson tears.


    He didn''t spot Rickar in the group. He must have fallen sometime after John had seen him attack that misbegotten leader.


    After they gathered in front of their own leader, Carth began speaking.


    "We have done it, men! We have destroyed what our Lord ordered us to! We have brought our vengeance upon the vile dregs! They will now know the same pain we have felt at their treacherous burning of Castletown. I have no doubt that the other units that Lord Edgar had sally out have been equally successful, and their leader has been destroyed.


    "I already have given you a few minutes to celebrate. We are deep into enemy territory, and we should leave before more enemy forces arrive and pick us off in our weakened state. Due to our losses, Knight Ardren and I shall reorganize you into fives and one over-strength twenty. Then we will return to Castle Morne."


    And they did so. Carth shifted them around trying to keep what was left of the original fives together as often as he could, as most fives had lost at least a couple men. He also reassigned how the formation was going to be. No more triangle, just a simple line with those transporting casualties at the back.


    John was one of those removed from his five assigned to a completely new one, separating him from his last remaining teammate. Not that they had been at all close.


    The five he had been put into was the one that was to carry the wounded they had from their last battle. Three men had already reached their limit on being healed by crimson tears but still had wounds that prevented them from being able to move by themselves.


    These three men were put into makeshift cloth harnesses made of cloth that one could put on and off like a backpack. Of course, John was one of the men from his five that was to do the labor of carrying someone. John didn''t mind doing so, but he knew that what was happening to him wasn''t a coincidence. As the man''s weight settled on him, John suspected his new assignment was a punishment by Carth.


    Everyone properly reorganized, Carth began leading them back up through Clifftown towards Castle Morne.


    ____________________________________________

 Chapter 11 - John

    ___________________________________________


    As they marched back, the men around him had an air of hard-fought victory about them as John''s new five stood in the center of the formation. They had lost much. They were battered and bruised. But they had won in the end and their enemy laid dead at their feet.


    As they made their way back up Clifftown, they saw a few small groups of armed misbegotten. The men didn''t engage any of them because the misbegotten would always quickly run or route around, determined to avoid them.


    They were nearly halfway back when John heard a faint sound between the clanking of greaves on stone of the men. It was almost impossible to hear for him even with his slightly enhanced hearing. It was the sound of a few pebbles hitting the ground off to the side of the formation.


    John turned his head up and to the side to look where the pebbles had come from, only to see a red and grey mass already hurtling down towards the back of the formation from above!


    There was not even enough for a gasp before the mass smashed into Andren''s back with a shrieking sound of tortured metal!


    The formation instantly stopped and turned to see a dire sight.


    A red-maned misbegotten with copper colored flesh. They were taller than a man despite being severely hunched and held Andren impaled above their head on a great monstrosity of a sword! The sword was the size of a man''s body and made dozens of swords melted together!


    John instantly recognized what was in front of his eyes. The Leonine Misbegotten and the Grafted Blade Greatsword!


    Leonine Misbegotten Concept Art</a>


    Leonine Misbegotten</a>


    Leonine Misbegotten Fan Art</a> by Alibek Garipov/L-LOFTE</a>


    Grafted Blade Sword</a>


    The leonine misbegotten stood there still for a moment holding Andren above them, almost as if posed to display what had been done. A flood of blood from Andren poured on the misbegotten as Andren weakly tried to to push against the grafted blade greatsword. John could see the mass of grafted swords coming out of Andren''s front filled with meaty gore. There was more metal in Andren''s chest than meat.


    With an easy flourish of the massive sword, the misbegotten tossed Andren aside like he weighed nothing and held the sword with both hands in front of them in an upright stance. Andren rolled across the ground leaving a bloody streak and lay bonelessly where he stopped, not even a slight movement from him. The soldiers reacted and brandished their weapons while those closest to the Leonine Misbegotten swung their weapons.


    With meaty thwacks the weapons landed on the misbegotten but came away as nothing but cat scratches and light scrapes.


    With a roar the leonine misbegotten, a woman John noted from her privates, braced herself and for just a moment it seemed like the fabric of reality around her was pulled into her and a colorless and semi-transparent energy suffused her body.


    This close John could see that despite the supposed name of this misbegotten and the long mane of hair, there were not actually any feline parts to this chimera, even if her silhouette fit the name.


    The men beside her once again tried to attack her, but now with her flesh suffused with that colorless energy, it was so tough their weapons did not even draw blood!


    As the men struck at her, the leonine misbegotten spun around swinging her greatsword in a sweeping cut that slashed through the armored men around her like they were cheese, the shriek of tearing metal resounding out. As the bisected bodies hit the ground, taking out a fifth of their remaining men, the formation was small enough that John''s new fivier was cut in half at the chest.


    That is when Carth reacted charging toward the threat with supernatural speed, summoning storm that howled furiously to wreathe around his entire body!


    "Men, retreat! This foe is too great for you to battle! Your lives will be wasted here! I will cover your retreat!"


    The men hesitated, but the misbegotten hadn''t stopped moving for a moment, and cut down another five in one swing even as Carth got close enough to engage her.


    Seeing the shower of gore and rain of mangled flesh from that single swing of the misbegotten, the men began retreating in a near panic!


    John looked at the remaining men of his five and saw them looking around at each other indecisively at who was now in charge at their fivier''s death, so he acted.


    "Keep to the center of the formation!" John ordered!


    As what was left of the mangled formation rushed to get away, Carth struggled to fight the misbegotten whose incredible strength, speed, skill, and unnaturally keen weapon meant Carth was dancing on a knife''s edge. Instead of using the furious power of storm to land more powerful attacks, the storm pushed at Carth''s back making a single step of his cover the distance of a leap.


    As incredibly powerful and agile the leonine misbegotten was, Carth and his storm could cover twice the distance in the same time. He danced back and forth coming into range of the misbegotten, stepping back and avoiding their sword strikes, and then darting in to get in a strike of his own leaving a wound before retreating out of reach once again.


    It was like flying buzzing around a woman''s head as she futilely tried to swat it, and after a few seconds the translucent power also faded from her body, and suddenly Carth''s strike sunk twice as deep.


    Despite this, Carth''s strikes still could not sink more than an inch into her flesh. Such wounds were minor for a being as large as her.


    The leonine misbegotten was over twice the size of a man with incredibly long arms the length of an entire man''s body to match, her hunched posture helping hide the sheer size and power of her body. In sheer size, she was to Carth as Carth was to John.


    As John turned to start running, he saw Carth another sword strike from the leonine only to be caught by her tail swinging around to slam into him, launching him backwards into one of the buildings.


    As they retreated John could no longer glance back to watch Carth''s battle, even as the roaring of the storm''s wind and of the frustrated pain and anger of the leonine misbegotten continued to sound out behind them.


    Their retreat was barely coordinated enough to be called organized as they all struggled to move as fast as possible but not break formation.


    They continued going up the destroyed Clifftown towards Castle Morne, eventually the roars of the battle raging on below were drowned out by the ocean wind. Despite that, they did not slow down to anything slower than a jog.


    They kept going up, until they were approaching the half-way point. That is when another disaster struck.


    As they arrived nearby the area they had first engaged the misbegotten choking their numbers using a staircase, they came to a stop as they spotted a troop of at least eighty armed misbegotten approaching them from the way they had used to make their way down through Clifftown earlier. Far more than their force of a little over twenty could handle in their current beleaguered state.


    The misbegotten that approached didn''t look like the barely herded, disorganized masses that they had spent most of the way down combating, but rather they looked gritty and disciplined, like the misbegotten that had been guarding their units'' objective.


    The fivier that had been leading the escape turned to the men.


    "We can''t get through nearly four times our numbers in our state! Our path is blocked! We''ll instead go back down and east around them and then circle back up!" their impromptu leader informed them.


    As John thought of the route in his head and remembered what he had learned of the layout of Clifftown in his stay, he realized that without the lifts, which had been destroyed, taking that path would lead to a dead end! They would be trapped, and forced to fight these misbegotten they were trying to avoid, and maybe even the leonine misbegotten would be able to catch up with them if it defeated Carth.


    John looked around to see if anyone else realized it was a dead end, but as no one else objected, his confidence in his conclusion flagged.


    John thought that maybe he was misremembering. These guys had lived here for much longer than him, they would probably know Clifftown better than him, right?


    But with something as important as his and everyone''s lives on the line, he wasn''t going to let minor doubts within him win and gaslight himself into disbelieving what his eyes and memories were telling him.


    "We can''t go that way! It''s a dead end!" John objected before the formation started to move again.


    The fivier looked at John and sneered.


    "Be quiet, you disgrace! I''ve been stationed in Castle Morne for over two centuries! I know how to get around Clifftown! Besides, why should we listen to you!?


    "You showed your true colors earlier! You begged Knight Lieutenant Carth to spare those little monsters'' lives, and he let you know exactly what he thought about that! Mercy for the enemy? HA! If you hadn''t fought with the rest of us on the way down there and saw you cut down the bastards on the way, I would have thought you were on their side.


    "As it is, it shows your judgement is shite! Now shut up and follow!" The fivier spit at John''s feet and turned around.


    As the fivier started moving towards his proposed route and the men began following him, John refused to give up at some mean words.


    "Stop! I know what I am talking about! It''s a dead end! We''ll be trapped! Guys, we can''t go that way! Guys-" John tried to convince them to stop. But no matter what John said, the men ignored him and followed the fivier.


    John felt the temptation to just go with them. To give up and trust that he was mistaken. But in the end John ended up staying rooted to the spot as all the men left back down the cliffside to their doom, including his new five.


    He was left alone except for the soldier strapped to his back who was still unconscious from his injuries.


    But the misbegotten were still approaching his location at the heavily branching intersection, so John didn''t have any more time to hesitate any more.


    Turning around, John looked at the other routes he could go. He hadn''t explored any of them, but he knew the castle was gonna be up.


    John picked one of the routes leading directly away from the misbegotten and the direction the men were going and started running that way. He ran until he lost sight of the misbegotten. Then he slowed down and more carefully made his way through the ransacked Clifftown.


    The confusing mess of sections cut out of the cliff face, buildings, ladders, rocky outcroppings, stairs, and fortifications all mixed up and intertwined with each other that made Clifftown so hard to navigate also made a good cover as John did his best to stay hidden from and go around any stray misbegotten as he made his way up towards Castle Morne. Being discovered by a group of even two or three would spell his doom.


    As he made his way through he soon became thankful for his caution as he had to hide from an armed squad of ten misbegotten going down the road and carrying some supplies.


    The next few hours were excruciating as he had to slowly sneak around lest he be found, and since he didn''t know his way around he ended up in dead end after dead end.


    But John did make progress, slowly. But the weight of the man he was carrying made this much harder. Every so often he had to stop to take a break to rest and recover from carrying his unconscious ally around. At every break, his body was more sore from carrying him everywhere, and John was that little bit farther up the cliffside towards Castle Morne.


    As his body became more sore and exhausted, John thought about just leaving the unconscious soldier. Abandoning him. It would make the journey three times easier, and no one would ever know.


    But ultimately John did not do that. He did not even seriously entertain the thought.


    There were many things that people could hate or be afraid of. Many were very common. Physical danger, social isolation, putting in effort. Death.


    Something that had more of an aversion to than any of those, was regret. John hated it. It was what had pushed him to ask for mercy for the misbegotten children, despite knowing that it almost certainly wouldn''t work and that he would be punished or rejected for it.


    So, no. He would not be leaving the man to die. Even if his body ached more with every step. Even it ultimately caused his death at the hands of the misbegotten.


    Soon John reached the rough level where castle entrances were, the level that they had departed from. But after searching for nearly an hour, he couldn''t find an entrance in the direction he had picked.


    There was also a number of misbegotten patrols he had to avoid, so John kept going up the levels to the much more spare upper sections of cliffside, where the shops and residence buildings faded entirely and only a small number of small towers and other fortifications were built in here, and much of the area was rocky outcropping or flat cliff face.


    As John kept going up, the misbegotten patrol disappeared and he no longer had to avoid the occasional misbegotten. It seemed they had no interest in the upper-most sections of Clifftown.


    As that unbelievably long day was coming to a close as the sun started to approach the horizon, John reached the very the top section of Clifftown and started spotting the foundation blocks of Castle Morne itself and there were little to no building now, only the looming ramparts themselves, rocky outcroppings, and slim paths cut into the cliffside to get around to the outer sections of the ramparts.


    Looking at the setting sun, John realized he would have to hide out for the night against the ramparts. He began looking around for an isolated nook between fortifications that would make a good hiding place, he found something.


    As he was walking through a small grassy corner made from two of the ramparts of Castle Morne towering above him, he spotted a distinctive, strange ligneous bit of flora on the ground. One he recognized.


    Site of Grace Wood</a>


    And right above it, as he stopped and looked hard, a barely visible golden shimmer in the air.


    A Site of Grace!


    Site of Grace</a>Stolen novel; please report.


    John focused on the runes inside of him and thought he might have just enough to break through the resistance he had felt when he had last been at a site of grace.


    A smile came over his face. This would give him just a little bit more of an edge in living through the rebellion.


    Double checking the area to make sure no misbegotten would be able to see him in this nook, John took off the harness holding man he was carrying and laid him down by the wall.


    John sat down and put his hand on the wisp of grace. His hand just passed the ethereal wisp, the edges slightly bent and flowed around his hand, but the main body passed directly through his hand as if it wasn''t there. John kept his fisted hand inside of the floating wisp.


    Focusing on himself his empty eyes staring forward, he once again summoned all the thoughts and feelings he had back at the Church of Elleh, about absolute improvement in every aspect, about himself imposing upon the world more than the world imposing on him, and once again impressed that will upon the runes resting in his gut as he channeled them into the wisp.


    The mass of runes he had amassed pushed against that mysterious ethereal resistance.


    John focused on channeling with all his will as the runes slammed up against the resistance and stalled for a moment, like when you begin to push against something very heavy, before suddenly the mass of runes pushed past the resistance and into the wisp!


    As they did, John felt the runes almost liquefy as the separate, individual runes began flowing into one another. More and more and more runes flowed into one another as his mass of runes was rapidly consumed.


    These flowing runes bent and contorted, growing and shrinking in strange, impossible ways as the letters of runes flowed and warped into an incomprehensible structure that seemed like a cursive script in the three dimensions he could feel, but John could feel they stretched out in other incomprehensible angles that his mind simply couldn''t grasp, couldn''t feel. As they changed, they shed their gold, becoming more white, like the color of pure light.


    Then that flowing cursive script flowed back into him, back into the incorporeal core in his gut that it had come from and merged with that space in his gut, imprinted in the very core of where his runes rested, in that odd angle his mind couldn''t grasp. And as that script imprinted itself in him, he realized that there was already a bit of script where it was trying to imprint!


    As the new script touched the old, they merged together and a pulse of gold was released, the shed gold from the script''s creation being released. It instantly rippled out from his body into the air and disappeared, leaving him with a new, more complex, bigger script.


    Cursive Script</a>


    John leaned back from the wisp, not knowing what all this meant and knowing there was no way for him to figure it out, and instead paid attention to what his senses were telling him. He could just feel that he had gotten just that small amount better. Stronger, fast, more perceptive.


    Feeling the incorporeal core in his gut, most of his runes had been used in the creation of this new script. He didn''t even have enough runes to match the paltry amount he had used to buy the box of drawings tucked against his chest.


    John reached out again to the wisp and tried to push against whatever mysterious force was preventing him from strengthening himself with runes easily. He found the resistance was a little more than half-again as powerful as it had been before as his smattering of runes felt like they were smashing against a solid steel door.


    Done with channeling runes, John stopped focusing inward, and when he looked down once again at where his hand was, he realized he could see the gold! Clearly, right in front of him, John could see the golden wisp! Where before it was the shadow of a whisper, now it was translucent like a ghost from a cartoon.


    But he would now be able to actually see the wisp of grace even if he was moving or at a distance!


    John looked up in the air around the site of grace, but he didn''t see a trail of grace trying to guide him anywhere.


    It seemed that despite his ''level-up'' improving his unusual ability to see the sites of grace that guided tarnished, John didn''t suddenly see the guidance of grace.


    Or at least not at this site of grace. He knew that there were many sites that had no guidance in the game, like the ones underground. Which made sense because if the guidance was to become Elden Lord, then it makes sense it wouldn''t send you to ''optional'' areas like the underground stuff. That seemed to be how it worked.


    Except Morne for some reason? He remembered the guidance would bring the Chosen Tarnished here to the misbegotten rebellion for some reason. It didn''t actually lead to Great Runes or other things required to be Elden Lord like the other paths it led the Chosen Tarnished down.


    But anyways, it made perfect sense to him that he wouldn''t have any guidance anyway. He had just somehow hacked the ability to see these special grace sites himself instead of having been granted guidance. From what John understood, guidance was a personalized thing only given to tarnished, and John wasn''t tarnished.


    After a minute of just watching the golden floating wisp flutter in the air entranced by actually easily seeing something obviously, visibly magical, his excitement faded as he finally started crashing as his exhaustion from the entire day hit him.


    John checked over the area once again, to make sure it was a good hiding place, and he decided it was good enough.


    John carefully moved his unconscious comrade to a corner and made sure he laid as comfortably as he could. John did the same for himself and after a few minutes laying awake in paranoia, John fell asleep.


    ____________________________


    "''EY! YOU! WAKE UP!"


    John''s eyes snapped open! He looked around rapidly for the voice that had woken him up, not really hearing the words spoken!


    John jumped to his feet picking his halberd up from the ground! He looked around wildly to find the misbegotten who had discovered him, but he didn''t see anything except a light morning fog creeping up the cliff.


    "UP HERE!" The voice came from above.


    John looked up and blinked as rain drops got in his eyes and held his hand above to protect from the rain. It was lightly sprinkling though with a lot of wind, and he had been so exhausted that even being completely soaked through had not woken him up. Thankfully, it was summer and still warm enough that the wind only brought a light chill to his wet form.


    John saw a soldier leaning through one of the rampart''s crenelations looking down at him.


    "WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE!?" he yelled.


    "I''M FROM ONE OF THE UNITS THAT SALLIED OUT TO ATTACK YESTERDAY!" John yelled back.


    The man''s face turned serious and he turned around behind him and said something that was too quiet for John to hear over the wind, his enhanced hearing picking up only muddled words. After some back and forth with whoever he was talking to, the man turned back with a rope ladder and threw it down that unraveled and swung nearby.


    "QUICKLY! COME UP NOW!"


    John looked over and saw his companion was still unconscious. He once again donned the harness and began struggling his way up the long rope ladder one rung at a time.


    As John got to the top of the ladder and began hauling himself over the crenelation, John looked around and saw it was a five of men that had found him.


    A pair of the men grabbed John''s arms and helped pull them both up and over the edge and onto the battlement.


    A second pair of men stepped forward and started hauling the ladder back up as the two men helped John to his feet.


    Despite all of them having the same equipment, when the last man stepped forward his bearing showed he was the group''s fivier.


    "You are from one of the units that sallied?" the fivier asked as the other men started removing John''s passenger from the cloth harness to take him, being careful not to disturb the makeshift bandages on his head as they laid him onto the ground.


    "Yes," John confirmed.


    The fivier looked at the other men and pointed to John''s passenger.


    "You two, take him to the sickroom. And you two keep your lookout here. I''ll meet you all back here after I take this one to Lord Edgar to report!"


    They acknowledged the fivier''s order, and the fivier himself started leading John north across the battlements through the light rain.


    When he turned to follow, John almost stumbled at what he saw. In the distance was a brilliant sight. Stretching high into the sky, taller than the mountains, taller than a hundred skyscrapers was a golden tree of mind boggling scale and majesty!


    Before, he''d seen the grey, stony, branchless trunk stretching into the sky, but now he could see the brilliant golden bark and the ethereal branches and incorporeal leaves made of golden grace!


    Erdtree</a>


    If there ever was proof that gods were real, and that Marika the Eternal was divine, the sight before him was it.


    John followed the fivier who silently guided John across the labyrinthine battlements as John gawked at the glorious Erdtree.


    Eventually the man arrived at one of the towers sparsed throughout the battlements and started heading down the stairs with John following, the tower walls hiding the Erdtree from John''s sight.


    After getting to the ground floor and walking down a few corridors, they arrived in front of a familiar wooden door covered with engravings of beasts and dragons. John now knew these had religious significance to the fringefolk, rather than just the neat and interesting art he had had thought it was before.


    John could hear muffled voices shouting from inside.


    Headless of whatever was going in the room, the fivier knocked on the door. The shouting stopped, and a few moments later the door opened.


    John recognized the armored knight as Knight Major Crann from his armor.


    Now that he had a closer and longer look at him, John realized that Crann was the knight he had seen at the Castletown entrance to Castle Morne at the beginning of the rebellion. The one who had called for a retreat after the other fringefolk knight was killed by the misbegotten horde and made that massive storm blade that cleared the entrance for the men.


    Crann had his helmet off and John saw he had a thin face, blotchy red with anger, with brown hair and grey eyes.


    Standing at the table in the center of the room was Lord Edgar, also with his helmet off and his face equally red.


    "Sir Crann." The fivier saluted, John copying him. "My patrol on the southern battlements found this man and another injured soldier sleeping at the foot of the ramparts this morning. He claims to be from one of the twenties that sallied yesterday. The other man was unconscious and has been taken to the sickroom."


    Crann, doing a poor job of hiding his simmering anger, turned his head and looked John up and down for a moment.


    "Are you one of the volunteers?"


    "Yes, sir. Kind of. I volunteered to join one of the twenties at one of the Clifftown entrances the night before Lord Edgar''s speech."


    Crann nodded his head and turned to the fivier. "Your dismissed." The man saluted again and left, leaving John alone with two angry commanders.


    John wanted to glare at the leaving fivier for not just waiting until whatever argument they were having was resolved before knocking, but he wasn''t given the opportunity.


    "Come in." Crann ordered, closing the door behind John as he obeyed, and walked over to stand beside Edgar.


    The room was a study, and a large one at that, with a large table and some chairs in the middle, a nice formal desk in one corner with a fancy chair, and two walls full of bookshelves. Besides the desk and desk chair, the rest of the room was of good quality but practical.


    The room was mostly utilitarian rather than meant to be a display of wealth.


    John steeled himself.


    He was once again standing in front of two men who could easily order his death if they wished to, and they were angry at the moment. It was like standing in front of Torrin and Duran again, but worse as they were his military superiors. And also, he wasn''t some potential secret spy recruit here, but instead a regular grunt soldier.


    "What is you name?" asked Edgar, his face still red but his voice forcibly calm.


    "John White, sir." John answered.


    "Which unit were you a part of?"


    John noticed something about the way Edgar asked that as he answered.


    "I was part of Knight Lieutenant Carth''s unit, my lord, sent down to the lower half of eastern Clifftown.


    "My lord, you said ''were''. Am I the only one that made it back? Did the rest of the men not make it back yesterday evening?"


    "Yes, you and the other soldier the fivier mentioned were the only men who made it back," Edgar confirmed to John''s frustration.


    All those men, dead for nothing because their leader was being a bone-headed idiot and they decided to be the same and follow him.


    "Now report what happened when your unit sallied out to fight the menials." Edgar continued.


    So John did. He told Edgar of everything of note that happened as they fulfilled their objective. From the moment Andren joined up till John was found below the ramparts. Edgar asked some clarifying questions such as the time of day at certain points or numbers of casualties from skirmishes as John went, but otherwise allowed John to give his report uninterrupted.


    John was totally honest in his report except for one thing. He neglected to mention him arguing with Carth to spare the neighborhood of misbegotten children. Mentioning that would do John no good, and it wasn''t like it would affect the siege at all by coming up a second time, with all the children already being dead. And him leaving that out would never be discovered as anyone who could reveal that John had done so was dead.


    After John finished his report, Edgar pressed a hand to his chin in thought.


    "You say the rest went to a dead end!? They died over such a simple mistake!?" Edgar asked with barely contained anger about John''s parting with the men.


    "Yes, my lord." John answered, the hair on his neck rising.


    Edgar slammed his fist into the table, and then he instantly rounded on Crann!


    "Damn it Crann! You and your foolishness! I listened to your counsel and it may have doomed us!


    "A total loss and only one objective fulfilled!? A useless one at that. I should not have valued haste as you advocated and instead listened to others when they counseled me of waiting for reinforcements. Now, not only have we failed at killing the rebellion''s leader and weakened ourselves, but we have strengthened him!"


    "My lord," Crann interrupted Edgar''s rant, "How were we to know that they had dug those tunnels before the siege had even begun? It could not have been predicted."


    "Yet you cannot deny it was your foolhardy council, your false certainty, that had us dispatch the men that could have helped prevent the leader''s escape."


    "My informant-"


    "EXACTLY! YOUR INFORMANT!" Edgar pointed angrily at Crann in accusation, "Where was the information on those tunnels if you are certain of your informant''s information?"


    Seeing what was happening in front of him, John made sure he was as still and blank as a statue.


    Crann held his hands up in capitulation but continued defending himself.


    "My lord, my informant had been right about everything so far! The rebellion, the weapons, everything. He had even warned us about their red-maned leader before we had see him. Evening warning you not to send your daughter away with an escort like you wished, saving her from suffering the same fate that our men suffered.


    "He may not have given us every detail of the rebellion, but most of what he did give has proven to be accurate. If he had not been killed in the initial attack, I am sure he would have told us more."


    That tickled John''s brain.


    Had Crann''s informant read John''s letter? Or was it just coincidence that the informant knew many of the same things? It was hard to tell without knowing exactly what the informant had said.


    John set those thoughts aside and focused back on the argument happening in front of him.


    At the mention of how useful the informant had been, Edgar backed down slightly, breathing heavily out of his nose. He took a deep breath and took a short moment to re-center himself. Afterwards, he still looked angry, but not outright hostile towards Crann. Crann himself also became less agitated in response.


    "You are right. However, that doesn''t absolve us of our mistakes. Your bad counsel and my own foolishness in listening to it. All of us, for underestimating the misbegotten and throwing away good sense because of our pride blinding us.


    "We have lost half of the men we had after the initial attack. Combined with all those who died in the initial attack, our original garrison is down to a third of our strength. Not to mention the other things the misbegotten sabotaged or broke in their initial attack before anyone knew what was happening."


    Crann did not look cowed or convinced by Edgar''s words on how their situation had now become tenuous.


    "There are the militia. They will double that number."


    Edgar shook his head.


    "They have been training for less than a week. They are barely better in a battle than the menials. One of the men of the garrison is worth three of the militia."


    "They will swiftly improve." Crann defended, "The beginning of training is when the most quick improvements are made. When we have to have them engage, they will be enough."


    "They will have to be, or we shall meet our fate at the end of one the menials'' crude cleavers, or at the claws of the monster they call their savior. Our garrison of little over three hundred is no match for the sheer quantity of the menials, no matter how ineffective they each individually are. They still number over two thousand."


    "What about tapping into the warstock?" Crann asked, tilting his head.


    "I was already planning on releasing the restraints on supplies the moment I realized how grave the results of our actions were, acting as if this was just another menial rebellion despite the proof in front of our eyes. We will need to take advantage of every bit of the war stockpile if we will make it through this.


    "There is also no sense in letting it fall into the hands of an organized rebellion and cause the materials meant to aid Lord Godrick to be used against him if he has to personally come and correct our mistakes here. It has been some time since Lord Godrick''s last major war and we quite a bit saved up.


    "With our remaining strength, we can no longer crush this rebellion. We will have to hope for reinforcements from outside the city that will have seen the flames of the city burning in the distance and decide to investigate. However it will take them some time to muster and be able to relieve us from the menial host besieging us."


    "All hope is not lost then." Crann insisted as if Edgar''s words proved he was right.


    Edgar sighed and shook his head at this, the last of the earlier steam leaving him.


    "No. Only most of it. Maybe the supplies will allow the militia to survive long enough to become useful. We have to hope so."


    Edgar looked at Crann''s unabashed expression and heavily frowned before he glanced at John, as if remembering that he was still here, and then focused back on Crann.


    "Do you not realize that even if we survive this, even if I send our warhawk back to Stormveil bearing the message of our victory instead of our defeat, that we will still have failed in our duties Crann? That I will have failed to properly defend what I swore to? It would be merciful of Lord Godrick to only have us imprisoned for the magnitude of our negligence so far."


    Seeing Crann''s continued unrepentance, Edgar threw his hands in the air.


    "Bah. I can see that you still refuse to see any sense, and we have already said more than we should have in front of a levy. You are dismissed for now Crann. Leave me to address him."


    Crann''s face reddened again at Edgar''s comment, but he grit his teeth and kept his mouth shut otherwise.


    "Yes, my lord."


    Crann roughly put his helmet back on and stormed out of the room, not quite slamming the down behind him.


    Now alone, Edgar turned to John.


    "And now for you."


    Edgar stared at John silently for a minute, weighing what to do about him.


    "Ultimately you left the men of your unit to their death at the menials'' hands instead of fighting to the end with them. Yet you tried to save them from almost certain death by arguing about the correct direction, even if none chose to believe you. I would have thought you a deserter if you had not saved the injured man you carried back to safety."


    John felt sweat suddenly bead on his forehead. He hadn''t even thought that his splitting from the group like that could have seen him branded a deserter. John knew some flavor of painful gruesome execution was the usual punishment for desertion in medieval societies.


    Edgar continued.


    "You took a very difficult and dangerous risk of carrying him back when you just could have abandoned him to his death without us knowing. You even made it back here as the only survivor of this entire disastrous operation, and have informed us that the menials do have forces that appear to be trained and disciplined within them.


    "Ill news that. Just more evidence that this is not a typical menial rebellion, but still valuable information to have if we are to make it through this now. Laboring under foolish arrogance like we have so far has almost given Castle Morne over to the menials already.


    "Your actions have proven your valor.


    "I have already mentioned your rescue of your fellow soldier, and I know in your report you offhandedly mentioned you were a foreigner and volunteered to join Knight Lieutenant Carth''s unit directly before I had the townsfolk join Castle Morne''s defense as militia in my address in the courtyard.


    "As a reward for your deeds, I will be raising your rank from that of a Levy, past a Companion-At-Arms, to a Corporal and place you as a fivier in one of the militia units that are being assembled as irregulars until at least the end of the siege. Know I will have my eyes on you. If you prove yourself an able commander in the irregulars, then I may let you keep your rank and promote you further.


    "And when we get through this siege and your conduct continues to impress, I will take you onto my personal retinue," Edgar finished.


    John recognized that this was actually pretty generous from Edgar, especially because of John''s status. Offering to recruit a foreigner as one of one of his personal soldiers, one of his most trusted men, was a very generous offer.


    Being part of his retinue meant a much higher chance at becoming a knight due to more easily catching his lord''s eye and his already proven loyalty. Maybe even a landed knight if he did very well. But even if he never was ennobled, John would be paid very well, as medieval retinues of lord''s were usually somewhere around upper middle class in terms of their pay.


    But as generous as it was, it wasn''t an attractive offer to John. He didn''t want to join Godrick''s forces at all, and he planned on following the Chosen Tarnished.


    John also realized he could bring up his suspicion about Crann''s informant, but he didn''t see how he could prove anything to Edgar without more proof than his word. Edgar would be stupid to just blindly believe such an unlikely and suspiciously timed claim.


    Maybe if John had brought up his letter before he had been told of any informant, but that ship had sailed. Right now it would seem like he was trying to lie and take credit for something he didn''t do. Heck, even he wasn''t sure whether or not this informant had anything to do with his letter.


    He would let it lay for now and keep his eye out to see if the opportunity and circumstances aligned to confirm anything. Not that he had much hope with the informant being dead.


    John turned his mind back to Edgar.


    "Thank you, my lord. I am ready to begin immediately." John said, lowering his head in a light bow.


    Edgar''s stony face cracked with a slight grin of approval.


    "Excellent. I will quickly write you a writ. The irregulars are training in the courtyard every morning. Give one of the hundriers in charge the writ and he will take care of the rest. Normally, when joining a lord''s forces you''d sign a contract with me, but we are delaying such things while we focus on fighting off the menials. The proper wages and the like for the defense will be distributed after the siege is over."


    Edgar quickly wrote out John writ and handed it to John. As John grabbed it, Edgar looked straight at him.


    "Speak nothing of what you heard between me and Crann. High morale is critical to maintain if we wish to survive this, and we cannot have what we spoke of spreading."


    John nodded.


    "Yes, my lord. Understood, my lord."


    "Excellent. Then you are dismissed."


    John took the writ and left Edgar''s study.


    John had a pretty good sense of direction, so he only got lost and needed help twice as he puzzled his way through the corridors out towards the courtyard.


    When John arrived, there were about five hundred men being drilled in the courtyard. They were split into groups of one hundred with a hundrier and then split further into groups of twenty with a twentier leading them.


    The hundriers were overseeing their five twenties training, but were not leading a particular group. Each hundrier was a fringefolk knight, in their elaborate armor, while a couple twentiers were knights but most were the smaller, regular soldiers.


    John approached the closest hundrier.


    "Sir. I was told by Lord Edgar to give you this." John handed the knight the writ.


    The knight read it, and a few minutes later John was placed in one of the groups doing drills as the leader of a five of irregulars. Irregulars were the volunteer militia that Edgar had raised from the townsfolk a couple days ago.


    And that was the entire rest of the morning and afternoon for John. There was no time for talk or pleasantries with anyone around him. It was all business as their twentier led his five and the other three fives through drills.


    Each of the men in a five all had the same weapon. John''s five had their partisans, the other three fives were equipped straightswords, warpicks, and greatswords. All the men had the same armor and equipment as John besides their different weapons, minus the greatswords not being given shields. And john noticed that other irregulars didn''t have a flask, so he put his own away so he wouldn''t stick out.


    John quickly realized that unlike the rest of the men in his twenty, all irregulars, John''s twentier was the real deal. A full, seasoned, regular, with a well of experience.


    The irregulars were all levies, except for John, so regulars who were at least Armsmen, the name for those who were Companions-at-Arms were all above them in rank. Their twentier was not just an Armsman though. He wasn''t even a Corporal like John. He was a Sergeant. One rank below the maximum rank someone who wasn''t a knight could be.


    And it showed. Their twentier knew how to use each of their weapons well enough, though he personally carried a warpick. While John was ahead of the rest of the men in his twenty in martial ability besides the twentier, he was only barely competent, rather than good. Nowhere close to their twentier.


    The only thing that really stood out about John as excellent was that his baseline fitness was exceptionally good, even better than their twentier in fact. Though it was more that he had much more endurance than anyone else, rather than a lot more strength.


    That good baseline was further given a slight boost by his ''leveling up'' with the runes. The slight advantage that gave was really noticeable when he learned things just a bit more quickly than the rest of the men while training. That his body retained the drills a bit better, reacted ever so slightly quicker, and could strike just that bit harder to give him the edge when the twentier had them do small mock fights against other twenties with blunted weapons.


    It wasn''t like John was being hailed as a prodigy or anything as ridiculous as that, but people around him noticed that he was ''talented''.


    They drilled most of the entire day, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day. They had a longer break in the middle of the day when the sun, made unimpressive and less significant by the enormity and splendor of the Erdtree that dominated the skyline, reached the middle of the sky.


    Besides some simple words to communicate with the men in his five, John didn''t get the chance to talk to them through the day besides the occasional joke as they drilled and practiced.


    Eventually their twentier called it a day.


    "Alright men. Report to the mess hall for dinner, then the barracks, and be back here by first bell or you''ll be given a punishment duty. You are dismissed for the rest of the day."


    John and his five looked at each other and joined the rest of the men on their weary march to the mess hall.


    __________________________________________

 Chapter 12 - John

    ________________________________________________


    John stood in one of the food lines with his bowl and two pronged wooden fork, talking and getting to know the other 4 men in his five.


    The tallest of his five, the only one taller than John, was a baker''s assistant. Another man hauled goods around for various traders and shops. One was a leatherworker. And the last was a simple laborer for hire.


    As for how they acted, to use a British expression, they were a bunch of lads. They were pretty typical for what you would expect for a bunch of blue collar guys.


    Not that that was a bad thing. John was more interested in intellectual pursuits personally to use his free time on, but there was nothing wrong in his view with being more interested in just having a good time at the pub, hanging out with friends, and chasing women.


    The food line shortened as they got to know each other, and the rest of his five were in front of him and got their food. When it was John''s turn to get his bowl of stew and small loaf of bread, he turned to the two men who would be giving him his stew and bread and saw someone he had been looking out for.


    It was Kal¨¦ in his familiar red clothing, and he was the one giving out bread.


    John got his food and stepped over to his friend who was serving a separate line.


    "Kal¨¦!"


    Kal¨¦ looked over and his bored expression shifted to shock, then relief.


    "John!"


    Kal¨¦ looked back and forth before leaning forward and whispering to John.


    "When I heard rumors that the men who sallied out did not return and I did not see you at dinner yesterday with the rest of the militia, I feared the worst had happened."


    Kal¨¦ leaned back and spoke normally again, smiling.


    "I am glad to see I was wrong. You are with the rest of the irregulars now?"


    "Yes. That is a long story. It was a pretty close call out there though. And yes, I''m with the rest of these guys. I''m a fivier now."


    "I see. Do-"


    "Kal¨¦!" Interrupted the stew ladeller next to Kal¨¦, glaring at him and gesturing at the tray of bread in front of Kal¨¦ and the line of people still waiting to be served.


    "I''ll meet you here in the mess after you''re done for the day," John said.


    Kal¨¦ nodded and gave John his bread.


    John followed his men out of the noisy mess hall that already had all its tables filled. They went to a nearby room filled with more tables and sat down.


    They traded stories back and forth of wild and humorous things that had happened to them. John suspected that the baker was exaggerating his stories, but it was all in good fun, and it made the food more enjoyable.


    The stew and bread were a little light, but it was much more than John would have expected for siege rations.


    After they were done eating they put their bowls and forks into the wooden boxes the mess staff used as bins to collect the kitchenware. By this point the men and women running the mess hall were already done passing out food and were working on collecting bins and cleaning things.


    As John''s five went to leave, he didn''t join them.


    "I''m gonna wait here for my friend to be done. I''ve got something to talk to him about. I''ll meet you guys at the barracks."


    John and his men, and didn''t that still feel weird to be in charge of some guys, split and John started waiting for the kitchen to get done. After a few minutes of standing around doing nothing, John decided instead to volunteer to help the mess staff.


    John took off the outer layers of his armor to keep it clean and spent at least an hour helping the mess staff.


    Eventually, Kal¨¦ was finished with his duties and approached John. John spotted him and turned towards the people he had been helping.


    "Hey guys, my friend is here. I''m done." The people thanked him and John turned his attention to Kal¨¦.


    "John. Let us go to my room. It is more quiet there."


    John nodded and put his armor back on. A few minutes later they were in an emptied storeroom that only held Kal¨¦''s bedroll and the bags of goods his friend had kept on Rabbit. The room was in an internal corner of the castle, relatively close to the mess hall, but in a corridor that wouldn''t see much traffic.


    Upon sight of the bags, John realized that he hadn''t seen Rabbit since he and Kal¨¦ had separated.


    "Where''s Rabbit?" John asked.


    Kal¨¦ gave John a deadpan look.


    "Oh? This is the first time we have spoken since we separated and you nearly had to take a crow''s feather in that battle, and the first words you say to me are to ask about Rabbit? Is Rabbit the one who is your friend and not me?"


    Crow''s feather? That had to be a nomad euphemism John didn''t know yet. John didn''t allow that turn of phrase to distract him.


    John turned to Kal¨¦, a serious look on his face.


    "Alright, you got me Kal¨¦. Our friendship is a lie. I''ve only been talking to you for these years to get close to her. I think it was love at first sight, you see. The way her dirt-crusted fur swayed in the breeze as she was in the bushes-"


    John kept up the serious tone as he spoke, but he couldn''t help the grin that broke through his serious expression.


    Seeing John''s lips quirk, Kal¨¦ dropped his deadpan look and chuckled at John''s nonsense. John joined him.


    As they began chuckling, it was like the tension from the last few days found a release valve. What started as a few chuckles, grew into chortling and then full blown belly cramping laughs. Their laughs at this moderately amusing bit of wit built and built, and didn''t soon neither of them could even stand, and they fell to the floor holding their stomachs and trying to breathe.


    They stayed there for some time, laughing uncontrollably, and every time it seemed to die down, one of them would look at the other, repeat a line, and they would start laughing again.


    Only minutes later when they had laughed so much the lack of breath was causing their chest to hurt did they begin regaining control of themselves.


    As their laughs subsided, they sat up from laying on their side, and Kal¨¦ wiped a pair of tears from his eyes.


    "Ah. I needed that bit of levity after these past few days. To answer you about Rabbit, John, Rabbit is being used to help move supplies around the castle. I was told I would be given her back once the siege ends.


    "Now tell me, what has happened to you these past few days? What happened with the sally?"


    John told Kal¨¦ what happened since they separated, including his account of their sally. This time when he recounted what happened, he was much more brief with less detail than the report he had given Edgar for the sake of brevity, but John did include how he had begged for the misbegotten children''s lives.


    After John was done, Kal¨¦ was silent for a few moments processing everything.


    "That strike that hit you in the chest. How far did the cleaver cut into you?" Kal¨¦ asked.


    John showed him with his hand.


    "Holy Marika! That was only a few inches from your heart!" Kal¨¦ exclaimed and became very animated!


    "Well, I did have some crimson tears left after I healed it. I would have been fine if it nicked my heart."


    Kal¨¦ shook his head vehemently.


    "Not if you died before you had the chance to drink any! And be careful! Crimson tears are not perfect. They have flaws and ways to prevent them from being effective.


    "I have scavenged enough battlefields to know that a common method of preventing an enemy from surviving using crimson tears is to leave a blade inside someone''s heart so that they can not heal the wound even if they drink tears. Then after a short time, they will die even if they consume a whole flask."


    Seeing how serious Kal¨¦ was taking this, John acknowledged his point.


    "Fair enough. It is not like I am being reckless or blase about my life. I am not an idiot. I am just stating that in that particular situation, it may have been very dangerous, but it was only a light brush with death."


    Kal¨¦ let out a breath as he calmed down.


    "You are right. It is just... I just worry for you my friend. You have to promise me that you will not die."


    John shook his head.


    "I can''t promise that Kal¨¦," John said, thinking about Irina, "There are some things that are more important than my life."


    "There is nothing more important here than your life," Kal¨¦ denied emphatically. "You cannot allow yourself to die," he almost begged.


    John shook his head denying Kal¨¦''s plea, but didn''t voice a reason knowing he couldn''t convince Kal¨¦ without spilling the beans about his meta-knowledge.


    Kal¨¦ had no doubt survived for centuries to become one among the older people still alive by not placing any cause or ideal above his own life, but there were more important things to John than his life. Like preventing a potential path that could result in the entire would and the souls of everyone from being melted away.


    "There are more important things. You just don''t understand Kal¨¦," John said to drop the argument.


    Kal¨¦ shook his head as well in response.


    "Neither do you, my friend. Neither do you."


    They fell into silence as neither of them had a response to the other''s disagreement.


    They may have disagreed, but it wasn''t a resentful disagreement. So the silence they settled into was companionable.


    After a few minutes of just being in each other''s company, it was John who spoke up.


    "So have you just been helping in the kitchen?"


    "Yes. It was one of the tasks that they did not mind a nomadic merchant performing."


    "Well, you do have talent at making food. Much better than me."


    "Thank you, but that is just experience. I have no actual talent for cooking. I have never made a novel dish in my life and I have no passion for it.


    "I decided on the mess instead of any of the other choices they gave me because everyone eats and talks there, so you overhear nearly everything that is going on in the castle. Sometimes even things that the men shouldn''t be talking about."


    "Oh really? Anything I should know?"


    Kal¨¦ looked out in the hallway to make sure no one would overhear before he answered.


    "Yes. The misbegotten leader? The red-maned misbegotten Lord Edgar spoke of in the courtyard? Well, early yesterday morning most likely right after your unit started down Clifftown, he infiltrated the castle.


    "The misbegotten had dug a tunnel under the floor of the treasury and broke in from below. They looted it, and the leader took the legendary armament of Morne: the Grafted Blade Greatsword. With it, he cut a path through the castle killing many knights who were caught off guard and made it to the front entrance.


    "From what you told me about how easily he killed that powerful knight and what he did here in the castle itself, I believe the misbegotten leader may have had a hand in why all of the units that left the castle yesterday died to the last man, except for you and the man you saved."


    That made a disturbing amount of sense to John. The misbegotten leader had hunted down a number of their knights, who the rank and file misbegotten would not be able to touch.


    And now John had the answer to how the misbegotten had gotten ahold of the Grafted Blade Sword. He had never thought about where the legendary armament would be stored exactly, but it definitely wouldn''t be kept down on the beach with the misbegotten.


    "That tunnel, have you heard what has happened to it since?"


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "Yes. It was collapsed by the lord''s men, and half the garrison spent most of yesterday searching every block in every room on the ground floor and through the lower levels of the castle for more tunnels. They found a handful of other tunnels that they also collapsed. There are now lookouts placed on every discovered tunnel to make sure that they aren''t dug out once again."


    Well, that was good. He didn''t want to have to worry about misbegotten coming out of the walls or floor every moment of the day.


    However there was one more thing that stuck out to John about what Kal¨¦ had told him.


    John looked at his friend.


    "Do you think it is weird how the misbegotten''s leader knew to attack then, right as the castle lost many extra men they could have used to prevent the leonine misbegotten''s rampage?"


    At that, Kal¨¦ froze for a moment before he frowned.


    "That is... disturbing. Maybe the misbegotten had overheard from one of the tunnels about the plan to for those men to sally. plenty of loose lipped people spoke of it openly all throughout the castle. I know I had heard about it in the mess by that evening even if I did not get any details beside that there would be six groups."


    "That is true. They could not have overheard from the lord''s study because it is above the ground floor, but I know my Knight Lieutenant briefed my group at least twice not making sure that the information was kept secret.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Once he even spoke in the hallways as we went downstairs and another time when we were down at one of the Clifftown entrances to the lower parts of Castle Morne.


    "They could have easily overheard it in the castle where everyone thought there was no reason to not speak about the sallies."


    And that frustrated John.


    The men of the garrison had all sown the seeds of their fellows'' deaths, being frivolous with such information because they had thought the enemy so far below them that they could do nothing. Pride and arrogance co-signing their deaths.


    And maybe the misbegotten hadn''t even overheard them in the castle''s tunnels.


    They''d had lookouts watching the streets for any misbegotten who came down the streets or who scaled a cliff, but the misbegotten could have had a winged misbegotten flying below the lip of the cliff by the castle entrance as a scout listening who could have heard Carth or anyone else talking about the sallies or anything else they were doing.


    Fighting an enemy who could fly and had been preparing this rebellion freely, for what must have been years if they had an entire tunnel network, was very frustrating. They would have to start fighting harder and smarter, and stop being sloppy, if they wanted to get through this now with all the losses they had taken.


    And the men of the garrison weren''t the only ones that had been sloppy.


    John should have seen the possibility that he and Kal¨¦ could have been caught up in the rebellion, but he hadn''t considered the possibility that it could kick off before he handed over his letter, or that it might do so happen that it did on the exact same night.


    Just a single day''s difference could have seen him and Kal¨¦ completely avoid this.


    Hell, before he had delivered it, John had considered the possibility that his letter could cause things to pop off immediately, but had dismissed the idea as too unlikely. If he had committed to leaving immediately after he had delivered it instead of putting it off until the next morning, they''d be on their way north enjoying a relaxing walk on the road.


    But now they were both trapped in this castle as a genocidal horde that outnumbered them three to one plotted their deaths.


    And John''s lack of consideration had endangered the life of his only friend, Kal¨¦. It wasn''t his fault that the rebellion was happening, but it was his fault that they had even been able to be caught up in it when it wasn''t their business.


    He should have found a better way to try and prevent Irina''s death instead of heading into what he knew would soon be an active war zone. John had screwed up, and now Kal¨¦ may have to pay for it.


    "Hey Kal¨¦, I''m sorry for pushing for us to come here. We should have stayed far away from Morne. Or at least, I should have come myself."


    Kal¨¦ shook his head.


    "Do not be ridiculous John. Our plight is not your fault. Come by yourself? There is no way you could have known this was going to happen."


    As Kal¨¦ finished what he was saying, John stayed silent, not agreeing or disagreeing with what Kal¨¦ had said.


    Noticing that John had responded, Kal¨¦ turned and his questioning gaze met John''s utterly serious one.


    John said nothing as they held each other''s gaze. As they did, the nonchalant air that had been between them started to grow heavy. And as this weight in the air built and they looked at each other, John saw something in Kal¨¦''s gaze begin to change.


    For nearly a minute, they kept that heavy stare filled with something unsaid but still spoken.


    Then Kal¨¦ let out a dark chuckle as he broke the gaze with a shake of his head.


    "You really have to stop letting things like this slip John."


    John waited for more. And waited. But Kal¨¦ said nothing else.


    No accusations. No condemnation. No blame. No questions about what or how or why.


    They just sat still across from each other in that room looking at each other, the air between them heavy and filled with more meanings than flat spoken words would have been able to convey.


    ____________________________________________________


    The next morning John was forced to do some heavy drills as a punishment from his twentier. He hadn''t ended up going back to the barracks that night, and now was suffering the consequences.


    He didn''t mind though. Even though his body was only half recovered from the previous day, John wasn''t afraid of working his body till it dropped. He had no problem with heavy exercise, it had just never been his interest.


    After an especially tough morning, John joined the rest of his five in training as they did their drills and spars.


    "Irregulars!" shouted their twentier, "You are called that for a reason! Put your backs into it! Strike like your life depends on it, because it does!


    "The enemy outnumber us twice over, so you have to be more than twice as good! Or they''ll not only kill you, but the men around you! And soon after the women and children running this place while you laze around out here!


    "We''re going to beat you irregulars until you''ve straightened up enough that no one could tell you weren''t regulars!" their twentier declared.


    And their twentier did his best to make good on his word.


    He ran them harder and harder every day. Even as their bodies grew stronger, and their hands and feet performed the actions required of them easier and more naturally with every drill, each day they would return to the mess even more tired than the last.


    When their twentier saw them begin to meet his demands that had been impossible for them on the first day, he took that as a sign to intensify their training more.


    Things settled into an uneasy routine for the next week. They would wake up, eat breakfast, train all day until they could barely hold a weapon, then they would eat dinner, and have a couple hours of free time before they returned to the barracks and went to sleep. Then they''d do it all over again the next day.


    John spent half his free time socializing with the men in his twenty and the other half with Kal¨¦, though he always returned to the barracks after that first day.


    During his conversations with Kal¨¦ and the men, John learned that misbegotten after a couple of days started a continuous assault on the various corridors that led up into Castle Morne proper that the regulars were fighting as John and the rest of the irregulars trained.


    The Clifftown entrances had been abandoned after the six groups that had been sent out were annihilated and misbegotten overran them. A devastating blow, as they no longer had the ability to prevent the misbegotten from accessing the heavily connected lower depths that had been filled with all much of the supplies that Morne had built over the years for sieges.


    Instead those corridors in the bowels of Castle Morne had become the new battleground since the misbegotten couldn''t use the lift to come up through the main entrance as it had been pulled up and dismantled. Meaning the only way up into Castle Morne left was through the corridors.


    But that fighting was the regulars'' problem at the moment. For now, John focused his attention on what he and the rest of the irregulars could do, which was to improve themselves as quickly as possible.


    Normally, such an intense amount of training, over 8 hours a day of it everyday, would cause a person''s body to break down rather than build up.


    But here their twentiers brought out their secret weapon: a sip of crimson tears.


    Not enough to relieve all their aches and pains, but enough to get rid of any blisters, bruises, or minor wounds, and to let their body recover just enough to be able to do it all the next day.


    This is one of the myriad of reasons that John had been punished for not sleeping in the barracks. He had skipped his first sip of crimson tears meant to help his recovery. Seeing as he wasn''t supposed to have any crimson tears yet, John quietly hid the flask he already had in his chest, and didn''t use it to make anything easier on himself.


    One might think all this training would be mind numbing, but it was actually the opposite. They weren''t in a gym lifting weights or running around a track where they could blank their minds. They were practicing martial drills and doing many various forms of sparing, solo and in groups. It was a lot more like a really intense high stakes ''game'' than a ''workout''.


    This week also is when John really noticed what his ''hallowing'', as he''d decided to call his ''leveling up'', had brought him.


    He was just always that little bit stronger, reacted just that little bit faster, could last a little bit longer.


    And most importantly to John, when it came to his martial practice he seemed to grasp things before the others and his mind and body retained them better. He found he also could dig deeper and force himself to push two more steps than anyone else could despite being just as exhausted, eking out just that bit more progress every day.


    None of these individual things made a huge difference, but all of them added together, over a period of time? That is what allowed his hallowing improvements to shine, showing itself to be exponential rather than linear.


    Linearly, add two to itself, and after five times you get ten. Exponentially, multiply two with itself five times and you get thirty two. The hallowing and his training wasn''t even close to that extreme of being three times as strong as a regular man, but the principle still applied.


    Sure, he couldn''t lift three times as much weight as an ordinary man as John might have been able to do if he had the same runes-to-strength ability as Melina would give the Chosen Tarnished, but being ten percent better in a half dozen categories made him almost twice as effective overall.


    After a week of this sort of performance, the difference his hallowing played was noticeable.


    This was really shown when on their seventh day, John actually beat their twentier, a man with over a century of experience, in a spar a couple times in a row.


    "John," said their twentier as he after he finished his last spar with John, "Are you sure you are from common stock? That you are not an illegitimate child of some noble scion?"


    "No, Sir."


    The twentier didn''t look entirely convinced as he shook his shield arm to get rid of the throbbing.


    "If you say so. The Erdtree must have especially blessed you then, because after this week with you I am certain you are not just another townsfolk or farmer. Nothing approaching an Omen, but your martial ability is clearly not typical."


    "Thank you, sir." John said.


    The twentier shook his head and waved John off.


    "Enough with you for now."


    The twentier turned to the rest of their twenty doing their own spars.


    "Men, at attention."


    All the men stopped their spars and quickly organized themselves into formation in front of the twentier as commanded.


    "You may have heard, but while you have been enjoying the light of the Erdtree up here with me, down below our men have been hammered by an unending tide of misbegotten.


    "Our men''s superior equipment and marital ability has prevented many casualties, but the constant attacks have caused them to finally start reaching crimson tear saturation. If they are not given time to rest, they will start to fall quickly.


    "So we irregulars are done with the fun and games up here. Tomorrow morning us irregulars are to go below and begin taking over the defense until the regular garrison has recovered. Now is the time we''ll see if you have really learned anything.


    "I want you all to be fully rested tomorrow morning, so I''m cutting training here for the day. Go to the quartermaster to get all yourselves golden flasks and get yourselves healed up. Spend the rest of the day girding yourselves for tomorrow."


    With that, their twentier left them to their own devices. Most of the men went to the barracks with the fiviers of the irregulars going over to the armory and war supplies section of the castle where the quartermaster spent the day.


    As they started approaching they saw people transporting broken weapons and damaged armor up from below and unbroken weapons and armor back down into the corridors.


    As they got close they passed some blazing hot rooms where a small number of smiths hammered away repairing broken and bent armor and weapons. But their work piled up faster than they could get it done.


    Thankfully, the castle was meant to supply five times as many soldiers as they currently had, and do it in the long term, so with lack of men, the supplies would last far longer. Actually, now that John thought about it, that wasn''t actually a good thing.


    Anyways, the fiviers had already been getting their men small doses of crimson tears for days now, so they didn''t even have to bother the quartermaster, who was no doubt as busy as his smiths were, to find the clerk who was managing the crimson tears supply. Instead they just directly went to a specific supply room being run by a soldier acting as a clerk.


    "Irregulars finish early today?" He said as they approached, his words not really being a question. "I heard that was gonna happen.


    "Tomorrow you get blooded huh? Well, I''ll get you all your tears for the day, and while I''m at it, get you your fives'' flasks as well, now that your training is over and we know you won''t use it to recover from the day''s training.


    "I''ve already told you all what to do. Pass that onto your men. I will not tolerate tears being wasted."


    And so that is what the soldier clerk and his civilian helpers did. The fiviers of each twenty were all given five crimson flasks filled to the brim each for them to keep and distribute among their men, along with a single extra flask for training recovery that their entire twenty was to share and then immediately return.


    When they handed John his flasks, he was tempted for a moment to tell them he already had one back in the barracks, but he kept his mouth shut.


    Right now they were allies, but after all this was over and he joined up with the Chosen Tarnished, Godrick''s forces would become his enemies. Any extra resources he could grab from them now would only be a good thing later.


    John then headed back to the barracks with the other men. The barracks was actually a whole multi-floor section of the castle just filled with rooms of beds with a small wooden chest at the foot of each. Each twenty had their own room.


    Once back in their room and everyone had been given their recovery dose, John sat down with the other men in his five and gave them all their flasks. Despite John knowing all their names, and they knowing his, all of them used nicknames based off their professions.


    "So this is it huh? Tomorrow it is going to be your guys'' first battle." John said to them.


    "I don''t like to say it, but I''m quaking in my boots." said Baker, the tallest among them.


    "You never been a in a real scrap in your life, Baker? I''ve taken three knives to the gut over the years. Take it from someone who knows, it won''t be nearly as scary now that I''ve got a knife as big as theirs now. ''Specially now that they''ve given us the magic juice." said Hauler, the one among that was the stockiest but also the shortest.


    "We know Hauler. We''ve heard you mention it every chance you get. If it wasn''t for the scars I''d have thought you were making it up." said Cobbler, the one whose skin was so heavily tanned it resembled brown leather.


    "Shut up Cobbler. I know for a fact you haven''t been in a scrap either. All those little white marks on your arms are from your own sloppy work," shot back Hauler.


    "Being boneheaded enough to manage to get yourself stabbed in three different muggings before the scars have time to fade isn''t a feat to brag about Hauler." said Butcher, the last of John''s four squadmates, a man with enormous sideburns and a thick mustache.


    "Teaming up on me with Cobbler, are you Butcher?" said Hauler, "Well, I can''t say you''re wrong. If we want to know what the fighting we''ll be doing tomorrow is like, we''ll have to ask Scholar. Anything we ought to know?" Hauler looked at John.


    John thought for a moment.


    "Prepare your stomach. Seeing the guts spill out from a stomach when the owner is still moving around just fine is not pleasant. Butcher might have it easier from his work. Or maybe it might make it harder for him. Watch out to make sure you don''t trip over any bodies on the ground or slip on blood or guts on the floor.


    "We''ve been practicing fighting each other and other fives, but the misbegotten will be much shorter, and won''t defend themselves nearly as well. They will see the men next to them to be struck down and use that as an opportunity to strike at you.


    "Don''t assume they won''t do something stupid. Most of them are untrained so they are much more unpredictable and may take suicidal risks not knowing what they are doing. If we run into some trained misbegotten, they may climb on top of one another so two can attack at once, so make sure to watch out for that as well.


    "Besides that, just make sure to put what we''ve been doing this last week into practice. What will decide everything that will happen is our training, how well we stick to it in the heat of battle, the skill of our twentier, and luck."


    His five asked him some more questions which he answered and eventually it turned into John giving them an account of the battles John had had in Clifftown.


    They spent most of their time productively but after they ran out of useful things to speak of, the conversation devolved into funny stories, mock insults, verbal jabs, and snickering.


    Once the time came, they went to the mess and ate.


    After that John spent another hour with them in the barracks to make sure they didn''t get up into anything that would get him into trouble, as he was in charge of them as their fivier.


    After that, he left them to their own devices to go speak with Kal¨¦ who he met in his room.


    "Tomorrow we''re going down below to fight the misbegotten," John told him.


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "Yes. I had already heard of this in the mess."


    "Well, they gave me a second golden flask. Here, take my first. Keeping it around might cause problems if someone found it in my chest." John handed Kal¨¦ his original flask that just had a mouthful or two of tears left in it.


    Kal¨¦ held it and looked at him.


    "Should you not keep it for yourself?"


    John shook his head.


    "Someone can only take a single full flask of crimson tears before the tears stop working for a period of time. That''s why the flasks are the size they are. And Morne''s purse strings are loose. They will be stocking us up every time between battles."


    "Very well." Kal¨¦ put the flask away on his person. "You truly insist on going to battle? I can see any attempt to convince you will prove no more effective than my last few. Instead I will say this: never not stop growing.


    "I know you, John. Often you will improve yourself until you are satisfied and then stop. I have seen you do so with many things since we have met.


    "If you will be continuing on the path of battle from now on, even after this siege, I ask that you never be content. It will be but a matter of time until you face a foe who can best you, and in the Lands Between we all are eternal. There are many who live who could easily do so.


    "I already know from what you have told me that the leonine misbegotten, as you call him, is insurmountable for you at the moment. Continue until that is no longer the case, so the next time you meet another leonine misbegotten, they shirk from battle with you."


    John bowed his head in acknowledgement. He could see what Kal¨¦ was getting at, and he couldn''t refuse the accusation. He''d settled for good enough in most things. His cooking, his hunting, his craftsmanship, and before this all started his spearmanship.


    The only thing he hadn''t let lay had been learning to hallow himself. Turning runes into strength. It could very well be the reason he had made it this far, and not been just another one of those men who had already fallen.


    If he was gonna meddle in this game between the gods, he''d have to get even more serious than he had been.


    Radahn could stop the stars and didn''t die after being nuked by an outer god. And with only one life, one try, John couldn''t stop improving himself until he could help the Chosen Tarnished fight such foes.


    After a few moments of seeing that John had taken what he had said seriously, Kal¨¦ continued.


    "Onto something more trivial, I did see Rabbit today. Her handler was quite flummoxed when she refused to follow him and tried to follow me instead. Their struggle had her drop all the supplies she had been carrying. They must not have been working her hard enough, because she was very vigorous-"


    From there their conversation turned to less serious topics. As they spoke, just like every other time they talked since that night a week ago, John waited for questions to come, but they never did, and their conversations between them continued on like they always had.


    It seemed Kal¨¦ was going to let the topic lay. He didn''t even seem to be mad at John for whatever he had concluded about John''s part in all this had been. He probably didn''t realize quite how deep it went.


    But if Kal¨¦ was fine with leaving it, so would John for now. He''d talk to his friend about it if they made it through this alive.


    They talked until it was time for John to go back to the barracks.


    ____________________________________


    "Get up men! It''s time!" shouted their twentier as he banged the bottom of a pot with a mallet, the sound of something similar echoing from other rooms in the corridor.


    John shook his head at the racket of noise as their twentier woke them up unapologetically.


    It didn''t take the men more than a minute to equip themselves and stand at attention, having been keeping most of their gear on as they slept as they were in an active siege.


    After looking them all over, their twentier led them down into the bowels of Castle Morne. As they descended they passed teams of civilians carrying up supplies into the castle proper from the lower levels of the basement.


    "Alright men, our forces have been overextended trying to defend too many corridors at once. To correct this, over the past week we have been performing a slow fighting retreat towards a small handful of chokepoints while the townsfolk have been evacuating any useful supplies.


    "Our job will be to take over and relieve the regulars who have been holding fast. We will continue the fighting retreat in one of the corridors, giving the townsfolk time to evacuate everything and then moving father back." said their twentier as they made their way down.


    As they marched down the corridors and staircases, John noted how different the corridors were from the streets he had fought on. The streets had been mostly wide open but the corridors were so cramped that only five or six men could stand next to each other at a time.


    Even standing in the middle of the corridor, John would barely have enough room to swing his spear around, and even swordsmen on the edges would be obstructed by the walls.


    As they continued heading down, John could hear the telltale sounds of steel clashing against steel and echoes of the dull roar of battle. As they got a little further down the corridor the others began to hear it too, and John could see a ripple of unease spread across the men.


    Their first real battle was fast approaching.


    They kept running closer and closer, and then they turned down a particular corridor and came upon the sight of battle.


    The corridor in front of them was completely filled.


    There were two twenties of regulars that took up one half of the corridor and the other half was filled to the brim with misbegotten. So many that the tide of misbegotten actually stretched to the end of the corridor, past the turn, and out of sight.


    Despite being heavily outnumbered, the cramped hallway made the defensive line of the formation denser, and heavier, and therefore more effective, canceling out the advantage of the misbegotten''s great numbers as they could not flank the regulars in the corridors like they could in the street.


    They reached the back of the two twenties of regulars, both fringefolk knights unlike the irregulars'' twentiers, and John''s twentier began shouting at the other two twentiers over the roar of battle bouncing off the walls around them.


    "We''re here to relieve you!" John''s twentier told them.


    The twentier spent a minute talking to the other twentiers and arranging their relief, John only making out bits and pieces through the sound filling the corridor. Their twentier turned back towards them.


    "Men, form a tunnel and let the rear twenty through," he ordered.


    John and the men pressed themselves to the sides towards the walls and a pass through their formation. The first twenty of regulars made their way single file through. Once the entire twenty was on the other side they retreated away from the corridor. This left only one twenty of regulars, making four layers of defensive line from their four squads of five, between the misbegotten and John''s twenty.


    "Men! Line formation. Swords front, then partisans, warpicks, and greatswords," said John''s twentier, arranging them in the same way as the remaining regular twenty, four rows of five, each made of a five of a particular weapon.


    They quickly arranged themselves with organized movements, the results of their week of training. They were acting the part even if the look on many''s faces was unease or fear, instead of the steadfast grimaces of the more experienced regulars.


    "Advance to the back of the regulars and make a gap!" John''s twentier ordered.


    They marched forward as ordered and it only took moments to press up against the regulars'' backs.


    Seeing this, the regular''s twentier gave an order.


    "Greatswords, retreat!" ordered the regular''s twentier of his back row.


    The regular''s greatswords backed up and slipped themselves between John''s twenty''s shield wall in the gap they made.


    "Warpicks, retreat!" the regular''s twentier ordered next.


    The rest row, the warpicks, made their way between them.


    There were just two rows of men left between them and the misbegotten. Already John could see through the men in front of him to see misbegotten fighting at the front in their sloppy and frenzied manner.


    Just like before most were using cleavers, but some had makeshift clubs or weapons scavenged from fallen soldiers and John saw a couple with bits of armor on them.


    The twentier shouted, and the partisan regulars retreated through the gap. Another shout and last of the regulars, the swordsmen, retreated. The gap in the shieldwall slammed closed behind them as John''s twenty finally met the misbegotten face to face.


    Seamlessly the misbegotten slammed into the shieldwall. The force of their many bodies pressed back against the front line, but John''s five and those behind him pushed back on the men ahead of them, equalizing the force.


    And then the thick of the fight was upon them. Immediately their twenty showed that while the irregulars were better than the misbegotten, they were far from the equals of the regulars.


    Where the regulars had been as an unbowing wall of steel to the misbegotten, John''s twenty were like a rickety wooden fence. You could feel and hear the groaning as pressure was applied.


    But they held.


    John and his five in the second row of the line, their spears were too large to swing around, so they could thrust and thrust between the shields of the men in front of them. Any misbegotten who got past their spears were cut down by the swords of the men in the front row.


    As the misbegotten fell, their bodies were shoved to the side or just climbed on by their fellows.


    As they fought, the men''s unease and fear quickly melted into the crush of battle. Thought left them, and all that was left was to execute on their relentless drills.


    As the first few minutes of battle went on the swordsmen took some minor injuries, but nothing that a quick sip of tears didn''t fix.


    Then their twentier shouted an order.


    "Begin pulling back! The townsfolk have sent word! They are done with the hallway they were working on! We are clear to retreat to the next corner of the corridor! It will relieve the pressure on us!"


    So they began moving. One step at a time, when they could, as the misbegotten hammered and hammered at them with their bodies, cleavers, and the occasional arrow. But no matter what the enemy threw at their twenty, almost all of it was deflected off their shields and armor. Like a prickly turtle they moved down the corridor slowly and punished any who got too close or attempted to strike them.


    As they surrendered more of the straight stretch of the corridor in their falling back, the pressure on them built because the misbegotten could press more bodies into them.


    When they neared the corner, a group of nearly ten misbegotten with partisans made their way to the front of the misbegotten. Seeing this, their twentier, standing in the center of their line, reacted.


    "Greats-CHLHH!"


    John glanced back to see their twentier topple over with an arrow sticking out of his throat as the men around him froze, uncertain. A lucky shot for the enemy, having made it between all their shields and the men in front.


    John instantly reacted, not pausing for even a moment.


    "Warpicks!" he ordered, "Pull back and treat the twentier! That arrow isn''t anything some crimson won''t fix! Greatswords, advance to the front! Counter those spears! Swords, fall back when the greatswords reach the front!"


    Hearing orders, the men unfroze. None of the men hesitated to do as John ordered, the warpicks immediately began dragging their twentier back and pulling out flasks, while the greatswords started making their way to the front.


    Despite John taking over as leader until their twentier recovered, John could just feel that the men around him had been shaken from that arrow, even as John kept thrusting his spear into the enemy''s men. They had even stopped backing up.


    "We hold men!" John yelled. "If we fall, this whole section is lost to the next strongpoint! WE HOLD! Now, another step!"


    And so the men took another step back, and their battle continued raging.


    ___________________________________________

 Chapter 13 - Kalé

    _______________________________________________


    Kal¨¦ did not see John at the mess that evening, but neither did he see any of the irregulars. It wasn''t until the next morning that they arrived.


    They trudged into the mess looking beaten and battered, even if much of their equipment they now wore had been swapped to fresh equipment so the grime of battle no longer coated them.


    He could see from their faces that many of them had grown older.


    Not that they had aged physically, but rather in spirit. Despite having unlimited time to improve, most men reached a certain point in their lives where they were satisfied and settled there. They stopped growing in skill, in knowledge, in wisdom and wealth. In new experiences. They would stay where they were for decades and centuries.


    They would stop growing completely, in every way. Hundreds of years would pass and they would barely change in any way besides having more entertaining stories and maybe a small cache of wealth.


    Some people could be alive for centuries and not live for a second, and some people could experience centuries in a few short moments.


    That is what Kal¨¦ saw of the irregulars. Their day of battle had aged them in a way mere time did not. Those who had survived at least, as he noticed a number of faces had not come back.


    Unlike the others, John looked to be only slightly aged in comparison. That wasn''t unexpected at this point. Kal¨¦ had always thought he had had an old soul for such a young body, and John had already experienced the most tragic of slaughters before he had been placed with the irregulars.


    But even if John still had aged much after his own first battles, before his friend had gone through them, Kal¨¦ had thought he would have aged more after his first battle than he had. But John had not aged as much as Kal¨¦ had thought despite his friend''s first battles being of the worst sort. But that was just one more mystery added to the puzzle that John was.


    His friend did a very good job at convincing everyone around him he was a typical man, even if he could not pull it off flawlessly.


    Yet even Kal¨¦ was beginning to realize that he could not see the depths of his friend as well as he had believed. Kal¨¦ was one of the oldest people in Limgrave, having been born before Caelid had been destroyed by the scarlet rot, and having lived for over two millennia.


    When it came to John, Kal¨¦ had thought of his friend as if he was a large river. That there were depths that you could not see, but if you swam downwards you could reach the bottom with some effort. But now Kal¨¦ had swam down and discovered the river had no bottom, and Kal¨¦ was instead left with an abyss that he could not guess at the depth of.


    It had shaken him. Truly.


    John had been a fun lighthearted puzzlebox at first, but now Kal¨¦ had found that innocent puzzlebox was far more ominous as it had sliced his hand and made him bleed.


    Before, he had thought maybe John''s preternatural knowledge of Lands Between may have been given to him from a high ranking tarnished that had accompanied Godfrey in his campaigns in the Lands Between and in the Long March. If so, it made sense that John would know things that Kal¨¦ did not.


    Yet it seemed John''s knowledge was not just of the past. True knowledge of the future? Not just the incomplete knowledge of oracles like the astrologers who had read fate in the stars, but true knowledge of the future. That was something that was truly impossible, and was certainly not from a loose lipped tarnished.


    Time was the one thing that was truly inviolate. Even the Dragonlord was said to be only able to twist and stop time.


    The magnitude of this if his suspicion was true... it made Kal¨¦''s skin break out in goosebumps, in fear and excitement!


    It could be that whatever John had known of the rebellion was from a conspirator in some way rather than impossible knowledge. But somehow Kal¨¦ did not think that was the case.


    Kal¨¦ already thought that John was somehow divine or an agent of the Greater Will. But this was beyond something as mundane as that, and far more portentous.


    Kal¨¦ just was not sure if this portent was benevolent or sinister. He was still committed to seeing this through till he finally discovered the fate of the nomadic merchants, his fate. He just needed to know what to expect the price to be.


    Kal¨¦ had had quite a few close calls over the years, but never had the situation been so dire for him as being trapped here in this castle. He was no longer content to just slowly solve the puzzle of his friend.


    Kal¨¦ would get his accounting if they survived; he was deserved it.


    So Kal¨¦ did his duties and made the irregulars and the other folk in the castle their meals to sustain them as the siege ticked on day by day.


    He and John still talked when they both had the time. Mostly they kept their conversations full of levity as there was no reason to talk about things they both knew were happening.


    There was no reason to rehash the things that they were living through. Kal¨¦ would not learn much from John that he would not overhear from others in the mess, and John, frankly, had more pressing things to worry about than whatever Kal¨¦ was doing in the kitchen.


    As the days passed, every day the twenties of men would return to the mess. More often than not, a few of them would be down a man. This was especially true of the irregulars, as the irregulars had much less training and experience than the regulars.


    While most of the regulars had only been through a handful of battles over the decades since they were recruited into Godrick''s forces, some few of the men still remained among them that had been present in the First Defense of Leyndell when, in the early period after the Shattering of the Elden Ring, Godefroy, head of the Golden Lineage at the time, had led his assault on Leyndell, starting the first battle of what would come to be known as the Shattering wars.


    Such old veterans would not fall easily even if they were not the equal of champions. They were like gristle, they remained no matter how hard one chewed. These oldest of veterans were usually able to be spotted by the faint orange coloring of their weapons. Over the years having occasionally been granted the reward of having their weapons improved with smithing stones more than others.


    As the strength of twenties weakened from the loss of men through the siege, fives and twenties would be merged to keep units up to full strength. Regulars were slowly mixed into irregular units as the opportunity presented itself for officers to join together multiple incomplete units to make more full strength units.


    Despite Kal¨¦ not speaking to John of what his friend''s twenty went through day by day, that did not mean he did not know. He just heard of it through overhearing others in the mess.


    For example, he heard about how on their first battle in the corridors, John''s twentier had almost been killed, and John had taken control before their line collapsed. This had earned his friend much esteem from the men despite his foreign blood.


    With the irregulars being part of the garrison''s defensive rotation now, Kal¨¦ heard of the other happenings of their battles each day. He heard of how they were making good progress with extracting supplies from below as they slowly fell back towards less exposed chokepoints further up towards Castle Morne proper.


    And Kal¨¦ saw how every day the men in John''s twenty and even some men from other twenties, began to look at John with more respect. Some with reverence even. As if they had seen a fraction of the potential that Kal¨¦ knew John possessed.


    Kal¨¦ knew that John had matched and beaten his twentier, one of those enduring veterans, on the last day of his irregular training, and from talk about his performance in battles that Kal¨¦ overheard, it seemed that John was continuing to improve.


    The kitchen was the heart of a castle where everyone had to come to at some point, besides the lord and the top officers who got their food brought to them, so Kal¨¦ also overheard how the entire defense was going from the men of the garrison.


    They had been successful in falling back to better positions closer to the ground floor of the castle, and all the supplies in that area had been successfully moved by the townsfolk. The misbegotten had started switching to short assaults instead of a constant unending attack that they had been doing for over the past week. That was the good news.


    On the other hand, the misbegotten had managed to increase the pressure with these shorter attacks and they also began actually defending themselves. Many of them had started wearing piecemeal bits of armor from the fallen soldiers on themselves wherever they could fit them. Some even carried scavenged golden flasks!This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The men spoke of how it seemed like every other misbegotten had a piece of armor or two somewhere. It made those misbegotten fall in battle much less often as a casual strike from a defender may not kill them now.


    Even more worrisome, Kal¨¦ had overheard someone speaking of the war supplies that Lord Edgar had tapped and they spoke of how they were already half empty of undamaged armor and crimson tears.


    He also knew that many men had caught glimpses of the leonine misbegotten, but it had not engaged in any battles yet. It was especially worrying because in those doomed sallies that John had barely survived through, a significant number of the garrison''s knights that were able to call upon the storm had perished. Now there were fewer men who could fight the leonine misbegotten off if he attacked.


    It appeared the only thing saving the soldiers from the leonine misbegotten now was that its large size would make battle in the corridors a death sentence if the misbegotten leader ran into a knight that could call upon the storm and could not dodge.


    So the days continued to tick by as the men fell one by one. And soon the mess hall only had two soldiers coming in every day for every three it had once had. Kal¨¦ reckoned there were only around four hundred men left.


    Then one day after a battle John''s twenty came to the mess hall missing a few of their number, and John was among those who did not appear.


    Feeling dread building in his stomach, Kal¨¦ watched as the four men of John''s five ate with an air of melancholy about them. He watched the mess entrance like a hawk, but John did not enter the entire time his twenty had their dinner. Nor did he enter after the men of his twenty finished and left.


    Soon the people who came to eat dinner slowed to a trickle and then stopped. But still his friend did not appear.


    The dread built in Kal¨¦'' as time passed and John did not arrive. When they cleaned up the kitchen and finished prepping for breakfast, and then they closed the mess until the next morning, Kal¨¦''s stomach dropped, his hope extinguished.


    Kal¨¦ went to his room and sat languidly against the wall with his head in his arms.


    His worst fears had been realized. How could this have happened!? This was not supposed to happen!


    He was so out of it, Kal¨¦ did not notice someone had approached his room until he heard the sound of someone stepping inside.


    Was he needed for more work in the mess?


    Kal¨¦ looked up, and his yellow eyes widened!


    "John!? You are alive!?"


    John grunted and Kal¨¦ felt the malaise that had overcome him vanish and be replaced with relief as he held his hand to his chest.


    "Yeah, though I don''t feel it with the beating we took," John said as he sat down in his usual spot. "Sorry for being late. Today in the middle of our watch, among the usual misbegotten, there was a squad of some of those trained misbegotten that caught us by surprise. Killed most of our warpicks and our twentier in their surprise attack. I took over as head officer for the rest of that watch.


    "When we were relieved, I delivered the news of what happened to my twenty to the officers, and Lord Edgar promoted me to the rank of Sergeant and made me the next twentier of our group for my deeds.


    "Speaking of that Kal¨¦, from now I''ll be having breakfast and dinner in Lord Edgar''s study with the rest of the ''higher'' officers, the twentiers, the hundriers, and Lord Edgar. So I''ll be late coming here in the evenings from now on. Maybe really late depending on how long things take."


    That last part caught Kal¨¦''s attention.


    "You are now part of the officers?"


    John nodded his head.


    "Yeah. Only because the garrison here is down to so few, and the rest of Lord Edgar''s command is not kept in Morne itself. As one of the juniors, I''m there more to give information about my twenty and what is happening and receive orders, not help decide things. That''s Lord Edgar and the hundriers."


    Kal¨¦''s nose for information that he had developed over the centuries was itching at hearing that John was now among the inner circle of those leading, even as a junior.


    "Is there anything you can tell me that I''d want to know?"


    John stayed quiet and listened for a moment to make sure no one was coming down the hall.


    "Okay, don''t tell anyone else this because it''s secret. We don''t want everyone knowing and talking about it, and then the misbegotten manage to overhear it. Our men have spotted their fliers listening outside of windows and below the lips of ramparts to overhear things a few times."


    John looked at him to convey the gravity of what he was saying.


    "Nothing will leave my lips," Kal¨¦ swore.


    John seemed convinced by his sincerity and began speaking.


    "So with how you work in the kitchen, have you heard how Lord Edgar has been sending coded smoke signals, and we have been getting responses from the hills?"


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "I have heard of this."


    "Well, those signals are from scouts from Edgar''s men that were stationed in the Ramparts of Regret, the great rampart that cut the Weeping Peninsula in half and separated Morne from the rest of the small continent. We have just received information back from those reinforcement scouts today that told us the main force of the reinforcements are on their way.


    "They will be here in just under two weeks. Eleven or twelve days. We just have to hold out for two more weeks. With how things are going now it looks like we''ll be making it as long as the misbegotten keep their current strategy, but that probably won''t last. They will eventually change after it doesn''t work for long enough."


    To Kal¨¦, hearing that a force was coming to break the siege was a relief. To know there was a wisp of grace in the dark of this cave made everything much more bearable. As much as he was willing to die if he must to accomplish his goal, he did not wish to die.


    "That is good to hear. That we are already half way through this," Kal¨¦ said.


    "I thought the same. Just remember, do not spread it around," John said.


    Kal¨¦ nodded.


    "I understand. Is there anything else?"


    "The misbegotten attacks? They have let up-"


    Kal¨¦ and John once again enjoyed an evening of conversation before John left to return to the barracks.


    Kal¨¦ was happy with how things had turned out today. As terrible as the sinking feeling of John''s death had been, the knowledge John had given him made it worth the exchange.


    They just had to endure for two more weeks.


    _______________________________________________


    The next day, in the mess haul as Kal¨¦ was serving food, he was approached by one of the regulars. He wasn''t a fringefolk knight with their engraved armor, he just looked like any of the other typical soldiers of Godrick.


    "Are you Kal¨¦?"


    Kal¨¦ was immediately on guard. People asking for him was usually not good.


    "Yes?"


    "I heard you are a close friend of John White?" the soldier asked.


    Kal¨¦''s guard dropped a little seeing this wasn''t about him.


    "Yes," Kal¨¦ confirmed.


    "I wish to meet with him. He carried my injured, unconscious body up Clifftown and saved my life."


    Kal¨¦ had not expected that.


    "You are the other man that survived those units destroyed in the sallies two weeks ago?" Kal¨¦ asked.


    The soldier nodded his head.


    "Yes. I want to thank him for saving my life and not just leaving me to die down there. And with how things are looking, I want to make sure I get the chance to say it before either of us die."


    Kal¨¦ recognized that the soldier was right. There was a great chance of either he or John dying before the siege was over. If the attrition kept up as it had, it looked like there half of the men defending now would die by the end of the next two weeks, leaving two hundred soldiers left plus all the nearly five hundred townsfolk.


    "What is your name?" Kal¨¦ asked.


    "Cronell."


    Kal¨¦ gestured to the hallway with his head.


    "Me and John speak every evening. Meet me here two hours from now after I am done with my duties for the day."


    The soldier agreed, and they both continued on their separate ways for a time.


    Two hours later, after Kal¨¦ was finished with his work in the mess hall for the day, he walked out to find that Cronell was waiting for him.


    "Follow me," Kal¨¦ gestured to the man.


    Kal¨¦ guided Cronell to his room and they settled in quietly to wait for John. Neither of them spoke. A nomadic merchant and a fringefolk soldier who did not know each other had nothing much to speak of.


    Soon enough, John arrived after his daily meeting in Edgar''s study with the other officers.


    As John walked in, Kal¨¦ saw him look at the soldier sitting in his spot with confusion in his eyes.


    "Kal¨¦. What''s going on with him?" John said, no doubt knowing Kal¨¦ would not just invite people into his room for no reason.


    "That is Cronell. He is the man you saved from Clifftown at the beginning of the siege."


    John looked at the man''s face and a look of recognition crossed his face.


    "Ah, you! So Cronell''s your name? Never got it cause you were from knight Andren''s twenty I believe. How are you doing? I know even after crimson tears you were unconscious for the whole day I was carrying you. A bad blow to the head I believe it was."


    Cronell stood up.


    "I am doing well now, sir. I woke up later that day after I was taken to the infirmary, but I was bedridden for two days as they waited to be able to give me more tears. I had been given three full flasks of tears before I had arrived there, so it took a few days for tears to be effective on me again."


    John nodded his head.


    "That makes sense. Half of our men had fallen before I separated from the rest. After the battle at the bottom of Clifftown we used the flasks of the fallen on the injured to make sure that they were as healed up as possible.


    "Most of the flasks weren''t full when we did, so we gave each injured man a few flasks to make sure they were as healed as we could before carrying them. We were very free with how much we gave to be sure.


    "It doesn''t surprise me you got fed enough tears to equate a few full flasks. So why are you hanging out with my friend?" John asked, pointing towards Kal¨¦ with his thumb.


    Cronell took a breath to steel himself.


    "Sir, I just wanted to tell you, thank you for saving my life. For not leaving me down there.


    I''ve heard from men on the walls, that the misbegotten have been spotted cutting up bodies and eating them. If I''m to die in battle, I want a proper burial at least. Cremated with ghostflame, or given a sky burial if I earn the honor. Not ending up in a wretch''s stomach so he can go and spread more misery in the world."


    John nodded.


    "You are welcome, Cronell. I can''t say that the thought of leaving you there never crossed my mind, but I never gave it any serious consideration."


    "Thank you, sir. It shows you are an honorable man, sir, to do what you did. That is why I came to you instead of anyone else, sir. I don''t know who I can trust."


    Cronell looked at Kal¨¦, then at John, and back at Kal¨¦ again.


    Kal¨¦ was surprised at this unexpected turn in the conversation and saw John''s expression mirrored his.


    John''s gaze turned more serious as he looked at Cronell.


    "You can trust Kal¨¦ with whatever this is Cronell. I trust him with my life."


    Cronell hesitated, looking at Kal¨¦, but continued.


    "Very well. Sir, you see, I did not just want to thank you.


    "While I was infirm in my sick bed, I was surrounded by many other men who were injured and dying. Some knew they would perish before they could take more tears.


    "A man was brought in who was from one of Knight Major Crann''s twenties. He was dying and it was clear he wouldn''t make it through the night. He blamed Sir Crann for his coming death, and was cursing his name for hours.


    "When I asked him about the circumstances and why he was cursing Sir Crann, the dying man, delirious from pain and blood loss, told me that Knight Major Crann has been lying to High Marshal Edgar. That there had never been any informant. And that somehow that was related to why it was the Knight Major''s fault that he was dying.


    "I tried to ask him more, but my words did not break through his haze."


    Kal¨¦ did not know why this information was significant besides that lying to a superior was bad, but he saw John instantly had the entirety of his attention captured by Cronell''s words. There was something Kal¨¦ was missing about what was being said.


    "There was no informant? You are sure?" John asked.


    "Yes."


    Kal¨¦ watched as John went deep into thought at this response. What had just been said clearly meant far more to John than him. Kal¨¦ tried to put the pieces together himself.


    Kal¨¦ knew from the High Marshal''s address that day in the courtyard that this Knight Major Crann had given Edgar information about the leonine misbegotten. If Kal¨¦ presumed that Crann said he obtained that information from an informant it meant Crann had not see it himself.


    By that point no one had actually seen the leonine misbegotten yet, and later a misbegotten like the leonine misbegotten being at Morne turned out to be true.


    Crann had lied about where he had gotten this information and said he got it from an informant. If Kal¨¦''s presumption was true.


    But why would Crann lie about that? What was the deeper meaning? Kal¨¦ could speculate any number of reasons, but he did not know enough to make anything that would not be a blind guess beyond that Crann lying to his superior officer about such important matters was bad.


    Kal¨¦ did not have any more time to think before John put his hand on Cronell''s shoulder.


    "Why haven''t you brought this forward before!? Are you willing to swear about what you heard to Lord Edgar?" John asked the soldier, his words conveying considerable gravity.


    Cronell nodded heavily.


    "I am willing to swear.


    "I have not told anyone before now because Knight Major Crann is Lord Edgar''s second in command with the men here in Castle Morne, and the hundrier with the most influence in this garrison. His influence over the men here is great, and I do not know the significance of the High Marshal''s right hand man in this siege lying to him about this.


    "I could not directly speak with the High Marshal without giving someone a reason for why I should be given leave to spe3ak with him and risk being silenced, and after Sir Carth''s and Sir Andren''s deaths, I did not know of any officers that could bring this directly to Lord Edgar that I could trust were not under the influence of Sir Crann.


    "Then I heard you had been made twentier, so you''ll now be meeting face to face with Lord Edgar every day."


    John looked at Kal¨¦, who still only had part of this puzzle and was trying to figure out exactly what all these ominous lies from Crann Stormfeather actually meant.


    "This is extremely important Kal¨¦. We''ll talk later, I need to take him to Lord Edgar now," said John.


    Kal¨¦ nodded, and moments later John and Cronell had left, marching down the hallway corridor with haste.


    _______________________________________________

 Chapter 14 - John

    __________________________________________________


    As John marched down the hallway towards Edgar''s study with Cronell in tow, his mind spun at what Cronell had revealed and the implications of it.


    That there never had been an informant. John had never even considered that possibility. He had suspected that the informant had read his letter. Did that mean Crann read his letter? But then why lie about it to Edgar?


    Back then, in the moments when Crann had been arguing with Edgar in front of John, John had thought it may have been a coincidence that the rebellion began hours after he delivered his letter. But after the past two weeks of the idea marinating in his head, he realized that the coincidence was far too unlikely.


    So Crann had read his letter, and then the rebellion happened less than twelve hours later, and then Crann gave information about the rebellion to Edgar but lied about the source.


    John could already smell the shit. Whatever was going on with Crann and his letter and the rebellion, it didn''t spell anything good.


    Edgar, the high officer of the entirety of Castle Morne and the rest of the soldiers in the Weeping Peninsula, had to be informed of this. Of how there was no informant but instead there had been a letter, and that Crann had read that letter. John was already thinking of all the different routes he could take with the conversation as they marched down the corridors.


    It brought to John''s mind the differences in the rebellion. In the game, the ''canon'' timeline, the rebellion was successful with the misbegotten coming out on top, seemingly having executed an overwhelming coup with limited casualties and finishing Edgar''s men after they took the castle. Yet now in this timeline of the Lands Between that John was in, the men of Castle Morne were going to win. Bitterly and with incredible sacrifice, but there would not be a mountain of corpses and a pyre in the courtyard with misbegotten celebrating over them.


    Something had changed between the canon timeline and now, and Kal¨¦, John, and his letter were the only new variables as far as John knew.


    Cronell must have realized that what he had told John was more serious than even he had thought by John''s reaction, as he kept silent as stone as they walked down the corridors, not even voicing a complaint as they took a shortcut across the courtyard which caused them to be rained on.


    Despite the falling light of the sunset in the distance, John could see thick storm clouds in the distance. The past few days the rain had been a light sprinkling, but others had been telling him that they saw signs that there would be a large storm soon. It looked like they were right.


    They made it to Edgar''s study which was guarded by the usual two soldiers, and John knocked. The door opened to show Edgar. After a glance at John, the lord immediately became annoyed. Probably at having been disturbed by John so soon after they had finished their evening officer meeting just a short time ago.


    "Sergeant White, what is it?"


    "Lord Edgar," John saluted. "Armsman Cronell here has something that I think you should hear immediately. It is very important and-" John eyed the two guards "-sensitive."


    At that, Edgar took a closer look at how John and Cronell were holding themselves. Whatever he saw there immediately had his annoyance disappear and be replaced with a deadly seriousness.


    "Very well. Come in. Guards, make some distance. I don''t want anything to be overheard."


    As the guards complied and John and his hanger-on came in, Edgar closed the door behind them and walked over to the table covered in paperwork and information tracking everything happening in Castle Morne. The supplies, troop scheduling and planning, and other logistics.


    "John, you say the Armsman has something important to say?"


    John nodded seriously.


    "Yes, my lord. It is important, about the rebellion. I''ll let Cronell tell you."


    Edgar looked over to Cronell. The man hesitated, but after a glance at John standing there expectantly, he firmed up and told his story about the dying confession to Edgar.


    "-he told me that no one had entered the Castletown entrance that night and that no one had come to meet with Knight Major Crann to give him information. The only person that came in or out was the Knight Major''s second for his usual rounds. He said that Knight Major Crann has been lying to the High Marshal about it, lying to you, my lord."


    Even as Cronell finished, Edgar looked perturbed.


    "Was that everything, Armsman? You are sure of this?"


    "Yes, my lord. That is what he told me, my lord."


    "If what that man said was true, it would be troubling that Knight Major Crann lied to me about having an informant. But I am quite sure that the Knight Major is being truthful. The information he has given me about the rebellion has all been accurate.


    "From what you have said, Armsman, the man blamed the Knight Major for his death. It is unfortunate, but it seems that he only wished to bring harm upon the Knight Major''s reputation as revenge. I have seen such things many times. We have nothing to worry about.


    "Still," Edgar continued, "it does you and Sergeant White well that you two would bring this matter to me as soon as you felt you could. If something untoward like that were to be happening, it would be of immense importance that I know it."


    Edgar smiled at them.


    Cronell''s heavy face broke into relief at those words from Edgar. The heavy burden the soldier must have felt carrying this ominous information alone lifting now that his lord had heard it and determined it to be nothing.


    That immense relief was likely why Cronell didn''t notice when Edgar saw that John still looked deadly serious and his smile slipped from his face.


    "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Armsman. While he is here, I wish to speak with Sergeant White about another matter. Wait outside with the guards. I may wish to speak with you further after I am finished with him."


    "Yes, my lord."


    Cronell saluted Edgar and left the study, his heart much lighter than it had been when he had entered.


    As soon as the sound shut, Edgar''s face became grave, and he turned a heavy expectant gaze onto John.


    "Lord Edgar, there is more to the story than just Armsman Cronell''s testimony. I have some information as well.


    "I have a confession to make. On the evening that the rebellion broke out I had wrote a letter addressed to you, and put it in a palm-sized wooden box, and delivered it to the guards at the castle entrance from Castletown."


    At this somewhat tangential beginning to John''s story, Edgar looked slightly puzzled and frustrated at how this was relevant to Crann''s potential deception.


    "That letter had been addressed to you, Lord Edgar, as High Marshal, and on it was a warning that the misbegotten were planning a rebellion."


    Edgar was caught off guard by that, but John didn''t let up.


    "When I first heard Knight Major Crann speak of his informant, I wondered if it was a coincidence that much of the information his informant gave him matched my letter. I suspected that his informant may have been one of his men who had read my letter and was giving him the information but had died in the attack upon the castle entrance, and somehow my letter had been lost in the initial chaos. Or some other unfortunate series of events.


    "But when I heard Cronell tell me of that man''s dying story, I realized that it must not have been the Knight Major''s informant who had read my letter, but rather the Knight Major himself. And that he had been lying to you about an informant."


    Hearing this, Edgar began shifting into skepticism.


    "This is the first mention I have heard of any letter, Sergeant."


    John smiled apologetically.


    "I know, my lord. It is hard to believe. A low-ranking man tells you a story that slanders your second that supposedly came from a dead man''s lips who can no longer swear for himself, and then another junior officer who brought this man with his second-hand to you already has nother story that is somewhat convoluted and helps slander your longstanding second''s good name even further.


    "But that absurd level of coincidence is part of why this is so damning. It is hard for me to believe that the evening I gave Knight Major Crann''s men the letter about the misbegotten rebellion, the rebellion erupted only a few scant hours later.


    "Yet that is what happened. Less than half a day later after I gave my letter, the misbegotten were burning Morne to the ground and had killed a third of the garrison, trapping everyone left in Castle Morne. It is too much to reasonably think that all that was just chance."


    "Are you accusing the Knight Major of treason!?"


    John shook his head quickly!


    "No! At least, not yet! What I mean to say is that Knight Major Crann is lying to you, and he is doing it for some reason. We cannot afford to have one of our few hundriers, a man that is leading the troops who is also your second in command, lying and keeping secrets from you. Especially now of all times and about such important things. I don''t why the Knight Major is lying, but I knew you had to be told about it."


    Edgar frowned in deep thought.


    John waited silently for him to think.


    "This is an incredible story, Sergeant. I have seen many unlikely things over my life, yet your sudden story seems too fanciful to be believed on just the words of just a pair of men that I have shortly known. Especially with Knight Major Crann having served me dutifully for many decades."


    John had been expecting that, and he still had one last trump card to play.


    "That is the most important element of my own contribution to Armsman Cronell''s story. Evidence. I think I can prove my own story to you, Lord Edgar. Prove that I am not just making up things to slander a superior officer."


    Edgar raised his eyebrow.


    "Oh? Truly?"


    "First of all, you can ask his men who were at the castle entrance that evening if someone wearing a brown cloak gave a fellow guard an unmarked box meant for his superiors and then ran off. That should be sufficient to prove to you that not everything I am saying is a lie.


    "I think from just that you could dig more to clear everything up and reveal the truth. But I think I can do you even better than just that and prove it right now."


    John saw Edgar''s eyes sharpen at John''s claim of immediate proof and continued.


    "Knight Major Crann has shared many things his ''informant'' has told him in officer meetings with us, but I am sure he has speculation and certain things that he has only told you and none of the rest of us. Am I correct, my lord?"


    "This is true." Edgar nodded.


    "Well, I wrote that letter that gave him all that information. I can make an exact copy right now, and you can see with your own eyes if it has things he has only told you on it.


    "And since there was a letter which still may exist, there is a chance you could find it and even compare the handwriting of that letter to a copy I will make.


    "The original may be sitting somewhere down in the Castletown castle entrance where we can''t get to it, or it may have been destroyed by rain or misbegotten these past couple weeks. But it might also be in his quarters or his office. Somewhere he might hide that sort of letter.


    "With the dead man''s story, my story, the potential confirmation of the guardsmen, the letter''s private information I will show you, and, if you find the original, a copy of that letter, that would give you up to five incontestable pieces of proof. And about that original letter, you might be able to find it on his person even if he is particularly paranoid."


    After John made his last assertion, Edgar put his hands up still looking extremely skeptical.


    "Stop there Sergeant. I am not going to have my second accosted in such a way without good reason. Certainly not on convenient and empty words. Write your letter first, and we shall see what I decide to do from there."


    So John did as Edgar said. Thankfully, they were already in a study, so they had quill, ink, and parchment on hand already.


    John thought back to the letter he spent days quibbling on the specific words over. How he had written and rewritten that letter a few times over the course of days. it hadn''t been too long yet, so he still had it thoroughly memorized.


    John wrote down a copy of the original letter.


    How the misbegotten were planning the rebellion. How it would be led by a red-haired misbegotten. The cleavers, and potential weapon stockpiles. And other bits of speculation and theory that he had thought at the time may be true.


    And finally, how he had gotten this information from a misbegotten he had befriended, an informant. The idea of this lie about what his source for this information was came from his short friendship with the misbegotten teen he had been speaking to at the time.


    Ironic, considering Crann''s lies about his source. Maybe these lines about his misbegotten informant had even been where the man had gotten the idea for that particular lie from.


    Edgar waited impatiently nearby, and as soon as John was done, he grabbed the parchment and read the letter before the ink even had time to dry.


    John could see the look on Edgar''s face that said the man thought that the letter would be nothing. But as the High Marshal read line after line, his face went from skeptical to full of disbelief. He paused in the middle and began reading it from the top but more carefully this time.


    And as Edgar did, his expression changed from disbelief to being grave. But by the time he reached the end of the letter, even that faded, his face had paled and slackened, the energy drained out of him as he realized his second, a man who he had trusted for decades and in many battles, had betrayed him and had most likely been the source of their misfortunes against the misbegotten.


    "It is true," Edgar said as if he still couldn''t believe it. "It is true..."


    Edgar fell silent, standing like a reed being blown in a storm, before the energy that had drained from his form came rushing back violently! He crushed crushed the parchment in his hand!


    "That lying cur!" Edgar hissed, his face red. "Castletown has been burned! Clifftown is littered with rotting corpses that the menials are consuming like the beasts they are. There are less than a thousand of the townsfolk still alive, a near total loss, and we have lost more than three-quarters of the garrison.


    "Yet he lies to me!? Continues to lie and betray us all!? And to think I was even considering-"


    Edgar cut himself off and stood seething for a few moments, venting, before he took a deep breath and let it out. When he took another breath, he was completely back under control, though John was familiar enough with Edgar to see the anger being hidden under the forced composure.


    He stood, back like an iron rod, his stormy grey eyes holding the only remaining visible traces of his immense fury. Edgar dropped the crumpled letter from his hand, leaving ink staining his hand which began delicately wiping off with a handkerchief he produced. John could see that his superior''s mind was racing behind those grey eyes.


    Once he was done, Edgar looked at John.


    "It seems you were correct earlier. All we know, all we can prove, at the moment, is that Crann has been lying to me. Taking the merit for your own deeds in trying to warn us of the coming rebellion.


    "But we do not know anything else to any degree of certainty. We should not act rashly no matter our suspicions. We do not know if Crann is a traitor or has stayed true and the lies are for some other purpose. Crann is the most powerful knight in the garrison, able to call upon the sky to smite foes with lightning. We cannot act rashly, for we need his arm desperately to survive this siege if he turns out to indeed have kept to his oaths.


    "But neither can we do nothing in case the worst is indeed true. Tomorrow Crann will be the hundrier in charge of defending the corridors. I will have my retinue search for the letter to confirm all this and also to gather potential evidence if I am to keep the trust of the men in my leadership if I do have to have Crann brought to the dungeons.


    "I will also have his men quietly questioned to see if others will confirm that someone gave something a wooden box to a guard that evening as well as to see if they may directly tell me if Crann has broken his oaths.


    "Once I have that all done, I will accuse Crann in front of the officers at the next officer meeting, so they can be made aware of the situation. I will demand Crann explain himself, and there is a chance he may further incriminate himself with lies in the effort to defend himself of anything else I may when my men question his.


    "I will have an accounting from Crann, and he will be punished for transgressions, large or small as they are.


    "For now, speak of this to no one, and continue as you were. Make sure to send Cronell back in here as well. I have more to ask him and will write down his testimony. And at the officer meeting tomorrow evening, we will see the end of this."


    John saluted.


    "Yes, my lord."


    John turned around and walked to the door. He grabbed the handle-


    "Oh, and Sergeant?"


    John turned around and saw Edgar smiling.


    "I forgot to thank you. For your letter. Crann may have initially received the honor for it, but I now know you are the one who warned us about many aspects of the rebellion even if Crann, through betrayal or negligence, prevented me from being able to stop it from happening entirely.


    "You may have saved Castle Morne, and the lives of everyone who yet lives. Me, my daughter, the remaining men and townsfolk. You have my gratitude.


    "And if we both live to the end of the next two weeks, I will have you greatly rewarded. If you perish, I will make sure you are buried with honors. Tell me, if it comes to that, do you wish for Erdtree burial or sky pyre?"


    John opened the door and took a step out.


    "Sky pyre. Dragons are cooler than a big tree."


    Edgar just laughed.


    __________________________________________________


    The next day John and his men were guarding their assigned section of the corridors, an important four-way intersection. One direction led up into the castle proper with the other three leading would eventually lead down towards Clifftown.


    The fighting retreat over the past week had been successful and all the goods had been removed from the bowels of the castle, denying the misbegotten those resources. The nonstop never-ending attacks had stopped, and instead, the misbegotten had been using waves of assaults for the last few days.


    That change in enemy tactics was a relief. They were losing far fewer men now even if the men also killed far fewer misbegotten, as their enemies had begun using armor, weapons, and equipment they had looted from John''s fallen comrades.


    The garrison had retreated to just two major chokepoints at the two key intersections that led up from the bowels of the castle. These were their best and final points to use as their final lines of defense. One was located in the north of half of the structure and the other was mirrored in the south. Some distance forward from these two major chokepoints, down each of the intersection''s three Clifftown facing corridors, were their front lines which were also controlling intersections farther forward meant to impede enemy movement.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    They had a twenty stationed at each of these intersection checkpoints, the two major that led into the castle proper and the six minor that led to the two major intersection chokepoints, for a total of eight intersection chokepoints being defended in all by the garrison. Each of the intersections were manned by a twenty, for a total of somewhere near to one hundred sixty of the under four hundred men that remained of the garrison. This meant nearly half of the men were deployed at any point in time.


    While they tried to keep the balance between the numbers of regulars and irregulars deployed at once maintained, nonetheless some days they had more of one category of soldier or the other. And some days the numbers were more balanced than others.


    Many things decided this. The state of supplies and the twenties themselves, the schedules, which units were tired or had heavily used crimson tears recently and so needed time to let their system clear to not unnecessarily risk them.


    Just from the fact that John''s twenty of irregulars was assigned as the rearguard at a final defensive point on this side of the castle showed that the only twenty of regulars on duty at that time, if there were any, were guarding the other major chokepoint on the other side of the castle.


    Otherwise his twenty, being part of the irregulars, who were less important and less able than a twenty of regulars all of which typically had at least one fringefolk knight in their unit, would have been assigned such a critical role.


    Part of being in a fallback position meant that they didn''t have to do any fighting unless the other twenties needed it, which was good because they had just suffered a significant loss of men and their twentier just two days ago. On the other hand, they had to keep lookouts posted at the forward positions so they could be kept abreast of what was happening and give reports of their own to the higher command periodically.


    Because of the corridors'' long underground construction, sounds echoed a long way, but the forward lines were far enough forward that even John could only barely hear the indistinct noises of any battles happening in the forward intersections. Hence why the forward scouts were necessary.


    The hours passed by as expected, with John''s lookouts giving him reports periodically. Misbegotten made their periodic attacks on the three front lines John was the fallback for.


    Everything was looking to be just another day of duty, and John waited impatiently for his shift to be over so he could attend the evening officer meeting and see what exactly was going on with Crann. Then a noise sounded in his ear. The sound of metal on stone, running down the western corridor corridor. Slowly getting closer and closer.


    One of John''s lookouts was returning, but it was too early to be the regular periodic report.


    John was instantly alert, but as the faint din of battle that he had just barely been able to hear down that corridor faded once again, he relaxed. The enemy had just retreated again, and the lookout was coming to inform him of it.


    The lookout rounded the corner and kept running to John. When he reached John, he began immediately, not bothering with formalities.


    "Sir! The Misbegotten Savior! The red-maned misbegotten! He attacked! With him were a group of large armored misbegotten! Three men had already fallen by the time I had left, and I fear the rest have as well!"


    John''s heartbeat instantly skyrocketed and his eyes went wide.


    The leonine misbegotten hadn''t been spotted anywhere close to the battlelines since John had seen him impale Knight Andren and the garrison had retreated to the corridors, and now it was here attacking!


    The misbegotten were making a move and any irregulars would be hard-pressed to respond! This was the worst possible day for the leonine misbegotten to make a move. The men in the western corridor were in a dire situation if they hadn''t already died. He''d seen how powerful the leonine misbegotten was. Even heavily restricted by the corridors, the irregulars stationed there were no match for that without a fringefolk knight!


    The western corridor going quiet now filled him with dread rather than relief.


    John couldn''t abandon his position to go help them either, not that he woul be able to do anything against the leonine misbegotten, but he and the rest of the officers had expected the leonine misbegotten to show herself at some point. They had a plan for this. It would just take longer for the knights to arrive with so few regulars on duty today.


    "Go up the corridor to command''s position and report this to the hundrier immediately! Tell Knight Major Crann that the red-maned misbegotten, their leader, has attacked us!"


    The soldier saluted and ran off again as fast as the man could run!


    John looked at his twenty and, despite his own outward composure, he saw his own inner feelings reflected in their nervous faces. They all knew this news was bad, and it had all of them tense, a heavy foreboding settling on them all.


    John kept his unease hidden, displaying only a stony unshaken facade for the men. His composure and reaction would heavily impact the men. He would not allow a careless emotional display to hurt morale.


    They waited in that corridor, silent, and not long later John heard the crashing metal of running once again. This time down the central corridor. Sure enough, before the lookout had rounded the corner, the telltale sound of battle faded from that corridor as well.


    John felt a stone form in his gut.


    "Sergeant! The rebellion leader just attacked the twenty I was watching!" the lookout told him.


    John''s fears were confirmed. However John had never been indecisive under pressure.


    "Now! Go and warn the eastern corridor! Tell them to retreat back to this position immediately!"


    The lookout immediately took off and John and the men waited warily once again to see what would be happening. But they didn''t have to for long.


    Less than a minute later a wave of misbegotten made their way around the corner of the west corridor and began approaching their positions. It seemed that John''s fears were correct. The men of the west corridor had been annihilated. Probably the central as well.


    Well. If these misbegotten thought his men would be falling as easily, they were sorely mistaken.


    "Men! Face the west corridor! Swords front! Polearms behind them. Greatswords, and warpicks in the rear! Warpicks, be ready to react if more come down the central corridor."


    John took his proper position as his well-drilled men arranged themselves in a show of discipline that the green men of a short time ago would never have been able to achieve.


    John, as twentier, was no longer in a specific five, so the polearm five he had been in had accepted another man to replace him. Instead he now his typical position was in the center of the formation. Still close enough to lend his spear, but safe enough to where he could focus on keeping an eye on the battlefield and commanding the men without the misbegotten easily pushing through the lines for him specifically in any attempts to cut down the leadership of the unit.


    John looked at the misbegotten approaching their formation and saw they were the regular misbegotten with their motley equipment. No sign of the large well-equipped misbegotten, or the leonine, or any special or organized ones either.


    The enemy line crashed into the shields of the five of swordsmen in the front. The misbegottens'' martial prowess was still as poor as it had been when the rebellion started, it was just that now their patch-work of armor made it so that any casual and sloppy strike by a proper weapon from a soldier didn''t kill them in a hit or two. This also gave the misbegotten more confidence, so they attacked more often and with less hesitation.


    The better equipment and increased confidence combined made the misbegotten much more potent offensively and defensively.


    His own men however had significantly improved as was obvious as the swordsmen and polearms inflicted punishment on their enemies for daring to engage them.


    Both the lines struggled against each other trying to break through the enemy and uphold their own lines. The press of bodies from both sides smashing together like two vices trying to crush one another.


    As they fought, John helped his men by striking any misbegotten that got right up to the front line''s shields, just barely close enough for him to reach with his position in the formation.


    Every few minutes John ordered the front lines to switch. To keep the men fresh and allow recovery.


    John kept an eye out, and any time a man was injured enough to need to heal, John ordered a man from the next five on rotation to replace him. When the front was switched, the fives would be properly joined back up, keeping the integrity of the formation.


    They all did well, successfully keeping back the misbegotten and cutting a number down with minimal damage to themselves, when another wave of misbegotten rounded the turn of the central corridor.


    John held back the urge to curse! He had been expecting this after the western misbegotten had come, but he hoped the knight reinforcements from command would have arrived before this!


    "Greatswords and warpicks, rotate to hold the center! Hammers in front! Greatswords, use your reach to thrust like we have drilled! We need to give time for the eastern twenty to retreat to us before we can fall back! They should be here any minute now! We cannot let them be cut off!"


    The men moved and a few scant moments later John''s twenty were blocking two of the directions of the intersection.


    Because of the tightness of the slim corridors, removing his back lines didn''t reduce the direct strength of the two front lines, but it did mean they could no longer retreat to recover. Their staying power was significantly reduced.


    The new center corridor battleline was also weaker than the western line. Warpicks were just as effective at holding the front strong, but the thrusting power and reach of the greatswords to assist the men in front of them was much less than polearms. Greatswords were most useful for countering opposing polearms, not being used in place of them.


    Seeing the central line as weaker, John moved over to the back of the center line to help reinforce them and to be able to keep a better eye on all three corridors.


    They battled fiercely, cleaver to brass shield and partisan to toughened lizard flesh or stolen breastplates! The minutes passed as he and his twenty and the misbegotten all bloodied each other and dedicated their focus to the fight rather than any irrelevant concerns!


    Without having time to heal, John could see the slowly accumulating wounds on his men begin to chip away at them. They were slowing down, weakening, and the press of bodies started to push them back.


    And then one of the men on the west line went down.


    "Damn it! Central lines hold! I''m helping the western lines! And where''s the fucking eastern twenty!?" John yelled as he rushed over to the western line to prevent it from collapsing!


    ''And where the fuck are the knight reinforcements!? They should have been here by now!'' John thought but did not voice.


    Flask already in hand as he reached through the gaps to pull the downed man away from the front, John immediately pulled the man back, a cleaver striking where his man''s head had been a moment ago!


    John saw what had happened. His chest armor had been pierced by the point of a misbegotten warpick.


    It didn''t look like the punctured armor would block most of the healing though, so John stuffed his flask to the man''s mouth who gulped down weakly. A few moments later the man was up and made his way back to the front.


    As John stood up, he glanced back at the east corridor just in time to see a third wave of misbegotten round the corner! No men from that corridor in sight. Not even either of the two lookouts that had been sent eastward. And another glance at the corridor behind them all showed no men coming down from command above either.


    Seeing the third wave of enemies, John didn''t tally.


    "Bastards! Men, quickly! Fall back to the rear corridor!"


    The men quickly moved to obey, and backed up in steady steps. Thankfully, they had been doing such maneuvers for a while, so his lines held as both the western and central lines converged back into one.


    Not having to worry about the eastern men, now they once again only had to defend one cramped corridor, and if they fell, the misbegotten would be free to overrun the rest of Castle Morne and no one would live to survive the day.


    However, with only one corridor to defend now, this heavily improved their position, but things were still looking grim. John could only hope the leonine misbegotten didn''t come for them as he would be all but powerless against her!


    As well, defending two corridors at once had taken a toll. His men were much more tired and already they had dipped significantly into their crimson tears to keep themselves fighting.


    Then John heard the clanking of armor on stone from behind.


    Finally!


    He turned to see his remaining lookout and three fringefolk knights coming to reinforce them, storm already cloaking their armaments.


    "The cavalry has arrived, men! Prepare to let the knights to the front!"


    It took but moments for the three huge knights to make it to the back of the formation and his men made way for their reinforcements to reach the front. Their larger bodies made it so only three of them could fit abreast each other in these tight corridors instead of the total of five that regularly sized men could fit.


    Their massive shields, what would have been large tower shields to a regular man, covered almost their entire bodies, and their thick heavy armor, thicker than what a regular man could wear, made them almost untouchable to regular misbegotten, especially in the corridor where their overwhelming numbers mattered little.


    And their storm-covered weapons tore apart the misbegotten. Even if the knights struck a misbegotten on a stolen breastplate or chainmail, the twisting wind rushed around the bits of hard armor to any softer fleshy area nearby and the tearing wind sheared away flesh like a thousand tiny knives.


    The pressure eased for the moment, John''s men quickly recovered themselves, drinking tears and reorganizing the line, and then rejoined the fight doing their best to offer what assistance they could to the knights, but they needed little.


    His men and the reinforcements crushed misbegotten after misbegotten, but after minutes of battle where he waited for the leonine to appear any moment, the misbegotten leader did not show herself. The waves of misbegotten just continued throwing themselves into battle.


    After nearly thirty minutes of fighting, even the fringefolk knights could no longer summon storm, their magical stamina temporarily exhausted, and were reduced to mundane if brutally effective strikes of their weapons. But the leonine misbegotten still hadn''t shown herself.


    They battled, but no misbegotten beyond the typical came to attack them. Instead, more groups of misbegotten just arrived to reinforce and replace the old ones. The battle was unrelenting.


    It seemed the misbegotten were done with their wave tactics and were going back to their earlier strategy of grinding them down and never letting them rest by using their huge numbers to support an unceasing attack. Eventually one of the fringefolk knights disengaged from the front and approached John.


    "The other two will stay with you. I need to go to Sir Crann at the other chokepoint and tell him of the situation here."


    John nodded and saluted, and the knight left the way he came.


    John turned and kept battling with the rest of his twenty and the two remaining knights. As he did, he expected that the leonine misbegotten may stage another attack any minute. But despite his vigilance, she never came. So they fought until the evening approached and his twenty was relieved by another who took to fighting the seemingly endless misbegotten horde.


    __________________________________________________


    John opened the study door and entered the evening officer meeting.


    It was composed of everyone who was a twentier or above besides the twentiers who were deployed in the evening shift. Most of them were fringefolk knights with their elaborate armors and large size, but a few of the men attending were regular soldiers like John.


    John took his helmet off like all the other officers in the room had done and joined them at the table.


    The faces on everyone there were hard, and the air was grim. Looking most severe of all was Edgar, who looked as if he was gonna murder someone.


    Looking around, John could see people missing. Just yesterday there had been 24 officers in this meeting. Now there were only 18. Three more days like today, and there would be none left.


    This would only be his third meeting like this. He''d kept silent at the last two and just listened to those with more experience and authority speak. John knew the absolute most basic of tips about how battles should be fought, like to keep the sun to your back or that having the high ground was better, but before the last two weeks, he''d had absolutely no real experience. He knew some general things, but only a little about defending in sieges.


    He''d let these vastly more experienced people make the decisions and just do his best to listen and learn from them.


    As soon as John closed the door and walked over to stand by the hundrier his twenty was technically part of, Knight Captain Dromin.


    Looking around and seeing everyone who was gonna come were already at the table, Edgar began the meeting. Even before he spoke, John and the rest of the officers could feel Edgar was not in a good mood and the air was tense.


    "Now that everyone has arrived, I will go over what happened today again to be absolutely sure we all know exactly what occurred.


    "This afternoon, the red-maned misbegotten that we know of as the menials'' leader showed itself in the corridors with a group of elite misbegotten following it and executed a series of attacks against the six forward chokepoints. It struck against one after the other. This wiped them all out to the last man. Killing 118 men, a third of our remaining forces.


    "Does anyone not understand or have anything else to add to this?"


    Edgar waited for a response, but no one spoke.


    "Very well. I have questions about how this was allowed to occur. Sir Crann, you were the hundrier in command today, correct?"


    Edgar''s gaze pierced his second.


    "Yes, my lord."


    "How did this happen?"


    Crann shook his head.


    "There was nothing we could have done. As soon as word reached us from the southern corridor, I sent three knights there to assist the irregulars there. And the other two knights we had on standby and I went to the northern corridor to assist them.


    "Despite our haste, by the time any of us arrived, all the irregulars had been wiped out and the leader and its elite troops had fled. All we could do was drive off the remaining assaults at the main choke points."


    Edgar''s eyes narrowed and spoke up, his tone sharp and demanding.


    "The misbegotten''s leader first attacked the south-western corridor''s men, then moved east to destroy the men at the other two southern corridors near the primary southern chokepoint. Then he went north to the northeastern corridor and made his way westward until all three northern chokepoints were destroyed as well. Is that not right Sir Crann?"


    "It is, my lord." Nodded his head.


    "You were stationed in the center of the castle, were you not? Then can you explain to me how that misbegotten was able to make its way through what was effectively six times the distance that it took you and your knights to traverse, and do so through the twisting corridors, yet despite you having left immediately, it still managed to destroy all six positions before either you or your knights had arrive at either chokepoint despite you having straight paths there?"


    Edgar said as though already delivering a verdict, and Crann''s face visibly wavered.


    "I-I sent reinforcements immediately, my lord, as soon I heard that those curs damned leader had shown himself. It was just too fast for any of us to catch," Crann said, trying to defend himself.


    "Truly?" Edgar said, sounding as unconvinced as he looked.


    "Yes, my lord. The irregulars must have just sent word too late."


    Everyone else in the room could instantly tell that was the wrong thing to say.


    Edgar was instantly pissed off. His face turned stony, and he slammed a guaranteed hand onto the table in anger! Everyone in the room flinched at the noise.


    Edgar pointed at Crann and as he spoke he didn''t shout despite his visible anger.


    "Do not slander others Crann," Edgar hissed. "I am certain that Sergeant John is an able commander and acted with all haste to send you the message. Why do you lie to me? Can you not explain to me why it took so long for reinforcements to arrive?"


    Crann''s face reddened in anger, and he visibly struggled to come up with a reply, but despite opening his mouth a few times over the next minute, ultimately he said nothing.


    Edgar looked at Crann and the five other knights around him who made up his faction among the officers like a hawk looked at a mouse.


    The silence grew long as no one spoke for a minute, and Edgar kept waiting for an answer. Every second that passed where no answer came the tension in the room grew and grew.


    Inevitably someone broke. It wasn''t Crann, but one of the knights standing behind him. Marvion Tearwolfe, who John recognized from his armor as one of the men who had come to reinforce his twenty earlier that day, and who John knew was the vice leader of Crann''s clique.


    Marvion stepped forward and spoke up despite looking just as scared as the rest of Crann''s men.


    "Knight Major Crann had been... otherwise occupied when the messenger first arrived. Sir Crann did send us out as soon as he heard what had happened, but there was a short delay."


    Crann shot the man a betrayed look that promised future punishment.


    Edgar simply turned his head to Crann who was forced to answer Marvion''s confession.


    "Yes, my lord. I have to admit, I had been addressing something important at the time and had ordered the men not to let anyone disturb me until I was done. It was just... unfortunately timed that the short delay arrived at the worst time and gave a short delay to my receiving the report that the dregs'' leader had show itself."


    "Important? More important than defending the castle from the siege? What was so important?" Edgar''s voice was far too casual.


    Crann clearly felt wronged as he shot Edgar a look of barely restrained anger.


    "It was important, my lord. A man was reporting to me that someone had been having my men questioned covertly. I suspected that something nefarious was happening and had been consumed with getting to the bottom of that in case it endangered the defense. If someone hadn''t been questioning my men then the reinforcements would have been immediate."


    John could tell by how Crann looked at Edgar that he wanted to say that this was Edgar''s fault, but he couldn''t say something like that to his commander''s face in front of everyone else. John suspected Edgar could tell as well because the lord''s already stony facade turned into granite.


    Edgar turned his head, sweeping his gaze across all of Crann''s knights landing on Marvion.


    "I know the man Sergeant John sent to report what had happened to you was delayed by more than a handful of minutes. That is more than a short delay.


    "The entire time he was telling all of you that he needed to report to Sir Crann immediately, that the menials'' leader, whom we have been trying to hunt down and kill for weeks now, had been spotted. Yet you men still refused to let him enter and speak to Sir Crann, why?"


    John saw some of them swallow. The same knight as earlier spoke again after a few seconds where none of the rest of them spoke up.


    "Because Knight Major Crann ordered that he was not to be disturbed under any circumstances. And he was very clear that he meant under no circumstances."


    Crann''s eyes bulged.


    "That is-"


    "I see," Edgar cut him off coldly and kept looking at Crann''s men, particularly Marvion. "I would ask you why you didn''t disregard that order, but I already know.


    "All five of you are Crann''s cousins and your families swear to his family. I remember that Sir Crann was the one who recommended you five to me as potential knights, and he took you under his wing directly as squires when I accepted. At the time I saw no reason why not to allow Crann to do so.


    "You are his subjects and his blood. You own your positions to him. Your martial skill to him. He is one of the best warriors in Lord Godrick''s army. And I would assume that any trace of disobedience towards him is punished harshly?


    "That is why when Sir Crann tells you to bark, you all become dogs. Well, you have forgotten that Knight Major Crann is a Knight Major, not High Marshal. I am. And as long as you are in my service you are my hounds and not his."


    John saw that the other knights watching on with him looked as if they were watching an execution as Edgar slowly walked around the talk.


    "I could also ask you Crann, why you decided to not place a knight in every twenty like the other hundriers have been doing and decided to centralize your knights away from the front lines instead. Leaving the weaker irregular twenties vulnerable when every other hundrier had made sure each forward twenty had a knight of significant strength in case of just such a scenario as today.


    "I could ask you that, or for why you have been lying to me about your informant that your men I have questioned claim has never existed."


    Edgar lifted up a familiar box off the table.


    "Or why you hid from me this letter," Edgar dropped it back down again.


    "I could ask you about those or any number of other decisions you have made. But I am not interested in anything else that comes out of your mouth."


    Edgar''s gauntleted fist suddenly smashed into Crann''s mouth with all the force their commander could muster. Teeth and blood flew through the air, and the blow knocked Crann onto his back.


    The rest of the men watching all flinched at the sudden violence and many put their hands on their sheathed weapons and looked at each other as the air in the room turned explosive.


    Crann''s following screams of pain were muffled, and John saw that Edgar had shoved his large handkerchief into the knight''s mouth as a gag. John hadn''t seen when but Edgar must have put it in his fist at some point.


    Edgar stormy eyes watched Crann wriggling in pain on the ground, and Crann''s posse of knights stared at their leader in worry.


    "If this was caused by just gross negligence, this behavior would have warranted a severe punishment. Stripping you of your rank and command. Maybe even death. But what you have done is not mere negligencein your duty."


    Edgar looked around the room at the other 11 knights not part of Crann''s clique.


    "Do you men not find the timing of this to be suspect? Just two days ago we learned that the menials'' time is becoming short as our reinforcements are nearly within view. And then the first day the Knight Major is in charge after we learn this, the same day that all the forward corridors are all defended by irregulars and are at their most precarious, he left them vulnerable. His decisions caused us to lose over half the irregulars remaining, a third of our total men.


    "Just when we were about to triumph over the menials, this happened. I have been going over our numbers all day. Where before we could have scrapped by, now I fear we are certain to fail. The scheduling, the plans, we just don''t have enough men now to continue defending until our reinforcements arrive before our defense begins falling apart.


    "Very convenient, is it not? Almost like they had received the message from our smokesignals as well that told them they had to act quickly, and then not two days later, were presented with the perfect opportunity. All arranged under Crann''s command."


    The men and John all looked at each other and began whispering about Crann''s advocated tactics and strategy, his incompetence. His actions during this defense and some even brought up things from previous battles and campaigns. Some wondered where exactly this was heading, and some had obvious suspicions.


    Upon hearing their disparaging whispers, Crann could no longer contain himself and pulled the gag from his mouth with a wince of pain.


    "How dare you!? All of you-th! Jealous lethers! I have conducthed myself faif-fully!" Crann slurred in outrage from his destroyed mouth.


    Edgar was undeterred.


    "You do not speak! Men restrain Crann. And put that gag back in."


    Hearing Edgar''s order, the men not of Crann''s posse carefully sized up Crann and his men and approached watching in case any of Crann''s men made any moves.


    For a moment it seemed like Crann and his knights would fight back, but they ultimately complied without any more trouble than glares.


    Crann''s eyes had gone bloodshot even as he was restrained by two other knights and had the cloth stuck back into his mouth so he couldn''t speak. They even went as far as to tie more cloth around his head to keep in it.


    Despite looking like he was so angry he might explode with veins bulging all over his forehead, Crann kept his mouth shut.


    Once Crann was properly secured, Edgar grabbed the small wooden box again and looked at the rest of the men.


    "Monumental negligence. Unfortunately, that is not the only thing that Crann is guilty of. As you all may have surmised from what Crann said, I had his men questioned.


    "A soldier came forward recently and told me that he believed Crann has been lying to me. That he had never had an informant.


    "At first, I did not believe him, but the soldier gave me some particular information that made me question my judgement of Crann''s loyalty. He mentioned the existence of a particular letter that Crann had been hiding from me. So this morning I had some of my most trusted men search Crann''s quarters for the letter, and it was found."


    Edgar opened the box, and inside was John''s original letter. Edgar began reading the letter out to all the men.


    Information about the rebellion, what would happen, and its aims. Various details, and some healthy speculation.


    Much of that they all had heard Crann himself claim was from an informant who had been unfortunately killed in the initial attack.


    Once Edgar was done, he set the letter down. The men waited for Edgar to explain why and what this letter proved Crann''s guilt of.


    "Men, you all may say that the letter may just be Crann''s notes on what his informant had said, so Crann may have been be telling the truth after a fashion. Or you may say that Crann''s claims of his dead informant telling him those things are close enough to the information in this letter that his lies about the information''s source is a minor quibble.


    "I tell all of you this. When I questioned his men, a number of them independently told me that this letter, which was addressed to me and should not have been read by Crann in the first place, had been given to them many hours before the rebellion. And they confessed that Crann never met with anyone besides Marvion and another knight under his command that evening before the rebellion.


    "Yet Crann not only read this letter that had been addressed to me, but he kept the letter for himself, and told no one of the rebellion that could come at any moment.


    "And then that very night, it the rebellion started, seemingly premature in preparation. As if they had realized they were out of time. Immediately, a third of our men were culled, including over half of our most powerful knights and commanders.


    "And Crann then lied to me about this letter, and instead he claimed merit for the vital information that could have ended this rebellion before it began had it not been for his actions.


    "Taking us from a position of overwhelming power to one much weaker than it could have been. I suspect that somehow the misbegotten had known their rebellion had been found out. And we do not yet know how the menials managed to smuggle in weapons and outsiders under our noses. Something that would take traitors among us of at least some rank to execute.


    "Shortly later after the rebellion started, we then sent half of our forces at the time and a larger proportion of our remaining knights on a foolish, unnecessary, and ill-advised-I admit-series of sallies, pressed for by Crann above all others and to the disapproval of most of you who remain. All of which accomplished nothing of strategic import and were complete failures in which all our men, save Sergeant John and one other, died.


    "This mistake placed us in dire straits. And somehow the misbegotten had learned of our plans to sally and perfectly positioned themselves to take advantage of our strategy on that occasion back then the same as they have earlier today.


    "Then most recently we learned through smokesignals that we will be successful in holding out for reinforcements if the misbegotten continued with their new conservative attack wave strategy.


    "Yet just two days later, earlier today, on the very day Crann took control of the defense when we fielded the most irregulars at once yet in the siege, he pulled back on the only thing defending the irregulars from the menial leader, causing their destruction and almost single-handedly reducing our forces by nearly half.


    "And once again earlier today, somehow the misbegotten knew the perfect time and way to strike at an opportunity created by Crann''s decision. They abandoned their more recent strategy and returned to their old strategy.


    "The strategy that gives them their only chance at defeating us in time before our reinforcements from the Ramparts of Regret arrive and snuff this rebellion out. It is almost like they knew what we had just learned from our smokesignals a few days ago about our coming reinforcements that we all were supposed to have kept in total secrecy, "Edgar finished.


    The High Marshal didn''t mention exactly what he was charging Crann to be guilty of, but nobody in the room was in any doubt that it was anything except treason.


    Hearing all this, many of the knights'' expressions grew thunderous, but they didn''t speak out of turn. They all turned to look at Crann as they awaited orders.


    The man hung limply, no longer struggling at all against the two men holding him still. The blood had drained from his face turning it from red to pale, and the faces of his clique of knights, who began stepping away from their leader, did not look much better.


    Crann''s armor began to groan, the men who were holding onto him gripping him harder.


    "Now, men, take that gag out. We should let the man speak for himself."


    One of the two men holding Crann roughly shoved his gauntleted hand into Crann''s mouth to grab the cloth, basically punching him in the face a second time, and pulled it out. With it came another of his remaining teeth and more blood from Crann''s busted lips and bleeding gums.


    As soon as the gag came out Crann groaned in pain for a few seconds, before he took a few breaths, and spit out a mouthful of blood as he recovered and thought about what he was to say.


    As soon as Crann decided what he was gonna say, a spark returned to his eyes, some color to his cheeks, and a bit of confidence to his face as he began to speak.


    "I can not deny many of those accusations, my lord. I did shortsightedly make many of those mistakes. But I swear I am not a traitor. I have never given them any information nor leeway. I have never spoken a word to any of those dregs besides to curse them for their treachery.


    "My family have faithfully served the Golden Lineage and Castle Morne for many generations. I have bested many of their enemies on the field of battle. Let me prove my loyalty. Let me show I am not a traitor. That I am no oathbreaker."


    Edgar''s stony countenance didn''t crack.


    "You swear? That''s not enough. Not nearly enough. You ask me to trust you again? I have already trusted you far too many times. If you are allowed free after this, I am sure you will arrange for our destruction at the hands of the menials to save your rotten hide.


    "Not that I believe they would have given mercy to you for foolishly siding with them in any event. I am sure you would be eaten just like they wish to do to the rest of us. The only thing I cannot fathom is what they must have promised you to do all this. But I will not ask you this as your words cannot be trusted, and I will not let you poison me or my men''s thoughts any more than you already have these past weeks.


    Edgar looked right into Crann''s widening eyes as the man realized Edgar was not going to give him a chance.


    "Crann of the Stormfeathers, as High Marshal and your liege lord, I judge you guilty of high treason against myself and against Lord Godrick of the Golden Lineage as well as the having broken your oaths. I hereby strip you of your rank as Knight Major and the position as a hundrier.


    "In any event, we do not need a fourth hundrier now that we are down to two full-strength and one half-strength hundred."


    Edgar turned away from him to the rest of the men pointing at a few of them, including John, some regular soldiers, and a pair of knights.


    "You men, remove his armor. Then toss him over the ramparts at the Castletown entrance down to where his true loyalty lies."


    The men Edgar had pointed to stepped forward and with the help of the men restraining Crann, they pushed Crann down to the ground, as he began struggling as hard as he could against them and started screaming incomprehensibly against his gag.


    As they began forcefully prying the armor off the traitor, Edgar pointed at Crann''s knights.


    "And you five, Crann''s cabal. You have shown you are not to be trusted either. If you do not wish to be given the same fate as Crann, remove your weapons and armor, and allow yourself to be escorted to the dungeon."


    The men froze for a moment but began to slowly remove their armor piece by piece in fear as they watched Crann and the men struggle on the ground.


    As John and some of the other men finally removed the last of Crann''s armor from his struggling and screaming body, they started dragging him out of the room. Crann tried to grab onto anything within reach as they drug him out but when he grabbed another man''s greaves, the knights smashed his boot into Crann''s hand, audibly breaking Crann''s fingers and leaving his hand a mess of gore as he screeched into his gag some more.


    When they reached the doorway, Crann grabbed hold of the doorframe as they started dragging him out into the hallway.


    As the rest of the men in the room watched, they struggled to pull him off the doorframe, heaving on his body, but he clung on with the desperate strength of a man whose life depended on it despite his destroyed hand.


    As they pulled at him, John saw Edgar and Crann''s eyes.


    "PPHHLLSS SSTTTHHPPP!" Crann screamed through his gag at Edgar at the top of his lungs to be heard through the gag.


    The strength he used in his scream to Edgar weakened his grip and let them finally pry the sentenced man off the doorframe and out into the corridor. The guards stood a distance away watching on but not interfering.


    As they began dragging him down the hall to his fate, John heard Edgar say one thing.


    "Good riddance."


    __________________________________________________

 Chapter 15 - John

    ______________________________________________


    Over the next couple of days John got to see exactly how bad the damage to their defense was. The misbegotten used their greater numbers to force them to not have time to properly rest and recover. They had inflicted immense casualties on the misbegotten during the siege from their use of this strategy, but despite their much diminished, the misbegotten still far outnumbered them.


    Now with all the forward intersections taken by the enemy, the garrison was only defending two chokepoints, but the relentless attack of the enemy meant that their men''s crimson tear saturation, and their fatigue, had begun to build up.


    After a few days, even with rotations and rest shifts, they were drinking crimson tears faster than the magical energy was processed through their bodies. Soon, within the next day or two, they would reach a tipping point where many men''s injuries could not be treated because their bodies will have been completely saturated.


    That would be the death-blow to their defense. The point where no hope of survival would be left. And it was fast approaching.


    Those six twenties of men who had died to the leonine misbegotten''s most recent gambit also had the unfortunate effect of giving the misbegotten a lot more weapons and armor. About 160 sets of them, which went a long way with the misbegotten''s reduced numbers and the equipment they had already accumulated from earlier battles.


    Now almost every misbegotten was armed with a castle steel weapon, superior to their poorly forged cleavers which were made large and unwieldy to be even somewhat effective against the soldiers'' armor because of the crude weapons'' poor metallurgy.


    With over a thousand soldiers dead between the regulars and irregulars, the misbegotten now had enough scavenged armor that every single one of them was armored wherever on their chimeric bodies they could make the pieces fit. For most of them that was the chest, arms, and upper legs. The back if they lacked wings. And few of them still wielded the crude weapons they had begun the rebellion with.


    There were enough of them, that the misbegotten elites had actually had time to lightly train a small amount of their untrained forces.


    These troops still paled in comparison to even an irregular, but compared to the beginning where before a single irregular was worth at least four or five misbegotten, now two misbegotten could beat an irregular if they were to battle each other without any crimson tears or the like.


    The enemies'' armor helped most in blunting the overwhelming advantage that their own fringefolk knights gave them. The storm was far more effective on flesh than armor, and with the constant battle and being down to under ten of them left, the knights couldn''t sustain using their storm arts long-term, and even the limited amount of storm they could use wasn''t quite as effective as before.


    Their storm arts took something from the knights as they fought. It made them more mentally tired as they used it, draining their willpower and ability to properly concentrate.


    This resource their magical arts drained was a type of mental stamina they called focus, and just like how if one pushed their body too hard their movements would become sloppy and they would black out, the same was true of the mind with the using of one''s focus.


    It naturally restored itself with time, and especially with sleep, but this process wasn''t quick. An entire day and night''s sleep may not be enough to completely restore one''s mental tank if they severely drained it, taking a handful of days if one drained themselves to the point of blacking out.


    The knights were quickly approaching those depths of focus depletion. Before the recent disaster caused by Crann, they had already used up the very limited amount of cerulean tears that Morne kept on hand. They kept far fewer cerulean tears than crimson in the castle''s stores, with John having learned upon asking a clerk of the Quartermaster about the subject that most of the blue tears were being shipped to Stormveil for Godrick''s use.


    If things continued like this for the defense, they would be dead within three days, and their smoke-signals told them that that would not be enough time for the reinforcements to arrive.


    That was what occupied John''s mind that day as he fought off and on against the misbegotten with his twenty through the day, as the defense frequently rotated to best use the numbers they did have, with John making his own efforts within his twenty to do the same on the micro scale.


    At this point, even the townsfolk that had not volunteered to join the garrison, which were mostly women and children, had realized that things were dire. Every time John saw one of them they had looks of worry and unease. There was a palpable tension in them, and now even in the mess the soldiers were not as spirited.


    When evening came around, John went to the officer meeting. Entering the room, only half of them were there. The other half currently fighting or acting as on-hand back-up in case of emergency, and they would be briefed in the morning while John''s half relieved them and fought during the morning shift.


    Edgar looked like he had been run over. There were dark circles under his eyes and his body was clearly fatigued. John knew he had barely slept as his work running everything in the defense had doubled as Crann had been helping him manage things.


    The meeting started as usual with any particularly important developments being announced first. Then everyone discussed how they could best make use of the people and supplies they still had to last. But even as they all made efforts to try and find a solution to the jaws slowly closing over their necks, John could see none of them believed that it would be enough, even if they refused to just give up and die without a fight.


    As they went on about the minutiae of the defense for another day in a row without any real or significant changes, as if they had all agreed to pretend that their imminent defeat and deaths were not to be acknowledged, John finally had enough and decided to speak up in one of these meetings without prompting for the first time.


    "Sirs, my lord, this isn''t enough," John announced loudly enough to address them all at once, interrupting all their small discussions between each other.


    The officers all turned toward John to see what he was going to say.


    "All of this"-John gestured between and out towards the rest of the castle-"it isn''t enough. Men, supplies, we just don''t have enough. With what we have been doing, even if we ordered our men perfectly and the misbegotten didn''t change or counter what we are doing, we will still lose. At this point, these orthodox strategies won''t bring us victory. We need to do something different."


    The neutral stoic air they all had maintained for the past few days cracked as John aired the almost forbidden conclusion that they all knew, his words causing a grim air to fill the study. Everyone looked at John blankly for a moment at his bold words that bordered on being a faux pas for breaking their unspoken agreement, before a knight, emboldened by John''s words, grit his teeth and spoke up.


    "I fear Sergeant White is right, despite his inexperience. We all know that what we have been doing is not enough, but it is the best we can do. If you Sirs have something else you believe we can do, please speak of it."


    The air stilled as they all decided whether or not to voice the more outlandish ideas that the pair''s words no doubt provoked now that John and the knight agreeing with him had asked them to break any taboos they might normally have upheld.


    "We could levy the rest of the townsfolk," suggested a knight.


    "They are mostly women and children with a few artisans. Almost all the men are already irregulars," objected another knight to the first''s suggestion. "Even if we did levy them, we cannot train or arm and armor them, we have already used up almost all the supplies arming the irregulars."


    The knights all raised and argued the points of several ideas, but no matter what any of them suggested, another knight would explain how it would not be enough to turn the tide. No idea of what they could do seemed like it would work to let them survive till the reinforcements came.


    John was frustrated that there seemed to be no way they could get out of this. Even if these more unusual ideas panned out, no matter how much better they did, it seemed their efforts wouldn''t be enough.


    And it was that thought that made John have a realization.


    "Sirs," John said loudly, once again gaining the room''s attention, "If no matter what we do, our efforts will not be enough, then instead of us harnessing some hereto unseen genius and performing some brilliant move flawlessly, we need to somehow cause the enemy to make the wrong move.


    "We have to once again make a blunder and expose an opportunity to strike us to the enemy, but this time it will be a trap for them rather than an opening. And we have to do it now, while we still have the strength to punish that mistake.


    "Taking advantage of our mistakes is how the enemy have so far reduced the garrison down to what remains. We need to force them to make the wrong move in attacking us and then make them pay for it. Punish them hard enough to make it so that we can survive till our reinforcements arrive."


    Many of the eyes in the study lit up at this suggested strategy.


    "That... that is a good idea," said a knight thinking aloud, "But what should we do exactly? What tactic do we utilize?"


    John fell into thought as others discussed their own ideas.


    "We could do a series of fake retreats and ambush them from the side using the empty rooms. Maybe cut off large portions of their forces and destroy them."


    "We could retreat to the last staircases and pour boiling water on them."


    ...


    The knights had all sorts of ideas. Dozens of them. Some even seemed like they would be effective, but none were quite good enough to satisfy all them that they would be enough.


    None of them were reliably able to deal with the one obstacle that kept popping up and seemed to loom above all others in their efforts to destroy the enemy. The leonine misbegotten.


    They not only needed to take care of the misbegotten''s great numbers, but also their champion. And they needed to take care of both in one fell swoop as they could no longer afford to pull off multiple risky gambits in succession after their most recent loss of men.


    To force their enemy into making a mistake, they would have to give up ground in some way, losing men or the only chokepoints that were preventing the misbegotten from overrunning them. They already had their backs against the wall.


    If they couldn''t deliver a crushing blow to the enemy, army and champion, that would cripple the enemy when they exposed themselves, then any proposed gambit would instead bring about their own downfall rather than that of the enemy.


    As Edgar and the knights kept proposing, debating, and ultimately rejecting ideas, John thought of some ideas of his own, but none were any better than things the others had already proposed. Any idea that may deal with the enemy''s numbers didn''t deal with the leonine misbegotten, and the vice versa was true as well.


    John started really scratching his head to try to think of something that would really work to see them all through this. He thought over everything they had at their disposal in search of what might be the key, if one did indeed exist at all. Something that would blow wide open the trap that was closing in on them.


    He thought of their numbers, the specific men and women he knew of with their unique skills and qualities. He thought of all the strategies he''d see used in what he knew of real history and in fiction. He thought over their supplies and the castle, and everything else available to them that could possibly be used.


    As he thought of all this, he recalled one tiny particular almost-irrelevant detail he had heard in conversation a scant number of times, and suddenly an idea sparked in his mind.


    And when John opened his mouth and voiced this idea to everyone else, he saw a savage smile come over Edgar''s face.


    _________________________________________


    The preparations that started that night took an entire day and some change to complete. Unfortunate because of how close to the edge they already were, but it was necessary. Another day in which their forces were pushed further towards the brink and more men fell in battle.


    It also took longer because they had to make sure that the misbegotten would not be able to discover their preparations, made much easier by the intense storm that had raged and prevented any of the misbegotten flyers from scouting anything they were doing.


    If John believed in such things he would have thought it divine providence. Many of the fringefolk officers certainly thought it was the blessing of Placidusax if what they had said while helping with the preparations was any indication.


    And now as dawn rose above them the day after and the storm petered out into the usual light drizzle that was so common to the Weeping Peninsula, John was standing on the battlements surrounding the castle''s courtyard with his twenty, which was more like a sixteen at that point, by his side. He was looking out over all the people that they were able to muster for the coming battle.


    Standing next to them was Edgar, along with another knight and his twenty who were the lord''s escort.


    The entire garrison of men, besides the two twenties on the battlements by John and Edgar and those that were fighting in the corridors right at that very moment, were gathered into a battleline in the courtyard. When those in the corridors fell back and Edgar went back down with the other knight''s twenty, it would bring the total men they were fielding in the courtyard up above two hundred.


    Above the men in the courtyard filling up the battlements were all the five hundred-odd townsfolk who had not volunteered to become irregulars at the beginning of the siege. Those non-volunteers were almost entirely women along with a few artisans with valuable skills like blacksmithing and the odd man completely unwilling to fight like Kal¨¦.


    They had been levied the previous evening and had been given whatever supplies the garrison had left. Damaged and tattered pieces of armor and damaged weapons, along with all the crossbows and bolts that they hadn''t had a chance to use yet in the siege and which would be their primary weapons.


    Most of the war supplies had been consumed already in fueling the constant battles of the garrison besides those crossbows.


    There had also been a number of children in the non-volunteers, and they had hidden them away in a safe area. Edgar''s blind daughter Irina being left to-Ha!-watch over the kids. That left them with over four hundred and fifty fresh levies manning the battlements.


    John didn''t know where Kal¨¦ was stationed, and his friend''s distinctive red clothing would be covered by the tattered armors they had on the levies. Even if he did, there was not anything John could do to help his friend in the fight to come. Kal¨¦ ''s life was in his own hands. John just had to hope his friend would make it through.


    Altogether, the entirety of every person they could call on to battle here in the courtyard and the battlements amounted to a total force of nearly seven hundred people. Many were covered in dried mud, dirt, and grime or were still fatigued from intense battling these past days.


    A motley remnant of what had once been the Morne garrison of a little over a thousand men before the rebels'' initial strike and before any levies or irregulars would have been taken into account.


    From what their lookouts had counted, the misbegotten had suffered nearly as direly as they had. They had known that Morne had roughly somewhere around three thousand misbegotten before any of this had started, with some wriggle room having not kept an exact count on their slave numbers, but now their lookouts estimated the misbegotten''s numbers had dropped below a thousand.


    With the levies they had raised, that brought their own numbers to the closest thing to parity it had been to the enemy so far.


    That should have been good news and showed they would win the coming battle as they had outperformed the misbegotten more than two-to-one the entire conflict so far, but circumstances were severely different now in a number of ways.


    The original force of men that had done so well against the misbegotten after they began defending against the misbegotten were about a third of their original numbers now, worn away by attrition and treachery. Those men were tired, many were lightly injured, and most had limited amounts of crimson tears left as their limited supply of the substance was now being strictly controlled to only be used on severe injuries.


    That meant the numeric bulk of their force were the levies who were mostly women, who were far physically weaker than men, even misbegotten, sans magic bullshit being involved. And those levies had less training than the misbegotten had at this point.


    The gravity of this was hard to convey to a layman.


    Training wasn''t just how good you could swing a sword. It was also eliminating weaknesses and mistakes, learning how to move in a fight, what to do and not to do in battle, the conditioning of one''s physique, and also mental discipline about how not to break nerve in the heat of battle.


    While their regular and irregulars still had good equipment, the levies had patchy equipment as they didn''t have enough fresh or repaired equipment for everyone. Most of the equipment on hand was damaged and in need of repair at this point. Despite being triple their numbers, the levies would be far less effective in this battle than the regulars and irregulars, but they were still far better than nothing.


    On the other hand, now the misbegotten had been given some light training over the weeks of siege. They had scavenged enough equipment from the dead that they had better equipment on average than Edgar''s levies had. They had more elites, as the misbegotten had prevented most of their large members from dying while Edgar''s forces were down to under ten knights due to all their mistakes and misfortunes.


    So things still looked quite dire for the defenders despite now being closer than ever to finally reaching parity in pure numbers with the misbegotten forces.


    And this battle where they were weaker than ever before in this siege was going to be it for them. They were betting it all and throwing everything they had left at this gambit. This battle would pen their victory or their defeat.


    And all those calculations so far that had been swirling in John''s head as he looked out into their forces weren''t including what John thought was the biggest threat to them: the leonine misbegotten.


    Frankly, they didn''t have anyone who could match her when she wasn''t restricted to a confined corridor. Their most powerful knight, Crann, the only one who might have proved a match to her prowess, had been defenestrated.


    So they were almost defenseless against her here in the courtyard in this more open environment. They knew that, and they knew she knew that. Which is exactly what they were counting on.


    You needed bait to lure prey to a trap after all.


    Right now John''s twenty were set up in the battlements off to the side of the courtyard entrance that the misbegotten would be forced to come through. This side of the battlements he and his men were on also happened to be the walls next to the cliff that faced the burnt ruins of Castletown which the misbegotten had made into one of their two major bases, the other being the bottom of Clifftown.


    John''s twenty was here to protect and operate the only scorpio they had.


    In the initial attack of the rebellion, while many misbegotten''s first strikes had been against soldiers and knights, the misbegotten in the castle had sabotaged the castle''s defensive artillery beyond repair.


    This older scorpio was one the townsfolk had found abandoned and forgotten in a storage room when they had been evacuating all the supplies from the bowels of the castle.


    Now they had it set up here. But there is a reason this scorpio had been buried and forgotten down there.


    It was very old and was of an outdated design. It only shot one bolt instead of the three that the other newer scorpios were able to. But this weapon was far better than nothing.


    Newer Scorpio</a>


    The levies stationed up on the battlements above where the misbegotten would be funneled into the courtyard also had many rocks, pieces of broken furniture, and other heavy objects stockpiled near them. They would be raining those down onto to misbegotten below as they tried to charge into the courtyard.


    Finally, there was also a large, tall wooden box big enough to hide a big statue that they had constructed last night beside this stockpile. It was a shoddy construction with clay filling up many gaps and seams in the box''s wood, which accounted for much of the dirt and mud covering many of the soldiers and levies.


    That particular section of the battlements that surrounded the courtyard required someone to pass by where John''s twenty were positioned to reach it. And the stairs to John''s section of the battlements were behind their main battlelines, so before the enemy could take the stairs to reach John''s half of the battlements, the defenders would have almost assuredly already lost the battle.


    The other half of the battlements could not be reached without going even further into the castle, so the storming of the battlements from that side was of no concern to them either as that also would mean they had lost the battle already if the enemy was able to reach that area in the first place.


    A short distance away from John and his twenty, looking out over the remains of burnt Castletown, was Edgar. Nearby but at a polite distance from him was a knight with his twenty who were awaiting further orders from Edgar.


    "Sergeant White, come here," John heard Edgar call, "I wish to speak to you."


    John took one last look at everything they had amassed to throw at the misbegotten and made his way over to Edgar, joining him in looking down at the few dozen misbegotten wandering around the burnt ruins.


    "I never would have guessed my last battle would be one so small," Edgar admitted to John. His tone was tender, almost fragile.


    "After I became High Marshal I always imagined that I would die in a grand battle against one of the demigods like many of my predecessors. Or maybe the forces of the academy. Something like the battle between Melania and General Radahn or the Defenses of Leyndell.


    "I never imagined my long time serving under Lord Godrick would come to an end here, in a battle as... humble as this. High Marshal of over seven thousand troops-half of Lord Godrick''s forces-and I fall to a minor rebellion of the menials because of a traitor''s sabotage.


    "Thoughts of what is to come has left me feeling reflective these past few days. Especially of the mistakes that led me here."


    Edgar shook his head and sighed. He turned to John, and his stormy grey eyes met John''s brown. He tilted his head as if remembering that John was a foreigner.


    "Caelid has not always a red blight upon the Lands Between. I remember when Caelid was green, you know? Over a millennia ago. The beastmen were almost entirely wiped out by the rot.


    "The region was their homeland, and their people had been nearly completely driven out of other regions and become reclusive. This all had happened far before I had been born, before the Shattering, as the attitudes of the Golden Order changed eons ago and they began looking down upon the past rather than revering it.


    "But Caelid was indeed once green. Some of the most beautiful land in the lands between. Before Melania arrived to do battle with Radahn.


    "My uncle had just died in his own duty as a High Marshal when Lord Godrick had ordered him to assault the demigoddess''s forces as they were making their way through Liurnia to prevent them from reaching Stormveil.


    "This was before Lord Godrick bowed before her and begged for mercy. Before he agreed to let her pass unmolested.


    "My uncle was slain by one of her Cleanrot knights. His head sent back to our forces. I remember opening the box, and how the blood drained from my lord''s face as he realized that his forces were outmatched. That he could not rely on his forces'' greater numbers to bring down a champion like Melania when our more mundane forces had met their match. He was more affected by that head than I was!


    "I think that day was when the first seeds of what would eventually blossom into his obsession with grafting were planted and his later groveling only watered them. We would only learn later the true depths of our lord''s cowardice.


    "He would spend the following decades neglecting his court and instead studied scrolls, tablets, and tomes in the privacy of his room. He would not speak of what they contained when asked, and we all assumed he was attempting to learn sorcery.


    "In the coming centuries we would learn of how wrong we were as he began experimenting on his distant relatives with that horrible forbidden craft to learn how to perform it. The coward wouldn''t even dare risk himself!


    "When his distant relatives died to the last, he moved onto closer and closer kin, until he arrived at his sons and daughters. And when they died, he practiced on his grandchildren.


    "Thankfully, by then it had been centuries and he had somewhat mastered the craft. His grandchildren were made into abominations, but they lived. I haven''t been to Lord Godrick''s court since he began touching his progeny. How could a man stomach doing such things to his children and grandchildren..."


    Edgar stopped there and looked up into the rainy sky.


    John wasn''t sure what was going through Edgar''s head. If he didn''t know better he would have thought Edgar was going to leap off the battlements to his death. He went to speak up, but Edgar lowered his head and continued speaking.


    "I have heard through missives that in the past few years he has finally started to graft parts onto himself. The image of him being one of those abominable spiders he is so fond of crafting is disturbingly fitting."The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "But it seems I have lost track of the original point of my story. This was supposed to be about my own mistakes, not my lord''s.


    "After my uncle''s demise, Lord Godrick then made me the next High Marshal in command of all of his men from the Weeping Peninsula. My previous rank as a Knight Commander was lowly in comparison. Within that year as I was still learning my duties and fearful of taking any risks, Melania and Radahn had their battle and the scarlet rot, the disease that Melania had so long kept at bay by herself for so long with her stoic endurance, was unleashed onto the world.


    "Not much was known then about the scarlet rot. All we could see was people dying, and the forests and the landscape warping. Even the mightiest dragon outside Farum Azula, Greyoll, was felled.


    "The long reclusive beastmen tried to escape it. They begged in court for sanctuary from the disease. My lord refused to let them into Limgrave, but he did not care if I risked everything and allowed them into the Peninsula.


    "But to my shame I did not. And I did not know that by doing so I was condemning their people. Our brothers in covenant thought not blood.


    "I did not realize how devastating and widespread the scarlet rot would turn out to be, nor did anyone yet know that the beastmen were particularly susceptible to the blight. But that is no excuse. Even if I had, the man I was at the time would not have risked it.


    "Their people have never recovered since. I rarely see them anymore."


    Edgar paused there, which was good because John was absolutely stunned at that revelation. John had no idea that Caelid was the homeland of beastmen, though the Bestial Sanctum being where it was made more sense now, and he did not know that the scarlet rot had been what wiped them out.


    It all made sense. Caelid was the dragon region and the beastmen worshiped dragons. Of course Caelid was their homeland.


    As John processed that, Edgar continued.


    "We Mornes have served the Golden Lineage since Lord Godfrey offered us clemency in return for service, and we have been the wardens of the Revenger''s lands for Golden Lineage from the beginning of their dominion over this region.


    "I am not nearly old enough to remember those days, but I have served Lord Godrick for a very long time, like the rest of my bloodline has.


    "I am confident that no group of men has been more loyal to a patron than us to the Golden Lineage, with the exception of the Oathseekers, though they have faded just as my bloodline has.


    "I wasn''t always the Lord of Morne. I have watched as my bloodline has slowly been whittled away, until one day I was lord of this castle and these lands and a High Marshal under Lord Godrick, among his closest generals.


    "And from high above I watched as no matter what I did, my family gave themselves in pursuit of our duties, until it was just me and my daughter left."


    Seeing where this seemed to be going, and noting the tone Edgar''d had for his entire monologue, John spoke up.


    "Lord Edgar, quit speaking as if we are certain to die in the coming battle. I think we have a chance of living through this day."


    Edgar shook his head.


    "You misunderstand me, Sergeant. No matter if I live or die, this will be my final battle, and the end of the Mornes.


    "We fringefolk might serve the Golden Lineage faithfully due to our blood oaths, but we know that those of the Golden Order view us as little better than savages.


    "Due to their reverence of their forefathers Lord Godfrey and Lord Godwyn, the Golden Lineage does not share an aversion to all things that are outside the Erdtree. They make exceptions for things like the Crucible and our reverence of dragons, embracing their origins instead.


    "The blood of the Golden Lineage do not hate the fringefolk on base principle like the rest of the Golden Order. But I am under no illusions that Lord Godrick is a kindhearted and merciful lord.


    "After this colossal failure, he will surely condemn me. Strip me of my position, my honors, and imprison me. But I do not believe he will stop at that.


    "Lord Godrick is not a man known for his restraint; he will want blood for a failure of this magnitude. Despite my long time serving him, I am but of middling ability in command and in direct battle. I am not irreplaceable. I am certain I will be executed."


    John was surprised again. He''d heard Edgar speak obliquely of getting punished before, but John had assumed he meant he would lose his military rank and be demoted and banished or something. Not be killed!


    Still, hearing this made his respect for Edgar rise somewhat. The man took duty and loyalty seriously. Something that John wasn''t used to at all in his old life where those things were in short supply, replaced in favor of other things. He could scarcely imagine many people choosing to remain loyal and dutiful even when they know it will not be returned.


    Even if John disagreed with giving loyalty to the disloyal, pearls before swine, he could still respect Edgar for having the strength of character to do so.


    When Edgar kept speaking John could hear the slight smile on his lips.


    "I am glad you proved to be the most able among my men in operating the scorpio. If another man had been up here with me, I would not have felt free to drop decorum enough to speak of these matters."


    Damn. This guy must have been lonely as if he thought that way about John who he had known for nearly a month more than any of the men he had known for years.


    "But enough of my ramblings. We have a battle to begin," Edgar turned from John to the knight standing a short distance away.


    "Send the word to the men in the corridors. Begin the retreat to the courtyard, and execute the preparations for our last stand here."


    The knight saluted and left with his twenty to follow Edgar''s orders.


    Edgar leaned out of the crenellation towards the ruins of Castletown and held a large ivory horn to his mouth. Its shape was vaguely similar to a megaphone.


    "MISBEGOTTEN OF MORNE!" Edgar''s amplified voice came from the horn and echoed down the cliffside towards the burnt city, "YOU WISH TO KILL ALL OF US WHO TAKE SHELTER IN CASTLE MORNE? YOU WILL SOON HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY! LIKE THE REVENGER BEFORE US, WE WILL BE MAKING A STAND TO THE LAST! GOING OUT IN A GRAND BATTLE RATHER THAN HUNTED DOWN AND CORNERED LIKE RATS!


    "WE INVITE YOU ALL TO JOIN US IN THE COURTYARD! YOUR COWARDLY LEADER IS WELCOME AS WELL, IF HE IS DONE HIDING BEHIND YOUR BODIES THAT IS!"


    Nothing happened at first, but after nearly a minute of waiting, they saw changes in movement in the ruins below.


    Edgar stepped back and dropped the horn onto the ground, its immediate usefulness exhausted. He picked up his halberd laying beside him with its orange-tinted metal.


    "All that is left is to wait," Edgar said before he began walking down to join the main body of soldiers as planned, leaving John and his twenty.


    John nodded and made his way back to his scorpio. Everything that could be done, had been done. All they had left to do for now was wait. This plan, that John had given the seed of, and that all the rest had improved in every way they could think of, was as prepared as they were able to make it.


    All that was left was to see if it would be enough.


    Everything settled into quiet as it continued to lightly rain, the clouds casting everything grey.


    A few minutes later, John heard the sounds of explosions begin to go off in the castle, and select sections of the castle collapsed. Small sections of empty battlements falling inwards spread out all around the castle. As these sections collapsed, sometimes small chain reactions of other walls and rooms fell as well.


    When the explosions were over, and the dust settled, about a fifth of the castle had been collapsed.


    So it began.


    All the paths from below that led up into the castle were now cut off. All except a single path that now led only to the courtyard.


    Now came the most precarious part of their gambit. They had to see if the misbegotten, and the leonine misbegotten, would take the bait.


    The men who had collapsed the areas of the castle poured back into the courtyard and joined the defensive line in the field below.


    Then John could hear it. The sound of many feet and boots slamming down into stone getting closer.


    The forty men who had been holding the misbegotten in the corridors below while the others had been executing the beginnings of the plan began streaming out of the corridor.


    And hot on their tails was the horde of misbegotten. Their screams and warcries echoing out of the courtyard entrance to them all.


    At once John saw the men in the courtyard raise and brace their arms, immediately becoming totally alert. The levies on the battlements raised their crossbows to their shoulders and hefted their improvised projectiles.


    And then John saw the men from the corridors below running out of the entrance threshold and making their way to the main battleline that stretched across the entire courtyard.


    After the last of the men crossed, they didn''t have to wait but a few seconds before the first of the misbegotten entered the courtyard right behind the retreating men and right behind was the swell of the horde pouring out into the small grass field.


    The levies opened fire with their crossbows, and the first hail of bolts joined the water raining down on the misbegotten.


    Many misbegotten took a bolt or two, their charge barely disturbed, but a dozen misbegotten fell immediately, their backs and sides pincushioned with bolts. This did nothing to dissuade their brethren as their fallen bodies were immediately swallowed and trampled by the stream of misbegotten pouring out of the entrance behind them.


    The first of the retreating men reached their prepared battle line stretching across the courtyard.


    The exhausted men were let into the ranks, but as soon as the last of their men made it past, the gaps in their wall of shields closed just in time to meet the charging misbegotten who slammed into them!


    As the men in the courtyard below began fighting the final battle for the defenders'' ultimate fates, John turned towards the men of his twenty.


    "Now''s the time! The scorpio, as we practiced! Butcher, Baker! You two will wind it and replace the bolts! The rest, square formation around the scorpio! Defend us against any threats. And if any of you see something I should know about, tell me!"


    John took up position behind the scorpio and began aiming.


    The misbegotten were already filling up ''their'' half of the courtyard, so John had plenty of targets to choose from, and enough bolts to last more than a dozen scorpios in a siege.


    John spotted one of their elites, the large misbegotten standing above the rest of the misbegotten. The misbegotten elites pouring through the entrance already outnumbered their own elites, the knights, two-to-one, and more were still coming.


    With a crash of wood-into-wood, John fired the scorpio. The bolt flew through the air and slammed right into his target''s head. The misbegotten''s skull was so tough that the bolt got stuck halfway through, leaving the bolt impaled through his head with both ends of the bolt visible on either side as his large body was taken off his feet and tossed onto the ground with a spin.


    The misbegotten around him turned and looked at where John stood with the scorpio as Butcher and Baker started operating the winch to pull the bow-arms back.


    After a few moments of glaring up at them impotently, the enemy howled about how their savior would ensure their victory and turned back to making their way to join the front lines and do battle.


    And it was a chaotic battle. The men roared as they struck down at the fully armored and well-armed misbegotten, and the misbegotten screamed for their deaths for their savior and used their awkward but strong bodies to fight back just as hard.


    The fringefolk knights, few though they were, had their swords and halberds coated with storm. Every strike shooting shearing explosions of wind that wounded and tossed all misbegotten near where the storm blades landed.


    Meanwhile, the more numerous large misbegotten elites would use their incredibly strong bodies to smash at the shields and armor of the defending soldiers, who did all they could to defend to hang onto their lives in the face of such physically powerful foes.


    Every twenty to thirty seconds John''s twenty would have the scorpio ready to fire again, and John would unleash another bolt that struck down another large misbegotten elite.


    John''s accuracy was unerring in this, his hallowing now finally showing its true power to him. More powerful than the small increase in strength and speed, and even more useful than enduring a bit longer, was the improvements to John''s perception and mind.


    It did not just give him slightly better eyesight that could see more detail a little farther away, but also improved how precisely he could grasp distances. It didn''t just improve his sense of sight; it improved his spacial sense. His sense of distance.


    Because of this, the rain didn''t affect him nearly as bad as it did others, John noted as he loosed another bolt that struck down another misbegotten elite for good.


    Here, his hallowing showed to John that its true power was not in the base and straightforward improvements it provided to his body, but the other less obvious, more esoteric improvements.


    A demigod could train their body to be stronger than John could ever make himself. But not even General Radahn could improve his eyesight or his ability to see the magical Grace of Gold directly.


    Already his hallowing had revealed to him the hidden wisps of grace that made sites of grace that only some Tarnished were granted sight of. What other veils that he did not even know of would his improved perception allow him to pierce?


    The strength of one''s arm was power, but knowledge was power as well.


    John wasn''t born with the body of a demigod. Not even close. He could see now that trying to overcome such a disadvantage in a direct manner would be foolish. He would never be able to overcome any demigod in a contest of direct strength of arm. It would be like a woman trying to overcome a bodybuilding man in raw strength by becoming a bodybuilder herself. Doomed to failure.


    Instead, if John wished to help the Chosen Tarnished against such foes he would have to contest them where they were weak or had little advantage. There his hallowing would allow him to dominate.


    John now knew where his path to power was if he was going to walk it.


    John smiled as he struck another misbegotten elite down with scorpio and felt the runes flow into him.


    As a result, after his practice yesterday, John had a perfect understanding of where and how the bolt would fly. He would not be missing a single one of his bolts!


    Another bolt flew through the air and pierced the helmet and skull of yet another misbegotten, the runes for the kill flowing into him, joining the swirling mass in his gut that had built from the battles he had undergone for the past weeks.


    But even with the revelations John had and the elites he struck down, he was ultimately just one piece of the battle raged in the courtyard. He alone with this single scorpio would not be able to turn the tide by himself, even if his headhunting was a huge help to prevent the front line from collapsing.


    The misbegotten below threw themselves at the men, but the men threw them back just as hard, like the waves crashing against the cliffs of Morne and being rebuffed only to do so again and again. Every time the waves would crash against the cliff, they would erode them just the smallest bit. And no one knew for sure when, but one day the day would come that the cliff gave in and collapsed.


    Only a few minutes into the battle, the grassy courtyard was transformed into a mess of mud as the rain fell and boots, greaves, and chimeric feet churned the field into mud.


    As wounds built up, men would fall back and heal, and now some of the misbegotten would do the same with their scavenged flasks. Though there were few with crimson tears.


    But despite their valiant efforts, the men were simply far fewer and already beaten and bruised from the unrelenting assault of the previous days. The misbegotten with their greater numbers would have clearly crushed them in due time from attrition, if it wasn''t for the levies.


    The women on the walls, and a small number of men, nearly two hundred of them raised crossbows and fired bolts into the backs and sides of the misbegotten.


    Most bolts bounced off the armor, but some struck unarmored limbs or punched through the armor to leave grisly, impeding wounds, taking a limb out of the fight, or deflecting off their thick skulls, leaving bleeding rivulets of blood impairing the misbegotten''s vision. Rarely, rather than glancing off their skulls, a crossbow bolt would strike true and the misbegotten would drop instantly.


    The misbegotten quickly learned that leaving the bolts in their flesh was better than ripping them out, as some unwise misbegotten quickly bleed out after doing so with bolts that struck arteries.


    The rest of the levies picked up the pieces of heavy debris they had available and launched them down at the heads of the misbegotten. These were less effective than the crossbows, but a rock to the head or limbs wasn''t conducive to keeping their bones and blood where they should be.


    So as John and the fringefolk knights focused on taking out the elites, and the soldiers and levies piled injuries on the smaller misbegotten, the battle was swinging in their favor.


    Then the leonine misbegotten showed herself. Far earlier than they had predicted, having expected their champion to wait until their losses had built up before entering the battlefield.


    She emerged from the corridor into the courtyard in all her grotesque, naked glory; yet her body still somehow possessed a fierce beauty. The beauty of a lion rather than a woman.


    Her height was slightly greater than that of the fringefolk knights despite being hunched, and her bulky yet sleek body belied the sheer mass of her. In her hands, looking like a bastard sword rather than the colossal sword that it was, was the Grafted Blade Greatsword.


    As she stepped into the muddy courtyard, a presence radiated from her very form even through the rain, washing over all on the battlefield like a wave. It was a feeling in your gut, pressing into you to tell you that something primal, savage, and powerful was in front of you. The feeling a man gets when he finds himself in front of an apex predator alone and with no tools.


    The men and misbegotten did not stop fighting, the levies did not stop shooting, but none on the battlefield missed her stepping onto the field.


    It was like a mythical monster stepped onto the battlefield such was her influence by just appearing.


    And this was just what John had been waiting for since the start of the battle. Before she had taken more than a handful of steps into the courtyard a scorpio bolt was ready, and he fired.


    Instantly, her eyes shot to John and she channeled the power of the Grafted Blade Sword.


    It seemed like the air, no, the very fabric of the world, rushed into her for just a fraction of a moment imbuing her flesh with a mysterious almost-transparent power, leaving an intense milky-white aura over her body.


    The bolt struck her head and shattered into splinters that deflected off her body, leaving little more than a small bloody prick that oozed a couple of drops of blood.


    John''s men immediately began reloading the scorpio again.


    Not even a second later, the glow''s intensity halved revealing the leonine misbegotten furiously glaring at John and roared!


    The force of the sound made the ground quake, and the sound that immense sound that was something sounded between a lion''s and a man''s roar, and a lizard''s screech, echoed across the battlefield, so loud that for a moment it drowned out the clashing of steel and warcries.


    "Shit!" John cursed.


    As the leonine misbegotten turned to face him, a blade of storm shot right towards her. With unnatural speed, she turned and deflected the storm blade, most of the shearing blast being bounced away from the sword and her and annihilated a misbegotten charging past her.


    "Your fight is with me, beast!" shouted Edgar across the battlefield from her over the heads of the misbegotten. "You call yourself their savior!? Your efforts were doomed from the start. Even if you had taken Morne on that first night, Lord Godrick and his forces would have exterminated you to the last!"


    Edgar stepped forward performing a spinning slash, his orange-tinted halberd parting the armor of the misbegotten in front of him as if it was leather rather than steel, and came to a stop, his storm-cloaked weapon pointed at her.


    "Now that you are done hiding in the shadows and ambushing, let us see if you have what it takes to stand up to me in a fight."


    "Hahaha!" responded the leonine misbegotten, her inhuman, garbled alligator voice echoed over the battlefield, "You fools truly know nothing. The truth of this world is deeper and darker than your small minds could imagine.


    "This was all only the first step. That coward Godrick has already been accounted for! All we need to do is kill the last of you, and the ultimate liberation of my kind will begin."


    Done with the grandstanding, she charged over to Edgar at the front line, stepping between the fighting misbegotten like a cat stepping through a floor covered in debris.


    As she moved across the battlefield, the milky glow covering her slowly faded in intensity much less quickly than the initial intense glow.


    It took but a few seconds before she reached Edgar and swung her legendary blade down at Edgar.


    "ARGGH!" Edgar grunted out as he swung his halberd empowered by storm up to meet her strike.


    The weapons clashed, and unlike before where John saw the grafted blade sword slash through steel like it was aluminum foil, Edgar''s weapon screeched and chipped but held.


    Edgar himself wasn''t so lucky. Her immense strength drove him to his knees. If it wasn''t for the power of the storm offsetting much of her strike''s power, he could have defeated then and there as the leonine misbegotten slashed down at him again as he was recovering.


    The scorpio was reloaded at just that moment, and John, already prepared, shot it instantly. The bolt flew through the air, but the moment the noise of the scorpio sounded out across the battlefield, the leonine misbegotten reacted.


    With almost impossible speed and a bestial grunt, once more the world was pulled into her for a brief moment, her skin infused with full glow of that translucent power.


    The bolt struck her arm and shattered again, leaving little more than a scuff and some small splinters. This time she didn''t even deign to look at John this time.


    It was good she didn''t as the storm surrounded Edgar and he moved with preternatural speed and struck back up at her!


    She moved almost as quickly to block the strike.


    Despite seeing his bolts doing nothing to her, John smiled.


    The cat has taken the bait. Now they just had to wait for the right time to spring the trap!


    The duel between Edgar and the leonine misbegotten continued on for a handful of seconds. The translucent power quickly halved in intensity. As it did, it allowed the storm wind from Edgar''s strikes to leave scratches across her body once again, though her preternatural speed and strength stayed as the less intense glow faded much more slowly.


    If she timed the intense glow correctly, she could ignore his hits with impunity and strike Edgar down in a single maneuver.


    After a few more seconds of dueling with the misbegotten in a flurry of storm and sparks, nearby being crushed and killed with every strike, it appeared Edgar had the same thought as John.


    "OPEN THE BOX!" Edgar bellowed as he continued battling with the leonine misbegotten!


    Up on the battlements above the courtyard entrance, next to the large shoddily constructed wooden box construction, some of the levies stopped attacking and dropped their weapons.


    They turned and began heaving on one of the boards that were barring one of the box''s walls like a castle door, preventing it from falling away from the rest of the box. The wooden wall facing the courtyard.


    After a few seconds of struggle, they pulled the board away, and immediately ran to get away from the box.


    The wall fell forward; it hit the edge of the battlements, flipped, and came crashing down into the crowd of misbegotten below.


    "RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" an inhuman roar every bit as powerful as the leonine misbegotten''s had been, drowned out the battlefield and shook the earth!


    The front half of the box was shattered into splinters as a huge body smashed right through it, shattered edges of crenellations as it jumped through them, and came crashing down in the middle of the misbegotten horde covering the battlefield.


    For just a moment, the battle stopped.


    Standing, the behemoth revealed himself as he stood up from his crouched landing.


    His feet standing in the crushed paste that had once been a pair of misbegotten, there stood an absolutely massive man wearing only a loincloth with a metal pumpkin encasing his head.


    Pumpkin Head</a>


    He stood as tall as two men on each other''s shoulders, but the sheer monstrous amount of muscle on him made him look stocky.


    As the fringefolk knights were to regular soldiers in terms of size, and as the leonine misbegotten was to the fringefolk knights, the pumpkin head was to the leonine misbegotten herself.


    Looking at the hulking mass breathing heavily next to them, the misbegotten beside him froze and cowered, hoping not to attract his attention.


    Seeing this on the battlefield below, John smiled viciously.


    "Summon bigger fish."


    And just like that, the lull ended and the crash of steel on steel and warcries rang out as the battle continued.


    Instantly the pumpkin head was agitated by the noise, and started smashing and crushing who or whatever was around him wildly without regard to anything happening around him. Thankfully he was behind the misbegotten''s lines as planned, as he immediately started a massacre of the enemy troops rushing into the courtyard.


    He picked up a greatsword from a misbegotten whose head he crushed between his hands like a grape and started swinging it around like it was a shortsword, the force of his swings crushed the steel armor of the misbegotten as his weapon tore through their bodies.


    After just a few swings the greatsword was a twisted wreck that snapped in half, but in those few seconds he had been on the battlefield seven misbegotten lay still, cut, smashed, and crushed.


    The mad pumpkin immediately discarded his destroyed weapon, picked up another one, and kept swinging.


    Very quickly the misbegotten refused to get anywhere close, already the constant stream of misbegotten into the courtyard started to stall as the pumpkin was right in front of the entrance, but their hesitation did little as the frenzied behemoth just came to them to continue wreaking havoc.


    The leonine misbegotten was forced to react to this as the numbers around he began thinning quickly. She disengaged from Edgar and turned and started making her way to the mad pumpkin behind her front line.


    Halfway on her way to the pumpkin head, the scorpio was ready, and John fired another bolt of her. This time it shattered off her sword that she lifted to intercept it, rather than use that aura to enhance her flesh to be able to endure it.


    She didn''t stop making her way to the pumpkin, but she still angrily snorted and looked at John to growl at him for his efforts.


    It didn''t take her long to reach her target, who had picked up yet another weapon, but was not paying much attention in his frenzied madness.


    As he used his warpick to smash down at another misbegotten, she arrived and swung her weapon at his, shearing the warpick in half, and causing him to miss the smaller misbegotten who scrambled to get away from the two titans near him.


    Her sword didn''t just stop when she destroyed his weapon. It crashed into the pumpkin head''s side leaving a deep, messy, bloody gash and showering the scrambling, retreating misbegotten with blood.


    But the pumpkin didn''t seem to feel any pain as he grabbed the leonine misbegotten''s arm, stopping the blade before it could bisect him.


    The pumpkin head used his other fist to smash into the leonine misbegotten. With every strike, the thumping sound of a fist striking flesh and of bone crunching reverberated across the battlefield, loud enough to be made out over all thge other noise.


    The leonine misbegotten tried to pull her arm away, but even with the aura enhancing her the pumpkin head proved physically stronger than her, holding firm to her arm and delivering more strikes onto her, breaking more bones.


    Instead of continuing to try and pry her arm away, the leonine hopped her legs up, and like a big cat, dug her claws into his gut, disemboweling him.


    The pumpkin head let go of her and, screaming in pain, held his arms to his gaping stomach as his guts sloshed out of his body. It seemed the pumpkin head felt pain after all.


    Free again, the battered and bloodied leonine misbegotten lifted her sword to finish him, but before she could, a storm blade crashed into her side ripping heavy tears across the side of her torso.


    She whipped her head around to see Edgar prepping another storm blade, and then looked back at the pumpkin head whose sudden scream faded into a blubbering whimper.


    It had only been a few short moments, but the pumpkin head was already recovering from his pain and had started charging at her.


    She dodged out of the way and took another swipe at the pumpkin as Edgar launched yet another blade.


    Then the scorpio was once again loaded. Seeing that they had not been effective so far and that Edgar and the pumpkin had the leonine at bay, John decided to pick one of the misbegotten elites and moments later planted a bolt through their head.


    As he waited for another bolt to be loaded, John watched as the leonine misbegotten danced around, trying to stay away from the pumpkin head and take swipes at him. Unfortunately for her, she couldn''t deliver any more truly severe blows that matched her first two because Edgar would launch storm blades at her when she tried to do so.


    The pumpkin was no pushover either. He was much bigger than the leonine and even unarmed could almost match her reach. Seeing her try to avoid him and take potshots, it was like watching a matador evade a charging bull that would crush their bones to dust if they misstepped.


    Any time she failed to dodge far enough away or was dodged through his arms, he would land a bone-pulverizing strike that resounded over the battlefield.


    With every move, every charge and swing, they decimated any misbegotten foolish or unlucky enough to be nearby, turning the middle of the battlefield into a mulch of twisted and sheared steel and pulverized chimeric flesh.


    Before John could fire the next bolt, something took his attention away from the battle in the courtyard.


    "Sergeant! They are flying over the ramparts!"


    John spun around and saw that dozens of winged misbegotten, lightly armored and carrying weapons, were flying over the ramparts. Some had already dived into the levies on the wall!


    The levies were almost all armed with only ranged weapons, and the misbegotten began slashing through them with their weapons despite the levies'' far greater numbers!


    They were flying up the cliffs! The leonine misbegotten''s howl must have been a signal!


    Damn it all! This wasn''t part of the plan!


    "Levies, behind you! Target the flying misbegotten!" John cupped his hands and shouted over the din of battle, hoping as many of them would hear as listen as possible.


    Many of the levies who hadn''t yet been attacked or noticed the commotion, turned around and began firing on the other side at the misbegotten who were flying up to attack them. However some remained ignorant of what was happening and kept firing down into the misbegotten below.


    The levies who had misbegotten fly into their ranks devolved into chaos as their discipline broke. Some dropped their crossbow and ran, creating chaos and confusion, while others in a panic shot their crossbow at the misbegotten attacking them and missed, hitting other levies behind the misbegotten.


    While this was happening the winged misbegotten found the levies much easier pickings than any of the men of the garrison as they began pouncing on the panicking levies around them.


    It was a slaughter, and John wanted to help, but there wasn''t anything else he could do. He''d already shouted and got as many to notice as he could


    John''s own men began engaging winged misbegotten who saw him standing by the scorpio and came to take out their only artillery.


    John trusted them to handle it, and turned back to the scorpio which Baker and Butcher just finished reloading. John took aim and killed yet another elite misbegotten.


    He turned his attention back to the wider situation in the courtyard.


    The soldiers were already suffering losses, the damage from the days of nonstop battle finally catching up with them. He could already see a number of their men who lay dead or wounded, having been dragged back behind their lines.


    The disemboweled guts of the pumpkin head had caught on debris laying on the grounds been completely ripped out and lay scattered in bits and bits through the muck, yet that did not seem to have stopped him, as he kept angrily charging at the leonine misbegotten, his gut a cavern of gore.


    She dodged between the pumpkin head''s arms again and spun around behind him with her own back towards Edgar. She lifted her sword to deliver a clean strike onto the behemoth''s back. As she raised her sword a storm blade from Edgar howled at her own back.


    Instead of dodging or spinning and deflecting it like she had a dozen times before, she raised her tail. The wind blade struck the meaty middle of her tail and messily sheared it off in an explosion of blood, flesh, and bone.


    Yet that sacrifice allowed her to execute her downward strike, and she sliced the pumpkin''s right arm off through the bicep.


    The pumpkin charged for a few more steps before stopping and holding his right arm stump in pain. He began howling madly into the sky, ignoring the fight he was in.


    The leonine followed behind the pumpkin, dodging another storm blade from Edgar, and just like Andren many days ago, impaled the pumpkin head from behind.


    The colossal sword goring out the entire center of the pumpkin''s torso and erupting from the front of his ribcage in a shower of blood and hunks of flesh, organs, and bone.


    The pumpkin head let out a final great groan of pain and fell forward limply, dragging the leonine misbegotten to the ground with him by her sword.


    John''s men were just finishing pulling back the bow-arms of the scorpio once again as she struggled to dislodge herself from under the pumpkins immense form while avoiding storm blades from Edgar.


    "Fuck, he died already!? Butcher, load the explosive bolt!"


    Misbegotten were already streaming back through the entrance at full speed once again. They stepped through the crushed remains of their fellows and started filling the yard. Despite the pumpkin head being dead for only a handful of seconds, they were already reacting to his death.


    The battle had been in their favor, but with the death of the pumpkin head and with the levies being assaulted by the flying misbegotten, the tide had turned.


    Thankfully, Butcher didn''t pause for even a moment to question John''s orders. He put their only explosive bolt on hand into the scorpio.


    As the leonine misbegotten struggled with her back to him, managing to rip her sword back out of the body of the pumpkin head and dodge yet another storm blade, John felt a bead of sweat drop down his forehead as he aimed before it was washed away by the rain.


    He lined up the primitive sights.


    Perfect.


    John loosed the bolt.


    Hearing the scorpio fire once again, as if by a sixth sense knowing it was coming at her, the leonine misbegotten spun to face John, holding her blade across her body to intercept the bolt.


    Except no bolt struck her blade and shattered. It struck a few feet in front of where she stood, the incredible force behind the bolt making it sink deep into the muddy ground.


    In the fraction of a second before the bolt exploded, the leonine''s eyes met John''s from across the dim overcast field, filled with confusion.


    Then the explosive tip far into the ground blew, and for an instant the courtyard was light up like the sun!


    A massive explosion consumed the misbegotten''s half of the courtyard. Hunks of earth, torn bodies, shattered steel flew through the air in every direction! The earth itself quaked, the shockwaves from the blast throwing everyone off their feet and tossing the men and misbegotten on the front line backwards from the force!


    The explosion was so loud that as John lay on his back surrounded by his men who had also been knocked off their feet like everyone else, it caused his head to ring.


    As he lay there stunned beside everyone else for the next few seconds, all he could hear was a deep static ringing in his ears.


    John came to after a few moments as clods of dirt, mud, meat, and metal began raining back down from the sky in little chunks.


    He felt a painful throbbing in his chest and looked down, holding his arm over his face and head as the debris made its way back down.


    Bursting through his breastplate, he saw a massive splinter of wood the size of his forearm sticking from his chest right above his heart! A shattered fragment of the scorpio''s bow arms, he recognized by the particular knob at the end of the hunk of wood.


    Freaking out at the sight and still dazed and not thinking clearly, John pulled at the chainmail at his neck and stuck his arm down to feel around his chest for the damage.


    Above his heart his hand touched wood. Pain radiated out at the touch, but he could feel no blood with his hand.


    Carefully, feeling a little more, John realized that the wood he was feeling wasn''t the rough wooden shaft from the splinter, but a smooth, small square wooden box.


    In his confusion it took him a few moments to puzzle out what was going on, but then it clicked in his head.


    His armor and Silhas''s drawing box had saved from being skewered through the heart!


    John let out a sigh of relief. He had gotten lucky. He would only have a massive bruise instead of being impaled.


    John grabbed hold of the huge splinter of wood with both his hand, and with a grunt of pain, he ripped the splinter that was stuck in the ruined metal of his breastplate.


    Head still buzzing even as he tried to force his mind to straighten itself out, John rolled over onto his hands and knees.


    John went to stand, and nearly fell over again as his legs didn''t want to cooperate. Instead he used the side of the battlements to prop himself up as his wobbly legs stabilized.


    As he gazed out at the battlefield and tried to take stock but his mind still was unable to process what was going on, he abruptly realized he was being stupid. He grabbed his flask from his hip and took a drink.


    Immediately, sound and his balance returned to him, as the fuzz in his mind cleared up.


    Looking next to him, as the debris continued to rain back down from the sky, he saw that the scorpio was completely gone, probably having been thrown from the battlements entirely.


    He looked back to his men and saw they and the levies around the battlements as well as all the winged misbegotten were laid out on their backs. They were all lying there dazed and fighting to come back to proper awareness as well.


    Seeing the incapacitated forms of their enemies his twenty had been fighting, John picked up his partisan that had been knocked to the ground. He started stabbing them to death one by one as his own men began recovering. Some of the misbegotten vaguely recognized what he intended to do and tried to shuffle out of the way, but they all were still too incapacitated to stop him.


    After a few short moments as the sky continued to rain dirt and bits of flesh and hunks of steel all around him, John finished off the last misbegotten nearby.


    Immediate dangers taken care of, he hurried back to the wall and looked at the courtyard.


    One entire half of the courtyard was completely torn up with large craters where the barrels of explosive stone had been buried. Those barrels had been all the supply that Castle Morne had kept stored from its mines of the substance.


    Most of the valuable material was sent up north to be used by the wall that blocked the scarlet rot from escaping Caelid, with Stormveil taking a small portion for their own uses as well.


    The men in the courtyard had been knocked off their feet just like everyone on the battlements. Some of the men have been bodily thrown back, into other men or onto the ground. Almost all of them seemed mostly okay as they shifted on the ground trying to get their bearings, having been positioned a distance away from that part of the courtyard on purpose.


    But even with their attempt at caution by placing the battle line where they had, John saw some lay unmoving. Some with head or chests smashed by a piece of stone or metal debris, but others lay still despite no visible sign of why. The shockwave or an unlucky landing doing them in.


    The misbegotten had completely stopped pouring through the entrance. Those who had been crossing the threshold, and presumably many more in the corridor itself, had been forcefully tossed back and and now clogged up the way to the entrance.


    The misbegotten in the courtyard had fared far worse than the men. The ones directly above the bombs had been turned into slurry with bits of them now raining down from the sky.


    Those unlucky enough to be close but not right on top of the explosives had instead been launched away at every angle at the velocity of a speeding car and had been turned into broken heaps of twisted and ripped-off limbs as they smashed into the ramparts and fell to the ground. Some misbegotten had instead been launched directly into the air and came crashing down to the ground.


    Those who still lived despite being dashed against the earth and architecture would probably never be able to walk or eat again if the men Morne spared their lives after the battle, which John was doubtful would happen.


    The leonine seemed to be of the last sort. Surprisingly, her flesh had been tough enough to not have been liquefied by the force of the explosives going off below and all around her.


    John and the other knights had been sure not even she could survive such forces, which was why they had all gone along with his explosives idea, but it seemed her body''s toughness exceeded all their expectations.


    Instead of being reduced to jelly, it looked as if she had been one of the ones who was launched into the air and came crashing back down.


    She lay down chest first in one of the bomb craters, her arms spread out. The Grafted Blade Sword was nowhere to be seen. Her upper half had all her fur burned off and was littered with cuts and patches of coal-black third and fourth-degree burns covered her body.


    Even for her though, she couldn''t completely escape the force of the explosions. Her legs had been ripped from their sockets and tossed who-knows-where, leaving only her waist up of her body left as she lay completely still, rapidly bleed from her grievous wounds onto the mud below and mixing with the puddles small puddles of rain already beginning to build in the crater.


    They had won.


    They had won!


    THEY HAD WON!


    THEY WERE GOING TO LIVE!


    John felt such a huge wave of relief and triumph flood him that it almost made him delirious!


    Then John saw her body twitch.


    No... No!


    What absolute fucking bullshit! How could anyone survive that? It didn''t make any sense!


    But the world didn''t care about what made sense to John as the leonine misbegotten began stirring.


    John looked around but saw that everyone down below in the courtyard was still out of it.


    He clenched his fist so hard he heard his gauntlets creak. He couldn''t let this happen!


    "Someone down in the courtyard! The leonine misbegotten isn''t dead! Quickly! Finish her before she recovers!" John yelled!


    But no one below reacted besides some groans and men wriggling! They were all still too dazed by the explosion!


    As John kept shouting to try and get someone down there to do something, the leonine shook her head and looked around, stopping briefly on John yelling for someone to put her down for good. Laying right next to her, was an armored misbegotten torso with an almost entirely full flask strapped to it.


    John watched helplessly as the leonine pried the flask off the corpse and chugged it down in a few gulps. He could do nothing as he watched as the gashes across her body closed leaving small white scars, and the burns on her body were extraordinarily reduced in severity and reach.


    Even though there were still patches of blackened skin after the crimson tears, much of her body became covered in healthy, red, puckered scar tissue.


    The bleeding from her stumps where her legs used to be almost entirely stopped. John could only thank God that her legs didn''t regrow as crimson tears couldn''t replace limbs.


    The leonine began dragging herself up the side of the crater towards the courtyard entrance to escape.


    John was tempted to jump down from the battlements to chase her, but the ramparts were just too tall. All he would accomplish would be breaking his legs as he still had too much crimson tear saturation left over from the battling in the days before, so he couldn''t recover from such an injury using crimson tears.


    He could do nothing but watch and yell for those below to move.


    A few of the levies, who had begun to recover earlier than those in the courtyard had because of their increased distance from the explosion, tried to fire a couple of crossbow bolts at the leonine, but in their still dazed state had them miss by quite a margin as the leonine misbegotten crawl across the entrance threshold and disappear into the ranks of the dazed misbegotten.


    The misbegotten in the entrance who were now recovering as well began moving to retreat back down the corridor, and the winged misbegotten that were left on the battlements and hadn''t been killed by the levies began hopping into the air and gliding back down the cliffside.


    John watched everyone began to pull themselves together again. Far more men on the lines still stirred than they had thought they would have at this point of the battle.


    John remarked that their plan had exceeded their expectations in some areas. The number of their men that survived and how quickly the leonine misbegotten entered the battlefield.


    But the fact that the leonine misbegotten''s corpse wasn''t on the ground cooling was a serious problem.


    He could only hope that the losses and crippling was enough. It had to be enough.


    ______________________________________________

 Chapter 16 - John

    ______________________________________________


    After the misbegotten left, for the next couple days they kept a constant watch for any more attacks, but none came.


    The misbegotten had completely retreated from their attacks, and the remains of the garrison had the opportunity to regain all the ground they had lost over the weeks. But they did not. The garrison kept the position at the final chokepoint with some lookouts at the collapsed areas to make sure the misbegotten weren''t digging through them.


    This restraint allowed them to focus on fully recovering from the battle. They began removing the bodies of the fallen and cleaning up the gore that had rained everywhere from the explosion.


    It took quite a while, as they didn''t have much free manpower left, almost everyone left having something important to do like feeding others, repairing weapons and armor, keeping an eye on enemy movements and making sure they did not try and dig up any collapsed areas to create new passageways, and guarding against any more potential attacks.


    They had been keeping a lookout for where the Grafted Blade Sword had landed, but it hadn''t yet been found. Edgar had put a bounty on it for whoever found it.


    Despite lasting less than half an hour, almost half their remaining soldiers had died, though none of their elite knights had perished. The levies had suffered heavily, the winged misbegotten having inflicted incredible casualties on them, like the soldiers had on the misbegotten weeks ago at the beginning of the siege. They had lost over one hundred levies in the battle with many more being injured, about a fourth of the total numbers, though they took out half of their much more limited fliers in exchange.


    Altogether, there were about five hundred survivors total left in Castle Morne.


    All the injuries had eaten up the last of their tear supplies. Every soldier was on their final flask.


    So it was a relief that as the days passed, no misbegotten attacks came. And as every day passed they recovered more so that any attacks that came would be better repelled. It was looking like they would be able to make it through to hold out the last few days until reinforcements came.


    Now that there was only a single corridor to guard, they only needed the regulars to guard it.


    They had even been able to send a couple of fives to tentatively scout, and the misbegotten weren''t doing anything but guarding the various Castle Morne entrances to make sure they knew when Edgar''s forces marched out of the castle. And even when those misbegotten spotted the scouts, they seemed to be prepared to run, rather than fight.


    As for the irregulars, Edgar had decided to use them as extra manpower, so they were taking care of the clean-up of the courtyard, and after that would be working to begin the long process of rebuilding.


    So that was what John was doing. Assisting the irregulars'' hundrier in directing the men''s labor and helping the men remove all the debris.


    By the third day, all the gore had been either thrown over the cliffside into the ocean or put into one of the craters which they had begun slowly filling back up with dirt and stones.


    Anything of value, they organized into crates in a dedicated area of the courtyard. Some just had plain bits of steel in them. Other crates had hilts, others chainmail, and so on.


    John went to place an empty golden flask in its assigned crate, and a moment later, another irregular, just an Armsman from a different twenty, dropped another flask in right after him.


    "It''s a terrible shame that some of these flasks were no doubt thrown into the ocean. Each one is an irreplaceable loss," the Armsman commented.


    John looked at him.


    "Irreplaceable? Can''t the Order just make more of them? Aren''t they made by Marika or something?"


    The Armsman turned and looked at John, visibly confused by what John had said.


    "What are you...? Ah, your eyes. I see, a foreigner. That explains it.


    "You think the Golden Order created these flasks? No. They are ancient relics, long predating the Golden Order. They had been around long before the Erdtree and the Goddess Marika had even come to be."


    That surprised John to hear.


    But wait, if they predated it, how and why did they hold liquid that came from the Erdtree? There was also another thing John remembered...


    He pulled out his own flask, looked at the neck, and compared it all the dozens of flasks in the crate. They all matched. He wasn''t imagining things.


    John wondered, if these flasks predated the Erdtree, then what was the tree depicted on the neck of the flask?


    Crimson Flask</a>


    Looking back at the man, John asked him just that.


    "How should I know?" the Armsman said, "I''m just a carpenter, not a priest or scholar."


    The man glared down at the crate.


    "Or at least I was until those cursed bastards burned the city to the ground, and everything I had with it. The business had been in my family for centuries. They even killed all my men afterwards in these battles, those sons of snakes! When this is over I''m going to have to start everything from scratch."


    With that, the man, now angry from the reminder of his loss, stomped off to continue to clean up the area.


    Well, that did nothing to solve the mystery of exactly what the crimson tear flask was depicting if not the Erdtree. And if the Erdtree, and therefore the tears which came from it, didn''t exist, what had they been used to hold before? Had Marika somehow converted them to what they were now from something else? And what exactly were they made from if they weren''t made of gold and glass like they superficially appeared to be?


    These and other questions he had would have to be left unanswered for now.


    As John left the crate to continue cleaning up, he heard his hundrier call.


    "Sergeant White! Come here."


    John looked to see his hundrier at one of the entranceways to the rest of the castle. Next to him was a young woman holding a child''s hand.


    John walked over to his hundrier and glanced at the young woman standing next to him and the child holding her hand.


    The young woman was in high-quality, conservative dress that covered her body except for the face and the elbows down on her arms. The dress was a dark grey with gold embroidery of dragons and beasts all over it. With her clothes she was clearly one of the noble daughters of knights that John had seen occasionally in the halls.


    She had blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, like almost all the people in Morne, matched the exact same shade of grey as her dress. Her figure looked good. She did not have any outrageous proportions, but neither did she lack womanly attributes. Her face was pretty as well and she looked pretty young, around twenty years old.


    Young Woman</a>


    The child was a black boy of maybe ten years old who looked just like any of the other couple dozen townsfolk children in the castle and wore a ragged tunic and pants.


    The woman was staring at John''s chest, probably looking at his exceptionally dirty armor, absolutely caked with dirt, dust, and grime, but thankfully not gore, from the clean-up efforts.


    "Sir, you called?" John asked, curious as to why the hundrier wanted him.


    "It''s your lucky day. You get out of doing any real work and are instead going to accompany this pretty lady here," the hundrier said with a smile, not really clarifying anything for John.


    The hundrier must have read his confusion from his face, because he continued.


    "This is Lady Irina Morne, Lord Edgar''s daughter. With her father''s permission, she has asked for me to release you for the rest of the afternoon for a chat."


    Irina</a>


    John''s eyes widened! She was Irina!?


    Why did Irina wish to talk to him!? He''d not seen her or had anything to do with her at all.


    Giving the young woman a second glance, he saw now that she wasn''t actually looking at his dirty armor, she was just staring in his general direction blankly, not focused on one thing in particular.


    "I understand, sir."


    The hundrier nodded and walked off towards the men to continue directing them, leaving John alone with Irina and the boy.


    John looked at Irina and waited for her to explain, but she stayed quiet, her body slightly hunched from fear or awkwardness. John looked at his shirt and the young woman who was hesitating to speak.


    "I am very dirty at the moment. How about I go get cleaned up and meet you somewhere to talk?" John asked, throwing the young woman a lifeline.


    Irina hurriedly nodded.


    "Yes, thank you! That sounds good Sergeant White. I will meet you in the western lounge then?"


    "The lounge with the red chairs?" John clarified.


    John stood there silent for a moment after his question, then John realized what he had just done.


    "I''m so sor-"


    Irina raised her hand, interrupting him immediately with the speed of long practice.


    "My eyesight is very weak, but I am not entirely blind. No need to apologize Sergeant White. It is a common mistake many make, mistaking my impotent sight for blindness. I still need a minder so I do not trip and hurt myself, but I am not entirely incapable.


    "And to answer your question. I do believe the chairs in the western lounge are red. I will see you there in a few minutes?"


    "Yes, Miss Morne. Just long enough to scrub off the dirt and change clothes."


    Irina nodded and started quickly walking away into the entrance, and John was unable to tell if it was because she was scared or offended or something else. The little boy holding her hand hastily followed her.


    "Ah, Miss Irina!" the little boy pulled on her hand and called out warning her as she almost misstepped on a large stone almost hidden by the courtyard''s grass.


    Irina stopped and took a step to the side.


    "Thank you," she said to the boy and continued dragging him away as she continued her power walk.


    John didn''t waste any time leaving himself and hurried to clean himself up, but he still wasn''t sure what this talk was all about. Unless Irina was taking on some of Edgar''s duties, which would be uncommon as she was a woman and feudal societies had certain strict roles in what men and women did. But he doubted that was it.


    He moved quickly and a short time later he arrived at their arranged meeting place, freshly scrubbed and without his dirty armor. John found Irina sitting in a red chair with the little boy nearby.


    "I am here, Miss Morne," John announced as he sat down in a red chair across from her.


    Irina turned towards him before she looked over at the boy standing beside her.


    "Why don''t you go and play in another room while me and Sergeant White have our talk?" Irina asked the boy as John sat.


    Recognizing that he was being dismissed for the moment, the boy nodded and left the room.


    They sat there silently for a few moments, Irina just as shy as earlier. Seeing that she wasn''t going to be starting the conversation soon, John took the plunge himself.


    "So why did you want to talk to me?" John began.


    Irina took a deep breath and looked at him with a smile. He could tell from her eyes that she wasn''t actually focused on him, rather she was looking in the general direction of his face, and doing a good approximation of actually looking at him like a non-impaired person would have.


    "I want to thank you for saving my life Sergeant White," Irina said and lowered her head.


    That is when John understood what this was all about. He relaxed now that he realized this wasn''t going to be bad for him somehow, and a smile slipped over his face.


    "I accept your thanks Miss Morne, but lift your head. I am sure there plenty of honorable men under Edgar who would have done the same."


    Irina looked skeptical.


    "But those were not the men who saved my life Sergeant White, it was you. It does not matter who could possibly have done a deed. Rather, it matters who has followed through and done so," Irina insisted.


    John actually had to agree with her there. His deflection was just an ingrained ''polite'' reaction to compliments rather than a serious statement.


    "And you say the men under my father are honorable, but I have my doubts. Nearly half of the knights in this castle are in the dungeon from owing their loyalty to a dead, lying traitor."


    John raised an eyebrow.


    "While that is true, I think that is more of an exception. No doubt the best men were targeted in the misbegotten''s attacks. That skews the numbers here. Besides, the High Marshal has far more knights under his command than were stationed here. I can''t imagine most of them are as Crann was."


    Irina gave a sniff of disagreement.


    "I would not be so sure of the integrity of knights, especially those of high rank. Often the best way to improve one''s own prestige is doing dishonorable deeds while pretending to be honorable."


    "Well, I can''t really disagree with you there. To my understanding, that is normally the case in any society. It doesn''t surprise me that the Golden Order is similar."


    Irina paused and gave John an unfocused look as thought on something for a few seconds, before she made a decision.


    "Did you know that Crann had been one of my suitors for a few years now? He had been using the recognition of his ''informant''s'' information to vie for my hand and enter talks with my father about being allowed to formally court me for my hand.


    "Even before he joined hands with the servants, he thought far to highly of himself and passed off most of his work to his subordinates, and was just unpleasant. His only redeeming feature was his incredible martial prowess. It was he was of middling rank despite being among Lord Godrick''s most powerful men, nearly a match for Sentinel Dextrann.


    "Crann was but one of the many men under my father who vie for my hand and care for no one but themselves. To fulfill their ambitions or their passions," Irina said bitterly.


    John could somewhat with sympathize her about that.


    He easily believed a lot of dudes would want a woman like Irina as their wife just to bed her with how she looked, not caring at all about the young woman herself. Not to mention her status as the only daughter and relative of Edgar, a High Marshal and powerful lord.


    John could see what may have been Crann''s endgame with his betrayal. Marry the daughter of what was effectively the princess of the region and then the king who cannot die of old age dies in a rebellion, so he becomes the king.


    Only that didn''t perfectly make sense because the overall control of the region''s military was decided by military appointment of Godrick rather than bloodline succession, and Crann was only middling of rank as a Knight Major, but maybe he was only after the land, the wealth, rather than command over the army.


    Another flaw of this plan, if it had indeed been Crann''s aim, was that the rebellion was going to kill everyone who wasn''t a misbegotten, John doubted Irina or Crann would be spared either despite the man being a turncoat.


    It sort-of fit, but things weren''t lining up quite right for John to be completely convinced of that. There must have been more to all this than John knew.


    No plans survived contact with the enemy, and GRRM''s characters had confusing plots and counterplots where everything chaotically clashed and no one but the evil masterminds behind the scenes pulling the strings ended up in a better position. Most everyone who was actually doing things and being productive in GRRM''s story were just the puppets of masterminds behind the scenes who were controlling things and sitting on their asses.


    Not very different from real life, really.


    John suspected Crann, and maybe even the misbegotten, were one of these pawns.


    John''s thoughts of trying to unravel what exactly was the plot around Crann were interrupted when Irina continued, the bitterness vanishing from her demeanor as she got off the topic.


    "But enough about others. I wanted to have a chat with you to not only thank you for saving my life, but I also wish to know more about the man who saved me. The mysterious foreigner."


    At that, the first thought that hit John was that Irina may have been interested in him, but taking a closer look at her body language, he didn''t see any of the telltale hints a woman gave that showed she was interested in a man that way. It seemed to be platonic curiosity.


    Which was good, frankly. It would be awkward and potentially dangerous to reject his current boss''s daughter''s advances. A woman scorned and all that.


    He wasn''t interested in any ''casual fun'' at all, nor was he looking for anything serious at the moment, as that came with other long-term concerns. If he wanted a kid at all, it wouldn''t be until after the Chosen Tarnished became Elden Lord and hopefully at least somewhat fixed the world.


    And especially not something with a woman who was heavily tied with Godrick''s forces.


    Not even mentioning that he had good chance of dying as he tried to help the Chosen Tarnished, just like the dozens of times and ways he could have died in just this one siege.


    For example, if the leonine misbegotten had landed just five feet in a different direction when it had killed Andren, John could have been one of the men it had casually cut down.


    He refused for a kid of his to be raised in an apocalypse world without a father.


    No, John wasn''t in the market for any romance until after the multiple apocalypses slowly destroying this world were at least being addressed.


    Maybe things would change and cause his mind to change about this, but that was what John thought about the topic at the moment.


    All this to say that John was glad Irina didn''t seem to have the hots for him despite the fact she was pretty and seemed nice.


    John banished those thoughts as he stayed focused on the conversation.


    "So what do you want to know about me?" John asked.


    "I heard a little from my father about you. He has told me you are a foreigner. What land do you hail from?" She asked with a sparkle in her eye.


    "A land called the United States of America."


    Irina''s face scrunched in thought before lowering her head in apology.


    "I am sorry Sergeant White. My father has had many tutors teach me many things, including lessons on other lesser kingdoms outside the Lands Between, but these United States has never come up."


    John waved his hand.


    "Don''t worry about it Miss Morne. I would be surprised if anyone in the Lands Between had heard of my homeland. The United States is extremely far from Lands Between and has no connection or relation to this land at all."


    Irina nodded, accepting his words, and pressed further.


    "A land so far away... what is your homeland like?" Irina asked.


    That was a hard question for John. He wanted to keep the strangeness of his origin as under wraps as possible, but he could feel from her genuine curiosity that Irina wouldn''t just accept it if he just waved this question off with vagaries like he had when anyone else had asked him.


    "Well, like most places, it had good things about it and bad things. Like the Golden Order in the Lands Between, it controls a large amount of land with many different regions with various climates, from snowy mountains to lakes, forests, and swamps. The only thing we had that you don''t is plains and deserts."


    "I have heard of plains before, but a desert? What is that?"


    "It is an expansive region of mostly sand. Imagine a beach the size of the Weeping Peninsula, and there is almost no plants or grassland that isn''t near rivers. There are some small lakes dotted around as well called oases."


    Irina lightly frowned.


    "How strange that sounds, a place with no grass. It sounds unpleasant."


    John laughed.


    "I agree. Though maybe my interpretation is too negative because it is one of my least favorite climates. The only one I hate more is a jungle."


    "I have never heard of a jungle either. If it is more horrible than a desert, then it must be a truly dreadful place."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    John chuckled but decided not to get into what a jungle was at the moment.


    "To continue, in the lands near my homeland, we were the strongest nation. Or at least, we believed we were. Our rivals would probably have disagreed, and I''m not sure they are wrong either.


    "I won''t go into much detail as that is all behind me now, but I didn''t like the rulers of my homeland much for many reasons. I disagreed with many of the things they believed and how they led the country. But there isn''t really much a man like me could have done about any of that."


    "Your name, White, were you from a noble family?"


    John shook his head.


    "No. I am actually an orphan. My family died before I could remember anything, and I was raised by various families. They would each take me in for a time before they tired of me then another family would take me in for a year or two before they tired of me, and so on."


    Irina became apologetic.


    "That is terrible Sergeant White. I have heard of similar stories before and know such an upbringing is difficult to bear. I am sorry for bringing it up."


    John chuckled.


    "I am not sensitive or uncomfortable about it. Don''t worry about apologizing; I''m not hurt by it. I don''t hate those people or anything even after they got rid of me.


    "Actually, I feel thankful to them. Many of them were far from perfect, but I never wanted for food or water. I never went hungry or cold."


    Irina shook her head.


    "I must insist on apologizing, even if you do not feel you need it. Asking about your name and family, I just wished to know if you were a political exile from your homeland. Many times have exiles from other lands came here and attempted to establish themselves somehow in these lands.


    "I must ask forgiveness for my suspicions and thoughtlessly bringing up such a personal matter."


    John laughed.


    "I''m not offended by your suspicions. I won''t get mad at people for being reasonably suspicious. And no, I''m not here for anything like that. Taking over the country or being a spy or whatever.


    "I had just heard tales of the adventures of a particular tarnished of no renown and was suddenly forced from my homeland by circumstances out of my control. I traveled straight from there without any stops, and now I am here. Going on my own adventure through these lands. Or I was until the misbegotten rebellion happened at least."


    Hearing his words, Irina''s ears perked up.


    "Oh? You are an adventurer?" She asked with obvious interest.


    Seeing her reaction, John smiled.


    Then a lightbulb went off in his head. Irina was a blind girl that had probably been kept in Morne all her life. She wanted to talk to him to hear about other places to live vicariously through him.


    Much more confident and relaxed now that he figured out her intentions, John continued.


    "I guess you can say I''m an adventurer of a sort. Mostly a wanderer. I was mostly traveling with my merchant friend and seeing the sights of the Lands Between before this. There are many fantastical things in the Lands Between, and I want to see all of them I can.


    "From your people''s ability to call upon the power of the sky, to the sorcerers of Liurnia of the Lakes, to the Erdtree itself, my own homeland had nothing like these magical things here. It is incredible to see them in person after hearing about them in that tarnished''s tale. The tale was nothing but a pale imitation in comparison. Even the Weeping Peninsula is fascinating."


    Irina giggled at his yokel-ish wonder.


    "Thank you for appreciating my homeland''s beauty. Few travelers say they like our peninsula. Too wet and dreary they say. Do they not realize that the blessings of the sky are not as abundant anywhere else? Does our export of fulgurblooms not prove this? Yet all they care about is the inconvenience of a little mud and having to wear a cloak to keep from getting wet from the rain."


    Irina let out a little huff at that and shook her head before she switched to a different topic.


    "My father has told me that he has offered a spot in his retinue to you. From what we have spoken about so far, I feel that you will reject it?"


    John nodded.


    "Yes, I will be rejecting it. I know it is a very generous offer, but I am not interested in being tied down to anything in particular right now. I plan on just taking whatever wages he gives me after this is all over and going on my way."


    "I see."


    Irina sat back and thought for a few moments before she shook her head, dropping whatever she had been thinking of saying, and switched back to their previous topic.


    "Do you wish to spend your life traveling the Lands Between, or do you have plans after you have seen the lands?"


    "I do. The nomadic life of my merchant friend isn''t what I want to do forever. I will definitely be settling down and starting something after I finish my travels."


    "Truly? What will you do?"


    "I don''t know what that will look like exactly. I don''t have any specific plans yet, and I have to finish my traveling first before I can even make any, but I do plan on getting something started after I am done. Maybe learning some magic or something, and I could always fall back on being a hunter. I''ve become a very good shot.


    "But like I said, there is no point in making any plans yet. I don''t even know all the options I have yet. I can start making plans after I get done seeing everything the Lands Between has to offer. Might take a year or two, or it might take a couple decades."


    A look of slight envy came over her features.


    "I have to admit that the idea of traveling the Lands Between tempts me as well. But such a dream was never possible for one in my circumstances," Irina sighed as she obviously referenced her eyesight limiting her.


    "Where have you traveled to?" She asked.


    John tilted his head in thought, shifting how he was sitting in his chair.


    "Just a portion of Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula so far. I''ve just been following my friend as he goes on his trading route between some major settlements. I''ve seen the Stormgate and Sotrmveil Castle as well as the some impressive bridges. Truly impressive feats of architecture.


    "I suspect that the next region I will be visiting will be Liurnia, but that isn''t completely certain yet. I will probably have to separate with my friend to head there as it seems like he is pretty invested in his route here in Limgrave, but I still have some stuff in Limgrave to do first before I head north."


    Irina tilted her head curiously.


    "Your friend that you are speaking of, my father told me that your friend is a nomadic merchant? I understand that most do not trust his people. How did you become friends with him?"


    John raised an eyebrow at that question.


    It seemed that Irina, or her father, had asked around a little bit about him before this talk. Most people didn''t know he was friends with Kal¨¦, and Kal¨¦ was avoided by many outside of work as part of how they shunned him.


    It wasn''t a huge secret, but you''d have to take a serious interest in Kal¨¦ or him to know that. It seemed that Edgar really had been scouting him out for potential recruitment.


    But unlike details about his homeland, his story about how he came to know Kal¨¦ wasn''t something he felt the need to keep secret.


    "When I first arrived in Limgrave, I was in big trouble. The Lands Between are very different from my homeland. I didn''t know how to survive by myself, or even how to speak the language here. Kal¨¦ took a significant amount of time and taught me everything I needed to know to survive and get along here in the Lands Between, and we became good friends as we got to know each other during that time.


    "As for his people being untrustworthy, while I understand why people in the Lands Between are wary of his people, I am not worried, and I don''t what others here think. Kal¨¦ is a loyal friend and a decent man. If people think I will just abandon our friendship because of some mean words and glares over their paranoia, then they will be sorely disappointed."


    Irina smiled.


    "That is heartening to hear. I think similarly of the servants. Many despised and treated the servants poorly. They think them terrible because of their outer appearance, but I have never encountered a servant that was as unpleasant as many profess they are. It does not surprise me that the servants revolted with how poorly they are treated, though the consequences of their actions sadden me, for them and for us. So many dead for such little reason.


    "Sometimes I am thankful for my lacking sight. Amusingly, it allows me to see things that others do not. I have never treated the servants poorly nor has my father, so it was a shock to learn from that they wished to harm me. I wonder what had I done to them that would wish them to hurt me so? I heard from my father that the information about the servant''s plans came from you?" Irina asked downcast.


    "I suspect it has nothing to actually do with what you have done," John said after a few moments to think about it. "I think that it is because of who your father is. While neither of you may have done much to them directly to make them hate you as far as I am aware, your father is the one in charge of everything in the Weeping Peninsula. That includes the slaves and their treatment.


    "His rule is what keeps them in bondage, prevents them from living their own lives, and what keeps them in mines and on farms breaking their bodies working for the prosperity of others with little to nothing given in return.


    "It doesn''t really matter that he doesn''t indulge in sadism or that he is duty bound to do it, from their point of view, he has greatly hurt them. And while I know you called the servants to try and be nice to them, the reality that they are slaves doesn''t change."


    Irina squirmed a little in her seat.


    "Think of it this way Irina, does it matter if the man who orders your torture hates you or not, or whether he cuts you up himself or has another man do it? Does it matter to you whether or not your lord had personally hurt you if society has decided your place in it is to be punished because of how you were born and he is their enforcer?


    "Or at least, that is what I suspect their viewpoint is. Or something similar to it. So of course they would want to get revenge and hurt him by hurting you."


    Irina wilted slightly.


    "I... I had never thought of these matters like that. The servants have always just been the servants."


    John held up his hands.


    "I could be wrong about it. Many something else is going on. But that would be my guess for why they wanted to rebel."


    Irina shook her head.


    "Let us move on from this grim subject. Can you tell me more of your journey or your homeland?"


    And so the conversation continued as John began telling her about his travels in the Lands Between so far, leaving out certain things of course.


    _____________________________________________


    The days went by and soon they were only two days before the reinforcements arrived.


    As the time passed, things paradoxically became both more relaxed and more tense. As the deadline for the reinforcements came closer, their position was more secure, but it also meant that if the misbegotten were going to make a major move, they would have to do it soon.


    So their growing relief was mixed with a rising tension.


    And as it happened, the misbegotten would make a move, but not the one they had been fearing.


    John was still working on fixing up the courtyard when one day a pair of soldiers came out of the sole entrance to the parts below with a large unarmed misbegotten between them.


    Everyone working stopped, surprised at the men escorting one of the misbegotten elites, and watched as they made their way across the courtyard. As they got to the halfway point, their hundrier made his way to the strange group.


    "You two, why is this misbegotten here?" the hundrier demanded.


    "Sir, this one has been sent to negotiate their surrender. Our twentier sent us to escort him to Lord Edgar."


    "Just two men?" the hundrier commented looking at the huge misbegotten. "Hmm... John! Take a five and help these men escort this misbegotten to Lord Edgar."


    "Yes sir!" said John as he stopped what he was doing and turned. "Butcher, Cobbler, and the rest of the polearm five, you are with me," John ordered.


    His old five with their new member dropped what they were doing and they all quickly picked up their weapons and joined the escort on their way to Edgar''s study.


    A few minutes later they arrived and John knocked on the door. Edgar opened it, one arm in a sling, still injured from the climactic battle having refused healing afterwards as he "didn''t need it as much as other men".


    He looked at the group and their dubious charge.


    "My lord," John began, "this misbegotten says he is here to negotiate the surrender of the misbegotten rebels."


    Edgar''s eyebrow rose and he looked at the misbegotten.


    "Oh really?"


    The misbegotten''s face was unhappy but not upset or hostile.


    "Yes, Lord Morne. I have been given the authority to discuss the terms of our surrender."


    Edgar didn''t respond for a few moments.


    "Very well, you can come in. Sergeant White, join us. The rest of you, wait here. If you hear a scuffle break out or me shouting for you, come inside."


    Edgar let John and the misbegotten inside and closed the door, leaving the three of them in the room alone.


    Edgar was in his armor besides the helmet and the arm that was in a sling, John was in his full armor and had his partisan, and the misbegotten was completely unarmed and unarmored.


    This particular misbegotten wasn''t one of the elites John had seen over the course of the rebellion. He was large but had no tail, which was common among the larger misbegotten. His lower part of his body was mostly covered in scales and his upper-half was covered in fur that was ever so slightly red. His flesh had a slight red tint to it as well similar to the leonine misbegotten.


    This was the second reddest misbegotten John had seen so hard, the first being the leonine misbegotten. Suggesting he was one of those anomalous mysterious trained misbegotten.


    Edgar stood on one side of the table with John carefully guarding him in case the misbegotten tried to pull something, while the misbegotten stood alone on the other, his larger form making his presence almost as imposing as their own despite being outnumbered, alone, and trapped behind enemy lines.


    "What is your name and with authority do you speak?" Edgar demanded.


    The misbegotten growled at Edgar''s command.


    "Do not mistake my presence here as capitulation, fringefolk. Do not presume to command me. We know that you are aware that not all of us are from the slave stock of Morne. It would have been impossible to miss with the battles that have been fought. You know you have never been and will never be my master. You are not dealing with one of your subjects. Do not think yourself above me."


    Edgar''s eyes narrowed.


    "I am High Marshal. I could have you executed," Edgar threatened. "Alone, you have no way of stopping me."


    The misbegotten let out a scornful laugh.


    "Ha! You could, but you won''t. If I do not return by sunset, it will signal the others to attack. We still outnumber you. Even if we lose, we will make you bleed for it. I would not be so sure you would win that fight in the first place. Unless you want more of your own to die?"


    Edgar and the misbegotten stood off for a few moments, but Edgar relented and chuckled darkly.


    "Very well. You have me. I cannot kill you, however we both know that your assertion of victory is a bluff. The time for that has passed when we crippled your leader. Now give me your name and who you speak for."


    The misbegotten just narrowed his eyes at Edgar but stayed silent, the two engaging in another stand-off as the tension began to build.


    It was fascinating and nerve-racking for John to see the posturing happening in front of him as each fought to establish themselves as having more leverage in even these small things. It was an interesting mental game where both sides understood the rules that the more leverage one side had the more they could ask for. John guessed that fighting over who had more leverage would be a big part of these negotiations.


    After nearly a minute of neither one speaking, Edgar was the one who broke the silence.


    "Will you give me your name and tell me who you speak for?"


    The misbegotten audibly breathed out out of his nose.


    "I am Morsh, and I speak for our leader Gharriel," Morsh answered.


    "Morsh. What terms does Gharriel offer?"


    "We know that since the first days that the Golden Lineage became the wardens of these lands, the punishment for rebellion has been death. Our leader is willing to offer her own life in exchange for the sparing of the lives of those of our kin who remain as you put them back into bondage."


    "Preposterous. I cannot possibly allow them to just return unpunished. No doubt other menials will hear of what happened here and get ideas of their own. In months I''d have a dozen or more small rebellions pop up over the mines and estates of the Peninsula. I should have you thrown out just hearing such absurdities. Come back when you are ready to have a serious negotiation. John." Edgar gestured.


    John took a single step before Morsh spoke up.


    "That would not be wise. We have heard that your forces from the Ramparts of Regret will be arriving within days. We have to negotiate today or we will be forced to attack. You may think that we have nothing left, but our leader knows of a secret ritual that requires the death of many that will allow us to combat your reinforcements. We are not without recourse. Our leader has only decided not to pursue that path because it would mean the death of most of our brethren from Morne."


    Edgar looked skeptical, but he motioned for John to step back.


    "That may be true, but the fact remains, I cannot just absolve the rebels of punishment. I cannot send them to the mines or other punishment labors either. No doubt I''d have dozens more rebellions on my hand from their actions once they are no longer in my sight."


    Morsh made a conciliatory gesture with his clawed hand.


    "Gharriel does not particularly care what you have them do once they are once again in bondage. Only that none are crippled, maimed, or killed. Have them rebuild this castle and then establish new farms to segregate them. It does not matter as long as they are guaranteed not to be harmed."


    Edgar got quiet as he thought this over and gave his response.


    "There is the question of control," Edgar pointed out. "If I did such a thing, I would have to dedicate men to overseeing it. Maybe even enough that the idea would be a loss. And I cannot let spread the idea that punishment for rebellion will be waived if you are successful enough in an attempt.


    "Your leader is concerned with the lives of the menials that had been under my authority? I want the lives of the other leaders of this rebellion as well. The lives of the menials that are larger than one of my regular men, like yourself, and those misbegotten who have clearly been trained and smuggled into Morne."


    Morsh let out a menacing smile.


    "Let us put the discussion of my brothers'' and sisters'' lives on hold for a moment. I have something else to negotiate with besides just blood price. There is the matter of the Grafted Blade Sword. We have possession of it. How many ''menial'' lives is that worth to you?"


    At that, Edgar very carefully didn''t react to that bombshell. Despite that, the implications of their enemy having the weapon weren''t lost on John.


    Them having the legendary armament again was very bad. The leonine misbegotten wasn''t a serious threat anymore, but even an elite like Morsh would become a serious threat if armed with that sword. Not nearly as terrible for them as the leonine misbegotten, Gharriel, had been with it, but it would be very bad for them.


    If what Morsh was saying was true, that sword was a lot of leverage.


    "We will trade you the sword in exchange for sparing them. One of the legendary armaments in exchange for the lives of under 50 misbegotten? A good deal. And the precedent set would be that any further rebellions would have to have such a precious thing to keep their heads."


    Edgar grit his teeth.


    "Ten. I''ll exchange it for ten of you."


    Morsh chuckled mockingly in his harsh, bestial voice and grabbed the edge of the wooden table. The wood creaked slightly under his grip as John stayed hyper-alert.


    "It''s my turn to laugh at an absurd offer Lord Morne. A legendary armament in exchange for the lives of ten men? We might as well just toss the thing into the ocean and just accept your terms now."


    Edgar glared with narrowed eyes and leaned towards Morsh over the table.


    "You speak of turns? You have been threatening me that you and your allies do not care if you all die while extracting a blood price from us if terms are too unfavorable for your side.


    "It seems it is my turn to tell you that there are outcomes where the potential of my and my men''s deaths are preferable if the terms on our side are too unfavorable or it puts the stability of the Weeping Peninsula at stake. And without me, the death of every one of you menials is assured.


    "Lord Godrick would never accept an outcome where the Grafted Blade Sword is lost. You are bargaining for your lives. You may rather die than be put into bondage, or rather die if it has a better chance of more of your fellow menials living, but I am certain that others below do not feel the same. And remember, you menials are the ones in the weaker position with our imminent reinforcements."


    Edgar leaned back.


    "I want the sword in exchange for sparing a fifth of the menial''s lives."


    Morsh scoffed.


    "Four-fifths."


    And so John watched as both sides put their cards on the table and the two began arguing about the specifics of what was going to be done.


    They argued back and forth, each side bringing up points and then countering points the other side''s points, sometimes successfully and sometimes not.


    They went into the details. When, where, and how this would all happen. Who and how many would or wouldn''t be spared. They got very specific with things that John wouldn''t have expected, as each side had their own interests.


    Edgar was interested in eliminating as many of the misbegotten in general as possible but also had to prioritize the foreign misbegotten that had fermented and led the rebellion as well as eliminating as many of the "innocent" misbegotten who had special advantages like large size and flight that presented the most potential for hurting soldiers if they rebelled again.


    Meanwhile Morsh seemed less concerned with him and the rest of their leadership surviving and was more concerned with saving the slaves they had led.


    Time passed, and after a few hours, they finally settled on a deal.


    Tomorrow Edgar would send down a single twenty of men to the ruins of Castletown. They would then take custody of half of the misbegotten, led by Gharriel who would stay, and escort them up into the castle. All of these would be former slaves who were not large and could not fly.


    Once that was done, then Gharriel would signal that they had upheld their half of the deal and present herself to the twenty for immediate execution. She would give some information about some questions about specific things Edgar wanted to know with some limits, and then she would be put to death.


    Next, the same twenty would go to the cliffside and meet with the other half of the misbegotten. All of the foreign misbegotten would stay at the cliff and wait to be executed, except for a few of the regular ones, and roughly half of the "innocent" large and flying misbegotten. There were specific numbers arrived at by haggling between Edgar Morsh in trading three of X type for two of Y and such.


    Those not slated for execution, which were the remaining regular "innocent" misbegotten, a small amount of the foreign regular misbegotten, and roughly half of the "Innocent" large and flying misbegotten would be spared and be taken into custody.


    Once all the spared misbegotten were taken into custody, those who had been slated for execution, led by Morsh who would have the Grafted Blade Sword on him during all this, would allow themselves to be put to the sword without a fight.


    After they arrived at this grim, final compromise, neither Edgar nor Morsh looked happy, but neither was particularly outraged. Edgar wrote all of these terms and details down on a piece of contract parchment.


    The contract parchment wasn''t something magical. It just had a subtle irregular golden watermark-like pattern on it, similar to what John remembered seeing on government identity documents and paper money back on Earth that made it hard to forge.


    The details of the negotiated agreement were written down twice, once on each end of the parchment. Then Edgar took a pair of scissors with uniquely-shaped blades and cut down the middle of the parchment in a zigzag pattern.


    The watermark pattern and jagged edges of the scissors made it so that forging something would be extremely difficult as the rulers of the land kept strict control over the watermarked parchment and each one was nigh-unique.


    Medieval Contract</a>


    Edgar handed Morsh his half-copy of the contract.


    Morsh took and looked at Edgar.


    "And you swear you will honor this?" Morsh asked, holding up his half of the contract. "This piece of paper means nothing if the man who signs it doesn''t uphold his word. As far as we are aware, you and your family are known for upholding your oaths to the point of death. I want an oath from you."


    "I have lived for over a millennia upholding my honor and duty. I will not stop now," Edgar said.


    Morsh looked right into Edgar''s eyes.


    "Swear it."


    Edgar put his fist over his heart.


    "I swear on my honor and position as a High Marshal of the Golden Lineage and as the Lord of Morne that I will uphold this contract," Edgar swore.


    Morsh narrowed his eyes, looking at Edgar for any sign of deception, but it appeared he didn''t find any as he relaxed after a few moments.


    "I am satisfied. We are done here?" Morsh asked.


    "It appears so. John, have the men escort Morsh back, but you stay. I have something to speak to you of."


    John nodded and showed Morsh out of the room, and gave the men their orders. The men began escorting the large misbegotten down the corridor.


    John went back into the study and looked at Edgar curiously.


    "You wished to talk to me, my lord?"


    Edgar looked at John. The grim and adversarial air of the earlier negotiation was gone, and now he had an air of slightly melancholy about him.


    "Yes. I have a few things to speak to you of. I am considering sending you and your twenty to uphold the deal tomorrow, including the execution of the menial leader Gharriel and the other rebel menial leaders.


    "My daughter has told me that you do not plan to take me up on my offer to become one of my retinue. That you wish to travel the Lands Between. That is good because I am afraid I will not be able to keep my word on making you part of my retinue."


    Edgar sighed at that.


    "Many things have happened since I gave that offer, and I no longer believe that Lord Godrick will leave me in command of much of anything after this disaster.


    "I believe I have already spoken to you before of what I believe about my coming punishment. To reward you for your deeds to Morne and myself by having you swear to me now, when I will not have a retinue for much longer, would be foolishness. An empty reward.


    "I am unsure of if you have slain powerful foes before, but you may have noticed that the amount of runes that come from a defeated foe varies.


    John nodded.


    "Yes, my lord, I have noticed that. Even before I was fighting the misbegotten, I noticed the differences in the game I hunted. Some would give a little more or less. I have wondered what exactly was going on there."


    "Sergeant, some ignorant men mistakenly believe this from runes held by their opponent, but that is untrue. One''s held runes simply are given back to the world on death.


    "What exactly the world does with them is a debated topic among scholars, but I do know that very rarely the world uses those runes to empower something nearby. But that occurrence is extraordinarily rare, uncontrollable, unreliable, and takes a great deal of time to occur.


    "But I have gone on a tangent. The truth about the runes dropped by a foe is that the amount is decided by the strength of your opponent''s lifeforce. Being near the Erdtree endows beings with more powerful lifeforce, so the same game that you hunt here in the Weeping Peninsula will yield far more runes if you hunt them in the Altus Plateau instead.


    "Likewise, things in other powerful locations will give more runes as well. And do not mistake this lifeforce for strength. It is not so simple and straightforward.


    "A Knight of Stormveil under Lord Godrick of the Golden Lineage is just as powerful and dangerous an opponent on the battlefield as a Knight of Leyndell under the Veiled Monarch, King Morgott, Last of all Kings.


    "Despite their equal prowess, if you fell a Knight of Leyndell you would receive three to five times as many runes as a Knight of Stormveil, because the Knight of Leyndell, due to his long time under the branches of the Erdtree being showered with its grace and his probable birth in the Atlas Plateau, has a much greater lifeforce."


    John''s mind raced as he thought about the implications of that.


    "Wouldn''t that mean that Lord Godrick''s men would gain more runes in battle than they lost if they fought King Morgott''s men?"


    Edgar grinned at John.


    "I see you have caught that detail Sergeant. Clever. Yes, if the forces of Lord Godrick and King Morgott clashed and losses were roughly equal, then the forces of Lord Godrick would gain far more runes than King Morgott''s men.


    "This is one of the cornerstones of why none of the demigods attack Lord Godrick despite it being well known that he is the weakest shardbearer who controls any amount of land, despite him having the most regions under his control.


    "It is because he controls the regions with the least lifeforce. And so in any clash except the most crushing of defeats, his forces will come out ahead far richer in runes than their opponents.


    "The only way to prevent that would be to utterly destroy Lord Godrick and his forces in one fell swoop or a campaign of fast, unrelenting engagements. But to do such a thing with forces as powerful as Lord Godrick''s, forces near peer to the forces of all rival demigods who control regions and armies, would extract a heavy price from them and leave them vulnerable to themselves being destroyed by another rival demigod or even an ambitious tarnished shardbearer.


    "And runes are very important in war, as is obvious. Runes are not directly turned into strength for any except Finger Maidens and their tarnished. But runes are used in the process of imbuing weapons with smithing stones to make them more powerful, in the creation of magical items that allow people to cast spells, for logistics officers to buy supplies and materials and other general commerce, and other such things that empower an army."


    That all was very good to know. And made perfect sense to John. Basically, the reason no one had won the Shattering War yet was crabs-in-a-bucket syndrome and that fact that each major player had one way or another of screwing their competition over if they over-leveraged or advanced themselves even a little.


    John still had another questions though.


    "But Lord Edgar, if lifeforce isn''t strength, what does more lifeforce do exactly, besides make something drop more runes on death?"


    "A man or woman will be generally more resistant to diseases, poisons, and other maladies, but that effect is minor. The more important effect is that over time it makes one''s bloodline more powerful. Their children are more likely to be born more powerful, larger and stronger, and with higher lifeforces themselves.


    "And their children will keep this strength even if their higher lifeforce was to fade somehow such as if they lived for centuries in a less lifeforce-abundant region like Limgrave.


    "It is a sign we have the blessing of Placidusax that the strength of the noble bloodlines of us fringefolk persist despite us being consigned to the two most backwater of regions which have the least lifeforce," Edgar finished.


    John could see his superior was starting to look impatient to move on to what he had actually wanted to discuss.


    "Thank you, my lord. I just have one more question," John said, deciding not to try and push his luck more than that. "When you mentioned shardbearers, you made it sound like there are shardbearers that aren''t demigods?"


    Edgar rubbed his beard with his gauntleted hand.


    "Oh yes. Everyone knows of the demigod shardbearers, but before the Elden Ring was rendered down to the most fundamental of Great Runes required for life to exist at all, it''d had dozens of Great Runes in it. In that terrible act, those Great Runes were scattered across the lands by the Goddess Marika.


    "Many runes have since been lost and even a few destroyed. But the rest are held by shardbearers, and the demigods are only a few of the shardbearers.


    "Most shardbearers are in fact tarnished who are not mighty enough to claim any significant amount of land from the demigods, and so they hide themselves away like cowards. They and other tarnished fight each other in obscurity in their attempts to try and gather at least two Great Runes to eventually make an attempt at restoring the barest of stability to the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord.


    "Those fools are pursuing a flawed method of becoming Lord. What will happen if they restore the Elden Ring and become Elden Lord, yet are unable to match a demigod and their forces on the battlefield? All their ambitions will come to naught as they are slayed and usurped.


    "As Lord Godfrey once said before he was banished to endure the Long March, ''If one wants to be Elden Lord, his strength must befit a Lord''s crown."


    "I suspect most of the tarnished shardbearers who have gathered Great Runes instead are waiting in the shadows like rats for the day the demigods fall so they may have their chance at becoming Lord without having to face the demigods fearsome strength on the battlefield.


    "I have heard of a few tarnished who have come close, such a Vyke the Dragonspear and Knight Berhnal. But for reasons none know they discarded their Great Runes and turned away at the precipice of fulfilling their ambitions.


    "Most tarnished fail and die long before they have a chance at discovering where any of those reclusive shardbearers hide, let alone overcome them in battle. And those tarnished shardbearers all stay as far away as they can from any of the demigods and their men as they all fear nothing more than a demigod finally getting ahold of a second Great Rune."


    "Hunting tarnished in the hopes of discovering a shardbearer is one reason amongst many of why the Veiled Monarch sends his Night''s Cavalry to prowl even enemy regions. Their magical armor and cloth barding veil themselves during the day, making hunting them down impossible."


    Edgar shifted and made a gesture.


    "But that is enough for now. I want to discuss with you your reward, not teach you history."


    John nodded in agreement and acknowledgment. There was more he wanted to ask Edgar, but he wasn''t going to get on the man''s bad side over it.


    Edgar kept talking, switching back to what they had been discussing before that long tangent.


    "With a foe like the menial leader who has a powerful body and, from her red hair, most likely a strong connection with the Crucible, and therefore a strong lifeforce, the runes rewarded for slaying him will be significant. And the runes from slaying dozens of those large misbegotten will not be insignificant as well.


    "I wish to reward you with the opportunity to be the one who executes them, and as tradition, let you keep the runes. They will no doubt be a great source of wealth on your journey. But there is the risk that the negotiation was all a trap and you may be ambushed.


    "This will not be your true reward from me for your deeds, but I thought to give you the first offer at this opportunity as you are the one who provided the idea that saw us through near-impossible odds. Do you wish for your twenty to be the ones down there tomorrow despite the risk?"


    John leaned back and thought about it.


    The risk was serious. If this was all a trick to just pick twenty more of them off before the rebellion was snuffed out for good or if something went wrong in general, then he and his twenty would be helpless against the hundreds of misbegotten. They would be immediately overwhelmed and killed.


    But the runes would be incredible as well. He could feel the mass that had built in his stomach over the rebellion since he had done his second hallowing.


    John couldn''t count an exact number as the internal sense he could feel them in wasn''t exact in that way, but he had somewhere near ten thousand. A little less than half of what he''d had when he''d done his second hallowing.


    That meant he had about a fourth of what he thought he would need to hallow again. And hallowing was one of his main methods of getting stronger at that moment, until he managed to get a magic teacher, as that was probably gonna be his best bet for being able to start fighting in the big leagues.


    So he could really use the runes, as he wasn''t sure when or if he would even be able to do any magic. After all, he was from a world without magic.


    Really, at this point, John had already achieved the main thing he had set out to do. His first main goal for the past for years. The Frenzied Flame ending was much less likely without Hyetta to guide the Chosen Tarnished along that route, as a real person wasn''t gonna scour every inch of a massive continent looking for nothing like a video game player would a game world.


    Instead, the Chosen Tarnished would probably not meet anyone that would tempt him towards being the Lord of Frenzied Flame, until he met Shabriri in the Mountaintops of the Giants, if the CT ever met that guy at all with how John was planning on changing things.


    So that meant that the Frenzied Flame ending was much less likely now.


    And unless the Chosen Tarnished was an absolutely crazy serial killer, he wouldn''t pick the Dung Eater ending. And if the CT turned out to be that way, then they''d all been screwed from the start.


    Those were the two worst paths the Chosen Tarnished could choose, and both seemed very unlikely now by John''s estimation even if they were still technically possible.


    With him having probably averted the worst path the CT could take, the responsibility John felt towards the rest of the world to take as little risk with his life as possible because of his meta-knowledge was greatly lessened.


    Making his own mending rune and helping the Tarnished was much more of a personal ambition for his own satisfaction of living in the kind of world he''d prefer rather than a responsibility he felt to the world, like trying to help prevent the Frenzied Flame ending was.


    If John died now, there was little unfinished business left for him to do that the CT couldn''t do himself. He was free to start taking risks, which he had been avoiding up till now. And he wouldn''t be stupid about it of course.


    So whether or not he should accept the offer.


    Even after amassing a ton of runes from killing dozens upon dozens of misbegotten, he still had only reached about a quarter of what he would need to hallow himself again. The leonine misbegotten and other elite misbegotten would no doubt be significant progress towards his next hallowing.


    If John was ever going to be able to even begin to approach the level where he could help the Chosen Tarnished fight beings like Godrick, let alone someone like Radahn, Morgott, Radagon, or the Elden Beast, he would have to become incredibly stronger. Right now, he could barely fight a couple handfuls of misbegotten without his life being in serious danger. Even a single fringefolk knight outclassed him.


    If he was actually going to get stronger, he was gonna have to take the plunge and start taking risks, instead of playing it as safely as possible like he had been doing for the five years he''d been in the Lands Between, and John did not believe the misbegotten were going to backstab them. He didn''t see how they could use this as part of a plot to turn the tables once again.


    "I accept," John answered.


    Edgar smiled.


    "Excellent. Then tomorrow your twenty will be the ones who are to carry out our side of their negotiated surrender. After the menials are captured, we can speak of your actual reward from me for your deeds then. While I have some ideas, you know what you need best. After the reinforcements arrive and the menials have been killed, you can take your chosen rewards and leave."


    John nodded his head agreeing, until he realized what Edgar had just said at the end there and looked at him.


    "Kill them? My lord, did you not just swear that you would uphold the contract? Everyone knows that you are one who never breaks his word. Doing that would ruin your reputation."


    Edgar laughed, half genuine and half manic.


    "Sergeant, I am not long for this world and the future of my bloodline is grim. Why would my honor matter after the next few months?


    "Tell me, of honor, duty, and loyalty, the three most important qualities a man possesses, which would you say is the most important, and which is the least?"


    John thought about it and answered truthfully.


    "Loyalty, then duty, then honor," John said.


    Edgar clapped his gauntleted hand on John''s armored shoulder and nodded.


    "Precisely. Many, most even in my estimation, would say honor, then loyalty, then duty. But I am of the same mind of you, which is what I have suspected as I have gotten to know you some over the past few weeks, and why I even extended that offer of potentially taking you into my retinue when you entered my study after you risked yourself to save your injured comrade after the rest of your unit was destroyed.


    "Honor is to uphold one''s reputation and let others know you are a man that is trustworthy and worth involving oneself with.


    "I have found that those that have a preoccupation with honor often only act honorably when others are around to know of it, and have no true honor themselves. They see the lack in themselves and so do their best that none will see it. Not all of them are like this, but I have seen it too many times for it to be mere chance.


    "I will sacrifice my honor which I have taken great pains to uphold for many centuries for my duty.


    "If I were to let those misbegotten live, I have no doubt that they will become a serious danger in the long term. To leave it so would be an abdication of my duty in favor of my honor.


    "Since my life is burning as a candle, it is better for me to sacrifice my honor, rather than whoever is to come after me being forced to do so. This is part of my duty as the High Marshal of the Weeping Peninsula to whomever my successor shall be, of whom I have my suspicions. And I am on good terms with many of the probable candidates."


    John didn''t quite agree with Edgar about this. To John, this seemed like another person being overly obsessed with the purity of an idea of principle.


    He thought that loyalty and dedication to duty were definitely close to the top of the most important things a person could have. He thought honor was important as well, but it lagged far behind the other two in importance, and John didn''t consider it the third most important.


    But what John considered most important of all, more important than any of those, was pragmatism. Being realistic and practical.


    Edgar seemed to be fixating on loyalty and duty here due to his regarding those things as more important than anything else, rather than considering any of the wider implications his actions would have if word got out, as this event would damage the integrity of any such deals anyone of any faction ever negotiated in the future, as they would have one more example of time they were not upheld.


    Not to mention, John just didn''t agree with the need to kill all the misbegotten in the first place.


    Edgar saw John''s resistance to his assessment, and the gauntlet hand on John''s shoulder tightened, but not enough to hurt. Edgar gave him a smile filled with teeth, half for John and half for the misbegotten he was indirectly defending, as his eyes began gazing emptily into the air, his mind focused onto the future he was imagining.


    "You will go down there tomorrow and faithfully carry out our side of what we negotiated, saying no word of my future intentions about this to anyone. We will uphold the contract until the reinforcements arrive. Then I will have the misbegotten executed to the last, burn this contract and any evidence of it, and have my men who may have seen it be sworn to silence, ensuring word of this never spreads.


    "After that, I will provide what little more use I can to my lord before he has me relieved of my position, and most likely my head.


    "The honor of the Golden Lineage and the next High Marshal will be clean and these particular menials will not be a future problem as their traitorous hides will have gotten their rightful punishment. They and the traitors who did their bidding may have destroyed me, but they will feel the vengeance of Morne."


    ______________________________________________

 Chapter 17 - John

    ________________________________________


    John and his twenty were gathered on the lift down to the Castletown entrance as their hundrier gave them their orders. Thankfully, they had repaired the lift the day before to make what was to come would go as quickly as possible.


    "-and that is what you will do. Are there any questions?" their hundrier asked, standing on the stone just off the lift.


    None of them spoke up.


    "No questions. Good. We''ll lower you down now. Press the enchanted mechanism on the lift there and the receiving mechanism at the pulley will go off and lower the lift. And remember, only up to thirty at a time on the lift. Now go."


    John nodded and stepped on the mechanism in the center of the lift. It depressed, and after a few moments, the lift began to lower. John felt the familiar weightless feeling in his stomach that he always got from fast elevators.


    John turned around and faced the men as the stone of the lift shaft began zooming by. He switched his face from the neutral, stoic expression he normally kept when commanding the men to a stern one.


    "Alright men. If I see any of you so much as lift a fist and break the negotiations that Lord Edgar has worked out with the misbegotten and they aren''t ambushing us, I''ll gut you myself before the misbegotten can get to us and tear us limb from limb. If any of them give you any trouble while we''re moving them, wait for me. Don''t do anything yourself. Am I understood?"


    John looked from man to man, meeting their eyes and making sure everyone understood. As they each met his eyes, none of them seemed confused or defiant. Good. Maybe the rebellion would go out with a whimper instead of a scream.


    The lift slowed and stopped, leaving them in the corridor of the Castletown entrance. As they began warily making their way down the hallway, immediately John could tell the misbegotten had completely ransacked it. Everything that could be of use had been taken, and all that was left was discarded wooden scraps and broken furniture.


    They made their way out to the burnt ruins of what remained of Castletown. The month of rain had washed much of the ash away down the road through the gutters on the side of the streets. The gutters themselves were stained black.


    All that was left on the lots were small bits of blacked rubbish that hadn''t been completely burned by the fire and various bits of warped metal from whatever metal tools and appliances had been in the buildings before they burnt down, and bits of collapsed stone from buildings that had some stone incorporated in their construction.


    There was nothing left higher than knee height except for the various appliances such as wood burners or cooking ranges and stoves that some houses had had. Any building that once had multiple floors had collapsed into a burned ruin and looked no different than .


    In the distance through the light rain they could see the mass of a few hundred misbegotten that had gathered a short distance away, and at the front of them holding her body up by her hands with her maimed tail for balance was Gharriel.


    The crowd of misbegotten did not have on any armor that John could see, and he didn''t see any weapons anywhere in sight either.


    John resisted letting out a sigh of relief. It looked like there wasn''t going to be any funny business.


    John and his twenty approached, but the misbegotten didn''t react besides shuffling around as they saw them.


    John and his twenty arrived in front of the crowd of misbegotten, and he made eye contact with the misbegotten leader, looking her over.


    Gharriel''s body no longer had black charred patches, but rather pinkish scarred and puckered skin. All the gashes had been replaced by white scars, and her red hair was starting to grow back on her non-scarred skin, a few centimeters of stubble already showing.


    How she looked reminded him of one of those hairless cats but crippled and badly scarred.


    As she sized him up as well, John saw recognition light up in her eyes, but she said nothing.


    Seeing none of them reacting adversely, John decided to speak.


    "The first twenty. Have them step out and we''ll begin."


    The leonine misbegotten turned towards the rest of the misbegotten and gestured with her head towards John.


    "You know what to do. Remember, if they do not keep their word, you all howl together. Now you, first group, step forward."


    After looking back and forth between John and his men and Gharriel, the first of the misbegotten hesitantly stepped forward.


    "Men, open formation."


    John''s men made a large empty square and John gestured to the misbegotten.


    They nervously stepped between his men.


    "Let''s go," John ordered, and they began escorting the fidgeting misbegotten back to the lift. It took minutes as both groups warily made their way to and down the corridor before they stopped in front of the lift.


    "Step on. Keep away from the edge." John ordered the misbegotten.


    They complied. Once they were all on the lift John gave them another order.


    "Press the button."


    One of them did so, and a few moments later the lift began heading back up, leaving a flat bit of stone just under where the lift had rested. No infinite black pits under elevators in real life. Who would have thought.


    After waiting for a minute and not hearing any problems, the first set was done. Now they just had eleven more to go.


    They headed back to the crowd of misbegotten and got the second group. No problems happened with this group either.


    And so things proceeded peacefully but nervously as each side expected the other to act out at any moment.


    John and his men were once again only a few burnt lots away from being back in front of the crowd of misbegotten after their sixth trip, when the sound of a lone misbegotten''s howling screech resounded in the distance from the direction of the castle.


    What was happening!? Had Edgar started his slaughter of the misbegotten early!?


    Instantly John and his men braced, and put their hands on their weapons!


    The crowd of over one hundred misbegotten in front of them immediately began leaning forward and flexing their clawed hands, prepping for battle!


    "HOLD!" roared the leonine misbegotten to the misbegotten with the primal fury that only a being like her could! "I SAY HOLD! LISTEN!"


    Everyone there froze and didn''t move, including John and his men, as that lone howl continued out in the distance, but no others joined it. After nearly a minute of it continuing by itself, the howl hitched and stuttered and was suddenly cut off. From the sound, someone must have muzzled or gagged whichever misbegotten had done that.


    Gharriel turned and glared into the crowd of misbegotten. She was so furious that John was surprised that the rain hitting her wasn''t turning to steam.


    "Some fool who has misbehaved! The rest of you, you know what the deal is! We send you up and they restrain you and take you to their dungeon. If they hurt or separate you, then all of you begin howling.


    "I have bartered my life away to save the lives of all our brothers and sisters! And that fool nearly threw it away!"


    Gharriel kept talking to the misbegotten as she pointed at John.


    "Don''t let your foolishness jeopardize what I have sacrificed myself for again, or me and my men shall not save you when Edgar Morne sends men like him to come for you. Next time I hear a lone howler, I will not care if he is killed!" Gharriel growled at the crowd that cowed before her rage, before turning towards John.


    "You, twentier. When this next group goes up, send one of your men up to deliver that message. Lone howlers like that are no longer under my protection. I will send a messenger to tell the same to my right hand Morsh, who is leading the second group by the cliffside."


    John nodded in agreement, him and his men still tense waiting to see if any attack would come.


    "Good. Next group, go with them."


    But none of the misbegotten moved.


    Gharriel started growling at them, clearly gearing up to do something to them if they didn''t move. That got them moving.


    Even more hesitantly than the first group, the next group approached and John''s twenty warily escorted them to the lift. John sent a man up with the message from Gharriel.


    They kept escorting the rest of the other groups, the messenger returning to them on the next pass. Thankfully, no other incidents happened.


    As they escorted the groups of misbegotten, John looked at them and marveled at how truly unique each one of them were.


    There were of course many that were similar, but none had quite the same features as another. Scales, feathers, fur, claws, fangs, proportions, tails, wings. No one misbegotten had the same features of another. Or at least within this sample of a couple hundred there were no exact duplicates.


    As John looked at their features, John''s mind churned.


    He hadn''t had much free time or, frankly, mental bandwidth for thinking heavily on anything besides the battle for Morne since the rebellion and his training had begun. But with the past few days of uneasy peace that had let him relax some, he''d found that his mind had went back to the mystery of the misbegotten.


    What were they really? Why were they born like that? He could be wrong, but John just flatly didn''t believe them to be a curse.


    As he looked at their chimeric features, the red hair some grew that they were killed for and from what Edgar had said was affiliated with the Crucible, he had pieces of the puzzle. But no matter how much he scratched his brain, he just couldn''t quite make things fit; the answer felt like it was on the tip of his tongue.


    The same hair as the red wolves. The same red hair as the giants. The same red hair as Radagon. The Crucible. Features like knots, feathers, horns, and scales like the Crucible talismans.


    John tried to make it all fit together. He could just tell that all of that fit into the picture somehow, but no matter what solution he came up with, the pieces didn''t fit right to him. There was always a flaw he could see where it didn''t pass the smell test.


    As they finished with the last group of misbegotten from Gharriel''s group, and John''s twenty made their way back to Gharriel, he set aside this issue that had been plaguing his thoughts off and on for days.


    He couldn''t afford to be distracted by any of his theorizing for what was coming.


    When they arrived back at Gharriel, who was now alone, Gharriel looked at John meaningfully.


    "It is time for my death then, is it not? What better person than you to do it twentier, hmm?


    "Well, before we get on with it, we have your accounting. I have wondered what you would be asking me."


    John turned to his men.


    "Men?" John gestured for his men to give them some room.


    "We''ll be right over there, Sergeant, just out of earshot," said Baker. "If we see anything or you yell for us, we''ll come running."


    John nodded.


    "Good. You''ll know we''re done when she howls to tell her subordinates that everything is going to plan."


    The men nodded and walked far enough away that there was no chance of even someone like John overhearing their conversation, let alone the more mundane soldiers without his advantages.


    "So let''s begin," John said once they were out of earshot. "The first thing we want to know about are the traitors. Who are they, what did they tell you, everything."


    Gharriel chuckled.


    "I should have expected that question to be the first. Very well.


    "Most of our collaborators were killed in our initial attack and over time in the siege battles, but there are a few traitors still left in your ranks. A pair of lowly armsmen in your regulars and a few townsfolk. I will give you their names in a moment. But ultimately, they were of little use to us after our attack began.


    "There is one traitor who your lord will care most about. A high officer who is still alive."


    John''s ears perked up as he listened to Gharriel''s harsh voice. This was one of the things that Edgar was most interested in learning.


    "He was the only person of any significant status that we had on our side at any point. The rest were useful, but he was irreplaceable. Marvion Tearwolfe."


    John''s mind stuttered as he processed that. Not Crann? His mind raced.


    He recognized the name. It was the name of Crann''s second. The man who had been the one to speak out both times amongst their clique when Edgar had been pressing them.


    John remembered another small detail. One of only three knights who had been present at the Castletown entrance the night John had delivered his letter. The implicates were staggering.


    "Marvion Tearwolfe, he was your only higher-ranker traitor? Not Crann Stormfeather?" John asked to confirm.


    Gharriel nodded her head and chuckled darkly.


    "Yes. Tearwolfe, not Stormfeather. When our lookouts discovered that mangled body of a fringefolk with dragonsblood whom you lot had thrown down the cliff, we worried our man had finally been discovered somehow.


    "Imagine our mirth and our celebration when our more lowly collaborators told us that you had disposed of Crann Stormfeather instead, the strongest warrior that had been garrisoned at Morne, and the only warrior who had a chance at defeating me."


    Gharriel''s lone eye gleamed as she looked at him.


    "Or at least, the only one we believed could defeat me."


    Gharriel snorted.


    "It seems your lord wasn''t entirely foolish however, as he did have our man imprisoned and had watched for our flyers to make sure none of our collaborators could pass information, and so stopped us from learning anything about the trap you had laid."


    John did his best not to keep the storm going on in his mind from showing on his face as he tried to process what he was being told.


    Marvion had been the traitor, not Crann? He had helped throw an innocent man out of a window to his death? He still had his portion of the runes in his gut from the man''s death.


    But what about Crann''s plans and actions? Why had he lied about the letter? Allowed Gharriel to ravage their ranks multiple times and almost doomed them?


    John had to ask.


    "But what about Crann recommending those sallies at the beginning of the siege and then weeks later, a few days before the final battle, giving you the opening to kill half our remaining irregulars? Why didn''t he tell anyone about the letter that warned of the rebellion until after you all had attacked?"


    Gharriel chuckled again, genuine amusement crossing her beastly face.


    "Ah yes. Crann Stormfeather. Ironically, despite not being a traitor, he has been more helpful to our cause than our highest ranked turncoat in your ranks.


    "You see, Tearwolfe often complained to our people that Stormfeather was a terrible officer. A man of extreme martial talent and who could call upon the storm like the legendary fringefolk commander Niall, but also a blustering arrogant nepotistic fool who could do none of the duties of an officer and fostered such things off on those who could while taking the acclaim of their deeds for himself.


    "Tearwolfe told us that when that letter had been delivered to the Castle entrance, that letter had been given to Tearwolfe to hand to Stormfeather, who read it under the guise of his authority to learn of Morne''s business, something Stormfeather did often.


    "Tearwolfe, as he usually did, read it over Stormfeather''s shoulder. As he read it, he despaired that our cause was finished before it could even truly begin.


    "Imagine Tearwolfe''s surprise when Stormfeather dismissed it as nonsense. That single act has done more to help our cause than any other act. Immediately afterward Tearwolfe came to me to tell me of what happened and we were forced to start our rebellion far earlier than we had wanted, our preparations incomplete, to ensure that whoever had learned of our plans didn''t get another chance to inform the High Marshal ahead of time.


    "Unfortunately, we still had at least another month of preparations to make before we would have been completely ready. To arm everyone we planned to, to decide on when it would be an opportune time to attack, and to position them so the garrison would be almost wholly destroyed before the end of the first night, rather than only cutting down a third of them.


    "It was bitter that our preparations weren''t able to be finished before whoever wrote that letter found us out.


    "Most importantly, I hadn''t been able to immediately grab the Grafted Blade Sword on that night. It would let me outmatch even Stormfeather, who would have more than my equal without it to enhance my abilities and cut the strength of any blow in half. Giving us a champion that Morne could not match. Well, not in direct combat at least.


    "But even after he let us attack without warning, Stormfeather was not done letting his foolishness and arrogance contribute to our cause. So when he advocated for those sallies because he didn''t believe ''lowly beings'' like us could harm them, we ate them alive, and I struck and took the sword.


    "And then when he heard word that his men were being questioned he spent precious time investigating who and what to try and prevent any of his accolades from being stripped of him, it gave another opportunity. We had only meant to have me destroy one wing''s worth of your irregulars, but that gave us an opportunity to destroy both and assure our eventual victory."


    John had trouble comprehending that. All Crann''s traitorous actions had not been betrayal, but incompetence? His mind boggled at the thought of how bad a commander Crann was. To be so bad at your job that you were thought of as a traitor...


    John just shook his head. He couldn''t even find it in himself to feel bad about helping kill the bastard. He was still a traitor in practice and in spirit, if not in technicality, just from his negligence and incompetence.


    That was one of the major problems with a feudal system like the one Golden Lineage and Golden Order ran their domains on. Distributing higher ranks to people based on status and backroom deals, rather than merit and deed, caused these sorts of disasters more often.


    Not that such things didn''t happen in the US or other modern militaries and governments, but it was a matter of degree here. Although, thinking of various incidents he knew about, maybe the comparison was closer than he thought.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Some of John''s incredulousness about Crann must have shown on his as Gharriel chuckled again.


    "Absurd, is it not? Thankfully, our cause has not suffered from lack of good leadership like your own. But enough about Stormfeather and Tearwolfe. You wish to know the names of the lesser collaborators, yes?"


    John nodded and hurriedly took out a book of special parchment and a stick of material to write with. Both were waterproof and would let him write in the rain.


    They were things that Morne had developed at some point in the past, but were expensive and time-consuming to produce, so they were only used for the most important information that had to be written or transported in the rain. Like important military messages and such.


    John wrote down Marvion Tearwolfe and the names of the other traitors who still lived that Gharriel gave him. Afterwards, John asked for the names and professions of the dead traitors as well, and Gharriel obliged.


    By the time he was done, he had a couple dozen names on his list. She even stated how they helped the rebel misbegotten. It painted a pretty clear picture.


    The network of people who had been the ones that smuggled Gharriel and other trained misbegotten into the city and down into the misbegotten area of Clifftown and continually supplied them with food that they used to secure loyalty, among other things.


    "That is the last of them. Now what do you wish to know next."


    "Why did those people side with you? How did you recruit them?"


    "Ha. I will not tell you that," Gharriel said with a grin on her face.


    John eyed her, but moved on for the moment. He didn''t want to alienate her just yet with aggression; he''d come back to it.


    "Where did you and the other trained misbegotten come from? Many of you have red hair and all misbegotten discovered with such in Limgrave and the Weeping Peninsula are killed as soon as discovered."


    "My kin and I were born in the Altus Plateau."


    John raised his eyebrow at the wording. An obvious attempt at dodging the question.


    "So you are saying that you came from Altus Plateau to the Weeping Peninsula? How were you not discovered for so long? And who trained you and sent you here? From my understanding, Altus Plateau only treats the misbegotten marginally better than they do here."


    The light amusement that had been covering Gharriel disappeared instantly at John''s questions.


    "''Marginally better''? The treatment of my kind in Altus is far better than here. We are not liked, and we are considered savage, lesser. Like a cripple or disfigured person to be pitied or healed. But we are not slaves, and we do not work ourselves to death in mines or at other heavy labor unless we choose to for runes, like any other man.


    "We may have many restrictions in possessions and our children are still gelded, our circumstances in Altus are far from pleasant, but we are not slaves to be worked to death and tortured for pleasure."


    Gharriel venomously spit that last part out.


    That last accusation... John hadn''t seen it, but people with such tastes rarely advertise it openly to others. Only the stupid ones did. Even those who heavily looked down on misbegotten wouldn''t approve of such... activities.


    After a moment Gharriel calmed down slightly and continued.


    "As for those questions, I refuse to answer you. I will not betray our Savior. All I shall say is that he helped us along."


    That last bit stopped him. "He"?


    That was the first time John had heard the Savior referred to by a pronoun. All the misbegotten had always just referred to a title when yelling war cries about the topic: ''The Savior'' and ''Our Savior''. John along with the rest of the men doing battle had heard the misbegotten screaming about their savior for weeks. They had all assumed it was Gharriel.


    "Who is this Savior?" John asked.


    "I have already said I will not speak upon this."


    Who was it? Radagon? Someone else he knew of? Someone who''d never appeared in the game, like those tarnished shardbearers who were hiding away? There was too much he didn''t know to make a guess.


    It seemed it was time he stopped playing nice. Everything he wanted to know would be behind this wall.


    "We have a deal. We get the information we want from you, and in exchange we spare their lives."


    Gharriel chuffed.


    "Then take them. I will not answer. If I and every misbegotten from here to the Bridge of Sacrifice must die for me to keep this knowledge in confidence, then so be it."


    John tried jockeying more info out of her about his line of questioning, pestering and threatening her, but she refused to answer.


    John let out a sigh of frustration.


    He moved back to asking how they convinced people to turn coat against Edgar. She gave the same "Savior helped them along" answer as the last question and refused to elaborate anymore, no matter how he approached the topic.


    Asking about what their plan was if they had gotten control of Morne was also a bust.


    In the end he just wrote down that she refused to speak on any of that. He moved on to another topic expecting to get stonewalled again.


    "Fine. I''ll move on to the next question. The cleavers, were they smuggled in as well? How?"


    Gharriel''s guarded expression lessened some and she shook her head. She began giving him her first real answer in a while, surprising him.


    "They were not. Despite our shared love of our Savior, our collaborators refused to go as far as to help us bring in weapons. They did not believe such things would be overlooked like some more slaves would be. Instead in the tunnel system we had been digging out for many years, we made some very, very crude forges.


    "After tricking our collaborators into giving us supplies to operate the forges, those crude cleavers were made out of scraps of materials our most loyal followers slowly collected over the years. The young and least accustomed to life at Morne were the most helpful to us with that, as many who had grown up already or had lived long lives before we had arrived refused to risk themselves to help, even if they wished us success and joined us in our faith in our Savior."


    John sighed and put the writing materials away.


    "Well, with you not answering any of the other questions, I believe that was it."


    As John looked at Gharriel, the Leonine Misbegotten who would have been a boss in a game version of this universe, and knew he was soon to kill her. He felt an urge to ask her for her biography, but he resisted the urge to ask. He didn''t have the time or his own private parchment to do that, and he doubted she''d tell him much of anything about this supposed ''savior''.


    With how devout she was, he was sure that most of her story would be denied him because it somehow involved he suspected she was, due to her position as leader and instigator of this rebellion, with who or whatever this so-called ''savior'' was, that had doomed her and her followers.


    After all, even if they had succeeded perfectly like they had in the canon timeline, Godrick''s men would have eventually wiped them off the face of the earth one way or another after some time even if the Chosen Tarnished had eliminated Godrick himself. The people of the Weeping Peninsula wouldn''t tolerate the misbegotten being in control of Morne, especially after a massacre, and the fringefolk outnumbered and outgunned the misbegotten by a lot.


    This entire rebellion had been an exercise in pointless suffering for both sides.


    Without any more questions, the time had come for Gharriel.


    After a few seconds as they sat there in the rain in silence contemplating what was soon to come, Gharriel spoke up.


    "I recognize you, twentier. I remember seeing you, and I recognize your smell from when I ambushed that last unit of men that had sallied out in the early days of our siege of Castle Morne. The unit with two Banished Knights.


    "I know you are the one in that final battle who manned the scorpio. The one who detonated what must have been explosive stone buried in the courtyard. From what my collaborators have told me, you are also responsible for that trap as well.


    "But that is not all I know of you. I can see from your eyes and your speech that you are a foreigner to these lands.


    "Before you take my life, I have two questions I wish to ask you twentier, if you will indulge me."


    "Just two? Agreed," John answered, and Gharriel''s scarred lips curled into a gentle smile.


    "Then I thank you for this favor. Fate is a fickle thing. The Savior had everything calculated, everything accounted for, yet our rebellion still failed, due to a mysterious letter.


    "I am certain there were no betrayals from those who follow our Savior. Yet we have a mysterious foreigner who doesn''t seem to hate my kind even after this rebellion, and we have a mysterious letter that appeared near the zenith of our plans with information that no one disloyal to our cause should have had. Both of which were central to our undoing.


    "I can feel it in my bones. Tell me twentier, are you the one responsible for that impossible letter? For the failure of our Savior''s plan?"


    With how confident she sounded, John already knew that she knew. There was no point in pretending or deflecting.


    "Yes," John admitted.


    Gharriel smiled, the scars on her bestial face contorting and shining in the rain. She continued in a frenzied whisper as she leaned closer, her eye gleaming with a burning gold, almost like a torch that pierced through the dreary shade from the rain.


    "And tell me, did you know this because you have seen fate!?"


    John froze.


    What!? How had she figured that out!?


    Very carefully, he didn''t turn and look at the men standing a distance behind him, but from what he could hear, or rather not hear, it seemed they were still far enough away they hadn''t heard Gharriel.


    John stood there for a few moments silent.


    He could deny it, but despite having spoken to her for just a few short minutes, he somehow knew that someone like Gharriel would not leak this. And she would soon be no more.


    "Yes," John answered simply.


    Gharriel began wheezing as she struggled to keep whispering to him and keep her laughs quiet at the same time.


    "Hahaha! I see! So what I suspected is true! Hahahaha! We were undone by the power of oracle! One whose gift is powerful enough to pierce even the terror the stars hold for mighty General Radahn that keeps fate frozen in place! Hehehehe! Someone who can evade our Savior''s calculations, his plans! Hahahaha! Against one such as you who can spite even our Savior, there was never a chance for us! Hehehehehe!"


    Gharriel kept wheezing and laughing. Her mirth had a hysterical tone to it. Like she couldn''t believe what she was saying and was having some kind of breakdown.


    John didn''t interrupt her as he waited for her episode to pass. He kept himself ready to react if her crazed laughter turned to action.


    But he was wary for nothing. Soon her wheezing laughs subsided and she seemed to calm down from whatever was going on with her, leaving just an amused grin.


    "I am honored that you are the one who bested me twentier. One who outdid even my Savior. And bested not with the strength of arm, but with the might of the mind. The weapon that time has proven once again to be the strongest of all.


    "My only regret is that I will be unable to warn the Savior of you," she said, pointing at him with a gesture.


    "Before we move on to the finale of this act, may I have your name?"


    "John White," John nodded.


    "John White," she tasted the name and took a long look at his face, "I must thank you for indulging me in these, my last moments. I shall now give the signal to Morsh that you have kept to our bargain."


    Gharriel took a deep breath and, with her head pointed up into the air, let out an incredibly loud roar that echoed off into the distance, bouncing off the cliff walls that led up to Castle Morne. No doubt it reached her fellow misbegotten waiting near the cliffside.


    After a dozen seconds, her roar petered out. She took a few moments to breathe and catch her breath before she looked to John.


    "Now strike true."


    Stepped up to Gharriel. Even missing her legs and just standing on her hands with half her body, she was taller than him and massively outmassed him. With a swipe of her arms she could snap his spine like a twig. What had that knight said? Flesh as strong and tough as a dragon?


    John looked at his spear and then at Gharriel.


    He could just keep stabbing her at her body until she died, but with how big and thick her body was, it would be quite painful and take a while. And he didn''t want that.


    Strangely, he felt respect for the crippled warrior in front of him.


    Sure, she was a genocidal maniac, but the men on the side he had been forced to pick were no better. Not that he was one to talk down about them as his own hands were far from clean. He could still remember the screams of the children as he stood aside.


    No. He wasn''t interested in moralizing about any of this or sitting on any high horses. To him, the entire rebellion and the atrocities that had occurred and would occur, for both sides, had just been brutal pragmatism about how their world worked.


    The people John really blamed for this were the Golden Order, and their deliberate suppression of things they considered to be outside their Order, such as the Crucible. Most of all the people who made the philosophy and values of the Golden Order followed. Marika, Radagon, and the Two Fingers.


    The inevitability of this outcome was set into motion long, long ago, many millennia before the people who had lived in Castletown were even born. The chickens were just coming home to roost.


    So John was not outraged at the things either side had done in pursuit of saving their own skins. He knew enough about history to say that what occurred here had been a relatively minor incident, as horrific as it had been.


    What stuck out to him wasn''t the flaws that had been ingrained in them at and since birth, but rather their admirable qualities. Bravery, strength, resilience. Noble sacrifice.


    To John, Gharriel was more virtuous than Edgar. As ironic as it sounded to say about a genocidal leader.


    And she may be his enemy, but John wasn''t the sort to make up lies to himself about someone or something when he found them distasteful and blind himself to their good qualities.


    John respected Gharriel despite her faults, so he wanted to make this as painless and honorable as possible.


    As John considered how he was gonna go about his, Gharriel must have read something of his thoughts from the look on his face.


    "You wish to deal me a swift death? You hesitate to cause me pain in my execution? How strange your mercy is John White. To wish to give me kindness in this moment even as you''re to deal me my final punishment. It reminds me of a faint echo of my Savior."


    Gharriel took in a breath and then let it out.


    "Very well. I see you use a partisan. With the strength of a regular man, I doubt you could break through the back of my eye into my skull. That leaves us with one option."


    Gharriel laid down on her back on the street. It was an intersection of what had probably once been a neighborhood before her rebels had burned it down and killed everyone who had lived there. She gestured for him to stand at the base of her torso by her leg stumps.


    As she guided the tip of his spear and placed it right below her ribs, John knew what they were aiming for. Her heart.


    She grabbed the shaft of the spear with her clawed hands a few feet above his own, and John looked into her lone eye and empty socket one final time.


    "Now. Strike." Gharriel said.


    As John thrust with all his strength, he felt Gharriel pull the spear into herself at the same time.


    With their combined strength, the spear went up under the ribs, through nearly a foot of tough flesh including her lung, and right into her heart.


    John could feel her body flinch and shiver in pain through the spear shaft as they held the polearm in her, but she didn''t so much as grunt in pain. Rivets of hot blood ran down the spear and over his gauntlets, sinking through them and onto his hands, but he didn''t let their eyes break contact.


    They stayed like that for at least thirty seconds as her lifeblood spilled from the wound. Her body shivered as they waited for the mortal blow to kill her, and John could see her struggling with all her might to keep her head up to continue their stare even as she weakened and every breath was heavier than the last.


    Her shivering got increasingly severe, and soon she tried to take yet another strained breath and coughed up a mouthful of blood.


    The chilly droplets raining down on them were a stark contrast to the warm stream of red that soaked his hands and had started down his arms under his armor.


    Even as she hacked up blood, neither of them let their stare break, but John could see her eyes were becoming unfocused. She might have been looking at him, but he wasn''t what she was seeing.


    "Ahh..." She mournfully whispered, coughing and struggling to get her words out as blood bubbled up her throat and her breath began getting weaker. "I''ve failed him... I can''t......... I hope..... he lets me see... his shining kingdom... where... there... is... no..."


    But no more words came.


    And with that, Gharriel died.


    Her hands went slack and her head dropped down onto the ground as her body stopped its struggling shaking.


    John felt her runes rush into him but he didn''t move even as more blood flowed down the spear through his armor''s joints, further soaking his gambeson.


    John stayed like that for a minute, eyes locked on the body in front of him, spear unwavering. A moment of silence.


    He could just feel it. That it was important to do.


    But time waits for no one but the Dragonlord. The minute passed all too quickly.


    With significant struggle, he slowly pulled the spear from her body.


    The hole where his spear left her body flooded with blood that poured onto the street, joining the blood that came from his own feet where it had run down his armor. Both streams were picked up by the rainwater and washed into the gutters on the side of the street to be carried away to the cliffside and dumped into the ocean.


    No doubt some infinitesimally small portion of it would wash onto the beach that had been the home of the misbegotten of Morne.


    John looked at the corpse.


    "For what it''s worth, I hope you get to see that shining kingdom Gharriel."


    As he stood there looking at her wounded, scarred, and too-still body, the rain quickly washed away the blood from his armor and any tears he may have shed from where his eyes burned, he did not know.


    It didn''t take long until he heard the sound of his men approaching behind him. They had seen it had been done and finally came over.


    John stood there looking for another few quiet moments before he turned his back on the corpse and faced his men, just as stoically centered as he ever was in front of them.


    "Men. Get that head cut off."


    John stood off to the side and watched as his men cut her head off.


    It took them nearly two minutes of chopping with swords, the body''s extraordinarily tough flesh making it difficult. When they reached her spine, swords wouldn''t cut it. The warpicks took over at that point and used their hammer-ends to smash the body''s incredibly tough vertebrae apart swing by swing. Then a greatsword made the final strike that cleaved the rest of her neck.


    As they did all this, a fountain of blood poured from the body out into the street below. So much that all of it couldn''t be washed into the gutters, and her blood started spreading. It colored the paved-stone streets red as a thin film of it quickly spread through the rainwater on the ground.


    "Damn, this bastard was a tough one," one of his men said as he held the head in his hands, "The flesh truly was as tough as a dragon''s. I hadn''t believed it when I heard the others saying so. Sergeant, what are we doing with this?" he asked, holding her up towards John.


    John looked down at the large, scarred, ugly head covered in blood.


    "The High Marshal wanted proof. Go back to the lift and get it to the hundrier. After that, come back here. We got more misbegotten to meet at the cliffside."


    The men left to take the head to the lift and John stayed with her headless corpse. Looking down at it.


    Once he heard his men returning once again, John gave her one final look, and turned his back on the corpse for the final time.


    "Good job men! That''s half of it done. Now we just got to get through the other half. That roar was the signal to the rest of the misbegotten that everything is going according to plan. Let''s get to the cliffside."


    And so they marched off, leaving the defiled still-bleeding corpse behind them, alone in the cold rain in the center of that bloody intersection. And as they walked away to finish the job, they did not see it as the red continued to spread out in all four directions, washing over the streets of the burned and ruined Castletown in a blood red wave spurned onwards by the rain.


    _____________________________________


    By the time they arrived at the cliffside and found the rest of the misbegotten waiting for them, all the blood on John and his men''s armor had been washed off. He imagined the hate-filled glares the misbegotten were giving him and his men would have been far greater if they still wore the evidence of what had happened.


    Standing at the front of the group was Morsh who was holding the Grafted Blade Sword, but even with his large size, it seemed he struggled with the weight of the blade.


    Morsh regarded the approaching John with an ice-cold demeanor, already knowing he and his men would be their executioners.


    John warily nodded at the misbegotten man, keeping an eye on the sword in his hands. Morsh grudgingly nodded back.


    "Send me your first twenty," John said with no preamble. He was done with sentimentality for the day. "We had an issue with the first group. You may have heard it. One of your people raised the alarm, howling, out of turn.


    "Gharriel said those who pulled stunts like that weren''t part of the deal anymore, and we could deal with them as we saw fit. You gonna uphold that?"


    Morsh grunted, displeased.


    "Yes. As long as Lord Morne upholds his side of the contract, we will ours. Troublemakers won''t find a defender in us."


    John nodded.


    "Alright. You lot. You''re first." Morsh pointed at a particular group.


    And so they began escorting the second group of misbegotten to the lift, and John found himself with some time on his hands once again.


    This time though there were differences from when he had been escorting misbegotten from Gharriel''s group, besides the increased distance they needed to walk each trip.


    All over two hundred of the group that had been gathered in the ruins of Castletown had been made up entirely of ''regular'' misbegotten with the exception of Gharriel. These ''regular'' misbegotten being the flightless misbegotten who were the size of a regular man, though their hunched forms made them shorted.


    This was unusual because the misbegotten forces had plenty of ''specialty'' troops. Not only was there Gharriel herself, but also large misbegotten elites, and winged, flying misbegotten, a distinction that had to be made as not all misbegotten with wings could actually fly.


    This second group at the cliffside had been where all these non-regular misbegotten had been gathered making up about half the misbegotten in the group. The other half being ''regular'' misbegotten, many of which had been foreign misbegotten rather than former slaves of Castle Morne.


    In Edgar''s study, while John and the rest of the officers were estimating enemy troops to make plans over the course of the siege, he had seen all the records that Castle Morne had relating to misbegotten and their numbers.


    Unfortunately, or fortunately now that he thought about it, the bureaucracy of Godrick''s domain was much lesser than the obsessive record-keeping John was used to in modern society, where the government documented the exact time and location every time someone farted over the course of their entire life.


    So they didn''t have perfect and exact information to make plans about the misbegotten numbers nor the breakdown of the various ''types'' of misbegotten, as the castle didn''t keep track of their misbegotten population and their lives basically at all after a misbegotten arrived and was handed over to them.


    But that didn''t mean they had learned nothing though.


    According to Castle Morne''s records of misbegotten that had been brought into Morne or given to the castle by the city''s population when one was born there, one in thirty misbegotten were born large, and about one in twenty were born with full-sized wings though by the officers'' anecdotal estimation only half of those full-winged misbegotten would actually get the "flight magic" that allowed them to fly.


    Misbegotten like Gharriel were much, much, much rarer and were always killed immediately, along with others who showed closer connections to the Crucible such as those with large amounts of, or particularly intense, red hair. So they didn''t have actual numbers for either of those as what never arrived in the first place was never noted down.


    By their best estimates and educated guesses, it seemed that the native slave population of misbegotten had been around three thousand before the rebels had somehow smuggled close to five hundred extra foreign misbegotten over the years they had been plotting.


    In a force of misbegotten that was composed of roughly three thousand five hundred individuals, as the rebels had been at the beginning of the rebellion, that meant that there should have been around one hundred twenty large misbegotten and roughly one hundred seventy winged misbegotten, with half of those being able to fly.


    But due to the foreign misbegotten the rebels had somehow smuggled in having a higher concentration of ''special'' misbegotten than average, the rebels had had something close to two hundred large misbegotten at the start of the rebellion and an unknown number of extra flyers.


    Now, seeing as how the misbegotten host had been reduced to roughly five hundred individuals by the end of their last battle, you would expect based on the average numbers to have maybe fifteen or so large misbegotten and about twenty-five winged misbegotten left.


    But the thing is, while the majority of the rebels'' specialty troops had been killed, they still had a far higher survival than those ''regular'' troops who the misbegotten leadership had used as disposable cannon fodder to wage a non-stop battle to wear the defenders down.


    So there was actually a far higher concentration of these specialty troops now after the misbegotten had been whittled down to a seventh of what they had started with.


    So about one hundred thirty of the five hundred misbegotten that remained were these specialty troops, all of whom were in this cliffside group of two hundred fifty that was being led by Morsh. About eighty of these remaining specialty troops were winged misbegotten and another fifty were large misbegotten. The other one hundred twenty being regular misbegotten.


    Of course, not all of this cliffside group of misbegotten were going to be taken into custody. Not like all those in the Castletown ruins had been. Instead, one hundred of them would be staying here to face the blade.


    Was John thinking about all this to distract himself from what he was to have to do?


    No. He was thinking about all this because he, as twentier of his twenty, had to divide up the ''spoils''. After all, some misbegotten were worth more runes than others, and the twenty''s ''bounty'' had to be split appropriately.


    Twentier would be entitled to the largest share, as the lead officer here. Followed by those who were fiviers. And those with the smallest share would be the digits, the name of the base unit of troop organization.


    Anyways, as a result of them now escorting those from the cliffside group, not only were their trips to the lift longer, but there was also a number of these more unusual misbegotten every trip, as many of the ''regular'' misbegotten in this group were foreign and slated for execution.


    John was good at math, so it didn''t take him more than a few minutes to get the distribution sorted in his head, leaving his mind to turn to once again pondering the mystery of the misbegotten as he looked over the more uncommon phenotypes they were escorting to the lift, trying to find a clue to the misbegotten mystery in their more unique features.


    It drove him crazy that he could feel that he had all the puzzle pieces to solve this in his head already, but the answer just wouldn''t come as he sounded out various ideas to himself in his head.


    He was just missing a tiny piece that John knew that he knew, but he just wasn''t able to think of it because he wasn''t considering it part of this particular puzzle. There was something that he knew that was related to the puzzle of the misbegotten itching the back of his head, but he just wasn''t able to think of what it was because he wasn''t considering whatever it was to be related to the misbegotten puzzle.


    Was it the Nox? They were associated with artificial life like the Dragonkin Soldiers. Maybe the Giants? They had red hair as well. These were some of the things John considered and tried to make fit. But nothing satisfied him, and the answer John sought continued to elude him despite him turning his mind into knots trying to figure it out.


    John pondered this as they brought group after group of misbegotten to the lift.


    As they brought their fourth group to the lift, his eyes absentmindedly scanned the forms of the unusual misbegotten in front of him, something sparked in John''s head.


    It wasn''t the answer to the mystery that had been plaguing his mind however.


    Those particularly-shaped scales arranged on arms in that pattern. His eyes came into full focus. Was that... Sihlas!? Hadn''t he been killed with the rest of the misbegotten children!?


    John did a double take.


    It was! But how had that soldier ended up with Sihlas''s drawings, which were still under John''s armor!?


    He dismissed unimportant considerations. What was important was that Sihlas was alive and in front of him right now!


    His heart raced as he looked at his friend he had thought had been killed!


    John nearly shouted his name right there in his excitement, but stopped himself as a realization hit him and suddenly felt like his gut was filled with lead.


    Sihlas had his back to him, and it looked like Sihlas hadn''t recognized John through the rain with this different set of armor on. That made John breathe a sigh of relief. Now wasn''t the time, for many reasons.


    Sihlas was alive, but in a few days when the reinforcements arrived, Edgar was going to kill the rest of the misbegotten in Morne. That was a massive problem.


    His mind raced as he thought about what to do, and as ideas came to him, he put them away to further consider later. This was going to be hard to do with how vehemently Edgar seemed to be, and whatever plan he went with would have to be as ironclad as possible, but John was confident he could save Sihlas''s life.


    For now Sihlas would be safe in a cell with another nineteen misbegotten.


    In fact, drawing any attention to Sihlas at all before his friend was free would be very dangerous. There was also the consideration that no one would want any of the misbegotten to survive, and would no doubt go out of their way to preemptively ''correct'' things if they thought Sihlas may get away with his life due to any interference with John.


    It was better if Sihlas was just another misbegotten for now.


    John let Sihlas''s group get onto the lift like all the others, none the wiser to what had happened with John.


    A few trips later, and he and his men escorted the final group who were to be taken into custody.


    As they made their way back to Morsh finish of things, they heard another lone howl erupt from the castle. This time it was immediately cut short with a violent screech of pain before going silent.


    John and his group stopped and waited to see if the rest of that group would begin howling, but none did.


    Still, as they approached the cliffside they approached carefully. As they did, John looked at the misbegotten who were left.


    There were about forty ''regular'' misbegotten with the other sixty being large or winged. Unlike the tense or skittish misbegotten John expected, either from the howl or their own upcoming death, they instead were just as calm as they had been when he had first arrived, though he could see their hate filled glares had been renewed by that howl.


    These were the fully trained and battle-hardened misbegotten of Gharriel''s Savior, who stood as if their coming death was of no significance to them.


    It was terrifying to consider that maybe it really wasn''t. True and utter devotion was a powerful thing.


    And from what he could see from the looks of them, it seemed the misbegotten''s leaders hadn''t tried to make any misbegotten of Morne take the fall for them. Admirable.


    They could have tried to pass some of the slaves off as their people and vice versa to save their skins, but they had not.


    John and his men stopped before the group of one hundred heavily trained misbegotten, more than twenty of whom outmassed them significantly. He and his men eyed them all warily.


    This was it. The final act of the rebellion. It all came down to this. Would they really go quietly?


    "Is the deal still on?" John asked.


    "It is."


    Now then came one of the grimmest aspects of the Lands Between.


    When men dropped runes on death, it quite literally put a price and worth on everyone''s head.


    What was even more darkly amusing was that John couldn''t even use that as a reason for why the people of the Lands Between committed so many atrocities. Even without the reward of runes, John was sure most of them would do the same things.


    John had twenty-one men total, including himself, to divide these one hundred misbegotten between. One twentier, four fiviers, and sixteen men.


    He had already done the math.


    John turned to his men to give the order.


    "I already ate earlier, so I''m feeling generous. I''m giving away my share of the regular ones," John said, and he could see his men liked that announcement, though they were smart enough to break out into a cheer like he knew they wanted to.


    "That means that digits get two regular misbegotten, one winged, and one large. Fiviers get two regular, two winged, and two large. I get the leftovers."


    John''s men drew their weapons and let out toothy, malicious smiles. Excited to quench their thirst for runes, blood, and the ''final'' part of their revenge.


    John watched Morsh and the steadfast misbegotten as his men got closer and closer to them.


    "And no fooling about. I want this done clean and fast. We''ve already been out here in this cold as shit rain all fucking morning."


    _________________________________________________________


    Hours later at the end of the day, John sat down at a small table in his room and let out a deep breath as he finally relaxed.


    It was finally over. The rebellion.


    As a twentier, he had been given his own small office/apartment for himself in the barracks near the room his twenty slept.


    The entire day had been shit, even after he was done with that terrible business out of the castle, when he had come back, things had kept being horrible. Turns out wrangling, organizing, and feeding hundreds of prisoners when all their jailers wanted to kill them wasn''t so easy.


    As he decompressed from an entire day filled with stress, his mind swirled with everything that had happened that day.


    He''d given a long report and the notes to Edgar about what had transpired in the ruins of Castletown with Gharriel, and his superior hadn''t been happy at all about learning the truth of Crann. The man had been so mad he''d used his storm powers to trash his own study, fucking up an insane amount of paperwork that John had been forced to help clean up after.


    Edgar had went on about how he was going to have to make amends with and give reparations to the Stormfeather family, and how he''d have to arrange an honorable burial for Crann and restore the rank of the former Knight Major. There would be a formal retraction and public apology.


    Then Edgar had gone on about how he was gonna execute Marvion Tearwolfe and the other traitors, and a bunch of other crap John understood but didn''t care about as it wasn''t relevant to him at all.


    John was just glad he wasn''t one of the living traitors. The poor bastards didn''t know what the High Marshal had in store for them.


    As for John, he''d decided not to worry about his part in what happened with Crann. He was sure that even if Edgar had known the man wasn''t a traitor, he would have probably ordered something that would have ultimately ended with a similarly deadly fate for Crann anyways from all the damage the man''s gross negligence and corruption had caused by that point.


    John had found Edgar was a patient man, but he had a line. One that Crann had harshly crossed.


    It was just another turd on top of the pile of shit that the Misbegotten Rebellion of Morne had turned out to be.


    John stood back up and took his armor off. It would be the first time he slept without it in a month. It felt far longer than a single month with how much had happened, but it had indeed only been a single month.


    Putting his armor up on the armor rack, he sat down at the table he used as a desk and placed his good luck charm down.


    Looking at the small wooden box with a hole punched through it that lay in front of him, John thought about Sihlas and what he was gonna do to try and save the kid.


    Ultimately, with Edgar''s extremely sour mood from his report, John had decided to wait before he talked to Edgar about Sihlas. There was still tomorrow left, and then the day after the reinforcements were arriving. He could wait this small amount of time to increase the odds of him succeeding.


    As for the transfer of the misbegotten to the dungeon, besides those two hiccups in the morning with those idiotic misbegotten who had resisted being bound despite the negotiated deal, nothing else had went wrong besides some nasty bruises, some rope burns, and stepped-on toes.


    It was incredible that things had gone as well as they had, despite the huge pain in the ass the whole thing had turned into. And John was exhausted and ready to go to bed.


    But before John could enter the sweet embrace of sleep, he had one last thing to do.


    John picked up a stick of charcoal and opened an empty journal.


    He had an important story to put to pen.


    ''Gharriel was a dedicated and powerful misbegotten warrior. A warrior that made a noble but futile sacrifice under the honorless deception of her enemies after nearly succeeding at staging a nearly impossible rebellion-''


    ___________________________________________