Maidenless No Longer (Elden Ring)

Nepheli Loux was no stranger to death. She had caused her fair share of it in the course of her life. After all, she was a warrior, and to be a warrior was to walk alongside death, to live with the possibility of death every day, in every battle.
 
… This was not the sort of death she walked alongside. Kneeling there on the hillside path, staring at the pile of bodies before her, Nepheli Loux finds herself at a complete loss for words. There is nothing to be said here. No honor to be taken from this act. This… this monstrosity is not what she expected to find, when she left the Roundtable Hold on her next adventure.
 
Despair thick in the air, wailing filling her ears, Nepheli can only gaze in horror at the death and destruction wrought upon this place. The Lands Between are filled with misery. She knew this already. But there was also beauty to be found in everything. Or so Nepheli had always thought. So her father had always told her.
 
Where was the beauty to be found in this? This wanton destruction, this one-sided aggression. Perhaps it merely hit closer to home for Nepheli because… because she’d been here before. Heh, and to think, she’d thought herself past it. She’d thought she’d grown beyond the horrors of her past. But no, kneeling here, on the footpath up to the Village of the Albinaurics, Nepheli Loux can’t help but be drawn back there, to the memories that she’d repressed from oh so long ago.
 
She knew of the Albinaurics, of course. Her father had made sure of it. They were not native to the Erdtree. They were, as her father put it, artificial life. As such, they could not touch grace. They could never bask in the warmth of the Erdtree. They were spurned creatures, one and all, both the First Generation and the next.
 
Yes, from the studies foisted upon her by her father, the All-Knowing, Nepheli understood the Albinaurics to be split into two distinct, disparate subgroups. There were the second generation Albinaurics, short and stout creatures with smooth, leathery grey skin, bald heads, and bulbous eyes. They could be found all over Liurnia of the Lakes, but they could also be found elsewhere as well.
 
And then there were the first generation Albinaurics. Beyond lacking the Erdtree’s grace, beyond their artificial nature, they were indistinguishable from humans… or at least, they had been. This here, where Nepheli was now, had been their Village. This here, nestled in the undercroft of the massive cliff-face, had been their sanctuary.
 
No longer. The cursemongers had come upon the Village of the Albinaurics with a ferocity and a monstrosity that left even Nepheli aghast. The first generation Albinaurics were no fighters. They were not warriors. Nepheli certainly did not think anything less of them for it, but neither did she expect them to defend themselves.
 
The entire point of their location was to refuge in subterfuge instead. By setting up their Village here, under the mountain range, they should have been safe and protected from the many dangers that infested Liurnia of the Lakes.
 
Instead, they had been set upon by monsters wearing armor and cloth. They had been preyed upon by the worst sorts of creatures. There was no salvation to be found for the Albinaurics here. One might even say that those who lived were worse off than those who had already died. Indeed, their suffering could be heard even now, and it made Nepheli’s teeth grit together, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
 
She knew… she knew of the first generation Albinaurics’ beliefs. How they put their faith in something called the Haligtree. How it was said to be their Promised Land, that only they knew the secret path to reach it after all this time.
 
She knew… because her father had taught her, had made sure she knew. Sir Gideon Ofnir the All-Knowing had spoken in length about the Albinaurics, and the possibility of their myths and legends about this Haligtree being true, being real. He’d even theorized that the Haligtree might represent a path to another demigod, another Great Rune.
 
Had he…?
 
Before Nepheli’s thoughts can truly turn down THAT dark path, the crunch of foot falls from further down the hillside path catch her attention, and her head flings around, hands closing around the shafts of her axes in preparation for battle. When she sees who it is, she relaxes a tad, but does not release her hold on her weapons. Not in a place like this.
 
“Ah, it’s you.”
 
Tis the Tarnished from before. The warrior who had laid Godrick the Grafted low with her help, who she had… engaged in a dalliance with afterwards. Somehow, her father had heard about that. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised; his title was the All-Knowing for a reason. Still, she didn’t quite understand what his opinion on the matter was. He’d spoken in riddles, as he so liked to do, but it had felt almost as if he both approved and disapproved at the same time.
 
Regardless, she was a woman grown, and she could make her own choices. Besides, though the other Tarnished was bare-chested once more, and wielding his two great axes as he came upon her, she did not feel any spark of lust or arousal in his presence or from his appearance. How could she, when her stomach turned end over end from the sights around them, the acrid smells in the air, the horrible wailing on the wind?
 
He too, looks solemn and mournful, as he gives her a nod in greeting, his arms crossing over his chest and his gaze drifting over the bodies piled in front of her. Kneeling there, Nepheli’s breath hitches and she feels a modicum of embarrassment. At the same time, she needs… she needs to know he played no part in this. He comes upon her from the lakes, so it seems unlikely, but at the same time… she has to make sure he doesn’t condone this.
 
“What… what do you make of it? What’s happened to this village?”
 
She watches him carefully, this Tarnished who had slain a Demigod, albeit the weakest of the bunch. Never mind how ‘weak’ Godrick was compared to the others, he was still a shardbearer, and the man before her had still claimed his Great Rune. In comparison, even her father had less of a claim to the title of Elden Lord than this Tarnished did.
 

Face drawn, lips pulled into a deep frown, and brow furrowed, the Tarnished shakes his head. Silent as he is, it might as well be him decrying the terrible acts committed her at the top of his lungs. Letting out a shuddering breath, Nepheli nods in turn. He doesn’t condone this. Good. G-good…
 
“… I witnessed a sight much the same, in my infancy. The oppression of the weak. Murder and pillage left unchecked. A waking nightmare, made by men.”
 
And that’s the worst of it, in Nepheli’s opinion. This is not an atrocity caused by beasts, anymore than the horrific grafting she witnessed in Stormveil Castle. The cursemongers are men and women, same as her. They are of the Erdtree, same as her. Or at least, they are supposed to be. Touched by grace, are they not supposed to be better than this… this base savagery?
 
Except, if her suspicions are true… Nepheli shakes her head, dispelling such thoughts for the time being. She MUST remain clear-headed. There is work to be done here. When she raises her head again and settles her gaze once more upon her fellow Tarnished’s face, she likes to think he sees her determination and resolve.
 
“But this time… this time I am a woman grown. And though the suffering cannot be undone, I can still mete out justice.”
 
Taking in a deep breath, she licks her lips.
 
“Justice to the oppressors. Justice for their victims.”
 
Hands still clinging to the hafts of her war axes, Nepheli grits her teeth in anger and righteous fury.
 
“Let the scars I carve remind them. I am Nepheli Loux. Warrior.”
 
A broad smile spreads across his face, and he unfolds his arms in order to hold out his hand to her. Blinking, Nepheli has to juggle her axes in order to take it, flushing just a tad as he pulls her to her feet. The instant they’re both standing, he lets go in order to pull his own axes from his back, before giving her a single decisive nod.
 
… She honestly feels foolish for worrying for even a second that he had any foreknowledge of this or would condone it after the fact. Tarnished he might be, but he was a hero through and through. And together… together, they would see justice done.
 
“Come then. Let us show them what we warriors can do.”
 
Unfortunately, as they advance… most of the cursemongers have already gone. The fighting force that came upon the peaceful Albinaurics and reduced them to THIS has already left, onto greener pastures to murder and rape and pillage once more. But that does not mean the area is completely devoid of monsters to fight and avenge the village upon.
 
There is a Perfumer up the Hill, and Nepheli and her fellow Tarnished fall upon the alchemist before it can even hope to utilize its poisons and explosives against them. In times past, Nepheli knew full well that the role of a perfumer was a respected one. A blessed apothecary in the eyes of many. But then came the Shattering, and the battlefields that followed, and the perfumers turned away from aromatics, and towards darker things instead.
 
This one goes down quite easily, cut in twain before it can so much as let out a cry that might identify its gender. Instead, the Perfumer is ended with a choked off gurgle, and Nepheli barely pays it any mind. After all, there are a number of Rotten Strays to occupy her attention instead.
 
The undead canines are vicious and violent creatures, and Nepheli is almost at home combatting them alongside her fellow Tarnished. Alone, tis quite dangerous to face Rotten Strays, especially when one comes upon them in a pack. The malnourished, mangy mutts had a taste for flesh of all sorts and would do anything to get their teeth around something juicy and bloody, like her and her warrior companion.
 
Yes, it was almost a relief to fight such beasts… only, Nepheli could never forget that these ones were drawn here by humans like her, by cursemongers seeking to destroy all the good and all the safety that the first generation Albinaurics had built here. The Rotten Strays she and her fellow Tarnished put down on their way through the Village were a byproduct of a different type of monster altogether.
 
They come to the bridge… and over it, Nepheli knows the true battle awaits. Even now, she can hear the sound of flesh being rent not by tooth and claw, but by hand and blade. The living Albinaurics still suffer across that bridge, and they do so because one of the cursemongers has remained behind, eager to torture and maim and bring untold torment and pain into this world.
 
But before they can cross, her fellow Tarnished stops her and holds up a hand, asking her to wait. Nepheli blinks, watching as he walks a short distance away, to a large pot that, now that she looks at it, looks somewhat suspicious.
 
The Tarnished raises one of his great axes over head… and bonks the pot with the bottom of the pommel, much to Nepheli’s mystification.
 
“A-Ah! Please, no! Dear me! Haven’t a clue! No secrets lie with me, not a one! Oh please, leave me be!”
 
Nepheli’s eyes widen as the illusion of the massive pot is dispelled to reveal an old Albinauric, still sane, under it. He shies away from the Tarnished, holding up frail, spindly-looking arms in fear. But the Tarnished sheathes his great axes upon his back, and when Nepheli takes a step forward, he holds up a hand, silently asking her to hang back. The old Albinauric’s eyes follow that hand to her, and he shies away even harsher at the sight of her, looking deathly afraid.
 
Stopping in place, Nepheli can only watch from afar, as he and the Tarnished talk quietly. Or rather, the old Albinauric talks, and her fellow Tarnished merely nods along, like always. When the old Albinauric hands him something, she can’t help but be curious, but the Demigod Killer simply takes it and tucks it away, giving another solemn nod in agreement to whatever it is that’s being asked of him.
 
Nepheli… she wants to know, but at the same time she doesn’t. And when the old Albinauric scurries away and her fellow Tarnished returns to her side… she stays her curiosity, her lips remaining shut. He glances at her, before nodding and pulling his great axes free once more. And together… together they cross the bridge.
 
On the other side, they find what Nepheli was looking for, but also feared discovering. The Omenkiller goes about his grisly work, completely ignorant of their presence initially, even as they cut down the Rotten Strays naught but a hundred or so yards from him.
 
Omenkillers… twisted men and women who wear masks that represent their true selves more than their faces ever can. A direct evolution of your average perfumer, after their arts were turned and twisted towards battle. An Omenkiller was one such perfumer who imbibed a physick that was said to completely rid them of emotion, thus enabling them to perform their so-called sacred duty… the hunting of the Omen, wherever they can find them.
 
Except… there were no Omen here. Only Albinaurics. For an Omenkiller to be here, for there to be a creature like this in this village of peaceful, if graceless innocents… means it had to be lured here by someone else. Turned into a pawn, by someone far more intelligent than it, far more cunning.
 
Nepheli’s lower lip trembles, and a single tear streaks down her face. The loss of innocence is always a harsh thing, even more so when you had thought your innocence lost so long ago. And yet, it would seem Nepheli was still encountering betrayal all the same.
 
For a split second, she considers confirming it. For a second, she considers striding forward and calling out to the Omenkiller, demanding answers and finding the truth, once and for all.
 
But no, she knows who to interrogate, after this is done. And the Omenkiller is not it. For all that their kind hunted Omens above all else, they were hostile to anyone not of their order as well. Words would not be exchanged here today. And Nepheli… Nepheli was not in the mood for talking at the moment anyways.
 
Drawing her Stormhawk Axes, the warrior woman lets out a cry of rage and leaps through the air. She can feel her fellow Tarnished right behind her, but in the blood-red fury that has fallen over her vision, she only has eyes for the Omenkiller. She’s upon it, even as it’s turning to face her. And even though its fast… she’s faster in this first exchange, her axes biting deep into its body.
 
Of course, that’s not nearly enough. An Omenkiller is no Perfumer. They are what comes after a Perfumer does things to themselves that need not be spoken of in polite company. Even as she’s tearing her axes out of the Omenkiller’s body, the monster in human flesh is bringing up two serrated swords and seems to have every intention of returning the favor.
 
Too fast for Nepheli to pull back, but that’s alright. She’s ready to take the blows, she’s ready to exchange pain for pain and blood for blood if that’s what it takes to mete out justice. She will-!
 
Nepheli’s eyes widen, and she likes to think the Omenkiller is just as surprised as she is when her fellow Tarnished steps in and parries the strikes with the haft of his great axe, knocking the masked cursemonger back. As surprised as she is, Nepheli Loux is a warrior, and her warrior’s instincts take over as she lunges forward, taking advantage of the momentary opening to drag her Stormhawk Axes through the Omenkiller’s body once more.
 
The battle that follows is more of the same. Every blow she lands upon the enemy, an attempt at returning the favor is made, only for her fellow Tarnished to step in and stop it, giving her another opening. It takes her naught but a handful of exchanges to realize what the Tarnished is doing. He’s positively giving her this fight. Without his assistance, victory over the Omenkiller would have been questionable at best.
 
Part of her feels a little offended, as if her honor is stained by the assistance. But that part of her is in turn tainted by the surety of where the Omenkiller must have come from. Just whose pawn he is. Because that part of her, was entirely built up by her adoptive father.
 
Gritting her teeth, Nepheli lets out scream after scream of rage, cry after cry of anger. She vents all of her pain, all of her sorrow for the atrocities committed her, upon the all but defenseless Omenkiller. With her fellow Tarnished supporting her, the Omenkiller doesn’t get a single retaliatory strike in, before… finally, the monster falls, dead.
 
Panting heavily, Nepheli’s axes biting into a bloody chest, she gazes down at her defeated foe… and then lets go of her axes and turns towards her fellow Tarnished. He doesn’t seem surprised, when she leaps upon him a moment later, taking him to the ground in a familiar motion. Nor is he against what they do next, even if it’s perhaps not the best place for it.
 
But Nepheli can’t help herself. Call it what you will. There’s a certain violence, to the sexual intercourse they’re soon engaging in. One might describe it as hateful, though it is not hate directed at her fellow Tarnished. No, tis hatred directed at herself. And this… this is the only way she can think of to distract herself from thoughts of the future, and what she will have to do next.
 
Someone has to confront him, her father. Someone has to take him to task. And no one else in Roundtable Hold has the balls to do so. So, it’ll have to be Nepheli Loux. Warrior.

-x-X-x-

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