Maidenless No Longer (Elden Ring)

Latenna did not know quite what to expect, when she consigned herself to the ashes. She’d known she was willingly giving up her mortal flesh for the slim chance that the Tarnished who had come upon her would take her all the way North, to the land of her creation. In the dark moments, she’d allowed herself to imagine the worst fate possible. One where the Tarnished never called upon her and never made his way North, merely keeping her as part of his collection for the rest of his life, and then allowed her to languish wherever he finally fell.
 
Thankfully, that had not been the case. Far from it, in fact. The Tarnished had an entire collection of Spirit Ashes on his person, but that did not keep him from making use of her. In fact, he’d empowered her greatly using Glovewort to strengthen her connection on the mortal world. More than that, he’d summoned her only under very specific circumstances… whenever there was a wolf nearby.
 
How he’d managed to guess, Latenna knew not. She had not told him, but then to be fair, he seemed to be quite the observant sort, and from what she’d seen of him and his travels in the Lands Between, her Tarnished knew quite a lot that he shouldn’t have, that he should have had no way of knowing. Regardless, let it not be said that Latenna the Albinauric looked a gift horse in the mouth.
 
Every time he summoned her; it was in the proximity of wolves. And while none of them could hold a candle to Lobo, while none of them could replace her other half in her heart, Latenna would make use of them all the same. As a Spirit, it was easy to reach out and tug on their minds, calling them to her. Easy to mount them and ride them, giving herself great mobility on the battlefield.
 
Whenever the Tarnished brought her forth, she made sure to do her absolute best to support him as the ranged unit she and Lobo had once been. Needless to say, the Tarnished had not known defeat while she was out and about.
 
The rest of the time, she remained with the rest of his Ashes. Many of them slept quite a lot, and Latenna was no different. Though ‘sleep’ was perhaps the wrong word for it. As Spirit Ashes, they did not dream. It was more akin to a state of dormancy. Always ready. Always waiting for the call to arms.
 
Of course, from the instant that the Tarnished had stepped into what those of the Erdtree’s Grace would call the forbidden lands, Latenna had been alert. No more dormancy for her. Though, she hadn’t needed to speak up initially, for her Tarnished had come across a red-haired girl who had a similar goal as theirs, and who wanted to go to the same place they were going. Castle Sol, where the other half of the medallion lay in the grasp of Commander Niall.
 
Needless to say, her Tarnished and the red-haired girl had not struggled in the slightest in retrieving the other half of the Haligtree Secret Medallion. And now, here they were, having come to the Consecrated Snowfield. If Latenna could have breathed, she would have taken the air into her lungs. As it is, she contents herself with the sense of peace and calm at finally being home once more.
 
And once her Tarnished and the red head he’s allowing to follow him fall quiet, Latenna speaks up, though only for him, directly into his mind through the connection they share.
 
“Do you hear me? It is I, Latenna. We have reached the land of Miquella’s Haligtree, where Lobo and I began our travels.”
 
Projecting pure fondness and affection into her voice, Latenna hums.
 
“It’s entirely thanks to you that I’m so close to home.”
 
The Tarnished cocks his head to the side, rather than answering verbally. Tis not a matter of him wanting to keep the red head from thinking he’s mad and hearing voices, Latenna knows this to be true. Rather, it’s simply not his way to speak. He is a quiet man, and has not said a word while she’s been aware for the entire time they’ve traveled together.
 
She does not begrudge him his silence, however. It is merely how he is.
 
“These great snow-laden lands stretch far to the north. And beyond the ancient bowers, beyond the liturgical town of Ordina, lies the place to which I must return. Find the forgotten church, if you will, and your promise to me will be fulfilled.”
 
The Tarnished nods, resolute. But then, to be fair, Latenna had not doubted him for a moment. Even before she’d spoken up, she’d watched his interaction with the red head who so desperately wanted to reach the Haligtree. She’d seen, as he had made it clear, in his own unique way, that he would not be able to go immediately to the Haligtree. That he had other business to attend to first.

 
Still, it amazed her nonetheless that it was HER business that he considered so important. Truly, he had proven time and time again that not all Tarnished were the same. The all-hearing brute who had lured the cursemongers to the Village of the Albinaurics and killed her other half did not speak for this man who journeyed all the way North, to these forgotten lands for her sake.
 
They journey North a fair bit more, traveling ever onward. The red head journeys with them, but Latenna does not begrudge her that, though neither does she reveal herself to her. She’s not at all surprised that the one-armed swordswoman has attached herself to the Tarnished. After all, he is more than just a capable warrior. He is a good man, and in the Lands Between, good men are rare indeed.
 
Still, she can’t help but be a little amused, when the red head flinches back upon approaching the Apostate Derelict. Not because the ruins of the church itself are at all frightening, but because of the Walking Mausoleum that plods along in front of it. Though to be fair, this Mausoleum is a bit more dangerous than most, on account of the magical artillery it fires in a constant arc around itself.
 
Before continuing onto the church, the Tarnished stops and brings the Mausoleum to its knees, literally. Latenna doesn’t begrudge him the action, even if she finds herself chomping at the bit all the same. She does not have a need for any of the creature comforts of life anymore. She does not need to eat, sleep, drink, or breathe. She does not feel the cool wind across her face, or the snow beneath her feet, or any of it in truth.
 
As a spirit made manifest by the strength of her ashes, she is powerful in that she can enact her will upon the world. At the same time, she experiences none of it in truth. She can hurt but cannot be hurt in turn. She can fight, but any blows dealt to her merely disrupt her essence for a time.
 
Still, the Walking Mausoleum is a threat, not just to the Tarnished and his red-haired companion, but to the church beyond. It would be the height of foolishness, if they were to lead the Mausoleum’s artillery barrage right into the Apostate Derelict… and right to Phillia.
 
And so, she pushes down on her momentary impatience. The matter is dealt with soon enough anyways, thanks to her Tarnished’s ever efficient competence. Once the Mausoleum kneels upon the snow and its bombardment quiets down, they make their way into the church. The red head is clearly curious, but Latenna pays her no mind. Indeed, the Albinauric Spirit only has eyes for what lies in front of her. Phillia… at long last.
 
When her Tarnished rings the bell and summons her forth, Latenna draws in a breath she does not need, to lungs that do not exist, and happily materializes, coming forth and shimmering into existence before Phillia. The larger Albinauric is silent, watching in quiet with hooded eyes, but upon seeing Latenna, a flicker of recognition, of intelligence, enters her gaze.
 
Leaning forward, Latenna reaches out with the only part of herself that she’s dared to keep, the only bit of her that is truly her, and not simply spirit and ash. The salvation of the Albinaurics. A new beginning… a potential future. As she does so, she speaks. This time, the red head can hear and see her, but Latenna cares not. If the Tarnished trusts her… then she shall as well.
 
“Oh, young yet towering sister of ours. Let the birthing droplet in. Create life. For us. For all Albinaurics.”
 
Slowly, the downward turn of Phillia’s lips lifts. Slowly, a small smile spreads across the larger Albinauric’s face. And why should it not? The birthing droplet transfers between the two of them with ease. A new generation of Albinaurics WILL be birthed now. They will start anew here, in this place. The Village may be gone. Their brethren in the second generation may be lost and led astray … but Latenna has done her duty, all the same.
 
And yet, she does not wish to go just yet. With her work done, she turns to gaze up at the Tarnished and lifts her arms to him, a silent request for him to pick her up. Smiling softly, he reaches down and does so. She knows not how her spiritual essence feels in his arms, she only knows that she feels nothing of his touch in turn. At least, not physically. There is no sensation to be had, physically.
 
And yet, it is thanks to his efforts in empowering her with Glovewort that she can even touch him in the first place, interacting with and enforcing her will upon the world still, despite her status as a spirit. As he carries her out of the Church, she directs him to a spot just outside the walls, out of sight of Phillia. Leaning in close, she whispers in her Tarnished’s ear.
 
“Thank you. Thanks to you, I’ve finally fulfilled my purpose. Our young yet towering sister will give my people hope for a future unshackled by those who would do us harm. Now that nothing is left unfinished, I would join you in battle to the bitter end. And… when the fighting is done, then you may lay me to rest, beside Lobo, my dear wolf.”
 
Here, Latenna hesitates. But only for a moment. Then she speaks, clearly and concisely.
 
“But before we continue… I would show you the depth of my appreciation personally, if you would have me.”
 
Her hands press on his shoulders, as she directs him to sit down with his back against the wall. Sat in his lap, Latenna the Albinauric is as lame and unable to walk as she was in life. But that does not make her completely helpless. She is in fact much stronger as a spirit than she was in life… and besides, even when she was still flesh and blood, she knew how to ride, did she not.
 
Ghostly fingers work open armor and trousers alike. They wrap around the shaft of his member and pull it free of its confines. Straddling him, Latenna brushes off her own ‘clothing’ as if it is nothing… because truly, it is. Her current body is merely a representation of her soul. ‘Stripping’ is as easy as willing the garments away, and representing herself naked and unclothed, bared before her Tarnished… and the red head, watching them even now.
 
Latenna doesn’t mind though. She’s not sure she’s capable of minding. If the one armed swordswoman wants to play at being a voyeur, then let her. In this moment, Latenna only cares about showing her thanks to her Tarnished. Bringing his mast to her ethereal sex, the Albinauric Spirit slowly but surely sinks down onto him, letting him fill her up.
 
There is no physical pleasure in this act for Latenna. She can interact with the world, but she cannot feel anything. There is no sensation of touch, as a set of Spirit Ashes. At most, there is a pressure when she interacts with something other than her bow. There is a pressure, when she wraps her thighs around the back of a wolf and deftly and expertly uses it as a mount in battle in service to her Tarnished.
 
There is nothing more than a pressure even now, as she sinks down upon his member and begins to ride him, slowly thanks to the weakness in her legs, but ride him, nonetheless. In truth, it’s not about her physical pleasure. This? This is an act of love. After everything that bastard Ofnir did, Latenna had given up hope. But then this Tarnished had come along and rekindled that feeling in her breast once more. The feeling that perhaps it could get better.
 
Spirit though she might be, bereft of physical sensations, she could still feel emotions. She could still fear, and fret. She could still hope and wonder. And… she could still love. This right here, even if she got nothing out of it, was an expression of her utmost love to her Tarnished. And so, she rides him, unlike any ride she’s ever had before, no matter what the rumors about her might have said. She rides her Tarnished all the way to the end, feeling pressure and nothing more on the physical scale, but feeling emotional happiness on a level she’s never experienced before this moment.
 
For her Tarnished, there is also physical pleasure in the act, of course. That is why she is doing this in the first place, as a way to give thanks. He enjoys her tightness wrapped around his haft. He enjoys her riding as she bounces up and down on his mast. He enjoys it so much that he empties himself inside of her, filling her spiritual body with his essence.
 
Nothing can come of it, of course. The next time she returns to ash, his seed will fall to the ground. It might be quite the amusing spectacle, Latenna knows not. What she does know is this… in this moment, it is her and her Tarnished. In this moment, her purpose fulfilled, all that matters is his happiness. In this moment… hm, the red head is touching herself.
 
How crass.
 
-x-X-x-
 
Millicent had been curious. Undeniably so. In the end though… it was all par for the course, for her Tarnished savior. He had brought them north, not quite to the Haligtree, but Haligtree adjacent. They’d found a church, but also one of those Walking Mausoleums. Only, this one was particularly wrothful, throwing around magical barrages like it was no one’s business.
 
Her Tarnished had handled it easily enough though, and then made for the Church. There, they’d found an Albinauric woman in the ruins. She was… quite large, but Millicent held her tongue, and simply observed as the Tarnished brought out the Spirit Calling Bell and called forth the Spirit Ashes of another, smaller Albinauric woman.
 
Millicent didn’t pretend to understand precisely what the spirit was saying. She wasn’t used to any spirits being so… verbose and having so much agency. Indeed, the situation got stranger still when the spirit had the Tarnished pick her up and carry her out of the Church. Then… well, then things had gotten rather raunchy.
 
She’d been embarrassed to be witness to such a display of love and affection as the Albinauric spirit showed her Tarnished. And yet, at the same time, Millicent had found it impossible to look away. And, the more she watched… the more she’d been unable to help herself. Her hands had wandered all on their own, truly they had. She’d begun touching herself before she even knew what was happening, and by the time she realized… she simply didn’t want to stop.
 
With two fingers pushing in and out of her sex, Millicent leans against the outer wall of the ruined church and watches as the Albinauric Spirit rides her Tarnished to completion. From the look of things, the spirit is getting nothing out of the exchange, while at the same time, seems to be getting everything.
 
Then, she realizes they’re both watching her. The Tarnished and the Albinauric. Her savior gives her an encouraging smile of understanding, while the Albinauric tilts her head to the side, staring at her for a moment longer before looking back to the Tarnished. Blushing like mad as they start up another round, the spirit having no sense of exhaustion and Millicent’s savior being quite the stamina fiend himself, Millicent bites her lower lip… and keeps on touching herself.
 
After all, neither of them made any indication she had to STOP, right? And besides… moments like these will likely be few and far in between, once they reach the Haligtree Proper. This might be the last time she gets a chance like this. And so, Millicent takes it, and continues to pleasure herself there in the cold north, just beneath the Haligtree, while the Albinauric Spirit showers her Tarnished with affection and love.
 
Later, when all is said and done and the Albinauric has returned to ash and the Tarnished and Millicent have both cleaned themselves up and fixed their clothing and armor… she finds herself grateful that her savior is the strong, silent type. All the better to never ever talk about it.

-x-X-x-

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