Chapter Text
The sky was a thick blanket of blood and ash.
Screams pierced the air as spear after spear lunged for the hornsent. Limbs stabbed on pikes swayed over the din. Arms lolled with heads, legs mingled with hands, and faces twisted permanently in terrified grins.
Marika’s holy army left nothing untouched. Even the smallest blade of grass was not spared from the flames. Only the dark outlines of jagged wood gave any sign that these lands were once villages.
Lording over all was Marika’s firstborn. He raised a clawed finger, and wherever he pointed the spears followed. He did not lower his arm until the screams died.
“The path is clear, my lord,” Commander Gaius approached him on his loyal steed, a giant boar whose eyes shone with bloodlust. The soldier’s voice was hoarse from a parched throat and exhaustion.
Messmer’s own words dragged with much effort. “How many of our men have fallen?”
“Hundreds,” Gaius’s eyes lowered. But they quickly steeled. “The hornsent, however, far outnumber them.”
“We shall bury our dead at dawn.” He decided languidly. Even the fire giants, who towered like spires and whose steps shook the earth, did not make him flinch. “Search the fields for those who are wounded.”
“And your condition, my lord?”
“I… shall rest in my tent for the evening. Tell them I wish not to be disturbed.”
Gaius nodded and left without another word.
Messmer made sure no other soldier would approach him. Then he lumbered on to his tent, his steps growing heavier and heavier. He pushed through the flaps and let the stale air and the smell of canvas wash over him.
It was only then that he collapsed with a shuddering gasp. He brushed aside his cape and pressed his large, clawed hand to his side. When he lifted it from his torn armor, blood stained his fingers.
Although he fought it, the nausea racked over him and made him cower even lower to the scorched ground. The abyssal serpent, too, twisted inside of him, as if in outrage against his weakness. His vision began to blur, and memories of the battle that gave him this wound flashed before him.
He had tried to take on one of the most powerful divine beasts on his own. It was a monstrous creature with a thousand horns and a howl that sent his best fire knights fleeing. He had distracted it to save his soldiers from being crushed. But he had underestimated it - it lunged viciously, and one of its poisonous horns had stabbed his side before he could even raise his spear.
Now he was on his knees. His two winged serpents hissed urgently into his ear. The cure. You read it before. The bark of the Archtree.
Messmer shuddered. There was only one place where an Archtree ever grew, which was the endless woods beyond Limgrave. Beyond the Lands Between and his Mother’s protection.
Her grace thrummed in the seal where his left eye should be. There was enough power to teleport to the woods. But his mother said he could only use it for emergencies.
Our life is at stake! The serpents’ hiss steeled his resolve. He dug his clawed nails into his palm.
He summoned all his strength to channel his mother’s grace. He visualized the woods with its tall trees that grew endlessly into the foggy sky. Then he counted to three.
One.
Two.
◇
“Three!” You picked up a final mulberry from a bush. A finch on your shoulder chirped congratulations. Now you had all the ingredients you needed for your next brew.
You lived a simple life in the endless woods, untouched by the madness of a new queen named Marika and her Golden Order. You are what her Order deemed impure, as you followed magic outside of the Erdtree’s will.
At first you had fled here to escape from war in your home country. Then you decided you could live off of the rich fruit and game. The animals didn’t seem to mind you, either. Some of them had even taken a liking to you.
Most importantly, you still had your book of brews from your old school. You never grew bored as you kept trying to craft new potions and perfect the old ones. Sometimes travelers passed by and traded exotic treasures for them.
So here you are now, weaving amiably through the trees, ducking through vines and dodging thorns that are all-too familiar. You could already picture what you wanted to make. First you would mash the dragonfly wings, then bring the fire to a low, steady heat…
The finch on your shoulder took flight rapidly. You startled. “Hey! Watch the hair!”
Then you heard it. Something crashing through the undergrowth - big, thunderous, two-legged. Your pulse accelerated. Had you angered an ancient woodland spirit?
You stood rooted on the spot, petrified as the undergrowth gave way to a tall, lumbering ghost. He was 10 feet tall. His limbs were long and sallow, and his skin was too pale. Winged serpents grew from his twisted body. He wore tattered armor and a cape and was clutching his side. You could just make out the outline of his clawed hands.
And by the gods, his face. It had the look of murder. His single golden eye flashed wildly. His wild red hair only accentuated his madness. He clawed wildly at the air with his free hand, muttering over and over about needing a “cure.”
Then his eye found you. You swore your heart stopped then and there. But before you could so much as plead for your life, he sank to his knees and collapsed at your feet.
You stayed frozen. So did he. You looked at the path ahead - familiar, safe, your normal routine. Then you looked at this massive body strewn across like a roadblock.
You took a deep breath and summoned the courage to step closer. Now that your initial panic had faded, you realized he was bleeding profusely from his side. But it was no ordinary wound - it had a strange shape, and the blood was mixed with a liquid that glowed faintly.
Your mind immediately worked out the cure. Even a small drop of mineral from the Archtree, with its resistance to divine magic, could stop the deadliest poisons. But this creature was nearly lost. Already his lips were turning blue.
You need to act fast. You dashed past his unconscious body and made haste for the sacred tree.