Messmer
He sat quietly in his ever dim chambers, resting his head against the carved white stone throne. His eyes remained closed, ruminating on all that had passed. All that had been left behind. All that had been.... Abandoned... why had she abandoned then so absolutely?
The red prince sighed, running a hand through his thick red waves as he removed his helmet. Pale skin gleemed more prominently in the dim light and was paired well by his deeply golden eyes. He hsd a spindly frame that reminded one of a serpent in many ways.
He stood for once in what felt like ages without the draw of a fresh fool to slaughter. His bare footsteps troded along his dimly lit room, barely a sound on the stone floor as he traveled through his castle abode.
He thought to his lover, his most trusted friend, beyond all these horrid times. His thoughts gained form as she smiled to him at the base of the long staircase he was descending. Black wispy hair confuned to a bun behind her head, and those gorgeous blue eyes radiated like pulsing moons against her fair pale visage.
"My, rare to see you out these days." Her normally cool voiced was laced with hints of affection that only his ears ever garnered.
"My mind is... heavy these days." He answered, resting his head against hers gently. "Have you been well this day?"
"Yes," she chuckled tenderly, "I was just perusing the library."
"Oh? I was about to head there myself." He smiled, always admiring her scholarly nature.
"Well, then I shall accompany you, my Lord." She teased playfully as she started to turn. Removed of her armor, wearing just a set of l8ght black leathers with her beloved twin blades sheathed across her right hip, Messmer could not picture a more perfect woman. A hand touched hers, pulling her back suddenly into his smile and warm arms.
"Now, now. There's no need to be hasty. I have not even enjoyed my morning meal." He teased back now with his hands settling on her waist.
"Oh, how could I possibly forget?" Her arms circled his shoulders, and the two tenderly kissed for a few moments. It was soft and so serene. It was one of the few things that silenced the cruel wailing inside of Messmer that haunted his very soul like a twisting, rusted dagger ever biting at its edges. Rellana was cool and so very soft. Where he was hot, sharp, and firm, she was cool, flexible, and fluid. She adored learning and understanding and, in their newer circumstances, preferred to often approach foes with a word before a blade.
When it finally ended, both took just another moment to squeeze their arms around one another. "What ever would I do without you?" Messmer quietly whispered for only her to hear.
"Probably forget to wash your ears." She jokingly responded with a peck on his nose. "Now. To the library? What are we seeking, hm?"
"History. I... need answers."
"Then we shall learn all we have left to learn."
"Together."
"Together."
...
Book 2 of the Death of Gold Series
The History of Gold
Vol. 1
"With this... we dawn a new age!" The great priest shouted as he blessed Queen Marika. "With this, we welcome Queen Marika, the Eternal!"
And the screams of joy erupted as far as the eyes could see. Sat on her golden throne, forged by her very hands, she smiled out across the people she now had finally brought order to. There would be a few lands now to bring to heel.
The Giants must be culled, lest they risk their new symbol of hope, the Erdtree. Barely more than 20 feet tall by the trunk, it was so young and fragile to divine fire so intense as their chaotic god. She suspected theirs was also the thing that the Elden Beast had warned her of, a mortal foe of the two fingers. She would be wary about her approach.
Then there was Caria, their neighbors who stood in their path to progress. Their queen Rennala was a strange and curious figure. If they did not offer peace, she may need to resort to grim tactics of subterfuge, and she secretly worried that the sorcerer kingdom would be much more difficult to crack than barbarians like the giants.
Lastly came the plague that had followed her from those accursed lands. A fragment of the false order she had shattered as she ascended and conquered her new capitol, now dubbed Leyndell. The misbegotten, the omen. Their poisonous mutations left her violently angry just thinking of. It caused an itching at her back in a way she had hoped had faded with godhood, but with no such luck. She would need to ensure they were cleared away. Purity would define her Golden Order, and they had little care for those who stood in their way.
She had plans. Her new husband, Godfrey, would ensure that. Worst case, she would even send her other half. Her champion, Radagon, to crush the giants. He hated them far more than her, and while she wondered why, she never inquired in their shared space. His spite and rage were far too useful to bring into question.
"Your highness?" She was snapped from her thoughts as the priest gently spoke to her, breaking through the cheering crowds with a soft incantation that let his voice carry.
"Yes, Father Mohg?"
"Are you feeling well?"
"Oh, yes. I have never felt more alive." She slowly smiled with a grim malice thinly veiled behind her lips.
The priest smiled, either ignorant or willfully so to the dark intent in that expression as he turned back to the crowd and began to chant. Many joined, and many more began chants of their own. It annoyed Marika to see such disorder already, but there would be time to discipline them. Let them savor this day. This victory. It was the first of so very many to be remembered.
She only wished the first had been able to be remembered, but her son was too cursed, too broken inside to trust anymore. Especially with that Carian royal on his arm. Surely, she whispered poisons into his ear. So the only choice she had left was to leave them behind.
Still, Messmer was loyal. He would obey without question. Without troubling her ever again. She knew this to be true, for the Elden Ring had granted her some level of vision.
It was those visions, however, that troubled her the worst. The furthest ahead she could see was a strange knight in a golden scarf stabbing a dagger into her beautiful Gate of Divinity, and burning it down in vast black flames as she heard her own voice wailing in agony. It was an end she saw already dozens of times, and nothing ever seemed to change it. A hand quietly gripped at her braid, playing with it slowly as she mulled over this information. If only she could see more of this strange man.
She would ensure he died the instant she saw that horrid gaudy cloth. It was her only marker, for it resembled raw gold rather than her pure gold. The very idea made her stomach turn, and a hand nearly bent a part of her throne's armrest in her brief flash of fury. She raised her hand after a breath, looking at the small indent her fingers had left behind.
She would make her slave fix it. He was obedient and swift. Perhaps she will even remember his name, this time.