messmermybeloved

[messmermybeloved]

My oc, Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

The final part of her story :D a little more happy and hopeful than the last part.

Part Seven: Current Day

There was no returning home. Not to Leyndell, not to the Erdtree, not even to the past she once longed for. The Realm of Shadow, sealed away by Marika herself, was her prison now, and her only home.

With the war long over and the truth laid bare, Synnora did what little she could to mend what she had broken. There was no redeeming herself, and no forgiveness, only slow, human acts of kindness, to the people she nearly nearly extinguished.

She turned her back on violence. Her spear was long since abandoned, and in its place, she carried a ceremonial sword, a gift from Messmer, not meant for bloodshed, but as a token of their relationship.

Her fire, once used to torch homes and burn Hornsent, nowkindled warmth for the freezing, and cauterized wounds for the injured . Fire, in her hands, became gentle again.

She became something between knight and caretaker, tending to the broken of both sides. To the Hornsent who had lost their homes, and to the Crusaders, who had lost their purpose. She spent her days giving comfort where she could. She helped rebuild what small corners of peace they could salvage.

And always, there was Messmer. Their bond had become something tender. They spent long, quiet days among the Hinterlands and in Marika’s forgotten home village, a quiet, sacred place where the wounds of the world seemed far away. The Shaman Village felt oddly like home. There, among the wildflowers, Synnora would weave crown wreaths, placing one on Messmer’s head, another on her own. There were moments, fleeting and still, where they could simply be.

But peace never erased memory. She hated Marika, not only for what she had done to the Hornsent, but for the lie she had lived under, for the war she had waged in the name of a false sanctity. Synnora had helped topple her statues, destroying the churches and places of worship of the woman who had stolen so much from them all.

She loathed herself most of all. Every fire she kindled now was in mourning of the ones she once started to destroy. Every breath of warmth she gave was in repentance. She would never forgive herself, and she no longer sought to be forgiven. She only sought to heal.

No longer a Fire Knight, no longer House Raime’s child, just a girl who loved too much, and burned too deeply....

[messmermybeloved]

My oc, Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

Part Six of her story, we are nearly at the end. Hope you brought some tissues cause this is gonna be rough 🤧

Part Six: End of the Crusade

In the closing days of the Crusade, Synnora had lost all sense of herself.

What had begun as devotion to her family, to her lord, to a war she never questioned, had become habitual ruin. She was no longer a knight, no longer a daughter. She was simply a killer, untethered and relentless. She no longer fought out of faith or hope. She fought to finish, to end the war. To finally go home.

She stopped speaking to others, stopped fighting alongside her comrades. Her braids were gone, cut short, shorn down until they could no longer remind her of her mother’s hands. They only got in the way of her face. She killed, burned, and scorched until there was nothing left that could burn.

The Crusade, for all intents and purposes, had achieved its end. The Hornsent were gone .An entire people erased, and yet… there was no homecoming. No trumpets or celebration. No Marika. No promise fulfilled. There was only silence.

The Fire Knights, Synnora among them, retreated to the Specimen Storehouse, where they stored the relics of the Hornsent. With nowhere else to go, they waited, forgotten.

To pass the time, Synnora turned to study. She read through books, skimmed through records that had long gathered dust. In the silence of the Storehouse, she became a sage, a quiet keeper of the keep, but what she uncovered did not bring peace.

The Hornsent had not been monsters. They had been a people with a history, a language, gods, and love. They had fought for survival, for tradition, for a place in a world that had long tried to erase them. The Crucible was not evil, but the Erdtree had tried to cast it out . She read the truth of the war, of Marika’s manipulation, of how she had made her own son into a symbol of fear and a living weapon of vengeance, turned against her personal enemies under the guise of divine mandate. The Crusade had never been holy.

Synnora collapsed beneath the weight of it. She had once reached out to monsters and found kindness. The Omen children… their laughter… their trust. Now, her hands, once so gentle, were red beyond cleansing. Whole families reduced to smoke. Towns broken. Cultures extinguished.

She could not stand to look at herself.

What would her mother think now?

Would she even recognize her daughter?

Would she even love her still?

Messmer, too, came to learn the truth. At first, he rejected it. The very idea that his mother, the god he bled for, had orchestrated such horror was unbearable. But in time, he accepted it, grudgingly, bitterly. In his heart, he always knew that this was the case.

There was no redemption waiting at the end of this war. No return. No light. Only each other.

In the empty halls of the Shadow Keep, Synnora wandered like a ghost, like she was already dead, and in a way, she was. A flame that no longer knew how to burn. She discarded her spear in shame and self-loathing, and in those days, she and Messmer found solace only in each other, as once young children, wounded by the hands that raised them...

[messmermybeloved]

My oc: Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

Part five of her story! Thank all of you for reading about her :)

Part Five: Height of the Crusade

In the years that followed, Synnora rose ever higher. Through fire, through blood, through the ashes of the countless she had felled .She became irrevocably close to Messmer. They were reflections of each other, both weapons in a divine war they never chose, molded by the expectations of parents whose love was conditional. In the silence between battles, there was no need for words. They understood one another wholly.

She saw the burden he carried, his cursed form, the searing flame that ate away at his very being. In a rare act of intimacy, Synnora offered to share his torment. She asked for a portion of his accursed flame, to share his burden, and to ease his suffering. Messmer resisted. He had been made into a monster for the sake of his mother, and he would not make one of her, but Synnora was insistent. If she was to fight for him, bleed for him, she would burn for him.

She took the flame into herself. Her body was forever changed. Her skin grew pallid, bloodless, and pale. Her hair became stark red, just like Messmers. Her flesh bore deep burns, wounds that never fully healed, marred by the curse of Messmer's fire.

Messmer's burden lightened, if only a fraction, but he never forgave himself. That pain, once his alone, now lived in her, and she never once resented him for it. What she gained was connection. She no longer needed a seal or written incantation to summon flame, Messmerfire was capable of being formed directly, responding to will alone. It bled into her sword, scraped across her skin. She was vessel to it now, to its power, and she used it.

She pressed on with the Crusade, the scourge upon the Hornsent, and she took part in countless battles. Belurat was reduced to ash, marred by her fire.

Her legend grew among the crusaders. Some whispered that she had become the Crusade’s true head, the True Impaler. Messmer’s empathy and mercy sometimes held him back, and it was Synnora who stepped forward, who carried out the unspeakable when no one else would. Her hands became stained with atrocities, many committed for his sake, to ease his charge.

For her service, she was gifted a replica of Messmer's sacred spear.

The Hornsent began to fear what now became known as the Twin Impalers. On the battlefield, there were times they could not tell them apart. The two fought together during the Divine Beast Hunts. It was said no pair of warriors had ever fought in such harmony, but not all bonds endured....

One fateful campaign brought them to betrayal. Hew and Andreas, a father and son among the Black Knights, discovered Messmer’s true nature, his serpentine form, the abomination he carried hidden beneath him They denounced him, decried the lie, and raised a rebellion. Messmer could not bring himself to slay them, but Synnora could. She cut them down quickly and without cruelty, because it had to be done. For Messmer. For the Crusade. For her home.

Messmer wept that night. Not just for the loss of comrades but for the things this war had forced others to do. Synnora stood by him in silence, the heat of her fire gentle for once, like the comforting warmth of a fireplace....

[messmermybeloved]

My oc: Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

Part four of my series! Now we're getting into the good stuff!..... Or I suppose the bad stuff :>

Part Four: Early Crusade

The Realm of Shadow was unlike anything Synnora had ever known. A land not blessed by the Erdtree, but shrouded beneath the spectral boughs of the Scadutree. Its sky was dark, its winds lifeless, and its lands twisted.

At her side marched condemned soldiers from ignoble penal colonies, embittered and expendable. Black Knights, those particularly blessed by the Erdtree, and her own kin, the Fire Knights, who were closely bound to Messmer the Impaler and his crusade, and wielded his very fire.

Even before the first town was razed, they were told stories. Carefully wrought lies and half truths, designed to harden their hearts. They spoke of the Hornsent, said to be a tribe of heretical savages who clung to the Crucible and its primal forms. It was said they cursed Marika’s children, desecrated the shamans, and seeded her world with the Omen curse. It was their fault that graceless life persisted. That Marika wept for every breath they still dared take.

Synnora had no reason to question any of it, and what she saw in battle only seemed to confirm their tales. The Hornsent warriors were brutal and beastlike, who fought with horn, wing, and tail. The Curseblades fought and danced through battlefields with a devout, merciless fury. For a girl whose mind had been broken, reformed, and denied its own truths, the line between justice and cruelty had long since faded. If they were not evil, then what had all her pain been for? And so, with her blade and the volatile gifts of Messmer’s Fire, Synnora burned.

She laid waste to village after village, razed homes, slaughtered warriors, sometimes even those who ran or begged. She felt no joy in it. There was no thrill. Only duty. Purpose twisted into something she could carry. If it meant the war would end sooner… if it meant returning home to the warm light of a hearth and a mother’s embrace… then so be it. This was the path given to her. She would see it through.

In moments of rest, she trained with fervor. Messmerfire was volatile, hungry, and a living fire that demanded precision and strength. Synnora studied under Fire Knight Wego, an elder knight and master of the craft, who tempered her flame and taught her its mysterious properties. She practiced beside Fire Knight Salza, whom she soon became close friends with. The three shared their findings, honed incantations, and forged a camaraderie in the war.

Her time with Messmer the Impaler himself was sparse, but the Fire Knights did not need his constant presence to know their connection. They bore witness to his cursed form, a truth they all came to learn,and they bore it in silence. Theirs was not a burden to question.

Even still, amidst the shadows and the ruins, Synnora dreamed of home. She would sit beneath the ever dim sky of the Gravesite Plain, gaze into the unseen stars, and imagine her father. Beaming, proud of his daughter, the celebrated knight who restored her family name. She imagined her mother’s arms again, gentle and warm, the memory of lullabies and their walks among Leyndell's gardens.

Those thoughts were her sanctuary, and drowned out the screams and cries of the Hornsent she burned. All she did, she did for the promise of home.

[messmermybeloved]

My oc: Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

Part three of this series! I am SO SORRY this took so long. I had started a series on my tiktok called Elden Photography, and now that I have finished it I have the time to continue her story :)

Part Three: Adult Life

Time passed differently in that place. No stars, no seasons, and no Erdtree. How long Synnora remained in that wretched place, even she could no longer say. Her spirit, once so wild and untamed, was beaten and shapened into what the Golden Order desired of her.

The only part of herself she managed to keep in that place was the small ritual she performed each morning. She would braid her own hair. The strands were uneven, the work was messy, but it was special to her. It reminded her of her mother’s hands, of warmth, of her songs and lullabies hummed just beneath her breath. It was the only thing that kept her sane in that forsaken place.

By the time they released her, Synnora was not the same girl who had once laid in flowerbeds and watched the Erdtree sway. She stepped into the world again forever changed, and branded with the mark of the Golden Order upon her forehead, meant to symbolize what she was to them. A successful conversion.

She returned home. The manor had not changed, but everything else had. Her mother was gone. To where, or why, she did not know. Her father, the same man who once raised his hand against her for the crime of empathy, greeted her with a smile. He was gentle now. Proud and pleasant, as if all her pain had been a necessary alchemy to transform her into something worth his affection. He looked upon her as if she were finally worthy to carry his name. And she let him. Not because she had forgiven him, but because she no longer had the strength to lose love again, even if it was false.

By decree of her father, Synnora trained in swordplay under the watchful eye of his chosen instructors. He never explained why. She didn’t ask. She no longer asked questions. She worked and trained tirelessly, desperate to cling onto this small vestige of love that her father held for her.

She got injuries from it, and went to the Purfumers just like she used to when she was younger, but it was different now. The Purfumers were no longer joyful and pleased by the presence of an overcurious girl, but were instead sad to see what she had been forced to become.

Still, when the sword was set down, her thoughts always drifted to her mother. The warmth of her hugs and the softness of her kisses. One evening, her father came to her with an offer, to raise her into the knighthood he had always wished her to enter.

A Crusade. Queen Marika herself had sanctioned it. Her very own son, Messmer, would personally lead it. A holy war was to be waged in a place beyond the Erdtree's light. The Realm of Shadow.

Her father wished Synnora to take up the mantle of a Fire Knight to pledge herself to Messmer, and to make her house proud. He made her a promise.

"When you return, you will see her again.”

Her heart, though buried, still beat for that one hope. The possibility, however faint, that she may reunite with her mom was enough. Enough to stirr the heart of the hollow shell that remained.

If war, fire, and blind obedience could allow her to once again see her mother, than she would do so without hesitation, and so she accepted. She stood among many that day. Noble sons and daughters who were willingly stripped of their titles and swore fealty to Messmer.

Her and the rest of the forces for this holy crusade were granted blessings and power, and were sent off into the Realm of Shadow, and somewhere, deep beneath all of it, a voice, small and trembling, still whispered:

“Just come home..."

[messmermybeloved]

" ℌ𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝖓𝖊𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔞 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. "

" 𝔖𝔶𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔞'𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔞𝔶 "

Two doddlings for my beloved Synnora ( @messmermybeloved 's EldenRing Oc ) when she was a kiddo!!

[messmermybeloved]

" 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔩. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬 𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔣 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 "

ello, It's pre-crusade synnora art again, but this time her hair is hair down and not braided 🤭

Made a fanart for my friend's ( @messmermybeloved ) elden ring oc yahaur!

[messmermybeloved]

My oc: Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

Part two of this series! Glad to see that the first part managed to gain a bit of traction :D Im OBSESSED with her, but ive never had the commitment or wish to make something like this for her until I met a VERY sweet person.

Part Two: Early Adult Life

Time passed, and with it, something in Synnora died. Not all at once of course, not like a sword through the heart. It was quieter than that. A slow, bitter hollowing. She no longer wandered the alleys of Leyndell, no longer laughed and played lowborn children, no more admiring the music of Pages. She no longer had her adventures, and the perfumers never saw her in their apothecaries again. She kept to the shadows of the manor, alone and silent.

The weight of that day hung upon her heavily. She had gone down to them freely. She had played, smiled, lived with them, and in return, they had been butchered. Part of her believed it was her fault. If she had never gone, if she had never been seen emerging from the sewers… would they still be alive?

She was no longer the girl who layed down in the flowers and smiled up at the Erdtree. Its light, once warm and gentle to her young eyes, now felt hostile. There was no grace in it, no comfort. It stared down upon her, oppressing her, and she found herself looking away.

Her hair grew long in those years, and her mother still braided it: intricate, elegant braids like Queen Marika’s, though Synnora despised the resemblance. Marika, the divine figurehead of the Order that deemed the Omen unworthy of love. A mother of the world who allowed children to rot beneath it. But even so, she never stopped her mother’s hands. That act, those mornings where fingers worked through her hair, remained one of the few precious things in her life.

As Synnora came of age, the doctrine of the Golden Order became less of a suggestion and more of a commandment. She was made to study its scriptures, its “truths,”. When she was younger she merely ignored them, but as she aged and began to truly understand their words, words that spit at the graceless, the Omen, the Misbegotten, the imperfect, her indifference turned into disgust.

One evening, she poured her doubts to her mother by the fireplace, and she confessed her sorrow and anger. Her mother listened, quietly fighting her own fears. She knew empathy made her daughter vulnerable, but she knew she could not silence her spirit.

During a public lesson, some pious, gilded farce spoken to a gathering of noble youth, the subject of the Omen was raised. Their horned forms were described with distain, as beasts without grace, fit only for death and imprisonment. Synnora could no longer bear it. She denounced the lecture, denounced the Order, and denounced the cruelty it had masked as righteousness. She confessed the truth, that she had not been taken by the Omen but had gone to them willingly, that they had shown her kindness, not malice. That the Orders condemnation was born of ignorance and fear.

Word of her outburst spread quickly. To speak of Omen as anything but abominations was unthinkable blasphemy. Her father, already resentful of her gender and unruly, unladylike nature, saw her words as a direct insult to House Raime’s honor. He publicly beat her until she was too weak to stand, and shamed her for deviating from the orthodox of the Golden Order. He reminded her that, to be Raime, she must uphold the Golden Orders perfection and that by championing the Omen, she sullied both their name and their future.

Her father’s final decree was exile to a secluded convent dedicated to purification of mind and soul. In there, conversion methods were employed to strip away her empathy, cruel practices intended to reset her beliefs to those approved by the Golden Order. Synnora was torn from her mother’s embrace and thrust into isolation, severed from the only person who had always protected her, locked away until they believed she was ready to be returned to Erdtree society. It was the last time she had seen her mother, who cried as her child was taken from her.

[messmermybeloved]

My oc: Fire Knight Synn, The True Impaler

This will be the first part of a multi part "series", and a full telling of her story, lore, any additional notes or headcanons that I have of her.

Part One: Early Life

Synnora was born in Leyndell, beneath the golden boughs of the Erdtree, who's radiant light shown throughout the entirety of the Lands Between. Her family, House Raime, had long since fallen out of favor and into obscurity.

Her father had grown bitter for this. He had prayed feverently for a son, a knight who would restore their legacy and earn the favor of the Erdtree. When his desired heir was born a girl, he scarcely acknowledged the child. Synnora never understood why. She would offer him flowers she plucked, had tried in any way she could for him to look at her the way she wanted him to, with love and adoration.

Synnora's mother was the complete opposite of her father. Soft spoken and gentle, who would braid the girl's hair each and every day, who would take her on walks in the gardens and to gaze upon the Erdtree, humming melodies to her and fueling her ever explorative nature.

Synnora would spend hours laying on her back in patches of flowers and even on the worn stone of the capital's streets, gazing up at the Erdtree. To many, it was the living symbol of Marika's Golden Order, of her authority, but to her, it was simply beautiful.

While other noble children studied the laws of the Golden Order under seers and scholars, Synnora was climbing cathedral spires and tumbling from garden walls, exploring alleyways and jumping across rooftops. She accumulated cuts and bruises from her adventures often, and the perfumers came to know her well, the wild noble-girl who always had thorn cuts, sprains, and bruises, the little troublemaker who tumbled into their apothecaries every day before bed to heal her wounds.

She was often seen mingling with the common folk, playing with the other children and bringing them highborn food they couldn't afford themselves. She had special adoration for the music the Pages would play with their flutes. She once asked her mother, "The Erdtree is for all isn't it? Why must some live lesser?"

One day, her curiosity led her a bit too far. She found herself descending down into the Subterranea Shunning Grounds, where the Omen lived. She'd hear the rumors of them, the Omen. Horned monsters born without grace and defiled. Accursed being who didn't deserve to live under the Erdtrees golden light. She did not believe them. What were they really? Were they not once children too? When she first saw one, fear seized her heart. it was the first time she was ever truly scared, and she fell to her knees, and begged for her life, but they did not hurt her.

Instead, they had welcomed her. Young omen children, punished for simply existing, approached her with a curiosity just like hers. they played; they laughed at her tales and adventures in the city above and listened in astonishment when she told of the brilliant Erdtree, of the beautiful gardens and sweet songs, and they told her of their hopes and wishes: to live above ground, to bathe in the golden rays of the surface, to be treated as equals.

One among them, older and wiser, named Morgott, approached her. he saw her for what she was: a girl who did not belong down here, with the shunned and the downtrodden, and so Morgott led her back through the sewers. he returned her to her side of the world and said nothing as he vanished back into the dark.

When she finally emerged from the sewers, tired from play, dirty, with her robes torn and her hair matted, rumors spread. That Omen had taken her from the streets, had stolen her, and had threatened the purity of a child of the Erdtree, and their grave offense would not go unpunished.

They send Omenkillers, crude men with masks resembling the evil spirits that haunted the Omen's nightmares, who wielded cleavers fashioned out of their own horns, to slaughter those they believed the culprits. The children she played with, the Omen that never laid a finger on her.

She learned of this act days later, cried into her mother's chest: They were my friends! They never hurt me!" She didn't understand. Why must the grace of the Erdtree choose some and forsake others?

It was a question in which she received no answer...

[messmermybeloved]

Synnora, the True Impaler

I made a fanart for my friend's @messmermybeloved Elden Ring Oc!!

[messmermybeloved]

Synnora of House Raime

I made a fanart for my friend's @messmermybeloved Elden Ring Oc!!