#deathblightprince

[clueless-tarnished]

A tense meeting with Godwyn and Lord Radagon had just ended. Radagon leaving with a sense of twisted fatherly pride as he just ordered Godwyn to make his first public appearance in months.

Despite Godwyns protests of the current state of his physic and health, appearance, low energy but high anxiety, he failed to convince Radagon otherwise. He ordered him to make a public appearance and make a speech regarding The Night of The Black Knives and dissolve any further anxiety and "misinformation" about his wellbeing.

He waited until he could hear Radagon climbing down the last few steps, counting each one he steps until their the sound of metal footsteps coming from downstairs and large creaking doors open.

"Thou mayest come out now, Nouma." He calls to her gently to leave his closet. She had to scram when Radagon visited very abruptly.

@deathblightprince (survivor verse)

Waiting an moment before truly leaving the cloest. Thank the gods she wasn't wearing her boots. Lord Radagon would've heard her rushing to hide.

"Gods...would've been a hard time explain why I was here...dressing like this..."

Stepping out more. Wearing the lovely gift Godwyn had gotten her. Leaving Nouma blushing away at his choice of style

[eldenlordofdragons]

👀

@deathblightprince

Dany's not the kind that throws herself around, not by a long shot. In her culture - her village's anyway - to fuck is simply to enjoy the pleasures of intimacy without attachment or possession. But to truly romantically pursue means to duel as if to the death, showcasing strength and endurance to show that the pair can protect each other. To be strong, be it to protect others or oneself, is to lead an honorable existence.

And yet she swoons, in the darkest nights, imagining him suddenly pushing her onto her back, dominating her with the telltale strength he has as a demigod. He has her tangled into a mess with his limbs, kissing her until she can't breathe, until long fucking her until she's screaming his praises. Completely at his mercy, pushed to the edges of oblivion itself, until his milk overflows inside her.

Holy fuck, it is so wrong to think such things, but holy shit is it erotic.

[slumbering-in-death]

"Sun is awfully bright, is it not?"

He asked, the hood over his head was pulled back, but he wished he didn't touch it now. Who knew the sun would shine so brightly in the middle of summer? Not Godwyn, the prince who lives underground apparently.

He carried Fia in his arms, allowing her to enjoy the breeze unburdened. He carried her on the way up to the Altus Plateau, he didn't show any sign of wanting to put her down anytime soon.

He remembered these golden fields. They weren't that far from the outer walls of Leyendell. He spent a good portion of his late childhood and early teenage years training, camping, and hunting in this stretch of land. He half expected Fortissax to come swooping down from the heavens to meet him.

Those days are gone. He didn't dwell on it though, a new chapter was ahead.

@deathblightprince (proposal RP :3)

Fia was, for the time being, content with being carried. These golden fields were a ways away from where they emerged from, and this gesture seemed to keep him in a relaxed state.

Godwyn has been agitated since he discovered a dark secret relating to his death, and little brought him comfort these days.

“Indeed. I can scarce see what lies ahead of us…”

Her small white hand shielded her eyes from the sunlight while her robes waved gently in the wind.

She breathed in the fresh air deliberately, somewhat enjoying the vibrancy of life for once. She tried not to let her contentment show, however.

[bloodrosebriars]

@deathblightprince:

It was another typical day in the Roundtable Hold... or so he thought.

He was just walking back from the library, having returned some books to their shelves before plucking a few more to read. Fia had gone off to do something on her own, presumably to wander and find someone to chat with.

He entered the main room, to enter the corridor back to Fia's quarters until he came across a new face. A face that look so eerily like his fathers. It actually made him freeze in his tracks, as he almost mistook the man for Godfrey himself.

Godwyn himself was in disguise as well, but he did not look the same as he did when he was the Golden Prince. His skin was a more sickly pale with purple tints. His viens a deep navy blue or even black. His hair was somewhat visible through his hood, revealing long pale gold locks. He dawned a mask to cover his nose and mouth, but his eyes remained revealed and remained the most striking thing about him. His eyes were a dark grey, nearly black, but they were clouded as if he was blind. He clearly wasn't blind as he could see the man in the room with him, but it served as a haunting look.

"You look like a new face." He commented with a sense of curiosity, clearly having a lot of time to practice his modern english. This man was taller than him, and he was bulky too! He wore beautifully tailored clothes as well compared to Godwyn's shabby-looking sewn up black cloak and mask. "Is it your first time here?"

Given the fact that neither of the two brothers look at all like they did the last time they’d seen one another, they really might as well be strangers.

The voice strikes an eerie chord within the Omen’s breast, but more because it had spooked him than due to any odd remembrances. A ghost of the past, a ghost of the present — really, when he turns to look, this sickly-seeming man could be a spectre a hundred centuries old by looks alone. Ah, but who is Mohg to judge a man’s appearance? His shock wears off quickly, and a smile curls the edges of his veil-obscured lips.

“Indeed, it is,” the Omen-in-disguise admits, a solemn nod accompanying the words. He turns to face the ‘stranger’ with a wide arc drawn by one foot across the floor, his robes dancing around his ankles, almost like a curtsey in the way it accompanies a small bow. His hand covers his heart. His expression is like that of a man lost in bittersweet mourning. “I am new to these realms, and the strange beings that inhabit them. Hopelessly lost it would seem…” Sigh. “Art thou one of this hold’s noble Tarnished, then? Ah, what beautiful eyes thou hast…”

His own eye, of course, remains completely hidden behind black silk, lest his ties to Marika become immediately known. He smiles politely.

[crybaby-tarnished]

A loud mighty cry could be heard echoing through the ornate marble and stone halls. Inside a large room is a new little nursery for the newborn prince of the recently crowned Elden Lord and her God's.

Within a gold crib lies a screaming child, his tiny body wiggling to crawl over to the tall metal bars. He sits up, grabbing the bars as he wailed for someone to come in and comfort him.

@deathblightprince (fic verse: reincarnated baby Godwyn. Take your time with this one I don't mind.)

It was only a minute of the babe's crying that Fyra entered the room, looking exhausted. The bags under her eyes rivaled Gideon's, all because her new son was inconsolable it seemed. The perfumers called it 'colic'. She had only ever been familiar with the colic horses got, but the perfumers assured her that for a baby it simply meant they cried a good deal for no discernible reason.

She picked her son up, knowing being held was one of the few things that kept him quiet. "Shhhh. Shhhh. Mummy is hear. Ooof. You are so big already." She gently rocked him, "Maybe Marika can watch you for a bit... Mummy is so tired you know?"

She kissed the top of his golden head.

[arikos-of-caelid]

"I feel like a damned monster." Godwyn said almost offhandly as he gingerly tended to a weeding deathroot from the outskirts of his new castle in the depths. It's briars sprouting and shedding right off, turning into corpseflies before he and Ariko's very eyes. Observing Godwyn's reaction, this is apparently normal.

"I cannot go anywhere around the Lands Between without people looking at me like I'm a walking corpse. I was reborn from mine highly deformed corpse, but people refuse to grasp that." He lightly twists the root in his hand, watching it as it oozed a dark fluid that emitted a foul gray mist. He takes a vial and collects the fluid.

"I peak up into Leyendell for a minute and a lady screams as she witnesses me. She must've believed she saw a damn ghost." He plugs up the vial with a cork before giving it to Arikos as requested.

"Mine apologies for the rambling. It's very quiet down here, I do not recieveth visitors often." He could feel Arikos might have big news for him, but he wasn't sure if he was ready for it or not.

@deathblightprince (thank you lol)

"...It pains me to hear that." A deep sigh. Arikos fidgets with his perfumer's knife, containing a deathroot mist, preserved for the worst of circumstances, perhaps as a subconscious mirror. He was indeed not ready to share the grim revelation yet. No, though it was inevitable, for now it would wait. "It's far from fair, but it's what they know. It does seem like most of the wisdom of the Golden Order was as superficial as the shining facades of the Royal Capital now, doesn't it? A means to heighten man's fear of what lies unknown, rather than giving them the boldness to face and understand it." Another deep breath.

"...Spoken from experience, of course. I 've been coming to grips with the grim fact that many of those past victims of my work were far from deserving, whatever I might have been told to believe from the ladies of the Fingers since my youth. By emphasizing things more viscerally horrifying without, it is much easier to conceal the horrors hidden within the world they crafted..."

[fellomenking]

There was a commotion heard within the higher quarters of Leyendell. The sound of stone and marble cracking, the sight of dust being kicked up could be seen in the distance. A thin but murky gray fog was rapidly developing around the area.

As the dust began to settle, what caused the commotion became visible. Black and grey gnarled roots had shot up from the ground, now standing stiffly high up in the air in a circular formation. A small army of flies began to sprout from these roots and fly aimlessly around the roots.

Then a figure emerged from inside the circle of roots. A tall figure with pale blond hair, pale skin dressed in a dark waist robe with silver accents. He adorned a black crown of thorns that bore resemblance to the roots surrounding him.

He walked out of the circle of deathroot, looking at the immediate area around him; the area remained fairly empty and untouched, a stone tablet standing in the middle of the empty plot. The tablet read: In loving memory of Godwyn the Golden, a scion of the Golden bough. His life was taken here on the fateful Night of The Black Knives, his death triggering The Great Shattering.

@deathblightprince

It was an unanticipated catastrophe. One that occurred within the very walls of the capital of Leyndell itself.

Erdtree forgive him for his failure. He would be sure to inflict the necessary amount of lacerations upon himself. Double the amount for every life lost...

Seldom did the Grace-Given emerge from the shadow of the palace, bearing the veil to conceal his accursed form from the eyes of all those under his protection.

Ravens were sent out to deliver a message: that all forces are to be recalled to Leyndell.

With an army of troops behind him, Morgott himself marched down to the site of destruction. And he commanded that his soldiers search every residency for any surviving citizens, and evacuate them.

Cries of help.

"Over here!"

"Please! Help!"

"Mommy! Wake up! Mommy!"

So many cries... So many voices...

Erdtree forgive him. He was tasked to protect his people.

And he failed...

He failed...

... And yet the people still cried out their gratitude, to the soldiers who saved them. Cried out to him.

... But why? Why do they thank him when he failed them?

This...

...

... Was all his fault.

... Erdtree forgive him.

...

... Now was not the time to beg for forgiveness -- no, he was undeserving of it. But regardless, the important thing now was learning more of what could have caused this destruction.

Was it Rykard?

...

No. These roots smelled of death. Corpseflies swarmed them.

When the Grace-Given was certain all had been done for the citizens caught in the destruction, he ordered that the area be quarantined.

Something was terribly wrong.

There would need to be an investigation.

... A risk. A dangerous risk.

... But it must be done.

When a cancer is discovered, one must pinpoint its location, reach in, and wrench it from the host's bosom.

After a time, the Grace-Given called forth a few of his arborists and perfumers to study the roots, but urged utmost caution.

... He himself remained on site.

Hooded, and wearing a mask to protect himself from whatever contaminant there might be, the veiled monarch stepped deeper to investigate.

[thefirsteldenlord]

Godfrey treaded up the stairs from the lower floor of the Roundtable Hold with "precious" cargo in his arms. Quite large, precious cargo in fact, as Master Ordovis lay limp in his arms, seemingly unconscious. His arm dangled as his head was moved post-collapse to lean against Godfrey's shoulder. Meanwhile, Serosh sat on Godfrey's back looking as sorrowful as ever, making pitiful mewls and rumbles.

Godfrey heads towards Fia's quarters, finding no one home upon walking through the door. He approached the bed that was far too small for Godw- Ordovis's large body. Upon gently laying him down, he took a chair that stood not that far from the foot of the bed and propped his feet up. At least his feet weren't dangling awkwardly off the foot of the bed or just sitting on the floor.

Godfrey carefully took off Ordovis' mask completely so he could properly breathe. Seeing his full face quietly confirmed some suspicions The First Elden Lord had about this mysterious man. He carefully laid a hand on Ordovis' forehead to check his temperature. Unfortunately, Godfrey was no doctor, so if he detected that Ordovis was not well, he would need help.

[rottenbladeofmiquella]

👫 

His deathroot had finally found the haligtree after so long. After his deathroot nearly freezing over within the consecrated snowfield, he managed to successfully locatethe small town of Ordina. The place that leads you to the Haligtree itself.

His deathroot had been carefully traversing through the rot, his eyes carefully searching for who he was looking for. Miquella and Malenia, his siblings he held dear before they left.

He would eventually make his way to the haligtree roots. He would lay his eyes upon the Haligtree roots where his sister lies.

She would know a visitor had arrived when she could hear the sound of dripping water and the buzzing of flies. If she could see, she would see a dense fog had formed around her.

He would walk into her arena. Newly resurrected body at peak health, but beyond corrupted by deathroot. His hair was now a dull pale blond, and his skin a sickly white with purple tints. His eyes a dark grey that were clouded over. He dawned a quickly sewn up black cloak with his old blue robes hidden underneath. His eyes would immediately lay upon Malenia, being the first to break the silence between them.

"Malenia... is is truly thee?" His voice seemed to echo through the room, as if he was closer than she thought.

The Prince of Death has arrived at the Haligtree.

@deathblightprince

Symbol Starters

Malenia sat alone in the depths of the Haligtree. Never one for ostentatious displays of authority, she rested upon a humble wooden chair, though sized for her unnatural height. Her remaining rotting arm was raised, eternally stretched out towards the empty spot where once her dearest Miquella had taken root. There she rested, unmoving, kept alive only by the watchful vigil of those that remained.

Yet, the very instant that which did not belong intruded upon the inner sanctum, Malenia stirred as she had not in decades. Flies were not so unknown to the rotting, but they were not alone. Dripping water...here? And this cold, moist feeling...fog? In the Haligtree's heart? She knew not the source of this phenomena, but it was not welcome. Nothing that intruded on the place Miquella had most beloved ever could be.

Her body ached and responded slowly, complaining with even the slightest movement for such a long time of disuse. She stood even as every muscle screamed, walking to her dormant arm and helm. She carefully picked them up and placed them back where they belonged, setting her helm and blade into place as she turned to face the footsteps that now echoed throughout the chamber.

She had been prepared to speak, to give the intruder a name for their death, but her words died in her throat as that voice rang out. The Rot had not yet claimed her eyes when she had last seen her elder brother alive. Her senses had not yet heightened enough to take note of his unique presence...but there was no mistaking that voice. Her sword was half-raised as the peerless warrior was suddenly caught between her desperate desire to believe and her inability to do so.

For just a moment, she was a little girl again, finding solace and safety with her twin in her big brother's arms.

"...Godwyn?"

[black-blade-maliketh]

O DEATH

Gurranq slumbered in his temple, his claw scratching into the ground, turning the stone in his hand into fine sand.

He twitched in his sleep, dreaming of happier times twisted into painful visions of failure and starvation.

His stomach’s growling could be mistaken as a beast in and of itself, and his hand clutches his gut tightly.

But then suddenly, he awakens. His violet eye twitched as he began sniffing. It was as if death itself exploded in a… celebration?

He can hear their song now, singing of a prince of death.

Prince?

Death?

It couldn’t be. Gurranq refused to believe it.

He is dead. His very soul was extract from his body like a deathroot, and banished, never to be found again. But it is found.

Gurranq closed his eye and began communion. Through eyes of beast and man alike he searched, until he found one.

A beast eye quivering madly, as if it was searching, searching desperately.

He looks through this eye. He sees.

A hallway. It wasn’t the smith. It wasn’t the girl who raised spirits to be strong.

A door. Locked. He sniffs instead. Death. Death. Death.

He’s had enough of this. He sits in a meditative pose. Gurranq was needed here no longer. There is a matter of utmost importance to attend to.

“Eye of Beast, let me see. Claw of Beast, let me touch.”

He already begins the process. The sight of his sanctuary begins melting away.

“Take me to Death, take me to Death. Show me way, to Death, to Death!”

He lands on his hands, claws suddenly scratching into the hardwood floor. Little bits of reddened ash fly about as a towering beast clad in brown robes and rope manifested himself in the deathbed companion’s room.

He looks down on her with a single violet eye, barely visible as he huffed and snarled.

That’s when he saw him. Even changed, even devoid of the color he carried in life, Gurranq couldn’t help but tear up slightly at the sight of his long lost nephew.

“Prince Godwyn? You live?”

@deathblightprince

[allknowingofnir]

Snipped from here x "Yes, I am Ordovis. I accompany Fia here in the hold." He lightly bows to Gideon. He watches as Gideon observes his form. It's only been a minute since they met and he's already analyzing him. He needed to be more wary of his actions now.

"I was here searching for books to read while in times of lull when caring for Fia." Does he dare mention the topic he's been reading about? "Mainly books about the shattering and such, as I wasn't present during the shattering."

“Many weren’t, so that’s no surprise. The history of the event is muddled even in the best kept records. History is written by the victor and when it’s a multisided stalemate, well, you get the idea.” He turned around and dug through a few tomes. He stopped on one shelf, hand resting on a newer tome, though still aged. It was his own notes, compiled from pouring over texts. An incomplete record but one none the less.

“Perhaps this might help? I’m a scholar but not officially a historian, but it’s the most complete record outside of Lyndell’s you might find. Notes compiled by myself over the years. You’re free to read it if you wish, I just ask you not let it leave the Hold. I’ve no problem with you taking it with to read if you wish, Fia’s been a pleasant member of the Hold even if we’ve spoken little. I’ll not grieve her with pestering you about its return, if she trusts you, that’s good enough for me.”

He slid it across the table, hand lingering a moment. He studied the man’s frame again, tilting his head. Ordovis... was a knight... a Crucible Knight... here?

“I hate to pry, but was Ordovis a family member of yours? The Crucible Knight that is. You’ve certainly the stature of one, but I’ve rarely seen one without their armor, if ever. If I’m bothering you please let me know, I’d hate to upset Fia’s friends.”

[eldenlordofdragons]

“ there’s uh, not much sleeping happening tonight, right? “ (brutish demigod looking for round 2)

@deathblightprince

She raises her arm from her eyes, pursing her lips. “Today’s battles have me too alert, so not much sleeping.” A bit sheepishly.

[slumbering-in-death]

Godwyn enters back into their quarters, locking the door behind him as he carries a small wooden crate full of herbs, a kettle of piping hot water, and a couple of cups in one arm.

"I brought tea, Fia." He stated casually as he placed the crate down from the table, usually that was enough to rouse her from the bed. With his hands free, he began to strip off his cloak and mask and set them aside on a chair.

"Nouma was kind enough to lend me her St. Trinas petals for our tea. Their fresh too, so we shall sleep like babies tonight." He begins to fill small bags full of the herbs and petals for tea, tying them up and placing them in the cups. He continues to talk. "What exactly did thee prefer in thy tea again? Because I know thee like herba and-" He finally takes a good look at her, pausing his work.

He notices her sweating, sitting more stiffly than usual. "Art thou alright, dear?" He asks with concern.

(NSFW) (Deathblightprince, you know I had to do it)

She still feels heavy and tired, but she manages to sit and smile to greet Godwyn. However, she felt incredibly stressed and anxious as of late, and the sight of him was enough to set something off in her.

She subconsciously rubs her thighs together beneath the sheets as he speaks, until she stops herself.

“I like it when… um…”

She wasn’t able to string thoughts into words at the moment? What did she like in her tea?

“I-tis nothing, my prince… I’m sure of it…”

It is quite clear that she isn’t telling the truth.

[rebellious-loyalty]

@deathblightprince continued from here

Though they had only seen the look a few times over their long existence (and had hoped, perhaps foolishly, to never see it in their children's eyes), Marika knew the discomfort -- the repulsion, that the truth their form inspired. And so, they acted in accordance; only for their children -- and Godwyn especially -- would they do so. Any and all trace of androgyny or masculinity was erased from their form, flesh molding like clay into the indisputably female Queen Eternal, along with any trace of copper fading from their hair as well. Beyond the cracks that fiddled their otherwise marble-smooth flesh, which seemed to be filled with something akin to black corpse wax, the God of Order stood before their son as close as they could come to the mother he likely remembered.

Still, they found themself smiling, though the expression was small and perhaps just a touch sad. "Would that I had known," they replied, golden gaze roving over his beloved face, memorizing every new detail. They were both changed, after everything that had happened in five millennia, but the brightness of their love for him still burned within them. "Hadst I known, so much of thine suffering couldst have been avoided... thine, and of the Lands Between, both." Perhaps they would have still come to the decision of shattering the Elden Ring, would still have chosen to smash the previous world order for the sake of remaking it, but speculation was pointless now. Here, in the present, they were reunited with Godwyn; anything else could wait. Finally, Marika completed the motion.

Reaching out, they gently cupped their son's cheek.

[crybaby-tarnished]

A glorious morning washing over the horizon, it's glow now beginning to rival the brilliance of the Erdtree.

Fyra had gone about her usual morning routine, making a nice warm breakfast for the family. The morning went off without a hitch, except for the fact that little Godwyn wasn't eating much.

Last night was rough for him as he plagued with nightmares, and the fear of having more keeping him up all night. He was paying for it now, he was so tired he was struggling to keep his head up. His usually talkative, bubbly self was quiet and reserved.

@deathblightprince (fic verse)

FYra noted her son nodding off with his little bowl of food, She slowly went up to him, kneeling by his side as she gently took the bowl from his hands so he did not spill what was left over. “Hey Winnie, are you sleepy?”

She brushed his golden hair back out of his face and gave his forehead a kiss, just to see if maybe he was sick. But his temperature seemed normal. It was probably just a bad sleeping night then. He had them so often.

“Did you forget to drink your tea again so Uncle Miquella can give you good dreams?” Or was it not working anymore? She hoped it wasn’t the case. She didn’t know what to do to help him if it was that.

Gideon could probably cook something up but Godwyn didn't really like him too much… Which was understandable. He wasn’t all that likable to anyone outside of his small circle of family.

[arikos-of-caelid]

At first, Arikos hesitated momentarily, gripping the Deathroot in his hands. It wasn't a matter of its efficacy that concerned him; but rather, knowing that if anyone found him in this state, less able to hear the world outside, he would be much less able to defend himself. Even as slim as the chances of discovering him, hidden away in the lower city was.

And then, eventually, his tremulous grip on the various barbs surrounding the strangely eye-like growth made the decision before him. Everything grew strangely quiet, calm, still, sans for the still-strange feeling of dripping water and the buzzing of flies.

And so, he took a deep breath (in spite of not needing it in this space) and reached out in his mind. "...Hello. I'm not quite done here yet, but I've found many things of interest. Most immediately relevant, the situation around investigating the manor has changed."

@deathblightprince