therealprincelorian

[therealprincelorian]

Revised Chronology of the Elden Ring's Fragmentation

PREAMBLE: This report details the preliminary findings of an ongoing investigation into the true timeline and nature of the Elden Ring's dissolution. Standard historical accounts frequently posit Queen Marika's shattering of the Elden Ring as a direct, reactive response to the Night of the Black Knives. However, substantial evidence compels a radical revision of this sequence, indicating a protracted period of degradation and, crucially, a shattering initiated by Queen Marika prior to the aforementioned assassinations.

EVIDENCE OF PRIOR FRAGMENTATION & REVISED TIMELINE: Our inquiry confirms the Elden Ring’s supposed sanctity was compromised from its earliest epochs. The entity known as the Gloam-Eyed Queen wielded the power of Destined Death—a fundamental component of cosmic order—long before its eventual sequestration by Maliketh, acting under Marika's explicit decree. This primordial schism demonstrates that key aspects of the Ring were contested and separable from inception. Further, the documented bestowment of the Great Rune of the Unborn upon Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon, by Radagon—an event predating the commonly accepted Shattering timeline—serves as irrefutable proof of the Ring's divisible nature. Based on these points and re-interpretations of extant textual and anecdotal evidence, this Inquisition posits that Queen Marika’s own definitive act of shattering the Elden Ring was a calculated measure enacted before the Night of the Black Knives, likely driven by complex motivations against an already flawed and rebellious divine framework.

RECONTEXTUALIZATION OF SUBSEQUENT EVENTS: Given a pre-NoBK shattering by Marika, the actions of other key figures, notably Ranni the Witch, must be viewed through this new lens. Her renunciation of her Great Rune—an act requiring living agency and thus occurring before her corporeal "death" during the Night of the Black Knives (a fact ascertainable by diligent researchers like Gideon Ofnir)—was therefore a maneuver within an already fractured world. Consequently, the Night of the Black Knives itself ceases to be the primary catalyst for the Ring’s destruction. Instead, it is re-framed as a significant, strategic development unfolding amidst the chaos of Marika’s pre-existing Shattering. The true fragmentation of the Elden Ring was not a singular event but a cascade of ruptures, commencing in antiquity with figures like the Gloam-Eyed Queen, escalating with Marika’s own decisive sundering, and further devolving with subsequent power plays such as the Night of the Black Knives.

[therealprincelorian]

Trading My Cat Ears for a pair Grace Given Eyes: from FFXIV to Elden Ring

For years, Eorzea was a second home. The bustling cities, the epic trials, the friends made along the way – Final Fantasy XIV offered a universe brimming with adventure. But as with many grand journeys, sometimes you find yourself at a natural pause. It's now been over a year since I last logged into FFXIV, a long break from a world I once knew so intimately. While the memories remain fond, a different kind of call has recently echoed, pulling me towards a new, more enigmatic horizon.

That horizon is the Lands Between. Elden Ring, a name whispered with a mixture of awe and trepidation, finally drew me in. I wasn't sure what to expect, knowing only its reputation for challenge and its vast, open world. What I discovered, however, was something that has resonated with me on a level I hadn't anticipated, and it wasn't just the stunning vistas or the intricate combat.

What has truly ensnared me, pulling me deeper with every crumbling ruin and cryptic item description, is Elden Ring's lore. It’s a stark contrast to the more directed narrative I was used to, presenting a fragmented, ancient history that begs to be pieced together. The mystery woven into its world, the fallen demigods, the Outer Gods, and the Shattering itself – it's a complex weave of myths that has utterly captivated my imagination. I find myself lost for hours, not just fighting for survival, but actively hunting for the next clue to understand this broken, beautiful world. The Lands Between have made me an inquisitor of its sorrows and splendors. Indeed, because of my profound love for this game and its captivating lore, I'll say it now: my Golden Inquisition to uncover every hidden truth has officially begun!

[therealprincelorian]

why that name?

I chose the name Prince Lorian because the name Prince Lothric was already taken. Since Lorian is Lothric's brother, it seemed like a fitting alternative.

[therealprincelorian]

That's My Boy

When I was ensnared by the tendrils of despair, convinced that all was lost. Material possessions vanished, connections dissolved, and I was left adrift in a sea of emptiness.

But amidst the wreckage, a spark ignited. The flames of adversity consumed the illusions I had clung to, revealing the enduring bonds that truly mattered. For this painful clarity, I am strangely grateful.

In those dark days, a friend's creation offered solace. A character, bearing a resemblance to Lorian, became a beacon. I jestingly claimed him as my own, a desperate yearning for connection masked in humor. With grace, my friend indulged my pretense, a kindness I may never fully repay.

This fictional son filled a void within my wounded spirit. Together, we wove a tale of his origin, a fleeting moment of lust, a connection forged in the depths of carelessness, perhaps. The details remain hazy, a testament to my reluctance to further burden my friend.

Yet, he became "my boy," a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the face of oblivion, hope can emerge from the ashes. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

[therealprincelorian]

The Weight of Ages

Prince Lorian, in his final and current incarnation, stands as a forlorn specter, a mere echo of the selves he once bore. His origins are deeply rooted in a mythic, bygone era, a time redolent of the primal, savage world conjured by Robert E. Howard's Hyborian Age—an epoch swallowed by the relentless tide of history. Born the third heir to a forgotten throne, preceded by a brother and sister whose destinies were tragically intertwined with his own, Lorian was once a prince of a kingdom that defied understanding—a bewildering tapestry woven from the threads of ancient Egypt and the Inca of South America, a fusion as mystifying as it was singular.

This golden age, alas, existed cruelly before the schism that would tear the Miqo'te people asunder, dividing them into the distinct Seeker and Keeper tribes. Lorian, cursed by fate, was made to bear witness to the slow disintegration of his people's unity, their tragic descent into a fractured society—a regression he was powerless to forestall. The catalyst of this decline was not mere happenstance, but his own father's fateful decision to surrender their kingdom to a seemingly immortal man, a being of immense magical power. Lured by the promise of sharing in this power and a life of untold decadence, Lorian, along with his brother, his cousin, and his dearest friend, pledged their fealty. They envisioned an era of prosperity and grandeur, but as centuries slowly unfurled, they found themselves gradually warped by the ceaseless flow of time and the insidious, corrupting influence of absolute power. What began as a hopeful alliance became a dark cabal, their reign a shadow that stretched for three hundred long years—a dominion of terror that was finally shattered by twelve champions, brave souls who, in their triumph, would ascend to become the revered, yet ironically titled, Twelve "gods."

Yet, this hard-won victory came at a soul-shattering cost. In the final, cataclysmic battle of this great uprising, Lorian was utterly broken, robbed of his beloved wife and children, their lives cruelly extinguished in the all-consuming fires of war. This devastating loss cast an impenetrable pall of grief over his very being, a sorrow so profound that it would cling to him like a shroud for the next twelve hundred years, staining his existence with an enduring, unshakable melancholy. The immense weight of loss and the passage of countless years settled upon him, leaving in their wake a figure forever etched in tragedy, a prince eternally haunted by the phantoms of a glorious age, a time now lost forever to the silent, unforgiving annals of history.

[therealprincelorian]

A Duality of Shadows

In his second incarnation, Prince Lorian became a haunting reflection of my own fractured soul. By day, he maintained the pretense of a respectable citizen - a leader of a free company, seemingly gentle, cultured, and beyond reproach. Yet, when darkness draped the world, he shed this facade, assuming leadership of the ghost gang, now a sinister criminal network.

This double life necessitated a duality of identity. Amidst the daylight's false security, he was Lorian Moreau, a name that whispered of the unsettling creatures from the film "Island of Dr. Moreau." Under the shroud of night, he became the Prince of Cats, or simply Prince, a chilling echo of Tybalt from "Romeo and Juliet" - a figure of violence veiled in elegance.

This divided existence mirrored the disquiet within my own heart, a ceaseless struggle between light and shadow. His daytime persona was the mask I presented to the world, while his nocturnal identity embodied the darkness lurking within me, the untamed desires I kept hidden.

Prince Lorian was the embodiment of my inner turmoil, a stark testament to the complexity of my nature, eternally caught between virtue and vice, forever seeking an impossible reconciliation.

But this was not the end. A final stage awaited, a chilling past, built from the wreckage of my waking life, he would suffer as I had.

[therealprincelorian]

Whispers of Identity

This will likely be brief, as I'm currently on vacation. My recent posts have explored the duality of the human spirit, the seemingly endless struggle against the false self within us all, whether we acknowledge that undeniable truth or not. Today, in the spirit of escaping the weight of the past, I'd like to share something more pleasant.

Throughout my journey across the lands of Eorzea, I've encountered a multitude of souls, each a universe of their own. Their stories, woven through words, pixels, and the enhancements of mods, painted vivid tapestries of their imaginations. This, I believe, is one of the game's most enduring enchantments—the quiet wonder of the unknown. I often pondered, as I interacted with these fellow travelers: were they, like myself, or were they inhabiting a carefully crafted persona, a character born from the depths of their own creativity? The ambiguity itself held a certain beauty, a gentle reminder of the boundless capacity for human expression.

Among the most treasured moments of these connections were those that transcended the digital screen. The shared meals, the clinking of glasses—these tangible acts revealed the human presence behind the avatar. Knowing that beyond the pixels resided a genuine soul, with all its inherent complexities and wonders, held a value beyond measure. It was a quiet affirmation that even amidst perceived difficulties, these connections were a treasure beyond price.

[therealprincelorian]

In the Shadows of Nothingness

In every circle, there’s always a wallflower, the silent lurker blending into the shadows. I encountered such a soul, determined to coax them from their shell, to soothe their fears.

How did it begin? A voice called from the digital wilderness, and I answered, driven by curiosity and the allure of new connection. Reflecting now, I see the depths of my ego in those fading memories.

Was it the alabaster beauty I met first, or the feline with eyes like the setting sun? The details blur, each a piece of a whole, encased in a shell of impenetrable stone. Over time, the walls crumbled in ways I still don't fully grasp. The complexity of our friendship remains a mystery.

In quiet, private moments, I glimpsed a hidden side, a depth unseen by the world. I realize now that such depths exist within all of us, fleeting yet profound. I mistook this connection for something more, a misstep of the heart.

Time has passed, and details fade. The games, the flirtation, the venomous words mistaken for banter—none of it matters anymore. I barely remember. But I do remember that once, I had a friend. Foolishly, I thought it could be more and, in doing so, I pushed them away.

In the end, our interactions were marred by misunderstandings and misplaced intentions. The friendship dissolved, leaving behind only the fragments of what once was. Those shards, scattered and broken, serve as a stark reminder of how easily connections can be shattered. What remains are faint traces in the corridors of nothingness, a final testament to the impermanence of bonds once thought unbreakable

[therealprincelorian]

The Magnetism of Sorrow

There was a time, in the shadowed kingdom of my mind, when I reigned as something akin to a king, or perhaps, more accurately, a prince of darkness. Not in a malevolent sense, but rather, I possessed a certain allure, a magnetism born of melancholy, that drew others to me. Female companionship was never a scarce commodity. There is a strange, unspoken pact between the broken, a silent call that echoes across the desolate landscapes of the soul. My despair, my ever-present mood, became a beacon, attracting those who recognized its somber light, especially in matters of the heart.

Did they come to mend what was shattered within me? Or did they seek to share in the bleakness, to find solace in the shared darkness? Perhaps it was mere curiosity, a fascination with the wounded creature. It may have been a confluence of all these things. Regardless, I rarely turned them away.

But as the slow, arduous process of healing began, as I stumbled through mistakes and the painful growth that follows, many of them drifted away. Some clung to the familiar hell we had shared, resistant to any notion of change. And I, with a heavy heart, had to leave them there, for it was their choice, their right to remain as they were. No one can truly save another; that salvation must rise from within. The strength, the resilience, it resides within each of us. We are given everything we need; the challenge lies in recognizing it.

I came to realize I was not who I believed myself to be. I had never truly known myself. Even now, the journey of self-discovery continues, a slow unveiling of who I truly am, beyond the negative emotions and thoughts that once defined me. It is a long road, but now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can finally look back…

[therealprincelorian]

A Digital Lament

The digital world became my sanctuary, a refuge from the disquiet of my own life, a place to escape the weight of my reputation and the yearning for belonging that gnawed at my soul. But it was a sanctuary built on shifting sands, where the lines between reality and fantasy blurred with alarming ease. Prince Lorian, born from the depths of my imagination, became more than just a character; he was a vessel, an echo chamber for my anxieties and despair.

The unease I felt in my waking life bled into him, staining his very essence with my own turmoil. He became a reflection, a dark mirror held up to my own soul, bearing the weight of my self-loathing and unfulfilled desires.  Lost and yearning, I poured my heart into his story, seeking solace not within myself, but in the act of creation.

His narrative unfolded, a melancholic symphony of loss and longing. An immortal, forever tethered to a cycle of death and rebirth, bound by a crystal from the vast expanse beyond the stars. It was a tragic tapestry woven with threads of my own deepest fears, my inability to face the world with an open heart. Each tragic fanfiction, each broken-hearted tale, was a cathartic release, a way to externalize the pain that gnawed at my soul.

Lorian, trapped in his digital purgatory, became a poignant reminder of my own self-imposed isolation. He was a prisoner of my creation, a testament to the darkness that can consume us when we seek solace in escapism rather than confronting the shadows within. Yet, in his suffering, there was a strange comfort, a twisted catharsis in watching him bear the weight of my sorrow. He was the embodiment of my internal struggles, a digital Atlas carrying the world of my emotions on his shoulders. 

And so, he resided in that lonely realm for years, a silent testament to the power of our inner demons and the seductive allure of the digital world, where we can lose ourselves in the shadows and echoes of our own creation.

[therealprincelorian]

Whispers of a Forgotten Sanctuary

The memory of that first house, tucked away in the forgotten corner of the Goblet, hangs heavy in my mind. It was a sanctuary, overlooking a valley bathed in serenity, a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within me. The vista offered solace, a quiet refuge in a world that felt like it was constantly shifting beneath my feet.

I shared that haven with those I held dear, my closest companions. Back then, the bonds of friendship seemed unbreakable, forged in shared laughter and whispered secrets. But time, like a relentless tide, has carried some of those friends away. They drift now in distant waters, their lives separate from mine.

The image of that house remains, a poignant reminder of a time when differences faded into the background, disagreements were fleeting shadows, and distrust was a stranger. We gathered there, united in the peaceful embrace of the valley, finding solace in each other's company.

Perhaps, though, the harmony I felt was merely a wishful illusion. The truth is, we can never truly know the depths of another's heart. Maybe the connection I cherished, the sense of belonging, existed only within me. And that realization casts a somber hue over the memory, a quiet acknowledgment of the fleeting nature of connection and the inevitable drift of time.

The weight of regret settles heavy, a shroud of "what ifs" and "if onlys" threatening to consume me. Each keystroke echoes with the phantom pain of choices made, words spoken, and paths taken. I am haunted by the ghosts of alternate realities, where different decisions might have led to different outcomes.

But even as I linger in this shadowy realm of might-have-beens, a deeper truth emerges. These thoughts, these whispers of regret, are but illusions. I cannot rewrite the past, nor can I erase the consequences of my actions. To dwell on such fantasies is to deny the authenticity of my journey, the very essence of who I am.

For I have always strived to live with intention, guided by my convictions and the compass of my heart. The choices I made, the words I spoke, were reflections of my truest self in those moments. And while the outcomes may not have always been what I desired, they were nonetheless inevitable, the natural consequences of my own volition.

And so, I must release the grip of regret, allowing it to dissolve into the mists of time. Instead, I choose to embrace the present, to accept the tapestry of my life with all its intricate threads of joy and sorrow, triumph and tribulation. For it is in this acceptance that I find true peace, a quiet understanding that the path I have traveled, with all its twists and turns, has led me to this very moment. And that, in itself, is enough.

[therealprincelorian]

The Betrayal Within

The first iteration of Prince Lorian was the de facto leader of the Ul'dah-based street gang, the Ghost Gang. It all started with a whimsical idea, a shared dream between three other close friends. We were an unlikely bunch, brought together from different walks of life by the anonymity of the internet. Despite our differences in age and experience, we forged a strong bond online, carving out our own little space in the digital streets of Ul'dah.

For a time, it felt like magic. We were inseparable, our days filled with laughter, shared challenges, and ambitious dreams. But time, as it always does, revealed the cracks in our foundation. The very experiences that once united us began to sow the seeds of discord, testing the limits of our bond. We drifted apart, the silence filled with unspoken grudges and lingering resentment.

And yet, we couldn't quite let go. Time and again, we sought reconciliation, desperately trying to rebuild what had been broken. After countless cycles of fracture and reunion, I tried to stabilize the group, to breathe new life into it by recruiting like-minded individuals. But even with this influx of new members, the inherent clashes of personality and passion ultimately led to the first significant schism within the gang.

The gang endured, yes, but it was forever scarred. A chilling caution permeated the group, a constant reminder of how easily trust can shatter. The details are hazy now, lost to the passage of time. I can vaguely recall the catalyst – a betrayal, a lover's infidelity – but the specifics elude me. The weeks that followed are a blur, a period I can't recall with any certainty. Perhaps it's better that way. Some memories, some pains, are best left buried in the past.

Looking back, I can't help but wonder if it was all inevitable. Was our bond doomed from the start? Or could we have done something differently, made different choices that would have preserved the magic? These questions linger, ghosts of a past that continue to haunt me.

[therealprincelorian]

Dark Desires and Digital Dreams

The evolution of Prince Lorian was unexpected, even to me. My heart had initially yearned for the name Prince Lothric, a nod to the somber beauty of Dark Souls 3. Alas, another soul, kindred spirit, had claimed that name. So, I settled on Prince Lorian, a name that carried a certain regal darkness.

Before this, in the dawn of my FFXIV journey, I was known as Zar'tan Vosloo, a character born from a different state of mind. But that tale is for another time.

After a two-year absence, I returned to Eorzea, a world that felt both familiar and foreign. My old friends had vanished, their names lost to the sands of time. I had searched high and low, pouring over old guild rosters and forums, but to no avail. It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

I began anew, a blank slate, creating a new account.

In the whirlwind of my return, I quickly gained a reputation as an ERP enthusiast. It was a strange and exhilarating experience, a far cry from my previous gaming habits. I reveled in the newfound freedom, the anonymity, the ability to explore uncharted territories of roleplay.

However, as time passed, the initial thrill began to fade. The superficiality of my online persona grew tiresome. I yearned for something more substantial, a deeper connection to my character.

In hindsight, perhaps it was a mistake to craft Prince Lorian's narrative as a blend of my online reputation, my ego, and my love for dark fantasy. But in that moment, it felt like the only way to breathe life into him.

[therealprincelorian]

A Beacon in the Abyss

Lost in a labyrinth of despair, I once believed myself destined for solitude's cruel embrace. A phantom of loneliness haunted me, casting a long shadow that darkened every day. Even surrounded by others, I felt utterly alone, a solitary soul adrift in a sea of faces. Perhaps it was a fleeting doubt, a momentary lapse in reason. Or maybe it was a truth I refused to acknowledge.

Each soul embarks on their own unique journey, a solitary voyage across the vast ocean of life. We may share laughter and tears with fellow travelers, but ultimately, we must tread our individual paths. Even now, as I write this, a flicker of uncertainty remains. Is this the true nature of existence, or am I merely seeking solace in a convenient narrative?

Then, she appeared. A beacon in the abyss, she offered a lifeline in the suffocating darkness. Little did I know, her own light flickered with hidden cracks. Her attempts to save me were a desperate plea to mend the fractures within herself.

Blinded by hope and a longing for salvation, I placed her on an unrealistic pedestal. I ignored the imperfections beneath the surface, clinging to the illusion of a perfect connection. When the illusion shattered, it left behind a wreckage of pain and disillusionment.

As the dust settled, a brutal truth emerged: the darkness I despised in her was a mere reflection of my own. We were two broken souls, each seeking a redemption that could only be found within. We found a way to reconcile, acknowledging our shared vulnerabilities and offering each other forgiveness. Though our paths diverged, the experience left an indelible mark. It taught me the fragility of human connections and the importance of self-awareness. A reminder of the resilience of the human spirit.

[therealprincelorian]

Greetings, I am—or perhaps I was—Prince Lorian. The essence of that character no longer resides within me, for many reasons. In truth, I regret ever allowing the spirit of Lorian to weave itself so deeply into my soul.

You might wonder why I pen this blog. Will it be the musings of one lost and consumed by fantasy? Sadly, no. The memories of that time are swiftly fading, yet I believe they should not disappear without a trace. In sharing them, perhaps they can amuse for a moment in time.

Who, then, was Prince Lorian? If he were truly real, he would embody the very essence of human complexity. His nature would be so intricate, his soul so multifaceted, that not even the most exquisitely cut diamond could reflect the depth of his being. Because he was all these things, he seemed to meld into me. Yet, in truth, he never did—for he had always been a part of me, a hidden fragment of my ego I had never known.

Let us embark on a journey into the past, a realm that lives only in these pictures and the fading memories of those who still hold onto the whispers of yesterday. These echoes of a time long gone resonate in the quiet corners of our minds, urging us to remember and cherish the fleeting moments that shaped us.

Will every account be as it was? I cannot say, for memories are tricky things. But why should I deceive? A prince must never lie, and I, the Prince of Cats, have always been nothing but honest…