A golden rune falls in the black background. Narrator: What fell into the knight's hand was a beam from the sun.
The same rune descends towards an open eye. Narrator: A fragment of the Elden Ring. A sign of the lands' once-limitless blessing.
The rune falls onto the eye, illuminating it with golden rays. Narrator: How can a thing so beautiful be incomplete? Such was the question Queen Marika posed before...
A Kaiden Sellsword is cutting a Tarnished in two, from the bowels downward. Thieves divide the Tarnished's things. Narrator: ...the Tarnished - the scum, the dregs, the dust of the earth - doomed to struggle forever...
A forest of black trees punch their branches into the bodies of Tarnished. Narrator: ...and be slain like insects, at the hands of those who once drank of the Erdtree's bottomless grace...
A snake coils around an endless troth of Tarnished skulls. Narrator: ...they who have been denied every mercy imaginable.
The following panels are the same view, of Fort Haight with the Erdtree gigantic in the background. This panel conveys the branches of the Erdtree. Narrator: Better to be a fly content in dung... Narrator: ...than to live as a Tarnished in any world.
This panel depicts the trunk of the Erdtree, solid and golden. Here are also the battlements of Fort Haight.
This panel depicts Fort Haight proper. Also shown is the Erdtree sprout nearby. Card: Fort Haight, at the edge of Mistwood
This page's panels are of one view. The following row of panels depicting the roof of Fort Haight, with the courtyard depicted in the last panel. Roderika is wearing her red hood, addressing someone off-panel. Roderika: A visitor hails Fort Haight.
Kenneth Haight is sitting on his throne. Kenneth Haight: Tell them we do not truck with commoners.
Gaer, a man in the armor of the banished knights with the Grafted Blade Greatsword slung on his back, addresses Haight. Gaer: This is not a man to turn away, lord. Kenneth Haight: Then, let the rabble in.
The courtyard of Fort Haight, depicting a great many Tarnished encamping below. They are surrounding the corpse of an immense Demi-Human Queen. The Tarnished are preparing for war: cooking, sharpening their blades, fortifying the location. Demi-Humans can be seen, in chains. Of particular note, at the edges of the panel, are the inhuman warriors Iron Fist Alexander and Blaidd, standing tall; the knight Bernahl, in a modest knight's armor, sitting with his sword resting on his shoulder; Recusant Henricus, resting beside his Great Mace; a Finger Reader idles; and Tarnished of particular importance for the future, namely, 1) A Vagabond, male, Northener, bracing himself for Nepheli Loux's strikes with a greatshield; 2) a Prisoner, female, Aristocrat, mock-dueling with Yura; 3) a Prophet, male, Truth-Seeker, resting with Patches; 4) a Samurai, female, Reedlander, alone; 5) a Warrior, male, Seafarer, cavorting with two women.
The fort's porticulis is lifted up.
Walking through the entryway is the Carian knight of previous chapter, henceforth named Rhys. Haight, Bernahl, and Gaer approach him. Kenneth Haight: Hail and well-met, honored stranger! For what reason do I have the excellent pleasure of welcoming you to Fort Haight, the most well-kept fort - err, castle, in Limgrave,
Kenneth Haight: nay, in the Lands - Rhys: I did not come to hear thee wind and wind. I have business of my own.
Gaer: We also have business. Be direct. Rhys raises his right hand; from it, a golden light radiates.
Everyone is taken aback. Kenneth Haight: A Great Rune!
The Finger Reader hobbles to Rhys. Finger Reader: Make way, make way, I must read thy fingers. Rhys: I earned this in the libraries of Raya Lucaria, from spoony Rennala, while you were middling about in this wretched place.
Bernahl: ... Gaer: But the bridge between Limgrave and Liurnia is broken. We have not heard from any Tarnished in Liurnia, none. Rhys: I have my means, back and forth. Finger Reader: Ohh! "Brave Tarnished, blessed by the Greater Will. Head to golden Leyndell, at the foot of the Erdtree; thou shalt be granted an audience underneath the tree's boughs."
Rhys slaps his hand back. Rhys: Feh! What babbling! No sooner I alight upon the Erdtree, the Veiled Monarch will set his armies upon me. Gaer: If yours is not the Greater Will's business, then what is it?
Rhys: I have heard that the Graven Witch, who witnessed the Primeval Current, makes Limgrave her lodging.
Thops rushes toward Rhys. Thops: The Graven Witch? You mean, Sorceress Sellen? You too want to gleam into glintstone?
Rhys: I...suppose I do. Gaer: If Sellen is who you are referring to, then I know ... how one would speak to her.
Rhys: Say it, then, and don't be long. Gaer: Let me first involve you in our business.
Gaer: You won't be under any obligation by hearing, I promise. Rhys: Fine; drone on, then give unto me what I deserve.
A view of the graveyard in Castle Stormveil. The corpse of a dragon, impaled on a tree, looms large in the panel's lift; a large figure, shrouded in shadow, is admiring it. Gaer (in card): Do you know of Godrick the Grafted? Rhys (in card): He is a shardbearer, is all I know. Gaer: He is the fool lord of Stormveil Castle, and as far as Stormhill.
Godrick's army, in full array. Gaer: Surely you have encountered his knights on your journey here, with the war axe's emblem? Rhys: I cut something like that.
Returning to Gaer and the wide courtyard of Tarnished. Gaer: We Tarnished intend to march to Stormveil Castle, to take Godrick's rune from him.
Rhys: Wonderful. Now, tell me where Sellen is.
Gaer: And yet weren't you come to the Lands Between for the shards of the Elden Ring? Rhys: I have it, though it does bloody nothing.
Finger Reader: Yours is the rune speaking on behalf of the unborn. Rhys: I'm certainly born, aren't I? Gaer: Hold on now, let us talk coolly -
Rhys: How coolly must I countenance fools when they do not give me what was promised? Where is Sellen? Henricus: What is your truck with her?
Rhys: What is this for you to know? Henricus: She is in a kind of way; you may not find what you are seeking.
Rhys: I...seek the stars. Henricus: For power? Or for pleasure?
Rhys: ...for its own sake. Henricus: Then I'll tell you this, for your own happiness:
Henricus: Another witch has been seen at Church of Elleh, at night. This is Ranni, empyrean, daughter of Rennala, whom you slayed. Rhys is startled.
Henricus is pointing to Blaidd. Blaidd seems pleased to be mentioned, though he does not know what for. Henricus: Of course, we have in our keep here the witch's dog, but he, as he avers, has no inkling as what for.
Henricus: Now, you can twiddle your thumbs for our campaign to end, but...
The Tree Sentinel stands before the Church of Elleh, shrouded by its shadow. Henricus: The church is guarded by a fearsome warrior of the Erdtree, why we do not know. Henricus: Now, I understand how the Tarnished think...alone in the world...tit-for-tat...and by no means am I unsympathetic...
Henricus: ...but the foul state of the Lands Between does not allow one to move freely. Even you must see there are no useless battles.
Henricus: Or is it, you are content beating the wits out of a woman for your rune?...
Rhys is agitated. Rhys: Talk and talk and talk! Fine, my sword is by yours, for a time.
Gaer: Truly! Gareth, ensure this gentleman is well-fed and with what he needs! Gareth, the Vagabond, enters the scene and nods. Gareth: Yes, brother.
Kenneth Haight: Hold on! As the lord and true heir of Stormveil, I demand tribute from all knaves!
Thops: We must speak about the wonders of glintstone! Finger Reader: Your fingers, your fingers, sir! Kenneth Haight: Dost thou hear me?!
Bernahl looms over Henricus. Bernahl: How in all the Lands Between do you know everything? Henricus: Heh.
Boc, with an empty bowl, is begging for food from a demi-human in chains who is cooking a stew. Boc: P-please, but one drop -
Rhys pushes him aside. Gareth shows concern for Boc. Boc: Ah! Rhys: Pathetic demi-human, begging thy own kind. Why aren't you in chains?
Rhys sits down. Rhys: One bowl, slave. A Wretch, male, Numen, is sitting by him. This is Meilyr. Meilyr: Me too. The demi-human sets two bowls down.
The Grafted Blade Greatsword cuts Meilyr's bowl in half. Meilyr: Hey-!
Gaer lifts the greatsword to Meilyr's neck. Gaer: Now, where have you come from? Meilyr smiles and seems at ease with the situation. Meilyr: Where he had!
Gaer grabs Meilyr by the throat. Rhys eats through his helm's visor. Gaer: You are in jest. Meilyr: I believed you lot were looking for some...jolly cooperation! Gaer: A half-naked twit like you!
Gareth: Gaer... Gaer: Your soft heart. We hardly have enough arms.
Meilyr: W-what a-arms...does one need... He is choking, turning blue, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Gaer has released him; Meilyr is breathing hard and heavy. Meilyr: W-what a-ha-ha-ha...
Gaer: You're stick-thin. Nepheli: You're better off spurring warriors than warring, old one.
The characters press closer to Meilyr. Nepheli: Can you swing an axe? Corhyn: Recite an incantation? Rogier: Channel glintstone?
The characters press uncomfortably close. Gareth: Steady a shield? Bernahl: Raise a sword? Diallos: Write a poem?
Meilyr: Enough! Enough! These things, presently, I cannot attest; but I can do you better!
Meilyr sits on his knees; his face is turned down to the ground. Everyone watches.
Meilyr pushes his chest up with his face toward the rays of the Erdtree. Meilyr: Oh blessed sun! Another day, another meal!
Diallos: That was somewhat poetic... Nepheli: Old man, you're going to get killed. Meilyr: I trow nothing is worse than an empty stomach. Patches sees the club tucked in his underwear.
Patches: Look at this, the old coot gives his own share of whacking. Nepheli: This ugly thing, against an helm?
Patches taps his fist on Meilyr's chest. Patches: We bandits stick together, through and through. Nepheli: Is that your play, then? Alexander: Hold on...
Alexander: Marika called upon every of her warriors, great and slight, to the Erdtree. Nepheli: These same warriors are slaughtered, Alexander. Alexander: True, true.
Alexander: But it is the destiny of the Tarnished to be so. Nepheli: There's no sense in that, jar. Patches: Whose horse were you put upon, brute?
Nepheli: How now - Patches: We feed the bastard, put 'em in front, a partizan is put through him, that's one less wound on us. We then divide the spoils - well, whatever is there...
Gareth: The argument is, we are so desperate already, why not admit anyone who is willing? Patches: Yea yea, whatever the clod said.
Nepheli: But... Gaer: I tire of this. If you're so foolish, spill your stew on the frontline, then. I must speak with spies. Meilyr is beaming.
Nepheli: Feh. Patches: Now, I have this gen-u-ine article for you...for so little runes, a rock to scratch your ass... Patches presents to him a shackle of Margit the Fell Omen. Not that Patches knows what it actually is.
The demi-human hands a bowl of stew to Meilyr. Meilyr motions for Boc. Patches: You like horses? I have a shield of some.
Meilyr pours half his stew into Boc's bowl. Patches: This little stone key, now this is a true gem...
Boc: Thank you, sir... Patches: Hey, you listening?
Morrowe, the Warrior, male, Seafarer, watches Nepheli walk by with, as mentioned before, his two girls in hand. Morrowe: Is that all in your mind, bashing and gashing of brains?
Nepheli stops. Nepheli: I find it pitiable you don't. Morrowe: Pity you don't enjoy life.
Morrowe: We were once dead, and now we live again. Think on it now, for your own good.
Nepheli: I argue none with you, because of your swordhand. Indeed, someone so able, and he spends his freedom...wenching!
Morrowe: Now why did Marika give us hands then? He presses his hand harder against a woman's breast; she laughs.
Nepheli walks away. Nepheli: First thing, you barter your services for women. There's no more to add to your character... Morrowe: Hey now...
Morrowe sees the Prisoner, female, Aristocrat, named Reane, looking at him. Reane: Is it true? You demanded women? Morrowe: Well, when you're offered "anything", certain things come to mind...
Morrowe: You, mouse, don't speak one word the while, and this the first you ask? Reane: I'm curious. I'm not a prude.
Morrowe: Really? Reane: I mean, I find you entirely disagreeable, but you're interesting.
Morrowe is beaming. Morrowe: And which of my many attributes most pleases you? Reane: The ones you don't know, apparently.
Reane: Marika dropped us into hell, and yet you're far from screaming. Morrowe: Heaven or hell, we must make the most of our predicament, right? Morrowe sneaks a look through the opening of Reane's shirt, seeing the promise of a nipple.
Reane: So you seek. Reane motions to remove the side of her shirt; Morrowe is ecstatic.
Reane reveals her breast, which shows all the brutality that has happened to her person in prison. Details are not important; it's however you imagine it. The intent is to resemble Griffith's torture. Her breast can be pocked with holes like a hive, or that same nipple may be torn out. Reane: That's why I am not prudish; I have nothing to hide, I am laid bare to all.
Reane: I move my foil... I pick up pace... I take even one step... My old pain returns, all at once.
Images of Tarnished being slaughtered. Reane: I'm reminded I am entirely defenseless, in a land of suffering. Reane: This is why I truck with the multitude.
Reane: Yet you, I surmise, purchase your...shining disposition by your strength alone.
Reane: I find you impossible, but that doesn't make me mislike you.
Morrowe has returned to cavorting with his ladies, choosing the pleasure of the moment. Reane: You petty fellow...
A trumpet is blown in the battlements overhead. Reane: Ah, wonderful. Comes closer the sweet embrace of death.
Reane picks up the scabbard for her foil and uses it to push herself up. She visibly struggles. Reane: Uhhh...
Morrowe comes in, supporting her up. Reane: A gentleman? I didn't see this in you.
Morrowe is still looking into her cleavage. Reane is upset. Reane: Cheeky... Gareth is speaking to another Tarnished. Gareth: So soon?
Tarnished: Godrick's soldiers have left Stormhill barren, we know not why. Gareth: That can't be. His vanity would leave it undefended? Tarnished: So the scouts trow, I cannot tell you more.
Gareth: Then we must out now. While the moment is good! Roderika is approaching Reane and Morrowe.
Roderika: I heard what you spoke before and...I'm afraid too.
Reane: ... Roderika: ... Reane: ...and what?
Roderika: ...nothing. Reane: Well, off you go then.
Bernahl: This is hardly a march, but a parade of fools. Bernahl: This is but pretending; in the earlier days, it was warring. Blaidd: And in the Shattering, that was nothing too.
Corhyn: I couldn't help but overhear, but you must have been in the Lands Between long. What is your name?
Bernahl: Bernahl. Corhyn: Bernahl, Bernahl...that seems on the tip of my tongue. Bernahl: ...
Bernahl: A name for a name, then. Corhyn: Corhyn.
Bernahl: And your companion? Bernahl is pointing to the Prophet.
Corhyn: He, is entirely silent. Mayhaps a vow he took. Piety does wonders, doesn't it?
Bernahl shrugs Corhyn off. Bernahl: Another fool, methinks. Corhyn: That wretched fellow, maybe he hasn't been blessed with knowing the Erdtree?
Bernahl approaches Gaer in the battlements. Bernahl: Gaer, if I may. Gaer: Go ahead.
Bernahl: You, I, Blaidd, the rune-bearer comprise the front. Gaer: To put the best first, is wise; but that leaves the back vulnerable.
Bernahl: You were a general in your past life? Gaer: Aye.
Bernahl: Then listen: none of the Tarnished are rank-and-file, eager for bread and then bed. Foolish as some of their ambitions may be, they are all willing to give their lives. You have no fear of a rout, for there shall be none.
Gaer: And you were a champion in your past life? Bernahl: That is the thing: Marika sought in us champions.
Gaer: I will take your commendation, but Alexander, D, and Istvan will hold the back. Bernahl leaves, satisfied. Bernahl: Well enough. Only us four will be necessary.
Gareth approaches. Gaer: He has the bearing of a lion, thinks lesser of everyone else.
Gaer: Gareth, you are ever my shield. Take the back, please.
Gaer: I trust you as I trust my eyes and ears. Alarm me if the enemy tries to be clever. Gareth: Aye.
Gaer: Kenneth, 'tis your castle. Bolster the spirits of your men.
Kenneth Haight: Warriors all! Those whom the Goddess Marika deemed worthy! Bearers, and victors, of all pain!
A view of the courtyard, with Kenneth shouting from the battlements. Kenneth Haight: Since the time of the Shattering, the Lands Between have been in revolt! Kenneth Haight: The very gods have abandoned us! Nay, the Greater Will has abandoned us! Kenneth Haight: Godrick, who steals from the poor, who has committed the odious offense of grafting, has left the path to his castle open! The fool! Kenneth Haight: Upon him is a golden fragment of the Elden Ring! An awesome symbol of the grace denied us! Kenneth Haight: And he does nothing with it! He only peers upon it, as a boy is fond of his own treasure! Kenneth Haight: Fight, then, for the future where no fighting is needed! Fight, for the end of bloodshed! Fight, for unity!
The Tarnished cheer in unison, tall with their weapons.
The Tarnished enter the line of the march, in rows of four. Corhyn: A good speech, but too much heresy against the Greater Will.
Rogier: What, and you still see the grace of gold? Corhyn: No, but... Rogier: I haven't seen gold in ages.
Corhyn: One doesn't need to see gold to hearten in the Greater Will's plans. I exhort you to the writings of the ever-brilliant Goldmask. Rogier: Sure, sure.
Meilyr is still sitting and eating stew, having not participated in the cheer at all. Meilyr: We're going now? Alexander: Ho-oh! What fun!
Roderika, holding a weathered straight sword, trembles. Reane walks by her.
Reane holds Roderika's hand, comforting her.
The Tarnished leave Fort Haight in file, into the darkness towards Mistwood with only the Erdtree and the moon as a light.
The Tarnished are walking through the winding ways of Mistwood. The trees are dense here; they are unable to see the origin of the sounds around them.
Diallos: I hear the runebears are fearsome here.
Roderika turns to a nearby sound.
A bear appears into the glow of her candle. Roderika: R-r-r-! B-b-b-!
Reane covers Roderika's mouth, Diallos looking on in amusement. Reane: Don't worry, the flame of our torches repels beasts. Reane: Besides, that is not a runebear.
They see and hear a tree crash in the distance. Reane: That - is the sign of a runebear.
A horrendous roar is heard, frightening all birds and beasts. Reane: Come along now. The torches don't stop them. Roderika hurries along.
A view of the Third Church of Marika. The ruins of the church is now lighted with the crackling torches blurred by the wind.
Gaer: Let's settle here. I want to make sure the ascent is clear.
Gaer: Last we were here, a troll stalked these grounds.
Meilyr, not originally from the Lands Between, imagines a cute tiny troll. Rhys: A measley troll? Surely you jest. Gaer: It slayed six Tarnished, it did.
Rhys and Gaer are in the background; Roderika and Reane are in the foreground. Rhys: These rabble-rousers aren't worth baby-sitting. Gaer: Up there is the border to Caelid, too... Roderika: How do those bears get so big?
Reane: I can't give you any certainty, but they say long ago - long, long ago - there was an age of giants upon the world. Mere people like you and me whose crowns touched the clouds. Reane: Then everyone became smaller and smaller.
Meilyr: Giants? How was there enough to eat? Reane ignores him. Reane: If you're concerned about them, then surely you won't be pleased about the dragons. Roderika is horrified. Roderika: D-dragons?
Reane: Aye, sky-rending, fire-breathing lizards much bigger than those bears. Caelid, which we shall pass, has their barrow. Reane: A great many of those devils have crushed the bones of many more Tarnished.
Reane: I believe one makes a lake just west of here their habitation... Roderika is aghast and furiously looking left and right for dragons.
Reane: And they say even our dragons are inferior to those of yore... history is quite interesting. As Reane drones on and on, Roderika hurries off.
Gaer: In short, the fire-wall the Redmanes had set off may not suffice in containing those monsters. If any of those freaks are lurking around these grounds, we may lose every advantage we have by our timing.
Scout: Sir, the path is clear. Gaer: Good, let's go forward. Gaer leaves.
Rhys: ...Feh.
The Tarnished make their ascent up the hill, past Gael Tunnel and toward the Smoldering Church.
The Tarnished have the Smoldering Church and the burning barrier to Caelid in sight. Caelid seethes, rotting red with pus and filth. Gaer: Don't veer too close to the church. Cannibals have been found there.
Summonwater Village is in view.
Gaer: What in...
In the distant, in the very shallow waters of the village, someone can be seen rowing. Gaer: Who would be rowing here?
Bernahl: I've never seen a single soul here. Gael presses forward to investigate. Gaer: And that boat doesn't even have a boot of water to sail on.
Gaer: Excuse me! Sir! Be not afeared! We have no truck with thee.
Gaer approaches the man's back; he is near grabbing his shoulder. Gaer: Sir! Sir?
The man, the Tibia Mariner, has turned around, showing his skeletal face; Gaer's hand passes through him.
The Tibia Mariner blows on his horn jubilantly, his spectral vessel lifted on the upwelling of the river of spirits. The dead come to life, taking their arms.
Gaer: The dead live!
Bernahl: Take arms!
D., Hunter of the Dead, from the back of the line. D: Why the waiting?
The Tarnished fight the Tibia Mariner and his army of the dead.
Roderika, flailing with her sword, shies away from the spear of an undead warrior. Roderika: Ah!
Bernahl: Stand your ground! Watch!
The warrior lunges to stab at Bernahl.
Bernahl deftly deflects the spear with his Zweihander.
Bernahl cuts through the warrior in the thorax.
Bernahl: Do you see? Guard your life by fighting for it!
Bernahl: Now watch me! Roderika: Y-yes! The Samurai, female, Reedlander, who is unnamed, and still hasn't said a thing, watches from afar and tries to learn from the two.
Morrowe is squaring off with another undead warrior. He is sizing his foe up; he is only stoic in battle.
With the blink of an eye Morrowe is past the undead warrior; his scimitars at his side, he has cut the warrior into several pieces, before it could move.
Morrowe: Easy pickings, hmm? He says this smugly, looking for another's approval.
Reane is facing an undead warrior.
The undead warrior stabs forward with his spear. She avoids it, not gracefully, but purposefully and thoughtfully. In the same motion, she thrusts her foil through an emptied eye socket, punching it through the other side of the skull.
She then artfully, one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade, twists the skull, so that it pops off of the spine. Again, she does not do this gracefully, but with enough strength so as to not exert herself.
She tosses the skull aside; the body crumbles apart. Morrowe: How did you get so clever?
Reane: Some years in a dungeon gave me perspective on...anatomy.
Morrowe: Ah, well, nevermind. You saw what I did? Reane: No. Elaborate, please, in detail.
Corhyn is instructing the nameless Prophet. They are producing Discuses of Light, beginning with the hand over the shoulder. Corhyn: Like this, sir! The Golden Order is a circle; have faith that each receives their due.
The discuses are thrown, slicing through warriors. Gaer raises the Grafted Blade Greatsword, that hulking weapon made of resentment, up into the air, obscuring the light of the Erdtree.
Gaer brings the sword down onto the warrior, smashing it into dust.
And yet, Gaer, standing over his defeated foe, sees above him the unrelenting, restless spirits flying through the air, yearning to return to their bodies.
The spirit returns to Gaer's enemy; the warrior arises in dust, and in turn laps water up.
The pieces of Morrowe's foe stand again; Reane's foe reattaches its head.
Gaer: The source of their life comes from this mariner! Advance!
The Tibia Mariner, rocking itself on the river of spirits, steadies its hand and raises its immense horn.
He brings the horn down on Gaer, who blocks it with his chimera of blades.
Stalking behind the Mariner is Morrowe.
Morrowe cuts the Mariner into pieces - limbs, ribs, all.
Morrowe cuts the pieces into further pieces.
The Mariner, attempting to rise to life, instead falls.
The undead warriors also fall too.
D hurries to the front of the march. D: By Marika, I hope I am not too late! Gaer: You're not at all. The deed is finished.
D: Those Who Live In Death... D kneels down. Gaer: You comprehend this weirdness?
D is praying. D: Return to the Erdtree, O wayward spirits, haunt the Lands Between no more; the Erdtree shows all mercy, and admits all clean and impure; enter consequence again. And those who defy the Erdtree, know I am its avenger.
The spirits dance over them, flowing elsewhere (northward, to Liurnia). D: Well, it was worth the shot. D: Thought mixing in some exhortations with my threats would work better.
D: As the Erdtree gives us shape and form, so the Erdtree gives us destiny and meaning. Some souls would defy that, and rebel against the Greater Will. Corhyn: How can this be? Isn't the Erdtree a whole?
D's countenance darkens. D: It ought to be - nay, it would be, if some men weren't so defiant.
D: One more thing - D motions towards the collapsed Tibia Mariner.
From its chest, he pulls a knotted, blackened root - a Deathroot. D: This is Deathroot. A symbol of the decay of the Golden Order.
D intends to give this to Morrowe. D: This is yours. Morrowe does not want it. Morrowe: Get that ugliness out of sight.
Gaer: Keep it, if it so fascinates you. D: I cannot - the situation is complicated. Gaer: Then, let us withhold the subject for now.
Gaer turns to Bernahl. Gaer: Have we lost anyone? Bernahl: Scuffs and nicks on some. Gaer: Such suffices.
Gaer, to Rhys and Blaidd. Gaer: Do you lot do anything? Rhys: Not enough recompense. Blaidd: Do I fetch every bone?
Gaer: Is this business why the Godrick's soldiers departed? Gareth, from a distance, runs towards Gaer. Gareth: Gaer! Gaer! Fall back!
Gaer is not a little peeved. Gaer: For whose health is he shouting for, and what compels him to speak so unnecessarily? A shadow falls on the side of Gaer's helm.
Gaer is now entirely obscured by shadow. He looks up. Gaer: O-ohhh...
A great grey dragon, Flying Dragon Agheel, soars through the sky, massive in comparison to the dimunitive village and moreso than the Tarnished, and obscures the light emanating from the boughs of the Erdtree. Gaer: All of you, run!