We are in the sky over Liurnia. Right where we left off with Meilyr and gang, Lansseax is soaring over Liurnia, the Ruin-Strewn Precipice and the Grand Lift of Dectus below her.
Something catches her eye to the east.
In the east, she sees the Frenzied Flame Village.
A tiny flame crackles over the village..
The flame grows dramatically in size, becoming a gigantic, yellow flower, with a hollow circular center of black.
The Frenzy Flame dances in Lansseax's eyes.
Lansseax dramatically turns right, shielding the Tarnished with her wings. Lansseax: Look away!!
In the west, to Lansseax's left, is the Carian Manor.
The view zooms into the Carian Manor.
We see echoes of Loretta, over the moongazing pool of the manor. She is preparing a gigantic magic arrow to fire.
She fires the arrow.
The arrow soars through the air, with the Ruin-Strewn Precipice as a background.
The magic arrow strikes Lansseax in her wing, exploding in a dark blue light. Lansseax: Hrgh!!
Lansseax: What is this, I see... Lansseax: A phantom, some conjuration?
Lansseax: Well. Lansseax raises her hand back, a tiny spark of lightning sparkling over it.
The spark of lightning flares dramatically into a giant bolt of red lightning, filling the air with ominous light.
Lansseax hurls the bolt of lightning.
The echo of Loretta watches as the bolt of lightning comes toward her and the manor.
The manor, from Lansseax's viewpoint, explodes in lightning. Lansseax: That should settle it.
Lansseax, slightly injured, begins to descend, though gradually.
Lansseax continues descending, the Carian Manor over her head.
She continues soaring through the air, passing Testu's Rise.
Lansseax tucks her wings back, preparing to make a landing.
Lansseax lands, spraying water into the air and shaking the ground. She lands by a certain familiar island inhabited by a certain familiar dragon.
The Glintstone Dragon Smarag looks up, awakened by his slumber. Only one of his eyes has healed; it appears he was not able to find a permanent place to rest.
He rears himself up, and squares before Lansseax, roaring.
Lansseax lunges at him, biting Smarag by the lips and eyes. The momentum smashes Smarag against the rocks of the island. The guy can't get a break.
Lansseax backs away as Smarag cries in pain.
Lansseax smashes her body into Smarag against the rocks, causing them to crumble.
Smarag has fallen to the ground; Lansseax presses her forearms on Smarag's bloody face, putting all her weight on him.
Smarag cries, his face dirtied and humiliated in the mud.
Smarag loosens himself from Lansseax's grip.
He begins to flap his wings.
Smarag flies off into the distance, having been humiliated by one of his ancient forebears.
Lansseax helps the Tarnished off her basket. Meilyr: THAT WAS GREAT! Corhyn: I feel sick... Yuina is throwing up. Of course, Goldmask is nonchalant.
Corhyn, to Lansseax: Are you hurt? Lansseax: 'Twas a tickle.
Lansseax: You lot will be fine on your own? Lansseax: I'll rest here. Too much exercise for a day. Lansseax reclines, now that the Tarnished are off her.
Meilyr: Lazy dragon! Corhyn: This isn't...too wet, for your liking?
Lansseax: Ha. My scales are like stones. Lansseax: I'm comfortable anywhere.
Lansseax: I may fly around later... Do some hunting, have local cuisine, Lansseax: but I will be here. Don't think of me as waiting, as I don't "wait".
Corhyn: So, Meilyr? Corhyn: Did you have any business here?
Meilyr: Well... I... Meilyr: Some lobster, anyone? He is trying to gesture to Goldmask, subtly.
Goldmask is unmoved. He is calculating something, or biding time.
Yuina: We should see what the state of the Tarnished is. Yuina: If ever we want to take Leyndell again.
Corhyn: That's true... We can ascend to Raya Lucaria and inquire there.
The body of an ancient Tarnished warrior, sunk deep into the mud, suddenly arises. He looks fierce. Everyone, of course, is surprised.
The Tarnished tries to stand on shaky legs.
He then stumbles forward, south.
Goldmask gestures to Corhyn.
Corhyn: Man... Corhyn: who are you? What awoke you?
Tarnished: I...have slumbered, awaiting this very day...
Tarnished: I hear bells pealing... It is time... Tarnished: For the war festival...
Goldmask quickly realizes what he means. Goldmask: ! Corhyn: War festival? Meilyr: Wasn't the giant pot talking about that? Meilyr conjures the image of Alexander.
Tarnished: God of War... General Radahn... Tarnished: I shall slay you...and prove my worth!
The Tarnished cackles madly, and raises his arms.
He blindly swings his weapon into the air.
Goldmask is gesturing to Corhyn and Meilyr. Goldmask: "This left my mind completely. General Radahn is not dead."
Corhyn: How is that possible? This whole time? Corhyn: Where is he? Is he waiting somewhere?
Goldmask: "Not at all." Goldmask: "He is neither assembling men nor preparing for war. He is fighting a great duel with the Scarlet Rot in the east."
Goldmask: "It appears, even after all these years, there is no victor in this battle." Goldmask: "I surmise there are a few times during a century when champions can hunt him."
Meilyr: What? Corhyn: Hmm?
Meilyr: ...I mean, what is he saying? Corhyn: Ah, I forgot to transcribe. Corhyn: My master is saying, the God of War Radahn is still alive, and now is a rare opportunity to hunt him.
Meilyr: Ah, I see, I see. Meilyr: But why hunt him so rarely? And for what reason?
Goldmask: "Because none could kill him." Goldmask: "And, because a God of War loathes to die in any other way."
Goldmask: "Meilyr. This is where grace has been guiding us -" Goldmask: "Why don't you take his shard?"
Meilyr: Sure.
Corhyn: H-hang on, master! Isn't this a bit extreme? Corhyn: This is tantamount to suicide!
Goldmask: "From a perspective." Goldmask: "That man tried to kill himself by drowning, and yet the chance to fight Radahn encouraged him."
Goldmask: "Marika wanted us to fight." Goldmask: "The best of men will gather at that festival."
Goldmask: "Besides, it'll be a good opportunity to see the rest of the Lands Between," Goldmask: "and gather the situation of the Tarnished."
Yuina: I suppose I'll fight too. Corhyn: "Wonderful. An individual ought to take every opportunity to show their virtues."
Lansseax: Once more, I'll be here. Lansseax: Ten days, three weeks, a few months. I've managed to sleep for centuries. Meilyr: I'm sure you have.
Lansseax: Meilyr. It seems you will die. Lansseax: Then I won't have to suffer your smart tongue anymore.
Lansseax: Though you can't conjure a thunderbolt, you'll be fine in that other aspect, won't you? Meilyr: O, yes yes yes!
Lansseax: Good. You may live yet.
Meilyr runs toward Lansseax. Lansseax: What is it now...
Meilyr touches Lansseax's face; she is blushing. (I don't know if stone can actually blush, though.) Meilyr: You sit tight and get fat on shellfish! We'll come back, and you're going to teach me more lightning huzzats! Meilyr: I promise!
Lansseax breathes fire on Meilyr.
Meilyr falls down as an ashen corpse. Lansseax, still blushing: Improvident...fool! Corhyn: Let's get going.
Yuina: Always on foot, eh... Corhyn: Such is the lot of we pilgrims.
Goldmask pokes at Meilyr's charred body. Corhyn: Maybe Stormveil will lend us some horses...
On Altus Plateau. We're following Morrowe, Millicent, Latenna (on Maurice), Maleigh and Elemer as they travel towards the Ruin-Strewn Precipice. Morrowe: So what is it that you wanted to say, that was too salacious for the capital? Maleigh: Ah, yes. The reason for this trip. Maleigh: Morgott has given me a man to slay. That is where we are going. Morgott: But the likeliest thing is, that man will kill us.
Morrowe: ...What? Maleigh: My apologies. I meant, that man will kill anyone who tries to fight him.
Maleigh: This is the demigod Radahn, from the loins of Radagon.
Millicent is shocked, recognizing that name. She puts her hand on her rapidly beating heart. Morrowe notices this.
Morrowe brushes his hand against hers. Morrowe: Are you alright? Millicent nods.
Maleigh notices this exchange quietly; he says nothing.
Maleigh: Hmm. How do I explain this to Tarnished. Maleigh: General Radahn came upon an incurable disease, one that ought to have killed him.
Morrowe: The Scarlet Rot. Maleigh: Ah, so you know something! Good for you, that saves me some trouble.
Maleigh: For centuries he has suffered from the Rot, but he has somehow, through sheer stubbornness, survived in spite of it.
Maleigh: Leyndell, of course, deeply wants the general to be slain. He has a Great Rune, being of Radagon's stock, Maleigh: but he also brought Leyndell to its knees, shortly after the Shattering. He's a criminal.
Maleigh: And yet, he has defeated every champion sent to him. Maleigh: He cannot die. He refuses to die, even though since time immemorial he has been dying.
Maleigh: So this is where we are: Maleigh: we are accompanying Elemer to do battle with Radahn, and when Elemer dies you, Morrowe, will be promoted to my champion.
Maleigh: And then maybe you can get out of those clothes.
Morrowe looks at Elemer, who is passive during this whole conversation.
Morrowe: ...And that will surely happen?
Maleigh shoots Morrowe an all-knowing look, as if to imply, "I'm aware of your question."
Maleigh: ...In any case, this is where Morgott's mind is: Maleigh: the acquisition of the Great Rune is of such paramount importance to him, and yet he has no real belief this venture will work.
Maleigh: We must directly oversee Elemer's effort; we then return to Morgott, tell him we gave it a good go, and we'll discuss the valkyrie's ... I mean, Millicent's passage into the Forbidden Lands.
Maleigh: Although ... frankly ... Morgott is not pleased with me, failing my orders twice in succession. Maleigh: I can't command you to die, but if you've got the vinegar for it, you can go fight Radahn as well.
Maleigh: Regardless of the outcome, I will keep my promise. Morrowe: Then I shall.
Millicent: I, too.
Maleigh: You too? Morrowe: Millicent!
Morrowe argues with Millicent in the background. Maleigh: Heh! Heh! Heh! Maybe this year's festival will be fun, then!
Maleigh: We'll descend the mines; horses will be ready for us in Liurnia. Morrowe: What about Swift? Maleigh: I believe someone is escorting your horse as we speak.
This group of unlikely allies continues their travel through the plateau.
The scene returns to Gareth and Rhys, speaking to Sellen in the cellar of Waypoint Ruins. Sellen: If General Radahn were to die, the stars would resume their movement. Sellen: And so, too, would Ranni's destiny. Sellen: And yet, how can one defeat an invincible general, who would not submit to either sword or Scarlet Rot?
Sellen: I know of a ... cunning man. Sellen: Jerren. An interesting fellow, let us say.
Sellen: He was a commander under Radahn but, more importantly, he is the warrior's friend. Sellen: He has spent many centuries protecting Castle Redmane from the rot, and overseeing the state of his former general.
Sellen: Jerren is a reader of the stars, just like me. He has been waiting for an alignment that may lead to Radahn's death. Sellen: I'm also a reader of people. He will like these stars. He will open Castle Redmane to champions.
Gareth: The War Festival. This is what Alexander had been speaking about. Sellen: Indeed. A festival of bloodsport.
A scene of warriors' boots, as they congregate to Redmane Castle. Sellen, in card: Under normal circumstances, no one would attend such an awful event. Sellen: But the Lands Between are not ordinary. Marika teemed the land with monsters of men.
A wide view of all the various warriors, across all of time and from every world, assembling at Redmane Castle. Sellen: This is their pilgrimage: to see the raw power of the God of War, and, in their hopes, to slay him. Sellen: This is the War Festival Jerren designed, to put Radahn out of his misery and give him an honorable end.
Sellen: I surmise the War Festival ensures Radahn's legacy persists in the outer worlds... Sellen: Well, nevermind. That's not important.
Sellen: You've been on Altus Plateau, correct, Rhys? Rhys: Aye, to get to Azur.
Sellen: Have you seen Leyndell? Rhys: Aye. Sellen: That is a fraction of its glory.
Sellen: Imagine yourself, pricking your finger over the ocean, Sellen: a droplet of blood lost in the waves. The ocean was once Leyndell's majesty; your blood, the dregs.
Sellen: Radahn represented the height of the powers of the Lands Between. His army was a rolling sea of gold and iron. Sellen: He was once considered the second coming of Godfrey.
Sellen: I have seen echoes of his power, reverberated throughout the whole universe. Sellen: You two will die.
Sellen: But if you are to have any chance, you must join the War Festival. Sellen: If it takes a hundred stones to break the horse's back, then let a hundred warriors die before you.
Gareth: ...and yet, Radahn has killed thousands upon thousands of warriors, I assume. Sellen: Possibly more.
Sellen: ...I find all this regrettable. Sellen: You will serve Ranni, to the death?
Rhys: ... Rhys is at a loss for words. He still wants to say "Yes" even though all logic tells him "No".
Gareth: ... He sees Rhys. Gareth: You know, madam, I once belonged to a band of mercenaries. Gareth: We made our living fighting. No other way to make coin, for our lot.
Gareth: One day, someone asked us ... "What are you going to do with all that money, in hell?" Gareth: My brother said, "We'll buy our way into heaven."
Gareth: I'm not afraid to die. We were born to fight. Gareth: If it's my time to come, so be it.
Gareth: But I want to know I paid all my debts while I lived. Or, tried to. Gareth: That way, I'll pay less at the doors to heaven.
Sellen: Hmm. Rhys is slightly cheered up; he thinks Gareth's concept of "heaven" and "hell" ludicrous - even though he's in the Lands Between, but whatever - but he's happy to know Gareth is with him 100%.
Sellen: Well. I suppose I'm not alien to the concept of vows. Sellen: Then you must be off.
Sellen: Rhys. A word with you. Rhys: Aye. Gareth leaves the cellar, giving them privacy.
Gareth lingers at the cellar stairway, hesitant at the course of action he is taking.
The candles of the Roundtable Hold.
Gareth is in Fia's arms, in Fia's room. Fia: I was known as a Deathbed Companion, where I come from. Fia: After I received the warmth and lively vigor from a number of champions, Fia: I lay with the remains of an exalted noble, to grant him another chance of being. Fia: To do so is the purpose of my being.
Gareth, in Fia's arms, is saying something, though his voice is muffled.
Fia: I couldn't tell you if it worked or no. Fia: Perhaps it was a superstitious practice, from some ancient sentimentality.
Fia: And yet, in the arms of champions like you... Fia: In the arms of the dead man... Fia: I understood life had so much meaning, that it could be missed.
Fia: The noble's purpose was to rule, the champions' to be led. And mine, was to bridge the gap between their longing. Fia: We're not dust to be lost in the wind. There is a purpose to it all.
Fia: In my world, I was conferred even more honor than a priestess. I was the link between heaven and hell. Fia: Well...perhaps that was superstition too.
Fia, softly: You know about dear Rogier? Fia: How he has entered into his final slumber...
Gareth answers, and yet he is muffled.
Fia: You know, in my arms, Rogier liked to talk about those knifeprints... Fia: The same as you brought to him.
Fia: Speaking of the Shattering and the end of the demigods... well, these grand affairs are hardly my forté... Fia: But dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke...
Fia: Learning the origin of his demise, anchored his will, and sustained him, despite his grievous wounds. Fia: You truly are a champion, Gareth, aiding him as you did.
Gareth says something.
Fia, chuckling: Well, aren't you modest. Fia: ...
Fia: Rogier had last words for you. Fia: "Lately, I feel I'm on a precipice," Fia: "of falling into a deep, fathomless slumber."
Fia: "And I have an inkling it could spell trouble for you, and Gareth, somehow."
Fia: "So I just wanted to get the apology out of the way, beforehand." Fia: "Since he's so scary and all."
Gareth mumbles.
Fia: I don't quite understand what he means, but... Fia: every man who entered my arms, left some dark past behind.
Fia: Is it surprising that the rage and fear inside of these would, after their deaths, pollute the air?
Fia: I don't know where Rogier's soul will go next, but... Fia: Someone, or something, will have to reckon with all of this evil.
Fia: And yet, you are following Rogier's wishes? Fia: I thank you. At least one soul on this earth can rest.
Fia: Did you feel that light up in your breast? Fia: That, was a baldachin's blessing.
Fia: It is a bit of me, as well as many other champions, in you. Fia: So you won't be alone in your travails.
Fia: You will win, Gareth. You will lay the invincible general to rest. Fia: When you are unsure, our hands will support you.
Fia: I fear this moment will never be too long... Fia: Let us be quiet, to make it seem longer.
Gareth rests in Fia's arms.
Darkness.
The darkness brightening around its edges. Voice: Reane.
Light. Voice: Reane!
Reane awakens. She is dressed in neat, clean clothes, compared to the Prisoner Clothing she had worn before. However, she still has her ridiculous mask on. She is resting on a bed in the Mohgwyn Mausoleum. Someone is shaking Reane awake. Voice, offscreen: How long can you sleep?! Reane!
Reane sits up, woozy. Reane: Huh?...
She examines her previously-infected hand; it is healed. Voice, offscreen: Oh, thank goodness! I felt stupid in the last few weeks for talking to a corpse!
Reane looks up. It is Penelope. Reane: Penelope. Penelope: Who else would be by your side? You don't have any other friends.
Penelope: I'd let you sleep, but Mohgwyn will make a speech soon, which he rarely does. Penelope: Come on, dress up.
Reane: Dress?... Penelope unrolls the War Surgeon's clothing before her.
Penelope: Tada! Lord Mohg has accepted you among our ranks! Penelope: He invited you to speak with him privately.
Reane is holding the clothing. Reane: Were these... Penelope: Yes. We cleaned them. Penelope: Though I imagine that hasn't changed your mind.
Reane: Do you mind if I have some privacy... Penelope, leaving: Sure, have at it. Penelope: But be at the foot of the cliff soon.
This page's panels shows all the various Bloody Fingers associated to the Mohgwyn Dynasty. These are violent warriors, whose every thought is drowned by fixation of the blood. They are located on the lake of blood, below the cliff where the Palace is. Okina is here somewhere.
Mohgwyn's Bloody Fingers.
Mohgwyn's Bloody Fingers. Here is Reane and Penelope, both dressed as War Surgeons; the only thing that distinguished Reane at this point - as she has ditched her Prisoner Mask - are two rapiers on her side, one being the Antspur Rapier.
Voice, offscreen: My knights. The Bloody Fingers turn to the top of the cliff, where the Palace is located.
Mohg's feet as he walks toward the edge of the cliff. Mohg: Oh ye faithful... Mohg: Who believe in the dynasty's coming... Mohg: Who believe in the baptism of blood...
Mohg's chest and his ornate robes, faded gold mixed with blood-red vestments. Mohg: We are reunited once more, Mohg: for the sake of the hunt.
The full profile of Mohg; he makes upon the reader the impression of a demon dressed as a grand priest, in the backdrop of his decadent palace which is now set ablaze with fire. Mohg has his arms spread out, as the Bloody Fingers chant fanatically, "MOHGWYN! MOHGWYN!" One can see Ansbach attending him. Mohg: AND WHAT A HUNT IT WILL BE!
Mohg: We have heard it long, the pealing of the bells of the War Festival. Mohg: General Radahn, wandering the dunes of his desolation, searches for a worthy foe.
Mohg: SHALL WE NOT PROVIDE ONE FOR HIM?! Bloody Fingers: YES! YES! YES!
Mohg: Where other warriors blanch, vacillating between life and death, Mohg: where other warriors puff their chests, seeking fame, Mohg: we hunt, FOR THE PURITY OF THE BLOOD! Bloody Fingers: BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!
Mohg: And yet, you all cannot go! Who, then, will attend the dynasty? Who then will offer hopefuls to our kingdom? Mohg: Nay! I shall tell you who shall be chosen!
Mohg: You see my face! I was born a pariah to the Erdtree! Mohg: Leyndell wanted me dead! They threw me into the abyss, hoping I would die!
Mohg: AND YET I LIVED! FOR WHO ELSE WOULD TEAR DOWN THE ERDTREE?! Bloody Fingers: TEAR IT DOWN! TEAR IT DOWN!
Mohg as he was, as a "child" (this is obviously a fictionalized account of his life), gleaming upward in the darkness. Mohg, in card: And in the darkness of that abyss, I couldn't see anything! I knew not what I looked like - I knew not my beauty! Anything that defies the Golden Order, must be beautiful!
A red light appears in Mohg's fictionalized abyss. Mohg: AND IN THE ABYSS, I SAW IT!
The Blood Star. Mohg: THE BLOOD STAR! Bloody Fingers: BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!
Mohg: I was ignorant of it! I knew not what it was! Mohg: I feared it, I thought it meant me ill!
Mohg: And yet I looked deeper and deeper into it... Mohg: I stared at this star intently...
Mohg: And then I saw it - Mohg: Yellows, and greens, and blues!
The dazzling rainbow spectrum of light that Mohg saw, coming after the blood-red. Mohg: The star was no omen! IT WAS A PROMISE! It promised me a brilliant future, after many bloody travails!
Mohg: Do you understand? The future is only given unto those who persist! Our dynasty is far, yea, but it shall ARRIVE, through the furthest reaches of the universe!
Mohg: My knights! Raise thy fingers to the Blood Star, the same that anointed you my Fingers! Mohg: It shall determine whom among you are worthy!
The Bloody Fingers raise their blood-encrusted fingers to the sky; the Blood Star shines even in the starless night of the Eternal Cities.
The finger of a Pureblood Knight shines.
The finger of a particular muscular War Surgeon, with the Executioner's Greataxe, shines.
Okina's finger shines.
Reane's finger, however, does not shine. She is puzzled.
Mohg: You select few! Ascend to my palace! Mohg: I shall anoint you myself, before the battle begins!
Mohg: And the rest of my knights - pray for your brethren!
Mohg: Pray that their blood on the Wailing Dunes, will rain over Mohgwyn! Bloody Fingers: HURRAH!
Reane: WAIT!
Everyone looks at Reane, including Mohg.
Reane, ever the impulsive person, is a bit flustered.
Mohg: You are...Reane, yes? Mohg: You are the new inductee, who shall tame the accursed blood.
Mohg: WARRIORS! Mohg: WELCOME YOUR COMRADE REANE!
The Bloody Fingers roar, "HUZZAH!" cancelling the awkward moment. They are so rambunctuous they even pick Reane up to crowd-surf her. Reane: Hey! Reane: Put me down!
Reane has managed to put her feet onto the ground. Mohg: You ascend too! I have much to discuss with you.
Reane kneels. Reane: Sir! I wish to submit to you now: Reane: let me join the hunt!
Reane: I was not chosen by the Blood Star! Reane: But I promise you, I will bring back Radahn's Great Rune!
Silence. The Bloody Fingers' reaction is muted.
Even Mohg's reaction is muted. Mohg: ...
Mohg: DO YOU HEAR HER, MY WARRIORS? Mohg: THE RUNE! FROM THE GREAT GENERAL RADAHN!
Mohg: Come up, then!! The woman who will sink gold in blood! Bloody Fingers: HUZZAH!
The chosen Bloody Fingers push Reane forward. Reane: H-hey! Don't push me! I can walk on my own! Penelope: ...
Penelope: I don't know whether I should envy or pity her for her ability to attract attention.
The Bloody Fingers, and Reane, walk through the woods, passing by the blood-red Albinaurics.
They ascend the rugged cliffs upwards to the Palace.
They are submerged in the darkness of the Palace.
They emerge out of the darkness, on the cliff where Mohg had spoken to them.
Mohg is awaiting them, in a forum where worshippers often rest. Mohg: Ye chosen few, Mohg: welcome. Kneel before me.
The Bloody Fingers kneel in a line before Mohg. Blood drips from his finger.
Mohg allows the blood to fall on the Bloody Fingers' brows.
The blood burns in a flame.
The flame leaves a mark on their foreheads.
Mohg addresses the muscular War Surgeon. Mohg: Arthur. Abide awhile. Let me speak to her. Arthur: There's still time before the Festival starts. Mohg: You lead.
Mohg: Reane. Reane nods.
Mohg and Reane ascend to ... I'm not sure what it is, but let's say it's Mohg's private altar, where the Cocoon of the Empyrean would normally be.
A proper view of Mohg's private altar; the Cocoon of the Empyrean, notably, is not here at all.
Mohg sits on the steps to the dais.
Reane kneels. Reane: Lord Mohg. Mohg: Please. I'm not worthy of such honors.
Mohg: Do you see my face? Reane: Yes, sir. Mohg: Why do you not flee?
Reane: Have you seen mine?
Mohg: Ah. I understand. Mohg: You will make a fine dynast.
Mohg: Penelope said you have quite an inquisitive nature. Mohg: Do you have anything you want to ask?
Reane: ... Mohg: What is it?
Reane: This is an odd predicament... Reane: ...that of someone asking me for questions.
Reane: Knowing you're so receptive, I would rather ask you at a more opportune time. Mohg: That is well. Any time you are comfortable.
Mohg: Accompany my warriors, to learn our ways. Mohg: But I have no expectation of your acquiring that shard.
Mohg: As it stands, you can't move far without the blood of the dynasty, correct? Reane: ...Yes. I haven't tested it, but I assume I only have an hour of vigorous motion.
Mohg: And you were not chosen by the Blood Star. Mohg: Though, who knows? Perhaps this is one of the Blood Star's ways.
Reane: ...So, by not selecting me, it selected me? Reane: Sounds exactly like religion. Mohg: Heh. Perhaps so.
Reane: ...How much of your story, was true?
Mohg: All of it. Mohg: Watch. Mohg unrolls his sleeve.
Mohg reveals his arm is covered entirely with horns. Mohg puts his fingers around one of the horns.
Mohg snaps one of the horns off.
Blood pours out of the wound.
The drops of blood burn into flame as they fall. Mohg: See how my blood, at its very shedding, is immediately burned?
Mohg: I am an Omen. Mohg: When I was but a soul drifting through the winds, the Golden Order trained all of its ire upon me, and put me in this form to make me suffer.
Mohg: My body pulses with heat, and then is cold... Mohg: My mind goes in flashes... Mohg: And every beat of my heart throbs with pain.
Mohg: Worse are the recurring nightmares.
Mohg's dreams. An Omen dreams are suffused in a haze; they are never able to latch onto any one familiar object in the dreams, but the face of a smirking man, his face marred with horns, continually haunts them. Mohg: In the sewers, where I lived, when my body felt limp, when my eyes grew tired, I would sleep and see that same, twisted face, over and over again... Mohg: ...laughing at me, taunting me for my lack of freedom. For my powerlessness. Mohg: It was not enough the Golden Order crippled me with pain. They had to remind me that nothing I could do would alleviate that pain.
The Church of the Forsaken. Mohg: Among my fellows, that despair was a kind of god. It came to symbolize the Golden Order, in a twisted way. Mohg: Though it hated us, that it held power compelled us to worship it.
Mohg: Then, I saw her: At the altar of the Church of the Forsaken, Mohg sees a blood-red light above.
A giant red wound, in the cosmic ether. Mohg: The Formless Mother.
Mohg: When I beheld her, I flew into a rage; Mohg: something about that image compelled me to tear off every horn on my body. I was ashamed, or I felt myself ugly, or insufficient. Mohg tearing off the horns on his body.
Mohg covered in blood. Mohg: I felt weak, I felt faint. I fell to my knees from the blood loss... Mohg: I thought I might die, though I knew in my heart the Golden Order wouldn't permit me. That was how ecstatic I was in my fervor.
Mohg, after shedding his blood, is set ablaze; he is a single, lone torch in the Church of the Forsaken.
Mohg: That same Mother approached me tenderly... Mohg: ...and healed me of my wounds.
Mohg: As if to say, "Mohg, there is not a thing ugly about you." Mohg: "Do you think you were put here because you are unsightly?" Mohg: "Nay, I say to you:"
Mohg: "You see what you are beneath your horns." Mohg: "You are no different, than what you had been." Mohg: "I love both of you."
Mohg: "My son Mohg," Mohg: "show me more of you." Mohg is clutching a knife.
Mohg points the knife to his chest.
Mohg: Reane, I cut and cut and cut. Mohg: At the edge of the knife I felt cartilage, I felt bone. Mohg: And yet I lived. I was healed.
Mohg: They tried to cow my spirit. They made my own blood poison to me. Mohg: They even made me a refugee in the abode of my mind. Mohg: But I did not relent. Mohg: On that day, the Formless Mother taught me the truth:
Mohg: Reane, this mortal shell is but a place. Mohg: We are always free to leave. Mohg: It is our duty, to move onward from the struggles and sufferings of this earth.
Mohg: I freed myself from that abyss. The Formless Mother showed me the light; I was clouded no longer. Mohg: I created Mohgwyn, Mohg: to destroy the Golden Order, and build paradise on earth. For all.
Reane: And so, the accursed blood... Mohg: All blood is sacred. It can be called the rivers by which the soul moves.
Mohg: In the veins of the Tarnished, Marika distributes her blessings via blood. Mohg: They make the Tarnished strong, alert.
Mohg: So what, then, would happen if I mixed my obscene, filthy, blasphemous blood with theirs? Mohg: I discovered I could control their blood ever so slightly, removing them from the strictures of the Golden Order, Mohg: while using its power.
Mohg: This is what the War Surgeons do: Mohg: they handle the miscegenation of blood, that sets the Bloody Fingers in a frenzy. Mohg: Penelope says you have a ken for it.
Reane: ... Mohg: What is it? Speak your mind.
Reane: Are you a god?
Mohg: Yes.
Mohg: I was born to Marika and Godfrey.
Reane: !
Mohg: They threw me into the sewers, Reane. Mohg: They threw their child into the abyss.
Mohg: Reane, they control it all. Mohg: There's no forgiveness for it.
Mohg flexes his arm, showing incredible muscles. Mohg: And yet, I inherited all of their strength. Mohg: Fools! The son they cursed, will be a curse upon them!
Reane: Then, you have a shard within you?
Mohg: Yes.
Reane: Sir... Reane: What are the shards?
Mohg: They, simply, are the Golden Order. Mohg: And yet what often seems simple is complex.
An image of the various ruins of the Lands Between. Mohg, in card: The Golden Order is but one of many in the endless time of the Lands Between. Mohg: Before the Golden Order were countless orders Marika scratched from memory. And before Marika, others rearranged the Lands Between in their own image.
An image of the Erdtree. Mohg: And they did so through... Mohg: the Erdtree. A singular natural phenomenon of such indefinable power, it alone suffices to rewrite the laws of nature.
Mohg: And yet, what does that power mean? Is it simply a torrent? How does one control a river? Mohg: Is it not the case the expression of power is as important as the power itself? Mohg: This is why Marika created order after order: she found something missing in each of them.
Mohg: Hence, the Golden Order: Mohg: an age of light and gold. Of compassion, strength, and intellect overwhelming.
Marika's descendants. Mohg: To make her order understandable, she wrote it in runes. Mohg: To make her order wise, she put its anchors into thinking beings. Mohg: To make her order gentle, she made those beings soft.
Reane: Meaning... Mohg: To make her order, she made humans. Mohg: As you. As I am, however deformed.
Mohg: She put these shards in her descendants for two reasons: Mohg: to give her kin the ability to rewrite the laws of nature, Mohg: and to give them a reason to defend this order.
Mohg: And, as I can tell by your expression, you see how I play a part in this: Mohg: my shard has a specific purpose.
Mohg: I govern the law of the body. Mohg: Therefore, my body shows every permutation.
Mohg: For this same reason, I had to be shunned. The order, by nature, exalts the few over the many.
Mohg: I assume Radahn's governs some kind of strength. A law of vitality. I don't know. Mohg: I surmise even Marika does not fully know.
Mohg: But this is unimportant. What is important, is that the shards were sealed with the Erdtree's great power. Mohg: With them, we can create natural phenomenon in imitation of the Erdtree.
Reane: Therefore, the lake of blood. Mohg: Correct.
Mohg: I have waited long for my kingdom to prosper. Mohg: The blood is so thick, we are able to supersede the Erdtree's influence.
Mohg: But it isn't enough. Mohg: Perhaps if I have Radahn's shard, our dynasty will ascend to even further heights.
Mohg: Do you understand your purpose in all of this, now? Reane: ...Yes. I believe so.
Reane bows. Reane: Thank you sir. For permitting me to ask my silly questions. Reane: I will do my best, to create your future. Mohg: ...
Mohg: Reane, Mohg: what is your belief?
Reane: What? Mohg: The dynasty attracts a certain ... kind of person. Or, currently attracts certain types. Mohg: What do you want?
Reane: ... Reane: I don't know. Reane: ...
Reane: Why can't we live in a just world?
Mohg: ...I understand.
Mohg suddenly stands up. Reane is alarmed.
Mohg embraces Reane.
Mohg: You are of my stock. Mohg: I don't renounce you. I accept you. Mohg places a finger over the horns on his left eye.
Mohg tears the horn off; blood falls onto Reane's mask.
The blood is engulfed in flames. Mohg: I anoint thee in my blood. Mohg: I don't requite of thee warring; you have different fights ahead.
Mohg stands apart from Reane. Mohg: Go, my child. May you find what you seek.
Reane walks away from Mohg.
The candles of Volcano Manor. They emit a light that is bright blood-red.
The round table of Volcano Manor. All of the manor's champions are gathered around it - and the Prophet, Patches and Diallos. Tanith: My champions. Surely you know what time it is. And how curiously timed it is, with the events of the past few weeks. Tanith: Jerren has announced the War Festival. And Volcano Manor always attends.
The faces of the Volcano Manor champions. Everyone is solemn; unlike the Bloody Fingers, they are not so fanatical and understand how demanding the moment is. Of particular note is Bernahl, who looks particularly anguished.
Tanith: Bernahl. You have business to attend to.
Bernahl: ...Aye. Tanith: Direct orders from the Praetor himself. Bernahl: Aye.
Tanith: Did you intend to hold your tongue, and hope we would not remind you of your duties?
Bernahl is like an admonished child. Bernahl: ...Nay.
Tanith: We know how it goes. We send champions to the Festival, only to have them killed. Tanith: Except, of course, you, Bernahl, our ever-champion.
Tanith: And yet, for what purpose? Tanith: The God of War remains unopposed.
Tanith: The Praetor would greatly appreciate his shard, and yet he is not so unreasonable to believe he can have it. Tanith: Therefore, I will not send any of our champions, unless they volunteer.
Tanith: Any takers? The room is quiet.
Tanith: Good. Tanith: Onto the next matter: I am sending you three, Diallos, Patches, and...
Tanith sees the Prophet. Tanith: ...You.
Patches: Wait wait wait, hold on ma'am... Patches: You said you weren't sending anyone!
Tanith: I will not send the faithful, who have proven themselves... Tanith: and among whom you do not belong. Tanith: You waltz into this manor, and ask for membership?
Tanith: Prove yourselves. Tanith: Attend the War Festival. I have no expectations for you three, and yet, if a miracle were to happen, take that shard.
Tanith: One more thing: Tanith has three envelopes in her hand.
She scatters the envelopes to them. Tanith: These are your marks. The profiles and locations of powerful Tarnished are in them. Tanith: You may not return until you have hunted your mark.
Tanith: When the hunt is complete, simply touch them with the ring, and the serpent will devour them. Tanith also throws them their rings.
Tanith: And if you decide to shirk your responsibilities, Tanith: you are now marked, as a candidate for hunting.
Tanith: Ghiza. What are your current duties? Ghiza: I have numerous Tarnished to interrogate after the most recent attack. Tanith: Then, Henricus, you watch them.
Henricus: M'lady.
Tanith: Because you are not yet champions proper, your transport is outside of the manor. Henricus: ... Tanith: You are all dismissed.
Patches: ...What the hell did I sign up for... Diallos: At last! A chance to prove myself in battle!
Diallos: Aren't you a thief? You may have been in many fights. Patches: True.
Patches: Well, let's see the poor sod I got... Patches opens his envelope.
His letter has Tragoth's profile.
Patches has his face in his hands. Diallos tries to comfort him. The Prophet opens his.
The Prophet has Istvan.
Melina: Hunting your fellow Tarnished... your fellow hopefuls for salvation.
The Prophet brushes her off. Melina: Well.
The Prophet approaches Hyetta.
Hyetta, sensing someone come closer to her, puts her hands on the Prophet's face / helm. Hyetta: It's you. My champion.
Hyetta: So, you are returning to Limgrave, and to Caelid... Hyetta: Take me with you.
Hyetta: I see my fate somehow linked to yours... Hyetta: I am so helpless...and you are my knight...
The Prophet is disarmed.
The Prophet touches Hyetta's hand. Hyetta: Thank you.
The three Tarnished, and Henricus, walk to the Manor's entrance.
Patches: You know, I don't think we even have to do the thing. Diallos: But she said we would...
Patches: Yes, but we were always targets for the hunt. Patches: Read between the lines, dimwit. Diallos: Ah...
Henricus: Not entirely true. Henricus: Because you have entered the Manor, the Serpent has wafted your perfume.
Henricus: It is much easier to disrupt the fate of someone who is powerful, or whose scent has been caught by the Serpent.
Patches: Great. Great! Patches, muttering: Wonderful predicament you found yourself in, Patches...
Henricus: Well... Henricus: Frankly, Tanith is quite lenient with the hunts. Henricus: You can take as long of a time as you need for them.
Patches: Really? Henricus: Some men take years. I mean, time is convoluted here.
Henricus: Her only ask is that you don't return to the manor, and the manor is on a goddamned mountain. Henricus: So she can't ask for much.
Henricus: We're a rather loose collection of confederates. Most actually believe in the cause the Manor symbolizes.
Patches: And you don't? Henricus: Mmm.
Patches: I bet that Bernahl does. Henricus: Big time. Bernahl is the only reason to take this outfit seriously. Well, him and the giant snake.
Henricus: Alright. Here are your transports:
Henricus reveals three Abductor Virgins on the Manor's perimeter.
Patches: ...Are we supposed to ride their heads?
Henricus: Oh, for sure. It's more comfortable than you think. Henricus: Come here.
Patches, beside Henricus, inspects the Abductor Virgin.
The panel of the Abductor Virgin opens.
Henricus shoves Patches inside.
Diallos: You foul - you criminal! The Prophet is also defensive. Henricus: Wait, wait, wait, let me explain.
Henricus: These iron maidens, you can tell, are occultic. Henricus: They don't kill, at least, that is not their purpose.
Henricus: They are designed to redirect and subvert the fates of the Tarnished. Henricus: They are technically operated by Tarnished, after all, who have a conjoined fate.
Henricus: These are attuned to help you down the mountain safely. Henricus: Of course, I don't need them, as I have been granted the serpent's full power.
Diallos: Does it...hurt? Henricus: Not at all, not at all. So long as I don't shove you in, as I did that other fellow.
Diallos inspects the Abductor Virgin. Henricus: Come along now, fellow, believe me, there's no pain.
Diallos is pulled into the Abductor Virgin; he screams in pain. Henricus: Of course there's pain, there're spikes in the damn thing!
Henricus, to the Prophet: But I assume you're easier to convince.
Henricus: I saw you. Henricus: No pain deters you, does it?
Prophet: ...
Hyetta looks to him. Hyetta: But...what about me?
Henricus: Well. You may have to leave the girl. Henricus: Or take the long way. Your choice.
Melina: ... Melina: I'd help you, but...
Hyetta, to Melina: You will? Oh, thank you! Hyetta tries to embrace Melina.
Hyetta passes by Melina. Hyetta: Hmm?
Hyetta tries again and again to embrace Melina, but she keeps passing her. Henricus, obviously, is confused.
Melina: ...You know of my presence? Hyetta: Of course. After I ate those grapes, I heard the most beautiful female voice.
Melina is alarmed and disturbed by this development.
Melina: Well... Melina: This is my idea then, fellow.
Melina: Lend Hyetta the whistle, and I will ride with her, guiding Torrent.
Melina: We will meet you at Redmane Castle. Torrent should be swift and hardy enough to endure the travails of the journey.
The Prophet nods, and gives the ring to Hyetta.
Torrent is summoned. Henricus: Woah!
Hyetta and Melina get on Torrent. Henricus: ...Is it wise for a blind woman to get on a horse?
The Prophet nods. Henricus: Well. On your authority. Henricus: I don't see horses form out of air everyday.
The panel of the Abductor Virgin opens, revealing all the spikes and Tarnished inside of it.
The Prophet mulls on his fate.
He relinquishes control, and enters the Virgin.
The panel closes.
The wheels of the Virgins begin to move.
The Virgins roll down Mount Gelmir, with Melina and Hyetta following them.
The Virgins roll past the Fingercreepers on the mountain.
They roll past the gnawed Minor Erdtree.
The Virgins approach the broken bridge once connecting Volcano Manor to Leyndell.
The Virgins fall off the bridge, falling harshly onto the other end of the bridge. Torrent, of course, lands gracefully.
The Virgins roll on and on; Leyndell soldiers, encamped on the mountain, see them. Leyndell Soldiers: More of those monsters! Get them!
The Virgins rampage past the Leyndell Soldiers, mowing them down. Melina gracefully guides Torrent around the soldiers.
The Virgins head southward, heading to the Wyndham Ruins. Melina, puzzled, is no longer able to follow them.
The Virgins fall onto Wyndham Ruins, where Gareth, Rhys and Bernahl once fought the Tibia Mariner.
The Virgins fall onto the lake west of the Grand Lift of Dectus.
The Virgins head south. The edge of the cliff, where the Ruin-Strewn Precipice is, is right before them.
The Virgins come off the edge.
The Virgins descend.
The Virgins descend down the waterfall of the Ruin-Strewn Precipice.
The Virgins are disguised by the furious waters of the waterfall.
The candles of Redmane Castle. Voice, offscreen: My friend... The time has come. Voice, offscreen: This tired dance we do. That fate has forced us to do.
Jerren, alone, in the dark throne room of Castle Redmane. Jerren: And yet, we find ourselves again, with the stars in perfect alignment. Jerren: Past and future, fling them to the stars! Let us fill our hearts with joy, in the present! Jerren: We celebrate, my dear friend! A festival for you, Jerren: the mightiest demigod of the Shattering, bearer of a Great Rune, General Radahn!