The first thing he noticed was the smell.
The scent of the Kiln was obvious to anyone with eyes. It stank of smoke and ash, like a firepit that had never once been cleaned. If he wasn't undead ash himself, it would have been hard to breathe. As it stood, it merely made his time in the origin of civilization more unpleasant than it had already been. Here, however, there was no scent of fire. Instead, there was a barely familiar scent, one he only recognized from his battle with one of his greatest challenges, the nameless, terrifying warrior he'd encountered at the top of Archdragon Peak. The smell of rain and wind was strong here. A storm was certainly near.
His eyes were open next, as he stared up at the plain stone ceiling above him through the mangled slits of his helm. When he went to remove the battered piece of armor, the damn thing tore to pieces, the charred, melted metal having barely held itself together, the pieces clattering to the ground. When he went to sit up from the decidedly uncomfortable stone floor, the shift sent a tremble through his cuirass, and he tried and failed to bite off a curse as the once-trusty suit of armor joined the remains of his helm upon the floor.
"Damn that monster…you'd think it'd want me to link the Flame…" He tried to stand, only to wince, pain flaring in his leg, a ghastly burn upon his flesh where he'd taken a glancing blow from the Soul's sword, the cloth between the blade and his leg having burnt away in an instant. He reached to his side, instinct guiding his hand more than thought, taking hold of his trusty flask…or he should have, if his hand didn't grasp empty air, as he recalled the greatest loss of that battle: his Estus flask, broken upon the ground, destroyed by the Soul as he'd taken a sweeping blow just as he'd drained the final drop.
"No estus, no armor…next I'll realize I don't have a wea-damn it." His eyes darted across the room, which he was just realizing was an old, dusty cathedral, searching for any sign of Gael's last gift. There was nothing in the room with him, however, besides a corpse slumped against the nearby wall. This time, he didn't even try to hold back the curses, his gauntlet clad hand slamming upon the ground in rage, and of course, shattering, the metal brittle and weak now, which only led to further curses.
"If I lay about here any longer, I'll just break more…" Forcing the pain from his mind, the Ashen One slowly stood, limping forward. He spared a glance at the nearby corpse, and saw nothing of value save an odd, severed finger, bony and coated in wax. He'd seen odder, however, and merely pocketed the item, his travels proof that some of the strangest things could be of use. With that said, however, he stepped forward once more, and pushed the door before him open, finally taking in the land he'd found himself in.
The first thing he'd noticed was not the towering castle, far in the distance. Nor was it the storm surrounding both him and said castle, the winds nearly visible, and the scent of rain heavy upon the air. No, his eyes were instead drawn skyward, towards the great golden tree which towered over everything. His breath caught, and he found himself without words as he looked upon the massive pillar of gold, and he knew, without a doubt, that he was very far from home.
"An Archtree…?" He'd seen the towering trunks beneath the ground, in the ruins of ancient Izalith and that boiling lake, and known from old stories that they could be even larger-seen them, even, as the Kiln had been within one such tree. But what he saw eclipsed anything he knew, a grand display of life visible from anywhere in the world. It was a struggle to pull his eyes away, but with effort, he managed, and tired eyes took in his surroundings. He was in a church, just as he'd thought, but smaller, and, as he looked, apparently built on an isolated island. That sent a spike of worry through him, as he stepped closer to the edge of the island, wooden stairs creaking ominously beneath his metal boots.
"Naught but ocean…but there must be a way off…" His eyes turned to the side. A courtyard sat a fair distance away, connected by a thin bridge, and from where he stood, he couldn't see much more. "There. If there's any way off of here, besides throwing myself into the sea, it must be there." There was nothing else on the island, after all.
It took him some time to make his way to the courtyard, his limp still prominent and painful, and only served to incite his grief over the loss of his flask. When he finally made it to the courtyard, however, rather than a way off the island, he was left with more confusion.
There was a statue, standing in the courtyard. It was of a beautiful woman, her body shaped in stone, crucified before a sigil of three rings. It was clearly a symbol of worship, and the Ashen One had only ever seen statues of Gwyn made with such clear reverence. He nearly wanted to draw closer, investigate the statue, but as he took a step forward, into the center of the courtyard, instincts honed by too many ambushes suddenly screamed, and he was rolling back just as something crashed down onto the earth right where he once stood.
When the dust cleared, and he could see the creature before him, the Ashen One almost wished he hadn't. It moved like a spider, and was hunched over like one, but it was clearly a man…once, anyways. Too many heads, too many limbs…he almost cringed at the abomination before him, and if it hadn't already displayed hostility already, as it screamed and charged towards him, he'd have planned on killing it simply out of principle.
He dodged to the side once again, once more annoyed at his foolishness to leave his sword planted in the ash before. But it doesn't matter. He may have been without a weapon…but that did not mean he was defenseless.
Fire sprung up in his hand, the pyromancy flame passed from teacher to student from ages past appearing from within. A creature such as this deserved to burn away, and with a roar he swung his hand forward, fire leaping from his grasp…only for it to sputter and fail. The Ashen One stared at his hand in mounting horror, once again recalling just how spent his duel in the Kiln had left him. The only mercy was that his horror cleared quickly, as he gasped, leaning forward slightly. Looking down, he saw that the creature had taken advantage of his distraction, and with a smooth motion, impaled him upon one of its twin blades. With another, his limp body was lifted into the air, and with a third, he was tossed aside into the sea, discarded like rubbish.
As his body plummeted towards the water, only a few words came to his mind.
"Damnit…I hate…dying…"
—
In a small cave, hidden within the seaside cliff, a woman and a horse stood before a limp, ragged corpse. It was garbed mostly in ragged, singed cloth, with only a set of greaves and a single metal gauntlet a sign of what had been lost. The woman could not see his face as he lay there, facedown in the thin water of the cave, but she cared little for that. All she needed to know about this Tarnished was that he held potential. The rest could be learned later. If he can survive, just long enough, then she'd know whether she should invest in him or not. Although…
Beside her, the horse chuffed, turning away from the Tarnished. The woman frowned, understanding the horse, to a degree, and finding herself agreeing with the intelligent steed. There was something…strange, about him. The blessing of golden grace was present, of course, but alongside that, there was a sense of…weight, about him. The same as one who'd grown powerful with the strength of runes. And yet, not a hint of a fragment was present upon this man. Moreover, he stank of smoke, even after washing up from the ocean. It made her curious, and she almost wanted to wait for him to awaken, question him. But there'd be time for that, later, if he proved worthy enough.
"You were fortunate indeed that Torrent and I arrived. To search for the Elden Ring…one of your kind is sure to do so, even as strange as you seem. Even if you must violate the Golden Order."
—
When he awoke, for a moment, the Ashen One felt he was drowning. It certainly helped to awaken him faster, at least. He scrambled, madly, water splashing as he shot up. It wasn't his first time resurrecting, thankfully, or else he'd be in far more of a panic as he gathered his thoughts, though the lack of a bonfire nearly sent him into a panic before he recalled just what he had done. For the second time that day, he quickly surveyed his surroundings after waking up in a strange place. Now, rather than a chapel, he found himself in a cave. He could hear water, both dripping and running, echoing throughout, and the heady scent of the sea was far stronger here in this cave.
"I must have washed up here…" At the far end of the cave, to his luck, was a doorway, near what appeared to be a golden sapling. Neither of those held his attention for long, however, as his eyes fell upon a sight he'd never seen in all his travels, except in one place. A lone, transparent spirit sat in a chair, held frozen pointing down deeper into a cave.
"Like Irithyll…the shades of Vordt and the Dancer. So similar, yet…not quite right, it seems." He made to walk toward the spirit, when at his feet, he heard the sound of tinkling metal against stone. His eyes widened as he reached down, collecting the items. Forged of gold, and filled with what almost seemed like blood, both red and blue, they looked nothing like his beloved flasks of estus, and yet…and yet while his mind made such a claim, his undead heart knew a flask of healing and restoration when he saw it.
"Washed up with a gift from the sea, it seems. Perhaps my luck isn't…well, no. I can't say that." Shaking his head, the Ashen One was fast to pocket the replacements for his most steadfast companions, and his attention was once more on the strange spirit. Perhaps there'd be answers to the many, many questions which plagued him with such a curious thing.
—
Outside, far above the grave of heroes, a man in a calm-faced white mask stood, watching the door intently. He knew that a Tarnished, freshly arrived to the Lands Between, would soon march out those doors, and he'd be more than happy to direct the poor sap on his way. It would be an interesting sight indeed. Either the maidenless fool would die, like so many others, or, perhaps, he'd prove his own blood worthy of being called noble.
As the door was slowly pushed open, Varre could not suppress a grin beneath his mask as the most curious Tarnished he'd ever seen stepped out. At first glance and from a distance, the man was plain beyond belief, that was for certain. Dull of hair and tan of skin, his face seemed to be that of a common man of the Lands Between, and his attire did him no favors, dressed as he was in what seemed to be scavenged armor from soldiers of the petty Godrick. As he drew closer to Varre, however, small details became apparent, details that offered up delightful questions. His face was riddled in pale white nicks, faded scars commonplace on his features. His armor was not quite that of a soldier's, with strong metal greaves of plain yet curious make protecting his legs, a similar, lone gauntlet on one hand. And in his hands was a hefty blade, a greatsword likely pulled from yet another of Godrick's soldiers, but the flickering of flame could be spotted across his palm if one looked closely.
None of that truly drew Varre in. No, what caught the man's eye was the weight which seemed to follow this plain warrior. He moved with assurance in every step, and his eyes were piercing, picking him apart as a potential threat. And his presence…if he didn't know any better, he'd almost feel like he stood before his Lord himself, which was quite simply ridiculous. All of this, together, added up to Varre feeling incredibly vindicated, waiting out here, for the most interesting Tarnished to wander his way. Truly fortune favored him!
"Oh yes…Tarnished, are we? Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmm? Of course you ha-"
"No."
Varre paused, mid speech. His mouth was still open, and he couldn't help but stare. Surely he hadn't heard correctly, had he?
"I'm sorry, could you say that again? I've never heard of a Tarnished who hadn't come for the Elden Rin-"
"I don't even know what that is. Why would I come all this way for a ring?"
Varre stared. And then stared some more. He could even begin to feel a headache forming.
"What?"
-------------------------
This Varre scene was pretty much one of the first scenes I came up with when it comes to this story. Take that, Mister Maidenless! Have fun with Sulyvahn's, Friede's, Yuria's, and just about all of Lothric's biggest headache.
