Chapter 4: Capture

My heart thunders in my chest.

It's resounding beat echoes in my ears, makes my vision rear in and out of focus. Despite myself, its beat lets me know I'm still alive. I'm still breathing, albeit heaving, and coughing. I spit out phlegm, blood that's not my own has mixed in with the saliva. It splats on the cobblestone floor, becoming lost in crimson liquid that coats the ground. I'm shaking and wincing from past bruises and recent cuts. Adrenaline that courses through my veins dies down, nearly in tandem with a dying soldier's breaths that plagues my ears. The putrid scent of iron mixed with a punctured bowl singes my nose, a view of a new corpse in the dim light rests beneath me. I'm hunched over, quivering hands gripping onto a dirt crusted handle, resting atop a dull brass cross guard. A gilded steel blade protrudes out the other end of the cross guard; I've embedded that blade into my captor's abdomen.

My eyes go wide when I realize what I've done.

I moved without hesitation, fueled by a desire to save my own life. But by doing so…

I force myself to loosen my grip, and I lose stability as soon as I let go. I fall backwards, and that's when I get a full view of my deed. A soldier, lying dead in a pool of his own blood. Surrounded by cobbled brick walls, roofed over by dirt and stone. His own sword sticks out of his gut, eyes thankfully obscured by a skull cap that extends around his head like a helmet. His mouth is open agape, teeth bared in an expression of violent pain. He passed while I stood atop him, I heard his breaths grind to a bone chilling halt. My shocked eyes glide down to my hands, my heart rate is picking up. In my blurring vision, I find my hands are stained crimson, twitching like spiders who lost their heads. I feel the urge to vomit, dry tears sting my eyes.

I… killed someone.

Small flakes of light steal my attention away, and my eyes find themselves on that soldier again. Fireflies, that's what it looks like. Hundreds of fireflies that glow like the giant tree outside leech out of the soldier's skin, taking flight into the damp air like embers escaping a raging inferno. They swirl about, coalescing into a thin cloud. Then, in an almost dogmatic decision, careen straight toward me. They burrow into my skin, disappearing with nothing more than a tingle that sends shivers through me. Nearly in the same moment, angered voices sound out from the surface, which have been muffled through the feet of sediment. Vibrations of approaching footsteps reach my hands, light from torches creep down the staircase to the cellar. A trump sounds, an army is coming to kill me. Wolves growl, armor and armaments click and rattle. I'm completely hyperventilating now; a true sense of sharp fear overtakes my beating heart.

Just how did I get here?

Two days ago…

My surroundings are a peaceful one. I, and a mysterious man, stand atop a small hill, which disappears suddenly just ahead. The fall looks to be a short one, and it empties out into a clearing, before becoming cluttered with a small forest. A small lake with seemingly ancient ruins lies to the right, an expansive ocean with no end takes up the left. A small and degraded church beyond the clearing, a battle torn castle atop a distant plateau. Structures that look almost like roman ruins I've seen in history books. Even behind me, where I came from, is what looks to be an entrance, one to catacombs if I were to guess from my limited knowledge. Structures blend in with nature here, and it looks like the land has been occupied by many different cultures in the past. I don't know of a single place on earth that looks like this, it's like I'm in a dream or something. Though, the biggest problem is that colossal tree.

I quickly eye the thing.

…

I don't know what to make of it.

I'm sure I've heard of giant trees before, in one of my history classes. If I remember, wasn't it folklore, in Norse Mythology, about a massive tree? Can't remember its name, but I remember it being a complex word. Even without the tree, this place is much too surreal, like it was taken right out of a fantasy. All that's said, and the man in front of me raises even more questions.

Nobody dresses like that. Not unless they're a psychopath.

I heard the name "Varre" pop up in my head, but it doesn't sound familiar in the slightest. Might be a word used for masked people, but honestly, I can't keep up with the words I learn in my English classes. The masked man, perhaps the Varre, looks me over, I can't even remember what he last said to me. It looks like he's camping here.

"Well, did your mother fool around with an Albinauric? Your expression reminds me of a frog."

I blank on his comment. It sounded like an insult, though it's hard to tell. His voice sounds like a chronic smoker, and he's drawing out his sentences. He's also doing something with his hands, rubbing them about each other like a raccoon.

"I-" I pause.

When is the last time I've spoken to a stranger?

"Where am I?"

I try, hoping I don't sound weird. The Varre's eyes narrow, and his posture slackens a bit.

"Why, you are in The Lands Between, Tarnished. I presume in search of the Elden Ring."

He seems like he's about to say something else, but he cuts himself short. Whatever it was, I got my answer in his eyes. I'm glad I can see those at the least, even if I can't guess his expression. I always had the uncanny ability to read someone's eyes and get a good guess as to what they're thinking. The Varre's eyes stare dead into mine with a slight waver for a moment, before flicking away from a split second. It's subtle, but I've seen it before. He held back an insult, though he still thought about it; and he still agrees with it. I feel a shiver go down my back. There's only a few reasons someone would decide to omit negative thoughts about me, and nearly all of them are bad. What's more, he's thrown more strange vocabulary my way.

What's the Elden Ring? It sounds like he called me tarnished, is it because I'm covered in mud?

"I'm afraid I'm not." I say.

I don't know where to steer this conversation, and I partly want to stop it as well. He's not a good person, that much I can tell.

"I think I'm lost."

That sounds like a stupid thing to say. The Varre seems to agree, his eyes do the flickering motion again. I swallow the disdain I'm growing against this masked man, taking in a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry if I caused you any inconvenience," I start to say. I pick up something the Varre mutters behind his mask, my own words drown out parts of it. "… the Frog… manners… after all." "But do you know where Springfield is?"

I hide my hands; I don't want him to see how much I'm clenching them. The Varre's eyes give off a vibe of confusion, though it's mixed in with disdain.

He's looking down on me.

"It's in Missouri."

I try. A few moments of silence pass, his eyes can say a million things. He turns his head away from me, seemingly taking notice that I'm staring at him a lot. His body language preaches someone in deep thought, though I'm not trusting it. His eyes haven't matched his body language at all, not once. He's giving off the vibe of a con-man, and it's making me feel uneasy.

I should leave.

I grit my teeth.

I should just walk away.

As my parents put it, stranger danger. I don't why I even gave this man the time of day to begin with, I should have left as soon I noticed he was thinking more than he was saying. It means he's conspiring, thinking up a plan or decision. Paring with the choice in clothing, the almost amused tone in his gravelly voice, and the way his hands are rubbing together… He's a textbook shady individual, I'm just surprised I didn't notice it sooner. I've never met someone like him before, I didn't know what I was expecting. He's not a normal person, but maybe I've indulged myself in media too often. In my shows, instances like these, there's unsettling music. There are unnerving camera angles, maybe even closeups on certain subtle gestures the shady individual is making. It makes sense why the shows do it, it's to let the audience know the person is evil before the characters do.

The thing is, my situation feels nothing like it. It's a sunny day out. Scents of the ocean and pollen tickles my nose, a taste of sap clings to my tongue. No scary music, no shadows over the Varre or anything. It feels like I'm just meeting someone at the park, just a normal interaction with an unsavory individual. So whay am I thinking about unnerving scenes in my shows? Because I'm noticing the subtle images in his eyes, I'm getting odd angles on his actions. My music is the beat of my own heart, which sounds louder than usual. I'm getting clued in, by my own devices, that this man is bad news.

Yeah, I should really leave.

The Varre speaks before I can act, disrupting me and my thoughts to an extent that I'm caught off guard.

"I know of no such land, Tarnished."

He turns back to face me, and I immediately feel a shiver go down my spine. His eyes, he's locked his emotions up. I'm getting no reading from him, and it's unsettling to say the least.

Did he find out? How?

"I know who might be able to help your… predicament"

It's my turn to narrow my eyes, my recollection of his unspoken insults still hangs at the back of my mind. The Varre points a gloved finger down the hillside, across the clearing with a church, to the closest trees of the forest.

"Soldiers of the local lord commonly patrol these lands, and one of their outposts are nearby."

The Varre explains, his eyes never indicate if he's lying or not.

"I am but a traveler myself, but they should be able to help you."

My skepticism contorts his words for me. The Varre never stops sounding amused.

"Trust me, I am a friend to you Tarnished."

I don't trust you.

If he could read my eyes, he'd know what I thought. But he doesn't take notice, merely looking about me playfully.

"Though I must ask, Tarnished, where might your guiding maiden be?"

I don't know what that is, but I'm done acting clueless with this man. He gave me directions, at the very least. I'm already taking steps to walk away, begrudgingly deciding to head toward the forest, or the church at the very least.

"I don't have one." I say flatly.

I turn my back to the Varre.

"Oh? That's much too unfortunate."

He says more, but I stop listening, walking toward the forest. I stuff my hands in my pockets, grinding my teeth together.

What a prick.

I don't know where I am, and I might be a little nervous; is that my fault?

I'd probably punch him, though I feared he was looking for excuses to use that dagger at his side.

Such an agonizing interaction, I was an idiot for ever giving him any time of the day. Makes me mad, though the heat that built in my chest cools off as I my anger begins to die down, I find myself watching the ground, a small frown forming on my face. Just what happened to me? I still can't place it. I have flashes of a memory, of being stabbed through the chest with a rather massive sword.

I still have a hole through my clothes.

When I awoke, I was in that underground graveyard, reminded me of the catacombs they have in Europe. Some weird voice was speaking to me, and I saw a light, some flicker of an aura like a singular flame of gold. It was beautiful, but it disappeared like a dream when I was fully awake. Now I'm here, in a land that feels all too real.

Is this the afterlife?

It's the only thing I can guess, but there's no way that's true. I walk right past the church, lost in my thoughts as I enter the forest. I only partly notice when the sun is replaced by shade, and my bare feet step into damp mud and grass. If I was killed, what happened to my parents? They were out of town, so they're probably safe. Do they know I'm gone? Do they know if I'm dead? Am I in a coma? I grip my head, rolling over my scrambled mind.

"Aghhhh! Seriously? I can't make sense of any of this!"

I stop, resting my back against a tree, I'd like to sit down, I'm starting to feel frustrated. There's no way I'm on earth, that big golden tree is evidence enough of that.

So, where am I?

I feel like I'm going in circles. I sigh, hoping I can clear the stress away with deep breaths.

I need to stop overthinking things. I condemn to myself.

The forest is a quiet place, even more so than atop The Varre's hill. I can't see the giant tree from here, though it seems I'm on a malformed dirt path. At least it means people come through here often. I consider my options, stuff my worries away, and I follow the path. It winds through the forest, taking me farther and farther away from where I awoke. With my eyes eventually leaving my feet, I take in the sights around me. It's a serene place, even better than the park walks in Missouri. The trees tower above me, their base trunks cut my view of the forest floor in bars. Bushes and boulders populate the wet ground with me, moss grows on almost everything underneath the highs of my knees.

There's wildlife here too, trotting between the timber and shrubbery like spirits in a dream. I recognize deer, and what I can only assume is a weird type of large squirrel. There's sheep here too, though they are a strange sort. I nearly choke om my own spit when one tucks up and rolls away when it notices me watching it. I falter on my thoughts it's a sheep, though I don't know what else to call it. I had an idea to record it rolling like that, and that's when I found out I didn't have my phone.

Ten minutes in, I solemnly turn a corner in the path, and I freeze in place. There's firelight ahead. I have the urge to duck away and hide, like the strange urges I've received before. But I'm looking for anybody to give me directions, so after a moment of standing there, I pick up my pace.

"Excuse me!" I call out, running toward that glowing orange light. "Hey, please, can you help me!?"

As I draw closer, the firelight splits into two separate torches, each held by separate individuals. They hold the torches high in the air, presumably hearing my voice. When I draw close enough that I'm within their light, I grind to a halt.

What's… with their faces?

They're dressed up in a patchwork of red and green cloth and chainmail, with bronze skullcaps and sheathed straight swords. Builds on the buffer side, they surely look like soldiers to me, though they are strangely tall. A little imposing, but what's catching my attention is their faces. Their skin is ashen grey and filled with wrinkles, and it looks like they have a constant scowl on. Thier eyes are partly obscured, but I can read them.

Openly hostile.

The pair seems to make their own judgements of me, and they mutter to one another. I'm not close enough to hear, not skilled enough to lip read. But one word is entirely obvious.

"…Tarnished…"

That urge to hide comes back in force, I take an uneasy step back. I feel fear, true fear that stems from unease. It clicks in my mind, a split before they draw their swords. Why did I trust the Varre? I knew he was bad, what did I expect? I turn to run, turn to flee.

He set me up!

I would think that they would be weighed down in their armor, I would think that, as a track runner for my high school team, I would be faster.

I was wrong.

Something sharp, something hard and sharp and deadly, slashes across my back, travelling from my right shoulder to my left side. It's cold, it's alien in my body, and it happens in a mere split second. In an instant, it slashes millions of capillaries, severs thousands of nerves, and parts a handful of arteries and veins. It nicks my spine; it chips my ribs. It's the tip of a sword, and it cuts deep. My view of the world flashes black and white. A tingling sensation forms in my toes and fingertips, but it's drowned out by a sensation similar to being burned alive.

…

…

I scream.

Pain.

Pain.

Agony.

I fall hard to the forest floor, the last of my air escapes my gaping lips. I temporarily blacked out, writhing like a spider set aflame. Warmth spills out of me, spraying the soldier's cloth crimson. I nearly bite through my tongue, tears stream from my bulging eyes. I've never felt such pain before, never though such an amount was impossible. It makes me forget, forget everything. It makes me scream until my throat runs sore. The soldier wipes my blood clean of his sword, its tip still muddled by fat and grime. He sheathes it back into his scabbard and walks over to my convulsing form. His voice is deep, and drugged, as if he were a frequent drinker.

"Shut up!" He roars.

His boot finds the side of my skull, and my head wrenches violently from the force. I fall silent almost instantly, falling into the realm of unconsciousness. Blood still leaks from my back, my body still twitches. But…

"Did you kill him?" The other soldier asks, his voice in a similar deep tone.

The one that stuck me scoffs, poking at my pale face with his boot.

"Not yet."

"Well, finish the job." The second one says. "Let the Tarnished die a second time."

The first one considers it for a moment, his torch held out in front of him. He watches a few loose embers fall out of the flame, fizzing out when they land in the crimson pool accumulating on me.

"Hrmmm, Godrick will want him."

The second soldier sheathes his sword, nodding as he remembers.

"For grafting."

The first one returns the nod, grinning with broken teeth at me.

"These invaders can't die just yet. They need to suffer first"

He kicks me again, reveling when he hears something pop.

"Go let Roard know."

Unknown to me or the soldiers, Varré stands silent in the forest, watching gleefully as one soldier grabs me by the collar, and drags me away. The mask conceals it, but Varre is smiling. More than that. It's an unhinged smile. One that's like a perfect crescent moon, bordering his cheekbones and baring every pearly white tooth.

"Oh, captured, are we, Tarnished?"

He simply shrugs, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

"A shame, but you were of no use to me. A maidenless runt, and a fool at that? You were cursed to die from the start."

I'm forgotten in the mind of Varré, I was never anything significant to the soldiers. I disappear to this world; nobody will come looking for me. I will sputter out, my flame of ambition that Tarnished carry will be no more. I'll be grafted, joined to a walking corpse. I'll be reduced to twitching arms and a ghastly face. My flesh will be robbed of me, and none will be wiser.

No…

No?

No. There is one. She, is the only one.