'Follow your heart', those words would echo within Anastasia well after their meeting, even if she found herself with more questions than she'd started with after her fateful meeting with the witch, Renna. What her heart would come to tell her was simple.
This world was a nightmare.
There were glimmers of what had come before, of a world fallen to ruin, a culture that had perhaps once existed but it did not take Anastasia long to realize what she was looking at was a world long dead, a world that in many ways simply did not seem to realize it was dead. And wherever she turned, whomever she met, she quickly came to realize that "hope" as a concept was in somewhat short supply.
Those she met at the Roundtable Hold, fascinated by her ability to behold the Guidance of Grace, looking to her as someone who might be able to make a difference, but to what end? For all she heard about following the Golden Order few could seem to actually explain to her what that entailed, what any of this meant. And somewhere in the back of her heard there was a little voice telling her to be careful, be cautious. If something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
This whole nonsense reeked of being set up, of being a puppet to some greater scheme. There was little reason to believe she was anything special- and then came her meeting with one girl in particular. A sad sort, in the hills near Stormveil castle, dressed just fancy enough that Anastasia suspected some manner of nobility perhaps. She spoke of her comrades, her followers, those who had followed her along this path and straight into a fate worse than death. She could only imagine- if none among them could truly die, what would being grafted be like?
That thought was going to haunt her nightmares.
But when she spoke of the man in the white mask, who had guided her upon this path... that made something click into place. Anastasia couldn't be anything special, not if others were being set upon the same path- others with little to no chance of surviving the ordeal set before them. And there was just something about her, an air of resignation and despair, a girl seemingly set on trying to muster the last of her courage to march to a fate worse than death because that was all she could do that awoke something inside the young Tarnished. The next time she approached the outer gates of Stormveil...
She was not the confused, lost girl she was before. This time, perhaps for the first time in her life, there was purpose behind every step and fire in her eyes. 'Golden Order' this, 'Grace' that. It all went over her head but she knew one thing. Somebody had to put a stop to this, somebody had to do something. Would it matter? Would it change anything? These were questions she didn't have the answer to... but right now that didn't matter. Where previously she had taken advantage of Torrent's remarkable agility and seemingly limitless stamina to rush her way past the defenders, this time was quite different, leaving a trail of shattered soldiers and slain defenders in her path. Though they would surely rise again, it would not be swiftly enough to matter. Her second meeting with this "Margit" went just as differently, she barely knew who he was or why he stood in her path, but where she had been soundly introduced to her own lack of apparent mortality last time it was he who was forced to withdraw this time, and though this only added to her pile of questions... they would need to be addressed some other time, when she wasn't in the middle of the single craziest thing she had ever done in her life.
The sounds of battle and steel clashing against steel echoed through the corridors of the derelict castle, for as far gone as Godrick's guards might be at this point enough remained of their old instincts to tell when they were under attack and they had not wasted time rallying, the occasional explosion punctuating the lone Tarnished's assault. But while before one or two of them measured as something of a threat, this time their combined strength could not stop her. As unending and locked in their eternal vigil as they were, they could not grow stronger and she could, she'd learned how they moved, how they fought. How to fight around and through them, and where needed simply outpower them. And somehow despite all odds, she found herself sitting at a small flicker of Grace in a forgotten room somewhere near the back of the castle, taking a precious moment to catch her breath and straighten out her thoughts. The throne and royal courtyard weren't far from here and she knew soon everything driving her would be put to the test, but she was fairly confident that as decimated as Stormveil's defenders presently were, it was unlikely the remainder would be able to regroup in any meaningful way to sneak up behind her. And so even near the end of this assault...
... she allowed herself to simply contemplate the madness of what she was doing in a rare moment of silence and peace.
no subject
This world was a nightmare.
There were glimmers of what had come before, of a world fallen to ruin, a culture that had perhaps once existed but it did not take Anastasia long to realize what she was looking at was a world long dead, a world that in many ways simply did not seem to realize it was dead. And wherever she turned, whomever she met, she quickly came to realize that "hope" as a concept was in somewhat short supply.
Those she met at the Roundtable Hold, fascinated by her ability to behold the Guidance of Grace, looking to her as someone who might be able to make a difference, but to what end? For all she heard about following the Golden Order few could seem to actually explain to her what that entailed, what any of this meant. And somewhere in the back of her heard there was a little voice telling her to be careful, be cautious. If something seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
This whole nonsense reeked of being set up, of being a puppet to some greater scheme. There was little reason to believe she was anything special- and then came her meeting with one girl in particular. A sad sort, in the hills near Stormveil castle, dressed just fancy enough that Anastasia suspected some manner of nobility perhaps. She spoke of her comrades, her followers, those who had followed her along this path and straight into a fate worse than death. She could only imagine- if none among them could truly die, what would being grafted be like?
That thought was going to haunt her nightmares.
But when she spoke of the man in the white mask, who had guided her upon this path... that made something click into place. Anastasia couldn't be anything special, not if others were being set upon the same path- others with little to no chance of surviving the ordeal set before them. And there was just something about her, an air of resignation and despair, a girl seemingly set on trying to muster the last of her courage to march to a fate worse than death because that was all she could do that awoke something inside the young Tarnished. The next time she approached the outer gates of Stormveil...
She was not the confused, lost girl she was before. This time, perhaps for the first time in her life, there was purpose behind every step and fire in her eyes. 'Golden Order' this, 'Grace' that. It all went over her head but she knew one thing. Somebody had to put a stop to this, somebody had to do something. Would it matter? Would it change anything? These were questions she didn't have the answer to... but right now that didn't matter. Where previously she had taken advantage of Torrent's remarkable agility and seemingly limitless stamina to rush her way past the defenders, this time was quite different, leaving a trail of shattered soldiers and slain defenders in her path. Though they would surely rise again, it would not be swiftly enough to matter. Her second meeting with this "Margit" went just as differently, she barely knew who he was or why he stood in her path, but where she had been soundly introduced to her own lack of apparent mortality last time it was he who was forced to withdraw this time, and though this only added to her pile of questions... they would need to be addressed some other time, when she wasn't in the middle of the single craziest thing she had ever done in her life.
The sounds of battle and steel clashing against steel echoed through the corridors of the derelict castle, for as far gone as Godrick's guards might be at this point enough remained of their old instincts to tell when they were under attack and they had not wasted time rallying, the occasional explosion punctuating the lone Tarnished's assault. But while before one or two of them measured as something of a threat, this time their combined strength could not stop her. As unending and locked in their eternal vigil as they were, they could not grow stronger and she could, she'd learned how they moved, how they fought. How to fight around and through them, and where needed simply outpower them. And somehow despite all odds, she found herself sitting at a small flicker of Grace in a forgotten room somewhere near the back of the castle, taking a precious moment to catch her breath and straighten out her thoughts. The throne and royal courtyard weren't far from here and she knew soon everything driving her would be put to the test, but she was fairly confident that as decimated as Stormveil's defenders presently were, it was unlikely the remainder would be able to regroup in any meaningful way to sneak up behind her. And so even near the end of this assault...
... she allowed herself to simply contemplate the madness of what she was doing in a rare moment of silence and peace.