i have loved the stars too fondly [ ranni + anastasia ]

[deathstealer]

The mist that wreathes the ground of the Church of Elleh is barely moving in the light breeze, curling around grass and crumbled stone, just barely touching the hem of Ranni's long skirt as she sits on what was once a portion of wall, waiting patiently.

Last night, Blaidd had come to her with a tale of a Tarnished riding atop a spectral steed in Western Limgrave. It was a story hastily passed from one person to another, and so Ranni expects that the details have changed somewhat in the telling. But if the core of it is true -- that Torrent has entrusted someone with their care -- then Ranni feels this is worth a visit to see with her own eyes.

She, and those in her service, have been busy lately. Their primary mission is searching for the Fingerslayer Blade. After that, Ranni will entrust someone to go forth and procure at least a couple of Great Runes, enough to be able to face Radagon and Marika. There, she will finally be able to begin the journey down the dark path she has chosen.

A strong Tarnished may be of some use in that venture. Ranni has no real intention of roping them into her cause, but should they prove to be a worthy inheritor of the title of Elden Lord... perhaps Ranni will consider their involvement.

First, however, she has to meet them.

With her hands folded neatly in her lap, Ranni waits. The sun is just barely beginning to crest the horizon, lighting the top of the crumbled structure of the church, and animals are beginning to stir to life in the nearby trees. Ranni lifts a hand, and a tiny bird lands on her outstretched finger, shaking its wings free of overnight dew. When she hears hoofbeats, Ranni doesn't move, but her idly curious gaze watches as the Tarnished makes their way into the church.

"This way, Tarnished." Ranni's eye gleams from under the brim of her hat. "May I have a word?"

Comments

Screw it I'll make a proper icon later when I'm less lazy WE WORDS NOW-

[lowbornlord]

Typically when one dies this is usually where their story ends, at least as far as Anastasia ever thought. Your final breath usually doesn't come with a following chapter, and yet...

And yet.

She had been called, by what and to what end she was far from certain. Pulled from death's embrace back into something kind of like life, something certainly warmer and less lonely, but also far more terrifying than what had come before it with naught but a vague sense of direction, these wordless rays guiding her forwards with little more than the concept that she was to pursue the Elden Ring, seek the title of Elden Lord. She would be lying point blank if she pretended to understand any of it, or if this beautiful yet twisted world she found herself in made any further sense.

Her circumstances did her little good, while many to come before were warriors of renown, great nobles and honorable knights, gifted with valor and strength and no shortage of martial skill, she awoke without so much as clothes on her back. Naked and armed with naught but a sizable stick, with all the world seemingly standing against her, part of her wondered if this was some twisted afterlife, a punishment for some sin she must have committed but could not remember, she found herself alone in an unforgiving world with not a single edge on her side...

... and yet... she did not succumb. Melina's words made little more sense to her than anything else- but with that flicker of hope, and no small amount of help from Torrent, she'd found her footing. And so here she sat, upon Torrent's back- her armor was far from fancy, well worn and likely previously used chain-mail she'd bought from Kale, who'd since become her only source of conversation and carrying a sword she'd looted off of one of Godrick's men, she'd since managed to turn the patrolling, undying soldiers into a source of supplies and strength, a way to practice and hone her skills.

For as terrifying and lonely as this was- there was a sense of confidence within her she'd not felt before, even if her previous attempt at marching into Stormveil had been soundly turned away by a... thing, a monster she could scarcely describe. And so she ruminated upon that as she rode back into the church, sharing a simple, dried raisin with Torrent-

"Honestly, I'm not sure how you eat these, I've never tasted anything so bitter in my life! But... I suppose all the more for you, hmm?" A smile crossed her face, she'd never hoped in her life to ever own or ride a horse and yet Torrent was so much more than that, a reliable ally she'd not hesitate to draw steel for. Really, he deserved a treat after everything they kept going through. Absentmindedly, she noticed the air suddenly seemed to take on a chill that wasn't there before, hints of blue mist hovering in the air around-

'This way, Tarnished.' she heard, her attention suddenly derailed. At the very same time both her and Torrent's head turned in the same direction before she briefly smacked her heels into his sides, shifting her weight backwards and sliding off of him as he vanished into the mist he so readily came from, her off-hand hovering near the sheath of her blade just in case. A woman in blue- no, in white but with unmistakably blue skin (or was it something else...? It was difficult to tell from any distance.) beckoning towards her. As wary as she was, she felt compelled to step closer, taking a quick look around to ensure it was only her, this newcomer and Kale who appeared to be content to merely watch in silence. So... she responded.

"... yes, certainly- I beg your pardon, I don't believe we've met before...? You aren't trying to kill me, so I suppose the least I can do is spare you a moment, right?" Despite the slightly grim comment, the smile to cross her face was honest, warm.

What path this might lead her down, she could scarcely yet understand or grasp...

[deathstealer]

Ranni's curious gaze lingers over the Tarnished's form, studying her. She is clad in basic armor -- armor that, if Ranni is not mistaken, she must have brought from the merchant sitting at the opposite end of the church. Her sword is sturdy, if basic, and she looks for all the world like a simple soldier, albeit one still possessed of their wits and not withered and driven mad by time like much of the forces within these lands.

She is indeed the new master of Torrent, too. He is unmistakable, and Ranni locks eyes with him briefly before he fades into firefly motes.

"A pleasure to meet thee, Tarnished. I am the witch Renna," she greets, her tone low and pleasant, formal and yet a little clipped at the end with an accent. She has no need for this Tarnished to truly know who she is -- here, she is not the Lunar Princess of the Carian House, she is not a former Empyrean, she is not the daughter of Rennala and Radagon. Here, she is merely Renna, a simple snow witch, with a simple mission.

Her hand held aloft is unnaturally still and steady, and the little finch that rests atop it warbles in the cool dawn air, undisturbed by their conversation and the clanking of chainmail.

"I'd heard tell of a Tarnished hurtling about atop a spectral steed. And upon looking into the matter, the talk, I surmise, is of thee. Thou'rt possessed of the power to call forth the spectral steed named Torrent," she continues, another hand gesturing to the space that Torrent had just been. "I entrust he is well. His former master did love him so."

[lowbornlord]

There were a few things to take away from what she'd just been told, and for a second she simply blinks, silent as she processes that. This 'Renna' is certainly pleasant enough, a rather welcome change from the mindless soldiers that seemed to still patrol much of Limgrave. Now able to get somewhat closer, the ground shifting softly underneath her boots as she takes a few steps closer to Renna, her posture relaxing as she does so, she realizes what exactly she's looking at. Some manner of... doll? Of what material she cannot even begin to guess, and how precisely she is animated could only be magic.

Beyond that there's another matter that doesn't escape her notice, that this Renna had somehow heard of her gaining mastery over Torrent when as far as she could tell, there were few people left in Limgrave with any sort of mind or will of their own. At that she casts a brief look over her shoulder towards Kale, wondering for a moment if it could be him... the silent gaze he returns to her is telling though, he doesn't exactly seem the talkative sort although if not him, then who could-

Ah, right, she's in a conversation! Shaking her head slightly as if dismissing those thoughts for the moment her attention turns back to Renna. "Pardon if I seemed distracted for a second there, there's been much on my mind... but goodness, here I am forgetting my manners! It's good to meet you too, Renna. I'm Anastasia."

Simply... Anastasia. No house name, no formal title, nothing to her name other than what she now carries. Not that she thinks these things would hold any weight here even if she did ever possess such in her prior life. And while she would dearly like to know who's been watching her, there's a more pressing matter that Renna just mentioned. "Ah... you know his former master?"

[deathstealer]

The Tarnished seems ever so distracted, but Ranni supposes that is understandable. She is new to these lands, and if she has been picked to be Torrent's master, that means Melina has entrusted her to follow the guidance of grace and choose the path of Elden Lord. It must all be very overwhelming.

"Anastasia," she repeats with a thoughtful hum. "A beautiful name."

But a curiously common one, with no nobility or formality. Many have trod the path she is now on, and even the latest one to do so was a knight of great renown and many titles, beloved of even the dragon Lansseax.

"Yes." There is no elaboration on Torrent's former master. "By them, I was entrusted this for thee." Ranni reaches into her voluminous sleeve and withdraws a delicate silver bell, which she holds out in offering for Anastasia, the metal shining in the almost-dawn. "'tis a bell for calling forth spirits. From ash unreturned to the Erdtree, you may summon them with it. The spirits will obey thine command but briefly, as they recall battles past. Now it is thine. To do with as thou wishest."

Anastasia may even choose to never use it at all. She may choose the sword alone. But that is her choice; Ranni hardly has a stake in the matter.

With another hand, she proffers forth a small bag that fits in her palm, plain cloth tied by ribbon. "These are the ashes of the Lone Wolves. They are mighty hunters indeed, and eager to make a pack of any they respect."

[lowbornlord]

Beautiful... she supposes it might have been wise to have donned her chain coif prior to this meeting, given the way she can feel her cheeks heat up slightly, but she maintains as much of her casual demeanor as she can. Nonetheless she does not hesitate to reach out and take the bell, eyes shining with curiosity as she looks it over. Such magical implements were previously unknown to her, lacking any sort of training or experience with such things, and yet though a fool she might be even she wouldn't turn down such an obviously useful asset.

When she reaches for the bag of ashes, it is slightly distracted as her attention remains on the bell for a second longer, turning over how she might best use it in her head before snapping back into attention. Right, this is not the time to be distracted, especially when being given something so useful for seemingly no cost or price. Which in itself raises no small number of questions... though her smile is sincere, she cannot resist the temptation to pry, at least slightly. "My thanks, I'm certainly not going to turn down such a useful gift- magic is something I know little of, but... I'm sure with practice I could get the hang of it. But I must ask..."

Is there a better way to phrase this? She doesn't meant to be disrespectful or seem ungrateful, but even in her limited time here it seems difficult to imagine why someone would give her something so useful simply on a whim. Though she doubts Renna's intentions are ill, nonetheless she surely must stand to gain something from this, unless the denizens of the Lands Between are in the habit of giving out magical gifts in exchange for little more than a polite hello? And goodness, if that is the case, then where is she going to hope to store them all- right, back to the matter at hand.

"Let us hope I've the strength to gain their respect then, hmm? But I wonder, and forgive me if this seems impolite, I gather Torrent's former master must have been quite keen to help whomever might be his next, but..." She blinks, her eyes focusing directly on Renna's now. To search the expression of a strangely doll-like body is a difficult thing, but her attention is now squarely forwards. Inquisitive rather than accusing, curiosity instead of suspicion, but a desire to know all the same.

"I must ask, what of you? I appreciate your help greatly, and hopefully I'll live long enough to repay you in some way for this, but I'm surprised you're so keen to help me. It isn't something I saw much of before- but if you would rather keep that to yourself, I can respect that and I won't pry further. Forgive my curiosity, but it seems silly to not at least ask, you know?"

[deathstealer]

"You are wondering why I am offering you help, so freely?" Ranni hums. "An understandable question."

She brings her hands together, two pairs, finger steepled before her in a thoughtful pose. Despite the porcelain stillness of her face, there's an amused little glimmer in the glow of her eye, and the spirit's shadow mirroring her almost seems to smile.

"I was entrusted to do so by Torrent's former master, and Torrent is ever so wise in who they chooseth to trust. You may think of me as a messenger, Tarnished, and not much more." It would suit Ranni quite well if this Tarnished never thought of her again, in fact, though she suspects it may not be that easy. "If I were to be honest, I might admit to an element of curiosity in mineself. A Tarnished returneth to the Lands Between; one who has no knowledge of magic, or mythology, or might."

She blinks; a slow, decisive motion, hair tumbling over her shoulder as she tilts her head. Motes of dust creak off of the wide brim of her hat.

"There is not much that is new in these lands. What is here has grown stagnant, stuck in its own stale cycles. You are new, Tarnished. That is enough to grant thineself a measure of... kindness."

[lowbornlord]

Briefly, silently, her eyes move from Renna's actual physical face to the spiritual shadow by its side- though her face never betrays any expressions it seems she is not entirely able to hide her expression or feelings... something Anastasia files away for later, should it ever matter. Right now little more than a curious detail, although there's a small part of her surprised at how much more at ease even just a near-smile makes her feel. It's been a bit since she's seen even a hint of such emotion...

By now her own posture has relaxed somewhat and now the young (and surprisingly tired) Tarnished slowly moves to take a seat upon a nearby piece of what was once a standing wall, the worn steel links of her chain mail shifting quietly as she does so. She isn't used to being a subject of curiosity, but then this statement ties so very nicely into a thought that's been burning at her head since she first arrived, a few... days? Weeks ago? Truthfully her grasp of time was already beginning to fail her.

"You would be right about my lack of knowledge, as embarrassing as it is to admit. I'm hardly used to any of this, but I must admit I did notice how everything here is just..." Anastasia trails off, her gaze wandering to a nearby piece of debris as she searches for the words to describe it. Although really, Renna did phrase it best. "Stagnant, unending and undying, but also unchanging. It doesn't seem to matter how many times I cut any of them down, they're always soon back. Marching on the same patrols, carrying out the same orders... I loath to think about how long they must have been doing this, for so little of themselves to remain. Is everyone in in this land so far gone, I wonder?"

[deathstealer]

"Very nearly," Ranni says grimly.

So, this Tarnished is quite the observant one. She is correct in her observations: the footsoldiers she strikes down are unending and will return eventually, the beasts of this land are stuck in the same cycles. It is only the gods that may yet be able to be killed, but of that, even Ranni isn't certain.

"You may find the occasional soul with their wits about them," she adds, almost gentle, like she's breaking in bad news. Because she is doing exactly that. "But the order of this land is broken, and yet undying, and the Golden Order oversees all. The Two Fingers still govern all. They rule and yet they do not seek to heal."

Dawn light is starting to steal over the frost-frozen ground, and when Ranni tilts her head up to look at the horizon, weak sunlight catches her face briefly.

"How long will it be, I wonder, before the Tarnished tire of obesiance toward the Two Fingers?" she asks

[lowbornlord]

Well that answers that now doesn't it? This Golden Order... Anastasia doesn't know exactly how much she can trust her, but one thing is clear. This land is broken, and every new discovery she makes is more horrifying than the last. Perhaps this is why she's being guided towards this "Elden Ring", whatever that may truly be, but this doesn't change her suspicion about why she all people was seemingly chosen for this task. If something sounds too good to be true, it usually is after all.

Blinking as the first rays of sunlight begin to reflect off the tops of nearby trees her own gaze turns east... there is that at least. For as broken and confusing as this world is, for how little she understands, the world continues to turn and the sun still rises. There's still trees and animals, the wind and the rain, the sun and the moon. It isn't a land unrecognizable, even if much of it seems littered with ruins and forgotten memories. Surely... even this must not be beyond salvation, right? Surely somebody could right this, somehow?

... then comes the sound of shifting chain mail, Anastasia's head tilting slightly to the side as she turns from the rising sun to look directly at Renna, silently noting how the dim sunlight looks reflecting off of her... a doll she might be, but there's a certain beauty to how she carries herself, emotions surely hidden behind an unchanging face. And a question rattling around Anastasia's head that she cannot stop herself from asking, something she's certain is blindingly obvious to anyone else who's been here but-

"... the... pardon my asking, the Two... Fingers? I'm not sure I grasp what fingers have to do with this." The confusion is not only audible but plainly written all over the poor girls face.

[deathstealer]

The Tarnished turns to look at the encroaching pale light of dawn, and there's a heaviness about her that Ranni does not envy.

Ranni has her own path, steeped in darkness and uncertainty, but her path will be different than the Tarnished. Her path is without the weight of expectation; only Blaidd, Iji and Seluvis know of her fate. Her brother Radahn had known once, and had pulled on the stars in all the cosmos until they'd stopped in their tracks and so too had stopped her destiny, but whatever knowledge he'd held has likely long since rotted away.

Anastasia, though, has many eyes upon her, and great expectation. From the Two Fingers. From the Golden Order. From many she will encounter, who are desperate for life and change to return.

Her befuddled question is greeted with only a tilting of Ranni's head. "You will learn in due time," she says kindly. "When you need it, the knowledge will come. For now, Tarnished, follow your heart. It will always steer thee true."

And with, she fades into mist, her gaze lingering on Anastasia until she's gone.

[lowbornlord]

'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.

[deathstealer]

In the following days, Ranni returns to her search for what she requires, though she keeps an ear out for any stray word of the Tarnished.

Blaidd is ever on the move, and many travelers speak idly to Iji at his forge, so it's not long before word reaches her that Anatasia has reached the Roundtable Hold, and later defeated Margit. Ranni greets the news with a little hmm, and for all that Blaidd eyes her expectantly, she gives nothing more than that. The path of the Tarnished is clear; she will likely make her way through Stormveil Castle, and will meet Godrick in the days to come, which will be the first true test of her strength.

If she proves victorious... she may be of some use.

For now, she is as any of the Tarnished are: lost, with the potential to be strong, but one of many. Only time will tell if Anatasia grows to have the might of Vyke, or others before him that came agonizingly close to their goal. Only time will tell if Anastasia will be smarter than the man who fell to the lure of the yellow flame of frenzy.

One night, as Ranni idly contemplates an ancient book held before her in her tower, she gazes out the narrow window to the frozen stars beyond, and thinks of Anastasia once more. It's a simple matter to step through space and into Stormveil Castle; the tattered hem of Ranni's long dress brushed over the swords of fallen soldiers and blood spattered stone as she walks, taking in the path of destruction that the Tarnished has wrought, the cawing of a lone crow accompanying her.

She finds Anastasia by a flicker of grace, in a crumbling room.

"To have bested the Fell Omen is no small task," she greets. "You have found your mission, it seems."

[lowbornlord]

Even as lost in thought as she is Anastasia is still aware enough to notice something... familiar about the air. The way the temperature unmistakably drops, the cool, yet slightly refreshing pale mist that wasn't there a second ago, the sound of a single crow echoing off of the stone halls... it isn't uncomfortable in all honesty, given the weariness that threatens to sink into her very being under the pressure of relentless combat the cool air feels nice, quite welcome really.

... but more than that, she's felt this once before hasn't she? Yes, back at the ruined church, when she met the Witch- and as if on cue that is precisely when she hears her voice. She's still clearly startled, jumping slightly and nearly knocking down the worn down chair she's dragged over to the Grace, but given a second she begins to relax again. At least, as much as she can in a place like this. There are a few small differences about her, a small symbol of the Two Fingers tucked into her belt, a way of channeling a power she never knew she could wield and something that's proven to be a useful tool... even if the actual faith behind it is not something she is certain she is entirely on board with.

"... if I had known we would be meeting again so soon I would have tried to leave something less of a mess behind me." Despite herself, despite the gravity of everything happening Anastasia cannot help but permit herself a small smile and just a dash of humor. "I... suppose you could say that, yes, even if I must confess I have little idea what in the hell I'm actually doing right now."

For all the insanity of what she's just accomplished, to fight her way this far into such a well fortified stronghold she can only imagine it must pale compared to whatever might this Godrick must wield, even if everything she has heard paints him as little more than a craven chasing after the power the rest of his family wields.

[deathstealer]

Ranni's gaze dips to the sacred seal on Anastasia's belt, and though she makes no visible expression, the chill in the mist drops a few more degrees.

If devotion to the Two Fingers is the direction that this Tarnished chooses... well, she may still be of use, but as a blind bull of destruction aimed at those that Ranni needs dead, and not a willing friend. But Ranni has precious few friends these days, so it would not come as a surprise.

"I do not mind a mess," Ranni hums, a subtle note of amusement in her voice. "As long as the mess serves a purpose."

She regards Anastasia thoughtfully over the flicker of grace, watching the way the faint beacon lights up the lines and crevices of her armor. The face of her helm is blank tarnished steel, pitted and scarred, a soldier's armor. She says she doesn't know what she's doing, but there's more purpose in the line of her shoulders, in how she's carrying herself.

With a flicker of chill blue fireflies, Ranni summons her own chair, and sits. "Then, perhaps, you could tell me what you have done," she says, and there's an uncommon gentleness in her voice. "And what you plan to do from here. Perhaps we might divine some goal together."

[lowbornlord]

The way the air seems to suddenly become even colder isn't lost on Anastasia, though she is plenty lost enough in her own thoughts to be oblivious as to the reason why. A small shiver runs down her spine as she finds herself shuffling just slightly closer to that hint of Grace in the middle of the room, a tiny beacon of warmth.

Underneath her helmet her gaze turns to watch Renna's face closely, turning that question over in her head. So far there have been few willing to openly trust or work with her, indeed, given her lack of reputation her only saving grace thus far has seemed to be her continued ability to behold the so-called Guidance. She would be flatly lying if she claimed to not be at least somewhat wary of Renna's true intentions, but... she did help her before did she not? Her gift had proven most useful already and no doubt would continue to be so.

"... I guess I see no reason not to, I'd say I'm wary of your intentions but it isn't as though there are any at the Roundtable I would be any quicker to trust. And if nothing else, you've made for far more polite company thus far, so why not?" There's a hint of amusement in her own tone before she leans back in her seat, visibly relaxing into the worn wood as she thinks back over what brought her here.

"They've said if I prove myself by felling one of the Shardbearers, I'll earn the right to behold the wisdom of the Two Fingers, but..." Absentmindedly her hand wanders down to the sigil at her belt, pulling it free and turning the Two Finger symbol over in a gloved hand. "... that's not the reason I'm here. There's a girl I met, all she could do was try to muster her bravery to walk in here and meet her end and she just seemed so... so hopeless. And the Roundtable isn't much better, is it?"

By now she's more thinking out loud than actually speaking directly to Renna, a fair bit has been bottled up within her, more than she's cared to admit to most. Her hand clenches into a fist, the leather binding the gauntlet together stretching as her hand tightens around that symbol of power, just the faintest hint of warmth emanating from her hand. It isn't belief in the Two Fingers, or in the Golden Order or any of that driving her in this mission. "Nobody... nobody's trying to do anything about this. About any of this! Everywhere I look there's not a scrap of hope to be found, not a single damned thing to look up to and the closest thing to a power in charge hunts us Tarnished down to graft them to himself, because that's what passes for a royal?!"

Until here the young Tarnished has done a good job hiding her emotions, but in a rare chance to actually speak her mind about her intent she cannot help but let her inner anger show, the fire burning within her that's driven her to try to lay low a Demigod. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, her hand remains clenched white-knuckled as her voice lowers again into an even tone. "I don't know anything about the Two Fingers, or Order or about the Erdtree. But I do know one thing... no matter how much I wish it so, some knight in shining armor isn't going to come from above to make things right. So I'm not going to wait for one, I'm going to kill Godrick with my own hands. What's left of this place deserves better."

Even with her helmet obscuring her features the fire in her eyes could very nearly be felt in the air of the room, contrasting the ice cold mist from Renna's presence.

[deathstealer]

As the Tarnished speaks, Ranni lays her hands in her lap, folded neatly, and listens. Within a sentence or two it becomes clear that Anastasia seems to be mostly just thinking out loud, running everything through her thoughts out of a need to process what's happened so far.

Her anger is... endearing.

Ranni feels, most days, that she has passed beyond her own anger. She had been full of anger, in the early days, back when she was still in her own body. Oh, how she had raged at the Two Fingers and the Golden Order, the unfairness of it all, constantly swallowing down disgust at her own Empyrean flesh. Her brothers had scoffed at her and acted like she'd ben a child throwing a tantrum. Her mother had just tried to soothe her. And yet, her anger had only grown. She had found a freedom in casting aside her flesh, and over the centuries, her rage has cooled into a chill resolve.

Watching Anastasia feels, for a moment, like watching a part of her younger self.

The death of Godrick would help Ranni's mission -- as a Shardbearer, he holds a piece of what she wants to reforge and take far, far away -- but it would also help the people here. People like the poor young woman Anastasia had met, and the cowering thralls in his castle, and the Tarnished he would hunt in the future.

"You possess a strong sense of morality, to fight for the people of a land you know little about," Ranni says thoughtfully. It's a good sign in a potential Elden Lord. "What is it that you see in these lands, that you would fight for them?"

[lowbornlord]

What does she see...? That is a question that gives her pause from her rant, although it is not a question lacking an answer. It's more how to word it that causes Anastasia to take a long, thoughtful look into the flickering light of the Grace before her, exactly what's driven her to this point. Vengeance isn't quite right, even if she's resentful of many things...

It is only after a considerable pause that she answers, her voice softer than before, her prior anger settling into a quiet determination. "The people. The few who still live here. Some of my fellow Tarnished, I guess. None of us chose to be here, did we? Before this I remember..." A brief pause, Anastasia isn't entirely sure how much she wants to open up about but she does realize she has little to gain from secrets. The advantage of a humble background, she has little worth hiding. "I died. That's where most of us Tarnished come from, right? We died... and answered some sort of call. Grace this, Order that, did any of us agree to fight this battle? I thought I'd woken up in some sort of hell, a nightmare I can't wake up from."

Her gaze shifts from the soft light in front of her to the Doll sitting in the room, and even with her face obscured with a helmet the way she carries herself still obviously changes. The fatigue that threatened to overtake her, the weariness already trying to settle into her very soul takes a back seat to quiet focus and determination. What she must do. "I can see the Guidance... and the few who care to take note seem to think this is something great. All that seems to mean is that I can see the light in the sky that seems intent on guiding me into certain death. I don't think I'm any sort of hero, and frankly I refuse to believe I'm some kind of chosen one. If I am, it is certainly no gift. I'm one woman with a sword and a splash of magic I barely understand, but..."

She's rambling. There's no clear direction to her words and she realizes this, it's far more than she can hope to sort out in the span of a single conversation and she shakes her head, as if to try to clear her thoughts. "... someone has to try. And if that someone has to be me, so be it."

[deathstealer]

Truth be told, there are days when Ranni herself does not see what is so worth saving about these Lands Between.

Her memories of a more beautiful time are faded. Back when the cities had been full and flourishing, packed with laughter and sorrow and knowledge and music. When the small towns had grown vast fields, and determined traders had made their way across the seas of rot, and people had lived. It has been many centuries since such a time, and what remains is pallid and stagnant and cold.

In the skeletal faces of those who still cling to life here, Ranni sees failure. The failure of the Order. Her own failure, perhaps, to have seized the day before her brother stopped the stars in their path and so too stopped her destiny.

She draws hope in Blaidd's steadfast loyalty, and in Iji's gentle voice, and in the green that still grows. Now, she draws hope from the determined set of Anastasia's shoulders, and in the way she thinks herself so small but has found a dedication towards a very large task.

"Even killing Godrick would bring about great change," she offers. "He is no pushover, and thine task will be difficult, but the reward will be incalculable."

Ranni thinks, briefly, about offering to help, but stalls those words before she can give them voice. No, this is something that Anastasia needs to do on her own. If she wins, then there may be a chance... that she will prove useful.

"These lands are home to liars and cheat aplenty, but good still lingers here. Enough good that the Lands Between might yet be saved by a woman with a sword and a splash of magic she barely understands." Ranni's spectral face shifts, lips curling upward. "Thee have quite the mystery to unravel, I fear."

It's been WAY TOO LONG but finally life at least calms down a little time to dust off a PSL-

[lowbornlord]

For a moment, all Anastasia can do is sit in silence, gazing intently at the flicker of Grace in front of her upon the floor. But strangely she finds Renna's words bringing her a measure of... peace is not the right word, but confidence, perhaps? Comfort at the very least. Strangely, although there is so very much she doesn't know about the doll in front of her, it's comforting to know there's another who at least seems to hope this battle isn't in vain. And then finally, after a silence that seems to last an eternity, she pushes herself out of her shoddy chair and back to her feet, taking a deep breath as if to steady herself. Truthfully words fail her, she knows what she must do but to simply walk off in silence seems... rude? Tactless?

... but sincerity hasn't failed her yet. So even underneath her helmet, her gaze turns directly towards Renna even if she knows her smile likely won't reach her. "... I suppose I'm stalling at this point, it cannot be put off forever. Not if I want to live up to my little speech just now." A brief pause, and then realizing she truthfully does not know the outcome of this coming battle- "I realize this may sound odd, but... thank you. You helped me earlier, did you not? And even now you've come to check up on me. I don't know your motives, or why you're doing what you're doing, but..."

She trails off, finding herself struggling to put her thoughts, her feelings into words. But after a second she speaks again. "It's nice to not feel like I'm alone." Simple, straight to the point. On the cusp of a duel with someone who bears the title of Demigod, it seems perhaps the best time to simply be honest with how she feels, how terribly alone she's been, even as she's dug deep to find her reason to stand yet against everything. Reaching up to briefly adjust her helmet, then down to her sword belt as if to also adjust that, she gives herself a brief nod. "... before I try and unravel any mysteries, I still need to prove that I even can. Prove it to the people I claim to stand for, prove it to myself..." One could almost hear the slight upturn of her mouth, the tiniest of smirks gracing her features under her helmet. "And I suppose prove it to you too. By your leave..."

Finally she turns away, her gaze settling upon the one doorway she'd yet to explore, the hallway she knew would lead further in- and almost certainly to Godrick. There was little left of Stormveil she hadn't set foot in, he was near and she knew it. "... I guess we'll see if I'm just going to be another bump in history's road. My only request, if I somehow do pull this off and live to tell the tale-" Should she even say something like this? Part of her knows full well she's about to march off to something that by all right should be her end, but if she yet prevails, if there's still truly a spark of hope here to nurture and grow into something more...

"-may we meet once again, when the dust settles?"

[deathstealer]

I don't know your motives, Anastasia says, and for a moment, Ranni almost feels regret for being so deceitful.

There are many things and peoples motives that Anastasia has said are beyond her understanding right now: the Order, the Two Fingers, the so-called Renna. To be lumped in with the other two brings a foul taste to the back of her throat, a strain to the rusted wires that hold her rib cage together. Right now she is no more than yet another mysterious force to this Tarnished, but it is better that it remains this way for the moment. Ranni cannot show her hand too soon.

She must wait, and observe. This would-be Lord is not the first to have tried to reforge the Elden Ring, but the latest in a long line of attempts, and Ranni has grown cautious of too much influence. She does not want to influence. She wants Anastasia to stand on her own feet, to conquer her own battles, and at last, perhaps, if Ranni is lucky, come to her as an asset and a fighter rather than a follower.

Ranni stands, too, the furs and linens of her dress shuffling around her, swirling patterns in the dusty floor below. The glassy eye of her doll's face is fixed firmly on Anatasia, a pale glow of an entirely different kind than the Grace between them.

"Should you succeed, we will speak once more, Tarnished. Thou art not done with me yet." There's a hint of mischief in her voice, a suggestion of an amused smile. "I look forward to tales of thine battle. I am sure it will be a reckoning for the ages."

She turns, and the edges of her form start to fade, blurring, as she leaves. But before she fades entirely from the room, she makes a simple gesture, an offering of a hand, palm up, with a whisper on the wind:

"Should thee fall, Tarnished, I will make sure you are remembered."

And what that, she's gone.