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

[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.