Luna
"So, isn't this quite the little trick of yours?" She spoke very softly, hidden down near one of the ramparts leading to the stormveil entrance. Marika had turned instantly to some spirit form that allowed her to hover by the reluctant knight like a specter.
"I do not recall saying I knew the stipulations of my resurrection." Arms crossed.
"Lucky you," she retorted as she lept aside, armor clacking softly as another bolt shattered the barrier she had hunkered down. On landing, she continued to fiddle with a few mushrooms and a pot.
"What in the Greater Will are you doing?? This is no time for leisure!" The specter queen barked as she fluttered around her would-be savior.
The reluctant knight chuckled just as she sparked the pot. "No such thing as no time for leisure," as she hurled the pot overhead, leading to a loud bang as the handcrafted firepot turned the ballista to smolders and gave an opening. With a swift step, the knight rushed forward. A small dagger slashed and quickly backstabbed one of the distracted shieldmen before two more were thrown and buried into the neck of an infantryman.
A loud roar came as the lead knight rushed towards her just as she drew the wrapped blade she had recently ripped off the hands of a rider. A long curved heavy blade that came down quick and hard, splitting steel and armor as easily as flesh. She sighed, slowly appraising the area as the bodies quickly faded onto spirit dust, back to the tree.
"You are still a spirit," she commented with a raised brow as she removed her hood, sighing briefly as the fresh air splashed across her face with a cooling kiss. "Which means that doorway leads to far worse foes I would wager."
Marika seemed to sigh, visibly annoyed as her brow arched in a thoughtful yet frustrated manner. It made her golden eyes gleam with a subtle orange glow that denoted tinges of fury that had made the reluctant knight curious about that. The glow only ever formed during negative emotions. The thought made her curiosity run with possibilities, and worse yet, the secret storm she kept as locked as she could in her mind began to spin. Countless possibilities, so few kind.
She did her best to silence the thoughts, but Marika's expression told her of that failing. Quiet, stifled worry painting her features. It was clearly played off as dismissal, but Luna's true years had taught her the fine details in the face that were lieless. The quiet way her brow furrowed up even as she tried to make it resemble her turning her nose up. The soft quiver to her lip at the bottom right of it that extended subtly to her jawline.
It was these little details that gave Luna a strange kind of hope to the goddess. She fronted as dauntless when deeply she cared. It made her wonder to the motivations of her ward, or victim, depending on one's view.
She bolstered herself after a moment as they moved through the brief castle walkway, enjoying the moment to breathe before redoning her hood as they came out to a bridge. Countless weapons littered the stone walkway, carved as a bridge from what once must have been a mountain to further guard the daunting castle coming into view.
Slowly, the wind began to curl across the dirt pathway, as a great voice began to echo through the open air. "Foul Tarnished." It rung with a mixture of grandeur and contempt, and Marika's eyes were the first to glisten.
"That's -" she had begun as the voice materialized nearby upon the vast wall.
"In search of the Elden Ring, emboldened by the flame of ambition," he spoke softly, yet his voice carried across the winds with weight. A soft unfurling of arms and a tap of his cane that resembled a vast, knotted tree branch with a handle fit for the needing grip as well as the bloody one. The being himself was tall, with greyish blue skin by her reckon and horns growing all over his head that was maned by silvery hair. His body clad in a ragged robe tied with only a roughspun rope at the neck. He was a harrowing figure that seemed born to the sewers or to violence itself.
He lept, landing after a few moments with a crash. Dust and debris whipped along the air as Luna covered her face, shielding her eyes as the figure began to stand. How he towered over them both. His cane now held more like a sword in his right hand. "Someone must extinguish thy flame," he spoke as his body righted upwards, preparing for battle, "Let it be Margit the Fell!" He barked out almost like a battle cry, leaving no room to question his intent. Yet the call of his name brought a confused look to her spirit Queens face. Still, now was no time for questions as the reluctant knight drew up the great sword on her back.
"Then let the moon smile upon this battle," she intoned, two hands gripping it as soon, metal ripped against wood. Heavy and towering blows that split dirt, stone, and steel alike around them, as his now unfurled and knotted tail split across embedded spears like a club across twigs. Deft were the would-be saviors movements, quickly leaping and dodging between blows, but he was a persistent and powerful foe. Fast and quick to recover, she was soon finding openings for attack small. A few slashes got through, but she was beginning to lose ground and be backed against the open chasm. Death would not be a conclusion, thanks to the strange laws this land had, but a setback she hoped to avoid as often as she could manage.
A footstep back as a few sprinklings of dirt dusted off the edge as she breathed. Quietly, she allowed the Storm in. She would win. She had to.
Marika
She watched from the sidelines, mind agast at her son's pseudonym, or that he was here impeding their progress. If only she could speak with him. She would ..
She would what? Beg his forgiveness? Ask him to simply step aside as some woman claiming to have his mothers spirit with her? Even if she could form, she was powerless. She didn't even have the talents to be a fingermaiden for her knight. She watched their duel, eyes fixed in frustration and confusion as the deep well of sorrow began to fill her. Even if it was her at her full might, why would Morgott ever forgive her for what she had done to him?
She had cast her own two sons into the sewers among the other omen. Blinded by her hate ages ago, she had not been willing to hear that they were different. Even now, her mind ached to rip those horrible horns from her son's flesh. The sight only brought back visions of a lone minor Erdtree in a sea of flowers, with no one left to heal.
She saw her would-be savior backed to the edge, and her chest clenched. She knew this world was protected from death, but she had no clue how long it would be before Luna re-materialized. How long she might be left alone.
She wanted desperately to intervene, to stop her son, to tell Luna to just run past, but her voice seemed to fail her. The whole sight left her shaking, as true powerlessness began to fill her chest and mind. A painful ache that had not truly set in until now. A feeling she had done so much to avoid ever feeling again.
'You can always let me out.' he burned at the edge of her thoughts. 'I still hold our power.' "MY power," she hissed back. Angry and dark eyed for a moment, she clutched her head as his voice barreled against her mind, "and I shan't be supplanted by You!"
Her voice was like molten heat against rock, burning, yet ineffective. His presence banged against her mind like a battering ram, seemingly only emboldened by her attempt at retaliation. It hurt so badly that it felt as if her own mind was being lit ablaze.
Suddenly, she heard a sound that silenced Him and herself. Looking up at her would-be savior, she saw her eyes suddenly glowing. Bright glacial blue that seemed to glisten with an etherealness as she roared with all the might of an actual beast, just as Morgott slammed down his cane onto her. To both their shock, he instantly received a slash across the face, sending him stumbling back as she had moved so finely as to be missed by his strike by mere measures of hair widths.
Her movements became so fast and precise as to resemble a machine made of water. Dancing slashes that barely dipped past strikes that often she should not even have seen. Within moments, a slogging loss turned into a deafening barrage of a thousand cuts delivered by throwing knives and that fierce dismounting blade. Each little opening so minute was exploited, until at last it seemed Morgott grew tired of the slog himself.
"Well, thou art of passing skill," his voice sounded the tiniest bit more respectful. As if his prior disdain had been shaped into proper respect for a fellow warrior, if only by margins. His hand formed a massive hammer of pure light, swiping once to push back the reluctant knight before leaping high, "Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished." It grew sorrowful there, remorseful mixed with frustration. It was like a realization that both bring good futures, yet a bitter taste to the tongue. His hammer crashed thunderously, far faster than predicted by the cry of pain that rang in her ears as she caught Luna rolling away. Her left ankle crushed within her boot.
She seemed to breathe haggardly, pain rattling her as Morgott stalked closer, a dagger of light formed. Marika shook, desperate and angry. Angry at herself, angry at Morgott, angry at herself and her weakness. She clasped her hands as a silent prayer passed by her thoughts. Save her.
Morgott
With a rush of golden light, a barrier briefly pushed back Morgott before bathing Luna in a brief light of gold.
Morgott watched with confusion. "What is this... Mother...?" His voice tinged with sudden disruption as surely his mind became a mess. Before him was a slowly forming minor Erdtree, that, brief it existed, bathed the warrior in healing light as she rose back to her once broken feet. She gripped the handle of her long curved blade, and something struck him in her stance.
It reminded him of the malice of his brother, Messmer. The raw, barely contained fury held back only by a mask of chivalry. A hand on her blade leaned forward with those haunting glacial eyes and a face, where it was visible, full of violence. It was like staring into the eyes of a truly terrible monster that had convinced itself of its bravery and adorned itself with a mask of knighthood. It made him feel as if he was gazing into a mirror, and it frightened him. In that instant though, he also saw that beasthood backed by an incantation only capable of by the most heralded of his mother's faithful, and to have someone backing this talented knight unseen capable of such power left him questioning whether to stay, or retreat, and consider his options. Gather more information.
The projection soon began to step back, placing its staff back into a walking stick position, as the knight's eyes briefly met his. Morgott was many things, but a fool had he proven yet to be not. "We shall meet again, ye Tarnished." And with that, he vanished into dust. His quarry would wait for today.