Just Some Sketches Of My Tarnished Warrior And The Erdtree

I might have a favorite character, chat.

“mom said it’s my turn on the Xbox”

do u have games on ur phone

Elden Ring fic anyone?

I’ve been thinking about writing a story of a fire knight squire named Eris. Can’t say what the plot is exactly yet, but she ran away from home as a child, got captured and nearly killed by hornsent, and was saved by Messmer. Surprisingly, she is allowed to be mentored by Messmer’s own knights. Forever in debt to her lord and savior, the Impaler, she dreams to swear fealty to him as a knight until the night of and runs off, afraid of being trapped to that life after her anxiety got the better of her. She runs off to the Lands Between and finds Rogier and D when they were still friends. The guilt of leaving her Lord Impaler burdens her until at some point I’ll have her return to face him about her cowardice.

Also, there will most definitely be angst and quite possibly some poor use of Messmer’s ye old English. Might romance her and my favorite sorcerer, who knows 👀

Hark, Lord Impaler - Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own any of characters or events from Elden Ring.

Author’s Notes: A little 800 words as a start. Just a little setup for the story that our main character will reminisce on quite often. Also, thanks @asianbutnotjapanese for being one of the few people interested!

Summary: Messmer saves a human child during an attack on a hornsent settlement.

Warnings: Violence, depictions of blood/wounds, depictions of war

Smoke swirled in the air like an evil veil, heavy and black, shrouding the town once bustling with everyday activity in a menacing darkness. The light illuminating the streets was not that of the setting sun, but the red glow of wild flames. The air was thick with the smell of burning; burning buildings, burning flesh. Charred bodies littered the ground, others were still dying. The wailing of women and children pierced through the clashing of steel and shouting of soldiers like the swords and spears ripping through bellies.

Messmer the Impaler watched this chaos ensue with no expression. The hornsent at his feet spasmed, attempting to curse his killer with its final breath, but all that came out was gurgling nonsense as blood bubbled from its mouth. The leader of the crusade pulled his wicked spear from the hornsent– its blood pooling at his feet– death throes now finished. 

Be it one man, be it a whole city; even the most horrific killing could become nothing more than a chore, given time.

The red serpents craned their heads around, observing the genocide– for this was no battle– on behalf of Messmer. Messmer saw through their eyes, as they were one with his body since birth, and he had no eyes of his own. Not anymore. Not since his mother gouged his only working eye and replaced it with her own seal. His fist gripped his spear tighter as his mind drifted to that memory. 

No, he should not feel anger, or dare he say hurt. That had been for the best. He was a danger to his mother and her Golden Order otherwise. He was a monster, and she had been right to seal that dark serpent away inside of him. Mother understood though, and would let him into her golden lands soon enough. Just as soon as he avenged her people.

A serpent hissed and Messmer blinked his way back to reality to see a child, wrists bound in rope, raise a dagger and plunge it into the back of her captor. The demigod raised his hand to kill her with his cursed fire when he realized she slew a hornsent, not one of his men. Not just a child, but a human child, and therefore someone he was obligated not to kill, perhaps even save.

The girl was rather scrawny, covered in grime and blood, and could be no older than four and ten. Perhaps the hornsent had taken her to be stuffed in a jar and melded as the savages did with so many.  Her eyes were wide with fear that was only amplified tenfold when she saw Sir Messmer. She trembled from terror and exhaustion but otherwise didn’t move, torn between awe and horror at the sight of the demigod until something finally pulled her attention away from him and had her try to run. She didn't make it far before she tripped over an object concealed with soot. The ash plastered to her skin as she wildly turned around to see a towering horned warrior of the hornsent slowly approach her, raising its great iron sword to cleave her in half, paying Messmer no mind, if it had seen him at all.

Messmer threw his spear at the warrior, killing it in a single shot. The spear skewered the hornsent with a splatter of blood and lodged itself firmly into the ground until the Impaler summoned it back to his hand. The body fell to the ground with a thud. He ambled to where the girl had fallen and let a serpent extend to allow him a better look. Her body lay limp and unconscious, her breathing rasped softly, the only indication of life in her yet. Blood– whether it was her own or another’s– had seeped into her clothes, dying the shawl around her shoulders a dark red, as if a gruesome mockery of Messmer’s own garment. Perhaps it was a sign from Marika. If so, it was a cruel one, but– he thought with a grimace– it was not outside of his mother’s nature to be cruel…far from it.

Her eyes fluttered open briefly and she groaned in pain. Messmer took a moment to locate one of his men, simultaneously noticing the battle was beginning to dwindle like the flames devouring the buildings. 

“Soldier,” he addressed the first of his men to come close, “Dost deliver this child unto one who may tend to her health.”

The soldier nodded in acknowledgment and came to carefully lift the girl in his arms and carry her off. Messmer watched as they faded out of view into the mist of cinders and ash. Once he had gotten to regrouping his troops and having it made sure that no hornsent remained alive, the girl was quickly forgotten. She did not cross his mind again until they were far from the smoldering ruins.

The Impaler looked at his most trusted knights, their armor gleaming, scarlet capes flowing behind them, untouched by most of the filth of battle. He thought again of the girl’s blood-soaked cloth and decided to thank his mother for the supposed sign.

Perhaps there was use to be made of that child yet.

People playing Elden Ring and looking for the "good" demigod to root for are missing the point. Pick your favorite mass murdering war criminal megalomaniac with mommy issues and endlessly simp for them like the rest of us, cowards.

the tyranny of messmer’s flame

Since Messmer is descendant of shaman flesh, he was not born with the two buddy snakes. They became friends in his childhood, getting close to him by sensing his serpentine nature and some sort of kinship. They were not physically attached to him then, but in time, when his flesh started to see spontaneous wound (because of the suppression of the base serpent’s power in flesh), they stayed close to him for support… a bit too close… at the point to becoming fused with him. It was willingly. After that thy were trying to be of service as his eyes, and comfort, as his friends and advisors, already deciding to follow him even toward a doomed path. It was loyalty at first, It was for love at last.

I don't write Rogier as a total manslut to titillate and be horny on main. I write him that way for one, to be another way he's an opposite to darian, which is just a personal interest of mine lol. But for two, because hypersexuality as a trauma response for him simply made sense to me.

I saw his emotional detachment and general disinterest in bonding with others intimately, and thought 'that guy's got a void in him.' I saw his single minded obsession with his research, and thought 'that guy's gonna fill that void with everything but difficult self-reflection and confrontation of why that void exists to begin with'. It'd be a challenging thing to do even in our modern world of medication and therapy, so I can't imagine him sitting down with someone and talking it out. And he simply doesn't work that way to begin with. When he goes to sleep with Fia, he doesn't break down crying about his own problems. He cries over an unsolved conspiracy that he's obsessed with, because he's not going to puke up his feelings directly. He didn't seek her out for emotional intimacy and healing, because he is much more interested in denying he has much of an emotional state to begin with. Emotional detachment is not 'I feel a bit numb sometimes', or 'I have some angst issues and have trouble talking about my emotional state, but I'd be pleased to help you out with your emotional problems :)' It's alarm bells and dread going off when someone tries to get 'deep' with you. It's your heart rate spiking at the thought of someone confiding intimately in you. It's disgust with your own emotions, if you can even identify them to begin with. It's being asked how you feel and defaulting to a pleasant response and breaking down if someone acknowledges your horrible feelings for you because that is NOT normal. Normal for you is ignoring all of that icky, uncomfortable stuff. Normal for you is laughing nervously and hoping the conversation moves away from talk about everyone's feelings, because you have no idea how to handle that. So if someone is going to bury and deny the emotional, they're going to seek the comforts and outlets for feelings that would normally come from such intimacy via other means. They're poor substitutes, but they don't come with that anxiety over trying to grapple with something you simply do not and never have had the mental capacity to deal with. You get the dopamine hits and relief from stress using these purely physical indulgences. Good food, booze, casual sex, whatever works, because without it that void in you where intimate connections and healthy introspection should be yawns, and yawns, and yawns, until you're sure it's going to swallow you whole. Better fill it with something, or there's not going to be much of you left that isn't a miserable husk.

When Charles first joined the gang.

Everybody just annoyed of Sean's incessant rambling about Ireland.