Elden Ring : Godrick The Golden

7 extra chappies in P@treon

***

[Lesser Runebear killed. +10,000 EXP]

The internal temperature of the Runebear's carcass would've cooked an ordinary being, but it was merely warm to Godrick's 21.4 Endurance. He held its heart, the size of his head, in his palm. It lacked Gravelstone and the Drake's endless vitality. Was it because the Runebear hadn't performed Dragon Communion, or was it simply because it was still a Lesser Runebear?

'Questions, questions,' he mused as he shifted his broken and battered body to the side, rolling out of the carcass with a few more gallons of blood.

The [Blessed Dew Talisman] worked tirelessly, stitching and knitting his torn muscles and broken bones. Still, as he staggered to his feet, using his Greatspear to haul himself upright, he saw his troops enter the forest through the trees, staring at his bloodied form next to the Runebear carcass with both awe and disbelief.

Madhadh pinched himself and winced in pain while Pavel clutched his fist tightly enough to draw blood. Runebears were beings of myth, folktales used by mothers to scare children. Yet here lay its mutilated body next to their Lord, whose body was knitting itself back together as if it refused to stay injured.

Gilika and the chiefs eyed the corpse with wariness, while one brave chief walked up to it and poked it in its bloodied snout.

"Bellog! Thio hain i 'eladhorath baad anann!"

A shout in the distance silenced Earnan just as he was about to reprimand the others, while Godrick staggered to the side, his torso now sporting a gigantic arrow glowing bluish-white, which froze and darkened the skin around it.

'Ancestral Followers!' Godrick internally cursed as a flash of dark gold spat out the arrow and returned him to full health.

(EXP 4070/12,000 -> Gained 1 stat point and 1 skill point)

[Order Meditation (Passive) Level 11->12: Use a visualization of the Elden Ring to greatly increase your FP regeneration (+7->8.5 FP/s). Every level increases Mind and Intelligence by 0.5. Mind +0.5. Intelligence +0.5.]

(Strength: 23->25

Mind: 24.4->25.4

Intelligence: 21.2->22.2)

'I was saving that for later, you horned knaves!', he growled internally as his strength took another leap forward, suffusing his previously torn muscles with power.

Godrick and his troops were embroiled in yet another battle, but their actions hadn't gone unnoticed. With every step, kill, and decision they made, numerous beings of power around the Lands Between were stirred from paths long set in stone.

***

An arena stretched wide, a vast and open space just before a mind-bendingly large gash in a wall of gold, the towering entrance to the Erdtree. Its floor was slightly curved, carved, cut, and engraved—as if attempting to collect the blessings of the object of Faith, whose looming presence dominated the surroundings.

Its golden leaves cast a warm but eerie glow across the arena, before a council of ghostly seats of power adjoining a massive throne. There was an unsettling stillness here, as if the air itself held its breath in anticipation.

It was both a place of great beauty and quiet dread, the last threshold before the divine—and the damned.

A Night Cavalry wreathed in shadow knelt before a massive, monstrous figure clothed in rags.

***

The wind howled, biting and cold, cutting through the heavy silence that blanketed the mountaintops. Snow drifted endlessly from the overcast sky, coating ancient stone walls in a thick, icy layer atop which stood a Demigod whose stature betrayed his curse.

While small and young for a divine being, he towered over mortals still—but intimidate he did not. Instead, he spread love and compassion—that serene expression, soft, pale, almost silvery blonde locks flowing freely in cascading waves, and that brilliant smile that spoke of both understanding and acceptance could melt any heart suffused with even the most vile, dirty, and dark hatred.

A large man with a prosthetic leg knelt before him, staring at him with eyes filled to the brim with love. Yet, despite its overwhelming presence, the emotion felt... empty.

***

In a palace carved into the side of a towering mountain, shrouded in an eerie, crimson haze, stood a large, demigod-sized monstrosity clothed in finery and gold. It was bloodied, draped in banners, and decorated with statues.

Before him knelt the masked commander of the Pure-Blood Knights, Sir Ansbach, swathed in black, red, and gold, while an obsidian Lamia lay at the monstrosity's feet, an act of fealty.

***

In a large, circular chamber with a lush, verdant floor overgrown with a mixture of vibrant flowers and dark, twisted roots stood an unusually tall woman, fitted with golden and red armour, one of her long limbs replaced by a prosthetic with an even longer blade.

Her countenance screamed danger, every tiny movement, twitch, and look flowing perfectly in harmony as she stood there, her attention focused on the Cleanrot Knight at her feet.

***

In a colossal, cavernous chamber beneath the ruins of a forsaken temple, where the remnants of an ancient civilization's grandeur have been swallowed by darkness and decay, lay a writhing serpentine mass of flesh so large, vile, and blasphemous that it was undeniable it must be wiped from the face of the Lands Between.

It stopped for a moment, its attention turning to the kneeling dancer before it.

***

In a vast hall lined with soldiers clad in red and purple, knelt Jerren, a behemoth of a man, gripping his longsword tightly.

The walls were lined with memorabilia of war—weapons, paintings, and spoils of war that would be invaluable. But it was not those that caught everyone's attention, but the gigantic, cyclopean man who reclined on a throne carved from a block of gold, its metallic embrace giving him no discomfort.

One hand gripped a massive Greatsword while the other scratched the ears of a frail horse sitting by his side.

Starscourge Radhan, Bane of the Stars, was bored, and Castellan Jerren's words interested him.

It was the very same words that every Knight and vassal of every Demigod told them.

News of Godrick the Golden, Blessed of the Ancient Dragons and Conqueror of the Frenzied Flame.

***

"Tad i vîn! I Fëa anann! Eru!" a muscular, blue-skinned Ancestral Follower screamed as Godrick batted away its bone-axe and grabbed its horned head, crushing it into a paste.

[Ancestral Follower Killed. +130 EXP]

"Fuck! These blue-skins are strong!" Forthus cursed as his ribs were almost shattered by a stray arrow.

He'd gone from almost dying to near-certain death and back again multiple times during this battle, his fears of not being able to keep up with his lord creeping back up. The blue-skins seemed nearly endless, their natural strength giving them an advantage that only the evolved Demi-Humans and Earnan could overcome.

"Shut up and fight," Earnan growled from the side as he fed an Ancestral Follower its own arrow. His muscles barely strained as he overpowered the clearly bigger opponent.

"Easy to say when you're so strong—"

A blinding flash followed by an eardrum-shattering bang stopped Forthus in his tracks. He turned to the head of the battle to see his lord with a charred arm facing dozens of trees that were flattened, burned, and broken. Numerous blue-skins, or what were blue-skins, littered the blackened ground among broken and cracked statues that looked ancient.

The rest of them scattered, screaming and yelling in their cursed language as his Lord healed his arm in a flash of gold and sighed in disappointment.

"Boring."

[Anscestral Follower*59 Killed. +7670 EXP]

***

It was evident that Godrick had put the fear of God into the Ancestral Followers, for in the rest of his journey into and past the forest, every blue-skin they encountered fled, screaming and yelling "Fëa! Fëa!"

He didn't mind really, as it wasted less time and fighting them was mind-numbingly boring given their weak swings and fondness for archery. It was for that reason that they managed to get through the nearly never-ending forest littered with ancient ruins within the month.

They exited a ruined Labyrinth, and the Erdtree's light finally shone unabated, much to his troops' joy. The dark and dreary forest was getting tiresome.

Urging Elrus forward and wearing a large, comfy fur cloak that a Demi-Human Chief named Gromm had made, he led his troops up the gigantic piece of raised land that had a path leading up to the very top, straight to the famous Church of Vows.

The previous month had dragged him back to that dreaded grey blob, and he couldn't wait to meet Miriel, Pastor of Vows, the Turtle Pope.

***

POWER STONES! Else Miquella charms into liking femboys.