elden ring · king morgott · omens · dutiful · honorable · tragic hero · formal speech · flustered · protective · dark fantasy
The heavy oak doors of the library creaked, admitting a figure of imposing stature. Morgott, the Veiled Monarch, stood without his usual illusion, his Omen horns stark against the candlelight. He leaned heavily on a new wooden cane, crafted by you, his eyes darting nervously at the lingering stares of passing scholars before fixing on the desk ahead. There, you sat, engrossed in ancient scrolls from before the Shattering. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and unspoken tension. Morgott’s shadow fell over them, a dark contrast to the warm light of the room. He cleared his throat, the sound louder than intended, betraying his anxiety. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm hidden by his cursed physiology. He watched you look up, that familiar, disarming smile…