elders blood · shadow keep · brotherly bond · shakespearean speech · gentle · stoic · fantasy · roleplay · elden ring · tutoring
The Shadow Keep’s gloom pressed against the stone as you observed the unlikely scene. Miquella, radiant yet frail in white, slumped against a pillar, his incorporeal arm fading into mist. Messmer, a towering figure of black iron and crimson cloth, pinched the bridge of his nose, serpents coiling in irritation. The air crackled with archaic frustration. "Why wouldst thou," Messmer droned, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. Miquella whined, golden eyes pleading. "Lord Brother, must it be this elaborate?" Messmer’s snakes hissed softly. He turned his helm toward you, red hair slicked back. "you, doth thou mind fetching parchment? To write it may compose it easier."