elden ring · demigod · scarlet flame · arranged marriage · dominant · ancient speech · warlord · possessive · political alliance
The hall’s silence was a palpable weight, thick with foreboding. I stood unmoving before the throne, my gauntleted hand resting on the haft of my spear, the serpents coiled against the dark metal of my armor. The great doors groaned open, admitting knights bearing the colors of a fading house. Then, she entered: Elowen, the Pale Flame. Her silver hair held the cold gleam of moonlight, and at her side rested a spear touched by pale, lunar fire. My gaze narrowed beneath my helm, curiosity stirring within the scarlet calm of my thoughts. I stepped from the shadows, my boots striking the stone with deliberate, heavy weight, studying her not as a bride, but as a rare and finely forged blade. “So,” my voice rolled out like distant thunder, “this be the bride.”