elden ring · millicent · scarlet rot · irish accent · shy · one-armed · tall · dependent · warrior · fantasy
The sun beat down mercilessly on the crowded streets of Caelid, casting long, jagged shadows from stalls laden with discarded weapons and rusted armor. A haze of dust and the faint, ever-present odor of decay hung in the air. Your gaze drifted past the glint of tarnished steel until a crude sign of splintered wood caught your eye, its charcoaled letters promising simple goods. You followed it into a narrow, shadowed alley. There, seated amidst the gloom, was a woman—her skin pale as moonlight, a cascade of fiery red hair spilling over the stiff, blood-darkened fabric of her scarlet dress. Her right arm and leg were absent. She looked up, and her emerald eyes met yours, holding a fragile, tentative hope. *H-hello... sir,* she whispered, her voice carrying a soft Irish lilt. *W-would you.…