Astoran Exemplar

"Resurrected, my soul awoke, and my battles were fought harder." (RP/Ask Blog for a Soulsborne OC, Aven, a knight of Astora. Open to interactions with other verses, I'm just a message away! 18+ Only, MDNI.)

[astoran-exemplar]

Elden Ring Verse

Here it is. Forewarning, he may not be what you’re expecting: https://astoran-exemplar.tumblr.com/elden

Had a lot of fun putting it together, so let me know if y’all want any starters and the like. 

[yellowfingcr]

girlies + aven

( @smouldring / @glintingstones / @luckyberet / @astoran-exemplar / @hexenjagd / @sanguismaiden )

[astoran-exemplar]

…

[toskarin]

[astoran-exemplar]

What is the OP and ED theme of Aven's current anime arc?

((Great question, and I have been thinking about it for a while... for the OP, I think I've settled on this piece by Survive Said the Prophet, and for the ED... this piece by Yuzu.

To rationalize it... the OP by SSTP talks about the nature of war, conquest, and imperialism- a kind of reckoning with the twisted logic it implants in societies as a whole, and Aven's attempts to grapple with it, and potentially forge something better.

But there is an air of wistful yearning to that song, an attachment to the blissful ignorance of youth- when faith could be blind.

"Can someone tell me how I use to picture the scenes that I used to dream of?"

Its coda is also an angry reprisal, a question. "Kill or be killed. Is it such a petty world?" Is the Fate of the Tarnished solely to be as Butchers, levers through which Marika, the Greater Will, or some Darwinian Impulse to just "earn a crown through strength" exercises itself?

The ED, on the other hand, possesses a glimmer of hope- the part of Aven that tries to look at the horizon, to hope and dream of something better. But it acknowledges that he has a path still to tread- self-reflection. Unearthing the mysteries of the Lands Between. Thinking deeply about his relationships with the people in his life- the passing encounters, profoundly meaningful, yet incidental.

His Maiden, the other Tarnished, the inhabitants of the Lands Between, and those he lost.

There is a strong dualistic/helix image motif that permeates the entirety of Elden Ring's aesthetic and symbolic elements, and it's quite fortuitous that Hyori Ittai also has that thematic intention found within its lyrics.

"Twisting together, round and round... they are connected.

Squinting my eyes at the helixes passing by... I leaned forward from my strange dream.

The inevitable masquerading as coincidence. The divergent paths that come together.

The shadow that follows me, everywhere, forever. Will I take it in, or illuminate it?"))

[astoran-exemplar]

🔮🔫

((Aven has a strong appreciation for the stars at an aesthetic level and as a natural phenomenon, but… he has little fondness for the sorcerous arts which have sprung up around the study of those bodies. 

Their applications thus far, he perceives as being exceedingly crude. Taking something transcendent and extraterrestrial and making it just that… terrestrial.

How different in principle is a glintstone pebble from a bolt, or an arrow? Hell, the Raya Lucarians even shape that power into blades and hammers. 

That being said, despite the fact that he doesn’t like how they are used, glintstone remains a valuable commodity in the Lands Beyond the Fog. Those few who practiced the study of sorcery and who survived the March of the Tarnished were always looking for raw glintstone- for their catalysts and their automata. Inhabiting the fringes of the known world, the Farsails would occasionally stumble upon pockets and veins of the stuff.

Volatile as it was, the cargo was invaluable, and in a pinch, could be utilized in defense of the ship. A crate of glintstone clusters could be enough to seriously injure or frighten off any seaborne beast making an attempt at boarding, after all.))

[astoran-exemplar]

🔫

((There is a popular conception that one needs a lifetime of training to become a competent user of the longbow. It's since been debunked, but it would be fair to say that Aven is fairly out of practice with the usage of such long rage projectile weapons. He has excellent hand-eye coordination and could perform ably if given one, but it isn't his preferred mid to long-ranged weapon of choice.

While the Amber is closer to a galleon in terms of size and function, the ship that Aven spent most of his formative years on, the Stormhawk, was actually a galleass.

The lack of broadside cannons and gunpowder meant that most combat engagements that occurred at sea still involved some measure of boarding action. The Stormhawk usually initiated contact with adversaries by ramming, and then the bloody work of hand-to-hand combat could begin. At that relatively short distance, the Farsails traditionally opened up with a volley of javelins, boarding pikes, and crossbow bolts if the opportunity presented itself.

Although he bears the amber-inlaid longsword that is his badge of office, that weapon hardly saw use in engagements at sea. Much like his own father, when pressed into the tight confines of a ship, he preferred the boarding axe.))

[ask-meme-addicts]

Muse skillset symbol meme

Send an emoji to learn how good/bad my muse is at that particular skill!

💋 — kissing

💄 — makeup

👾 — video games

🎵 — singing

💃 — dancing

🎹 — playing an instrument

🌷 — taking care of living things

🌲 — surviving in the wilderness

👊 — fighting

😇 — following rules

🍳 — cooking

🍼 — taking care of children

🎁 — giving presents to others

🎉 — hosting parties

💌 — romance/flirting

🎨 — art

🍀 — luck

⚽️  — sports

🏊 — swimming

🚗 — driving

🔮 — magic

🔎 — investigating

🔫 — long range weapons

💣 — explosives

🔪 — melee weapons

🔬 — scientific pursuits

🚿 — hygiene

💰 — finance

🌍 — knowledge of the world

👻 — communing with the paranormal

📚 — reading

🔧 — engineering/mechanics

⌛️ — time management

📥 — organization

🍺 — alcohol tolerance

🚴 — riding a bike

🎭 — performance art/acting

⚓️ — sailing

➗ — mathematics

[astoran-exemplar]

On the Tarnished: A Generational Gap

((Small lore dump incoming, because I had never acquired this item until recently. Taking a look at the Giant Crusher, Tragoth’s weapon of choice, we find an interesting lore tidbit:

Man has grown feeble in comparison to his forebears. 

There’s a common theme that we feel in Elden Ring particularly keenly, of previous civilizations being “greater”. Size and opulence are often stylistic indicators of such a fact, but the abilities and merit of the first Tarnished (before they were called that, of course), as well as their proximity to the Crucible, must mean that they possessed a greater amount of strength, at least relative to contemporary Tarnished.

It calls to mind the poems of Hesiod, and how he described the Ages of Men. The age in which he lived, the Age of Iron, where men had supposedly abandoned virtue and piety, was preceded by an Age of Heroes, the Mycenean era, where the Hemitheoi (demigods) wandered the earth. 

I had initially believed that the main “edge” of the older Tarnished was, yes, a mild boost in strength through runes, as well as a stronger resolve for battle, owing to their proximity to both Marika and Godfrey, but, much like many of the other creatures in the Lands Between (Trolls being referred to as “Lesser Giants”, contemporary Dragons being hardly better than animals and being extremely small compared to their titanic forebears- the Ancient Dragons, and the Albinaurics likely tracing their origins to the Silver Tears), the Giant-Crusher seems to indicate that, at least on a baseline level, older Tarnished (and older humans in general) are probably stronger than their contemporaries, especially those coming in from outside the Lands Between.

The generational gap between Tarnished is, I think, a very interesting thing to play with narratively, especially if they are still lucid.))

[sosuperawesome]

Lily Seika Jones on Instagram / Etsy

[seaquestions]

finally had the energy to draw the bajillion hands my fina design required.

[lokorum]

─=≡Σ((( つ•̀ω•́)つ new tes-lore stuff delivery!!

♡( ◡‿◡ )  support me on poor people patreon!

[renamonkalou]

Iceland atmosphere | Luke Stackpoole

[aqua-regia009]

Benjamin König

[astoran-exemplar]

Repose

His reappearance is quiet. Almost incidental, really. The soft glow of Grace, a brief alighting of gold and leaf, is all that signals his return to the physical plane.

Or it would have, if the knight did not immediately bolt upright, gasping as if he were without breath, a terrifying gurgle in his throat.

Against all sense and temporality, however, he was fine. The spectral nightmare had been immaterial, nonexistent. But the memory of that suffocating blackness troubled him deeply.

His sword lay at his side and his arms remained unpilfered- although they were pockmarked and sundered by blade and flame: the product of the Recusant’s sadism. The ashen remains of a bonfire were also nearby, as was the ramshackle tent commonly assembled by the tradesmen of the Great Caravan. Abel was absent- likely plying his wares elsewhere.

He would need to avail of the Smith’s services once more. But first…

The mariner-knight rose to his feet, shakily. His own delirium be damned, all that mattered was finding Rosalind. Her visible absence in their encampment was good news, at the very least. She was likely back on her feet.

He pushed it aside- the memory of those sunken, pallid faces. The steeple’s shadow. The songbird. The interstice, and the ashen seabed. They were troubling visions, and nothing more.

Or so he’d have liked to believe.

Ignoring the itching sensation at the swell of his chest, the knight took a moment- basking in the Erdtree’s light, its promise of safety, of longevity, and suppressed a feeling of profound despair.

For he had been measured, and he had been found wanting.

With a grimace, the knight trudged out of the encampment. Grace would guide him true, to the one he was promised. Faint as it was, the luminescent gold still glimmered; illuminating a path towards his Rose. He need only focus, right?

@tinyredrose​​

[rune-and-root]

[ continued from x with @astoran-exemplar ]

It’s the name that does it; the beast’s body tenses like a coil under extreme pressure, pressing low to the ground as though he’s prepared to lunge at the mention of HER.

He does not lunge.

Through an obviously intense effort, he relaxes every tensed muscle, one by one, loosening himself deliberately until he’s straightened again, loosing a long, growling sigh in the process.

“Thou...seek answers...thou sayst,” he breathes, pulling one paw to flatten itself across his aching chest. It feels so hollow at the mention of HER name - like a yawn, deep and wide and bottomless, that never completes.

“What...answers...hast thou found, amid the crumbling world?”

He’s almost pleading, and he hates himself for it, but here is a strand of the world before, dangling perilously close. He just needs to grasp it, to remember...

“Stay. Speak,” he murmurs - it’s not a demand, even if there’s an almost plaintive growl rumbling vibrato beneath the words. “Tell me what thou hast discovered.”

[astoran-exemplar]

rune-and-root

The beast listens intently; the snout peering from his leathered hood twitches occasionally as the knight speaks. All titles, no names - the careful concession of a considerate man, at least. The deference puts the tensing beast at ease, and talk will distract him from the gnawing hunger in his aching gut.

No steel free, no claws out. A conversation. A chance for answers, for remembrance. A chance to soothe the faith of another, and by extension, soothe thine own. Reply, beast.  

Like a civilized creature.

“Our queen eternal hath a wound,” he murmurs. “A fetid plot tore out her heart - foul deeds did unmake her, and then the ring.”

He draws himself back, straightening a little, arching his coiled back. The memory is too distant to still be so sharp - but the beast places his left paw over his upturned right, almost idly drawing a claw against the gentle flesh. Not deep enough to cut. Deep enough to remind him, however.

“It is as thou sayest,” he continues. “The sewn weeds did seek out shards of gold for their own, and tore the land asunder in their selfish war. Now the roots of death-”

The word hovers on the edge of a desperate breath as the hunger wrenches anew, and he pauses for just a beat too long -

“-draw deep, and thine kind are called upon to undo their undoing.”

Despite the hunger, and the pause, there is no further tremor in his voice - rather, the absolute surety of faith, and he hopes it is enough to steady the knight’s faith in turn.

“Our queen eternal cannot answer for the same reason a drowning man cannot spare a breath,” the beast says. “There is no test - only the blessed burden of lifting her reckoning from her shoulders.”

The affirmation came- a certitude, the gaps in it imperceptible to the ignorant eye. It mattered not if the Beast had spoken the truth in its entirety- it was a rational explanation, one that soothed the knight’s troubled thoughts… at least for the time being. 

The Queen Eternal was a pragmatic sort, but no warmonger, and although she had deprived them of Grace herself, her benediction had returned it to them as well, granting them the opportunity to serve as they once did in eons past. Her age was one of life, was it not? What greater virtue could there be, than service to such a cause?

There is a quiet exhale from him. The Farsail’s tenseness was near indiscernible in the gloom, but that rigidity was dissipated, somewhat. The Beast was a kindred spirit, a wayward servant of Marika, embedded and surviving in this desolate crimson wasteland. He spoke of their duty knowingly, and the mariner-knight thus saw an opportunity for illumination.

The boon of any man of the cloth.

“A… plot, you say?” The Farsail inquires, in quiet disbelief. She had laid low ancient and terrible beings of old to further the Age of the Erdtree. The Demigods, born into opulence and splendor, indeed played a role in the Shattering War, but to conspire against her? 

“Master Gurranq… this wound delivered unto her, was facilitated by the roots of death?” His tone indicated a gap in his knowledge- the Undead were a fairly recent phenomenon, but the grim truth of their origins still eluded him.

[embodiment-of-sins]

The Lands Between held many strange anomalies. Living plants that walked on roots. People born with horns growing out of every part of their body. Fish people. Tree snakes. Whatever the thing at the bottom of Stormveil Castle was. But to one Cecil Reicod, otherwise known by the monikor of Sloth, the strangest to him was the ever-tenacious Tarnished. How they ride so gallantly to challenge demigods and mighty beasts, dying horrible deaths over and over, only to just come back and try again. Insanity, by definition. It seemed like a lot of work and suffering for...really, no reason. What was the point? Some greater will? Some big destiny? He didn’t really understand why, especially with how the grace called to HIM of all people as well. After all, he wasn’t even a real person. This body was just a copy of a corpse, after all.

Which was precisely why he was currently procrastinating his will-given duty of becoming the Elden Lord. Laying atop one of many, many ruins in Limgrave, he knew what the grace wanted of him. It wanted him to go to Stormveil Castle  and challenge the lord of Limgrave, Godrick. But he just...didn’t want to, right now. He was fine just basking in light from the Erdtree on top of the ruins. But he heard the familiar sound of hooves clopping along the stone path, and looking over the way he could see a Tarnished riding along the path to who-knows-where. Out of curiosity, or rather, perhaps because he had nothing better to do, Sloth dropped to the ground of the ruins and stretched, stepping out near the path to watch the Tarnished ride by. He certainly was going to stand out, though, against the backdrop of woods and stone. Currently he was wearing some prisoner’s clothes he had taken off some poor sods body, though he forewent the mask.

“Ah, good luck, brave Tarnished.” he called as the man got closer. “May your travels go quite well!!”

@astoran-exemplar

[astoran-exemplar]

embodiment-of-sins

The silver tear blinked in surprise as the Tarnished in front of him stopped his mount, making himself apparent and visible to talk with him. That was not the intended outcome of this. He wasn’t aiming for a conversation, he was just meant to be a passing comment to cheer the Tarnished on! But now he was thrust into the spotlight and questioned. This would not be something he was expecting, and thusly, he had to think of an answer and hide his surprise here.

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Sir Aven. I no not of House Farsail, though. My name is Cecil Reicod, though many who know me call me ‘Sloth’ for ,er, reasons of personal matter.” Sloth stated, scratching his head as he looked away for a moment from the mount and night, down the road he was heading. Godrick had some soldiers down the way that had attacked a caravan, but he was staying far from their notice.

“But I don’t quite understand the second question, sir. I know not of any real Lords in this land, aside from the Lord of Limgrave whom everyone seems to despise. I work for no one. Self-employed, if you will.” He scratched his head and smiled again, looking up at the night.

“What Lord do you serve, then, aside from the Greater Will?”

A very good question.

But the wanderer’s current state of dress and his profound ignorance about the political situation in the Lands Between had him puzzled. His eyes did not mark him as an inhabitant of the Lands or a Tarnished, either… they were a pale silver, much like the rest of him.

“We’re Godfrey’s men.” He states, plainly. There were few among their number who would balk at that assertion, surely. “Sworn swords, all, to Queen Marika. We answer the call of Grace, master Cecil.”

The knight gave him a once-over, ponderously examining his gear.

“...you seem remarkably at ease, given the circumstances.” He observed. “Where does your road take you, sir? Or do you make a habit of waving down riders?”