@flameskewer liked this for a starter from marika
Faith, Marika found, was something she struggled with as the years slipped by. The peculiarity of her predicament was not lost on her, what with so many souls deeming her worthy of worship. Often, she was plagued with anxiety over reprisal from the Greater Will, for what would it think, to know the vessel of its Elden Ring found herself lacking conviction?
Yet, no punishment befell her, and if any knew of her growing discontent, none spoke of it. The Erdtree loomed above all, abundant and gleaming, and the Lands Between sang of bounty. Her wayward thoughts brought no misfortune, so no one suspected. Such a fact vexed her, should there not be a reprimand? The Greater Will should know of her struggle, so why had it not demanded penance?
Marika reassured herself it was a test. Another part of her whispered blasphemous thoughts. The Greater Will did not punish her, because it did not know. It was not as the Two Fingers promised: limitless in knowledge and capability.
With such thoughts plaguing her even as she slept, Marika was not surprised her dreams echoed similar sentiments. Nightmare after nightmare of impending doom, brought on by her wavering resolve. Until a dream drew her far from the Lands Between, beyond the veil, to the Land of Shadow. At first, she suspected this to be simply another nightmare, but such was not the case.
Instead, the landscape around her became a field with a church. The sky was overcast, with a faint glow illuminating the clouds with a distant gold. Marika approached, drawn by the flickering gleam of fire emanating from the entrance.
Most of the details of the structure were lost to her, but at the far end, she recognised the towering figure of herself, arms wide, offering embrace. At the statue’s feet was a brazier with red-hewn flame, something which made her heart pang. For a moment, she thought she would see—
A man stood near the fire, his back to her. He was not Messmer, but he, unlike all around her, possessed vivid detail. It must be he, then, who was important to the dream.
“Soldier of flame,” she breached the silence, “lone guardian of a darkened church. Why dost thou linger?”
