Long had it been since Maldron had entertained the natives of Lordran. Since awakening in the transient realm of Lothric, he had seen the confluence of numerous lands and their denizens. The more things changed, he mused, the more they had stayed the same.
The only difference in these days near the end of the world was that the gods of eld had been forgotten, and that the ideal of Lordship was a title attained by any fool strong enough to become kindling.
It was not often that Maldron relied upon the arts he himself had pioneered. Slipping between the veil unnoticed required the suppression of self down to the very soul. Only in losing complete sight of self, to render one's identity susceptible to the currents of fate and time, could one appear in another realm without its host being aware.
This was the practice he had mastered in Eleyum Lloyce. A trial and a half, and risky besides, that was seldom worthwhile to perform. Unless a contract was on the line.
In this case, he did it simply to prove to himself he still could.
A white phantom rose of the shadows and the darkness of an unfamiliar wood. It was deep and dark, and the moon hung high in the night sky. Had he been somewhere on the boundary? He couldn't remember, earnestly. The endeavor's cost.
He looked forwards to where his whims would take him.
His visage was a peaceful, tranquil glow. With bespoked lance and emblazoned greatshield in hand, well-oiled sabatons clanked against the field. Behind the iron bars of his helm, the mad phantom scours his surroundings.
What would the host be like? Would they try to take his head? Would they be amicable, and grant this sudden interloper the benefit of the doubt?
He couldn't help but feel a cackle threatening to slip from his lips.
There was ALWAYS something to entertain yourself with, if you knew where to look!
The telltale clanking of armor alerted Ciaran to the presence of another. She snapped her eyes open to see a glowing white phantom not too far away. She pulled herself to her feet with a grunt, leaning her back against the gravestone for support. One hand still pressed against her bloody side and the other holding her long dark silver dagger.
“You there, human!” She called out, her voice more wavering and feeble than she intended. Her legs carried her towards the phantom slowly “This is sacred ground. I suggest you-” She fell to her knees, her dagger clattering to the ground. The Knight swore quietly under her breath. How pathetic.
Her hand scrambled to recover the dagger. She held it tightly in her hand but did not brandish it as a threat--it was a warning more than anything else. That she was armed and would not fall easy prey, even if she was more injured than she’d like to admit. The Lord’s Blade did not make a second attempt to rise to her feet, deciding that it would save whatever dignity she had left if she simply stayed kneeling.
“I suggest you leave,” she finally continued. “The Forest Hunters do not take kindly to trespassers.” Ciaran had made a pact with Alvina and her covenant--it was her right to visit the grave after all--but that pact did not extend to any third party.
