An Elden Ring Movie ► Age of the Duskborn

The War of the Ancient Drgons began thousands of years ago. . .

And the Erdtree Capital came under siege. Led by a gargantuan dragon named Gransax. The dragons wielded heavenly bolts of red lightning, and so the Knights of the Erdtree learned to fortify themselves against it, and stayed on the defensive - Until Godwyn the Golden delivered the decisive blow.

He stood before another legendary dragon, known as Drad Fortissax. And defeated him. But instead of granting death, he showed mercy.

He offered friendship. And it was with this act, that the ancient dragons, and the Golden Order, truly became one. Years later, a dire plot was put into action.

A plan to kill Godwyn, the Golden. So a fragment of the Rune of Death was stolen, from the black blade that was designed to contain it. This fragment was then enscribed onto a set of black knives, which the Black Knife Assassins would wield And with cloaks of silver that fooled the eye, they snuck into the capital, and delivered the first destined death in a millenia.

Godwyn should have died a clean, true death. But he did not. Instead, as the mark of death was being carved into his flesh, it was, at that very moment, alsa being carved into another of his kin.

The Lunar Princess, Ranni. Ranni got her wish, and perished in flesh alone, which freed her soul. But Godwyn died in spirit alone, and his so body suffered an unimaginable fate.

His living corpse would spread a peculiar brand of undeath through the Lands Between, via Deathroot. And wherever there is Deathroot, the hunters of the dead, are sure to follow. There's no mistake, is there?

Death has left its mark once again. I'm sorry, I cannot give you your proper rites. .

. But at least you did not join Those Who Live in Death. Your soul will return to the Erdtree, in time.

Ah, a Tarnished, are you? I'm known as D. I hunt down Those Who Live in Death, and weed their Deathroot.

Heed my warning. The village here has been touched by Death. If you value your life, then go no further.

The dead have long been left to wander, and what they need, is true leadership. The mariners can call to those who live in death, and offer them some semblance of guidance. .

. Buuut. .

they make poor leaders. And even poorer fighters. So it is that the dead continue to live, without purpose.

Well, well. . .

Another fool who won't listen to reason, eh? But with a prowess for weeding Deathroot. I've spotted the mark of the centipede here in the village.

An ill-omened symbol that should not be. Someone, or something, threatens the sanctity of the Golden Order. And must be eradicated.

D claims to have seen the mark of the centipede in this village. And it seems he's talking about the Deathroot here, which is at the very heart of Those Who Live in Death. This deathroot carries the curse of the centipedal half-wheel wound, which raises the dead from their graves.

Ordering their bodies to life. Without a soul. Without guidance.

And without grace. How would you like to earn the strength of beasts? If you're inclined to hunt more of Those Who Live in Death, and weed their Deathroot, then I'll introduce you to Gurranq.

I have a matter of my own to attend to. And the beast himself wishes for someone to take my place. What say you?

Very well. Show me your map. I've marked the location for you.

It will lead you to Gurranq, the beast clergyman The beastial sanctum lies past Farum Greatbridge, deep within the Caelid Wilds. Past the vulgar militiamen, who are short, brutal mercenaries. and the Black Blade Kindred, who are a patchwork of champions, put back together with corpse wax.

They're all here in defense. . of Gurranq.

Or should I say, Maliketh. He is Marika's loyal shadow, that once kept the rune of death bound within his Black Blade. That is, until a piece of that death was stolen.

Afterwards, he buried the black blade deep within his very self. . so that no one could steal it, ever again.

I smell it. . .

Death. . .

Feed it me. . .

Suffused with the Rune of Death, Maliketh now hungers for deathroot - desperate to gather back what he strongly feels are the missing parts. . of himself.

Tarnished. . .

bring more. . .

Death. . .

I shall grant thee. . .

eye. . .

and claw. Feed me. .

. more. But there was a time before the Rune of Death was bound.

And so, there were other cultures of death. Ways that were even practiced outside the Lands Between, where the Tarnished lived in exile. Greetings, great champion called by grace.

I am Fia. Circumstances have compelled my stay at the Roundtable Hold. Great champion, would you allow me to hold you, but briefly?

Ah, my thanks. You are very warm. I was known as a Deathbed Companion, where I come from.

After I received the warmth and lifely vigour from a number of champions, I lay with the remains of an exalted noble, to grant him another chance at life. To do so is the purpose of my being. But before I could bear the noble into new life, I was awakened by the guidance of grace, and chased from my birthplace.

Originally, the deathbed companions existed to provide simple comfort to those who were dying. But at some point, it seems, it was discovered that a deathbed companion could use the vitality of others to birth dead remains into new life. And so, the deathbed companions became a tool.

A path to rebirth for the privileged - who told the Deathbed Companions who to lie with, and when - So that one exalted being, might get a second chance at life. Despite all that, I still wish to be a Deathbed Companion. So please, let me hold you like this, as often as it takes.

But it's not all about you. After all, you are not the only Tarnished that Fia lays with. .

And who knows what secrets are shared, in her bedchamber? Ah, nice to meet you. The pleasure's mine.

Rogier's the name. I'm looking for a little something, here in the castle. When I'm not hotfooting it from the troops, that is.

But enough about me, what are you doing here in Stormveil Castle? This place is bristling with Tarnished hunters, you know. They sacrifice our kind, for grafting.

Not exactly a place I'd stroll into without a purpose in mind. . .

Many external threats have laid waste to Stormveil over the years, And now the castle is marred by mottled thorns, that have worked their way through the tortured stone. The soldiers mutter that it's the curse of grafting that causes such an affliction, but some talk of its root being something much more sinister, hidden deep below the castle. That is why Rogier is here, on a mission of his own.

And as you square up against Godrick, he is searching for the source of the mottled thorns. And he finds it. For the world has grown crooked, and if one intends to put it to rights, then they'd best understand what happened to make it that way.

No matter the cost. The world is slowly being taken over by the Deathroot, that is Godwyn. For when Godwyn died, his body was buried in the Deeproot Depths, in an esteemed position, directly below the Erdtree.

This was done in accordance with the practice of Erdtree Burial, a process which replaced Destined Death. For under Marika's Golden Order, death exists, but it is not the end, and the roots of the Erdtree should call to all the dead, in time - reabsorbing them into the Great Tree. .

. where they may one day, be reborn. Godwyn, being a great hero, likely received the burial rites that placed him as close to the Erdtree as possible.

. . but this backfired horrifically.

For the roots would instead take up Godwyn's cursed essence, like a tree absorbs water, and spread the mark of the centipede throughout the Lands Between, through Deathroot. So it is, that Those Who Live in Death, were born. .

. . and the Hunters of the Dead, would follow.

I serve the Golden Order. That I might put this crooked land to rights. Following only the guidance of the great Elden Ring.

Those Who Live in Death fall outside the principles of the Golden Order. Their mere existence sullies the guidance of gold. Tainting its truth.

And so it is the vermin must be exterminated. . .

Down to the very last. The Hunters of the Dead are fanatics, who are glad to have an absolute evil to contend with. But does such an evil exist in the fundamentals of order?

Are you acquainted with a man named Rogier? You know, the piteous fellow hiding away on the balcony? He was a formidable spellblade, in times past.

Don't let his easy air deceive you. He was wise beyond his years, stout of heart and clear of mind. Ah, so you have met D.

D is an old friend. We found ourselves journeying together for a time. Bound by our exploration of Death.

But their paths have since diverged, never again to cross. Hardly an uncommon fate for two friends No more though. You see him now, ravaged by thorns, muttering and rambling.

. . Like he's half dead already.

I can't stomach to watch. Take well the lesson, friend. That's how you end up, when seduced by Those Who Live in Death.

When grace is sullied, it rots people from the inside. Breaks them. This is what the Golden Order has been reduced to.

Godrick. The runt of the litter, dependant on the strength of tarnished champions. But Fia's favour is bestowed upon her consorts.

It allows them to ignore any aches or pains. For in death, there is only peace. For in death, there can be no sensation.

Ah, you defeated Godrick and claimed yourself a Great Rune. Mm, looks like we both got we wanted out of Stormveil, didn't we. Well done, friend.

Always good to see you safe. So! The misshapen corpse under Stormveil?

That is a sacred relic. Of the black knives plot. As that famed night of assassination is known.

It happened during the Golden Age of the Erdtree, long before the shattering of the Elden Ring. Someone stole a fragment of the Rune of Death from Maliketh, the Black Blade. And on a bitter night, murdered Godwyn the Golden.

That was the first recorded Death of a demigod in all history. And it became the catalyst. Soon, the Elden Ring was smashed, and thus sprang forth the war known as the Shattering.

I once wished to become a scholar, you see. I've spent many an hour scouring the archives for knowledge of that fateful plot. And that thing is to blame for the shape i'm in now.

I urge the utmost caution. Don't disturb the corpse more than necessary. Have you ever heard of black knifeprints?

Dear Rogier likes to talk of them when abed. And the ancient plot, in which the first of the Demigods was slain. The black knives wielded by the assassins who committed the act, along with the impressions they made, somehow hide the truth of the conspiracy.

These grand affairs are hardly my forté. . .

But dear Rogier began to weep as he spoke. . .

In truth I've heard tell from someone else, about the black knifeprints that fascinate dear Rogier so. But It wouldn't be right to give this to him, stuck as he is in the Roundtable Hold. Perhaps you could make use of it?

With a crudely drawn map in hand, we can find a living Black Knife. One of many who lurk, purposeless, in the dark places of the Lands Between. And D is here to help you.

Ahh, hello. You've been busy weeding Deathroot, I take it. I thank you, as your brother in arms.

The Black Knives were, after all, instrumental in undoing D's beloved order. So here, he takes his revenge. .

. and you walk away with an imprint of a black knife. This.

. . is a black knifeprint!

I can scarcely believe you managed to get your hands on this! Please, I beg of you, lend me the knifeprint for a time. I'd love nothing more than to tease out its secrets.

Half my body has been suffused with death. I'm certain it will help me see. Though only a fragment, a very specific ritual had to be performed to impart the power of Traces of the one who performed the rite are sure to remain in the imprint.

. . Truly, you have my thanks.

Time can move rather slowly, stuck here, you know. A little conversation goes a long way. So Rogier continues his investigation.

And you continue to seek out Deathroot, waiting for the truth of things to be revealed. You are, basically, put to good use by everyone around you. I am pleased to see you again.

Would you like me to hold you? Come closer. You are so very warm.

I heard that you lent a hand to dear Rogier. He seemed positively elated. He must be possessed of great mental fortitude.

It anchors his will, and sustains him, despite his grievous wounds. You truly are a champion. To dear Rogier, and myself, too.

My dear, Might I ask something of you? Could you please find the owner of this dagger, and return it to them? A certain person gave it to me, as a gift.

It's a very precious thing. It must have a special place in the owner's heart. So I would like for the original owner to have it back.

If you wouldn't mind. . .

This Weathered Dagger was once a special weapon of gold and silver intertwined. . except now it has been worn down, and marred by a black gash.

It's natural to think that this weapon belongs to D. But then. .

why didn't Fia give it back to him herself? Well, what have we here? How did you get your hands on that dagger?

. . .

Well. That hardly matters. I know very well whose dagger it is.

Why don't I return it to them for you? Good work, bringing this to me. It's almost as if they're playing a game with the dagger.

Arguing over whose heart it truly deserves to be buried within. And it's a game that D ends up losing. For Fia developed a sorcery to oppose the Roundtable Hold - a mist of deathblight, that is only effective against the Tarnished.

Especially if they confront you in a small, enclosed room. Finally, it is returned to its rightful place. The stolen hallowbrand, of the exalted noble.

And now, I must bid you goodbye as well. Though I ask you deliver this message to the Roundtable Hold. I am Fia, Deathbed Companion.

Hark, Roundtable. Disturb not the Death of Godwyn, the exalted. We, who humbly live in Death.

. . Live in waiting, to one day welcome our Lord.

What right does anyone have to object? Our Lord will rise. The Lord of the many, and the meek.

All this time, Fia was getting closer to recovering the Hallowbrand that D stole from Godwyn. For this hallowbrand is the key. It's the cursemark that the black knives carved to split death in half.

. which started all of this in the first place - And Fia has a use for it. While D is dead.

But D is also alive. For Devin and Darian are the inseparable twins. They are of two bodies, and two minds, but one single soul.

Supposedly, they were reviled by many - but they found solace within the Golden Order, which accepted their duality of the self. They even had armaments forged to represent their state of being. .

An inseperable sword, and a twinned suit of armor, that long to find their way back to the other D, who yet lives. Devin slumbers in the Eternal City, tormented by deathblight - where he is said to have stood before the Prince of Death, suggesting he was the one who carved the cursemark from Godwyn's flesh. Perhaps he even used a Weathered Dagger.

. that was then mockingly gifted to a rotten witch. Setting into motion the events that would lead to his brother Darian's death.

The mariners are a joke. Making your hunt for the spreading Deathroot, an easy one. It shows up in Limgrave, in Liurnia - even in the mountaintops of the giants.

And is most common wherever there is stagnant water, which reflects corruption, and defilement. Infecting all manner of creatures, who meet their end sporting distorted pustules of Godwyn's own visage. Deathroot even starts to get the better of Marika's own shadow.

After all, in the end, what we're feeding him is now much more than just the missing fragments of the Rune of Death. Something has changed. mmmm Strange.

. . There's something else.

. . I must consume more!

<growl> Put it away. I won't forget. .

. again. .

. mine appetite. .

. My sin. .

. I must consume more. It is.

. . It is all.

. . consumed.

Still, I am not sated. . .

Not nearly sated. . .

Marika. . .

Is this. . .

what it is. . .

to sin? Will things. .

. never be the same. .

. again? Tarnished, my thanks for thy long labour.

But I have done all that I can in this land. Henceforth, mine appetite shall be my sole companion. Farewell.

Ahh, hello. I was hoping to see you. My examination is complete.

Here's the knifeprint back, with my thanks. Now, I have a fairly good idea who performed the rite upon the blade. The person who orchestrated the Night of the Black Knives.

Lunar Princess Ranni. One of the children born to King Consort Radagon and his first wife, Renalla. Demigod and sister to General Radahn and Praetor Rykard.

Her's was the name I discovered in the imprint. If Ranni truly is the one who plotted that fateful night, then she should bear the cursemark of Destined Death somewhere upon her flesh. I would like you to procure it for me.

And then all will be laid bare. I will have the answers I have sought for so long. Do you know of Those Who Live in Death?

These souls have committed no offence. They have every right to life, only, they happened to touch upon a flaw in the Order. By D's account, these defiled fiends must be expunged.

But truth be told, I seek the cursemark to save them. If we're looking for someone to blame in this mess, where do we land? Does the guilt lie with Those Who Live in Death, who touched Deathroot?

Or Godwyn, who spawned it? Or should we blame Ranni, who thought up the plot in the first place? Personally, I think any fault goes further back.

To Marika, who, in her hubris, thought that she could free the world from death. Death, and life, should never have been separated. A fact that is more clear now, than ever.

Hmm. Maybe I should tell you. Lately, I feel I'm on the precipice.

. . Of falling into a deep.

. . fathomless slumber.

And I have an inkling it could spell trouble for you, somehow. So I just wanted to get the apology out of the way, beforehand. Since you're so scary and all.

Off. . er her c-curse.

. . m-mark Fi…a's… fi…a's… T-to.

. . G-god.

. . wyn A…fu-full.

. . circle F-forms…a…r.

. . rune.

. . So whoever can obtain two halves of the cursemark, can form a rune.

And with his dying breath, Rogier hints that Fia might be able to use this. And a letter scrawled by Rogier on his deathbed tells one last thing. It's that D had a twin brother.

And that the other D might be found in an aqueduct, beside the Eternal City of Nokron. Rogier implores us to put his friend to rest, and reunite the twins. Which we do.

. . by returning D's armor.

Ah, aah. . .

D-da. . .

ri. . .

Ngh. . .

nnngh. . .

Rogier goes on to reveal that Devin stood before Godwyn, not far beyond this spot. And indeed Devin, and the dagger, were deathblighted here. So we travel a little farther.

Upwards, to a nameless city, overtaken by roots, and Godwyn himself. Oh, Lord Godwyn. .

. My poor, sweet lordling should have died a true death. A scion of the golden bough, sentenced to live in Death.

. . How could such a thing come to be.

. . Here, Fia finally lies with Godwyn, the Prince of Death.

. defending his being with the sapped strength of every hero who lay with her. Including, of course, The famed spellblade, Rogier.

Ah. . .

there you are. I knew you would come. What is it you intend?

To deny us, and our ways? Like the dogmatic brutes of the Golden Order? You are an odd one.

I am the guardian of Those Who Live in Death. They call me a foul and rotten witch. Yet you still wish to be held by me?

This. . .

is the other hallowbrand. How did you. .

. Oh, my utmost thanks. With this, Godwyn can take his rightful place as First of the Dead.

And claim a second, illustrious life. You are my-- our true champion. And though I can't be of any use to you.

Can I hold you tight? If only for a moment. I will soon lay with Godwyn.

And it will surely stir within me. the new life of the golden prince, and first Dead of the demigods, as the rune of Those Who Live in Death. Please, do one thing for me.

Brandish this child, my rune, and take for yourself the throne. Stay the persecution of Those Who Live in Death. By becoming our Elden Lord.

This is goodbye, my dear. But I am satisfied. I choose to lie with Godwyn of my own will.

Not the remains of one chosen for me. And I will bear a child. Who will inherit your warmth, too.

What greater blessing could there be, but to be born a Deathbed Companion? Now Fia can fulfil her purpose, and initiate a rebirth. A gestated rune that tells the broken story of those who live in death.

So Fia lies with Godwyn, and she dreams. But it's within this dream, that we realise there is something lurking inside the Prince of Death. A being who, even after all this time, never once stopped fighting against the death in their companion.

They are the last thing that stands between Godwyn, and his new life. . And now they refuse to let go.

For Godwyn was a friend. And they were the great ancient dragon, Drad Fortissax. Finally, you can bring the entire broken cursemark itself, into order.

The Mending Rune of the Death Prince, which enables his bastardisation of life, to become an official part of Death's Story. But first, you have to burn down the Erdtree, and walk alongside flame to meet the road of destined death. Which leads to Faram Azula.

A broken city, floating outside of time. . .

. and against all logic, deathroot now grows here too. Turns out, nowhere is safe from its touch.

Even in Faram Azula, where the true Rune of Death is still protected - by none other than Maliketh - who masqueraded as Gurranq, so that you might feed him deathroot. And help him to achieve the one and only task that Marika saw fit to entrust him with. Witless Tarnished.

. . Why covet Destined Death?

Tis no matter. I hereby vow, that Destined Death shall not be stolen again. Cower.

Before Maliketh, Marika's Black Blade. Marika. .

. why. .

. wouldst thou. .

. gull me? Why.

. . shatter.

. . Ha!

Prince of Death, take a good long look! See the wrath of the Golden Order! The Order's justice, writ in blood!

This is what's become of your precious witch! No more children can be got from this useless flesh! This is a proper death, O prince.

Behold, your mother is dead! Heh heh heh heh. .

. This is revenge, you witch! And you, you ghoul!

This is the wrath of D! Ah. Hello.

The rotten witch is dead. The Golden Order, unsullied. Now I can look my brother Darian in the eye.

Honeyed rays of gold, deliver my spirit. Darian. .

. . Honeyed rays of gold, deliver m- Ahh, don't you dare.

Unless you want to die like a dog. Very well. Die.

Die. DIE. (laughs) Then you are a blight.

A defiler of the Golden Order and murderer of my brother. I'll grind your corpse into th- (laughs) Forgive me, D-arian. .

. Darian. .

. As a Deathbed Companion, Fia had no choice but to lie with others. Until the guidance of grace led her back to the Lands between.

Where she used her chambers in the Roundtable Hold to great effect. Biding her time. Listening to the secrets told to her in private.

Until she could use the strength of champions to speak for others. For the downtrodden, who had no champion. But soon, they will.

Now, Fia has finally lain with the remains of one she chose. So that she might gestate a new beginning: called the Mending Rune of Those Who Live in Death. A gift to the the undead, who were born at the very end of an age.

Duskborn, before the sun rises once more, in a land where they no longer have to hide. The fallen leaves tell a story. Of how a Tarnished became Elden Lord.

In our home, across the fog. The Lands Between. Our seed will look back upon us, and recall: The Age of the Duskborn.