Maldron the Assassin

THE ROGUE ─╠═►You’re a practical and unusually resourceful person with big dreams that may or may not involve copious amounts of money or treasure. You’re ambitious, you know what you want, and you’ll do whatever you can to get it. Some people might think you’re selfish, but you know it’s important to take care of yourself first. You thrive under pressure and you might have a bit of a mischievous or chaotic side.

Subclass: SOULKNIFE ─╠═►Most assassins strike with physical weapons, and many burglars and spies use thieves' tools to infiltrate secure locations. In contrast, a Soulknife strikes and infiltrates with the mind, cutting through barriers both physical and psychic. These rogues discover psionic power within themselves and channel it to do their roguish work. You’re an insightful person who has a knack for seeing straight through to the heart of a problem. You have an intuitive sense of the right thing to do at just the right moment to turn a situation to your advantage. People probably think you’re either incredibly clever or really lucky; you like to think of it as being perceptive, picking up on patterns, and listening to your instincts. You’re naturally subtle and sometimes you work so quietly and efficiently that other people don’t even notice you putting in any effort, they just marvel at your end result.

....

─╠═►"Well, you know what? I think I can be subtle, just when I'm not speaking. I'm too loud and proud when it counts, but it's at all other times that I manage to sneak into places and get the preparatory work done! You should let me throw your birthday parties."

─╠═► Send 🕯️ to hear Maldron's thoughts! | ACCEPTING

An Omen, alive. A man who could defeat Godfrey's Lion with his emergence. There was no doubt that he was a demigod. There was no doubt that his blood was traced back to Godfrey or Marika or even both. It was what would make the most sense -- a true-blooded union of God and Elden Lord to defeat the child of Radagon and Rennala.

The Grace of Gold was clearly in his eyes, chosen so by the Erdtree... But that mattered little. Godwyn would have greeted him with open arms. Who were his knights but to do the same? He had proven his valor and justice in glorious defense of the Erdtree, and so he was its savior.

To hold on to tradition in the face of such shifting times, for no other sake than to uphold it, Maldron would sever the head from the shoulders. But... Morgott's disapproval was all that allowed such treason to stand.

If only he would allow himself more clemency. If only he would allow himself the due praise of his people. To be allowed to be a hero, to allow them to fight on his behalf, rather than sending his Night's Cavalry to the wayward corners of the Lands Between...

If only Lord Morgott could stand with his head hung high, and if only the people 'neath him would hold him to his true stature, elevated such by the Erdtree itself.

For the injustice perpetrated both by him and toward him is an affront to that which hath undoubtedly been blessed. He is aught but a saint in the flesh, and the Greater Will will judge those based on their treatment of their greatest martyr.

─╠═► Send 🕯️to hear Maldron's inner thoughts about you! | ACCEPTING

There was a deep breath. Amidst the various knights and heroes that sit and while their hours away, there was not one that escaped the knight's gaze.

Of them, only one was bypassed as he schemed and scrutinized. Only one in Firelink Shrine went without consideration if a shield, if knives, or if his lance would be best used to dispatch them.

Only one was present, with whom he felt safe. In ways that the assassin did not consider possible. It was a relationship bereft of the push and pull with which he toyed with others. There was only someone who was willing to give, and give, and give, and here he was... taking and taking.

So much that it was too easy to abuse that trust, too easy to push her -- an innocent by all accounts -- to the wayside in his selfish pursuits.

There was never rage, there was never outspoken fury or curses slung in his name. There was nothing to spite about this woman. All the while being someone who could not be cast from his sight.

No matter how simple the joys were, bringing creatures and monsters around the Shrine to wreak havoc for those who yearned for rest... this Unkindled Ash, whose life's purpose was to spite the world that took everything from him still went unfulfilled. Her somber pleas and distraught noises were... pathetic, compared to the shouts and cries that fueled him.

For once, Maldron realized; he felt guilt for how his actions affected her. Admissions of this, staring it dead in the eyes, would stand to unravel him. So, he would play it off - he would bury it deep and instead treat the Firekeeper as a blind spot in his worldview. Odd as it may be, that was the simplest way to partition it.

But his place was here upon the ground, graced by gold. The glow of the distant stars, their movements and arcs in the sky, were not for him to divine. His glaive hangs low in his grasp, teasing the long blades of grass in the Lands Between.

"...Well this takes me back. I wonder how things have change-" The Assassin cuts himself off, reading over the old list. There's one, two, no less than three bouts of laughter that erupt from the iron confines of his helmet. When the laughter dies down, his voice is low, deep, and taunting; it didn't matter if there was aught a soul in the world to hear him, or if everyone's eyes were upon him.

It drips with a malice and an underlying delight as he speaks next.

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