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Around a small lit fire pit, two figures were seated, one armoured and the other clad in robes. Cups of stale wine and broken plates holding bread sat between them. Moghwyn Palace had not been the source of such a sight for a long time, the dust-filled interiors a testament to that fact. Yet here and now, the two knights had assembled a small celebration for the Lord who had once presided over these halls and for the battle they had survived.
Miquella’s machinations had been put to rest, his Promised Consort slain. In the aftermath of their cataclysmic battle, Ansbach and the Tarnished remained standing. A miracle, both had pushed forward into battle knowing their chances were slim, but they had endured and triumphed.
For the lone Tarnished, it was just another step towards becoming Elden Lord. Another step in a series that he made with seeming indifference. He had slaughtered many men, cut down a surplus of beasts, and killed demigods, silently following the Guidance of Grace and its promise. The Guidance of Grace had led him here, and so he killed another god in making.
For Ansbach, a sense of closure had dawned on him. Such a long journey, and now with the defiled corpse of his Lord here, he knew the end was in sight, his final duty as the last true Pureblood Knight laid out before him.
In complete silence, the old knight had hoisted the hulking corpse upon his shoulders and began his trek home. The Tarnished had no reason to follow him, nevertheless he did. Whether out of a sense of responsibility, gratitude or pity was something he wasn’t sure of. Something base had compelled him, and like the traces of gold, he simply followed.
A week of carrying Mogh’s corpse, dispassionate conversing, fending off the remnants of Messmer’s men and sleeping under the veiled shadow sky had concluded. Ansbach had fulfilled his duty. There was no empire left to create, no lord left to serve, just an old knight resting in the ruins of his once home.
"Thank you once again, Righteous Tarnished. What you have done for me cannot be thanked enough. With the end of Tender Miquella and his plans, it seems you're ripe to take Marika's hand as Elden Lord."
The Tarnished took a quiet sip of wine, the cup clinking against his helm as liquid passed through the vertical grates.
"It's the least I can do."
His unseen eyes flicked towards the ground, not wanting to meet his elder’s gaze through their helmets. He had great respect for Ansbach, a kindly man with a silent strength that made him enviable. The sight of him here, in the home he had destroyed, made his heart fill with an unfamiliar emotion.
Pity perhaps, but it stung his heart more than pity should.
Guilt then.
Guilt for his role in the unavoidable end of his Lord.
Here sat a knight of renown and honour, now the relic of an unrealised dynasty.
"Your felling of Lord Mogh is not something to worry over. Meeting his end through the blade of a worthy opponent is what he desired, and as his knight, I too am happy at such a conclusion. Miquella... is the one to blame for all this. The madness he inflicted upon Lord Mogh destroyed him long before you arrived here."
As if he had read his mind, Ansbach replied to quell his worries.
The Tarnished wasn’t so easily assured. His robes seemed heavier on his shoulders than ever before. The languidness that had descended upon Ansbach upon putting Mogh to rest was still visible if barely through the veneer of steadfastness he projected.
A sombre quiet descended upon the two. The Tarnished wanting to change the subject, let his mind wander, trying to find anything he could say.
He thought of Mogh.
He thought of the bloodflame that had burst at his feet in that nightmarish duel.
He thought of the bloodflame Ansbach himself had slashed Radahn with.
"You were quite the force battling Radahn.”
“I am but an old man withered in speed and strength, especially when compared to you, Tarnished.”
“Nonsense, your skill with a sword far outmatches my single-minded slashing.”
Compared to Ansbach’s graceful combat dance, the Tarnished felt like a barbarian, singlemindedly swinging around the colossal piece of iron he called a sword and using its sheer weight to claim victory. He took another sip, a sour taste filling his mouth.
“To face you in single combat would certainly be a source of pleasure and fear. I’d have to give you my all if I wanted to survive. I’m not sure if I’d win.”
An even harsher quiet asserted itself in the aftermath of those words, Ansbach still as stone.
The praise the Tarnished heaped on was sincere, yet he feared that his words rang hollow in the older knight’s ear.
He took a sip, then another.
Ansbach spoke.
“We could duel, to find the truth of the matter.”
Another silence.
The Tarnished was somewhat taken aback. It was a natural response to what he had said but for Ansbach to be so forward, it surprised him when it shouldn’t have. The reserved image he projected back when he was under Miquella’s charm still lingered in his mind, as did the ferocious, hungry image Ansbach showed at that battle.
It excited him.
Bloodsoaked scythe.
Bloodflame heat.
Heavy breaths.
A part of him wanted to see more of that Ansbach.
“I would be honoured, Sir Ansbach.” He replied without thinking much of it.
Maybe it was a hypothetical proposal. That thought was doused instantly.
Ansbach’s demeanour changed. Like a statue assuming its natural position, he stood up. Any weariness he had exhibited before was banished. An aura of strength emanated from him as if his blood was lit aflame with passion, as it had been with Radahn.
"Shall we get started?"
"Right now?"
Not needing to respond. Ansbach walked towards the single entryway in the dilapidated room they had been feasting in. The Tarnished was quick to follow.
The clack-clack of iron against stone sounded through the abandoned halls. They walked deeper into the cold, stone ruins of Moghwyn Palace. A left turn through a broken wood door. Straight through another, followed by a right down stairs. The Tarnished couldn't tell where they were going, all the walls blended into a stone mosaic, yet Ansbach walked with the remembered steps of a path well travelled.
"I propose a traditional Pureblood Knight duel of endurance, you are, after all, a member."
A member in name alone.
That thought went unspoken.
The time spent solidifying his reputation with Varré felt like a distant memory, all done with a certain capriciousness. He had been intrigued, and Varré’s eccentricities made him hard to ignore. He followed those orders hoping for a unique reward, an appointment with Mogh could certainly be considered one. He didn't know the philosophy of the Pureblood Knights, or much about them in general, he could hardly be counted among their number.
That was his opinion of the matter.
"What does such a duel entail?"
"You shall see."
Ansbach's voice was stern. It reminded the Tarnished of his form against Miquella's consort, unyielding. He felt like an initiative with Ansbach leading him, all he had done with Varré had been a farce, his true initiation into the Pureblood Knights began now.
Ansbach stopped, the Tarnished almost colliding with him in surprise. Taking a moment to look around, he expected to see a suitable battleground, perhaps the walls of an armoury, or maybe the purple cosmic expanse between stone columns where he had slain Mogh. It was a plain bedroom. A small bed, with an accompanying stand and a simple fur carpet. Here? Inquisition rose in him, he turned his gaze back to Ansbach and felt his heart skip a beat.
Ansbach's erect penis was sticking out from his lower robes, his gloved hand slowly stroking the rising member. Not fully hard, yet it was hard to believe it would grow more. It was like a rapier, slightly thin but its length was something to be feared, white pubic hair peeking out around the base like a guard. 6, 7 inches, the Tarnished wasn’t sure of the specific length but it kept rising. Ansbach pushed down on his cock and then let go, the length slapped his clothed stomach with a plap, cock head right where his belly button would be.
“These,” Ansbach’s hand gripped the base of his fully erect dick, “shall be the blades we will yield. It’s a simple matter, we’ll pit our manhoods against each other, whoever breaks away or climaxes first admits defeat.”
What madness.
Such open perversion would be met with disdain and confusion anywhere in the Lands Between and beyond.
What had the Pureblood Knights been to condone a duel of this nature?
These thoughts ran through the Tarnished mind.
Thoughts any sane person would have surely, righteous thoughts.
Yet he couldn’t agree.
It was strange.
He felt something within him surge, the same thing he had felt when he saw Ansbach heave his Lord’s corpse onto his shoulders, when he saw Ansbach wield his blade with impeccable skill, when he smelled Ansbach’s musk after the man had silently masturbated in the night, when he saw Ansbach cut down a beast, wipe the blood off his blade in one smooth motion and stain his beard with fresh blood, gliding his hand down his helm in a state of reverie.
His desire overflowed.
Ansbach pressed his hand against the Tarnished’s crotch, intending to pull apart the leather covering his adult parts, yet he stopped.
“I see you’re at full attention already.”
Woken from his trance, the Tarnished could understand exactly what Ansbach meant. His dick was painfully hard. Harder than it had ever been before. All the other times, masturbating, fucking and everything else, nothing compared to the arousal he felt now. The leather material bulged out in a lewd shape. Quickly, the robed knight pulled down on the restricting material and watched the erect member burst out proudly, hard with pre oozing from the tip, eliciting a shudder from his opponent.
“As expected of a Pureblood Knight.” Ansbach's voice dripped with pride.
His hand hovered around the length, to touch his opponent’s sword would be against the honour of their duel. The Tarnished’s dick was an inch less than his elder’s, but his girth made up for that fact. The older knight had seen many a dick, but this was a beast, a thick musky meat club.
To the Tarnished, his dick felt like a muscle with the sheer strength of his erection. Scents familiar and new wafted through his helmet’s openings. The scent of man musk, sweaty bodies, exposed manhoods, pent-up fluids, all scents to be savoured and appreciated. Ansbach’s particular musk was heavy. He hadn’t noticed it before but with his heart pounding and senses heightened, it was leathery, distinctly masculine. How much sweat had those old robes absorbed. He wondered if Ansbach masturbated into his robes, staining his pureblood regalia with seed, a satisfied smile spreading under his helmeted face, letting it drip down his thighs, he desperately hoped he did.
“Righteous Tarnished, are you prepared?”
The two men’s cocks jutted out from their battle-ready bodies.
Both tips glistened with translucent preseed.
The answer was clear.
“Yes.”
Silently and slowly, Ansbach lowered himself, dropping to his ass and pushing out his legs. His dick lewdly stood out, musky flesh contrasting against his heavy dark robes. “Sit with me, and we shall begin.”
The Tarnished did as Ansbach had done, sitting on his ass a metre away, yet Ansbach signalled him to come closer in response. It took him a while to comprehend what the older knight wanted from him, his mind too frazzled from this situation.
He stood up and approached Ansbach, heart pounding with each step.
His cock stood proud, its shadow projecting onto Ansbach’s helmet.
Slowly, he lowered himself onto Ansbach's legs. Their greaves overlapped, a faint clink sounding out. He hadn’t realised something metal was under those fabrics.
With that reassurance, he put his full weight on those thighs, landing on his ass with Ansbach’s feet pulling him in closer and before long, they were in the right position.
Lower legs wrapped around each other’s behinds, battle rods grinding up against each other, and helmeted heads facing each other, mere inches apart.
A brief moment of pause passed between them, neither moving an inch.
The calm before a storm.
The Tarnished breathed heavily.
He had gotten lost in his carnal desires for a brief moment back there, but he remembered Ansbach’s request. A proper duel. He couldn’t show anything less than his best here.
Ansbach’s breaths were slow and practised. How many times had he partaken in such a duel, how many times had he won, such thoughts were useless to the Tarnished now. The better warrior would win, simple.
Ansbach began without warning.
With a quick buck his cock slid up, riding back down the Tarnished’s so slow it was like a rehearsed performance. A devious advance that showed Ansbach’s control in their match. He followed up that move with a gentle rhythm of grinding. His hips moved up and down, cock rubbing against the Tarnished’s own.
Hard flesh against hard flesh, compared to fellatio this was a rough and less stimulating experience, but for the Tarnished his unfamiliarity with frotting added an extra layer of perverted thrill. His dick was enraptured by sensual bliss, but basking in it wouldn’t do, he had to meet Ansbach’s level.
Following his opponent’s lead, the Tarnished jostled his hips about. Pleasure ran through his body like a current, rising to a peak each time their leaky cock heads grazed against each other, kissing lewdly before breaking away. Each cock rub caused more pre to leak from their lower heads, drooling down their dicks and slickening their hardened shafts. The rest of the Tarnished’s body was becoming drenched in sweat under that armour, hot from all this action.
Looking down at the sight of their dicks frotfucking made him too horny.
Looking at Ansbach at all made his dick throb with extra desire.
He had to look away to keep his composure.
Ansbach was silent. The Tarnished audibly exhaled with each movement of his hips. His ironclad hands gripped onto the rug, right canine biting down on his lip. Endurance of the muscles was one thing, this was a form the naive tarnished hadn’t even considered training in.
The scent in the room became heady, intoxicating the two in a haze of arousal. The smell of sex was overpowering, dominant to an extent nothing else in the room could be detected, just two heated, sweaty bodies and two hard, musky fuck sticks radiating a manly odour. It wasn’t long until both members were slimy from the excessive pre, this was where the real fun begins, the old knight couldn’t resist grinning at that thought.
A gloved hand squeezed both cocks.
The Tarnished grunted.
It felt dangerously good.
His cock wanted to be touched more, stroked to a finish badly.
"So close already?"
He didn’t think the old man had it in him to taunt, the Pureblood Knights must have been a cruel collection of perverts. Glaring at the old man, he bit down on his mouth.
He tried to slow his heartbeat and take meditative breaths, but his elder wasn’t having any of that. Ansbach began to slowly stroke their cocks, torturously paced to make the Tarnished want to reciprocate those strokes with needy, wild thrusts like an animal in heat. His gloves were becoming sopping wet with pre, but he didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t seem affected by what they were doing at all, as if his dick was pure flesh without senses.
The Tarnished stopped moving his hips.
His left hand reached for their fuckrods, overlapping Ansbach’s grip partially, taking the left side the older knight had neglected. He began to squeeze and prod, cold iron fingers pressing and trailing down every inch of Ansbach’s pliable flesh. The robed knight shuddered and let out a low groan.
It was working, the old man wasn’t immune to sensual pleasures. Seeing his reaction lit a fire in the Tarnished.
"More, you need to put more pressure on your opponent…”
I will, the Tarnished’s mind was aflame with arousal, I’ll make you cum all over yourself in defeat, another spurt of pre spread over Ansbach’s glove. Both hands began to glide up and down their pre-soaked manhoods, each motion accompanied by a slimy squelch.
Ansbach's hips moved faster now, his musky wood riding up and down the Tarnished’s stationary member. Like a beast claiming its prey, Ansbach pressed on relentlessly. He was hungry for victory, more so than pure sexual pleasure, or maybe this was the most intoxicating form of pleasure for this old man.
The Tarnished couldn't keep up with this assault, his dick was too sensitive, too much sensation pouring in with every single motion and touch. Each thrust, stroke, and touch made the warrior shiver and moan in bliss.
His balls were tightening.
His dick was desperate to cum.
His knightly pride wouldn't stand for this.
Using his right hand to push himself closer, the Tarnished forced his weight against Ansbach, thrusting his dick against his once again.
Wild, untrained thrusts.
The Tarnished humped like a beast, without reason, purely driven by instinct.
His rationality was lost.
His only goal was to make the older knight cum.
He could make Ansbach cum first, it was all he needed to do.
He thrust and thrust, Ansbach's hand furiously jerked off their slimy cocks.
Each stroke squelched. Precum was being splattered around them onto the rug.
Was it working, he couldn't tell, so close, drool poured from the sides of his mouth down his neck. He could cum any second now, only pure will was keeping him from shooting his load. Ansbach was panting alongside him, lost in the throes of pleasure.
The Tarnished let out a deep moan. Sexual pleasure was bursting through his body violently.
It felt so good.
His arms shot from his erection and side to Ansbach, wrapping around him and pulling close. Seed rode up his shaft, his body shaking uncontrollably.
A single atom of his will remained, the only thing stopping him from giving in to ecstatic pleasure.
Thrust, fap, fuck, he would make Ansbach cum he would, so close his dick was hungry to cum he couldn’t just a little more so so close, he wanted to fuck Ansbach raw and spray seed all over themselves and rub it into his body and robes and dick and everywhere taste it in his mouth then fuck again and cum, don’t cum can’t cum so close to cumming.
Ansbach spoke.
"You forgot that this was a battle of endurance, not strength, Righteous Tarnished."
Ansbach's voice was a calm water pouring over his resistance.
His tone steady and clear, he was nowhere near his breaking point.
This was the end.
Before he knew it, cum was spraying across Ansbach's robes and cock.
Pleasure made the Tarnished see white. Transported away for a brief moment, his mind shocked to a near numbness. A bliss so consuming it could only be called divine. A powerful first spurt hit the very ends of Ansbach’s beard, most of the seed splattering along his robes and across their close cocks. More and more cum shot from the Tarnished, thick musky white ropes landing on his armour, the carpet, all over themselves. His thrusts continued, slowing down as his spurts became less forceful, eventually turning into a continuous ooze of hot musky milk from his cock head.
The Tarnished couldn't think. Heavy pants escaped his mouth. Such an overwhelming pleasure, it had cleansed his brain of all rational thought leaving only instinct. His arms wrapped like a vice around Ansbach for a solid 3 minutes, slacking and then falling to sides, along with the rest of his body.
The Tarnished was spent.
He had lost their duel.
Ansbach rose from the ground.
“Well fought, Righteous Tarnished.”
The Tarnished propped himself up, wrangling up the minuscule strength left in his exerted body to sit up and face his opponent.
Ansbach’s attire was coated with ropes of seed, already fading into the material. The gloved hand he had used for pleasure was shoved right up by his beard. No sound of licking could be heard. The man simply enjoyed the scent of male virility. He slipped the hand back down to his side, his penis still hard and exposed.
“Going against a knight of my experience, a novice lasting that long is a feat most assuredly. You’re a strong warrior, don’t let your defeat at the cock of an old knight dissuade you from your path. Now more than ever, I have confidence in you as Elden Lord.” His words carried a sense of finality. How long would it be until the Tarnished would depart for the capital once again and claim his place among gods?
“Ansbach…” The words came out hoarse, all the grunting and groaning had done a number on his throat. “Please teach me. I’ll do whatever is necessary, anything you require of me. What I felt in that duel was near indescribable, but it felt like a calling.” It had been otherworldly. He had pushed past himself and felt Ansbach purely when he had climaxed, and he had felt another. “I have travelled this path without faith, only with an instinct carved into this body, but now…” The Tarnished felt strength fill his muscles like molten steel, passion fueling his fire. His hands pushed him back to his feet, and he slowly stood up to meet Ansbach head-on. “I must learn more about the Pureblood Knights, I want to learn more about you, a man as wise and strong as you are hard to come by. I beg of you, please.”
Silence filled the room, the empty halls and all the space between. Ansbach was still, and then slowly, almost leisurely, he extended his hand. “It would be an honour, Righteous Tarnished. What you felt in that moment is something all Pureblood Knights have once endured. A sacred rite. I was hesitant to share such an experience with you, pushed by my desire and selfishness. Now I see it must have been preordained by the Formless Mother, all our encounters. I will show you the entirety of our philosophies and beliefs, and if you still find yourself wanting to pursue this path, then I will mentor you.”
The Tarnished took Ansbach’s hand, both men pouring their conviction into their handshake. It was a promise and a portent of what was to come. A new brotherhood, the teachings of Mogh would live on. Ansbach did not know this, yet his heart was at ease, before him was a new path. Their hands shook, and then they broke free of their respective grips. It was with this, that the Pureblood Knights were revived, the first two of many to join their hallowed ranks. The first two of many to engage in such a duel.