Elden Ring had been released.
As countless players flooded in, countless "eyes" opened at that moment, looking across the intangible mist toward the land known as the Lands Between.
[Do you desire it? Then claim the crown of a lord.]
Listening to the god's promise, the Tarnished approached the fog gate.
[Those denied Grace, those who chose to resist, the base, the noble, revive for this moment...]
From every direction, they stumbled and struggled toward that immense silhouette of the Erdtree.
[All thought is free. Choose. Strive. The final lord has the right to choose the world.]
One Tarnished awoke, seized by a Stormhawk and dropped onto the soil of Limgrave.
Golden grasslands, soldiers patrolling everywhere, and the magnificent Stormveil Castle in the distance.
The player controlled this Tarnished, somewhat clumsily adapting to this world's "rules."
Swing a sword, roll, raise a shield.
At the splendid Church of Elleh, the player met the first merchant and followed his advice to buy a crafting kit and a Flask of Crimson Tears.
The player also received a lecture: "Joining the struggle knowing nothing! What do you take your own life for?"
But the player did not care. Everything here felt fresh and new, until he (she) arrived at the gatefront.
Many soldiers stood ready here, but the bigger problem was the fellow holding a greatshield, steadily thrusting a spear from behind it.
Once, twice, three times... the Tarnished fell beneath that monotonous yet precise spearpoint.
Corpse runs, retrieving souls, trying again, falling again.
That shield seemed like an insurmountable wall, while that spear became a merciless instrument of execution.
"Is this thing even beatable?" The player in front of the screen felt a familiar surge of irritation.
The player looked at the keyboard, then at the "YOU DIED" text on the screen,