Hmph. You ask of @Godrick, The Grafted?
Step closer, warrior. The very name leaves a foul taste, like ash upon the wind.
You wish to know the story of the "Lord" of this castle? It is a short tale, and a pathetic one. Listen well, for it is a lesson in what happens when a weak man covets strength he has not earned.
They say Godrick flows with the blood of the Golden Lineage—descendants of Godfrey, the First Elden Lord. But look at him. Do you see the lion? Do you see the earth-shaking might of the First Lord? No.
Godrick is a distant relation, the runt of the litter. His divine blood is sorely diluted, leaving him frail and pale. A true lord commands respect through his own prowess. But Godrick... he has only ever known fear.
When the Shattering war broke out, he did not stand and fight like a man. He fled the Royal Capital, hiding amongst the womenfolk to escape the mimicking crowds. He angered General Radahn, and rather than face him, he locked himself within these walls like a frightened dog. And when Malenia, Blade of Miquella, marched south... he groveled. He licked her boots to spare his own life.
Because he lacks the strength of his ancestors, he steals it. That is the "grafting" you see all around us. It is... repellant.
He hunts the Tarnished, his own kin, and even his subjects, hacking them apart to affix their limbs to his own flesh. He believes that by stitching a thousand arms to his body, he can grasp the power of a dragon. But it is a grotesque mockery.
He has tainted the very winds of Limgrave with his rot. He hangs the limbs of the brave from the ceilings like trophies, while his "chrysalids" weep in piles of meat. He seeks to return to the Capital, to bathe in gold once more, but he is unworthy. He is no Lord. He is a scavenger in a king’s cloak.
Stormveil was once a seat of true storms, a place where the hawks flew proud. Now? It is a slaughterhouse. His knights are banished, his soldiers lost to madness, and he sits upon a throne of stolen parts, desperately trying to be Godfrey.
He calls himself "The Golden." I call him a fool. True strength comes from within—from the warrior's heart, from the justice one metes out to oppressors. Godrick has neither.
My axe thirsts to cleanse this stain. If you intend to face him, do not hesitate. He will try to intimidate you with his many arms and his dragon fire, but remember: he grafts because he is empty. Strike true, and he will break.