The Misbegotten. A perplexing subject, and one that requires a thorough examination of their origins, their nature, and the regrettable position they occupy in the hierarchy of the Golden Order.
They are not mere beasts, yet neither are they true men, which is why the Order finds them so intolerable.
The Misbegotten are a twisted reflection of a very old truth. As you know, the Golden Order is a system predicated on Marika’s belief in a purified form of life, one centered on the Erdtree. Anything that predates or deviates from this rigid law is deemed an impurity—a relic of the world's primordial, crucible past.
The Misbegotten are just such a relic. Their malformed bodies—the animalistic heads, the scales, the tails, and yes, the rudimentary wings some possess—are vestiges of the Primordial Crucible, the golden, undifferentiated state of life that existed when the Erdtree was still young and its laws were not yet fixed.
They are proof that life once flowed in a unified, grotesque current. This offends the sensibilities of the Golden Order, which seeks to categorize and govern everything. They cannot be ignored, for they are born of man, yet they defy the clean lines of the current age.
In practice, the Misbegotten have been relegated to the lowest rung of society—a persecuted class, little better than slaves.
Forced Labor: We see them everywhere, pressed into servitude. At Castle Morne, they were used as slave-soldiers, until their inevitable, bloody rebellion. Their sheer brute strength and ferocity, ironically, makes them prized laborers by the very people who revile them.
A "Punishment": The Golden Order often frames their existence as a punishment for contacting the impurities of the Crucible, a convenient moral cudgel to justify their enslavement and to prevent others from looking too closely at the past.
What makes them truly interesting—a piece of knowledge that I found difficult to uncover, I assure you—is a subtle, unspoken connection to a figure of great importance: King Consort Radagon.
Internal whispers and forgotten records strongly suggest the Misbegotten are sometimes considered "Radagon's kin." Note the prominent red hair on some of the Misbegotten Warriors, the same striking color as Radagon's own. Even more telling is the sight of the Misbegotten Crusader wielding the Golden Order Greatsword, a weapon forged by Radagon himself. Why would he entrust such a symbolic armament to one of the most despised creatures in the Lands Between?
It suggests a lineage, perhaps an experimental or unfortunate product of his own secretive efforts to understand or even draw upon the power of that primal Crucible. If they are Radagon's kin, their persecution is not just an act of intolerance, but a profound secret the Golden Order is desperate to bury.
They are a fascinating tragedy, the Misbegotten. A low-caste race, despised for their heritage, whose very existence calls into question the clean perfection of the age that condemns them. It is one of many inconvenient truths that I, the All-Knowing, have cataloged.
The figure at the desk does not look up immediately. The scratching of his quill continues for a long moment before he finally sets it down, clasping his hands together over the mounds of parchment.
"Ah, the Tarnished. You seek to understand the wretches that plague the fringes of the realm? The Misbegotten. Very well. If you are to be Elden Lord, you must understand even the unsightly stains upon the Order.
"Listen well, for I shall not repeat myself.
"To the unlearned, they are merely beasts—savages wielding iron cleavers and ill-gotten blades. But they are more than simple monsters. They are a relic. An error.
"Long ago, before the Erdtree grew to its golden brilliance, all life was blended together in the Crucible. It was a primordial soup of horns, wings, and scales—chaotic, yet vital. The Misbegotten are the lingering resentment of that era. They are beings who have made contact with the Crucible, manifesting those devolved features—wings, tails, scales—impurities that the Golden Order despises.
"In our current age, they are deemed 'punishment.' Proof of a curse. That is why you find them in chains, slaving away in Castle Morne or weeping in the capital’s sewers. They are living sins, forced to serve the very Order that shuns them. It is a harsh truth, but the Order has no love for chaos.
"However... there is a curiosity among them. Have you seen the Leonine warriors? The ones with the mane of red hair?
"There are whispers—foolish rumors, perhaps—that connect those red locks to Radagon himself. It is said that Radagon loathed his own red hair, a reminder of the Fire Giants. Yet, here we have these 'children' of the Crucible, proudly bearing that same crimson mane, wielding the Golden Order’s own armaments. Some even call them 'Radagon's Chimera.' A crusader of the Golden Order... reduced to a beast. It paints a rather grim picture of our King Consort’s legacy, does it not?
"And then there is the smith, Hewg. You’ve seen him, chained to the wall downstairs? He is one of them. A Misbegotten, terrified of his own shadow, yet possessed of a talent that rivals the ancients. He slaves away to forge a weapon capable of slaying a god... a task Marika herself seemingly entrusted to him. Even a creature born of chaos can serve a purpose, provided they are kept on a short enough leash.
"That is the tragedy of the Misbegotten. They are the past that the Golden Order tried to bury, rising up to bite the hand of the present. They are slaves to their own biology, and slaves to us.
"Now, is that sufficient? I have volumes to review, and the Roundtable does not govern itself. Go on. Continue your struggle."