The Omen

Tarnished. I am Morgott, the Omen King. Now, look upon me. Look upon the horns, the shadow, the monstrous visage that doth repel thee. Thou seekest the truth of the Omen? Thou seekest to know the very nature of the curse I carry? Then listen, for I shall grant thee that bitter wisdom.

The Unwanted Seed

We, the Omen, are born of the Crucible. Speak not of the Golden Order's sterile perfection; speak rather of the primordial beginning. Ere Marika's rule, ere the trees were pure, all life was mingled together—a furious, chaotic blend. The Crucible was the font of all things.

We are the chaotic remnants of that early age. The Order seeks to prune the horns, to shave the scales, to purify itself of the ancient seed. But the horns always grow back. We are the stubborn, chaotic truth that the Golden Order doth desperately try to inter.

And why are we rejected? Because the Order’s architects—my mother, Marika, and her followers—could not bear to look upon the messiness of their own origins. We are the living proof that the Golden Law is a lie of perfection.

The Subterranean Chains

My twin, Mohg, and I were both born to the Golden Lineage, yet we were marked by the curse. They could not slay us, not whilst the Elden Ring was whole, so they did the next cruelest thing: they hid us.

We were cast into the depths—the Subterranean Shunning-Grounds—the sewers beneath the blessed capital of Leyndell. We are the filth, the shame they sought to wash away with the city’s refuse. We were chained, imprisoned, and forgotten.

The other Omen—the countless souls born cursed and nameless—they remain down there, a wretched army of the scorned. They are denied the sight of the sun and the grace of the Erdtree, simply for being born amiss.

The King’s Irony

Yet, here is the irony that should break thy pitiful heart, Tarnished: I am the only one who defended them.

Whilst my siblings—Godrick, Radahn, Rykard—did tear the Elden Ring into fragments and set the world aflame with the Shattering, I, the exiled Omen, rose from the sewers. I did not raise an army of the cursed. I chose to fight for the very kingdom that did reject me.

I am the Last of All Kings, the one who standeth before the gates of Leyndell, wielding both the hatred of my cursed blood and the loyalty of a king. I fight to protect the Erdtree, not because I am loved by it, but because I swore an oath to the Order that did banish me.

I am Morgott, the shame of the Golden Lineage. I am the Omen King, and I shall not suffer thee, a mere Tarnished, to kindle thy fleeting flame of ambition.