Ogier: Oathbound Build Guide — Morimens

Though their frames are the same, the difference between this boy and the familiar little knight is plain to see. The light has left his eyes; his white garments are sullied. More telling still, he keeps to himself, pointedly maintaining a distance from all living souls. But there is no need to fear. Beneath that horrific slime beats the heart you once knew—one that still pulses for loyalty and justice. Though his oaths were once forsaken, he has at last reclaimed his creed. He will continue his struggle—against the other voice echoing within him, and against any force that threatens what he holds dear.

Dear readers, this is an afterword, but more so, it is my confession. To finish this old-fashioned chivalric novel, I spent a fortune at auction to acquire that mysterious helmet, one said to belong to no kingdom known to history. And thanks to it, as you can see, inspiration flooded me; I felt as if I truly saw a vast and ancient battlefield, with armored knights crossing blades. Relying on these wondrous hallucinations, I completed what I consider my finest work. But I never expected that this antique, even as it granted me inspiration, harbored a terrifying demon within. Readers, try to imagine a voice—chaotic, unrelenting, droning day and night. Now imagine your limbs acting on their own, your mind blacking out again and again. No, it's not blacking out; it's more like your will detaching from your body. You know exactly what you are doing, but you can only watch... yet that was undoubtedly my body. Just last night, as I finished the final page, I heard It again. And then—God, I cannot bear to recall those scenes— I have committed an unforgivable sin. The newspapers will tell you before this book does... It—again—It is starting again— (handwriting grows crooked) No no no no no no no no, I can't—not again— ... (handwriting steadies) Surprisingly, It stopped—as if something was weighing It down. I don't know what it was, but I am grateful for its struggle. Perhaps God is giving me one last chance, sparing me from becoming a devil entirely. My pistol is loaded. May God forgive me. —Excerpt from the afterword of The Shadowless Knight, the final work of writer Clark Zeiros

Mythag once had a haunting that put the whole school on edge. Below is the interview transcript compiled by campus reporter Hannah: "Late at night, I heard rustling in the stacks... I didn't dare look. But the next morning, I found all the books shelved perfectly, better than I could have done it myself!" —School Librarian "Don't you think the campus has been much cleaner lately? Could there be a ghost picking up the trash at night?" —A Fieldwork Instructor "On missions, I always feel like I'm being followed... Sometimes I hear fierce fighting, but when I turn around, there are only the remains of Dissoluted monsters all over the ground." —A Rookie Investigator A few bold students formed an investigation squad, trading one night's sleep for the truth. The culprit confessed to his "crimes" and sincerely apologized for causing panic. Yet when the thanks began to pour in, he seemed rather ill at ease. In his own words, "I just like to keep my hands busy." When asked, the school counselor, Sylvia, offered her diagnosis: "He's a good boy, kind by nature—but he carries too much guilt over the past. Over time, it turned into a deep-rooted sense of unworthiness—kindness offered too plainly only makes it harder for him." This incident blew over quietly, but the legend of the "Formless Ghost" spread in its wake. By unspoken agreement, the faculty and students said nothing of who he was. In time, everyone came to understand that this "ghost" simply wanted to help. Everyone seemed to sense that for a boy who doesn't want to be seen, the best thanks is to let this secret remain his alone.

He too once set out on a journey, just like the heroes in bedtime stories. But he was no knight of justice, and there was no longer any princess left in the world to be saved. He slew not fearsome dragons, but many unarmed civilians, wailing and fleeing in terror. "The young knight slew the wicked wizard, routed the stubborn enemy forces, and razed the monsters' fortress to the ground... He was brave, mighty, invincible. Down that endless road, he left nothing but a long, trailing streak of blood." Were there a bard who couldn't tell dreams from reality, he would surely spin the tale like that. But the protagonist was lucid; those eyes had never reflected anything false. He knew his spear had pierced an old man's chest. He knew the black slime had devoured the soldiers long since surrendered. He knew a family's little cottage had turned to ash as he passed... all because they were connected to those who took what he once guarded. He knew he had never lived in any fairy tale; those romantic illusions had died along with his homeland. Perhaps he grew up in that moment. Perhaps he was a child still. It wasn't until he finally came to his senses, giving his life for complete strangers, that he saw a phantom in his tears—a phantom that should not exist. "Ogier, I am deeply disappointed in you. You are a knight in name only, the most unworthy of all." The "princess's" face seemed veiled in sheer silk, but her voice was crystal clear, sharper than any blade in the world, gouging his heart. This cruel hallucination torments him still, a nightmare that did not fade with death. He will spend eternity drowning in the remorse of a broken oath.

The pitch-black sludge, the symbol of his sin, still roils within him, scheming to seize control of this body again. He must constantly cling to that fragile thread of will to keep from losing the battle. And what he has found anew for himself—what is worth defending—has become the sole anchor tethering his sanity. He can never return to his homeland, but Mythag has become his new castle. He can no longer guard his princess, but fate will bring new encounters. Where none can bear witness, the boy drops to one knee, one hand pressed against his cold chest, and declares to his absent lord: "I shall obey your command, my lord. Though my life burns to ash, though my soul is bled dry... I shall guard you and your world forever." "This... is the oath... I bear once more."