sos un maquina

pq me gusta

porque tenes mas de 200 horas en juwgos furros

que dice ahi no se ingles

The fallen leaves tell a story.

The great Elden Ring was shattered.

In our home, across the fog, the Lands Between.

Now, Queen Marika the Eternal is nowhere to be found,

and in the Night of the Black Knives, Godwyn the Golden was the first to perish.

Soon, Marika's offspring, demigods all, claimed the shards of the Elden Ring.

The mad taint of their newfound strength triggered the Shattering.

A war from which no lord arose.

A war leading to abandonment by the Greater Will.

Arise now, ye Tarnished.

Ye dead, who yet live.

The call of long-lost grace speaks to us all.

Hoarah Loux, chieftan of the badlands.

The ever-brilliant Goldmask.

Fia, the Deathbed Companion.

The loathsome Dung Eater.

And Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-knowing.

And one other. Whom grace would again bless.

A Tarnished of no renown.

Cross the fog, to the Lands Between.

To stand before the Elden Ring.

And become the Elden Lord.

Yes, indeed. It is called Lothric, where the transitory lands of the Lords of Cinder converge. In venturing north, the pilgrims discover the truth of the old words: "The fire fades and the lords go without thrones." When the link of fire is threatened, the bell tolls, unearthing the old Lords of Cinder from their graves...Aldrich, Saint of the Deep... Farron's Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers... And the reclusive lord of the Profaned Capital, Yhorm the Giant... Only, in truth... the Lords will abandon their thrones... And the Unkindled will rise. Nameless, accursed Undead, unfit even to be cinder. And so it is, that ash seeketh embers.