Romans & histoires Bloodhound's Fang Elden Ring Location

Felixe’s POV Dan and I were at our wit’s end by now. We had scanned the entire Port Radium and Echo Bay area on the shores of the Great Bear Lake. There were quite a few defunct mines on the LaBine Point and McTavish arm of the lake. We had already inspected them, but our results yielded nothing. There were no signs of the Flame Hounds and their hideout. In fact, we couldn’t even get their scent. Dan and I had sneaked in here to gauge their location. We hadn’t brought our army of warriors yet.

“We’re here,” I look up, my irritation already coming up to my voice before I can control myself. “I see. Where is… here, exactly?” It looks like we’re in the middle of nowhere. I can't even tell where we are even though we are still in Italy. Before Damien responds, he’s at the door, helping me out of it. “It’s one of the many bases Lucien tortures people at times. He said that you might like the background,”

Nasir's POV Night wind carried the smell of something not of this world. My wolf stood on end the moment it reached me, pungent ash, frozen dirt and something older than death. I came to a halt on the northern ridge, nostrils flared with every instinct howling. Lucian caught the shift a fraction later. His shadow-dappled eyes flashed to me, blade-sharp "You can smell it too." Not a question. "Yes" I growled "She's here."

"How do you even begin that kind of hunt?" Through the bonds, Sera's voice came to me. "I know where it is. I can feel it through the fragment. It's been calling to me since Marcus died." I focused on her, seeing through her eyes. She was staring at a map, her finger pointing to a location deep in the Wastes, the no-man's land between territories where few wolves ventured. "There," she said. "That's where the entity is anchored. I'm certain." "Then that's where we go," Kael said.

He gripped the obsidian hilt of the Lunar Dagger so hard his knuckles turned a bloodless white. "Underneath?" Fenris landed beside them, the impact making the rusted metal groan. The massive hybrid’s breathing was a wet, guttural rasp. He wiped a smear of black sludge from his snout, his red-gold eyes narrowing at the dark surface below. "The Drowned District belongs to the Siphoner eels and the Vamps. We’re in a goddamn barrel, and they’re starting to shoot."

The dog’s maw flashed with teeth of carved ivory as it snapped at the orbs of protection. Vulture shouted: “To arms!” Petrov and Sokolov unleashed wards of flame and barbed shadows, driving the beast back—but not before it saw Aragorn in the cradle. The hound recoiled with a tortured howl, then vanished in a burst of black smoke. Elias stared at the scorched earth. “It got a glimpse… it’ll lead them here.” No sooner had the brothers regrouped than the earth fractured. The Hollow King’s presence roared through the fortress like an earthquake. Shadowy forms battered the walls—spectral thieves clawing at the seals.

I press the bloody fingerprint directly into the center of the bone, staining it. I want him to see it. I want him to know that everything he loves belongs to me now. The taste of victory is not sweet. It tastes like iron. It tastes like more. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and open the Moonbook app. My pinned post is still at the very top of the local network feed. Item: Unknown beast fang. Sourced from the ruins of the Blue-Claw territory. Highest bidder takes it. The comments are a war zone. Thousands of wolves from across the continent are bidding fortunes just to get their hands on a piece of Julian’s humiliation. The price is currently sitting at three million pounds.

“Since when did I ever claim to be a hero?” Fenrir snorted in my head, but his voice had steadier undertones. The plan stood. Hollow Oak — east of the river, a ruined furnace marked by a sigil that tasted of old bargains. The shard hummed in its lead box, a captive thing that might sing for freedom at any moment.

Between them, carved wolves—Blackmoon’s black stone, Nightfang’s pale bone—marked patrol routes, known hazards, the twisted tree where the dolls had been, and, far north, the little X of the cabin. I stood at Lucian’s right. Not behind. Beside. Rhea leaned against the far wall, Darius opposite her. Elder Rowan hovered near the shelves, arms full of hastily pulled scrolls. A Nightfang female—lean, scarred, with eyes like stormwater—stood near Kade, arms crossed, watching like a hawk. The air smelled of old paper and fresh tension. Lucian tapped the map, his finger landing on the crooked symbol that represented Elyra’s den.

Dark Tower. Lord Rhovan strode into the Sacred Altar, his cloak trailing behind him. The servants bowed low as he passed. “Have you reached her?” he demanded at once. The mage turned slowly, his hands still glowing faintly with lingering power. “Aye, my lord.” Rhovan stepped closer. “Where is she?” The mage closed his eyes, as though reliving the vision. “In a village. A human settlement by the name of Eldenreach.”