Knights of Anathaeum Measure and Tact, or Lack Thereof

[Helena]

art by Kris Kukko​

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Winter of 373
Astenvale Monastery, Within the Valen Wilds
In the Sanctum of Operations

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"I understand your misgivings, Syr Damir, but Lord Dunstable would have been left in the wind had we sent none to support," Helena's eyes were trained on the map of the Valen before them. Figurines of stone, finely carved in the shapes of the Lords and Barons that dotted the territories beyond the Wyld's protection.

The map itself was a work of extraordinary cartography. Made with a living ink, that, if coaxed by magicked hand, could retrace and reform as the boundaries and borders of the territories shifted. Currently, it marked the known battle lines between Dunhold and Jarnlan, the figurines of each Lord's forces there upon the requisite field. As was a pale coin, upon which their Order's Sigil was carved.

"For all the evils that we face, we cannot afford to have a Lord so brazen as, Hugo Järnberg, go unchecked," she said firmly, but kept her head bowed to the man who was likea father to her.

In the near distance, Knights duty bound to the goings on of this innermost room tended seeing pools, wrote missives, and ran reports as others updated the grand map of Aerethil, muralled across the span of the eastern wall. Small markers that glowed with magick were shifted by long reaching tools that carefully traced across the illustrated plane. Each marker represented the last known position of knights afield. Each color, a status. Blue, in rest. Green, on the move. Yellow, in action. Red, in peril. Black, missing in action.

They were like stars, too few against the wide expanse about them.

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Dejan Damir Selene

 

[Dejan Damir]

"I am not worried about Hugo Järnberg, nor should you have been Helena!" The old knight's words were low but powerful.

He brought a singular hand to knit his brow. "Forgive me, captain. I've been worn a bit thin."

Dejan turned away from the map and instead looked towards the blank stone of sanctum wall. "We are at war. Not a conflict of petty barons but something truly without measure. Our very existence and that of so many others is at risk." The knight shifted his weight and then turned back to his former protege. Dejan knew his words were the antithesis to what he often preached.

The Pursuant reached down for one of the reports, looking towards the parchment as if it would teach him something new. Dejan sighed as he placed the report back down on the table. "I've seen a dozen Hugo Järnbergs during my time. They are not the Everwatcher." The old knight would not openly say that they were outnumbered and outmatched but the sentiment could be felt throughout the Monastery.

"How many of our brothers and sisters will this skirmish cost us?"

Helena Selene

 

[Helena]

To hear him say her name in such a tone took her back to her younger years. Sword in hand, sweat fresh upon her brow, and armor stained by the ugliness of their work.

She did not scowl. She loved this man far too much to feel so small against him. But she could not help but be brought back to those same feelings she had then.

Irritation. Frustration. The want to break free.

He was her mentor. Would always be. Yet.

"There is nothing to Forgive, Syr Damir," she said fast. "It is as you say," she agreed. As the chrysanthemums upon the magicked map shift and pulsed their lighs. Greens to yellow. Yellows to green. One Yellow turned red. That brave flower that held the line at Dunhold. Peerless white against bright blue. Helena's brow furrowed as she thought of all those that had been sent to that front.

Dejan's words sank all the deeper. But such was the weight of command. She let out a breath. Slow and measured. And drew one in to buoy herself.

"We cannot afford to let our allies face their threats alone, Syr Damir, what good would our pacts be, should we fail to head their call when answered?" she answered firmly. Looked back to the reports as those knights of loch saw to the pools of sight. Her heart wavered. But she held on to what had lead her to her decision. "I know that the Everwatcher is our true foe at this hour, Syr Damir," she turned to fix her gaze upon him. Soft, but no less firm for it. Still, she bowed her head. "But our reports from the field spoke of communions amidst Lorded Lands. Our own Knights saw a son of Pinkrose, turned to bloodborne horror," she rose her chin once more. "If we do not bolster our allies, do we not leave their blood more easily drained by our foe?"

Dejan Damir