Knights of Anathaeum The Chrysanthemum King

[Adjantis]

Trespassers to the Wylds had often called this area 'treacherous', when in truth, it was more so wilful, conscious, and arbiter of the path that might be allowed. Encountering vegetation that teemed and outshot in response in myriad colours that might place the bird of paradise to shame, denying entry with ever expanding roots and leafy sinew, many an explorer, both of foul intent and well meaning curiosity, was declined footfall that might explore this more secret area of the forest. A place that chortled with odd laughter on the sweetened air. A place that if one cared to listen to from the outskirts of those natural barriers, one could hear the murmurs of stories being recounted from the wind itself before being met by approving mirth or request for further words.

Adjantis had so listened for numerous hours now. Nestled within the forest as if he were well placed to hibernate, or perhaps set to release the trap of his own hindlegs to pounce in surprise. In truth, he was allowing his armour to recover from barbs of a hunter who had been driven off by his roar earlier that day. The arrow born from them had been stopped by his armour, yet the armour had been impacted by the blow. It was deep gouge, yet he was unhurt, and Adjantis knew that if one allowed too many glancing strikes go unattended, the armour might fail in it's purpose. The pale ivy green armour was resealing it's wounds, for it was a piece of armour that while not as tough as those who might wear plate, could sustain itself when plunged into the abundance of wildlife that Adjantis so often found himself calling home.

His eyes peered out for sign of anyone entering or leaving the intense barrier that even he had been unable to breech by appeals to the domain of Wyld magic, yellow discs that did not tire of staring into those vibrant colours. His features had adopted the colour of the vegetation around him as to prevent his presence from disrupting the goings on that he wished not to interrupt. The armour regathered it's strength, and finally, issued subtle creaking sound as it flexed and realigned itself in completion.

Having contented his need to protect his gear, and to survey the goings on of the forest, unsure of the meaning behind the laughter behind this barrier of vibrant colour, and the low intonation of stories delivered, he rose from the under brush to full height. It was as he did so it was only then that he picked up on the timbre of voice telling the current story being told, as memory served him in this moment.

“Impossible,” Adjantis breathed to himself flatly as he stared on at the barrier, “He's stationed in the Southern March. It can't be his voice.”

Yet his gut and intuition told him that this was so. He sniffed the air deeply and thought upon that particular smell that carried above all others. Having attended the duties of warding hunters and poachers, as well as tending to the small gardens of life he had been charged by oath itself to nurture and protect, Adjantis made his way home to the Monastery through the forest, taking some hours to reach his comrades, to recount his findings to his fellow knights, of a place that was guarded, yet laughed, that was heavy with the scent of Chrysanthemums, and carried the voice of Syr Nathaniel Accolon.

The knights had found that there was cause most great with finding this Syr Nathaniel Accolon, for he had disappeared with nought but Chrysanthemums in his chambers, the symbol of the Knights of Anathaeum. Foul play being suspected from the knights themselves by the people of the marches, Syr Accolon was charged with being found, and soon, knights were gathered to the purpose of returning into the forest, with Adjantis to lead them to the spot where he had found such a barrier.

 

[Dejan Damir]

Word had come to the Monastery from the March, Syr Accolon had gone missing. The name evoked a deep nostalgia within the Knight Pursuant. He remembered when the lad joined the Order, desperate to prove his worth. Dejan had naturally sympathized, both were not the heirs of the houses. One had to find a way to distinguish themselves. It had been different for the older knight, who never sought reconciliation with his original family. The same could not be said of Syr Accolon as he was ever cognizant of his people.

The man was not one to abandon his duty, of that the Pursuant was sure. Truthfully the knight had little desire to stray from the Monastery's borders. Much had transpired over the last few months and the veteran was certainly feeling his age. This, however, was not something Dejan could simply ignore. Part of him wondered if it was best to recuse himself from this particular mission. Only a month ago, his previous entanglements with a Baron had nearly gotten a squire killed.

Even after all these years, the knight was not immune to regret.

Thus he found himself at the border of the Monastery with his companions.

"This barrier seems to be our first port of call," the Pursuant stated. He stood among the Sworn but Dejan did not see himself above. Syr Adjantis had brought this most crucial information and the Pursuant was content to follow. "If you would Syr. I suspect we have not the luxury of time."

Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Do we ever, friend Damir?' Faramund asked of the Pursuant by his side. 'Have the luxury of time, I mean.' Having served the Order for going on three years now, the Sworn was hard-pressed to remember a time in which they weren't rushed for time. Indeed, to the knight's cynical mind, there seemed to be no end to the problems that found their way to their Monastery's well-worn doorstep. At this rate, he was likely to start thinking the Order was cursed.

With bad luck, and the world's collective shortcomings. And perhaps, worst of all, a constant and permanent lack of manpower.

Please, God, let this be an easy fix, Faramund prayed, turning his eyes to the baby blue sky in the hopes that some higher power might hear his plea and so take mercy on the band of noble souls tasked with finding and retrieving Syr Accolon from wherever he might have gotten himself in the time it had taken to discover him missing. Which, so far as the Sworn knew, was a hell of a long time indeed.

Sighing across at Syr Adjantis, Faramund let his horse idle along towards the forest barring their way. Though he lacked the magical talent of most of his peers, the knight sworn had always possessed something of an affinity with nature. He had been a scout once, after all. Alas, time and negligence had put paid to all that. Now, he was just a knight: a steel-clad warrior, as brave and brawny as the best of them. And slow. Too slow, if he was being honest with himself.

Usually he wasn't.

'How far do you make it to this barrier, Syr?' Faramund inquired of his comrade, turning in his saddle to regard the lion knight for a moment. Shadow consumed the face beneath his open visor, but there was light to be found in the dawnling's eyes. He blinked. 'Time waits for no man, after all, and I fear Syr Accolon's may soon run out. If it hasn't already.'

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

Syr Adjantis looked at each knight in turn and felt the reassurance of their council. By nature Adjantis was a solitary sort, more comfortable with the sounds of the forest instead of the utterances of his comrades, but on this occasion he was glad to have the assistance.

He wasn't sure on what to do concerning what he had discovered. The action of pruning and tending to the wylds was an instinctive matter to him. It came naturally as stalking to him. It was as if the spirit of the wylds did guide his hand through subtle requests that Adjantis still found difficult to communicate how he knew what to do. It was muscle memory in a way. A reflex for being part of Wyld magic so thoroughly and regularly. And time was the primary factor in absorbing oneself in the problems.

Time he did not have this time to dwell upon the correct course of action in what regard to what he had heard behind the barrier. He thought on how he approached most problems with patience and wisdom. Wisdom to the needs of the glades, to the trees, to the lawns, to the flowers. Making small alterations over time to allow things to grow. This problem did not allow such a relaxed and tranquil attitude.

To the beasts one must pay respects, he thought, and allow to trample over your fine work as it see fit and not grow bitter. As to rescuing Accolon, he hoped the work that had gone into that man had not been set to waste by some ensnarement of his noble spirit.

Adjantis got out of his head and replied, his eyes one that had seen perhaps a little too much on his own, a wild sort of look that shared so very much in common with the wandering animal who gazed down a hunter's bow one too many times.

“We follow the central path of the forest until we hit the field where boars do gore and nocturnal birds do make their nest, turning east from there we walk the narrow path twice overgrown with fungi, and upon finding the tree with thick coat of dead man's fingers between it's bark, we do pace a quarter circle to face north east, and walk down the grass that smells most similar to opium and jasmine. Some time in there we encounter the carnivorous plants that do feast on small rodents, and finding the mark of claw I left there, find the barrier a few paces towards the setting sun. This is the path I walked to find it. This is the path we shall take to find it once more,” Adjantis stated, and his armour made creaking sounds as he checked his gear.

“We talk on the way. It has been some time since I've had good conversation. How are you both? Any missions of note I was too busy with glade and wood to indulge in? The wood does so demand my attentions so. I heard there was some kind of drinking competition,” Adjantis said as they began to set foot to tread, his voice somber, yet he was very much interested in the answer, despite how reserved his voice seemed to be of enthusiasm. It was just his way. Once you've spent so long in the forest, you forget how sentients speak to one another, and instead talk as one simply thinks in the surroundings of the wood.

A process that Syr Accolon was enduring right now against his will.

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

"I seem to remember there being such a time but now I wonder if it was simply the privilege of youth," remarked the old knight with a wistful sigh. None among the three could be considered young, thus Dejan suspected they understood. Syr Faramund's words gave form to an ever increasing problem within the Order. Their recovering reputation had drawn talented individuals to their ranks. Yet power was a lodestone, ambivalent to the nature of the forces it drew. For each subsequent success, a greater threat followed.

Now the Order found itself contending against an old foe, an entity of endless ubiquity. The thought of openly confronting such a being did not bring the Pursuant any joy. The knight had been careful in keeping his fears to himself. This was not the first trial the Knights of Anathaeum had faced, he had to believe it would not be their last.

The voices of his comrades broke him away from any darker thoughts. One problem at a time, the knight reminded himself.

Dejan was not surprised that Syr Adjantis had accurately recalled the path to the barrier. The other knight breathed the Wyld, deeper than Dejan himself even. It would still, however, take time to reach their destination.

"Too many to recount in honest," Dejan said in reply. "Though lately I've been able to devote my efforts towards instruction within the Monastery. Last time I took a squire along with me on a mission, the town ended up enraptured by a necromancer." The old knight's tone was more tired than irritated.

He tossed a glance towards the other Sworn. "If you wish to know about drinking competitions, your inquiries are best directed towards Syr Faramund."


Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'I'd... rather not talk about it,' the sworn replied, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep its way up his neck. One night was all it took. One night and two pints to destroy a reputation that had been built up over the course of years. Years! And all because the showrunners had supplied the contestants with a dodgy keg.

Well, some of the contestants. Captain Selene had been sabotaged by nature itself, and Abrielle... poor squire Abrielle had suffered from a sudden, crippling bout of overconfidence. But then, didn't they all from time to time?

'I'm not sure whose idea it was to allow a squire to enter a drinking contest, but all I can say for sure is that it was one hell of a night.' Grinning, he looked to both of his companions in turn. The grey-haired man with the one arm looked old, the lion-man intimidating, but Faramund knew at least one of them possessed a sense of humour. Indeed, they were warriors; having a sense of humour was a prerequisite for success.

That... and a strong sword arm.

Turning to Adjantis, Faramund said, 'It would gladden my heart to see you in attendance one of these years, friend Adjantis. The woods are a lonesome place at the best of times, and though I do not doubt your dedication nor your contribution to its wellbeing, it would be nice if you could pay visit to the Monastery more often.' Sure in his saddle, the knight cast an eye to his side. 'I know a fair few people who would appreciate the gesture. Maybe you could even give instruction to the squires, as friend Dejan does.'

Smiling, the dawnling shrugged, your call.

Riding into the forest gloom, Faramund kept his ears peeled and eyes open. The wild things were in abundance here; not all of them were friendly. Wolves and worse haunted a traveller's nights, but by day... by day the forest was alive, and as vibrant as a performing troupe come carnival season.

'Tell me, friend Dejan, how does Squire Innis fare these days? She was the one to accompany you on your quest, was she not?'

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

Adjantis remained quiet as he digested the words from his comrades. He looked dead ahead, his eyes not leaving the trail, his mind focused upon guiding his esteemed and well respected company through the glade. Yet, this was not the time of danger, and conversation repaired his social sensibilities. They had yet to move through any of the landmarks he had previously mentioned. He could feel the resistance within himself towards the act of talking, for every word spoken betrayed their position. His mind growled at him for being tempted to indulge in conversation, but his more human aspects ruled the day. Conversation was to be indulged for the good of the order, for there was no stalking to do this very second. And besides...it was good to have such council.

Syr Adjantis rubbed his throat as if he was about to protect his voice from being damaged from exertion, but no roar emerged from his throat, just words. Words that were soft and regal, deep and clear.

“I'll do my best to attend more in future,” he resolved, “I admit, I do enjoy my own company. But, if the Order needs my presence, I shall attend. Or I should say, wants.”

Adjantis did not look to his comrades as he spoke, his eyes were upon the birds that fluttered through the sky and remembered the names they had sung to him. The birdsong carried communications from far off fields, communications that Adjantis was attuned to. He sniffed the air and already felt that there might be light rain in a few hours. The world was a rich bouquet of input, from the ground that reverberated each fall of feet, to the air that carried scent and history, to the water that lurked in the clouds. Adjantis blinked away such knowledge for a few moments, for he knew he could become drunk on it and silent in his study of the Wylds.

“Squire Innis is it? I too would like to hear how a fledgling fares. It's been some time since I have imparted my knowledge to the squires, be it with...alcohol,” he said, almost stumbling over the word for it was so foreign to his speaking voice, “or with the skills of the Wyld. To hunt, to stalk, to communicate to the beasts and trees, as I do, as do the Masters of the Wyld. But yes. How fared your quest, Syr Dejan, and if any squire needs help imbibing knowledge,” Adjantis said and chuckled in a rather forced fashion, “I would be glad to help. I'll make the time.”

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan had not attended the fest himself but the stories were fast becoming legend. Syr Faramund's sheepish remarks brought a small grin to the Pursuant's face. Even the ever-confident had moments which they were not eager to share. Dejan slightly regretted missing the broofest but also wondered if it were for the better. He always believed there was some benefit to having some separation between the ranks. The older knight often served as both teacher and leader. It was important to maintain a certain distance with certain relationships.

"She fares well, so far as I'm aware at least. I imagine it will not be long before she is Sworn. Twas truly a tough trial that she experienced in Kitwick. Daunting, to say the least. A rather sobering reminder that our enemies are many and infinitely sinister. We were fortunate in this particular case." The smile was gone now, but his expression was otherwise impassive. He had not intended to steer the conversation in a dark direction. "I believe even beyond young Innis, we have a good crop of prospective knights."

Turning to Adjantis he continued. "Faramund has the right of it, your presence and knowledge would certainly be welcome. You know as well as I that the Wyld cannot be confined to any singular school of thought. Not just the squires, there are many who could benefit from your insight."

He gestured over to Faramund, "I believe even our occasionally-sober comrade has taken to providing guidance to some squires."

Faramund Adjantis

 

[Faramund]

'"Occasionally-sober?"' Faramund looked like a great many things, but rarely did one see him shocked. 'Why, friend Dejan, how dare you cast such aspersions my way.' Grinning slightly, the self-proclaimed fool of the party dispensed with any further witticisms by electing to answer Dejan's words in much the same manner he had spoken them: concisely.

'As it so happens, I have indeed tried to impart some small measure of knowledge on the Order's young hopefuls,' the knight confessed, addressing his companions but remaining alert of the world around him. Best time to hit a man was when he was distracted... or down. 'How to track and forage; how to hunt and what to hunt; how to avoid falling prey to the local fauna.'

He nodded to Adjantis, smiled.

'Mostly, I teach them how to survive. A difficult thing to do at the best of times, that.' Yeah, life wasn't easy. If illness and disease didn't get you, something or someone else would. The Order had no shortage of enemies these days; teaching the squires how to fend for themselves if and when it came to it made sense in Fara's mind. Not much else did.

Turning in his saddle, Faramund looked back to Syr Dejan. The knight was a big man at the best of times. On his horse, however, he was damn near gigantic. A force to be reckoned with, thought Fara, smiling to himself. They all were. 'It gladdens me to hear Squire Innis came through Kitwick in one piece,' he called back, speaking from the heart. 'To know she may soon be Sworn... well, some would call that cause for jubilation, wouldn't you agree?'

He let the question hang as he turned back to the road. The buzz of the wyld filled his ear as they rode, on, through winding woods and over humps in the land. Covered in trees as they were, it was hard to admire the view when half of it was hidden from sight. But admire it he did.

For the wylds were his home. His true home, though, the comforts of the Monastery were never far from his mind. Nor -he supposed- the people who lived there. 'Hey, Adjantis!' Faramund called back to the lion knight. 'Think I see that field o' boars you mentioned,' he said, pausing by the wayside to allow the others past. 'Well?'

Dejan Damir Adjantis

 

[Adjantis]

The field of boars held within it six of the said beasts of tusk and rutting noses as they moved through the long grass, some distance away from the knights who travelled their course. The snouted ones pawed with heavy cloven hoof at the soil and moved cumbrously in this moment for virtue of their full bellies. Adjantis' ears flicked away a fly as his eyes peered at them and stared the long gaze of the predator. He resisted rolling his tongue across his jowls. If such a reaction was perceived by the creatures would betray his better nature and disposition towards them. Resisting one's own baser instincts was a knightly aspiration, and in this pursuit of proper conduct and mindset Adjantis did not fail.

However, the lion knight realised he had been silent for far too long as his companions spoke. He considered if remaining unsociable wasn't somehow a shirking a duty of some description. In the spirit of making good his efforts to reintegrate into the group which had so charitably spoken to him with unreserved familiarity, as if Adjantis had spent their regular time in recreation and friendly competition with them instead of such time between meetings, much less missions.

He prepared to speak. Silence was golden as he, yet just as he fought against his instinct to roll his tongue at all that potential meat, he fought his desire to be scarcely seen, much less heard. When he spoke, it was deliberate, low and quiet, as if respecting the nocturnal birds that nestled within the treeline beyond the boar. As if respecting that his voice could become a fearful thing to those they peered upon. His eyes remained fixed upon the boar that explored the grass and seemed oblivious to their presence, their eyes upon the ground and each other, the hoglings scurrying and playing at goring much bigger elders that indulged their attacks by pantomiming great imaginary wounds as they flopped to the ground and huffed.

“It is good that you teach them fundamentals. Do you refer to the Book of Leaves And Plenty More in your syllabus still? Has a particularly good recipe for rabbit, as well as guides on how to spot cantrip infused traps for the hoppers. I-” Adjantis said and blinked as something caught his eye and arrested his speech. He peered on, his ears pricked, his eyes became scrutinous.

The wind changed in direction, swirling as if the epicenter of the gust was the boars themselves. Their fur became turbulent, the hoglings peered in curiosity while the elders rose to their height and pointed their tusks in wide berth at the winds that beset them. The grass shook in all directions in pulses of playful force, yet the boar gathered themselves in a circle, the hoglings in the center, the grown with goring tusk pointed outwards in protection of the younger.

“Never have I seen them form a circle like that at nothing. Something's wrong,” Adjantis said to the group. He considered running in, but remembered what Faramund had said previous. If the young hopefuls were cautious of the local fauna, then he too should be cautious of whatever phenominon was on display.

The winds picked up, and a high and ethereal laughter of cherub like voices joined that flow of air, barely perceptible. The playful voices coursed with those spiralling winds and set about their humour, the boars eyes becoming dulled as they heard that laughter.

The boar began to sink sink into the long grass as if it were quicksand.

Their heads raised up, their mouths agape, their eyes shining with golden motes, disappearing into the grassland.

They faded into the ground. Chrysanthemum flowers began to spring forth in slow bursts where their feet had been, and soon filled their shadow places with verdant pedals and quick replacing roots.

“Chrysanthemum stealing boar now, is it...” Adjantis said in wonder and concern. He looked to his comrades.

The winds died down, and left the scene, bereft of boars, bereft of laughter. Just the knights peering at an open field where sleeping birds rose from their slumber too early in the day, and fluttered away from the scene, for fear of joining those boar's unusual and all too fae touched fate.

"That laughter on the wind, I heard the same from beyond the barrier. Where Syr Accolon's own laughter joined their chorus."

---

Behind the thicket of natural barrier, Syr Nathaniel Accolon of the Southern March was presented with a choice of the boar to feast upon, his eyes shining with that same golden light as he marvelled at the generosity of his hosts. His nose was dulled to the scent of chrysanthemums yet his mouth salivated at the prospect of such a banquet in his honour. His hosts bequethed him the gift as an reward and understanding of his all too human tastes.

His sword remained sheathed, his content smile near permanent, his armour growing more and more overgrown with the purple flower within those secluded place guarded by all manner of fauna and spirits of the forest...

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

The specifics of Syr Faramund's lessons would unfortunately remain a mystery for the time being as oddities began to transpire. While no boar expert, the behavior of the animals clearly suggested they felt threatened. The presence of the knights was unlikely to have elicited such a significant response. Dejan looked to his maned companion and wondered at his initial assessment. Cherubic, but unsettling laughter suddenly echoed throughout the clearing. The boars' caution, it appeared, was not without reason.

Dejan sensed a momentary burst of peculiar magic as the beasts began to sink into the ground. He did not think the others were likely to move forward but held out his lone arm in warning all the same. The scope of this fae spell was yet unknown. The Pursuant's curiosity did not extend to the realm of getting enraptured by the same spell.

"A moment," Dejan said as he dismounted. He knelt to the forest floor and grabbed a handful of loose dirt. The knight muttered a few arcane words and then stepped towards Syr Adjantis. Dejan motioned for the other knight to hold out his hand(paw?), pressing the enchanted dirt between their two palms before finally finally letting it fall to the ground where it began. "Ancient tracking magik. Simple, but not easily broken." One of the many things that he had learned from the living compendium that was Master Brambleshell.

He turned from Adjantis and his gaze rested on Faramund. The old knight said nothing for a few moments, studying the Sworn intently. In the end, the Pursuant let out a resigned sigh. "Let us hope your voice is loud enough..."


Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

'Thank you for the comforting words, brother!' Faramund smiled at his one-armed companion, though, even a blind man could have seen it was forced. The disappearance of the boars, the laughter, the strange motes of light that danced in their absence, all of it left the knight feeling a subtle sense of dread that he couldn't quite place. It wasn't every day otherworldly beings decided to dip their toes into his, after all.

If he had magic of his own, maybe he wouldn't have felt so... powerless to stop it. Oh well.

'Perhaps we should keep moving,' the dawnling advised, snapping out of his reverie long enough to address Dejan and Syr Adjantis. 'What came next. Narrow path, twice overgrown?' Yes, that sounded right. Giving the spot the boars had been a wide berth, the dawnling walked his horse around and across. Though he had not doubted the wylder knight for a moment, Faramund was pleased to find Adjantis's directions were spot-on.

A path thick with forest fungi led away from the glade. Giant toadstools and redcaps lined the means of egress, and sometimes crossed over it. Banners of lichen fell from the branches and vines twisting overhead to drift lazily in the wind. It reduced visibility greatly, and for a moment, the knight thought he saw a figure moving through the trees towards him. A blanket of lichen swept across his view to reveal...

Nothing. There was nobody there.

'So, uh,' Faramund began, searching for his voice, 'are you guys seeing things too... or is it just me?'

Dejan Damir Adjantis

 

[Adjantis]

Adjantis sharp eyes saw the apparition also, and he sniffed the air to detect a scent as his paws extended claw out of perception of something shimmering too close. There was nothing to mark it as corporeal, no hanging scent of physicality, no dew upon the boot, no musk of travelled scents that shod the ground. Still, the eyes did not lie that there was indeed something out there that made swift and sharp approach with misty formation of a self of some nature. Armoured, sword dragging upon the ground, the image shimmered as eyes focused upon it, and shifted into nothingness. At first.

As the three gathered close and peered through the dense forest, all manner of fungus began to glow at the presence of this spiritual image. They began to shake in a swaying dance, and spores began to drift through the air, heavy, portentous with dizzying scents, glowing all the while with yellow drifting lights.

Adjantis snarled as he realised that this could render them incapacitated by heavy breaths of the stuff, and extended his paws out from himself to command the Wylds itself to render itself less hostile to their approach.

The spores were arrested in their movements as Adjantis tapped into the spirit of the Wyld, commanding the air and defenses of the fungi not to view them as threat. He felt no resistance at first, only the dull throbs of plant thought that existed within the spores, but then felt the author of this design probe his mind and defenses. And then slipped away, as if releasing the spell from their own hand to focus on other matters. The author did not make themselves known, they were simply testing the knights it seemed. The spores sank to the ground harmlessly, but even a small gust of wind commanded by someone could set the challenge upon Adjantis again. He kept paws out to ready themselves for such a thing, and cocked his head in numerous directions as the things that Faramund saw made themselves more readily known.

The apparition became many around them, peering from behind trees, racing through the the canopy above them, jumping and leaping through the air beyond what an armoured figure might command, floating upon nothing, vanishing as if expunged from existence if gazed upon for too long. These images drifted into existence, each on vanishing with a half broken sentence. As the three's eyes locked upon the images, the message could be understood.

“Why do...you come here...when rescue...is not wanted?”

At the breaking of this message did mouths appear within the bark of the older trees, the air and smiled all too sweetly, thin lips of green, teeth made of bark as they made further pronouncement with all the overtones of warping wood and shaking leaf.

“You delay your slumber, why not enter our realm of dreams and be sated? You all deserve rest, you all deserve entertainment, you should follow the suit of the one you seek. He is happy. Do you not wish to become contented?”

Adjantis kept his paws out, and felt the spores begin to fight his arresting of their movement. The smiling trees remained so, as if amused at the delaying of the sleeping agent that lurked all too near them all. The images flickered back into existence, this time with sword outdrawn, growing closer, that blade of the spectral image all too real, swiping at the air, feigning what combat manoeuvres might come should they not turn back. Slicing at nothing yet, but growing closer, and less prone to dissipate should the eye focus upon it's rapid, approaching, movements.

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

Anxiety began to creep ever closer as the trio found themselves increasingly surrounded by fungi. Dejan had not immediately seen the apparition as the other two had, but did not have to wait much longer. The sheer denseness of the forest made it difficult for the knight to assess their surroundings. He was a Pursuant of the Wyld, yes, but it was almost overbearing here. It was something akin to a sensory overload. Dejan was also experiencing a vague loss of control. A sense that if he tried to assert his will on the Wyld, that it would not properly heed his call.

Fortunately it appeared that Adjantis was not so afflicted, at least for the moment. It was abundantly clear that succumbing to the soporific effects of the spores in this place would not lead to anything good. The knight kept his eyes on their surrounding even as the various images passed in and out of view. Ironically, the growing sense of comfort was putting him more on edge.

"They are right about one thing, I do deserve some bloody rest," added the old knight with a grunt. The situation had become decidedly less ambiguous with the drawn blades of their spectral foes. It seems they were being given the opportunity to withdraw but that was not an option when the fate of their brother was in the balance.

Dejan drew his blade as he stepped forward, invoking the attention of the nearest spectre. Even as it approached, the knight did not sense any malice. He did not bring his sword to bear at the first strike, watching as the corporeal blade passed through him without much ado. Dejan was not so apathetic to the second attack. This time his blade was met with an all too-real resistance.

He swung his fist in response but only found the dense forest air.

Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Slipping his sabre from its sheathe, Faramund closed ranks with his brothers as the trees began to talk. Whatever warped entity had kidnapped the boars was coming for them now. It didn't take a genius to figure that one out. We are well and truly fucked, the big man thought, counting the strange apparitions as they wove between the forest sentinels towards them. There had only been one to begin with. Now, there were several.

Dejan spoke. Faramund nodded grimly.

'You and me both, brother.' As tempting as the disembodied voice's offer was, Fara knew better than to be fooled by it. The spirits of the Valen weren't all benign, after all. Some liked to trick unwary travellers into taking the wrong turn whilst others... took a more direct approach. 'Lay down your burdens and follow your comrade into the paradise that awaits you,' the voice urged again. 'You have nothing to fear... but so much to gain.' Then, 'I promise!'

The trees with faces began to laugh, sharing in on some joke that Fara didn't quite get. Spitting his disdain, Faramund brandished his sword in a closed fist. 'Hope you boys have a plan, 'cause I'm clean out!' To emphasize the point, the first of the spectres winked into existence a few feet to Faramund's left. Flaky skin peeled away as it whirled its ethereal blade towards the mounted knight.

Leaning aside, Fara riposted, only to find the figure gone.

Grass crunched behind him. Fara barely managed to get out of way in time. 'Cheap bastards, ain't they?' Faramund laughed harshly, cutting back. His sabre cleaved the ghost-like being in two. Not that it did a lick of good, if its reappearance was anything to go by. 'Tough, too! Speaks to my warrior's heart, so it does.' He cast a quick glance to his fellows. 'Now would be a good time to... y'know, kill 'em.'

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

"The plan is,” Adjantis snarled, fur bristling, mane shimmering, claws extending, maw revealing lion canines that bared as jowls bared, “Defiance!”

And then came the booming roar from the lion knight directly into the face of a spirit warrior that swooped in from forest clearing that was enough to stop hearts of those living who received it. To the spectral and fae it was enough to set them to shudder in place as the lion's might was voiced. Wyld met Wyld and met it with all savagery and intense survival instinct. Roaring all the while, eyes dilated with the predator's instinct to feast on the predation required, sword and claw extended and slashed in quick succession at the spirit that was attempting to shimmer away. Blade found it's mark, claw slashed and went to crush the throat.

The spirit warrior's physique snapped out of existence, the armour crumbling to the soil and quickly consumed by decay as what magic held it.

“The Wylds know not of this contentment! The cycle of life continues, the hunt, the stalking, the balance of life and death. We are the end to this charade. This capture of an noble man. Belay your tricks. Or face our wrath.”

The mouths that existed within the trees smiled sweetly and spat out and simple, “Blech!”

Adjantis, sword in hand, snarl upon his lips and eyes hunting for the next target that might greet them, stood proud and strong, confident in his own ability to halt the spirits now his roar had proven that they could be stopped.

“Brothers! Shock and awe them with your fighting spirit and zeal to survive! The Wyld understands its worse nature, resemble it in your contest and you shall overcome these shades of men fallen prey to this lullaby of meek capitulation! Sleep not, rip them apart! Rip them apart!”

A spirit appeared and greeted Adjantis with all too lethal blade. Crashing against his own steel, the lion reared back his head and found the spirit was no longer there, assassins without honour, trickery and speed their weapons. He focused on delivering his roar to those that met steel with his comrades, shocking two by the closeness and volume of his own Wyld nature so that they became stunned in place, ready to be vanquished by his comrades.

The trees looked on with narrowed eyes and sighed.

“Such foolishness. Contentment could be yours. So be it. Die and feed the earth. So you do not interrupt our hosting.”

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

The plan, it seemed, was rather simple. Now what remained was the execution. It was Syr Adjantis who made the first move, his arcane roar bellowed to great effect. Dejan watched as the other knight's spectral foe fell into a heap of rotted armor. Now it was Pursuant's turn to seek his own method of retaliation. His wily opponent was not keen an providing such an opportunity. Dejan parried another two strikes until the lion's roar gifted the required opening. The old knight wasted little time as he brought his blade down in a swift horizontal swipe.

One foe dispatched, and yet there were still more. He could not hope for such timely assistance again. Dejan pierced the ground with his blade, muttering elden words as he did so. Power lanced over the blade and down into the earth. Mud and vine began to crawl over steel. Even as this was occurring, he released the blade and held his hand out in the direction of Faramund.

Wyld magik coursed through him once more. The earth to the side of the Sworn would rumble, cracking in the process. Moments later, a blade would burst forth; a sword borne from the earth. Made from the Wyld but inherently no different than a wooden practice sword in composition. "Don't want to hear any complaints about quality," the Pursuant added with a grunt.

Dejan reached for his own blade as two ghostly soldiers materialized at either side of him. Bolstered by his Wyld blade, he engaged with renewed confidence.

Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

The revenant died for a second time. By then, Faramund was beginning to grow tired of his shit. 'Why won't you die?' He demanded of his foe, not really expecting an answer. The trees -the ones with faces anyway- laughed mockingly in unison. 'Poor, blind knight.' They giggled wildly, their overlapping voices like nails being dragged across a chalkboard. 'Doesn't know when he's beat. Doesn't-doesn't know he's already dead.'

Their laughter continued as another not-real warrior came forwards to test his mettle. Meeting it head-on, Fara cursed his luck as sword and man both turned to smoke. 'Lucky!' The trees, or the one speaking through them chuckled. 'Lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky-'

'Yes, I know!' Controlling his horse with his knees, the big dawnling led his mount through a quick turn. Adjantis's roar and subsequent words did much to steady Faramund's resolve, not that it had ever wavered. Dejan, on the other hand, was performing some magic of his own.

Watching curiously, Faramund's eyes widened as a length of root-wood sprang from the earth to hover by his side. Dejan said something funny. Faramund grinned. 'You'll have none from me!' He promised, sheathing his blade in favour of the one his brother had summoned. Giving it a whirl, the knight brought it about and down in a diagonal slash to cleave a ghost advancing on him from the right.

The Wyld Blade cut true. The ghost staggered back. 'Not laughing now, are you?' Sagging to the ground, the freshly-made corpse shimmered, began to sink into the ground. Righting his gaze, Faramund noticed a new figure standing amongst the trees. Pale blonde hair, eyes as pure as starlight, and a grin as wicked as the one Fara had been born with. 'Eyes up, lads! Looks like our new friend has finally come to join us!' He called out, his grin settling to a scowl as he addressed the new threat.

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

The armoured ghostly forms of the warriors snapped in and out of existence as they yearned for release from this imitation of animation and locomotive motions of violence. Some recoiled and gave salute before dissipating, others looked at their hands in remorse as their blades sank into the earth, a few simply yielded their fighting spirit before collapsing in grief. The spectral energies coursed through the air to rejoin the figure that stood high upon a tree branch, looking down with an all too genuine enjoyment at the display.

He lifted a hand and made a fist, and the fighting ceased, yet weapons were still levied and drawn, spectral eyes and shadowy forms lingering in the air with further promises of contest. The ivy covered armour grew tighter in embrace of the steel as the figure made speech.

The faces that lurked within the trees flickered and grew dulled as the man spoke, as if there was much effort in the process, as if there was a channelling of power going on here. The faces seemed pained in some small way with each word spoken. The man was an amalgam of nature, half formed, half arrested from humanity, yet entirely with present mind to do what he was now driven to accomplish.

“Oath sworn! Ah it is good to see your faces again. I have come to join you, yes. Join you with the Wylds proper and true! As were we meant to be! Each of you understands the majesty of that which is the Wyld more than anyone, the natural eddies and flows of power, and the contentment that can be found within it. It serves you. But you do not serve it! Not as you might! I serve it wholly now, better than I had been when I was alone. This spirit form? A rebirth. A process still not complete, for the oaths resist the change.”

As if mentioning this struggle, the spirit fell to one knee, all the while looking at the three. His eyes changed in expression, to pain and contorted feature. The faces of the tree spirits became twisted also, angered by this volition displayed as they worked their will upon the frame that sat, sleeping, enraptured by vine and under the domination of the fae some hundred feet away. He tried to gasp out something, yet green energies flared from the trees themselves, bringing him back to his feet with that same smile was self assured and marvelling at events even as they fought against him.

“You shall experience this fight yourself in time, but in the end, you shall see. The codes that bind us to duty are strong. But stronger still is the power of the binding that takes place even now. You shall understand this joining in short time. This...liberation. Once the trees close, once the thicket rises, once vine ensnares, then we shall talk again in different terms. You will see my way of it. Our way of it. Fae touched, I now command the earth better than any knight before! Now, let the ground take you, and turn you from interloper and pretenders to true servant! Willing or no, you shall be claimed for your higher purpose. The earth calls! And you must answer!”

The spirits gave salute once more and resumed their pressure upon each of the knights as the figure gave out laughter that faded away with the disappearance of the form.

For there was still the lingerings of resistance that needed to be quashed from Syr Nathaniel Accolon's oath bound duty to fight and resist the process that bound him, and for that final moment, the spirit manifestation of his fae convinced self had to be present.

Blades cut through the air, the trees did smile and with cracking limb did they grow larger and more dominant, raising their branches in inches as if they tugged at the plant life around them to become as marionettes. The spirit warriors fought on, bested each in turn as the very ground did conspire to turn this place into a place of thickets. The rising thorn branch from the soil did seek to ensnare, the trees themselves seemed to grow larger and close ranks in slow creaking consolidation, the grasses becoming thicker and denser, poisonous bush and endlessly growing ferns sought to deny the knights their quarry's true physical location.

Adjantis snarled in response at the increasing adversity and turned to his comrades. He spoke clearly as he parried a blow and delivered swift counter, which was in turn remedied, the clash of steel becoming more proficient with each moment as the spirit engaged with renewed vigour. Blades interlocked, and the spirit leaned forward as pressure mounted.

“We cannot be delayed from this,” Adjantis declared, “charge through, and drive the wall that guards where the body remains away! I can smell him from here. There still may be time to save him!”

Adjantis delivered claw to the throat of the spirit as blades interlocked, sending this spirit to the ground, which was quickly ensnared by racing thorn gripped branch as it crumbled and returned to it's host. The lion knight sheathed his sword in well practised movement and placed himself upon all fours before bounding forward, avoiding the cuts of spirit warriors that snapped into existence to pursue to springing motions.

The wall of which Adjantis spoke of was the same wall that he had approached before being forced to find assistance. And now that assistance was there, there was some hope of beating back this wall of nature's denial. Adjantis formed a spell that would wither away the thicket, but it would require more effort from his comrades to complete. He was loathe to commit any damage to the forest, but if it was between putting down whatever spirits conspired to override the consciousness of their comrade, and losing their lives to those same fae spirits in some servile existence, Adjantis knew there was to be no compromise in beating back the wall. He exerted every iota of arcane strength into withering the vines that contorted as a barrier, to induce it back into saplings as it should be, instead of this impenetrable blockade.

“I cannot do this alone! Wither it away!”

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

The first of his spectral opponents fell to the Wyld in but two bouts, same could not be said for the second. Dejan wondered for a moment as to the nature of his foes. Initially they seemed mere apparitions but it was clear they were something more; spirits of a time passed. The skill of the knight's remaining opponent suggested a measure of individuality. Had they always served the Fae or were they dragged back to this plane unwillingly? Dejan wasn't likely to get an answer and it wouldn't change what needed to be done. Yet before their encounter could proceed further, the knight's spectral opponent took a step back.

Dejan turned his attention to the troubling form of Syr Nathaniel and his equally worrying words. Zealotry laced the man's tone and yet it was apparent that Nathaniel was not entirely under the Fae's thrall. Dejan doubted that would remain true for much longer. Syr Adjantis, seemingly sensing the same, sprang forth into action.

Spurred by his comrade's insistence, the Pursuant quickly cut down his opponent and made for the barrier. Unfortunately, Dejan was not capable of dropping to all fours and bounding forward. Even if he were, it would have made for an utterly ridiculous sight. The sort that Syr Faramund would never let him live down. Thus he opted for a solution more salient to his own talents, magik.

Uttering words of power, Dejan pressed forward even as gnarled roots began to burst forth from the ground. They pierced, snared, and otherwise incapacitated those who stood in the Pursuant's way until he found himself alongside the feline knight. He began to pour his own wyld magik into Syr Adjantis' spell and watched as the barrier slowly began to recede. Dejan quickly realized they would not be able to widen the gap much further than they already had. Desperate not to lose their singular opportunity, Dejan lodged his blade into the meager opening.

"In you go lad," he said to the lone knight incapable of assisting them with the spell.

Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Leaping from the saddle, the dawnling strode quickly through the opening his brothers had rent in the barrier. Fae magic and wyld magic alike pulsed and pounded at the big bastard of a knight as he slipped through, into the forest beyond. Then, silence.

All was quiet in the glade holding Syr Nathaniel. Lanternbugs flitted hitherto, their meagre light casting long shadows across the undergrowth to either side of Faramund. Outside the barrier, the fight raged on. In here, however, there was naught to be found but peace. Tranquillity.

Faramund knew it to be a lie. There could be no peace where fae-things were concerned. Syr Nathaniel had not received that particular memo, apparently. Silly boy.

'Alright, lad! Time for you to wake up!'

Making fast to the dazed knight's side, Faramund slid an arm beneath the knight's own, tried to lift him up. The bugger didn't make it easy for him. 'Come on, now,' he said. 'On your feet, Syr. There are people in need of your aid.' Faramund didn't know whether it was his voice or his choice of words that shook Nathaniel from his stupor, but quite suddenly the knight was stirring against his side.

Nathaniel yawned widely, as if awaking from a deep sleep. 'What?' he asked, blowing a spray of colourful petals across the ground in front of him with every word. 'People... require aid?' It was then Faramund noticed just how vibrant the world around them really was. The shadows had obscured most of it, but with a growing sense of trepidation, the knight began to realise the severity of the situation he had landed himself in.

'Going somewhere?' A rather feminine voice asked, tittering as if she had made a particularly funny joke. Letting go of Nathaniel, Faramund whirled about. He froze. 'Fuck.'

'Now, now,' the fae enchantress chuckled, 'No need for such vulgarity. We've only just met, after all.' Appearing from the bark of a nearby oak, the creature responsible for capturing Nathaniel started to approach them, step by step. 'What is it you think you're doing?' she asked, her voice silky, seductive. It was the kind of voice Faramund would have appreciated, had he not known just who it belonged to.

But he did, so he didn't.

'Syr Nathaniel is my pet. You shall not have him!' A small smile caught her otherworldly features, gave them a predatorial cast. 'You could, on the other hand, join him. Doesn't that sound... agreeable?' She smiled. Faramund's courage nearly dribbled down his leg.

'I'm good,' he told her. Grabbing Nate by the scruff of his neck, Faramund half-pulled, half-dragged the knight towards the exit. The fae clicked her fingers. 'Disappointing,' she said, watching with cold eyes as the shadow-beings from before began to pour from the woods to either side.

'But not unexpected.'

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

The plan remained defiance. Defiance of this fae's intent to enstrangle the noble of his wits, who roused with alarmed expression at the emergance of shadow beings about them. Yet still, knightly conduct sparked within him, however muted his recent foray into the dream sleep, his hands grasped for weapon that no longer lurked at his side.

"Steel in your hands," Adjantis said, his eyes flaring as he did so, and threw out blade which arced and landed firmly in the ground for Nathaniel's purpose. A heatbeat, then the weapon was siezed upon. The very act banished what remnant of sleep lurked upon him, that dulled lullaby to which the fae had woven upon him.

As if answering the inviting question as to what Adjantis himself would face the foe with, fangs beared, claw revealed from outstretched paw, his armour shifting into brutal serration. He gave a thrum of a growl which ignited platinium gleam into his tools of tearing. All done so that he might face the foe with all the ferocity of the true Wylds, instead of the pantomine of peacely practice these fae so belaboured upon them.

A light rain began to fall, a mere drizzle, which scarcely penetrated the thick canopy, but a freshness gifted from providence befell the air.

"Go, abscond." Adjantis said, his voice steady, his haunches tensing as he readied himself for great leap, resembling more in this moment his lion heritage as he made ready to pounce upon all fours, "Her throat is mine."

The enchantress made playful gesture as if taunting such bold claim, the shadow folk quickly making approach upon the company with shimmering eyes and shade tinged weapon, all whirling and soft muted sounds.

A shimmer of ivy green as the armour that did encase the Wyld knight give further power to his leap. And away and toward he did soar.

From tree to tree he closed the distance, clawing at bark to gain purchase and propelling himself further towards his quarry as the enchantress enacted her spite.

A blast of yellow sparks from the fae enchantress who fired such flares of scorching ray at where Adjantis had so recently been, another volley to where he found purchase, sizzling into bark that no longer bore him. He bounded, clambered and made with vicious intent towards the magic user, who raised hands full of magic as he brought claw and canine to the fore as the distance was closed in animalistic drive.

An explosion of that same yellow energy as the two did their utmost to end the other in such close distance, the conclusion not yet drawn, the sight obscured by the violence of it all, wreathing smoke as the fae blasted and Adjantis did assault. Yet the proud growl and roar did eminate from such a display, the fight very much on between the two as the smoke swirled as arcane blast was recieved and met with proud anger.

Nathaniel made quicker approach to the exit, now not requiring assistance for his labours. Labours which were soon tested by the introduction of the shades that bore weapon clean cutting. A parry well remembered and delivered true by the noble, who sneered as he retorted with his borrowed clashing metal as the shades made good the enchantress' refusal to let them go so easily, their number multitudes, their prowess much in the ways of slaying.

Dejan Damir Faramund

 

[Dejan Damir]

Charge found and enemy revealed, the grove further descended into chaos. Yet Syr Nathaniel showed signs of lucidity and that was reason for hope. Dejan's blade still remained lodged in what was now the makeshift exit. The Wyld empower blade was holding its own for the time being, possibly due to Fae being distracted. Their situation became increasingly more dire as spectral apparitions continued to appear. The old knight didn't need to ponder further as Syr Adjantis sprang into action, claiming the enchantress as his prey. Dejan was all too happy to surrender this particular duty, and suspected Faramund echoed his sentiments.

The blade proffered to Syr Nathaniel had seemingly brought the man back to his senses. A good thing too, as he was beset by foes. Dejan desired to assist but could not afford to leave his position. This whole exercise would be pointless if they were all caught within the barrier. He would have to trust in Syr Faramund to create a path. As if to accentuate his point, a pair of shadow-beings closed in on the tall knight.

Dejan drew his other blade, imbuing it with Wyld magik in the process. The Pursuant swung his blade in a wide arc, dispatching the first specter.

He turned back towards the gap in the barrier, seeing Syr Nathaniel fight for his very existence. "Just a bit further Syr!" the old knight's voice boomed, power infused in every word. Magik meant for others, and so Dejan himself was slow to react. He winced as hazy steel cut through armor and into flesh. The knight swung his sword in response but that did not stop blood from falling to the forest floor.

More of the Fae's minions appeared, indifferent to his plight. Dejan tightened the grip on his blade and braced for the next bout.

Adjantis Faramund

 

[Faramund]

Syr Nathaniel was a stubborn old mule. To run from a fight was not something Faramund enjoyed doing, but even he could see the pointlessness of persisting. Perhaps that was how brave syr knight had managed to get himself captured in the first place?

Doesn't matter now, the dawnling thought, slipping under an attack to deal death to its maker. The Wyld blade cut clean and true. A shadow dissipated. Another took its place. The shadows were innumerable. We have to-

'Get the fuck out of here!' Faramund yelled, grabbing Nate by the arm and manhandling him towards the opening left by Dejan and Adjantis. There was a shadow there, too. Broader, taller than its kin, it possessed the features of a friend, one Fara knew to be alive and well.

For now.

'Syr Damir!' Faramund shouted to his comrade. 'Take him! Take the boy!' A shadow slipped up on Fara's right, sword arm winded back to deal a powerful blow. Shoving Syr Nathaniel away, Fara twisted. His blade rose to parry. Wood met smoke, turned it aside. False edge followed, smiting the shadow-thing's temple.

Another gone, and another to take its place.

There really is no end to them. Side-stepping, Faramund took a hand off. Within an instant, the appendage had grown back, no less capable than what had come before. 'Just don't know when to quit, do you?' The dawnling growled, kicking a shadow's legs out from under it. Literally. 'Oh, for fuck's sake!'

Adjantis Dejan Damir

 

[Adjantis]

Blasts of yellow energy were knocked aside by gleaming claw, batted away with roars. The cascade of gleaming swipes were avoided with aplomb by the fae enchantress, a thing of chortling trails and whisping cloth, dancing away as if the knight were no trouble at all. Still, the knight Adjantis closed the distance as he batted away blast that would hurtle him down if not deflected, swiping with all vigour provided by bestial wit to overcome.

A leap from fae to further branch, followed by bound of lion knight, teeth bared to find the throat to stop the relentless foe. Outstretched arms held burning light, outstretched animal paw with claw siezed upon wrists of the fae. And to the terrible work did that mane of feline touched warrior descend upon the throat of the enchantress, who screamed out a single word.

Had a fraction of a moment passed before those lips uttered the word, 'cease', the throat would have been surely torn out by tooth. The two stood, the yellow light dimming, the growl within Adjantis' maw reverberating as constant reminder of what was soon to pass if mercy and surrender had no meaning to this fae.

The shade things dimmed and flickered, relinquishing their assault for attendance to their summoner, heads towards Adjantis in the precious moment.

No words from Adjantis, none could be formed in present lock around throat. The low growl continued, and issued further to urge the fae to consider what was right for her longevity.

“Have your victory, knights. Return not to this part of the forest. Leave us!” The fae issued, straining to be away from those canines.

The shades looked to Adjantis, who side-eyed many of them. Fury in the combat was tempered by his vows of conduct. The way of the knight was not in butchery. The way of the knight was to find accord with the forces of nature. And so Adjantis, still gripping both arms, waited precious moments in effort to give his comrades more time just in case this bargaining turned foul.

Shuddering with anger, Adjantis reared his head back and looked the fae in the eyes.

“Take another, and we will return. And mercy will not find you,” Adjantis said.

The fae's face turned from imperilled fear to the cool demeanour.

“I'm sure,” the fae said, and made small effort to pull her arms back to her person. To which Adjantis allowed, after but a moment of further resistance.

The shades receded in their pursuit.

Adjantis made way through the forest on all fours, moving proud, eyes flashing out in challenge to the shades who watched these Knights of Anathaeum leave.

He passed through the passageway that had allowed them entrance, and as he joined the company of his comrades and Nathaniel, did he look at each in turn. The shades refusing to leave the inner grove for the mortal peril and vigour of the knights had provided.

“We survived,” Adjantis stated, and relinquished claw and thorn touch from his armour in a wicked gesture.

Nathaniel looked sheepish, and returned the sword that was handed to him back to the lion knight who quickly and silently placed back into scabbard and listened.

The woods contained no laughter now, just the gentle rain that fell but did not touch the four for virtue of the canopy. Yet the wind was sweet with the smell of those flowers that had taken Nathaniel.

Dejan Damir Faramund