Knights of Anathaeum The Twinned Flame

[Selene]

In the Age of Chronicles
Summer, 20th of Smaragd, 373
On the Edge of the Balewood,
In the Shadow of the Eldyr Tree



This was the last safe place to rest, before entering the corrupted lands of the Balewoods. It was the encampment where the squires of Anathaeum gathered before setting out on their pilgrimage to become Knights Sworn. Cookfires burned in pits lined with ancient rubble. Tents were pitched between tree trunks and large spires of stone, remnants of a castle crumbled long ago.

But though the outpost was gone, the knights had never stopped standing vigil in this place. A muted bustle fell over the camp, as most began to rise in the pre dawn, and make their last preparations. Breakfast and tea were doled out. Boots were laced and hands were warmed along the fires' edge. And last bits of wisdom were shared, Pursuants fretting (or not) over their charges as all readied themselves for the day to come.

Outside the comforts of the camp, all was dark and hostile. The corruption of the balewoods was held back by a thick circle of stone defenders. The stones, carved with runes, resembled the towering monoliths that marked the borders of Astenvale Monastery, and maintained a similar barrier. On one side of the barrier, green, on the other - the blackened mulch of rot and decay.

---

The Captain of Dusk sat near the edge of this boundary. Cupped in her hands was a crumbly, round stone with fresh marks carved into its surface. Standing beside her was a fidgeting squire, awaiting her judgment. Holly, a young woman just done growing, Sanctum of Dawn. Wasn't she too young for this ceremony? Well, she was only the same age that Selene had been.

Selene turned the stone over and smoothed a thumb across its other side. "You've fixed the leading lines," she commented dryly. The girl nodded. Hefting the thing up, Selene gave the soon-to-be Sworn back her barrier stone. "Go ahead, set it down, now."

Solemnly, Holly stepped towards the circle with her stone. she had to walk some ways to get to the edge of the barrier. In the rear, the oldest, moss-covered rocks had been carved by hands hundreds of years past. The runes had long since been weathered off, but the fat-bodied totems still stood proudly in line, bolstered by newer additions that thrummed with magic.

Holly picked a flat spot of unoccupied ground near the vanguard, and settled her barrier stone into the soft ground. She stepped, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the runes upon the stone flashed with a shimmer. The air thickened with magic, and a ripple of energy went out across the air. Runes faded, and the feel of the barrier was lost soon after. The brief pulse of magic seemed to calm the girl's nerves, some.

She turned round and smiled back to Selene. "It worked!" Holly said.

 

[Helena]

Helena placed a hand upon one of the small stones that sat nestled within the soft earth. Her own stone, set down into the lattice work of rune-carved wards a decade prior. The excitement of young Holly brought her back to the moment they all found themselves in. Where trial and journey awaited before those perspectives, and oaths would be vowed there after.

She stood, tall and straight, and rubbed the dust and dirt from the stone into the pads of her fingers and thumb. Walked over to Selene's side, as her white cape trailed behind her. Fluttered to still as she took her place beside her counterpart.

"Not so long ago, you helped me set my stone straight," she smiled warmly, and watched as the others gathered about. A few of the Masters in their own little coven, chatting as the leaves and needles of those living tress about them rustled and shift with the easy breeze.

"Do you still remember where you laid yours?" she asked idly, and looked out to the crowd. Some still at work carving the requisite runes into their wards.

---

Selene

 

[Petra Darthinian]

The crackling of burning wood, and the scent of pine, and unnatural decay mingled in the crisp morning air as Petra diligently chopped logs for the campfires. Her morning chores were well underway, yet, even in the midst of her tasks, she could feel the anticipation about camp.

As Petra swung her axe with practiced precision, a commanding voice cut through the ambient sounds of the camp. "Darthinian!" The voice belonged to Syr Beatrix Leclair, the Master of Flame, a force of nature wrapped in the guise of a disciplined Knight. Petra, recognizing the summons, set down her axe and dusted off her hands, wiping the sweat from her forehead and turning to face the seasoned master, who was surrounded by a small circle of peers.

Beatrix's gaze, keen and assessing, locked onto Petra. "Come here, Field-Sworn," she beckoned with a commanding gesture. The other squires and field-sworn nearby stole glances, curious about the nature of what they too had been summoned for by the woman.

Once Petra stood before Beatrix, the Master held out a stone, its surface smooth and unmarked. "This is your barrier stone," Beatrix explained, her tone carrying the weight of both instruction and expectation. "Today, you will learn how to instill it with protective runes. Pay attention, for this knowledge is crucial before you set off."

Selene Helena

 

[Gruki]

The camp was waking up, bit by bit. Sitting by the fireside, knees tucked tight to her chest, Squire Gruki did her best not to fall asleep. She had been up all night, wrestling with her thoughts, humming and hawing over what the next day would bring. Or wouldn't. Now that it had arrived, she was beginning to regret not getting any shut-eye when she had the chance.

'It'll be okay,' the Pursuant sat across from her whispered quietly. 'You'll be okay.'

'Will I?' Gruki asked, glancing upwards to find Syr Lyra's watchful eyes on her. The dawnling had always been kind, even when Gruki hadn't deserved her kindness. Wizened but not old. Brutish but not brutal. Lyra was one of the most beautiful half-elves the she-orc had ever laid eyes on. A fact the Pursuant was no doubt aware of by now.

'You'll be okay,' Lyra repeated, with a smile so bright Gruki felt like burying her head in the dirt. 'You are not the first squire to be beset by nerves like the ones you feel right now. How do you think I felt when I was first sworn-in?' Mulling the question over, Gruki hazarded a guess.

'Nervous?'

Lyra nodded, smiling. 'Just so,' she said. 'Look at me now! A Pursuant of the Dawn Sanctum! Trusted and true, as I know you to be.' The compliment made Gruki blush. She knew it did her street cred no favours. She didn't care. 'Thank you,' she mumbled quietly. 'For the encouragement. I think- I know I needed that.'

A sharp whistle and a raised voice made the squire turn.

'It's time!' Lyra intoned, glancing beyond their campfire to the waiting group. 'Go on, now! I'll make sure the tea doesn't stew in your absence.'

Feeling more confident than she looked, Gruki clambered to her feet, her long cloak unfurling like a banner around her as she rose to her full height. A low-hanging branch brushed the braids of her hair, startling her. Damn it! She cursed inwardly, taking a breath to steady her racing heart.

Even the trees have it in for me.

Selene Helena Petra Darthinian

 

[Oliver]

He was not at all worried.

Cradling the last half of his tea betwixt his palms, Oliver snook a glance at the squire in his company. Getting ready. There was a certainty to the fastening of buckles and checking of belongings, a practiced comfort. But then again, wasn’t this what the young man had been working towards his entire life — one born into the Order, as it were.

That Hector should’ve staid with it was not unusual, but a gift all the same. There was a balance of sensitivity and confidence, one that’d make the lad a great example to many that’d yet roam these woods, if he was any judge. Should time and toil not wear down a man too much, that was.

Whatever you do from hereon, knight sworn, don’t become callous.

“ Ready to go? “ He asked, rather rhetorical for how he’d already risen from his seat and drained the rest of his tea. Expression pleasant, if not so much so to be dismissive, he clapped a hand on the squire’s shoulder. He grabbed it firmly, to be felt.

“ Naught remains to be nervous about. You know what to do and how. “ A reassurance and reminder, just in case.

“ Beyond, onwards goes the path. While it is nigh impossible to lose sight of, the Order being no subtle guide— ” He flashed a smile for effect and released his grip in a tap, hand holding the empty teacup gesturing over yonder.

“ Your self isn’t so. Keep vigilant and hold onto that, if nothing else. “

Hector

 

[Hector]

Ready to go?

A breath left Hectors lungs as he tightened the last strap on his chestplate. His pauldrons adjusted with a quick tug, leather gloves pulled snug to his left hand, then right.

"Not overly armored you think?" He asked, from beneath the brim of his kettlehelm, the bright red feather that stood proudly from its side, a gift from Syr Sando.

He looked down at the stone he had carved, rest betwixt his feet. Bent down and picked it up. The runes had taken some time, his a complex weave, unlike those of the umagicked, but then, his duty as a magicker was to add to the anchors of the spell. Reinforce the weave. Just as his magick was meant to reinforce those who would be his sworn kin. Magicked or not.

A hard and hearty clap on the shoulder shook him out of his head. He was thinking too much about it. And Oliver was speaking.

His eyes looked up and met the Pursuant's own. Hector smiled back as he was met with warm and familiar disposition. "Syr Vasra," he said, and felt a bit silly. For being nervous, for feeling anxious. He felt ready. Through it all. Could feel it in his bones, despite the nervousness in his stomach.


A nod. "Aye, Syr, ever vigilant," He stood tall, warding stone in hand. "Thank you," he said gently. "For... well, everything, Syr... Uncle,"

Oliver

 

[Dal]

The stone clean polished and full of purpose, marked by intent of a mind who had faced the things within the Blighted lands with full score regiments of dwarf for coin. Dal rotated it slowly, ponderously and thought deep. Carved the moment into his mind as he had the stone under direction.

If this did something to force border lines upon map parchment to remain as they were, then Dal considered himself a better man for the etching, a small part in the tide of things. Soon, perhaps, to become a more esteemed in rank for virtue, if whatever was to come was withstood. No pay did he pursue now. Simply more function to perform to that which he understood to be worthy of his time. And validation that he was indeed in turn worthy himself, if fate and superiors aligned it so.

Dal breathed in deep, a cleansing breath. So close to the threat the Order availed against. No fear tinged his spirit, just a healthy respect for what could bounder from such barriers.

A desire to serve with the best had driven him to this moment. And the best had granted him this opportunity. The forest itself had granted him a measure of peace, and his comrades an assurance that there was indeed talent to bind them in victories. And in their defeats. Terrible things he had avoided in his career now were being faced with bravery by his fellows beyond what he expected of the common man to stand.

It was enough and more to sustain his spirit. He stood, adorned by longsword, tall and stoic, listening to the council he himself had so recently received. The stone continued to rotate within his fingers, the tips of which ran across the carved notions that would keep the Blight at bay.

A notion at this moment as stone did turn.

The stone and he would serve same purpose once set.

And in this wisdom, did Dal await the moment to stride forth with such wisdoms to ground him.

 

[Selene]

"Do you still remember where you laid yours?" she asked idly, and looked out to the crowd. Some still at work carving the requisite runes into their wards.

A nod came from Selene at the other Captain's question. "Yes, I do," she responded simply, pointing to a gathering of stones some ways off. "Right over there, see the crooked one?" One stone in particular stood out amidst the others, an anchor that rose above the others that ringed it. The stone was top-heavy, leaning against an overgrown root, but standing still. "I got East and West mixed up on mine. Instead of having me do everything over, Master Hawthorn only laughed, and told me to turn it upside-down."

The sound of a bell rang clear and bright above the morning bustle of the camp. Syr Tomas Grimstone, the Knight Master of Death, stood tall atop a mossy rock and shook the brass bell in his hand.

"Alright, gather round!" he shouted. His face was grimset, grey hair slicked back and cold, pale eyes looking down at those who had already arrived at the outcropping. "Dally not -- the path will open soon, the squire who misses it will have to take their pilgrimage in another three months!"

Selene slid off the fallen log she had been sitting on, and stepped down along the path back to camp. "Suppose that's our cue," she said to Helena, reaching a hand out to brush in passing against the other woman's arm.

"What should I say, this time around?" Selene mused. As she walked, her head tilted up to look at the crowning of tree branches above. Her staff dug into the soft earth, picking out a path for her feet even as her eyes wandered in thought. "Something about perseverance, in the face of darkness? I'm afraid I've failed to prepare a speech again..."

Helena

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

With a stone at her feet, Lorinna sat just outside her tent - the one she pretended she had spent the night in - and sharpened her sword. It was laid across her thighs and the slow work of the whetstone was the reassuring rhythm to greet every morning.

Lorinna knew what she placed her faith in. It was always steel. Solid, immutable and sharp.

The sound of a bell rang clear and bright above the morning bustle of the camp. Syr Tomas Grimstone, the Knight Master of Death, stood tall atop a mossy rock and shook the brass bell in his hand.

"Alright, gather round!"

It was time. The culmination of her training.

No, she reminded herself, that was wrong. She would be learning for the rest of her life. It was the end of one part of her life. If she passed.

If success was guaranteed, she would not have been wearing her armour. She would have been sharpening her blade; that habit was too ingrained.

Showing her typical deference for the mystical arts, Lorinna popped the stone in her upturned helmet. With sword under her arm, helmet and stone in her hand, she used her left hand to close up her tent.

It was time.

 

[Oliver]

He bobbed his head at the additional moniker, unable to say anything more. Was it too much to be emotional about it, of a sudden?

The clearing of a throat, a little awkward, was thankfully lost beneath the Knight Master’s elevated voice, a beckoning call. He tossed a hand in an easy enough gesture at the direction, wherein the lot were fast congregating in prompt obedience. Not that Syr Grimstone’s tone had ever begotten any other response.

“ Be right at your heel. “ He said, some conspiracy upon him as his look fell upon Hector anew, himself having spied the gathering for one disoriented beat. Swift enough for one who’d not be hurried overmuch, he put his cup away on the log he’d been sat at and moved on to make good on his word.

As they took towards the periphery, he cast a careful look at the many prospects and their faces, a degree of tension on most. He tapped one of the grim ones on the arm encouragingly, almost a smirk upon him.

“ Glad to see you here, Dal. “ A quick remark, gaze searching for that of the taller man. “ In every sense of it. While I won’t belittle the trial ahead, does need acknowledging that you’ve a wealth of experience through many a prior of its ilk. Years that go beyond mere teachings. “

Mercenary to knight. He smiled a little wider.

“ So — Just the end of an era, yielding us onto the next one, hmh? “

Dal Hector

 

[Dal]

"Good to be here, Syr Oliver," Dal replied truthfully, turning his head to match the eye of his superior.

"I won't lie, my experience of combat runs deep. But as for spirits and the matter of magic, I am outclassed," Dal replied, his spine straight and his eye refusing to flinch to the truth of it.

"I know what I know," Dal stated simply. "I only hope that is enough for the tasks ahead," Dal said, humility running clear without hint of shame that had plagued him. His time applying himself to his deficiencies in the arcane fields had rendered him less ignorant in awareness, yet no more apt to wield it.

He rolled his shoulders and warmed up as the words fell into place, stretching wrist, bicep, ligament of leg and rotation of neck.

"I'm here, and I'll do as I must to serve with the best. This trial...it shall be conquered," Dal said firmly, with all the grit and self assurance that came from his years of experience, and levelled himself to advance.

Success and failure were oft a matter of mindset, and with this in mind, Dal refused to entertain failure within him at this critical juncture as he looked on and took position.

 

[Hector]

Hector felt as if a bird, with warm gale beneath his wings. A smile, and a nod to his uncle, and he made away to the gathering number, his eyes quick to spy a familiar crop of flaxen hair. Lines he liked all too well sloped down beneath the cover of leather and hard plate.

His smile grew a bit wider, easier, as he neared Lorinna's side. Gave her a little bump that set their armor to jostle and shake. He had half a grin on his face, as he looked her up and down. "Ready as ever, I see," he said between them, an emberic crook at the corner of the lip. His eyes glanced back up to hers, held a moment, gut full of nerves of a sudden. He looked about. "Did Syr Hessan ever show up?" He shift the weight of his stone in his hands.

Lorinna Astarel

 

[Dejan Damir]

"A fine day," remarked the old knight without a hint of sarcasm. The conditions during his ceremony had been less than ideal. He'd overseen many during his years and this day's was better than most. He doubted that the soon-to-be-sworn at his side was of a similar sentiment. Confidence was not easily found in the Balewoods. A thin line of stones seemingly stemming the tide of the world's evils. The burden of the moment was not something easily ignored.

"There's no need to doubt your capacity. You have done all that is necessary," Dejan assured his young charge. His words were not of mere encouragement. It had been near five years since he personally recommended a squire. The dire nature of the Order's standing had left little time for him to foster others. Instead he had traveled from one town to the next, acquiring what provisions and allies he could.

Syr Grimstone called for the squires to gather. The time had come.

Dejan rested his large, lone hand on Innis' shoulder. "Should you feel lost, remember Kitwick and all that transpired. Those wits of yours will serve you well."

He gave her one final nod and took a step back; a tall, proud oak that even the Balewood could not rot.

Innis

 

[Innis]

Innis knelt down along the line of sentinels, scraping away leaf litter to clear a place for her own warding stone. When she rose, her hands were cold and crumbly with dirt. It was a good feeling. She felt steady on her feet as she turned round to here what Syr Damir had to say to her. His words were as dry as ever, but Innis had spent enough time around the old man that she knew when he was proud.

The call to gather rang out across the camp, and Syr Damir had given her the nod, but still Innis lingered.

"Wait, Syr Damir, I made something for you."

Innis was not the making type. So it was with great reservation that she pulled out the wooden pendant she'd been working on for weeks, suddenly aware of every rough patch and stray splinter she'd missed.

It was carved from oak, depicting a stylized head of an elk. A familiar motif in the monastery, but the Wyld design was asymmetrical, only one antler sprouting from its proud head. She had definitely not thought to give the pendant to the one-armed knight only after she'd accidentally broken one of its antlers off while carving the thing. That would be embarrassing.

"Please take this," Innis said, offering up the gift cupped in both her hands. "As a way to say thank you -- for putting up with me, even when I was a brat. And for teaching me to keep my hands steady, even when magicking stuff away would be way easier."

Dejan Damir

 

[Gruki]

Gruki didn't let go of her nerves as she joined the others. Or rather her nerves didn't let go of her, despite Syr Lyra's kind and most likely sincere words. She knew she should focus her mind, and expel the doubts and fears before they took root. Alas, some things were easier said than done, and the energy amongst the squires and hopefuls had the tall half-orc on edge.

How many of them would complete the trials ahead? How many would fall at the last hurdle?

Will I be among them? It was the one question weighing most heavily on her mind. Gruki feared it was hobbling her, clouding her judgement. So what if she didn't succeed? There was always next time. So what if people laughed at her for failing to live up to expectations? They did that anyway.

Sinking into the webway of her soul, it was some time before Gruki managed to pull herself free. The Master of Death, Syr Tomas Grimstone, was looking down at her from atop his mossy throne, a strange glint in his eye. With a start, Gruki realised she had been staring.

'My apologies!' She bowed her head, somewhat embarrassed. 'I wasn't... I did not mean to stare.'

Selene Helena (idk)

 

[Petra Darthinian]

Syr Beatrix waved off Petra's group with a graceful hand. Taking no further cue, Petra held her now etched stone close to her heart and walked to the small audience that was growing around Selene and Helena. Familiar faces that warmed her heart to see.

There was an essence of nervous anticipation building like static in the air, making it difficult for many of them to keep their voices from spilling over into conversation that built into a loud and louder din.

Sidling up next to the tall red headed half-orc known as Gruki, Petra counted herself amongst them as she leaned in close enough to whisper, "Don't mind him. He stares like that at everyone. In fact, since he hasn't said anything yet, I think that means he actually likes you! That's more than I can stake a claim to." Her chuckled died to a respectful silence when she caught the waiting looks of her Captains.

Gruki Selene Helena

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan watched as the squire-to-be-sworn hesitated for a moment. This resulted in a moment of trepidation for the old knight. He'd figured there would be no need for any further words of encouragement. The Pursuant had more or less exhausted his repertoire. Dejan did not consider himself a particularly adept teacher despite having done so for many years. He'd spent so many years away from the Monastery, bandying words with nobles and playing politics. That cynicism was not easily washed off. Guile could be useful but education was supposed to be approached earnestly.

These were his own concerns however. The Order needed him to teach, so he taught. He would do what was necessary to protect his home; it was ever thus.

All this to say that Dejan was quite moved as looked to pendant, though his expression remained stiff. The old knight noted the singular antler with a measure of bemusement. "Known more than a few Syrs who were brats as well." Dejan carefully took the wooden pendant into his own hand. "Go on then. Not wise to keep a Master of Death waiting."

Innis

 

[Innis]

Clicking her heels together in attention, Innis nodded resolutely at Syr Damir's order to go. She knew she wouldn't get anything more than that out of the old knight. It wasn't in either of their natures to linger on sentiments.

She turned about stiffly and with excellent posture, then rolled into a more natural gait as she walked towards the gathering crowd. Syr Grimstone and the Captains would say their peace, and then the squires would leave the safety of the camp's barrier, into the balewoods. The trials that came after were a mystery to her, but Innis found she wasn't nervous.

A wicked smile stretched across her face as she came to stand with the other squires. Perhaps he didn't know the weight of his own words, but Syr Damir had unwittingly given her permission to be a brat. She would be knighted soon enough, and then she would become an even bigger menace.

A menace on behalf of the Order, of course....

 

[Helena]

The crooked one, turned upside down. Helena couldn't help but smile at how fitting that seemed.

For all her strangeness, Selene had bared much of the captaincy's weight since Helena had taken up the mantle not two years ago. A mentor to the young Captain of Dawn, as well as a friend. And all the while, a hard edge that cut with decision, hidden beneath a warm mire of mystery, and a dazzle of flippant whimsy, if one knew where to look.

She would always thank Selene for that.

"Trust and strength are always good," Helena said easily as they strode up to the mount of root and stone.

The mutters of excitement, the little conversations between the prospective knights and their chaperones quieted as the two captain's approached.

Master Grimstone's bright eyes found the Captains, and bowed to show his respect.

"As in, I trust, you've the strength, to find the right words," Helena whispered as she came to stop, and inclined her head for Selene to go forward.

A hush came across the crowd.

 

[Selene]

Trust and strength. Things that should be attributed to the young Captain who strode next to her. Not an easy thing to be, both proud and soft, selfless in duty and uncompromising in one's own comforts. Somehow Helena managed, and they were all better because of it.

"Ah, but I think those are your words..." Selene whispered back, a crooked smile on her face. She stepped forward upon the outcropping of rocks, Helena and Master Grimstone not far behind her.

Selene waited until every squire and mentor had stilled themselves. The sounds of the forest came through in the stillness. The bubbling of a nearby stream, the crackle of flame in the firepits. Leaves swayed overhead, and before them, deeper into the balewoods, a cold wind blew, making the dead branches creak.

Finally, she spoke:

"Hear me, you who are soon to be knighted! You stand at the threshold of the balewoods, a place most unkind to mortals. What awaits you past the safety of this gate will be worse than anything you have seen or felt before. It is a blight that sinks into old wounds, a cold that cuts to the bone, a cruel whisper that seeds doubt in the heart. Beyond, lies that which corrupts the very Valley of the Gods!"

She bowed her head low, and the winds above seemed to stir more restlessly. "Wander too long in the balewoods without purpose, without light, and you will return to us an aberration. If you return at all."

Selene's face was placid as a night time lake as she let her dour words find their mark. Before the squires - or Master Grimstone, who was looking brusque all of a sudden - could start to grumble at her cryptic speech, Selene raised her staff and tapped it twice upon the rocks at her feet. Dark eyes raised once more, her gaze lifing past the head of the squires, to the skies above.

"Good thing, then," she said, louder. "That each and every one of you has a purpose for being here."

Another tap of her staff upon the ground. Selene held her hand out. There in the cup of her palm, a flame burst to life. It was not like the lochlight that she usually summoned. The flame was as sleek and rippling as mercury. "I light the first vigil, the Silver Flame, in honor of your convictions."

Some of the stones that made up the outcropping shifted and moved into the air. They spun into an arch behind the three of them, and hovered there in sync above the forest floor.

"Those of you who accept the dangers, pass through the gate, and so begin your journey to Knighthood." The comet tattoo upon Selene's brow glowed, and the Silver Flame in her palm flared brighter. The squires would feel a steely presence wash over them, a magic that settled into their gear. Weapons glowed with a soft light that mirrored the Silver Flame, and even the heaviest armor felt lighter upon the squire's shoulders.

"Though the path be dark, know that you tread the same steps as those who came before you. We have been where you are, and I say to you now: there is a way forward! Walk always, in that knowledge."

---

Those who stepped through the gate into the balewoods would see a crackling silver light upon the ground, glowing through the leaf litter like a frozen bolt of lightning. It showed the path that many a young squire had traveled before: the surest way to the base of the Eldyr Tree. It was the knowledge that Selene spoke of - a path carved out by knights long ago, through trial and error, and many lives lost.

Along the edges of the path, past the safety of that light, the corruption still lingered. It was a darkness that defied the light of day, dousing the surrounding landscape in a heady mist of decay. As the squires walked, the path narrowed, and the light grew dimmer, until it was but a thread of silver.

After a few hours into the journey, the path became difficult to track, and their progress would slow.

Petra Darthinian Gruki Hector Oliver Dal Lorinna Astarel

 

[Oliver]

A bit of a frown hung upon him, one of attention rather than disapproval as he listened to Dal remark on what he’d perceived his weaknesses. Terribly reasonable and relatable, himself never having bent to fantastical and magical.

He could only bob his head at it in understanding, not voicing any which dismissal of the things expressed. For the moment in his pursuit to learn the man had appeared to trade frustration to determination, which wasn’t anything to shrug at. One could only do their best, on any given day.

“ It shall. “ He agreed finally in a firm nod, smiling wider. “ And make no mistake — You are amongst the best. That is why you’re here. “

Why any of them were, frankly. Why send one out to pass a trial, had they been judged unlikely to succeed?

With that, he quieted down as the Captain of Dusk appeared to the fore, about to speak as tradition dictated. Looking about during the speech, he hadn’t but to hope her sage direction would soothe whatever doubt and fear any which prospect yet had.

In their parting, he had but to nod encouragingly and mouth a much too assured ‘good luck’ to whomever in passing met his look. Unable to win himself over to do otherwise, he’d linger at the gate therein, watching them go until every last one disappeared out of sight.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna trusted in steel. It was strong, immutable, refusing to bend in the face of malice and darkness and magic. Even if she couldn't match the worst of the monsters of the world, shoulder to shoulder with her allies she would hold fast.

There was nothing on Arethil that would not eventually die under a suitable application of forceful steel.

There was one other thing she trusted in.

"Hector, walk with me for a while?" She asked as she crossed the threshold. They would have to find their own path, but she saw no reason not to start the journey this way.

 

[Hector]

A breath left his lungs, his warding stone still tucked under his arm. He shift its weight as he stared at the shifting stones that marked the true start of this journey.

The culmination of all those things passed unto him. By the Sworn who raised him, the Masters who taught him, and his Parents, who had nurtured him best they could. While they could.

His lips tightened as he looked to the feint silvery steps that wound their way into that fouled land. Which ones belonged to his mother, he wondered. Where were his father's?

...walk with me for a while? Asked a voice, all too familiar.

He noted the gap that had widened between them, as he had been lost in memory. A quick step saw him at her side again.

"'Course," he said easy, and the word warm across his tongue. He found himself smiling as she strode sure. "Though I think we may have forgotten to plant our stones," his eyes looked about as the other squires moved forward. Alongside them.

They made a fine host, Hector thought. As they ventured forward.

Petra Darthinian Dal Lorinna Astarel Gruki

 

[Dal]

((Sincerest apologies for delayed response))

Dal received such reassuring talk from Oliver well enough, humbly enough, yet it did much to keep his spirits high. His position of dour professionalism was tempered by such sincere encouragements. Unlike the years before where compliments would make him brace and suspect those who doled out such things as liabilities for their admiration, instead, he found much solidarity from such trusting comments.

The rocks moved, and so too was Dal in this procession, as archway revealed itself to be the course to walk. It reminded him of stone golem rising from inanimation to threat, although this was an altogether more grand affair made in honour of this trial. Whatever he had expected most knights to undergo in their ascension in his early imaginings, it had been of pomp and circumstance, of flowing banners and trumpets that blared out worthiness by volume. Not this far more sincere trial, of moving stone and placing stones.

He bore the words delivered by Selene with what wisdom was his to muster. He looked to the archway, his comrades. To the stone in his hand.

And then the uplifting of weight was provided.

Gear that had been trained so thoroughly within by Dal became all the more lighter for Selene's blessing, and as the magic did work Dal did liken it to the difference between running against a river's course in full gear and being dry within it. Such advantages were received well, such practicalities could be grasped immediate by his fighting frame.

Yet for such an advantage to be bestowed, he reasoned, such talk of this blightful place must have harsh realities. No formation of soldiers to best. No volleys to withstand. Such days might be ahead in formation with the knights should he hold true. No, there were things beastly and wild beyond this ring of stones that loomed by the will of the magic and the method of the trial before them, this much had been made apparent.

Dal walked with his comrades, silent for a time, eyes to the trees, ears sharp to the sounds that did emanate and ripple upon his taut fighting senses. The passageway did narrow, progress did slow, and Dal grew suspicious. His hand was ready upon his weapon, as it commonly was, yet his fingers did flex as if the time was near for something to manifest within the air before them and bear fangs.

The darkness was pervasive and did much to remind Dal of threat that hid and bade it's time. There was no command structure between them, he had realised. And now there was need for some guidance of their efforts.

"Darthinian," Dal said, making address that was militant. He looked either side of the narrowing path.

"I'll guard the left, you guard the right. I'll not have us all looking forward when something might lash out from the sides."

Dal made address to the group, making some small order that he hoped was not too bold of him to make, as he stood looking to the left as their progress slowed. Better to be bold in orders than to be disorganised in their efforts, and lose squires to the dwindling path.

Or whatever looked down upon them as they walked it.

"If anyone has magics that guide, or some skills for us to find our way, now's the time. The light we've been following is becoming scarce, as I'm sure you've all noticed, and following our noses blind seems..." Dal said, and metered his next word carefully, "Unwise."

The dark seemed to pulse before Dal's sight, so did it loom in the imagination with a thousand possible ventures of danger. It was an all too familiar oddity of staring into such unknowns, and Dal refused to indulge in fear as he made his ears sharp, and his attentions focused in rhythms honed by years of serving in militaries.

Petra Darthinian Hector Lorinna Astarel Gruki

 

[Gruki]

Selene's words didn't exactly fill her with confidence but at least she was honest about it. Glancing around, Gruki found a place to lay her stone as the speech came to an end. She had spent ages perfecting the little rune carved into it, and yet the more she looked, the more the imperfections stood out.

'It's fine.' Syr Lyra appeared once more by her side. The Pursuant had a way of reading minds that Gruki found uncanny.

'It's all in the body and face,' she continued, smiling as Gruki drew back in surprise. 'Look, now, to your companions. See how they grimace and stare. I dare say there isn't a soul among you who doesn't harbour some share of doubt.' Indeed, that seemed to be the case. Gruki could see that now. The false bravado and fearsome looks. The way they talked among themselves, louder, more frequently.

Though the path be dark, there is some light to be found here, after all, thought the she-orc, regarding her fellow aspirants in a new light.

'I-... thank you!' Turning to Lyra, Gruki nodded, smiled. Clasping forearms briefly, she soon found herself moving to join the others as they sallied forth, into the balewood, arms and armour aglow.

Time passed, as it was wont to do. The blessing Captain Selene had bestowed upon them did not fade so much as grow distant.

Sticking to the highlighted path, Gruki kept her eyes up and weapons close to hand as the party wound their way betwixt dark boughs and tripping root. Greens and golds faded to grey and black. The chittering of birdkind lessened. Hells. Even the others had stopped talking.

To focus, as you should be doing. She chided herself.

'I have the rearguard!' Gruki called out to Dal. A muttered incantation followed. Quietly, as quiet as they were trying to be, a small orb of lochlight descended from the canopy to paint the world around them a pale white. It would not guide them, but it would follow.

Hector Lorinna Astarel Petra Darthinian Dal