Knights of Anathaeum What Lurks in the Loch

[Helena]

Upon the Monastery Grounds; within the Twilight Chamber

Light came down from the celestial oculus, the zenith of the Twilight Chamber's domed ceiling, and through that open portal the candescence of all the cosmos did pour. Singular and columnar.

The Masters sat about the wings of a great table, the shape of a crescent moon, their eyes pointed to hollow space where the light of the firmament did pool upon the smooth mountain stone of the chamber ground. Out spread the table, wrapped around that pool of light with one wing of Dawn and one wing of Dusk, yawning in welcome. The Masters of Life sat beside the centermost seat, still empty, while they of Loch and Flame followed, and Wyld and Death came there after at the points.

Knights, Sworn to the order, shuffled in and found places among the stepped tiers of stone pews. Grey and weathered, each layer ascended higher against the walls. Their surfaces smoothed by the river of time and all that passed with its currents.

There was the commotion that came with all gathered crowds. The quiet chatter, the whispers, and the shuffle as one body passed by the next. Handshakes and embraces. Grunts and huffs, as souls who had not seen or met with each other for days, months, years, came again to gather. A static. A charge of energy. The very atmosphere of the room seemed to roil and churn. Never quite warm. But there in the particulates of air and the motes of dust, there was something other than the cold. Imbued.

Before the mouth of the moon table was gathered a group. There in stood the Captains of Dusk and Dawn.

Helena stood at attention. Sword at her hip, her armor donned. She huffed a hot breath from her nose, her jaw set like the granite she stood upon. She stepped forward, her boot heels clicked and clanked as stone came against metal in sure clip. The Master's raised their eyes to meet the Captain of Dawn as she came to stop beneath the pour of light.

"Knights of the Order!" she called out. Her voice strong and hot as the sun's light which faded with the coming of dusk. Sky above a fiery orange giving way to a wash of purple and pink.

Sworn kin came to settle. Each drop of sound slowly replaced by cool silence.

"As day turns to night, know that you have been called here as our kin have been called before, and our kin will be called hereafter," she turned, her eyes cast to the Captain of Dusk for but a moment, and nodded to her in assurance. Her eyes cast back to the knights gathered round. "The Everwatcher," she said flatly. "That is the name of the threat which has brought us here today, a thing that has lurked amongst the countless shadows that surround us," she let the mutterings and whispers ripple away. "We believe that this foe is linked to tragedies and failures our order has witnessed, weathered and endured, and will be the cause of more, should we continue as we have so far,"

Master Brambleshell nod, and let her words in to the conversation. "We have endured much, and faced more, Captain Helena," the eldest master allowed.

Helena nodded in agreement. "So we have, Master Brambleshell, but this entity, the Everwatcher, it..." she took a moment to gather herself. "We believe it is linked to the death of the Knight Pursuant, Merrycourt, as well as the grievous wounding and threat against others of our order and beyond," A stir of voices, like so many wings a flutter. The commotion settled in brief time. "Sworn Knights Syr Faramund, and Alaric were both involved in the recent hunt for the Vowbreaker, Legault Demiex, who is still at large. Pursuant Theros and Master Hawken were present as well,"

Master Hawken bowed his head in agreement.

The Captain of Dawn continued, "Within days of this incident, Squire Vos Fleetwood, Pursuant Osuin and Captain Selene also encountered what we believe is part of that entity," Helena turned toward Selene and bid her welcome.

 

[Selene]

In the center of the Twilight Chamber, Selene stood as her Dawn counterpart began the war council, which was customary. Selene had her staff in hand, which was not unusual, but those with keen eyes would see her leaning too much weight onto it, her normally austere form slumped with exhaustion.

"Yes," Selene nodded to Helena in response. "I believe we encountered a physical manifestation of the being, summoned by foul magic into the waking world. Despite our efforts, we were only able to wound it... the creature remains a threat."

Helena had been prompt in her assessment, leaving nothing to the imagination. She gave the needed details and no more. That was all well and good, but there were some matters whose scope could not be fully grasped without a little bit of panache. And, Helena was fortunate enough not to have come back injured. Not so for the Dusk Captain. Selene needed to reassure her kin that she was still in fighting shape.

Straightening her resolve, Selene stepped forward into the light of the oculus, her staff clunking against the stone floor. "The Everwatcher's identity remains unknown," she began, cool black gaze looking seamlessly over those gathered, waiting for each one's attention. "What we do know is that this threat has its roots deep in the Pursuit of the Loch, and an intimate knowledge of our Order and our Knights. It could be among us, and we would not know it."

A tap of her staff, and a rippling illusion pinged out across the floor, turning the stonework to a thin shimmer of water. Above, the oculus darkened with the fading sun, and the whole room was cloaked in dusklight. "It moves in the Loch, that realm of Dusk which we have long believed to incorruptible. This thing is disturbing the waters."

Countless eyes opened up across the room - upon pillars and empty seats, surfacing from the illusory waters underneath the feet of those gathered. "It can make instruments from the eyes of those willing and unwilling, through which to observe the waking world. Long has this demon been watching us, and only now it is choosing to act. We must discover why."

 

[Dejan Damir]

Council came to order. The latest of many that Syr Dejan Damir, Knight-Pursuant, had attended over his many years of service. A flurry of old memories sought to draw him from the day's purpose, but he was quick to suppress them. He could sense an anxiety in the air that mirrored his own. There was a restlessness that simmered just below the surface. It was all too easy to become jaded to the evils that a knight experienced through the course of their duties. Still, there existed some entities-no some horrors that could break through the veil of indifference.

"The Everwatcher." Dejan's mind echoed with the name even as the Captain of Dawn spake it. He could practically hear the cultist leader's insidious sermon and fervent chants of the faithful lidless. The Prelate of Unending Perception had been the most dangerous foe the pursuant had faced in some time. Dejan would have undoubtedly been an eyeless husk if not for the efforts of Syr Theros.

His attention returned to the Captain and to her revelations, some known to Dejan but not others. Master Brambleshell spoke with a surety to continuance, just like a deep-rooted oak and yet Dejan found he was struggling to agree. He knew the words were likely nothing more than to temper the Knight-Captain's own but the pursuant still sensed belief.

Next followed the Captain of Dusk and her explanation which was followed by a rather disturbing demonstration. There was little doubt that much of his unease had to do with his lack of familiarity with Loch. He had served alongside many practitioners but its true nature seemed to elude the older knight. He instinctively looked to the carefully wrapped bundle at his side and was satisfied to see that it remained unchanged.

Dejan grunted as he finally stood, making his wish to speak known. He waited a few moments before finally speaking. "I cannot speak to the whimsies of a demon or whatever this entity may be, but does not this unusual fixation on our Order speak to a personal connection? Is it possible some record of this being rests within own annals? I do not know if it bears us grudge but I find it difficult to believe this Everwatcher has been content to simply observe until now." With that thought, the one-armed knight found his seat once more.

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn had been clustered with many of the older Knights, those few of his own class and those still older. Syr Arinnhok, a true rarity to see within the Monastery, Talymor the Green, his companion. Hilde, Hrothgar, Varstaak, their most prominent Dwarven Knights. Even Syrs Awarthion and Kal were present.

Long had it been since such a gathering of their kin had been called, far too long. His weathered gaze would come to rest on some other familiar faces, before finally giving a nod to Syr Damir as he entered.

Soon after, Helena would call the meeting to order, with some of the Knights finding seats, while others stood. Dorn would fall into the latter, his arms crossing and usual scowl washing over the gathering. The scowl would only deepen the more that Helena spoke.

The name of this new foe? The Everwatcher. The name alone was enough to pull a light chortle from the Knight. Brambleshell was quick to remind the youngest Captain that they had endured much, weathered more. And of course, Selene had more to add. Loch. Demons.

His gaze shifted to Syr Bragalan. A knight old, mysterious, and bore both traits. Dejan's voice cut through the short silence and would unwittingly set this into motion.

I cannot speak to the whimsies of a demon or whatever this entity may be, but does not this unusual fixation on our Order speak to a personal connection? Is it possible some record of this being rests within own annals? I do not know if it bears us grudge but I find it difficult to believe this Everwatcher has been content to simply observe until now.

"Are not the Monastery wards supposed to defend against such.. spells?" He would start, his voice gruff. "Dejan bears several good points. We need a multi-pronged response. Demiex needs to be brought in alive for questioning, we need to enhance the wards here, Brother Ashton and some Knights should dive into the trove of knowledge that is our library," a pause, this would be the most unpopular opinion. "And we need to investigate Knight-practitioners of the Loch. If we have one turncoat, we could possibly have more. This isn't a witchhunt, this is security. And any knight who declines to put the security of our Order first, should then be detained."

He would let a slight silence linger for only a few moments, his gaze washing over each gathered member before stopping on their Captains. "You may call it unnecessary, but it's thorough. And as you said, unwilling members could even have had themselves pulled into service. All magick leaves some sort of trail, find it and track it."

 

[Faramund]

Faramund had been one of the first to take a seat. Sitting on the bottom tier, and surrounded by fellow Sworn, he had also been one of the first to fall silent as the Dawn Captain called the gathered to order. In all the time he had spent at the Monastery, amongst the Order, those he called kin, he had never known a meeting of this scale to take place. Normally, such councils were small affairs, overseen by the Captains and Knight-Masters and, on occasion, the Knights-Pursuant. Today, however, was different.

Today they were holding themselves a War Council.

Or so Faramund thought as he sat in silence amongst his peers, eyes fixated upon the Captains of Dawn and Dusk. Helena and Selene. Two sides of the same coin. It was their words Faramund listened to as the subject of today's council came to light; it was their words that sent ripples through the assembled knights. For Faramund, on the other hand, it was as if they had driven a knife through his heart. For the Everwatcher was nothing new to the big man. No, they had a history.

One that hurt to bring up.

Lowering his gaze, the dawnling regarded the stone beneath his feet as the Captains and Pursuants spoke. When Helena brought mention of his most recent failure, Faramund grimaced inwardly. Allowing Demiex to slip the noose had been akin to letting his greatest enemy go free. Worse, it reminded him of the other times he had failed in his duty; not as a knight, no, but as a mercenary, sworn to another cause, another band.

Before the Order, the Sods had been his family. They were all dead now, betrayed by those they shouldn't have trusted. Funny, Faramund thought, how these things have a habit of repeating themselves. Seeking his resolve, the knight lifted his gaze as Dejan gave the floor to Dorn. Though the two of them had never really seen eye to eye, Faramund couldn't help but agree with the old battlemaster. Where there was one traitor, there were bound to be more. Willing or otherwise, there were always more...

"If we wish to help others, we must first help ourselves," Faramund spoke up, his eyes tracing the room, those within. "As Dorn said, we must be thorough if we are to expunge this evil- not just from our ranks, if indeed there are more among us who have lost the Path, but from the world we have sworn ourselves to protect." Passing over the crowded rows and those still standing, Faramund's eyes fell to the captains. "I wish to ask, however... I must ask..."

Fara grimaced, the pain of loss and his own shortcomings seeking to unnerve him. Taking a quiet, steadying breath, he continued, "If the Everwatcher is capable of corrupting the Loch, who is to say that He-... It hasn't set its sights on the other Pursuits?" He sighed. "What I mean to say is this: if we are to be thorough, as Syr Dorn advised, we mustn't just question the practitioners of Loch, but those of Flame and Life, Death and the Wild, as well." He frowned as he tried to read the room, finding in the faces there more strangers than he would have liked.

"I realize that I sound paranoid right now, and perhaps I am, but we can't afford any more half measures."

 

[Selene]

As Syr Dorn spoke, the idea of her knights - and just her knights - being questioned put a scowl on Selene's face. The illusion she maintained did not falter, nothing so amateur, but the pantheon's circle did darken further, and the waters grew more stormy. Only humility tempered her defense. Of course, Dorn was right about the Loch pursuants being vulnerable. That is why she liked the man, he spoke the truth even when it would hurt others.

But there is no trail. I've looked and looked, I've driven myself bloody bedridden looking. The bitter thought welled up in her, and she would have thrown such words at Dorn, had it been a private conversation between the two of them.

A certain dead man had less humility in reserve, however, and Faramund's naive comment seemed to push the Master of Loch over the edge. "The lad has a point, Dorn. Why not throw the Knight Commander in there as well, clean up the whole order?" Master Featherwind scoffed, manifesting his ghostly form so that all could see the wry look upon his face. The old master had died many centuries ago, the cause of it now forgotten, as well as the spell that kept him stuck in the waking realm. But few were more knowledgeable about the ethereal realm of spirits and dreams, since he had walked it as a denizen and not merely a visitor.

"There is no evidence that the Everwatcher has influence outside of the Loch - purging every Pursuit is not what Dorn suggested, and would not be productive," the elder Syr Hrothgar chimed in. "He is merely urging an investigation into the matter--"

"Investigation, witch-hunt, call it whatever you like, with every word we damn our kin to fear and suspicion. That is not the way to strengthen our defenses, such acts will only give the Everwatcher a foothold into our hearts. If there are still traitors in our midst, we cannot give them such power as to point their finger at whomsoever they like."

This isn't a witchhunt, this is security. And any knight who declines to put the security of our Order first, should then be detained.

"You speak of security? Bah!" The Master of Loch's wry smile turned into full, mocking laughter. "Go ahead and thrown me in the dungeon, then." Featherwind shook his incorporeal wrists in front of him. "If you can get the shackles on."

"Enough, Roebin." Selene commanded, and the ghostly man drifted down further into his seat, quieting himself but still sneering at Syr Dorn.

 

[Syr Galvanhad]

Galvanhad had arrived with Dorn, but he would meet with some of the other Knights. Ugluk would enter the gathering, his post being temporarily watched by several of the oldest squires. He would make his way to Galvanhad and the pair would share a brief embrace.

That was, until Ugluk would join Faramund on the lower tier of Sworns. With him departed, Galvanhad would take a seat with other Pursuants of Life. He could sense the darkness already washing over the Captains. This would be no normal meeting.

As Helena spoke, it became clear that the Order was now devoted into a full blown war. The first of its kind in many years. Brambleshell spoke her peace, followed by Selene. Other Pursuants would speak up and Galvanhad could nearly have had a heart attack as Fara agreed. Granted, the two were more alike then they would ever care to admit which was why the two butt heads so much.

All had made good points, it wasn't until Featherwind spoke up that anything useful would lose momentum. "Master Featherwind." Galvanhad would say curtly as he rose to his feet. "May I remind you that these are for useful remarks and additions only. You seem to have had nothing worthwhile to add, so I ask you remain quiet until you do." It wasn't even for the fact it was Dorn, the Master had an opportunity to add something useful to the session and as always, fell short.

"I agree with the other Pursuants. We should investigate those within our own ranks, ensure we are truly whole. Only a fool will see this necessity as division. No one here is saying Loch should be purged, it is the reactions of some like Master Featherwind, that would serve only to fan that flame. We need to work together to ensure the Order is secure." His gaze would remain fixed on the spirit. "You may be unable to be struck down in an attack, but the Saplings, our squires, do not share that. So we should do this, for them. To ensure their futures, their safety."

He had noted the change of the waters, felt the darkening of shadows, so his gaze would momentarily pause on Selene, before shifting elsewhere. "We may be two sanctums, but we are one Order united. We are not purging, that is.. a detestable word. We have each others trust so why should this.. precaution lead to a witch hunt?"

He then would turn to look over each gathered knight. "Young Faramund makes an excellent point. We should be willing to investigate other sanctums, should the need arise.. and if it should, we each should be willing to be tested. If its demonic, it should carry a taint of some kind, perhaps Master Brambleshell, Syrs Ironborn and Koryynn, even Syr Josai and myself may be able to detect it."

His gaze shifted back to the Captains. "You are the Captains, you make the choices, but I implore you both to listen to the hundreds of years of wisdom that surround you in this room." His gaze also hardened some. "I also request permission to hunt Syr Demiex, and endeavor to return him here for questioning, and trial."

 

[Theolonious Montbank]

Montbank had been one of the last to enter the chamber, and he did not have much time to receive the various thanks from people he had attended and absconded from danger through virtue of his wings, supplies and application of the loch of life, limited as it was. In truth, he was glad not to hear much of the gratitude, for he never knew how to receive it except a polite, “You're welcome,” or, “Such is my duty, nothing more.”

He knew that there were many better healers and attendants than himself, and though he had applied much to his understanding of the lore of life, he knew that it was a constant argument between his own abilities and exhaustion. In the healer's lodge one could bring all manner of instruments, powers and abilities to bear in saving a knight. But when danger lurked in the field, and egress was required to save a particular few, Montbank was alone in his initiative, and had sometimes had to deal with his fellow knights questioning his priorities in applying healing. Or that look that meant, 'You could have done more.'

Such was the way Montbank perceived it and found himself distant to both praise and imagined criticism in order to protect himself and his future ability to perform a task few else were equipped to render.

He was all too aware that if he made the wrong decision in providing arcane healing to one and not the other, if he did not bring the right potion to attend the dying, that was a burden that he would have to carry for the rest of his days.

He kept his eyes upon the beam of light as his potent ears picked up the chatter of his comrades, and prayed he did not hear his name or some whisper of discontent as to his performance, both recent and past. That was a part of his curse and gift, to be granted the hearing and sight of the creature he so resembled. He tried not to focus on individuals but the general mood and tone, as impossible as that was for him to fully realise.

He thought as he heard the conversation, that his comrades faced a similar quandary as he faced. To question each other in their abilities and intentions to the order in the hopes of rooting out such evils that beset them. A vigilant mind of zeal could often be clouded to the implications of their reckless deeds. Patience, patience and caution, yet undying belief that one could only do their best, so they might endure the aftermath of their decisions in the dead of night when alone, so they might endure the look of their comrades when receiving them.

The light that poured down was beautiful, but Montbank found it strange to be so close to the ground to see such a thing. This was normally a vision to be seen cascading in multitudes, to pierce the clouds and the various levels of air between the earth bound and the aerial as he was. Montbank gave a small smile to himself as he thought how he was privy to such sights in regular measure on his rebellious acts of freedom and his dutiful attendance to missions that required quick rescue or assistance. The smile quickly disappeared as conversations continued, as his Captain found herself beset. The ignominy of it, Montbank thought. But this was the burden of command. Montbank was glad he did not have to endure the stings of such tumultuous conversation.

For all of Montbank's own regard to his own honour, as to the decisions he had to make in his duties, he knew that the Captains and Pursants had such graver concerns that might damn their entire order, not just themselves by their example and leadership. He decided that he would ground himself and reign in his need to fly alone and to be by himself among the clouds. Such might only bring further distrust and suspicion towards himself during such a difficult time. It was one thing with harmless punishments, but he would not find himself be slandered as traitor for his own disposition to stretch his wings against orders when there was no potential team out in the field that might need rapid airborne assistance.

Montbank sighed.

He listened to the exchanges provided, and heard the most recent request from one as worthy of commendation as Syr Galvanhad. While it was tempting to think that the powerful figures of this room, far beyond Montbank's own estimation of his abilities and understanding of his own place in the order, would not require rescuing or emergency aid. But Montbank knew this was not true.

He ruffled his wings as he listened, thinking on who it would be to face this entity. His heart had no comfort in suspecting his fellows. He had a duty of care to his comrades, and he found himself firmly deciding that it was not his place to cast doubt on anyone that might need his assistance in the field. Better to stand in good faith with one's brothers and sisters and be struck down than to suffer that most awful accusation that Montbank imagined.

Couldn't you tell they were one of us? You let them die thinking they were enemy.

Montbank listened on silently as he hoped that the mistrust that was no doubt growing did not sabotage them before a single act of malice had been delivered from this Everwatcher. He dared not speak up. There were louder, wiser, more certain voices to echo through this chamber. But Montbank knew that he had to be ready to attend the beleaguered, the lost, the injured, the dying, and now...the corrupted.

Healing might not be the only skill that might be applied to this situation, he thought. Prudence, patience, wisdom and compassion to the nerves that would be tested would be required. It was easy to apply healing to the wounded, but a far more noble thing to assure a comrade that their plight was being seen and attended to. They were all in this together, Montbank thought, even if there be a force of maleficence to contend with, he would not be the first to draw steel against another in suspicion. Such would shame his own solidarity and adherance to his oaths and vows, and all the good work he had done in being accepted here in the Order.

He looked up and hoped to see the sunlight from the realm of the clouds again in more calmer times. But, he thought, the life of a knight, of honour, of duty, this was not the life of the tourist of the beauty of the world. They had to contend with the evil that beset the world. And they should meet such a thing as if it were a part of their being, he thought.

He listened on, silently, his heart hoping that calm conversation and bold deeds would rule the day, not shadows and lingering suspicions of a failed character. But, his rational mind knew that many would have to endure the weight of their decisions and perception, just as he did to the wounded and dying, but in measures far more severe.

 

[Selene]

Master Featherwind was absolutely bristling as Syr Galvanhad stood and said his piece, ghostly robes flowing behind him as he rose higher once more.

"Galvanhad, it is only my current condition which keeps me from knocking some sense into you," Featherwind spat back. The problem with dying in one's twenties meant that a certain amount of fire stuck to one's old bones, even after a few centuries. "Die for the Order once or twice, and then you can come talk to me about worthwhile contributions." Without the ability to throw hands, he satisfied himself with a crass gesture pointed at the Dawn knight instead.

Before the Master of Loch could damage the discussion any more, Selene cut him off.

"We are all mourning the loss of Syr Linda Merrycourt, we are all hurting."

A wave of her hand and the illusion dissipated. The stonework turned back to stone, the eyes disappeared, and the coldness in the air was merely the forest breeze.

"Demeix will be brought home, alive. There will be a trial," Selene intoned, her voice leaving no room for remark. "Rest assured, I have never suffered deceit in my sanctum and I will not stop seeking the truth now." She shot a glance at Syr Dorn, and all those who murmured in agreement with the elder knight.

"Now, if suspicion is to be cast on any of the Loch, let it begin with me." Her gaze switched back to Galvanhad, a subtle shift. Stepping forward towards the half moon table and the rows of seats behind, Selene spread her arms out, one hand clutching at her staff still. The other an open palm. "Galvanhad! Do you see any tainted intention in me? Look carefully, now. In my weakened state, the Everwatcher reached out to me directly. That demon entered my mind and offered me a place at its side. I know its form, its voice. Its stench. And I ought to reek of that corruption."

She waited, gaze cold. "Well? What do you see?"

For any with training in such arts of purging corruption, or simply and eye for magic, Selene was a festering wound. She had been since the day she'd entered the monastery. She was a curse-eater; she swallowed corruption and turned it to strength within her own flesh. It was a terrible and forbidden art, that killed its bearers eventually. And she had been practicing it for decades.

 

[Solon Raye]

Syr Solon Raye was often regarded as a beacon among his fellow knights. Where he rode, many stories were told and many a wicked creature felled. His magic was brilliant and made all the more beautiful with the luster of his gilded armor... Except when he was home, there was no need for such extravagance. As a man would face his family, he came to meetings among knights as his truest self. Solon was dressed in blacks and greys, colors and shades that might have made him seem more of a cloistered monk than a stallwart knight. His frame was still tall however and he loomed over many of the knights present, still one might not have noticed The Killing Light in this subdued state. It was not just the colors he wore or the style of dress that rendered him invisible in the presence of extravagant warriors. He'd entered into this war council with much on his mind and seeing how his fellow Sworn were handling the situation, it made his heart heavy as well.

"If I may," Solon spoke out from the crowd and stepped forward as the Knight Captain of Dusk bore into Syr Galvanhad with her wintery cold gaze. He hoped to break the tension in the air so that they might all focus on the nature of the enemy. Their true enemy.

"Some time ago, the Knight Captains asked me to delve into our records to discover what is known about this Ever Watcher. I took it upon myself to assemble some of our sharpest minds and eyes to delve into our records. Syr Mortimer and myself led this effort and also oversaw five of our Squires, who were more than helpful in the pursuit of this knowledge. Most of what we were able to find were fleeting mentions of encounters with this being in the Loch. Nothing that would give away it's true nature or what exactly we're facing. Squire Nyella, however, discovered some fairly useful information."

Solon carefully pulled out a scroll and unfurled it, looking to see that the room was quiet before he proceeded onward.

"...so wrathful was the onslaught of the Ever Watcher that the Masters along with the Knight Commander combined their might to lock him away in a prison without walls. For there was no surface the Ever Watcher could not penetrate. There was no truth He-Of-The-Infinite-Sight could not see. No surface the blade of his mind could not penetrate. They knew only their sorrow and saw not their folly when they cast this demon into the Loch. For it is there that his Infinite Eyes grew more numerous. It is there that he's fed on the realities of the minds and hearts of men. It is there he's feasted on the insecurities of mortals and rooted himself into the Loch itself. The world was spared his presence so that he might grow fat from strength in the Infinite. Woe to those who venture too deep for the Everwatcher devours..."

He placed the scroll back into one of the pockets of his dark robes.

"Brothers and sisters, I ask that we remember what manner of foe it is we're making war against. It resides in the Loch. Entrenched deep in the collective psyche of all that thinks and dreams. We must remember that we are sorcerers as well as knights and that whatever battle we fight against this creature must be multi-pronged but focused on the immensity of this daemon. For us to turn on one another will give the Ever Watcher a victory without losing none of himself. Our efforts must go to debilitating him in the world in which he resides. For we will suffer greatly if we bleed ourselves here."

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn would look to Master Featherwind, his disdain for the other knight clear as day. "Then as a Pursuant of Death who knows how to put the Orders benefit above their own comfort, I would happily submit myself for an investigation. I've nothing to hide from my kin."

Investigation, witch-hunt, call it whatever you like Syr Dorn, with every word you damn your kin to fear and suspicion. That is not the way to strengthen our defenses, such acts will only give the Everwatcher a foothold into our hearts. If there are still traitors in our midst, we cannot give them such power as to point their finger at whomsoever they like.

"Fear has no place in the heart of a knight, nor am I suggesting we burn every Loch at the stake like some uneducated border rabble. You would think educated Knights would be willing to undergo such a test without passing blame. Clearly, you cannot since you cling to that fear."

You speak of security? Bah!

The longer Featherwind spoke his trash, the agitation on Dorns face would play out more and more. He would hear from Selene later on these next words, but he didn't care. "The Orders greatest and worst day were shared. It was the day you died, followed by the realization that we were not rid of you." The aged Battlemaster hissed. "For one to climb as high as you have, you seem to have lost sight of anything reasonable for those that still have bodies."

Others began to speak and still he bore them no mind. It was when Featherwind's attention turned to Galvanhad that he once more pushed forward, after all, the words chosen applied to only a few in the room.

Die for the Order once or twice, and then you can come talk to me about worthwhile contributions.

"Oi, Featherwind. I've already died once and I'll die again for this Order. Now cu-." He would be cut off as Selene brought up Merrycourt. Dorn wasn't in pain over her passing. Death was part of life, it was the fall of such a bright pupil that cut him deeply.

Enter: The Killing Light. With bounds of information about the very threat that plagued them now. Curious it was to Dorn that such small a group had been made privy to such knowledge and yet seemed to sleep on the very threat that wracked them now. He would remain quiet as his gaze focused on Solon. The young and apparently the still-dead were filled with foolhardy notions.

A look from Galvanhad would stop any more heat from raining down on the gathering.

 

[Syr Galvanhad]

Galvanhad, it is only my current condition which keeps me from knocking some sense into you.

"Spoken like a child and a knight whose true drive is division." Galvanhad would respond coolly. "That statement and every single one you have made thus far is more proof to that point."

Die for the Order once or twice, and then you can come talk to me about worthwhile contributions.

"Perhaps that was the only contribution you have ever made, Featherwind," His gaze shifted from the Master of Loch to the others gathered. "But I look around and see a room full of those whose lives contradict your very claim."

Selene's voice would cut over the others, her focus upon the Master-At-Arms.

"Now, if suspicion is to be cast on any of the Loch, let it begin with me.

Galvanhad would make his way to where she stood, one gauntlet being removed and tucked into his belt. He remembered when she had come to the Monastery, remembered the rumors and the tales surrounding her. He took her hand as gently as his gaze locked with hers. He didn't need to focus hard to sense the taint, to feel the cursed aura dancing beneath her flesh.

Flashes of beasts with many eyes raced behind his still open eyes. "This will help with the investigation, Captain." He would say softly. He could never heal or remove her curse, but in those moments, he could take her pain onto himself, pour strength into her bones. She would feel the tell-tale sign as the exhaustion that wracked her body lifted, replaced with Galvanhad's own energy. Where she gained rejuvenation, at least some respite, his shoulders would sag, his skin grow a shade lighter.

Words cut through his growing fog, Solon. He spoke of his mission of old, how such a thing had not been openly recorded, at least for the Pursuants. They could have prepared, but the fact that it had been kept so close to the vest, was because the Captains had not trusted any beyond their chosen. He looked to Dorn, his gaze cutting off the Battlemaster, as he released the Captains hand. "Syr Raye, you bring timely news.. but we need to investigate, lest we run the risk of fighting a two-front battle. This enemy has had years to prepare for this fight, we have not. While you take the fight to the Everwatcher, i will endeavor to safeguard us here at home."

 

[Orsolya Embermoss]

The Quiet Witch found herself beside Syr Galvanhad. It was by choice. She felt the man's intentions. “I understand that you seek the secrets of this Loch.” She let the wind pass between them, a cooling presence. “I will tell you that you are misguided in your search,” the words were hard to find, but she found them so.

“The Loch is as safe as it ever was, its depths and darkness are cold and pure,” She stepped close, the cloth of her robes touching in the wind his armor as she looked up to Syr Galvanhad. Her words were near silent, little whispers, “you waste your time with these knights.” The words unsaid were very more dire.

“Perhaps you may find purpose elsewhere?” She looked up to him and away from the knights finally, her thumb and forefinger hissed, her mirror's blade crackling to be freed. "Surely there is other controversy to explore, these knights are not they."

 

[Helena]

"Knights sworn!" Helena's voice came down like a gavel that called for order. "Dusk and Dawn!" she let out. "Palms and Blades all!" She called. "Two who stand united against all that dares assail that which we hold most dear!" She spoke with fire in her throat. Warm and raw and powerful. The sort that sheltered against the cold and chill of winter storms. Hot, but not enough to burn. "Those who gather here within the Twilight Chamber, upon the grounds of the Monastery that has housed our Ancient Order since time immemorial!"

She stepped up beside her fellow Captain to show where she stood. Her own dark eyes, the color of rich and bountiful earth, met those black pools, so colored by old and known corruption. No new enemy, but a reminder of those enemies and dangers that they as the Knights of Anatheaum always faced. Dawn beside Dusk. She stood to show her solidarity, as well as equanimity, for she knew that this moment she faced was one that would measure the skill of her command. Her eyes set on the man who had been every bit a father to her as she grew strong across the years. The man she had argued with before, as youth so often did with their elders, like new roots breaking and pushing through old and stubborn earth. But like those roots, and like that soil, the stir, the crunch, the struggle of growth oft resulted in greater strength.

They were family, after all. One that spilled blood together. Gave their lives for each other. As were all of the Order, Master to Squire, to sapling still cared for in the nursery. She was not ignorant to this truth. She knew it well. Her own strength, derived from those very bonds of kinship and those Vows of unity that demand them all to be better. Yes, they blustered. Yes, they argued and insulted. Forgot themselves. Not out of their own self interested pride, but because of the very thing they all sought to protect. Their home. Each other. The Order.

It was because she knew this so well. Because it had all made her who she was to this day. That she could not stand idly by now. She would speak. And she would make them hear.

"I would remind you," she began, and rose her eyes to Dorn, and then to all who murmured doubt and fear and anger. For how could they do but not. Betrayal suffered at the hand of their kin. An enemy who lurked in the very forces of magick they held so sacred. Such natural feelings in times of great conflict, but calm was needed now. And Helena would use tact. "Each and every one of my kin, that your Captains have been elected by all members Sworn to our Order." Her eyes were steel, emblazoned with the light of her own flame as she met so many a gaze. Even the Masters.

"What we all do, and have done, is to serve the order." Her eyes turned back to meet those of the crowd. "We bare the weight of our actions, never doubt that." She looked to Galvanhad. "An investigation is already underway, and your desire to aid in the defense of the monastery is noted. I would remind you that while we seek council, the order has placed their trust in us as their Captains," she let the words sink in for a moment, her eyes never faltering. "In our judgement as leaders," She gave a nod and stood with the pride of a tall and thick trunked oak.

The Captain of Dawn cast her eyes out again.

"If" she began, the word like cool water come down in a pool of growing silence, "Anyone," the second drop sank in to the room, as if it were so much thirsty earth. "Shows such open hostility and disregard for each other as has been shown thus far, then they will be escorted out of the Chamber." They were all better than this. She knew that, and she would never falter in reminding them of their best. "Additionally," she said more coolly, "If you sense that your heart grows too hot, if the call to action against our enemy comes too loud and clear in your heart, then none shall judge you for pursuing the action of our cause." Murmurs and whispers and a ripple of talk. Gone in but a moment as Helena stood calm and ready.

"There is sense to fear, to worry, to clutch and to protect. Ourselves, each other, the order! History has shown us what treachery can do! But we have survived such things, and we will survive this too." She nodded with assurance, her face leaving no doubt. "Go, if you must, prepare yourselves how you see fit. The call will come, and we know that those of noble heart will answer it willingly, and should you falter, know your Kin are here to brace you before you fall," she thought of knights she had seen fall. Of those she had lost beside her. Of those she herself could have saved. Were she only stronger. Yet, she was stronger now. She must be stronger here, for she asked them all to carry that same strength. Some knights would leave, but many remained.

"For those present still, know that our aim on this night is to stand united. To share our knowledge so that we may best protect not only ourselves, our Kin, or our Order, but all who have found succor beneath the boughs of the Eldyr Tree, and all who have refuge behind our shields."

There was no weakness in knowing the self. Nor in showing passion, or fear. But they would need to be each others steel, as they had always done. Should one falter.

"Our business on this night is to discuss the enemy, in all the forms it takes." She looked to Syr Dejan. "Syr Dejan, I believe you and Syr Theros have recovered an... artifact in your most recent mission, correct?"

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan watched calmly as his brothers and sisters engaged in heated debate. Strong words were spoken, and stronger words yet followed. The Pursuant had an unwavering faith that the knights' differing opinions would not divide them. Too often he stepped into the realm of mundane politics and was privy to its pettiness. He would then return to the Monastery and find a small, but united few; those he considered family. Even now as tempers flared, he remained steadfast in his belief that it would not break them. Still, he could not deny the effect that their foe was having on the Order.

He stood, finally called to give account of his own altercation with the Everwatcher's minions. Carefully, he picked up the bundle at his side and began to make his way down towards the center of the Twilight Chamber.

"We did. Our quarry was a cult, which had recently committed numerous atrocities in the Reach," the knight explained as he passed by the ranks of his fellow knights. "We managed to subdue them in the end but their leader's madness was matched by the power of this artifact."

Reaching the center of the chamber, Dejan unfurled the Lidless Cloak. The spell that Syr Theros had placed on it remained, strengthened upon their return to the monastery. A thin veil rippled across the garment but the eyes remained there for all to see. Some of them were now closed, spent in the battle against the two pursuants. Dejan's many injuries could attest to the potency of the magic which it possessed.

Placing the cloak on the table to be studied by others, the knight took a step back. "A hundred blessings from the Everwatcher, so the Prelate claimed. I shall leave any further explanation to Syr Theros." A nagging anxiety struck Dejan as he looked back at the cloak once more. The spell to mask the cloak's sight was that of Loch. They had only just learned that the Everwatcher was of the Loch, a being of almost unfathomable power. Had Dejan unknowingly brought the enemy into the very heart of the Order?

 

[Ars Propheta-Capabilis]

Ars had arrived well prepared- and quite excited, not perhaps the good excited one might feel when presenting a gift to a friend, but the excited that made one's stomach generally toss about while adventuring somewhere new and possibly dangerous -for whatever discussion and problem solving was to be had at this rare council meeting, insisting on a front row seat. With their regular Aide D'Hand, Syr Wendell Rafeles, a wonderfully patient young knight with an ear and hand for scribework, general mobility and task completion assistance, and the know-how of defensive posturing, and Ars' own personal notes and calculations, all that was left was to wait for the meeting of the minds to begin.

Helena calls attention to the room with her usual knightly grace, voice firm and grabbing as a flame- though perhaps a little loud for Ars' liking in the wonderfully resonating Twilight Chamber - and announces the task at hand: The Everwatcher, who or what is it? - It's purpose and design, what does it truly want? - It seems to bring ill will, what do we need to do?

Selene follows up with her own thoughts and knowns, the most striking of which is the residence of this Everwatcher... The vast Loch. Ars shivers at the notion of one of their innate pursuits being invaded. Her illusion of eyes drives the point quite well home. Dejan suggests there may be a personal connection to the Order.

Ars and Wendell each take down notes, known facts in one column, suppositions in another, and drawn conclusions in a third, though perhaps with different turns of phrase.

The next to speak was Dorn, all gruff and coarse, voice- and worse, words! -sending a wave of discomfort through Ars. Was it not cruel and unusual punishment to focus only on Loch as though they carried a species-specific disease? If the claim of the Everwatcher taking on unwilling eyes is true, could it not target anyone, whether their connection to Loch was personal, or proximal? They were all around Loch every day, if it was to be treated like a disease, they were all likely to be weak to it. Faramund takes a similar stance almost as soon as Ars is finished making the notation on the tiny piece of paper in their hand.

Roebin then takes loud umbrage with the notion, announcing to Dorn's face how offensive his idea came off whether he meant it as so or not, and Ars can feel their cap wrinkling at the sudden turn of the conversation. Wendell offers a concerned glance, a mouthed "Should we leave now?" that brings a balm to the rapidly reddening wound of lost conversation.

Galvanhad takes up with Dorn directly in the face of his superior Master Featherwind, just as he might have when they were children and had first arrived at Astenvale. They were joined at the hip in all things emotion and trust, this Ars knew from observing them through the windows of the infirmary and at the edges of the gardens, sixty or so years ago. If one seemed to be insulted, then the other bowed up in defense.

Perhaps Ars' emotions, the feeling of discomfort and the pain of their too-loud voices in the echoing chamber, was too small of a prickle for the empathetic Galvanhad to notice from such a distance.

What has happened? This was supposed to be a council meeting, wasn't it? Why are we yelling and making foolish, hurtful, disrespectful comments?

Roebin lays into Galvanhad for his foul step, just as unnoticing, and Wendell kindly cups his hand over Ars to muffle some of the noise of the warring knights. Finally, Selene cuts through the fog, and demands that if they must be subjected to embarassingly intimate searches, that she be searched first. Ars knew, perhaps not with the depth of a first-hand Empath, but indeed with the scientific knowledge of observation and reputable conversation, what he would find. All manner of evil, darkness, despair. An awful art that ate away at the practitioner from the inside out like a far less friendly fungus might once its spores were inhaled. It intrigued and terrified Ars that their captain was at such a risk.

At the height of this awful little contest of will- what did Humans call it? A pissing contest? Nasty! -Solon arrives, research clasped in his hand and countenance heavy. At once he provides thought-out, looked-for accounts of the Everwatcher. The account began to ring with familiarity and sadness, and Ars thought back to a research committee being formed...

Master Hawthorne's demise five or so years ago. This was his committee.

Wendell's hand moved, and notes were hastily scrawled despite the raised voices. It quickly became apparent at least to Ars that they were all at risk. This Everwatcher wasn't of the Loch, it had been unknowingly planted there to grow as an invasive species might overtake Ars' garden. They would have to speak, and soon, but Ars doubted they would even be heard over the ruckus. They would have to rely on Wendell to call out, and made a gesture to indicate so to the young man. He nods in reply and looks up from his paper to watch for the perfect opening.

Dorn and Galvanhad together formed a unified wall, pushing their notion, and while Ars did expect Dorn to be unnecessarily cruel, they hadn't expected Galvanhad to so flagrantly disrespect his superior, whether the superior was of the counterpart sanctum to his own or not!

"Wendell, please hurry!"

And just like that, Helena- Eldyr Tree watch upon and bless upon her -calls out to indicate, nay, command that enough is enough! Ars feels a relief even despite the squeeze of their cap to ward off the firm ring of her voice around the dome. Her words tolling true in the hearts of many if the whisper of talk is any indication, conviction and assurety ruling over the rabbling argument with the tone of leadership and the even scales of justice. She wasn't to be ignored based on age, she was to be heard based on competence, and she had shown yet again her ability in Ars' eyes. At once she calls to Dejan to present his horrible finding.

Oh, frightening!

A cloak of so many eyeballs, a few closed, and yet so many more watching, seeking, searching. He said his piece, however small and possibly tinged with the worry of yet another unfair outburst, and directed to Bebin for his words. Ars now had their chance to speak, but they weren't sure if, after Helena's firm remarks, that commenting on the Loch-Searching was such a good idea. The smog of disaccord was still hanging over Ars, and their auditory cells still rang from the din, but there were more pressing matters. Ars pulled their Singingstone from their belt as Wendell momentarily rose to speak, only to sit again afterwards.

"Ars has words, Syrs."

With an uncomfortable ahem noise, and a hurried dousing of their toes with water for hydration, Ars stood up on the stone bench, Singingstone held up as one might cup a bowl of soup to their lips. Their voice was soft as they spoke across the dished pebble, volume more appropriate for a library, but not unheard.

"Thank you, Wendell. I, I have a few points to make, and perhaps a few suggestions after that, if I will be heard, captains." Ars pauses momentarily and gives their feet another douse, voice becoming a little clearer.

"First. If we are treating the Everwatcher like a transmissable illness that is to be tested for, every single person coming and going from the Monastery, the residents of Astenvale itself, and any and all contacts with Astenvale as a whole should be searched. 'No surface the blade of his mind could not penetrate.' Assuming only one group is susceptible would be a folly, and is how the Delta Purge went unresearched and untreated until it met the minor Lords in the outlying territories and they finally declared it a problem."

Ars pauses to let their words percolate, the steady drip-drip-drip of a distillation. It had been too long, and speeches after such a time made them deeply nervous, further unhelped by the prior vocal combat.

"Second. Solon, does your research come from a committee formed five years ago, after Santos Hawthorne's suspicious death? It is the only event I can think of. If so, and if what was found is true, then it only confirms my suspicions that everyone is in danger. If it is strong only against Loch, we can use that advantage. We have a chance now, with all minds put to task, to figure out through methods and experimentation what we are dealing with. Please don't squander it."

Ars holds off momentarily to feel a breeze stirring in the chamber, cap finally unfurling from the scrunched position it had been in.

"May I request everyone keep their voices only loud enough to be heard? My auditories were starting to ache earlier... As others already suggest for the problem at hand, I think more committees need to be formed for research; textual, practical, and experimental. Practical and experimental can be dangerous, but this world is dangerous, and the Everwatcher seems moreso. Bruteforce guards may not help. Knowledge is a weapon all the same as glaive and axe and flame and curse. Wendell, please lift me?"

Wendell puts his hand down to climb aboard, and kindly lifts Ars up and out towards the center of the chamber. Ars stands up very carefully, in reach of the young man's thumb for stability, and points at the awful cloak with conviction beyond size.

"And we must start with that. Bebin, please don't let me delay you."

 

[Bebin Theros]

https://soundcloud.com/david-giffard%2Freharl-of-the-loch

Upon the cold stone Bebin Theros sat. His eyes closed to the spectacle before them. His ears deaf to those voices that called and chattered and pulled. A drift.

He need not see the projections, for he had seen They Who Watch.

He need not hear the recounts, for he had lived in those very moments. His heart beat quickened with those echoes. His lungs filled with the air of those breaths. The flame upon the field of communion. A great searing eye of gold and red open against grey stone and so much dirt.

A locus.

He smirked at the memory. Bared teeth in twisted snarl as others flooded through, like a river come crashing over rock after a roiling storm. A collection of so much rain, every single little drop that fell from greyed nimbus, turned torrent. Surged and fell.

A voice. Small and clear sounded in his ear. Bebin set his lips to firm line. A cold breath in . A hot breath out. Syr Theros opened his eyes and rose from the rock, gaze alit with a shimmer of cobalt and the glitter of silver across their surface. The same light that traced and streamed across the surface of the Lidless Cloak and all its eyes.

He did not look to anything, or anyone, but the cloak, veiled as it was in the light of Loch he knew so well. He stopped, beside Dejan, and turned to present himself before their Order.

"Thank you, Syrs," he said, voice firm and cool, and bowed his head quickly to each knight who had spoken in turn. He rose up, straight and tall, and beturbaned as he ever was, and he looked to his vow sworn kin.

"We are no strangers to the powers of Dusk," he said to all with even tone. "Blood," he motioned with one hand toward the cloak, and those organs so woven into its shimmering fabric. "Is a potent catalyst with which to gather the energies of magick," he looked to Dejan, to Selene, and he let his arm fall. "It should come as no surprise to us then, that flesh too, and all it carries, can create a greater reaction in the manifistation of magicks."

He huffed, and turned to face the cloak. "But it is the user," he placed a hand before the veiled cloak, an open palm. "Who draws that magicks through them," No eye stared at Bebin's hand, each searched frantically across the room, stopping for but a moment, but never quite focusing before they flicked to see elsewhere. "One hundred blessings from the Everwatcher, the Prelate had said, yet," he turned back to face them. "It took but two of us to render them blind," his own eyes shone tourmaline blue, and the coils of Loch that bound the Lidless Cloak rippled in response to the Pursuant's pulse. ​

 

[Osuin]

There was now a name to the corruption he had faced with Vos and Selene – The Everwatcher. Osuin had long fretted over it since the encounter. It was not a battle like any other he’d experienced, and the wounds suffered could not be forgotten. It was a blessing that they’d lived, and evidence that they’d been caught unprepared. The meeting that had been called was an effort to remedy that. Discussions of the great and unseen evil in their midst abounded.

His thoughts remained to himself as Syrs Dorn and Galvanhad spoke of the need to investigate those within the order, singling out those of the Loch. Selene took the notion far from lightly, and matters soon spiralled into an argument on whether the knights themselves ought to be regarded as suspect. What was a meeting to discuss potential tactics to counter a newly discovered foe had started with finger pointing. The resulting argument was hardly a surprise, given the tone the conversation so quickly took.

Osuin had been quiet, yet attentive through it all. He arrived with little knowledge of The Everwatcher, aside from awareness of what it felt like to put a sword through it.

Though the monastery provided safety, the forces of Arethil were too great and varied to protect against all the forces within it. Magical protection, much like armour, could not completely prevent all harm. Nothing is absolute, and no matter how layered the protection might be there would always be a means of bypassing it. But to do so without leaving sign nor trace also seemed all but impossible. Had Astenvale been corrupted, there would surely be a sign of it. If this newly identified force had been able to infiltrate the order despite the measures taken against such a thing, they were dealing powers beyond anything he could imagine. Ars spoke wisdom, and Osuin could not disagree with the point he made.

“We must not lose ourselves to infighting while such a threat remains. I do not mean to say that we needn't guard ourselves, but I hold that our energy is best spent against our foe.” He added, hoping his words might find purchase among his peers.

"And we must start with that. Bebin, please don't let me delay you." Ars added, bidding their attention towards Bebin who had a tale to recount. One hundred against two, and the two stood victorious over the battle, though certainly not the greater conflict. He spoke of flesh and magic that flowed through it, and Osuin remembered the necromancer who gave himself to foul powers that twisted his flesh into a flowing multi-eyed ichor. He further remembered an encounter many years ago against a similar mass of corruption that spanned a sizable area within the forest. It was not the same, but the similarity seemed stark. Only now did he realize there might be connection between the two.

“A magic that flows within flesh, you say, Bebin?” Osuin commented, pausing before he continued. “That is truly the creature we fought, for it was human once. Before it gave itself to whatever wicked magics flowed that day.” Osuin added, and turned to Helena next.

“Do you recall that corruption we fought against many years ago, before the Great Heron? It looked much like that, black and with many eyes. I wonder....do you think it could be the same?” He asked, sharing the burning question with her. She had not seen the threat he had faced alongside Selene, and could not draw comparison to it. But she could compare it to the facets of The Everwatcher the knights had thus far discussed.

He was not making a case for his theory. If anything, he hoped his notion would be corrected.

 

[Selene]

She had not anticipated that Syr Galvanhad might take her hand, there in the half-circle hall of the masters. Even as she felt some of her spirits return to her at Galvanhad's natural restoration, Selene's gaze narrowed and jaw clenched.

What luck then, that Helena stepped forward and spoke, restoring order with the unassailable cantor of her voice. She reminded them all of their duty, and of the enemy before them. Selene took the opportunity to pull her hand away and step from Syr Galvanhad, repositioning herself so that her Dawn counterpart could be seen by all. The room settled. The war council carried on.

An artifact was presented, the cloak of closed eyes, and she listened as Bebin explained to those gathered that the Everwatcher's power - while it was imbued in the cursed artifact - was currently blinded and quelled. A reassurance, as well as a theory about the nature of their enemy. For if the Everwatcher still needed flesh to channel magick in the waking world, then he could not completely be the stuff of dreaming and mind. Syrs Ars and Osuin thought as much as well, putting forward more questions, more postulations.

They were speaking of Master Hawthorn's death.

She wondered if they'd realized it yet. An investigation that had provided little at the time except rumors and myths. But if it was connected to later manifestations, if Osuin and Ars were right in their line of inquiry... could the demon upon the mountain she had faced with Osuin be only one of many? A worrying prospect.

Selene chose not to speak just yet, instead looking to Helena and the others to hear their thoughts.

 

[Helena]

A moment of reflection passed over the Captain of dawn. A dive into that damp soil of her memory. It stirred. And out peered the many eyes of which Syr Osuin spoke.

Writhing. Twisting. Flowing flesh that grew teeth from nothing and screamed with the countless chords of throats and maws stolen and deformed.

"Yes," Helena replied flatly. Held down the rush of emotions that swelled like billowing clouds of muck from the silt of her mind. "Based on the happenings, those five years past, in the events that had seen former Master of Loch, Santos Hawthorne come to his death," she gave pause, as if she needed to make sure she remembered correctly. As if she wanted nothing more than to forget all she saw that day. "Syr Osuin, Syr Eironmar, and myself came across such a creature," She gave thought as to how these words would be recorded. How her speech need be clear. She looked at that thing that was veiled by Loch's light.

How little she knew of those pursuits of Dusk.

Could those eyes truly be locked away behind such magicks? Still, the moved and peered and glanced in every which way. Just as those eyes amidst that black mass had then.

"I believe it is sound to consider that foe, related to this one we face now, Syr Osuin," she bowed her head to her comrade of so many years. The man she had surived such horrors beside. Shoulder to shoulder as swells of blighted death ebbed around them. "The Blight Drinker," she said coldly. And the memory of the blade still sent a cold tingle down her spine. She looked to the gathered knights, "An ancient relic recovered from that same mission," her eyes looked to Selene's. "It drank our magic, and made quick work of the creature we faced then too..."

"Blight Drinker," said one Master of Life, Isilius Hawken, sat beside the empty seat of the Commander. 'Is a relic from times long past," he stroked the hairs of his beard, and his patient gaze looked to young Syr Raye. "Of that same era regarded in your records, Young Pursuant," he bowed his head in respect and understanding. ​

 

[Osuin]

"Yes," Helena responded, and Osuin was disappointment at the agreement. The same corruption that had claimed the life of Master Hawthorne seemed connected to the Everwatcher, and that they would have to fight it again was a notion found chilling. It was no battle he would dare shy away from, but if their concerns held true, it was bound to be a fearsome fight. Hopeful as he had been that there was other explanation, Osuin accepted the challenge ahead. If Helena held it was true, Osuin was more certain that it was.

"I believe it is sound to consider that foe, related to this one we face now, Syr Osuin," Helena continued, and Osuin nodded his head in solemn agreement. He had not forgotten the sword recovered all those years ago, nor the peril it had put them in, nor the destruction brought upon their foe with every swing of the blade. The sword was nemesis to all that was magick, and had proven bane against the corruption then, but it further placed them in peril to use.

Osuin had it safely sealed away because of that in a corner of the monastery, behind protections that prevented the weapon's aura from eating at the arcane fabric. Even that had not been enough, as the wards that held it had to be constantly replenished, for even those were not safe from Blight Drinker's thirst for magic. He had promised Master Hawthone that he'd keep the sword safe, and see it used only when needed.

Now appeared to be that time.

“That it did, it was as effective against it as it was dangerous to our own enchantments and magic weaving. I'd hoped not to wield it again, but I remain prepared for the worst. The sword has been maintained and safely kept, should we need it.” Osuin spoke, pausing before he continued.

“I fear we shall.”

 

[Selene]

Selene was still weary from her injuries. She blamed the weight in her chest on that as she gazed out at the uneasy gathering of knights, at the six masters seated around the half-circle table, at the Knight Commander's chair in the center, empty. The last time she had spoken to the old dragon, surely was not at her master's wake? There must have been another time since then. She buried the dreary thought as Sry Osuin finished speaking.

"...I remain prepared for the worst. The sword has been maintained and safely kept, should we need it. I fear we shall.”

"Fear not, Syr Osuin." Selene stepped forward again, addressing the Dawn knight. "Your kin will prepare alongside you, and we will face this threat with many minds and blades."

She widened her attention to the rest of those gathered. "The artificers of Dusk will investigate the relics we have collected - this cloak of eyes and Blight Drinker. We must discover why our enemy covets these items so, and as Syr Osuin said, if our hand is forced, I would rather know what sort of power they contain." A glance at the little Ars, cupped with such conviction in his aide's hands, and at Bebin, who even now kept those ugly eyes at bay. "Every possible connection will be investigated, both within and outside the Monastery.

"But above it all, we will return to the regular vigils. Though this threat to our Order is great, we must remember that we are not the Everwatcher's only target. We will meet his followers wherever we find them, and continue to protect this land." Even if it meant leaving their own belly exposed, but Selene left that part unsaid.

As Helena had began the gathering, it was customary for Selene to end it. Straightening again, she allowed herself one last flourish, a wide sweep of her staff that set her robes to swirl. With a resounding plunk, Selene banged her staff back onto the tile floor.

"Night turns to day --" She intoned, though it was a bit metaphorical. The moons would just be rising outside, the bulk of a cold and clear night still ahead of them. "As we rise now to our duties, remember that your kin rise with you, as they have before, and hereafter."

Many of them in this room had heard the words before, from councils past. They ought to be heard again, the weight of it different now. Selene dropped the veil of ceremony, a subtle shift in her voice, and spoke plainly.

"So you are knights," The words rang out high in the rafters as she paused, gaze as immutable as ever. "All of you bear that title, you who bent the knee and swore the vows. We are not called knights because we own land or serve a lord, no. We are knights because there is work that must be done, and we are the ones to do it. That work has never stopped once in our hundreds of years of service, and the Everwatcher is not going to halt it now."