Knights of Anathaeum Where the Wyld Things Are

[Dejan Damir]

5 Years Ago​

"Not much further now," Dejan stated as he brushed aside a wayward branch. They were not far from the Monastery itself but the wood became particularly dense in this area. It would have been easy to get lost but the older knight navigated with ease. He was intimately familiar with their destination as it had become a staple to him during his days as a Sworn. Normally there would have been a path but nature's energy was thick around them. One could almost feel it dripping like sap from sycamore. It was safe to say that the Pursuant of Wyld was comforted by his current surroundings.

The pair trekked along for a little longer before the darkness of the dense foliage gave way to light of day. Dejan stepped forward into the center of the noticeably circular clearing. Further inspection would show that the trees that formed the perimeter were intricately carved. Small stone statues were interspersed throughout the outer rim in various states of disrepair. This place had existed for some time, long before Dejan was born let alone the one who accompanied him.

"It's been some time since I was last here," the older knight stated as he reached the center of the natural training ground. "This origins of this place are unknown but we have taken to calling it the Wreath. Master Brambleshell has served as its caretaker for many years. She brought me here when I was around your age as well." The difference was that Dejan had been nothing more than a simple Sworn. He turned to look at Helena, who had only recently been granted the rank of Pursuant. A truly remarkable achievement and one that brought hope for the future of the Knight's Anathaeum.

He remained silent for a few moments, letting the crisp morning air rest between them. "I understand that you requested my assistance, Syr Helena. Surely not with the blade since you were my match when but a Sworn." There was no envy in his tone, if anything there was a measure of pride. Dejan was not an easy opponent, even with one arm, but there were better fighters among the Order. "So tell me, what exactly would you ask of this old knight?"

Helena

 

[Helena]

It was almost overwhelming. The raw power of the Wyld that did swirl about them. That filled each lungful of Helena's breath, and seemed to suck at each of her strides like so much mud.

Not much further.

Syr Damir said it with such certainty, but Helena could feel the burn in her muscles. The hints of strain where chords connected to tendon and bone. Not quite fatigue. No. She was sturdier than that. Trained harder than that. But... she could feel it still. The added weight that came with a place so rampantly untamed.

Part of her wondered if the wolves could feel it. Or the countless birds and rodents that nested about and scurried on their way.

Not so much as you feel the weight of your own breath. She recalled the Captain's words from lessons that seemed so far away.

Syr Damir spoke once more, and it seemed as if they came to a clearing of sorts. "The Wreath," Helena found herself saying as she took in the sites of the hollow ground, and it was as if her lips had moved on their own accord. As if some part of her felt that just by saying the name of such a place, a part of it would imbue her with but a fragment of its power. A shard. A splinter.

They stood in silence. But how could they stand in such silence when so much life stirred about them, and so much of the Vale's energies seemed to flow through this node upon its countless branches.

What you ask of this old knight?

Helena's eyes snapped to the older man, who had tread so far along the path of their order. Had seen much, and given more. Her own gaze was firm, and she did not flinch at the question.

"Your wisdom, Syr Damir," she said as she bowed her head to him. "The shade that shields the younger life beneath strong boughs," she lifted her eyes to meet his once more. "I seek to learn from a Knight who wields the Wyld, not as a mere force they simply add to ones own, or tool they wield with deft skill, but," her gaze filled with determination and she stood taller, felt her feet plant firmer and flatter into the ground beneath them. "as an extension of their very being," she bowed her head again in respect. "Syr,"

Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

Humility was not often found in those of great talent, yet Helena was ever the exception. It made it all the more easier to accept her request.

"Knowledge is meant to be shared," Dejan stated. "And a willing student is a boon to any teacher." He looked as if he was about to say more but held a pensive visage instead. The pursuant didn't truly have any reservations about instructing Syr Helena but some consideration was required. "As you've noted, my connection to Wyld magik is more intimate than some of our other brothers and sisters. Circumstances necessitated it be so." Dejan's empty sleeve bristled slightly in the morning wind. "My purpose in clarifying this distinction is that my wielding is more taxing in comparison. This may not be true for you but it is important to keep in mind. Especially in the midst of battle."

Dejan's arcane method had made him a decidedly potent force among the Knights Anathaeum. His rank of Pursuant was granted partly due to this reason. The scale and effectiveness of his spells were significant but not without cost. It was all too easy to find himself spent during the course of a battle. An ever precarious balance was at play. One that needed to be managed carefully and could truly only be learned through experience. Still, Helena's natural talents far outstripped his own and he trusted she would find her way.

"Tell me, Syr. What is your current disposition with regards to the Wyld?" the older knight asked. It was important to understand where the young pursuant currently stood. The nature of her spells and how she used them would give Dejan the guidance he needed to begin.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Wisdom spoken was wisdom given, to all ear so in tune to listen. It was the first lesson she had learned as a squire, for Captain Siersemzi had spoken it into being. Before her and so many more squires beside her.

Now, she stood much like she had then. At attention and alert.

"With regards to the Wyld," the younger knight repeated. As if the words water for her to take in. "I have felt the fire that stirs within those beings that walk the Wylds," she came still, and closed her own eyes. Just as she had seen so many before her do.

She felt with every single bit of her being. Her toes wiggled in her boots as her weight rested ever firmer upon the ground she stood upon. Breath filled her lungs. And she felt the small fires of those things that stirred about them. Hidden behind blades of grass and bend of branch. Cooled by the shadow of leaf and the currents of wind.

"I have called them to my aid, and they have given their answer," small birds flit about the clearing, sprung from their hiding only to race about the pair of knights in shark formation. Helena's eyes came open, and the little birds broke away. "Vine and root, too, lend me their grace," about the young woman's boots tangled and twisted new growth. Stalks grew long and curled, and flowers bloomed too quick in spring.

She let out a long smooth breath. And the plants fell beneath their own weight. She bowed her head again to the older Knight. "But I find the span of the Wyld to be far beyond what little I can will,"

Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan watched carefully as the other knight demonstrated her knowledge of the Wyld. The Pursuant noted the density of the energies that gathered about his young peer. Certain magiks possessed an innate complexity that could make them difficult to grasp. Wyld magic was about nature, the base state of all living things in this world. Life was not simple but ofttimes could be distilled down to a single aspect, a singular ideal. The purer the form, the deeper one's connection to the Wyld would be. Much like nature itself, the connection was fluid and ever-changing.

"Your connection to the Wyld is strong," the old knight replied, "And can be stronger still." He looked to the greenery, embracing the serenity it provided. The Wreath could truly be considered among the blessed places of the Reach. He let himself bask his own bond for a moment before returning his attention to Helena.

"The scope of the Wyld can be...overwhelming," Dejan stated, searching for the appropriate word. "I've seen many attempt to control the forest without first understanding the tree." Power gained without proper foundation could lead to dangerous and unfortunate consequences. Too many knights were eager to show their worth, taking shortcuts in their learning as a result. "Knowing that all life is connected is key, apparent though this may be. The root, the worm, the twig, the nest, the bird, the tree, the forest, the Reach. Hone your understanding of each individual relationship. Envision the sinews that bind each fragment. Eventually your reach shall extend beyond the span of what was once capable."

He knew his explanation was vague but it was the best way he knew how to explain it. Power gathered about Dejan as the knight drew the Wyld to him. Suddenly the trees around the Wreath seemed to bow towards him. Then just like that, things returned to normal.

"The root can bring you an entire forest." Dejan asked nothing of Helena, giving her time to process his advice. These things were not learned in a single day.


Helena

 

[Helena]

Focus, determination. It was with the fresh scars earned beneath a twisted node of the Balewood, wounds healed which still felt like hollows beneath the surface of her flesh, that Helena listened to the wizened Knight, Pursuant of the Wylds. In that twisted den, she could not help but wonder, how could she have called the forest to her aid?

In such a blighted place. What would have happened if she called out to those roots most timeless and deeply-burrowed.

If life was connected, what would it mean to call upon that life which was turned nemesis-to-all-that-still-lived? How the mass of ink had rippled. How the eyes had blinked. Countless and ever-watching. No. She breathed out, and let the scents of The Wreath fill her. There was no lesson there for her to learn. Not in this.

It was the screams the mouths made. The twisted snarls she knew to be the maws of every beast that made the Wilds their home. Wolves, rats, ravens and serpents. Caught in the twist of it all. Things long dead, dredged up by rampant and unnatural growth.

She could feel still. As the smell of pine and musk and feathers on the wind swirled about her nose, the natural order of this place. How the seeds were eaten, shells broken by hard teeth in tiny jaws that would bite and the necks of large maws lined with larger fangs. Entrails ripped and spread as blood spilt into the soil and all gave turn anew beneath the patient trees canopies.

Her eyes came open, and she looked to Dejan with a slate-sure stare. "The root can house the worm, which tills the earth, which beds the seed, which turns to grass where rabbit hides and foxes hunt," she recited. "Take the root of a tree, and it may stand tall still," she went on. "Take two, and come the strong winds, that tree may fall. Ancient weight crash against all life beneath it. Toppled over, with branches half broken, the tree dies a slow death. No longer does its boughs give shelter to those creatures that took comfort in its shade," she spoke freely, but it was clear by her expression that there was a doubt that lingered. "Loose a root... and more is lost than a simple tree," she seemed to grasp at the ideas, as her eyes looked about at the ring of leal sentinels that did stand tall and proud about them.

Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

The older knight watched his younger counterpart carefully but without judgement. Dejan sensed something off as he observed Helena but said nothing for the moment. Interruptions could be dangerous in matters of magic. He doubted she would lose control considering her talents but one could never say. There was much on the young knight's shoulders. Dejan had once dealt with the burden of expectation, its weight could not be underestimated. Even then, he could not completely understand all that Helena was experiencing.

He heard the words and felt depth, and yet the tone was worrying. Dejan suspected the source of the issue was related to the other knight's most recent mission. Rumors were abound, and Dejan was privy to more information than most.

"You walk the path Syr, but there is anxiety in your step," the old knight finally said. Truthfully what he saw was more akin to fear but did not state it so. It was not yet time to delve into such matters, if it was even his place to do so. "Remember, you must seek the simplest connection. Do not attempt to understand every interaction."

Dejan let his words sit before adding one final, important, reminder. "Do not succumb to uncertainty. Remember the natural state."

Helena

 

[Helena]

The simplest connection.

It was almost like mockery. To ask to search for simplicity. She felt her blood run hotter as her eyes shut, her lips twitched as breath drew in to her nose. How. How could she seek simplicity when all was turned to twist and tangle and tarnish. Eyes, endless. Mouths, hungry. A body that was as vast as the wild around them.

She wanted to snap. To snarl. To ask. How dare you?

She had watched a Master fall. She had seen spirits come back from the dead and beat their wings to take flight as all her nerves screamed, and her hands, healed still, felt as if they burned. How they now burned. She clenched her fists, tight down her side as fingernails dug into the flesh of palms.

Do not succumb to uncertainty.

The words were like a salve.

Remember the natural state.

The mind was a thing of perceptions. Of the sight of eyes and the sound taken in by the ears. The mind was a thing prone to falsehoods. Misremembering, fabrication. Her feet, rarely lied. Planted against the earth, toes spread wide to better grip the ground beneath them. What was more simple than the root. That which spread through the earth. Drew up power from the soil and stabilized the proud trunk that held up the bright leaves.

A long breath through her nose, a long breath out through her mouth. She felt the power of the land swell through her. Felt the fracture of her past wounds across her hands ease, only just.

"The Wilds provide," she said sure.

Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan did not react even as he sensed an alien presence. His gaze hardened for a moment but quickly turned pensive. The arcane powers were no easy thing, no matter how talented the individual. He did however believe that this fluctuation did not come about due to a lack of control. Once again, much seemed to be occurring under the surface. It was ever a delicate balance that the older knight needed to maintain.

He found himself relaxing along with Helena, as she found certainty in her way.

"That they do, Syr, that they do," Dejan respond with similar conviction. "Do not let go of this feeling. Engrave it deep into the roots of your very being. It should come as natural as every step you take from the moment you rise from slumber." What he asked would not be accomplished today, nor within the weeks to follow. It took the Pursuant a decade to truly achieve this level of comfort. He suspected Helena would not require nearly as long.

The knight took a step back, easing his stance as he did so. "To which pursuit do you feel most akin, Syr?"


Helena

 

[Helena]

Do not let go...Engrave it... into the roots...as every step...rise...

Her eyes came open, dark and smoldering with a golden warmth. "To life, Syr," she answered, and felt the very blood coursing through her veins. The pump of her heart. The daring quality of existence. She stood, and felt the wyld hold her up. Felt the flame of the sun, warm her skin and lend her its light. "Life, and the promise it brings."

 

[Dejan Damir]

"Well said."

The older knight's worries may have been premature, hope was ever the promise of something greater. He still sensed conflict within his peer but it had not defined her. Too often would despair latch unto the heart and drive one to ruin. Loss was natural but not easily reconciled. In the midst of tragedy, nature's tenets became all too real. An unwelcome friend, solitary guest, ofttimes a demon in disguise. Dejan did not find fault in mourning and all that came with it.

"There's no need for me to expound upon the importance of the connection between the two pursuits," the old knight eventually said with a satisfied shrug. It was all too easy to lose sight of the proper path. Logic did not always breed understanding.

"Helena, Life is about conjunction. Communication is imperative, regardless of form." Dejan did not doubt the other pursuant's sincere desire to learn yet he suspected she sought something more abstract.

An old man's intuition, nothing more.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Conjunction. Communication. Connection. "Is that why we are at the Wreath, Syr?" she asked, as she felt her toes flat against the earth. The layer of leather there between flesh and soil, hardly felt.

Yes.

To tell the story. To hear the wisdom that had been passed down. Simple truths, so hard to take in. He had been here too. Young as she.

Did he resent her for it? Her position. Pursuant too soon. No. No. That was her own worry. Her own fault. She could not help but frown, her eyes snapped down. As if there would be an answer to find in the dirt, the blades of grass, the scratch of insect's feet against bramble and bush.

Nothing.

She let in a deep breath. Smelled the fresh air. Heard the birds sing. Felt a sadness well up in her. Felt her lip tremble, but she stiffened it away. Set her jaw and raised her eyes again to the old knight. The Pursuant of the Wyld. Syr Dejan Damir.

Her burns ached.

How could she stand so proud before him, when she had failed to protect their Master of Loch? So great her shame, that The Blue Sun fled their order, and left vacant the seat of her captaincy. The seat Syr Dejan now took.

Her eyes faltered.

Interim.

Rigid as the mounain, the young knight bent. Like oak swayed by strong wind across its boughs and branches. "I am full of regret, Syr," she said plainly. Felt feelings well up inside her. Anger, sorrow, sadness. "Full of," she snapped her teeth. Breath pushed through bared canines. "Shame," her eyes welled with cool tears she could feel there. They rolled down her face. And her breath shuddered as her mask began to crack. "I failed him Syr," she thought of Selene. Of Captain Sierzemsi, of Syr Dejan and all the others who loved the man so.

She could not save him. And the smile upon his ethereal form haunted her still.

 

[Dejan Damir]

The surrounding fauna fluttered at the young Pursuant's admission. A testament to both her connection to the wyld as well as Dejan's empathy. Twas not an easy burden to bear, especially for one so young. Her tears sought to break the bastion of his own resolve. Death was no stranger to a member of the Order, but despair was another matter. The self-loathing that came with failure was a wall which some knights could never overcome. It was difficult to accept but failure was oft the outcome of their endeavors. Not everyone could be saved, and that fact could drive even the most fervent to the abyss.

"Regret," Dejan said slowly, "is something to which you should be accustomed." Hard words woven within a harder truth. "Failure, as well." Dejan looked down to where his arm would've been. This was not a place for empty platitudes, nor did Helena deserve them. "We are knights, not gods. Bound to the limitations of anyone else."

Dejan was not unaffected by the veracity of his own words. How many fellow Anathaeum had he buried over the years...

Too many, and there would be more still.

"Our very purpose invites failure, regret, and all that comes with trying to better this world-but never be ashamed. Never that," Dejan's final words resounded with an earthly certainty.

His gaze softened as he looked directly at his younger peer, "The fault was not yours."

Helena

 

[Helena]

It was as she heard his words, that she let herself feel the full weight of her emotions. The sorrow. Deep and cutting. It sank into the soil of her being. Beneath the surface. It chilled her roots with winter's cold. Made her want to sleep. Hide. Her leaves fall away and her life held on to.

For what sun could drive away such cold?

Tears ran down her face. Hot streams down her cheeks. She looked away from the man. Who had given so much and would give more. Would give all he had.

Would she fail him too?

Would she fail Osuin?

Syr Faramund?

What of Captain Selene, or Valborast?

What of her sister, Seluria?

The squires? Chadwick, Mara, Ars, Innis, to name but a few of the young faces she had trained with. Had helped train. Had sparred with in the yard. Taught to ride, and tend to the beasts, as well as the fields they prowled upon.

It was as if a damn had broken. A rush of all she had to fight for and defend crashing through the earthen walls she had constructed. Like prideful man, trying to tame the truth of the Wylds. Death cared for no one. Rest came to all Life. Release from the labors of Flame. Set to drift upon the currents of the Loch.

Fat tears fell from her face. She sobbed. She cried. She let it all out, and fell to a knee. Surrendered to the greater truth that surrounded her. She was but a single soul. Without her pack, she would fall to the cold truth of winter. Without her pack, she could not find shelter after storm and fire. Without her pack, what was the point of life amidst so much death?

"I... I just want the strength to carry on, Syr, to... to protect those I love," she said through sobs and quavering breath. She let out long and cool breath, and stood once more. Fierce eyed, despite the redness there in her gaze. Despite the puffiness that came with such weeping. She held her chin high. "That is why I come, to learn, to prepare, to better arm myself for all we face," she said, sure in her mission. "To humble myself against the greater truths beyond us, we are nothing, without each other, and the strength we find in our Pursuits,"

 

[Dejan Damir]

Dejan watched as the younger knight truly accepted all that had transpired. Twas not something easily done; to bare oneself in their entirety. Those of the Anathaeum were not known for casually shedding tears. Yet before Dejan stood an individual who so desperately sought to protect her convictions. He had once been the same way-no he was still that man. How long had it been since he was so true to his own emotions? Time was not kind when it came to such things. Experience had a way of dulling what was truly important.

The old knight stepped forward once Helena had finally returned to her feet. Hot tears still streaked across her face but that was of little import. He placed his lone arm on the other knight's shoulder. "You already possess that strength, Syr. You would not be standing before me otherwise." There was conviction in the Pursuant's words, not easily denied.

He held Helena's gaze for a few moments before finally taking a step back. "You have more than humbled yourself." Dejan sighed as he looked to the other, seeing so much of her in his younger self. "We are indeed stronger together, Helena, but remember that you are part of that whole. Harmony is the essence of the Wyld. Should you strive without proper focus, you are not different than a corrupted root."

Helena

 

[Helena]

"Syr!" She said, in acknowledgement to his words. Her eyes still wet, still bleary with tears.

She felt her toes splay wide within her boots. Her muscles, worked up from her footing, across the length of her legs and core to shift and stabalize with small adjustments.

"All things in their proper, balance, Syr," she agreed. "Ambition, with measured thought, plan with reflection, remove the root, and the tree falls,"

Their own tree had just fallen. One whose roots were long and old. And what change that loss had brought. Their order in a state of shift.

"Death too, is a part of life," she said, solemn. She exhaled, as the wind about them blew. "As it is death that feeds the change that comes around it," she added, her eyes come down to the grass and the wild flowers and shrubs that sprouted rampantly about. She found a tree, long fallen and split open by rot and burrowing bug and creature. A den, made by something new. "Cold and uncaring as it is," she said as she watched those things that moved about. Insects and a small rodent that snatched up the smaller life. Held it to its mouth and went to work consuming.

Dejan Damir

 

[Dejan Damir]

"You've done well today." She performed admirably in her previous endeavor as well but Dejan knew she was not ready to hear that again. It had taken much to get the young Pursuant to open up. Time was still needed for her to properly heal and accept all that had transpired. Dejan knew that her renewed connection to the Wyld would also assist in this process. "Let us head back to the Monastery. Knowing when to rest is imperative. More importantly, a measure of distance can be valuable."

The Wreath was an area that was deeply immersed in Wyld magik, and thus why prospective knights were brought here. It was a dual-edged blade. Not all places of the world held such a strong connection. Helena's understanding needed to transcend the boundaries of this area. "The Wreath will always be open to those who seek to commune with the Wyld."

He paused upon leaving the Wreath as Helena had not immediately followed. Dejan saw the younger knight looking deep into the forest but could not tell what attracted her gaze.

Such was the way of the Wyld.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Well. Would well be enough? Well wasn't-

She let out long breath. Let her eyes come shut and felt the air stir about. The pulse of the ground beneath her feet. Slow and on a rhythm of such scale her mind could but grasp at its beginning, and still not span far enough to reach it.

The young Pursuant bowed her head to the Captain. "Yes, Syr," she replied. The script of formality helped her through the swimming grief. Stirred from the waters within which it slumbered. Beneath the mud of her repression.

But this place, those lines of ley that crossed the sacred site, the magicks of the land. They pushed her, up and out of that mire. Pulled her, through the muck that did suck her down. Gave her that which she needed to stand tall and true. Her breath filled her, full of the scents of that most Wyld place. When she felt them.

Eyes of golden dawn fixed upon her.

Saw them in the dark of her mind, fixed upon shadowed silhouette. A wolf like a mountain stone. A boulder of a beast. No less quick and cunning for being so solidly built. Its head turned, and as she opened her eyes and looked to where she felt its gaze, she saw not but the absence of its shape.

It was gone.

But her heart still raced.

Dejan Damir