Arthurian Cultivation

It was well into the evening before I finished the book. The tome was relatively short and the lessons were clear and easy to understand. It painted a strange picture of the path I could follow in the future.

Death glamour was a tool of the will. It held the ideas and power of the wielder and could be used to lash out at foes to great effect. The ‘curses’ the book described were techniques to bind the glamour to the Evil Eye and use that as a method to strike down your foes in a distressing array of forms. The problem was, I didn't know how to use the Evil Eye and the book wasn't going into detail on that.

That was something that would have to change. The curses were invaluable. Despite the name, they held little actual death— perhaps those were in the ‘greater book of death curses’. The lesser curses were more about applying a lasting malaise to the enemy. The Evil Eye only lasted as long as you applied it, the power letting up as soon as you turned away. A curse's power was in leaving a lingering ‘hex’ that would take time to remove.

For Death glamour, hexes focused on binding the target with a scrap of glamour that would harass them, from a distraction method called ‘the curse of the wailing dead’ to a far more insidious curse that would disrupt their ability to cultivate named ‘curse of the dripping chalice’, which would aim to slip small ‘sips’ of death glamour in whenever they tried to cultivate.

There were a few things that I learned that were of use. Top of the list was a method to create ‘totems’. These were little alchemical wards that would help shield others from death curses. They used the principles of sacrifice, creating a construct fueled with death glamour and should protect my allies from the effects caused by my cultivation method. An important discovery as it turned out, the side effect of my musical cultivation was unavoidable. The imparting of emotion and will to the glamour was essential to the process of gathering it.

'Make Totems' was added to an increasingly long list of 'essential' tasks was making some totems. I could assemble them with the stuff I had, thanks to Miss Peaches including the equipment in her gift. Even better, they didn't require cores. They did need me to ask people for some of their hair, that felt like a morning question, not a late-night baggy-eyed question. I'd look a right nutter.

Right now though, I wanted to eat whatever had been tantalising me with beautiful smells for the last hour. I poked my head outside to find the others gathered around a smoking stone mound that smelt of boar. Everyone was here, looking relaxed, a marked improvement from the earlier twitchiness. From the smell, Bors had clearly had a successful hunt.

I stepped out to a peaceful scene. The Knight stood next to Gring and Lance. His shoulders were at ease and he wasn't fidgeting like before. Lance was giving him detailed directions on how best to groom Gring, who was loving the attention. Gaz sat with a notepad sketching something. The normally stoic Squire wearing a faint smile that suited him well.

For a second, I was worried I'd disrupt the good mood by butting in. Bors must've sensed me, perhaps his cultivation felt the whisper of hesitation in my step, so he called me over. “Oi, Taliesin, can you check the smoker? Let me know if anything isn't working right.”

“Are you suggesting I use my Fae-given powers to smoke pork?” He looked worried for a second, but I grinned. “Sounds great.”

Walking over, I found there were two parts to the oven. The main body was roasting the body of the boar, while the limbs were in a second chamber. Running my power over it, I could sense the smoke wasn't flowing quite right. The exhaust was too low and the smoke couldn't flow evenly, leaving some parts far cooler than others. A few quick directions to Bors and it was fixed. The meat would be fine, just taking a bit longer to cook.

“So a successful hunt then?”

“Yup.” Bors grinned and then, with the supernatural speed of a cultivator, palmed me a fae-core. I was too shocked to do anything but accept and send it into my storage ring. I felt self-conscious about accepting such a gift. A glance at the others showed only Gring watching me intently, the Squires still absorbed in their tasks.

“You're very kind, sharing the bounty of your hunt.” I put the emphasis on 'bounty', and he grinned.

“What am I going to do, eat it all?” He gave me a conspiratorial wink. Alright, now I saw why this 'Percy', person had told him to steer clear of subterfuge. He really was bad at this, wasn't he?

“Still, I feel I...” I began, I didn't want handouts even if this one alone would be enough to get me over the line to have my pathways ready for a return.

“None of that. I'm your host! Tis my duty, my honour, and pleasure to keep you all well-fed. Besides, I didn't realise how much I've been missing good company till today.”

“Only today huh? You hear that Gring? Only Lance and Gaz count as good company.” The pegasus flipped its mane and stamped in mock affront. Bors began to panic, but it was my turn to slap him on the back and laugh. “I'm only joking with you. What made you appreciate it more today?”

“It's been—rough, being stuck alone here. I've been trying to not think on it, but yeah. So screw this for a stack of donkeys, I miss my mates. I'm also pissed at a couple of them. Having people to talk with has made this all so much better. I didn't realise how bad it'd got.” Bors raised up some stone seats for us with a flick of his finger. I couldn't help but notice they were hexagons and sensed a wave of that crystal glamour in the air. He was clearly getting better with his crystal gift.

Or was it something else? I felt Gring's attention settle on me as I sat. Now I paid attention, I could sense Lance and Gaz's positions shifting to watch me as well. My pulse quickened for a moment, a worry that there was some darker plot at play. Had they decided that something had to be done about the death cultivator? I felt my mask come down. I must look natural.

I focused on not flinching. I couldn't let them know I'd spotted this. I had to work out what was going on, only then would I be safe. My mask was hiding my worries and I focused on sitting down as naturally as possible.

As my brain twisted about like a hooked fish, just waiting for the line to go taught, I was unprepared for the actual plot. Taking my seat it offered a scant second of support before it crumbled beneath me.

Beyond all reason, my backside had completely obliterated the crystal seat, leaving me falling through a vaguely seat-shaped mound of earthen chunks. I rolled backwards, before popping up into a fighting stance. My lute gripped in my hand, not yet a sword, but held ready to strike as I stared at the chair I'd just obliterated. That's when the laughter started.

The whole group was in fits, Lance and Gring leaned against each other unable to restrain their mirth. Gaz was trying to hide his face behind his sketchpad, and Bors had fallen back off his seat which remained whole and complete. It was just a prank, a joke between friends. Harmless to all but my ego.

I smiled. My heart couldn't quite reach laughter, having just been freed down to the dark depths of dread, but it was rapidly rising to meet the mood. Following my rule that one should always maximise their entertainment value, I bowed low. A wave of fresh giggles marked my reward.

“Oh gods, that's funny! What were you going to do club the seat to death?” Lance managed, still chuckling.

“I would've been interested to hear what that sounded like,” Gaz added.

“We've been waiting an hour for that.” Bors slapped his thigh, before wiping a tear from his face. The giant hadn't been lying about needing the company, he thrived off it. While good-natured, I'd never have expected anything like this from the battle maniac I'd first met. His words earlier were genuine, all the better to trick me with the seat.

“We traded some tips on cultivation, and that was the crowning achievement of our work,” Bors explained.

I was about to be sarcastic about how they ‘were honouring the majesty of cultivation,’ but felt my throat close around the lie, the coating of sarcasm not hiding the underlying falsehood. Damn, that was a loss. I enjoyed being a sardonic bastard. Instead, I just asked for the details behind it.

I noticed Lance wasn't doing much talking but instead had a series of sketches from Gaz about her. They looked like ripples of water moving around different surfaces. When I quirked an eyebrow at her she held a pointed finger skyward where the last sliver of moon was fading. Something to do with her Moon Glamour?

She must've picked up what I'd said about the Princess. I was glad she had some outlet for that part of her. This friendly atmosphere was all good and well, but she was cut off from places she could properly train. It must be torturous for her, unable to experiment with her new powers while nearby her family was possibly at war.

Gaz was unexpectedly talkative. His knowledge of sound and resonance turned him into a right chatterbox. He and Bors traded turns explaining how they'd worked out how to make a crystal structure that would be the exact right level of fragile, where so much as a single knock would shatter it into a thousand pieces. Their biggest problem was not having it turn into a thousand glass-like shards, which would've rather soured the joke.

The fear of betrayal passed. I, like Bors, clearly needed time around people. My first response to friends trying to play a prank shouldn't be to assume they were plotting a knife in the kidney. As we got out the boar, which had been stuffed with some spices, Bors revealed a collection of foods from his storage ring, all prepared and ready to go. They just needed heating through. He'd brought them from a merchant caravan who'd overnighted here. Same with the stew from last night.

As we ate, we talked about all sorts of things. Bors opened up about his friends, Arty, Percy, and Gawain. Arty was their leader. He'd been the one to push for them to crusade against the Divine Cultivators. He kept things hazy on detail, but it was clear he looked up to him and was fiercely loyal.

From the stories, I could immediately tell Arty was a man of action and not planning. He was someone who lived for the knightly virtues of honour, protecting the weak, and noble questing. Not a lot of thought went into the cost of pushing black-and-white values in a world of greys.

Percy was their 'diplomat'. Just as my earlier sarcasm hadn't concealed a lie, this one didn't either, and I felt my fae sense for falsehoods fire off. So, while the stories he told of her wit saving them, and his respect for her knowledge of the myriad factions were like gentle wind chimes, his repeated mentions of her 'simple chats' clanged like a dropped pan. I found the sensation distracting enough that I had little attention left for her story, a shame. She sounded fascinating.

Gawain was the last of them. He was the scout and runes specialist. The way Bors spoke about him sounded like he and Gaz could compete for 'who can hide the biggest stick on their person'. That might be unfair to Gaz. Gawain liked to leave out 'helpful notes,' which was tantamount to declaring a feud in my book. Bonded to some great eagle, Bors revealed that Gring was meant to be the scout's bonded companion. That had all changed due to some kind of crisis, that Bors refused to explain, and he'd been forced to bond with Gring or let the Pegasus die. Gring looked surly at that, but I wasn't some pegasus whisperer, so I wasn't sure as to the exact reasons behind it.

While he spoke, Lance doled out my portion of the battle spoils that had been divided up earlier. They gave me the majority of the coin, the weapons and armour being of little use to me. The only exception was a nice knife that was enchanted so the hilt could spit out a burst of flame. Never could have enough ways to start a fire.

By this point, everyone was getting a bit drunk. Gaz was a lightweight, and I took some pleasure in seeing the uptight Squire unwind. He even began to gush about his fiancée, a girl named Tiff who had hair ‘like a curtain of shining brass.’ Seems the man was hiding a bit of a poetic soul under his shining armour. Lance added some commentary as Tiff was somehow tied to a nearby town that Fosburg ‘feuded’ with and ended up with her helping him infiltrate the town so the pair of lovers could see each other.

Gaz was unused to breaking the law, and while desperate to see his beloved, had not done well at stealth. The story had them make a daring scramble over the wall, and they were now creeping past a guard station. “So there we are inside, having barely slipped through. I think we're all good when of all things this cat just launches itself at him.” Lance began to giggle.

“Itsh wash atigre, not a catsh a tigar!” Gaz was barely holding on and against all logic decided more drink would help him push on. He downed his glass and fell back onto his seat.

“So this big ginger cat goes in claws first, and in a panic, he shoots it with a jet of water.”

“It sheemed biggg.”

“The cat goes out the window yowling the whole way. I'm there thinking, well, that's it, we're done, they know we're here. Light turns on, and the guard swings his head out, looks clear over us, and yells, ‘Shut it or I'll throw ta boot ay yeh agin,’ and goes back to bed.”

“Hah!” Bors poured me another drink, which I did not need but would not refuse, and sat down to hear the rest.

“We thought it was all good, but then on our way home what do we see but that mangy fleabag, still dripping, looking at us with pure hate. It's like it was out to get us. It began to screech. I turned to look at the window, only to see Gaz with a smug grin. See, this clever bugger had silenced the sound the second he saw it. Had to find a new way to get in after that. The cat had it out for us forevermore,” Lance finished up. Gaz burbled along happily as Bors and I gave a round of applause.

Enjoying myself thoroughly, I decided to take a step outside and go for a leak. I was carrying a bit too much fine ale for my liking. It was a nice, normal problem to have.

I stepped towards the woods and undid my britches. The night was windy and cold but had lost the bitterness of winter. With the moon but a crack of silver, I couldn't help but appreciate the stars. I deserved some peace and quiet, even if that was against a backdrop of slaughtering divine cultivators and dancing around witches who were far too powerful.

I was, however, coming to the conclusion I was cursed to not find such peace. As I finished my business, something caught my attention. The shadow of an enormous bird moving past the glittering stars.

I watched it, content for a moment, wondering if it was a Dire Owl of some sort. Its wingspan was vast, and I fought the drink to try and estimate it but kept having to double-check. It was getting bigger with each attempt. No, that wasn't it. Damn thing was getting closer, fast!

"You know what? Screw you, can a man not take a piss in peace?" I found myself yelling into the night, hastily securing my equipment before I rushed in to warn the others.