Arthurian Cultivation

The group stared at me. Lance was the only one who looked anything close to normal, wearing a slight smirk as she took in the collective awe of the group. Given this was my second time handling people who’d got an unexpected visit from the Lady of the Lake, I had to admit I was starting to appreciate why she’d pulled me into the dream with Lance and Elaine. Everyone was torn between running away, prostrating themselves, and naked greed.

They were all cultivators after all, and there was nothing like the attention of the Fae to speed you along your path. Though that path was a twisting, dangerous thing, each step threatening to see you lost forevermore. That might explain the source of the horror. A fast way to find yourself lost was to insult your patron.

“We beg your mercy, oh Lady of the sapphire waters, this mere mortal does not know who he speaks to,” Gawain begged to the air. He then launched into an impressive torrent of pledges and homages to her. It reminded me uncomfortably of the Divine Cultivators' behaviour and I couldn't imagine it being the kind of thing she'd appreciate.

“Dang, and I thought Mum was bad. You know she couldn't believe you flirted with the Lady.” Lance regarded me even as she kept one eye on Gawain like one might a yapping dog.

“You flirted, with her?” Gawain squawked, breaking off mid-litany.

“She flirted right back too.” I proudly clarified. The Knight's brain couldn't handle that and he just began to flap his mouth.

“Lance, you've spoken with her before?” Gaz asked, still lying on the floor. He seemed to be ignoring me and my illogical existence.

“It was recently when I was using dream glamour. My mother and I were trying to check out this random Bard who knew impossible things. She didn't take kindly to us looking into him. Taliesin was summoned because my mother was acting much like Gawain here. They bantered a bit.” Lance supplied, I could hear Gawain wheezing as his brain melted from the casual way she spoke about it. Or maybe it was the word 'banter,' that seemed to irritate him from the way his face pinched.

“Is my conduct really the most surprising thing? Not the fact that we're all dancing on the Lady of the Lake's strings? Or the fact she's clearly watching us?” I asked,

“Yeah, Taliesin I have a question about that” Bors rumbled, rising from one knee, he paused, clearly trying to find the right words. Before nodding to himself, “What the fuck?”

“Alright, first things first. Gawain, pleased to meet you, I am Taliesin the Bard. The human plank over there is Gaz-Gareth of the Order of the Leviathan. Finally, the Lady you’ve been so insistent on kneeling before is Lancelot Fos, of the Fos House of Renown, she is the daughter of Ban and Elaine, not a Quilvern in sight on their family tree.” That was true, even as I knew I couldn’t say with certainty she was unrelated to them. Ban was a foundling, and with the Lady of the Lake in play, I wouldn’t bet against some kind of long-lost relative shenanigans.

“But only the royal family—” he began before I cut him off.

“The Quilverns wield the Lady's gift, it's not the Quilvern gift. I don’t suppose you’re suggesting you know better than her, who can use it?” Gawain backed off like a scalded cat.

“I’m still very confused. Is this what set all the kneeling off?” Bors asked, giving Gaz a hand up. The Squire nodded along to the question as well.

“I can wield Moon Glamour. It is the signature of the Quilvern family and is said to stem from the Lady of the Lake. Despite my best efforts to conceal it, Gawain picked up on it and decided to make a big deal out of it. Rather than speaking to me privately, which would've been the sensible approach, especially if I had been a Quilvern.” Lancelot shot the man a dirty look.

“Actually, now I think about it, you also do look very like Arty. I can see why he thought you were related.” Bors rubbed his chin. I contained my desire to point at the sky and ‘hah I fucking knew it’. Bors though was not done and turned back to me, “But more pressing, Taliesin, would you care to explain, well all that.”

“You just pointed to all of me?”

“You know what I mean, I get that you don’t seem phased by talking to people with more power than you, but talking back to the Lady of the Lake is different. Even if we ignore that and the magical shape-shifting lute, it feels like a step into the Unseelie You knew the secrets of an Inquisitor, you knew about Moon glamour and Arty, you somehow predicted a lost murder bear and the method to handle it. I trust you, especially given who you just bantered with. So, don’t get me wrong but I’d like to know a bit more.”

“Well, I think it’s time I told you the Tale of Taliesin, isn’t it? Actually, before I do. Gawain I trust that we aren’t under too much time pressure?”

“Sir Taliesin, the entrance to the realm, and the location of the Ursul, is a day's flight. We can’t go there until Archimedes is healed and rested. Likely in the morning” His response was clipped, and he spoke to me as a superior which I didn’t have time to unpack right now. I also reminded myself I should technically be calling him Sir, Bors wasn't a fan of honorifics and I'd casually applied the same rule to Gawain, despite the man's manner of being so by-the-book he probably shit paper.

“That would also give me a chance to speak with my mother. I need to start preparing for that soon. The dream state takes a while to reach. If I can report this then maybe my father can go directly to Ursul.” Lance grinned. I let her have that hope, even if I doubted we’d be so lucky. Captain Ban coming in to save the day felt like an unsatisfying next step in this story. It didn’t fit the Lady’s pattern.

“Alright, then the Tale of Taliesin will be told tomorrow. Let us get some rest.” In some ways, I wanted this out of the way but I was also dog tired, my brain all but fried from the last two days. And worse, the next day promised more adventure and challenge. I had things to do before then.

Besides following that dramatic reveal with more of them was just terrible pacing. If I was going to tell the story of my life, I wanted an engaged audience.

There were some protests, mainly from Bors. Those were quickly silenced, as even the usually uptight Gaz began to groan. Gawain clearly still with a lot on his mind went and collapsed next to Archimedes. Lance also stayed in the dome, she was going to do her dreaming technique to speak with her mother, but Bors was on watch over her.

Before he settled in he threw up some stone tents for me and Gaz, simple triangular constructs with no door. I was thankful, my original tent having been shredded by Ulfast.

We bid each other good night. However, I did not take the time to sleep straight away despite my tiredness. There was too much to do. The first thing I did was pour through Ulfast's storage ring. The poor quality meant it wasn't much larger than a big crate. A marvel of runic magic, but nothing compared to the one Bors had entrusted me with.

I'd spotted one thing in my earlier review and grinned when I found it. A glamour gathering collection of Miniliths. The collection of beautifully carved Sarsen stones had to have been stolen. Most Divine Cultivators preferred elegant slabs of polished marble inlaid with gold. These though had a rough grey surface, and carved whorls patterned their surface, reminding me of the northern tribes. It was an oddity.

The miniliths were the culmination of thousands of years of development. I knew that out there vast rings of monoliths stood as inspirations from the lost age. Those looming runic slabs, ranging from thrice as tall as Bors, to towering edifices of stone that even giants looked small before. These runic arrays had survived the rise and subsequent fall of the Atlantean empire and yet still functioned.

From them we'd learned, we'd understood how to isolate parts of the magic, and in doing so allow us to create the miniliths which held but a fraction of their power. That fraction was perfect for cultivators like me, helping in any number of small ways. These particular runes would help me recover my glamour and would ensure I didn't exhaust the nearby supply with my bellows breath technique.

I stepped back outside the tent to set them up, two stacks of three aligned with where the sun would rise and set, the remaining ten stones were spaced evenly around me like a clock face. Pressing a little glamour into them the formation clicked into place, and the air around me grew thick with glamour.

Grinning, I went inside and took a seat. The quality was exceptional, I knew that Ulfast wouldn't have carried around something so ‘heathen’ looking if it wasn't worth it. I paused on the bellows breath, instead taking out the first of my beast cores. This was the little nugget of power, the physical manifestation of the hearth from the second Gale Hare I'd killed.

I took a moment to surround myself with smoke, I was still a little annoyed that Gring had spotted me the first time I'd done this. I had only myself to blame for that but really who would've expected a sentient pegasus to be spying on them? With that done I popped the little nugget of tainted power into my mouth. I crunched down on it with both teeth and glamour. Holding the ruins of it in my mouth I began my bellows breath.

I drew in the powerful glamour and the impurities. For anyone else, this would be madness. Edging them towards a near-permanent crippling of their pathways, just for a small benefit of the condensed glamour contained within the core. Breathing in I dragged the glamour down into my body, the impurities settling within me.

My pathways would clog, limiting how fast I could cultivate, but given that my near future included a Steel ranked bear, and however many Divine Cultivators remained near it I wasn't going to risk my life again. My luck had already been pushed just in surviving Ulfast, and the thugs Barclay Fos had used to hunt us down. Mostly Ulfast.

It would take me some time to process the power. I sought distraction as I let the uncomfortable process continue, I might know that filling my pathways full of impurities was good but my body whined at me incessantly.

I regarded the other cores that I would work my way through over the next few hours and briefly considered attempting alchemy. I shut those thoughts down, I could not afford to botch a brew. It would take some considerable research and time before I could make brews that would maximise both cultivation-boosting glamour and impurities.

The sore point was that if I'd had that time, these few cores would've likely made brews that would take me right to that final step before iron. As it was I would end up close to peak Bronze in my estimation, a waste.

A laugh bubbled up from inside me. Greed and impatience had settled within me, their fussing drowning out the truth. My growth had been phenomenal. Barely a month ago I'd been Wood ranked, stuck there for years. Now I was high Bronze, looking to step up to peak and then Iron likely within weeks of that.

Even with Wood and Bronze being only four or five steps, rather than the nine that made up Iron and above, it was still all but unparalleled growth. It was the kind of thing geniuses bragged about, though that was not a club I considered myself part of. It was not some legendary comprehension of cultivation that had launched me forward but instead a succession of lucky chances, plus the fact I could chow down on raw beast cores.

As soon as the first was settled I took out another core and chomped down. This was the one Bors gave me. I was pleased to have found a friend in him, we'd known each other for a short while but knowing he trusted me was a wonderful thing. Trust is always something to cherish, but the trust of Bors felt like a warm coat on a cold night.

It was a rare sensation as I had few friends. Lance was also rapidly becoming a firm friend, and even Gaz to my surprise was turning out to be a kind soul, once you got past his intensely respectful nature.

That was it though, there were others from that time between when my mother fled my ‘father's’ demise, and I was captured by the Harkleys. There was always Sephy as well, I had been her spy, and she was my spymistress during my incarceration. Striking up a mutually beneficial arrangement I'd funneled secrets to her. An act of rebellion that kept me sane. Thinking about her got me in a bad mood, I had one goal after becoming free which was to meet her in person.

This pox of destiny, that I was spreading to all I met was a surefire way to stop me from looking for her. Other people may like that their symptoms included coughing up ancient artefacts and coming down with a nasty case of being the chosen one, but it hardly made it safe for me to search for her. She and I were creatures who lurked in shadows, or in my case danced behind those who glowed so bright it was blinding.

Seeking to move my thoughts along I decided to do my best to work out more about my intent. The core of what would define me. I'd once heard it spoken of as the ‘It is the keep at the centre of all your future holdings, all of them will be touched by its shadow’, it was a very ‘noble’ way of picturing it. It didn't match my cultivation. Instead, I imagined it more as the core tune, the underlying melody around which the song I would develop would form.

I had already felt the edges of my intent. ‘I’m going to sow discord and bring hope where I can and I will not let the threat of death turn me aside.’ I remembered the connection, the way my hearth grew when I said those words to Gaz. I said it over and over again, and after a while, I could pinpoint, the words that felt most powerful to me.

Discord and Death.

Where to go from here I was not sure. I knew many struggled at this point. Luckily, I had Bors to ask, as well as others I could likely speak to. No way I was getting stuck like Maeve did, unable to find the intent that resonated with her.

I thought back to my one-time betrothed, she'd been so violently lost when we'd spoken. Our time under the trees reminded me more of being chased by a wild dog than a human. Clearly, her bottleneck had driven her to distraction. I hoped she had made good use of my present and was doing well, she had at the very least given me a chance to extract my revenge. I do hope that my sudden ‘death’ didn't weigh too heavily on her.