Phase
Nallore
Andreyich
Izurich
Fish of Oblivion
Kuro
Birdboy
Crimson FlameGerard Segremors
&
Fleuri Jodeau
A lily, still kissed by morning dew and first rays of gentle gold, was plucked from the garden with a farmer’s care— truthfully so, not as coy language for the ripping away one reserved for unwanted weeds. He had selected it, after brief perusal, for the least damage to the rest of the growth, cut the stem cleanly with the knife ever-present on his belt, even in peacetime, even at leisure. In his heart, he knew she would forgive this— Lady Reon was a guiding hand just as she was a fierce justiciar. All the passion in her heart that burned into fury for the sake of the enslaved, for seeing their torment avenged was too shared in gentle warmth among the grains, the flowers, the men of the land that tended them, coaxing out their potential and bounty. It was said love had many faces. As the one who looked upon all the world in the wakeful hours, hers was doubtless even-handed whether a man served her in taking life or giving it— having walked both paths, Gerard knew it must have been so.
Often he saved the visits for later in the morning, preferring to spend the first glimmers of sun at a half-marathon beneath the pearlescent golds and greens. Lapping Candaeln, usually, at a steady pace well below those maximal bursting sprints the evening often saw. Drinking in the distance, building his wells of long term stamina. For the march, for the ride, for the melee. What it lacked in the specificity that made every technique more efficient over time, it regained in the broad strokes. Additionally, for a man who lived in his own head so often that even his peers took note, the morning runs served well as meditation— to get thoughts in order before the day presented him with questions anew.
With his good arm, he pressed into the doors of the garden shrine, a small but nevertheless artful building of arch and spire— his was a poor head for appreciation of beauty as far as he was aware, but the glow of dawn was caught within the stained glass murals of twinned lilies and roses, the tiered gardens were opening with the light into vibrant bloom, and the eternal flame and sacred pool were pristine and deep as always. It would be harder to find it dull. He entered thus with his head bowed, and his stride light. He had strict orders, at least for today, to find better things to do with his time while the body rested.
Two, three, four… within a handful of steps he was before the silent tongues of red-flecked gold, a fragment of the same mother blaze that Her Paladins drenched their weaponry, in some respects their very souls, within. In sharing that root, this fire was every bit as sacred, every bit as connected. There could be then no better conduit for those that wished to be heard.
He cast the lily into the flame, bandages on the arm drinking the warmth, and dropped quietly to a knee with hands clasped. Habitually, he would mutter his daily prayers in undertone, tending to have slotted into a moment of solitude within the shrine more often than not. Here, he held his tongue— Perhaps his switch in schedule had lined him up with another by coincidence.
Perhaps it was Her Providence that brought two of her adherents here together at First Light.
Sleep had not come easily to Fleuri last night. Ever since yesterday, the knight had found himself afflicted by unease. The gravity of this situation with the shard, it was not something he had ever expected to face. At the time of his knighting, he had been certain that Cazt's rebellion would be the most dire and history-worthy event that he'd have a chance to be involved in, that he would never live to see and participate in anything of such high stakes for Thaln. Back then, he deeply lamented that he had missed out on the glory of fighting and defeating Anzel's traitorous forces, and was utterly convinced that he would not live to participate in anything comparable. Suffice to say, those beliefs and predictions were very, very wrong.
This was worse than Cazt's rebellion. Usurpers could be fought by steel and courage, and even if they could not be defeated by sword and spell, they would inevitably succumb to the passage of time. But the shard of Angroron was a threat and a foe that could not be defeated by worldly might. Even the greatest of the elves was only able to delay this threat, and it was only by the intervention of both Reon and Mayon that it was ultimately defeated. This might not be the entire weapon, but even this mere shard had proven to be capable of terrible destruction in the wrong hands.
This was beyond the ability of swords and axes to handle. They would need the goddesses.
Fleuri's morning had been spent speaking to the blacksmith about the prospect of some new gear. A new sword with a durability enchantment- and some improved armor. It'd cost him, for sure, but with such a terrible metaphysical threat on the horizon, now was not the time to hold anything back. Whatever Fleuri could still afford, whatever wealth and resources he possessed needed to go towards preparing for whatever was to come.
At the current moment, he was heading to the shrine with a hand full of lilies to pray to Reon. He needed some time to focus on spiritual matters. Ordinarily he would have come earlier in the morning, but the blacksmith matter had delayed him.
However, it appeared there was already someone here- Gerard the former mercenary. Fleuri knew of Gerard's devotion to the Sun Goddess, but had never spoken to him at length about it. In fact, he so far had rather limited interaction with the commoner-born knights, aside from Renar, whom he did not like interacting with.
But this knight was most certainly not Renar.
"Good morning, Sir Gerard," he addressed the knight as he slowly strode into the shrine. "It appears I am not the only one come to pray to Reon this morning."
“Good Morning, Sir Fleuri,” he replied, tone still a little hushed as he pulled it forth from the depths of quietened prayer. A standard greeting in any other parlance or setting, but here in shared reverence of the Goddess of Sunlight, it felt like it took new gravitas, blessings upon Her faithful. Meeting the other man with an inclination deeper from his bowed head for a moment, it wasn’t long before Gerard’s gaze slipped back towards the red flecks in the gold.
“For what it’s worth, I’d say you rarely are— we just tend to miss eachother.” he explained, breaking the clasp in his hands momentarily to display the network of cloth covering his forearm. “I tend to spend the initial hour or so of first light training my stamina. I’d guess that usually puts me in here a bit after you, but as you can see…”
A smirk, light on humor, as he stared into the flame, burning gold caught in his amber eyes. It was clear that sitting on his haunches when he was so entrenched in the routine being discussed wasn’t a comfortable position to be in, nor one he was terribly fond of.
“I’ve had some pretty harsh orders not to push myself, so I’m a bit earlier than usual for the morning conversation. I’m sure she won’t mind the switch.”
As far as Knights of the Order went, Fleuri had always ranked high in Gerard’s mind on examples to take note of, their backgrounds every bit as similar as they were different. On the surface alone, there was plenty to pick at between those two extremes… but little of it worthy compared to exchanging words with the man.
Somehow, he’d found scarce little time to do so, in more than just passing pleasantries.
“You seem much less the disorganized type than that, though. Am I wrong?”
"I'm not exactly on my normal schedule either," Fleuri replied. "Not with this shard matter suddenly rising to the surface."
It wasn't so much a physical difficulty to maintain a schedule- after all, the knights still had their castle, and had the freedom to choose how their mornings were being spent. Nonetheless, it felt to Fleuri like the world had been turned upside down, and the full effects of the proverbial inversion had yet to be felt. Perhaps it was foolish to make the assumption that his knighthood would be served in a peaceful era of rebuilding, but he had never expected something like this would come up.
"I never anticipated that we'd ever be facing a threat anything like a shard of Angroron. I too would normally come to the shrine earlier, but with what changed between now and a few days ago, I've found myself needing to attend to other matters."
In addition to the possibility of obtaining better equipment for the times to come, Fleuri would also be spending time today sending letters out. His family needed to be informed of the danger present in Thaln, and Fleuri also wanted to give some old friends and rivals from his tournament days some assurance that he made the right decision joining the Iron Roses. He wondered if Gerard had any similar business of his own.
"But no matter the worldly matter to address, we must find time to commune with the goddesses. After all, it was they who granted the power that shattered Angroron and saved the world the last time."
Gerard blinked, realizing he’d either been misinterpreted or much more likely made an incorrect assumption regarding the regiment his compatriot’s daily goings-on followed, and decided quickly to shelve the matter rather than let it start bogging things down. Such would be impertinent in the midst of communion with their shared Goddess, probably—
But as a more direct concern, talking in circles would be to give voice to those very same thoughts that had so often taken his focus from the world around him in these quieter moments, pulled him away from direct action towards the lofty goal of true knighthood.
“True,” he breathed. “Their blessings come in every form. Often I’m here to ask for simple clarity in their light— fruitful purpose to the labor that awaits as well as the labor I’ve already done.”
A holdover from his days in the fields. The village of Shilage had always held Lady Reon in high regard, making their daily vows to her as the Crop-Raiser moreso than the Scales and Spear of Justice. That he had invoked her as Breaker of Chains on that fateful day…
Their will worked in strange ways with fate, but he could not doubt they tugged upon the threads. His faith had kept him from the brink. What else could he do, but stay the course?
“It goes without saying that their wishes regarding the shards don’t need a lot of guesswork, though— Shattering the thing the first time is plenty clear. I’m dumb, but I’m not that stupid.”
That said.
His gaze slid over again, to regard the other man— He had said the words in passing, but…
“I was raised on stories like that one, like Elionne’s, like that of the Witch-Queen. Only the most fanciful of the legends make it as far out as the border villages, maybe. But… What did you expect, coming in?”
He had an ancestor that had sworn into their Ranks, Gerard knew that much— had Armand not left his family any such tales?
"Surprisingly, not much," Fleuri answered. "I figured that with the War of the Red Flag over, the kingdom would be entering an era of peace and consequently, the Iron Roses' duties would be mostly peacekeeping. Stamping out banditry and rogue mages, dealing with occasional orc incursions, and maybe the odd Cazt holdout. It's actually the reason I didn't join the Roses earlier, because at the time all I was thinking about was glory and believed there was none to be had with them at this time."
Fleuri leaned against a wall, as he mused about his past.
"We definitely did have stories of the Roses among our house," he continued. "Armand Jodeau is probably the most notable, but my grandparents were both Roses. When I was young, they'd regale me tales of those days, of their deeds and adventures. As a child, their stories made me want to join the Roses, but as I got older and more foolish, I became fixated on how unsung their tales were outside of their tellings."
The knight paused, appearing somewhat saddened and regretful. The last time he had attempted to speak of his regrets in his past, all it succeeded in doing was making Renar hate him even more. But Gerard seemed a more understanding sort, despite his association with that un-knightly knave.
"Suffice to say, I was wrong about the lack of threats this era would face, and I was wrong about the importance of being remembered in the troubadour ' tales. I only hope that what I gained from my foolish years- the experience, the money, and such- will be able to do some good in the coming days."
“Well, we’ve all got our paths, I guess. I’d be remiss to claim mine any less foolish or naive.”
Through the retelling, Gerard’s expression had remained in neutral cast, quietly taking things in, as was his habit— Fleuri was right not to expect the snap judgements their peers might have offered. He’d been seeking perspective, after all, and over the years had learned it best taken in its full breadth before speaking. Inference from half-formed thoughts had a way of leading him astray.
If I learn to fight with these soldiers, I’ll be able to cut down more evils than I ever could without. A sword against the wicked, like any good man is.
Earning money and serving Reon hand in hand… that’s basically halfway to knighthood already. Nobility means money, doesn’t it? If I save enough, build enough, that opens doors even to commonfolk like me.
Sir Agrahn was a common soldier too. If I walk his path with all my being… maybe I’ll be accepted into similar company.
Words passed through him, echoes of such empty-headed days. He shoved them down. The past was the past… If he had as much intention of growing past it as he claimed, it by all rights needed to be kept there. He couldn’t change it— what could be changed was himself.
“I feel pretty similar about my past life. So far, I think the time at war’s kept me alive, if nothing else. Training’s training, no matter your motive for it, no matter what in life granted it to you— So better we’re here late than never, no? Better we had our time in the trenches, making mistakes?”
He’d been telling himself these things for a while, when grappling with the winding path his life as a warrior had taken. He wondered how that stacked up against Sir Fleuri’s views, as a man who had all the potential and ability and standing he may have needed at any one time, once of eligible age. Would he see it the same way, as someone who seemed to believe his choice was the only thing that had stood in his way?
For Gerard…
“If I had to talk personally, it’s the hard lessons that stick the best when you learn them. Maybe it’s because I’ve a thick head, but I can’t say it’s all for nothing. You didn’t keep hounding the tournament ring forever, right? At some point, you realized you’d found your mettle wanting. You knew you had to change and did it.”
There was a steel in his words, beneath his usual deference and respect for those that, in his mind, were further along the road he walked towards that ideal he held dear. Conviction that there must be some truth here.
If there wasn’t, where the hell would it leave him?
“I’m not a mercenary any more… but I was for six years. Everyone seems to appreciate that I’m here in spite of that, having come into knighthood off a one in a million chance. So are you still a fool, Sir Fleuri? Or are you here in spite of what you used to be?”
"I can't say for sure I'm not a fool," Fleuri replied, "But I want to think I'm less of a fool than I used to be. And every morning, I intend to be even less of a fool than I was the previous day."
Just the last few missions felt like they had imparted some very meaningful lessons. And that was before Merilia's dream and everything that had happened since.
"You're right about the hard lessons, he continued. "Whatever our paths may have been, they've led us here, and helped us to become what we are today."
And for what it was worth, his time wasn't entirely wasted. He gained money, some influence and fame, and plenty of combat experience- even if it was merely in a regulated, non-lethal setting. What mattered now was putting what he had gained to good use serving the crown and the goddesses.
"So, now that we're here, what do you think of it, Sir Gerard? What do you think of finding ourselves at the very forefront of what could potentially be the crisis of a century for Thaln?"
Even and balanced wisdom, in spite of his regrets.
Gerard nodded, seeming satisfied enough with the response for a moment.
“Me? Much as I hate the idea of my mind turning to blind rage the moment I start actually learning to use my head again…” he chuffed for a moment, seemingly content to keep the dry humor of professions past around a while longer. “It’s daunting, but it’s our duty. Each one of us is bound by Oath to stand against such evils as this, with all our courage. These artifacts are so accursed they tear up whole countrysides, as the legends go— if they’re being disturbed, collected, our goddesses forbid put back together? We have to act. We don’t deserve to bear the name of the Saint’s Order if we don’t.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I’ve been ready to put my life on the line for ages. I won’t say it’s not a frightful position we’re in, but at the same time, I am thankful to have a noble fight to take up my sword for.”
"I know what you mean about how daunting and dire this situation feels," Fleuri confided. "I'd consider this potentially worse of a threat than Anzel Cazt and all his traitorous forces were. But as you said, it's our duty to face this threat, just as Elionne and her knights faced down the Vos Korvungand, the dragon Volkstraad, and a traitor within their own ranks."
That last one sent a chill down Fleuri's spine. Could it potentially happen again, he wondered. Was there any way they could have seen Edwin's betrayal coming, and if history repeated itself, would the current knights be able to see it coming? He thought of asking Tyaethe, but he was hesitant to dig up what may be a painful memory for her.
"I only hope that we can prepare for it. That dream that we were sent was a sobering wake-up call for me to focus more on becoming a better fighter. I'd say that it was fortunate timing that the dream came when it did, but I don't think it was a coincidence at all."
“It wasn’t.”
He spoke with a surety that wasn’t quite authoritative, but rather stemming from a mind that had found a fitting way around everything thrown at it. He didn’t have the facts. He wasn’t really going to, as far as any reasonable expectation guided him. What he did have was a pretty good guess.
“Not if we all had it. Not if each of us had it tailor-made— Nico and Fionn faced aspects of Sir Florian. Serenity, Dame Sescille.” He skipped mentioning Renar after a moment’s consideration. The consistent tension between them, in his mind, was their business. If he wasn’t going to try and play peacemaker between them… He would at least not say anything that might further stoke things. “Myself against Sir Agrahn. Shared visions are rare enough on their own— but to give each of us the image of the Founders in life?”
For what must have been the hundredth time, for what felt like the thousandth, his mind’s eye flashed back to the shadow looming over him, raising his blades high with not even his infamous Berserker’s Rage, but instead, cold, tight, overwhelming force. Anger held in check by purity of purpose. Never sacrificing clarity for crushing power. Eyes that burned like furnaces, never wildfires.
Everything that he needed to become.
“I know little of Witches, but I know Dame Merilia’s been around as long as the Order has at least. She’s been keeping an eye on things for all that time. When she was watching us all from up there, she was making sure we knew how far we have left to go.”
"Aye," Fleuri agreed. "We have a long way to go, that much is clear. But I believe that we can get there, one step at a time."
“We will.”
His gaze lingered on the flame as he rose, as though his utterance were a vow to the Goddess on her burning chariot high above rather than an affirmation of Sir Fleuri’s. For a moment, stillness took him, posture rigid and expression flinty, stoic, serious.
And then… the corners of his mouth quirked upward, just so, as he turned.
“Until then, Sir Fleuri—”
A hand, free of the nursing wing’s mummification and callused by nigh on two decades of hard, fruitful labors, fell onto the senior knight’s shoulder. It carried with it camaraderie, brotherhood. Trust, even.
“I’ll keep following your lead.”
Faith was more than devotion to the Divine. It was also found, perhaps even stronger, in confidence in those around you.
“Let’s make it a Good Day.”
@Crimson Paladin