Kassarock

A Journey Of Recovery

Liraeth returned from foraging with a handful of edible mushrooms he had found growing in the lee of a fallen tree trunk, with the dried provision he had with him it would be enough to feed them for tonight. He stayed away a little longer to search in vain as the light faded from the forest. In truth, he could not help but feel nervous about what was to come next.

He had to tell Tenth about what was happening to him, the full extent of what had been done to him and the possible side effects that it may be having on his mind and memory. Liraeth was not sure how he would react to such information, he had seen little ill intent or hostility from the Knight so far, but there was no telling how he would take this revelation. Liraeth could had his own feelings about it all, simmering constantly being the surface, anger, disgust... pity.

And then would come the next trial, he would have to see if this thing was in his power to undo, or at the very least, make safer somehow. Magic of the mind was a subtle and delicate art, and he did not know whether he would have the skill in order to do such a thing safely, without causing any further damage or pain to Tenth.

He sighed to himself and watched the river flow by in the deepening dusk. There was no point in putting this task off any longer, it would not grow any easier, nor become less painful.

As he walked back along the bank of the river, he could see a fire crackling away at the spot they chosen to set their camp at. The Knight was silhouetted against the orange flames, sat on the grass, his hands clamped firmly over his ears, shuddering to himself. Liraeth tried to imagine what was going through his head, what it must feel like, being so used to be stripped on one's will, without the memories to make sense of one's life. He must be kind to him, Tenth deserved someone being kind to him.

"Yes, thank you for dealing with the fire, Tenth." Liraeth deposited the armful of mushrooms at the side of the fire. As he knelt down he unfastened the multicoloured travelling cloak. The Knight was only wearing his linens, and the night was closing in. Liraeth had good woollen tunic, dyed bright blue with woad, under which he wore a linen shirt of his own. Tenth had greater need of his cloak tonight than Liraeth did, he lightly tossed it to him with one hand. "Here, you look cold."

The mushrooms needed brushing down and cooking before they would be palatable, so Liraeth busied himself with that, cleaning them off and skewering them on twigs so they could placed above the coals. He hummed to himself as he did so, some song he distantly remembered from his own long lost childhood, what little of it he recalled before he entered the Academy.

Once they were sizzling away above the raked out coals there was nothing left from him to do other than begin to talk. He started slowly.

"So... there's a couple of things that I think I need to tell you, Tenth." Liraeth shifted away from the fire, sitting himself down next to the larger Knight, close, but not too close. "The reason I came here is that I was investigating rumours that the Conclave had heard of about the practice of dark magic in these lands, coming from this forest. As I travelled here, I became convinced that the source of these rumours was the castle of your Lord. And when I arrived, I found two pieces of evidence to support this theory, the first was some signs of a ritual that may be cause of the destruction there. The second... was you, Tenth."

He studied the Knight's dark brown eyes as they caught the flickering light of the fire. He was searching for any sign of distress, any sign that what he was saying was too much for his fragile psyche to currently comprehend.

"I didn't want to confuse or frighten you before, but you seem a little better now and I think you should know, someone has placed a spell on you. I believe it to be a type of curse, known as Geas, that compels the... subject to follow orders without question. It can be a dangerous and difficult piece of magic to use well, and it may have caused some the trouble you have had with thinking recently, as well as with you struggling to remember certain things."

A Journey Of Recovery

They didn't even leave him a name.

Liraeth could not believe it, the level callous disregard for someone's personhood that you could strip them of their birth name and leave them thinking of themselves as a number. It was more than just the stealing of their agency, it was the erasure of whoever they had been before. This Knight had been someone's son, part of a family somewhere, and now they were a number instead. It sickened him to the core of his being.

But he could not say that to the poor Knight's face. He could not bring himself to spell out the horror of what had been done to him so bluntly. The Knight seemed so fragile still, despite all his obvious strength. That would just be cruel, and Liraeth did not want to be that, especially to this Knight.

So instead he smiled at him, and used the name that his abusers had given him, trying not let his stomach turn as the words left his mouth.

"Then Tenth you shall be."

He did not linger in the moment, he turned away and starting walking off into the forest again quickly, lest the Knight catch sight of tears Liraeth could feel forming at the corner of his eyes.

Following the sound of the water, eventually they came to a mossy riverbank. The dark trees of the forest hung back away from the water's edge, leaving a patch of open ground beside the running water. There was soft grass here to rest upon, wood from the forest, clean water from the river and stones from its bed with which to line a campfire. It was as good as spot as they were like to find.

It was then that the Knight said something that froze him in place and made his blood run cold. He asked Liraeth to give him an order, that he would be easier if he just... told him to do make a fire. The thought of doing so had not even crossed his mind, the idea that the Knight might want him to do so... He found it unsettling. But even if he had no personal objections to do doing so, he did not want to activate the spells laid over Knight purely out of his concern for his wellbeing. Something was damaging Tenth's mind beyond controlling his will, until he had a better idea of what exactly was causing that, he would not risk using the Geas in any way.

"Tenth, I'm not sure if you fully understand what you are asking me to do. I will try to explain it to you as best I can, but for now I do not wish to order you to do anything... I do not think it wise."

Liraeth left the fire to Tenth, and went into the woods to see if he could forage anything for their supper. He had some day old bread, a little hard cheese and some dried apples with him, but there should be mushrooms and wild greens to be had this time of year, maybe some edible nuts and berries if they were lucky.

~ BLACK FLAGS OF THE ABECEAN ~

No sooner was his pack in his hands once more, that Velyn's intuition suddenly proved correct, there would be many wishing that they were strong swimmers this night. It was funny how often his intuition was right, he supposed he must be lucky, or perhaps... blessed? Though if Velyn was living a blessed life then he shuddered to discover what it would mean to be cursed by the Gods.

Presently though, the old mer had no time to reflect or savour his clairvoyant intuition, because he was sailing through the air in an explosion of fiery destruction. A swarm of deadly splinters from the decks below racing by him as he was lifted off of his feet. Red hot lines of sharp pain ran tracks across the side of his exposed face, something stabbed under the overlapping plates of his pauldron and into his right shoulder as he tumbled down towards the black waves of the dark waters below.

Despite the fury and terror of all he still felt oddly calm. The spectre of immanent death was practically an old friend of Velyn's by this point, they had spent much time in each other's company. He felt his free hand go to his chest, felt the amulet that hung there still. A battered oval of gilded brass set with Kagouti Ivory, its inscription in Dunmeris so worn it could hardly be read.

He still had his ancestors with him. He would not die in any explosion as paltry as this. Gods, he has survived much worse

The images flashed through his mind once more. The waters of the Inner Sea boiling under skies choked black with ash, the waves swallowing the Ascadian Isles, drowning slave and master, manor and saltrice paddies alike. He felt the heat from the rivers of fire that had flowed from the mountain until Molag Mar was a lonely island amongst the flames. A city of tens of thousands, the home of a living God themself, gone in the blink of an eye.

The Red Year.

The old mer began to laugh to himself as the midnight sea rushed up to meet him. No, he did not think that he would die this night. Too much to do still, too many things left unfinished, too many questions left unanswered. An enigma that must be removed.

He clasped his hands in prayer and began to whisper something under his breath once more.

"The waking world is the amnesia of dream. All motifs can be mortally wounded. They will fall apart like a stone that recalls that it is really water. Shape this dream to the will of the walker, and recall that water is really a path. For the ending of the words is ALMSIVI."

Velyn slammed into, or rather onto, the the surface of the water feet first. His knees buckled and he dropped and rolled across the surface of the waves to lessen the damage of the impact, arm wrapped protectively around his pack and the precious cargo it carried within.

When he slid to a stop, the waves lapped around his prone form as he gingerly stood up again, his joints protesting each any every movement. A trickle of blood leaked from beneath the armour of his right shoulder, his discarded helm bobbed in the swell beside him.

Gods, he was getting too old for this.

Behind him was a conflagration of ruin and fire. The masts of the galleon was gone, one of them crashed down across the pirate sloop, pinning it to the burning wreck. There were screams coming from both of the ships and from the swirling firelit waters themselves. What a mess this had all turned into.

He looked around to get his bearings once more, the horizon was dark save for a speck of light towards the northeast. They had sighted an island there, during the storm the day before. Stros M'Kai. It was likely the only land that he would have a chance to reach before his magicka failed him. Wincing, Velyn reshouldered his pack and plucked his helm from the bobbing waves at his feet, and began to make his way to shore.

All of that any would see of him if they were to watch from the burning wrecks of the combat riven ships would be a figure shrouded in shadow, leaping from one whitecap to the next, as they strode across the surface of the sea itself.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴏɴꜱ - ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢᴇꜱ [ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ, ᴍᴜᴛɪɴʏ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ]

Aw man, this is right up my alley, but I definitely don't have time for another RP at the moment. Enjoy all!

A Journey Of Recovery

Liraeth listened as the Knight began to verbally excoriate himself. He blamed himself clearly, for both what has happening to him as result of the curse that had been placed upon him, as well as whatever had happened back at the castle. He watched as he pushed himself to the point of pain, his brow furrowed in concentration, blood trickling from his clenched fists, hissing in pain.

He almost spoke without thinking.

"You're hurting yourself! Sto-" He caught the words before they were fully formed in his mouth. The Knight let out a deep breath, and finished his castigation. The danger of pushing his fragile mind too far passed for the moment at least.

Liraeth hummed with a quiet rage. He was angry at himself for almost slipping up and saying something that would compel the Knight to act against his will. But he was even more angry that this man still felt any shred of loyalty or allegiance to the person who had likely had this done to him. They most certainly did not deserve any shred of compassion or respect in Liraeth's mind.

It was like watching a whipped dog pine faithfully at their master's heels.

"You don't have to apologise for anything! Not to me at least, and certainly not to-" The indignant anger on the Knight's behalf that had been building up inside of Liraeth erupted for a moment, before he stopped himself once again. The Knight's psyche was probably fragile enough as it was, it would not benefit from Liraeth dumping the likely truth of the matter out now in an impassioned rant.

He breathed, closed his eyes and put his free hand to massage the bridge of his nose. When Liraeth opened them again, he could see the sun was low in the sky. They had only made it a few miles from the castle, they would have to find shelter in the forest tonight. When he spoke again he made sure to look the Knight in his eyes.

"We should find somewhere to make camp for the night, there are some things I think I need to tell you. I had been withholding them as I did not wish to distress you. But suffice to say for now, that you are not useless." He gave the Knight a wide smile, his mismatched eyes lighting up in the fading twilight. "And even if you were, you would still deserve my kindness and aid."

He struck right off of the side of the road, picking his way through the gnarled mossy trees, following the downward slope of the land. He could faintly hear run the distant sound of running water, there must be river or stream in that direction. It would make a good a spot as any for them to make camp.

"Though if you no longer wish me to call you by your title, Sir Tenth of Knights, perhaps I can just call you by your name instead then?"

What Are You Listening To?

A Journey Of Recovery

The pregnant pause that hung in the air in response to Liraeth's question was troubling. It should have been a simple enough question to answer, but clearly the Knight was putting in a great deal of thought to it, his brows furrowed, sat in silence. He had been careful in his wording, trying his hardest not to activate the Geas cast over the Knight, but there was still something strange about his manner that made Liraeth wonder if there was something more deeply wrong with his newfound companion's mind.

He would have to take the time of preform a more thorough examination on him. But first they had to get out of this castle, the dark presence that hung over it could not be doing either of them any good.

Thankfully, it seemed that his second question was a lot easier for the Knight to answer. He sat up promptly and finished unfastening the last of the soot stained armour that had previously encased him, though Liraeth did note that he kept his sword fastened to his belt. When he stood he seemed steadier on his feet than Liraeth had seen previously. Standing next to him he had almost forgotten how big the Knight actually was, almost a full head taller than Liraeth was, and broader by far at the shoulder than the slender mage.

They picked his way through the piles of burnt wreckage and rubble, retracing Liraeth's steps back to the sundered gatehouse that led to the mossy cobbles of the forest road beyond, when Sir Tenth asked him a question.

He considered it. Had he found what he was looking for?

He had come here following dark rumours, tales of strange signs and portents, of things not of this world emerging from a dark and isolated forest and the damage they were bringing to the people of this land. And then when he had arrived he had wanted to find the source of the calamity that had befallen the castle, and whoever had placed such a hideous curse upon the Knight. He still wanted to find those things, out both a mix of obligation and righteous indignation.

But in his heart of hearts, Liraeth knew the real answer to this question.

He had been looking for him.

And he did not know whether to be relieved or bitterly disappointed that he had not found any clear sign that he had been here. There were only the scattered fragments of the ritual he had to go off of, and whatever he could glean from the memories of the damaged Knight accompanying him. It was not much, but it was more than nothing.

"I found... something," he replied slowly, "not quite what I was looking for, but a start nonetheless. And I guess I found you as well, Sir Tenth, so that counts for something too."

They passed through the opened gates, beneath the rusting teeth of the iron portcullis that hung above, and beyond the foreboding walls of the castle. Liraeth found he could already breathe easier here, it felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, one that he had barely noticed at the time, yet its sudden absence left him feeling light as a feather. The persistent rain that had troubled them thus far finally began to let up, the sky clearing even as the day grew long

With the rain finally stopping, Liraeth pulled his multicoloured hood down and pushed his light blonde hair away from his face, revealing the tips of his pointed ears. A teardrop of aquamarine crystal hung from the lobe of each. He looked up at the sky and gave it a wan smile of appreciation.

He knew they would not make it far this day, so the pace that Liraeth set was not a hurried one. Though the Knight had said they were well enough to travel, he had seen how unsteady on their feet they had been only hours before. It had taken Liraeth the whole morning of walking at a brisk pace to make it out to the castle from the village closest to the edge of the forest. They would have to spend at least one night in the forest, perhaps two if the Knight needed more time to rest and recover.

As they traversed the slope down away from the castle, Liraeth spoke again.

"How is your head feeling now, Sir Tenth? Any easier to think? I was hoping that I could ask you some questions about what you remember about what happened back at the castle... there is no rush though, we can take our time."

A Journey Of Recovery

Liraeth found nothing in the keep except ash and death.

He paced through darkened half collapsed tunnels of blackened stone and ruined halls open to sky save for the skeletal ribs of their charred timber rafters. Light blazed from his staff. He could feel the power inside of him coursing through his veins, ready at his fingertips, calling to be used. That was one of things they tried to teach you above all else at the Conclave, the gift desires to be used. So too, the greater one's gift is, the greater the desire to use it. Restraint was often the most difficult task of great mages.

And as he made his way through the ruined castle, Liraeth felt powerful.

He wanted to use his magic. Propelled by righteous anger, he wanted to find whatever mage or being had wrought such destruction to this place, and done such cruelty to the Knight sat on the steps outside. It was rare that he felt such fury. But perhaps it was to be expected, such misuse of magic, it brought back uncomfortable memories for him. Memories better left in the past.

The mage slowed his march and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, control himself. But the air he took down into his lungs was thick with the stench of smoke and ash, of burnt meat and decay. This was terrible place, he would be glad to leave it, and he would not be leaving Sir Tenth here alone either.

True to the Knight's words he came across no other survivors, only bodies. Some of them were burned and twisted beyond recognition, little more than bones and warped melted metal. Others clearly died in the aftermath of whatever had happened here, two knights impaled upon each other's blades, another with their own dagger plunged deep into their abdomen, hands stilled wrapped around the bloody hilt.

It was in the remains who what might have been the great hall that Liraeth found a hint of what the cause of all of this might have been.

The fires in here had burned hotter seemingly than anywhere else, hot enough to melt the stone flagged floor in the centre of the cavernous hall. He could still feel the heat coming off of it despite the rain and the time elapsed as he picked his way through the smouldering rubble. As he pushed some charred beams that had collapsed down from the roof above out of his way, the wood scuffed up the thick layer of ash on the floor, revealing something carved into it.

Frowning, he knelt in the ash and wiped away at the carved tile in the floor. As his hand touched it, Liraeth felt a jolt run through him, his stomach lurched and his head span. Dark magic, and strong too. He pulled his hand away to reveal an arcane symbol carved into the flagstone. He examined it, not immediately recognising the purpose of the glyph, but knowing enough of the runic morphology to know this was a summoning sigil of some kind. He looked to his left and right, saw the line of where the stones were warped and melting curve off away from where he stood.

This was a Summoning Circle.

A great working of magic to bring a being from the worlds beyond to this one. Incredibly powerful and dangerous magic that few attempted and fewer still ever mastered. A chill ran through Liraeth's body. The real question though, was this a disastrous failure, or an even more calamitous success? Either way, the Conclave would want to know.

Liraeth pulled a sheaf of parchment from his satchel and sketched a copy of the sigil there before searching for more. He found a few more, but most of the others that would have once made up the circle were either destroyed in the inferno or completely inaccessible under piles of fallen scorched masonry. Any that he found he made similar sketches of, along with notes on their position.

It wasn't much, but he doubted that he would find many more clues inside of the ruined castle, the destruction had been too great. Any papers or books belonging mage who had performed this ritual from which he might have gleamed further knowledge would have been completely incinerated in the inferno. The stench of dark magic suffused this place so deeply it was hard to draw out the individual threads of precisely what magic had occurred here.

No, it seemed like there was only one avenue to further this investigation, the memories of the Knight outside.

______________________________________

When Liraeth returned to the stairs he had left Sir Tenth sat upon, afternoon was turning to evening. He saw that the Knight was laid upon his back, his eyes shut, seemingly at rest. He had stripped most of his armour off on his upper body, down a simple linen undershirt. It revealed more of his form, the Knight's thickly muscled arms, criss-crossed with faded scars, as well as a sliver of his broad and powerful chest that Liraeth could not help but steal a glance at.

In truth, the Knight almost looked peaceful laid there, the furrows in his brow slacked and smoothed, for perhaps the first time since Liraeth had laid eyes on him early that day. He wondered what it was like then, to have your will robbed of, how it felt. Was it painful to the Knight when he compelled to do something?

The Conclave would need answers, and Sir Tenth was the one hold them. Liraeth knew he could just wake him up, speak an order to divulge all he knew what had happened and he would almost certainly comply. It would be the quickest, most efficient way to get the answers that he sought.

And it would also be an unspeakably cruel thing to do.

He pushed the thought from his mind and sat down next to where the Knight lay, picking up the discarded waterskin to wash the taste of ash from his parched lips. The water was cool and clean, exactly what he needed in this place of cloying death and darkness.

"Sir Tenth." He leaned across to where the Knight lay, speaking gently to wake him." How are you feeling? Do you think you can stand?"

Liraeth glanced around the ruined courtyard once more. They could stay here for the night, undoubtably the destroyed buildings could be used as some form of shelter. But the thought of spending a night here, amongst the rubble and bodies of the castle filled him with a sense of dread. Better to take the chance of finding shelter somewhere in the forest instead he reasoned. Besides, there was still some foul magic hanging over this place, it could be that was part of what was affecting the Knight, his condition could improve as left whatever influence this place exerting on those less protected than Liraeth.

"I think it would be best if we left this place, and rest somewhere else. You may feel... better... outside of the walls..." He trailed off before hastily adding lest his orders by construed as a command, "only if you feel up to it, of course."

A Journey Of Recovery

At first Liraeth had discounted the sudden change in how the Knight had held himself as he lowered himself to the ground as simply being him steadying himself. But then the stiffness that he had sat there with, back straight and unyeilding, despite the fact that Liraeth had feared he was about to fall over mere moments ago, struck him once again as being off somehow. As soon as he was fully seated, the change seemed to wear off, the Knight's shoulders slumped once more in exhaustion.

When they locked eyes again, the Knight seemed confused somehow, like he had just been somewhere else, or had only just awoken from a strange or disturbing dream. A head wound could account for such a reaction, but the Knight's pupils were normal, lacking the wide dilation that foretold of a concussion.

An unsettling flash of magical intuition registered in Liraeth's mind. As he handed the waster skin over to the Knight, he kept his eyes trained on him, looking this time for any sudden or strange change in behaviour.

As soon as he had passed the skin over the Knight changed again.

His shoulders set themselves once more, the hand closed about the flask like a vice, gripping it strongly and raising it to is lips in a single mechanical action. He drank from it in deep gulps, his throat moving up and down like a piston. It went on for an uncomfortable amount of time, the Knight not pausing to take a breath, until the skin was half empty.

But the most disturbing thing about this display was the change in the Knight's eyes. This close and watching intently, Liraeth saw it properly for the first time. As he handed the flask over, it was like some kind of film or cloud descended over the deep brown of the Knight's eyes. It was like he wasn't looking at anything at all, like the rest of the world had faded away. All the light went out of those eyes, replaced with a unsettling blankness that only belonged in the eyes of dolls and the dead.

When he placed the waterskin down, the Knight reverted back to his exhausted state once more, collapsing in on himself like the ruined towers and keeps that surrounded where they sat. His head dropped into his hands and he murmured something to himself. When he raised it once more, his eyes had lost their glassy blankness, the light and colour slowly returning to them.

Liraeth could only stare in horror and in pity.

Of all types of magic, fair and foul, that existed in this wide world, the power to rob someone of their own will and make them into a slave or tool, was perhaps the most disgusting of all.

He could not be fully sure yet, but he believed that someone had cast over this Knight some kind of Geas. A curse that compelled one to act against their own will and instead placed them under the control of another. It was a terrible piece of magic, one that mingled deep in the mind of the recipient, and could cause immense damage to them if tampered with or inexpertly removed.

To be so carelessly and freely placed upon him too. Most Geasa were designed to be activated with a specific word or phrase, or keyed to the possessor of a particular artefact or object. To place a Geas where one was forced to follow any verbal command they were given... the callousness of it sicked Liraeth.

He set his jaw, a sudden fierce determination rose him. He was going to help this Knight no matter what, and make sure whoever was responsible for using such terrible and powerful magic with such little regard for him was held accountable.

"Sir Tenth..." He was choosing his words very carefully now. "I am Liraeth, Journeyman Arcanist of the Conclave of Magi. I need to go and have a look at the rest of the castle, and I think it would be best for you to rest here while I do, though you are under no compulsion to do so. I shall leave the waterskin here with you, you may drink from it as much or as little as you would like. I will be back soon."

He placed one hand one of the brawny Knight's armoured shoulders and patted it gently. Then he stood up, multicoloured cloak twirling about him as he took up his staff once more, the light from it growing brighter again. Liraeth took one final glance down at the at the Knight, giving him a small smile that almost masked the anger that was bubbling inside of him.

"I promise."

And with that he climbed steps towards the ruins of the keep.

A Journey Of Recovery

Liraeth listened as the Knight began to speak, saying that he had no task with which he required help with, and that any injuries he had would not prevent him from executing any orders. But the way that he spoke seemed to pained, so laboured. He was leaning on that sword as if it were a walking stick. The small sense of unease that had lodged itself in Liraeth's mind, when he had first wondered how long exactly had this Knight had been sat here amongst all this ash and death, grew with each and every pained word that slowly trailed off to nothing.

The sword clattered to the ground as the Knight's hand slid out of his gauntlet, breaking the silence that had fallen over the destroyed courtyard. The Knight pawed at his helm and unbuckled his visor, revealing his face.

Beneath the steel mask, the knight's hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat that had dripped down over his grime coated face, leaving trails in the ash and dirt that stained it. His eyes were closed beneath thick brows, his mouth pulled into a frown. There was burn on his cheek just above where the stubble of his beard began, but other than that Liraeth saw no obvious injuries. That was good.

It was a good face too, Liraeth decided, he believed that this man meant him no harm, despite whatever strange and terrible may have happened to him here. As the Knight began to speak again, he watched the colour drain from his face, and saw that he no longer had his sword in hand with which to support him.

"Whoa Hey!" The slight pale mage sprung forward to the bottom of the ruined steps, closing the final distance between them. He grabbed the Knight by the by the arm, in a perhaps somewhat futile attempt to steady and support the much taller and larger man. If the Knight were to topple over, there was as much of a chance that he would take Liraeth with him, still he tried. "Don't worry, I've got you."

Once he was sure the big Knight wasn't going to tumble down the remaining few stairs onto the cobblestones below, he didn't let go. Instead, he tried to gently lower his armoured form back onto the step that he had been sat upon when Liraeth had first entered the courtyard.

"Come on, sit down, save your strength."

He knelt on the step next to the Knight and transferred his staff, still faintly glowing, to the crook of his arm. With his hands now free he began to rummage around in the satchel he wore at his side under his brightly coloured coat, it contained his travelling provisions, along with a few other useful tools of his trade. After a moment's brief search, he pulled out what he had been looking for, an almost full waterskin.

"Here," He pressed the waterskin into the ungauntleted hand of the Knight. "Drink this."