Arthurian Cultivation

It took hours of patient wheedling to get the king to agree to show us the strong box. I was certain by the end he was just enjoying toying with us. I believe he only caved because he got bored of the game. I was almost impressed. The man was intelligent and belligerent enough to dance around multiple Iron ranks.

We were led through back into the ancient Atlantean part of the castle behind the throne room and downstairs so worn they dipped in the middle from use. The walls were grey, the place lit by burning torches. The ceiling was marked with soot, and the air damp and musty. The only sound was our footsteps, and the plink of falling water as drips gathering above fell to the mouldering floor.

Eventually, after several twists and turns, we reached the bottom of this dungeon and were shown to a single room behind a thick door studded with steel.

We were alone except for his grey-haired attendant, who took a set of keys from his king and slowly opened the door.

Inside was a grey box of a room. In its centre was a strong box, about as big as my torso and twice as deep.

"Here’s the blasted thing." The King thwacked it with his cane, staring at the empty strong box like it had personally wronged him. Up close I could see it was stained with efforts to open it.

The strong box was clearly made for cultivators, and to resist cultivators. At a glance it looked like a simple iron-bound box. Remnants of gold, and strips of silver in the cracks, implied that it had once long ago been ornate and decadent. However, all that had been scraped clean by its caretakers' desperation to see inside. I didn’t need Sephy to confirm that the dull, pitted metal was more than simple iron. There was a flowing glamour worked into the metal, not something generated by runes but the very material itself.

Tristan examined the lock, his false persona dialled down now we weren’t at the table. The man carefully took stock of the mechanism that had long sealed the box. I supposed it made sense that spies knew how such things worked.

"Damnable thing, drove generations of my family to madness. An insulting, plain-looking thing. I’m told it once was a regal design, covered in gold and platinum till some ancestor tried to burn his way in, exposing this." He jabbed it with his cane again.

"It seems like some kind of acid has been spilt over it?" I observed, taking a look at the lid.

"That was my great-great-uncle’s doing. He paid a small fortune for the spit of a Caustic Toad and thought it would be the answer." The King chuckled bitterly. "But it just made a fool of him."

Now we weren’t on display, he didn’t seem to care that he was exposing his family’s greed. I didn’t blame him. Cultivators were known for seeking every advantage. Too many idly caretaking such a wonder would have seemed foolish.

"Did your family never get anyone more senior to look at it?" Maeve asked, clearly implying she meant someone Iron or potentially higher, though Steels would be hard to come by in the mountains.

"What, and have the bloody thing whisked away? Wouldn’t be showing it to you lot if it wasn’t as empty as a beggar’s purse." He hit the side again with his cane.

"Sensible." I jumped in. Then, hoping to leverage the burning hate I was certain he held, I tried to pry more out of him. "Can you remember anything about the day of the theft?"

"Don’t ask me to remember that day. My doctors say it brings on the 'Melancholy'. I think I’m still spitting mad about it." He glared at the box, then turned his gaze to the rest of us. "I can see this means something to you all, doesn’t it?"

"Vermald was vile. If this Merlin fellow has even a touch of his evil, we want him dead, even without your bounty. This box might help us track him down." Maeve replied. Her eyes were sharp and her response a bit quick, a touch too eager.

"Alright then. I’ll let you have it all. The box, my notes, all the sightings I have of that fucker Merlin. You have to agree to one thing for me!"

"What can the Round Table do for you, King Phischer?" Maeve spoke, her full political tone coming on strong.

"I want an oath. If you do catch up with that Merlin bastard, kill him and tell him Phischer sent you. I want that little shit to know who did him in!" The King grinned and let out a wheezing laugh, no doubt tickled by the idea of Merlin’s death. Or perhaps he was amused to have us dancing to his tune. It was difficult to say.

Maeve looked around, checking with us. Agreeing to such an oath was not to be done lightly. I nodded. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where this conman with a cursed cup that demanded human sacrifice would be somehow blameless. Persephone took a moment longer. Finally, we looked to Tristan.

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He was staring at some part of the mechanism, with a frown. He looked up, realising what we were waiting for, and didn’t hesitate to nod.

"I believe we can agree to that." Maeve answered.

"Then the deal is set. My staff will get you the notes on that fucking ne’er-do-well, and the day the great boon of my family waned and revealed itself as the curse I’d long suspected it was. Now you will allow me one last indulgence." He didn’t wait. He hobbled a step closer to the strong box and pulled back his cane. Tristan had to dodge to one side.

We all watched, captivated, as he began to beat the box as hard as he could muster.

Even old and wizened, his body still held enough strength that the clattering thwacks of the cane echoed through the vaults. The attack built up to a frenzy, the king spat curses. Not mere swears, but promises of death, misfortune, and scorn that even a fae would have to respect. He kicked at it, here and there.

We all waited in silence, witness to a king venting an endless stream of rage. The cane was strong and well made, and further reinforced with an unsteady current of nature glamour as he activated a gift to hold it together as it splintered and bent. After what seemed like an age, the cane snapped, the broken half wedging itself in the mouth of the strong box.

He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the box. Breathing hard, he silently pushed himself up. His butler appeared beside him and offered an arm, which the old monarch’s bleeding hands latched onto.

He didn’t look at us, just stared into the empty strong box.

"A king should not have to dwell on his failures. Take the damn thing with you, consider it a down payment. May it curse thee less than it did me and mine."

He then spat on the box before limping out with his attendant, leaving us in reverent silence, respectful of the fury we’d just witnessed.

When the sound of footsteps grew quiet, we all breathed out. Our attention turned back to the box.

"Do we think this is it, or was it?" Maeve asked. We all turned to Sephy, who was looking at the strong box with a complicated expression.

"I’m not sure."

"I’m not really an expert, but the runes on this are dense. Enough that I imagine they could have blocked the book’s aura." Tristan said. He was still examining the mechanism on the front with a frown.

"How did they open it though?"

"That’s simple. Look at what I found in the lock. Tool some careful manipulation to get it free." Tristan held up a familiar star-shaped pendant.

"It’s one from the Ray of Mercy." I growled as I looked over the offending jewellery. The dark purple Ray of Mercy was aligned with the top. It made sense, since even now I could feel a lingering sting of death glamour radiating from the inside of the strong box.

"Does that mean they have it? That this has all been for nought?" Maeve asked.

We looked inside out of a vain hope. The strong box was empty. Thick walls limited the space within that could be used and left only two sections, separated by careful partitions. One side looked a near-perfect fit for the book we’d uncovered from Vermald. The other section was once deeply padded, though it had been shredded in an apparent frenzy. I assumed by Phischer. I could see him being desperate enough to cut open the lining.

"I don’t believe that for a moment." Sephy snapped, her hands clenching. "This theft happened nearly twenty years ago. There’s no way that they got their hands on the grail and had access to it for that long without us hearing something. Besides, that wouldn’t explain the book. There’s no way they left the Book in the hands of Vermald." Sephy was staring at the offending strong box, taking its measure.

"It’s the right size, isn’t it?" I asked. She shared a nod with me.

"But where did they get the pendant?" Maeve asked.

"No idea. It’s real, but look at it. It’s corroded and old. I think this is an artefact in itself." I turned it over in my hands. The design wasn’t quite the same as the modern design. While the single extended point was quite pronounced in the modern pendants, this one had the dominant ray only fractionally longer.

"I used to hear theological debates about how, back during the time of Atlantis, the rays were more closely aligned and less competitive than they are now. They were a hidden but huge secret society back then, infecting every part of the empire, and the factions were more about keeping operations hidden and secret than they are now. It’s possible that this Merlin fellow just dug up an old relic and used it like a key. Seelie knows, maybe this specific pendant is the key and he stumbled upon it."

"So what, this Merlin conman works out that this box is just waiting for some Divine Cultivator to come open it, and decides to pop it open and take a peek with some old necklace he found?" Maeve was pacing. She seemed more worked up than I was used to seeing her.

"What’s up, Maeve?" I had to ask. We may have been feigning our closeness, but I felt I’d gotten a good read on her. It took a lot to disrupt her aura of calm competency. Things like her betrothed, who she was meant to murder, jumping out a window. A setback here shouldn’t have bothered her so.

"Tell me, do any of you know the name of Merlin?" Maeve asked, and as she said the name I felt her aura flare. I leant back against a wall. My body was still tired and sore, and I could sense a story coming on.

"I’m familiar. Mostly as a disastrous seer. From the time before Uthar Quilvern, Morgana Chox, and that generation." Sephy spoke up.

"The name appears in some stories. A wizard or sage that shares some dire warning." I added, dredging my own memory.

Tristan just shook his head.

"I’m not surprised. His legend is not well known. Merlin is a vile being. If I had even a passing fancy that this might be the true Merlin, then I would be summoning Grandmother Chox, and she would round up some Mithrils and scour this whole corner of the realm for him, Green Knight or no." Maeve added.

"Are you suggesting we have another great evil to concern ourselves with here?" Tristan sighed, looking at the box.

"I have to admit, even I only know of him as a cautionary tale. The kind of insanity that happens when a seer wanders around dropping glimpses of the future like breadcrumbs with no care for the chaos that can bring." Sephy added.

Maeve took a breath, steeling herself. She seemed uncomfortable, almost nervous.