Arthurian Cultivation

We rested on the border of the Folly, with its green shadow growing ever closer. It was the day after we had spoken with Lord Rivermouth, and we had spent hours travelling across the mountains, getting closer and closer to the vast Oak and the verdant green lands. I could feel the shift in glamour. The power was thin across the mountains, but this close it was richer, a steady flow of power dragged towards the vast tree.

We had checked out the reported locations of the Green Foot Bandits and found small groups, not the main force. From the carnage that followed, it seemed that my fellows had some anger to take out. Sadly, we could not dare divert our attention now, so we had headed to the agreed rendezvous point.

Bors, Sephy and I had set up a temporary camp in spitting distance of the eldritch place, waiting for the others to come and meet us so we could decide on our plans. We were hoping to move quickly. The cultists would be after us soon.

Or maybe they were already here?

I sat by a wide river beside a crackling fire. The wood was all harvested from fallen branches and dead trees. This close to the Oak, we were not taking any chances.

The weather was cold enough that snow was settling on the ground. I was currently uncomfortable, shivering, and looking very pitiful and unthreatening. This was by design. See, right now I was acting as bait for a trap.

A few minutes past, through my smoke, I felt a distant presence approaching us. A lone Iron stumbling towards our camp. While my smoke might have caught sense of them first, once alerted, Bors confirmed their pace did not match any of our fellows.

The other two were behind me, hidden beneath the array we used for camping that helped to shield our glamour from outside observation. A new addition to our tools that we had started to use after the ambush.

Was this Merlin? Was this a rogue cultivator? A lost cultist?

Bors had enough time to warn me that it felt like they did not have armour on, by their footsteps. I had been picked for the distraction, even if Sephy had looked less than pleased with the decision. Not only did I have a good track record of befriending random cultivators, I also had some of the sharpest glamour senses, and was better positioned to pick up if this interloper was wielding the corrupt magic of the divine cultivators.

I was also the fastest among us, and should be able to flee if the man proved to be a threat.

I could hear him stomping towards us, bursts of an odd glamour I thought might be Momentum, the power of movement itself to propel him along. His glamour senses must have picked up on me some time ago, as he had been making a beeline towards me ever since he had got within a hundred paces. I could tell it was a he thanks to the muttered curses I heard on the wind.

"Bloody snow. How, by all the Seelie, did you get down my collar?" The loud, blunt, direct approach was either a good sign, as he was trying to announce himself so as not to bring worry, or a threat, showing he did not care if he was heard.

The trees abruptly parted, the ferns pulling back like curtains from a potent burst of nature glamour. Standing across the river from me was a man in a green robe who looked completely bushed, as in he had been dragged backwards through several. He had dark brown hair and wild blue eyes.

He spotted me across the river, grinned, and bowed.

"Greetings to the Round Table. This traveller requests to share your camp under the auspices of hospitality." His voice was strong and clear, a hint of joy to his words.

"Greetings, traveller. You have the better of me. You seem to know who I am, but I do not know who you are."

"A game then." The man smiled.

I raised an eyebrow at him. This odd man felt powerful, deeper into Iron than any of us. Perhaps he was equal to Marek in cultivation. Still, I did not feel any threat, just a mild amusement.

"I believe you should be able to guess who I am, or at least who I represent, rather quickly."

"Perhaps you might take offence at my guesses." I looked him up and down. His outfit was unfamiliar to me. It was a mix of odd traveller’s gear. It had no finery and looked simply made, if sturdy in construction. There was no token of office, nor mark of coven. He did not carry a weapon at his hip, but leaned on a staff that looked little more than a convenient branch stripped of leaves and twigs to help him navigate the land.

"I shall take no offence unless they are most offending in their nature. But you shall have to try hard. I would not mind if you even call me a beast." I frowned. That was true, and also served as a clue. Nearly any cultivator would take great umbrage with such a comparison. I smiled. I had my answer.

"You should have stretched this out with more witty banter, but that was as clear as saying it. Would you perhaps be aligned with the druids? I remember being told that the others had encountered a druid when protecting the town the cur Sir Spendlove had so disastrously failed. She mentioned that their order would recognise the Round Table."

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"I could have, but banter can be had when I share that nice fire going, and I have been stomping around for a week looking for you. I am Amergin, aspiring druid, and I would love to share in your hospitality. I have a message to share." The strange, twig-strapped Amergin bowed again.

"You can approach. We offer our hospitality and expect you to respect it in turn." Sephy stepped out from the array that concealed them, followed by Bors. It would have been poor form to offer hospitality with them hiding. I also doubted that the man was genuinely fooled. He had a wily nature to him.

A kindred spirit, I felt.

A round of introductions were had, and some food was passed out. Amergin’s one request was that we eat no meat except beasts that had been hunted, something we could easily accommodate.

"Druids believe that the domestication of animals is unnatural. I used to think it unnecessary, but then I saw what goats can do to a forest. We are meant to love nature equally, but I think goats are right bastards." Amergin smiled as he tucked into venison stew.

"So you are an aspiring druid?" I asked, intrigued. I only knew of druids as Steels.

"Indeed. They only allow those of greater cultivation in their ranks, but they do let you know in advance if they are interested in you once you reach high enough."

"You are a lot more chatty than the last druid that we met," Bors said, drinking a mug of ale. He had stored plenty in his ring. From the smell I could tell it was Fash’s work.

"That is due to my cultivation. I, like your bard here, or the man who made that drink, cultivate a different path. I am a traveller. As the world turns, I meet new people and find new places, my hearth grows ever warmer." He grinned, as we all took a moment to blink at the revelation.

"Did anyone teach you of it?" I found myself asking before I winced. "I apologise, I do not mean to pry."

"No bother. I did not share it to laud the mystery over you. In answer, I have met others, and we travelled together on occasion, but I would not consider any of them my master."

"What does a Traveller do to cultivate?" Bors asked.

"Now that feels like a boring question. What does a Knight do? It is many things, and different for each."

"All right, a more merry request. What is the most interesting place you have visited? You must have seen many things?" I asked, keen to keep the man talking.

"If we ignore people, who, in my opinion, can make even the dreariest places a wonder, then I would have to pick." He tapped his chin. "Ah, the ruins of Atlantis were a sight to behold. You can stand atop what once was known as ‘Little Hill’ and look down into the crater that was ‘Emperor’s Peak’. The glamour there is so intense that storms of fire are whipped up and burn through the night, chased by gales of ghostly blades. It is a wonder, a reminder of powers gone mad, and how, given time, nature reclaims even the greatest bastions of civilisation."

"I hate to cut this short, but if Amergin here is anything like Taliesin, and I am getting that sense," Sephy interrupted.

Amergin and I nodded to each other. Of course you could not stop a good story halfway through.

"Traveller Amergin, you said you had a message for us."

"And presents too. You must have made a good impression, or perhaps your fate is strong. Either way, I have been directed to aid you." He began to fumble in a satchel at his side.

"You see, the druids rather like the Grand Oak. It is considered a place of reverence. It is where many have broken through from Iron to Steel. The Green Knight does not mind us as we follow the rules." He smiled as he spoke, ignoring the grunt from Bors as I elbowed him in the side to stop him interrupting with a question.

The big man had been very worried about bowing, and despite our reassurances had taken to doing so every morning.

"The Grand Oak is a place where aspirants come on pilgrimage before they enter the Order. The druids have no leader. Their goal is to maintain harmony between the humans, the natural world, and the fae. This place is a testament to the battle between all three."

None of us dared ask him, but we all exchanged looks. Was this man on the cusp of Steel? Was this a final pilgrimage?

"As such, those with the talent keep an eye on the Grand Oak. And what do they spot, but some young ones, known to the druids, come here with a shadow on their heels, seeking a slinking, festering pustule of a person."

"You know of our mission?" Sephy asked, voice tight.

"The druids know that you come here not out of greed and avarice as so many have done before, that there is something rotten slinking about, a scavenger using the Grand Oak’s roots for cover that you seek to flush out. They do not care about more. I personally would not mind knowing more, but my purpose here is to share a warning, share the rules."

"I see you are following the first rule. Do not burn the trees for fuel, or recklessly spread flame. Use only wood which has already fallen. Even the wood you bring in should be collected, not hewn. The Oak Lord may accept a tree becoming a shelter. Birds make their nests, and you would not believe what a mortal beaver can do with enough time. He even tolerates his trees being turned into tools." His hand moved the staff so it sat across his lap. "But he believes the burning of his trees for fuel to be a wasteful sin."

"Next, pay respect to the Oak. Bow when you step under its canopy. Here, at least, that is simple. There is one oak and it is best to bow first thing in the day to it if you stand beneath its boughs."

Beside me, Bors let out a shaky breath of relief.

"Third, now here is where the stories get lost, consumed with the noble strike. The Oak Lord understands nature. To say you must take none of the treasures in his realm would be a denial of our need to grow strong and defend ourselves. The Oak Lord cannot abide, however, taking things for profit, to take more than your fill and expect to give it to those who spend gold rather than challenge themselves against the forces of nature. It is the fastest way to draw his ire, the fastest way to invite him to play a game." Amergin smiled at us. It was not a friendly look.

"The Verdant Folly misses a certain detail. That order of misbegotten fools did not just set up on that mountain for no reason. The Grand Oak, more the big Oak at that time if we are honest, was there, and they sought to make it their own. The Oak Lord took offence at such hubris. Basically the rule is, ‘do not be a greedy arsonist’ and you will be fine."

"Pretty simple, right!" He chuckled at our stunned faces.