Arthurian Cultivation

It took four days to reach the final campsite before Fosburg. In that time I killed eight razorback wolves and a bronze hide boar and it seemed my final battle would be a savagely rewarding one. I sensed a Gale Hare approaching.

The Gale Hare crept out of the wilderness as we camped. It thought itself sneaky creeping up through the long grass in the thin light of dusk. It was out of luck. We’d got a campfire lit, and I’d taken to blanketing the area with a layer of thin smoke, that only someone very attentive would’ve noticed was moving against the wind.

I sensed it brush against my glamour and began to move discreetly to intercept. Fae beasts were attracted to cultivators like moths to a flame, one of the fastest ways for them to accelerate their growth was by killing and eating their own kind, but cultivators were a step above that, being the fastest way for them to jump through the ranks.

This one was likely weaker than the first I'd fought, or a touch smarter as it was aiming for Alexis rather than I.

I moved as quickly as I dared, passing Trent who was oiling his moustache and giving him a wave which he returned in kind. I had to seem unconcerned. Alexis was over at the fire with a couple of the guards. I waved to her and walked over as if to join their conversation.

The Hare froze, it must be smart as that meant it recognized that I was the other threat in the camp. Smart was bad news, a beast's intelligence was tied to its cultivation. I wanted this done quickly.

As I approached the smoke from the fire greeted me, rolling up to me as I formed a natural wind break. Totally normal if you don't have complete control of Smoke. In the momentary cover this brought me my bow was out.

The hare all but flew out of the bush as my arrow lodged into its shoulder. Then I was upon it.

No longer a rusty forgotten blade, I was raring for a rematch. Wounded and with a ready enemy it was profoundly unprepared for our fight. It began a retreat immediately, just another sign that it needed to die. Most Fae beasts fought to the death, so being smart enough to flee meant I could not let it go.

I kept up with its fighting retreat easily. My Levity methods, now dusted off gave me a speed to more than match it, if anything I was several steps above it. I could swear I saw the shock on its furry little face as I countered its attacks. I had a buckler in my offhand and used that to bat away its assault.

In a matter of seconds, I found my opening and carved it open. I then powered past it, trying to avoid the heady rush of death glamour. It still rushed at me but I was able to fight it off better when not standing atop it.

Looking back at the corpse I was shocked at just how quick the battle was. I was barely breathing fast, checking myself I remained unscathed. It was a staggering difference from my first fight. Standing over the corpse it was in many ways a testament to the training of the last few years, re-energized by my time with Bors.

I grabbed the Hare and returned to camp, from which I could hear worried voices and yelling. Time to put them at ease.

The hare was the only one I had to get up close and personal with the entire time, the rest of the beasts were far weaker, being early foundation and having no cores. They were taken out with the bow and arrow, a weapon I was coming to love. It kept me far from the death glamour.

It was far more fae beasts than we should've met even after a storm. Talking over dinner that night Alexis and I theorised that the lingering scent of the bags might be attracting them. We scrubbed down the wagons extra hard, didn't want to bring that trouble to town.

I talked more shop with Alexis. But otherwise spent my time serenading, dancing or flipping around to better entertain my fellow travellers. It was honestly the most fun I'd had since I'd been ‘found’ and taken off the streets all those years ago. I might've been an orphan, but I was part of a gang, and we looked out for each other.

The extreme events of my night of rebirth had left me a little below Mid-Bronze. Now I had crossed that threshold and was heading towards High Bronze. If things kept up, I’d be Peak Bronze in only a few months. That was not including my plans with alchemy.

The hare’s core was tucked away in my storage ring. I would’ve eaten it there and then if it would’ve allowed me to reach my revival threshold, and it could be better used to make a brew. I had plans, plans for the kind of alchemy that would get an apprentice alchemist thrown out before the brew could cool. Few aimed to create potions to maximise cultivation and impurities!

My thoughts were disturbed as the wind changed and my senses brushed against the feathered edges of a vast cloud of smoke glamour. We were nearing Fosburg.

I knew embarrassingly little about Fosburg, mainly because it was considered unimportant by my tutors. It was run by House Fos and owed allegiance to the Chox. Its current head was struggling to break through to Mithril, many felt it was likely to never happen. Other than that I knew that he had a couple of sons and maybe a daughter? Someone else was in the mix for sure. They were a trading town, built around a bridge over the Asp River. That was it.

From the caravaneers, I learned that the town used to be considered highly, but since the Fos head went Questing about a decade ago the town has been viewed as on the wane. However, they did say that at least the rules were well kept and cultivators behaved themselves more than most.

As the caravan pulled out of the forest and the walls of the town came into view I couldn't help but feel jealous of this 'minor' town. Fosburg was my first sampling of Euross continental cultivation. Albion was strange in that parts almost touched the fae while other places were as distant as our shores from the Thousand City Sea. That led to far fewer more powerful groups and cultivation being spotty. Many towns barely saw any cultivation, while the seats of power were extravagant but in a state of constantly battling beasts from the seelie and unseelie in equal parts.

This was compared to Euross's more consistent levels of glamour. Which still ebbed and flowed but was more consistent. Fosburg was an example of the difference this caused. It was both too impressive and far too dull for Albion.

Fosburg was a walled town sitting on a stone bridge formed through cultivation. It was something Bors might be able to achieve at Peak Steel if he worked at it for a couple of decades. It spanned a wide valley, crossing the mile between the two cliffs. That fit for Albion the rest not so much.

It was plain, dull grey walls rose up some fifty metres. The runes carved into them were simple and I could feel the power cycling in from the glamour of the raging river beneath rather than the ambient glamour around. Then the was the town outside the town, only a wooden palisade keeping them safe. An impossibility unless beasts were far less common.

I could sense glamour being used, just like with the guards it seemed many could use some Stone tricks. As we approached I kept a watch. I had a suspicion that we might meet in trouble. Fosburg was not under any Order, Coven or Guild. Normally any flavour of wandering cultivator might be challenged by the local power.

Not an issue as the local House of Renown, the appropriately named Fosburgs was actually welcoming to those types. They also took rejection politely, having only sent one person out to test Bors.

They weren't the problem. The big issue was who might be waiting for us. See I'd checked over Kristoff and found a purse of five crowns on him. And a stash of fifteen crowns in his wagon. Little shit was trying to make it big even when caught. Twenty crowns was too much. A wood-level cultivator could buy a brew or two with it. I'd learnt enough from Alexis.

My lack of sense of how much money was worth was truly frightening. The Harkleys had many flaws but being cheap was not one of them.

“You see anything?” Alexis asked, she and I were driving Kristoff's wagon. We'd agreed to do our best to draw attention to us. Cultivators tended to assume cultivators were to blame for their problems, so seeing us and an absence of Kristoff would keep anyone watching from causing problems for the others.

“No, but there are a lot of people looking at us.”

“They are probably surprised by our arrival. The storm was only a few days ago, it should've at least crippled our caravan. Plus the bandit damage. We should expect the guards to have some questions.” Baste was in the wagon before ours. He took us through the palisade gates without issue. They only had a token guard. A couple of boys without a hint of stubble.

Moving into the town was an education, the palisade town was a series of rough buildings, that looked to have been stitched together from pieces. Lots of tents and wicker huts. The people here were hardy and tough, and there wasn’t a child amongst them.

“Where are all the kids?”

“Oh, they’d not be let out here. This is the rough town. It’s where all the jobs too smelly vile or seedy happen. Everything can be levelled by a single monster attack. If anyone catches sight of a monster everyone here will flood inside. People get paid extra for having to do work out here.”

“But there are shops, and I saw a bar?”

“Yeah well, it can take time to come and go. Some even sleep out here, but that’s only the stupid or the desperate. If you go to some other place with a rough town and see a load of kids, be worried about what you’ll find behind the walls.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m from Albion, we don’t have rough towns, no one would dare be outside the walls for longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Happy to enlighten you, my merry minstrel. Ah, we’re coming up to the main gate. Expect questions.” It appeared the guards were waiting in the wings for just that line. As we approached the portcullis guards rushed out. A couple of them at Wood, and standing looking down at us from the tower was a Bronze cultivator in full armour, a stern face and bushy eyebrows shot through with grey, a fur-trimmed cloak marked him as captain.

“Halt.” The call came, Baste had already been sliding to a stop so we all paused. “We are surprised to see your caravan, a hawk told us of your leaving, but we expected the storm to waylay you. Explain.”

Baste turned to look at me, I felt the eyes of the captain jump to me. Thanks, Baste great job.

“Hail, and greetings Captain. I am Taliesin, I am a bard and ally of Sir Bors. I am a cultivator of Bronze level.”

“What manner of cultivator are you?”

“A bard sir. I seek to pursue music, joy and song over any other forms of cultivation, be that combat, sorcery, or physical craft.” I could practically see the group's faces knitting. That was no cultivator they knew of.

“So not one of Sir Bors’s knightly chums trying to sneak in under false pretences.” That question worried me. From what Alexis had told me I’d understood that Fosburg welcomed wandering cultivators. Still, my options were few, and while I could not lie, didn’t mean others had to trust me.

“Perhaps I might answer that challenge and the question that spurned it in a single go?” I asked pulling up my lute. I was a little surprised to see the man smile in response and give me a nod.

“Well, this song is about a Knight and his acts most brave. To save a caravan from brigands, and fae beasts, and even turn aside the wrath of the storm. Let me sing to you of Bors! And the Titan’s Three Trials!”

The lute hummed with energy as I began to strum. I puffed on my pipe, before tucking it behind my ear, the smoke still rising, being fuelled by my glamour.

“Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!”

I lost myself in the act, it wasn’t just the singing or the playing, but also the dancing and swirling of smoke. The song brought everything around us to a halt. An act I’d honed over the last few days travelling was now getting its true debut.

“With wicked blades and savage cries, bandits descend under frosted skies.

But then the earth begins to quake, a giant wakes for justice' sake.”

As I leapt among the crowd, the smoke swirled about me showing a brace of bandits being cut down by the huge form of Bors. I could feel the gazes, all attention held a tiny amount of glamour. That attention could turn into the Evil Eye by the most powerful, a way of impressing the weight of their fury and power. Witches were said to be particularly attuned to it, but as I sang it did not fill me full of worry, instead that focus brought delight.

“A monstrous lynx with form of misty light, eyes burning embers, sharp and bright,

Leaps from the trees with snarl and bite, a hunger dark, a fearsome sight.”

The children I’d been travelling with looked around continuing a game I had honed with them, trying to spot the lynx before it attacked the alert form of Bors, I had it creep out of from under a caravan. And they pointed at screamed a warning, I had Bors turn, saluting them, don't stop before he fought it.

The song and illusion continued with him battling the beast with sword and stone. Standing triumphant he began to lead them but clouds gathered and winds blew.

“The earth itself, a sheltering hand, a monument to Bors's command,

A Titan's power, a Knight’s grace, a haven carved from winter's place.”

I finished with a recreation of the Bors raising the dome, which I didn’t have to embellish. However, I did change his act of blowing on the earth, less piercing whistle and more single hammer strike. The caravaneers didn’t mind, they applauded all the same. As did the guards. The captain was watching with rapt attention, a smile visible under his armour. His applause came last.

I was thrilled, who needed death glamour when a performance felt so good? The mood had turned convivial as the guards relaxed, matching their captain. The man dropped lazily from his place a top of the battlements sliding down the side of the wall. I could smell metal glamour, and his Levity control was exceptional. The ease of it and his metal glamour made me realise he'd hidden his power earlier. Now I could feel it, he was a Knight, Peak Iron ranked.

“Baste, tell me is this what happened?” He turned a lazy eye to the guardsman who nodded, before finally remembering his duty, snapping a salute.

“Yes, Captain Ban. It is as Bard Taliesin said, he joined us to escort us to the town. We had some unexpected trouble.” Bard Taliesin was what they’d taken to calling me, lacking a squire, knight or other such honorific to stick before my name. I’d tried to insist they drop it, but Alexis had scolded me. I felt gloomy that much of her logic was that it was a bad habit to teach children a lack of respect.

“Yes. I also notice that the old bastard isn’t among you, yet the hawk said he was the caravan leader.”

“I left his fate out of the song, I couldn’t work out how to fit ‘dastardly betrayal’ into the melody,” I said, speaking in low tones. Captain Ban’s smile thinned, and then nodding he waved us through.

“Well then we’re pleased to have you, Bard Taliesin, we ask you and the good lady cultivator I spy at your side to report to us so we can explain the rules of Fosburg to cultivators such as yourselves.”