Arthurian Cultivation

The sound of a full harp is uniquely melodic. It is both an incredibly soft sound, yet with enough body to it that it resonates with you. The deep notes thrumming through the floor while the high notes dance over the tips of your ears. Each note resonating subtly with the power of the notes that came before.

I liked that word resonance. I think the witches had named the phenomenon through which I cultivated correctly. Connection implied something lasting, which my music often wasn't. Resonance could last, but mostly it was about a shared experience. A sensation where a sound affected the innate nature of something distant, pulling forth a unique reaction that wouldn't be the same if either part were different.

I could feel it, that resonance, as the delicate music of Knight Korina Kovax—apparently known as Princess KoKo to her friends—washed over me. Yet I also could sense a certain misalignment, a missing component that spoke to the Fash's observations about her not understanding what the crowd wanted.

The music was hauntingly beautiful. The sheer technical skill on display—let alone the brilliance of the composition—left my own work far behind. Her fingers danced across strings faster than any mortal could hope to move, layering a complexity of sound that even two harpists working in concert would struggle to equal.

Even without lyrics, I could feel its theme unfold. Familiar patterns began joyfully, only to fade into sombre tones as the piece progressed. Then, new radiant and energetic motifs emerged, layered over the lingering sadness of the old. To my ears, it spoke of the sorrow of memories lost to time, softened by the joy of what has taken their place.

It was the kind of thing that reduced grown men to tears, myself among them. Yet in this setting? In this warm, happy hall, as part of entertainment that started with getting a pegasus drunk? It was too much, too heavy. It clashed with the world, and I could feel the resonance within me fading as soon as the last note was done.

This was a performance that, in some grand gathering of nobles, would be hailed as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Here, though, it was just memorable. Some might go out and tell others about it, but for most? It was just a strange bit of contrast to the rest of their night.

It was the work of a true virtuoso. Someone who'd patiently mastered their instrument and put their heart and soul into the piece. It wasn't the work of a Bard.

The song finished, and after a moment where silence filled the room, the applause came in—warm and appreciative as the listeners came out of their stupor. The Knight nodded primly and then swept off the stage, casually carrying the heavy harp as if it were no more weight than a small lyre.

The sound of the hall quickly returned, the serenity crumbling as people moved on from the emotional moment, drowning it in booze and laughter. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the Knight. Her work deserved better reception.

At least our table gave a standing ovation. Most of our Order had gathered, using that shared consciousness that many groups of friends develop, and had dragged everyone to the tavern over the last hour or so as I spoke with Fash and while the various acts performed.

"What a show from the wonderful Harpist Knight Kovax, here at the Fox and Harp. She is the harp. Now though, let's hear from a man who fits the role of fox." I looked down. The red and black outfit did have a fox-like element.

"This fox is our final act. A rare treat. While I might introduce many a merry minstrel, and have talked up hundreds of travelling troubadours upon this stage, it has never been my honour to introduce a cultivator who focuses solely on the path of music to propel them forward. I introduce the Bard Taliesin, Herald of the Order of the Round Table."

I strode out onto the stage, cloaked in—well—a cloak of billowing smoke. I'd been collecting plenty of power for my illusions as the night had gone on, preparing for an entrance. Most places, going full-on with the smoke would've been overkill. Here, though, with people who were used to cultivators, in a drinking hall of glamour-infused drinks under the shadow of the golden towers of the keep, it would be a wonderful accompaniment.

I let my fingers run across the strings, and I could feel the room's focus fall upon me. I started with the song which'd become a core of my repertoire. One I was still refining, and I'm sure would grow and shift with time.

A story about us. About the Round.

Come gather round and raise a cheer,
For knights and dames who know no fear,
The Round Table rides with hearts so bold,
In shining steel and stories told!

Oh the Round rides out with blades aglow,
Through mountain pass and vale below,
They guard the weak, they strike the vile,
They drive back dark with sword and smile!
So fill your cup and sing aloud,
For those who wear no crown — yet make us proud!

Sir Bors the Titan, strong as stone,
Cracks shield and bone with hands alone,
A walking wall, a titan true,
When he comes near, the demons rue!

Sir Gawain wise, with Archimedes at his side,
Knows when to charge and when to heed peace,
With honour high and courage grand,
They're justice flying o'er the land.

Oh the Round rides out with blades aglow,

Through mountain pass and vale below,
They guard the weak, they strike the vile,
They drive back dark with sword and smile!
So fill your cup and sing aloud,
For those who wear no crown — yet make us proud!

Lady Persephone, red as flame,
Is fury wrapped in noble name,
With every strike, the cultists fall,
And curse the day they dared stand tall.

Lady Maeve, a blade dancing through the rain,
Her twin blades hum a deadly refrain,
Swords bright where others might die —
And leaves no foe beneath the sky.

And Arthur, kind of heart and hand,
Bleeds not for pride, but love for land.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He lifts the low, he calms the storm,
And holds true to the Table's sacred form.

Sir Tristan's charm, a blade so sly,
Outwits the wicked with a smile and lie,
He laughs through danger, twirls his blade,
And turns the dark to jest and shade.

Lady Kay, with quiet grace,
Keeps all in line, their truest base,
Her words are law, her gaze is steel,
She shapes their fire into will.

And Lancelot with wings that blaze,
On Gring her mount, she dances through haze,
A flash of white, a cry of might,
And wounded friends return to fight!

Oh the Round rides out with blades aglow,
Through mountain pass and vale below,
They guard the weak, they strike the vile,
They drive back dark with sword and smile!
So raise your voice and sing their fame,
For chaos flees the sound of the Round Table's name!

The entire room was hollering and shouting along by the end. I could hear people shouting the name of the Round Table. I could feel the power of the room flowing into me. The cultivators mixed into the crowd made the power all the richer.

It was a heady brew, knocking me as surely as one of Fash's concoctions might render me drunk. Yet the night was far from over.

"Well I thank you for the applause. Let us get on with another song, this about our most terrible enemy. Ulfast the Ugly, a uniquely vile cultist."

The following day we were on the road, most of us nursing a hangover. Even I wasn't spared. I still was a little unschooled in the ways of relationships, but interrupting your paramour's scheming to get her to clean up a self-inflicted condition didn't seem like the best way forward.

Fash's drinks were just too good, and when people were buying them for you? I had no chance to resist. I did my best with my own resources, drinking a few sips of a simple purging brew from my collection. It did the trick, even if I did have to spend some extra time at the latrine.

So it was that I scraped myself up, tidied up, and mounted up as Kay chivvied all of us into some manner of readiness, preparing us for our procession out of the gates. This was far less of a performance than our entrance, and we were only expected an hour before we started moving. Despite our short reprieve in the city, we had got what we came for from Alka. We'd forged alliances, collected information, set up a foundation to push forward, and most importantly made friends.

Speaking of friends, outside our 'honour guard' waited. A collection of Knights who'd escort us to the central hub of the passes. I noticed a couple of familiar faces. Yolanda was in the group, as was the harpist princess Knight Kovax, who was glaring at me.

Had I done something? All plans of talking to the woman had gone out the window after my performance. Our table had become very popular, and any chance for a discreet chat was drowned in kegs of beer. Not only did people like the performance, but the Order's goals and plans made us the toast of the evening.

Why she was glaring at me I didn't know. Things might be fuzzy, but I barely remembered talking to her. She mostly sat at the edge of the group, as more and more people piled on to our table.

I nudged Elphin to ride around and avoid her steely gaze. I saw Lucan bustling about, delivering some last-minute supplies to the others. Lance was busy trying to pry Tiff and Gaz off each other.

The two lovebirds had been inseparable since their wedding date was confirmed. The message arrived yesterday. Their families had, after much wrangling—including the threat that the pair would just elope—agreed to host a ceremony in Alka in the late autumn. While traditionally the marriage should've happened in one of their ancestral lands, the Golden Keep was a well-known and respected neutral ground that was fittingly grand, so no one would lose status.

It played into the message of the Round Table's mission wonderfully. Speaking of their commitment to the new order, as well as providing Tiff and her three Steel 'chaperones' another reason to use the city as a base of operations.

As if summoned by the mere thought, the chaperones appeared. The trio of Steels strode gracefully through the gates. The Golden Keep's Knights bowed their heads in respect to their elders.

Elaine headed over to Lance, who'd finally untangled the lovebirds, checking in on her daughter and friends. Maeve was dragged into a hushed conversation by Rensleigh, no doubt relaying whatever bits of news the Magpies—House Chox's spies—had managed to collect.

To my great frustration, Rowena approached me directly. My heart switched to a faster rhythm. We'd been politely ignoring each other till now, so what changed?

"Bard Taliesin. Your conduct was more than satisfactory when you were received at the gates, as has been your work in ensuring good relations with the Golden Keep." The woman's voice was clipped and delivered with a flat tone, and before I could respond she marched off to go speak with Kay.

I sat there blinking in confusion.

"Well that was unexpected. She is not one to give compliments lightly." Tristan popped into existence beside my shoulder. I jumped.

"Gah! Tristan, why in the Sidhe were you hiding?"

"Trying to avoid attention from my great aunt, of course. She is not a fan of my disguise. Still, she seems odd. I've never heard her give such ringing praise before."

"That was ringing praise?" I raised an eyebrow.

"You can tell you've done something well because she won't give you anything to correct. Sometimes she gives a nod of approval if you're exceptional."

"What is going on?" I muttered to myself. I knew she wasn't lying to me.

"If I had to guess, she is trying to make up for whatever offence she caused you."

"You spotted that we'd had a falling out then?"

"I am a spy. Observing such things is my focus. I could even guess as to why you might clash. Your heritage and your reluctance to embrace it."

"Your thoughts on it?" I'd not really explored the issue, not overly fond of poking old wounds.

"You're your own person, but I don't blame you. I'm not certain how I feel about it. When I was little, my brother was set to be betrothed as others were, and only Pellinore's ascension to Patriarch saved him from that dark fate."

"That bad, huh?"

"Well put it this way. The not-so-young lady who he was to be third husband of was a distant cousin of Ulfast. I'll never forget the fear, the sense of frustration that my brother's future was going to be torn from him by some greedy old man's cowardice and greed. There was a time where I hated the name, seeing it only as a burden."

"It all changed when Pellinore took over?"

"No. It was watching the family come back together. Our House rallied behind him, and I found out that distant cousins who'd died in mysterious accidents had just been in hiding. I watched as the old guard who'd propped up that petty tyrant were exiled or killed for their part. I only felt a part of the family when my elders—my parents—came to me and asked what I wanted. Eager to give me the tools to decide my own future."

"You chose this?" I gestured to his armour that somehow managed to be flamboyant. He waved my concerns away.

"I chose to be part of our 'diplomatic' assets because they were brave enough to thwart a Mithril. To protect their family, even if that meant betraying the man who claimed to be its head. I'm proud to be an Artoss, because I've seen our family's commitment to each other."

"I don't want to tell you how to live your life, but maybe recognise that all of us Artoss have wounds from that dark period. Before you reject the name, look beyond the messy scars and at the people beneath it."

Tristan left me to my pondering. The column was formed up, and our escort lined up ahead of us, ready to lead us out of the Keep. My role was minimal, which allowed me to think.

When Tristan had mentioned the underlying dedication of the Artoss, I couldn't help but picture my mother. How she'd bled for me, given her all to protect me. That was a noble thing indeed, but it had never been something I associated with the Artoss—just her.

As I examined my memories, I had to wonder if that was a trait embedded into her by the House. I thought on Pellinore's quest to achieve Mithril and push out his father. Of how Rowena, who was among the most loyal of the old order, was all but exiled to ensure she didn't lose faith in the regime.

As we started to move, I looked around and found the Steels watching us from the balcony of our temporary accommodations.

I still didn't know what Rowena wanted, and I'd not forgiven her. But Tristan's point of looking past scars had struck a chord with me. I looked to the Steels and gave a small nod to them.

Up on the balcony, Rowena nodded back.

So it was that we headed out onto the next leg of our journey, with my head a little lighter, and my soul a bit more at ease.