Arthurian Cultivation

Lance could feel the room filling up, the attention on her which had buoyed her when she was younger was now stifling. Worse yet she finally had a way out, her gift from what little she’d managed to eke out of her father who at least knew of the Quillvern family was perfect for combat. Now she had to wait, to be patient. That was far from her strong suit.

The chaos of last night was fresh in her mind even if remembering it was like grasping fog. The Lady had been almost doting, like an aunt who hadn’t seen you in years trying to make up for lost time. If she hadn’t had Taliesin to break the ice they’d never have gotten anywhere in that conversation. Her mother was still half certain that the world was going to come crashing down, but that wasn’t the sense that Lance got. The Lady had plans, she and Taliesin were part of them, and there were worse things than being involved in the machinations of the Lady.

Far better to risk getting wrapped up in destiny than getting stuck being just average, a fate she thought of as far worse than death.

Taliesin was proof of that. She looked him over as he pulled out a pipe and played a few chords on his lute. He looked exactly like a wandering troubadour, a surprisingly clean and healthy one, but otherwise just another minstrel. It was only when you paid attention that you saw what was lurking beneath the surface.

It was the straight back, the effortless way he spoke to people far above him. He was far from the first cultivator to grace their table, and they all spoke to her parents like blushing damsels. They didn’t get drunk with his father or go off and strip before the Lady in Peach. That was to say nothing of the fact he’d flirted with the Lady. You didn’t go around tweaking the nose of even the lesser fae.

The Lady had been far more ‘human’ than Lance had expected, seemingly enthralled in the small details of her life, and keen to know more about Dad. When she’d dare ask about the origin of her powers ‘Ban is the answer’ had not helped as he certainly didn’t have a Moon gift. The dream was mostly hazy, and she didn’t know how long they’d talked, or every subject they’d covered. Mum and Dad had gone off to have a conversation after they’d all woken up. But from the look on Dad’s face, it hadn’t seemed like he knew much of what was going on.

One of the few other things she did remember clearly was the Lady ‘requesting’ that she and Mum share Taliesin more about dream glamour. And she directed Lance to stay close to him if she sought guidance on using her gift. They’d both assumed that it was something to do with his hidden gift, he was clearly Bronze but his smoke gift was the only one they’d seen so far. Mum said the other gift wasn’t dream though, apparently, it would’ve been obvious to her as a more senior cultivator if it was.

That was why despite his protests of being ‘just a bard’ she was apprehensive about this fight. He was far too relaxed for one thing, initially he’d been on edge, clearly uncomfortable, but he’d settled down now and was currently wrapped in a ball of smoke while he ‘prepared’.

She limbered up, it should be unnecessary for her refined body, but her Dad said it did make a difference even if it was a small one. Lance was all about seeking out every edge, every grain of sand she could use to tip the balance in her favour. Her armour settled on her frame, the most solid parts were the breastplate, and solid helm with maille running down her arms and legs, terminating in sidhe-steel gauntlets and boots. She needed movement to make the most of her blade work.

The glamour that could’ve reinforced her body flowed through the armour, picking up its natural protective properties, and multiplying the protection. This was one of the few ways she could use her powers to tip the scales of a fight, and her enhancement techniques were top-class. The armour had been made primarily by her father, who among his other passions was an accomplished blacksmith. He’d gathered the other armourers of Stonetown and they’d all worked on it. It fit her like a glove and only added to her reputation in Fos. One that was becoming a burden to live up to. Talent with the blade could only take her so far.

It’d be easier if she understood her glamour. She turned back to the now dissipating smoke. The bard was there, and her unease rose. He looked like no other cultivator she’d ever faced. The witches were closest to the Easter styles, they barely wore any armour, preferring speed, knives, Evil Eye and glamour tricks to take down an opponent. Knights were often a reflection of their armour. Squires tended to opt for heavy armour at this stage and they had big weapons to batter each other to death with, using techniques to create openings and empower their attacks.

Taliesin was a mix of both styles with a level of theatricality thrown in on top. He wore a fancy brigandine upon his chest, a mix of red grey and black covering the plates of what she assumed was sidhe-steel beneath. His arms and legs had maille like hers, but it only went to his knees and elbows, with the bright red fabric of something like a gambeson beneath running the rest of the way. He wore no gauntlets or greaves. What really stood out though was the helm.

It followed the traditional spangle helm concept in general, conical design with additional braces, but two stubby horns rose from either side, from them, she could see smoke rising. The sides were curtains of maille and framed the centrepiece where the nose guard should be a harlequin’s diamond cross mask. It only covered the top part of his face made out of sidhe-steel. She could see his grey eyes staring out of her from beneath it.

This could be fun. Gloria, or rather ‘Commander Smith’ given she was on duty, stepped between her and Taliesin. She nodded to them both, checking they were ready. She then began to speak, her voice had that whip-crack sharpness that she could tell she'd learnt from her dad. “This is a sparring match between the Bard Taliesin and Squire Lancelot, it has been suggested that we all pay attention to this. Squire Lancelot we all know well, but Bard Taliesin has a different style of fighting, that has been successful enough to net him two Gale Hares, as well as slaying multiple other fae beasts.”

The guards muttered that, Gale Hares were a scourge on their forces. Far too quick for most to handle, and often clever enough not to go for the most powerful cultivator first.

“We have healers on standby, you will not aim for lethal or crippling blows and I will adjudicate the match in the case of disagreement. You will stay within the red lines on the floor and are allowed to use all of the space available otherwise. If I say stop you stop, understood? Good.” Smith then walked to the edge of the arena joining the thirty or so guards that’d arrived, they now stood against the spectators' wall, protected by a fence of steel and a range of runic spells.

She watched Taliesin who was smiling and seemed totally at ease. She could’ve got angry there, she knew some people thought of her as a joke at times, dismissing her as the ‘warrior with dream glamour and only a sword’. It was always extra satisfying to put them in their place. His smile went out to the guards watching, it wasn't at her expense, but the friendly face of a showman. What was his game?

“You shall begin when I say go. Three. Two. One. GO!”

Lance burst forward, she had some skill in Levity, but it taxed her. She only had a shaky image of how to use dream to drive her speed, her technique built around the odd way dreams shuffled you from place to place without you doing much walking in between. It wasn’t efficient but had won her many a battle. Taliesin though was already moving. He dashed towards her. She brought up her blade to counter but he didn’t strike, just vaulted over her. Thrusting out a blast of smoke that temporarily blinded her.

The smoke was sweet, a caramel scent, but thick and grey. It blanketed her totally and she rolled out of it eyes stinging, ready for the next blow. She was alone next to the dispersing column. No sign of Taliesin but the trail of smoke he left behind. It made him easy to track, he’d moved behind a column, and she moved after him carefully. Even with Levity, she couldn’t move as fast as he could, so there was little point in chasing after him like a cat after a mouse, exhausting her glamour.

She was getting closer when her mind caught up. He was a smoke gifted, it was a false trail! She turned just in time to catch his blade as he rushed out from a different pillar. The bard moved faster than anyone she’d ever seen at Bronze. It was like when her mother taught her how to fight shadow-gifted assassins who were all about a quick kill.

She was Lancelot, daughter of Ban and Elaine, twice winner of the Golden Scabbard, she wasn’t going to be caught out by a cheap trick! Her sword a slender two-hander, met his shorter blade and knocked it aside easily. They had a brief exchange of blows, his swordwork was competent but nothing special. She batted his attack to the side and before he could retreat managed to land a cut on his arm. Nothing deep but still first blood was hers. He grunted and in a puff of smoke was gone.

She heard a cheer from the crowd and blushed a little. She’d grown up around these people, and at times she couldn’t decide if they saw her as a lucky charm, a princess to be adored, or the warrior she wanted to be. It's why she loved to fight so much, with blood in the air there was no doubt she was a warrior.

Focusing back on the fight she could feel she was starting to get a sense of Taliesin’s plan, smoke was building up in the arena. She’d expected him to flood the place with Smoke, it was a dishonourable but effective way to create an advantage. Especially as he had some real smoke to multiply which made the summoning more efficient glamour-wise, one could, in theory, summon an element entirely from the fae, but without a seed of a real element, it was incredibly glamour-intensive.

There was now a hazy trail of smoke all about the room. He was gone again. So she leant on her dream gift. At higher ranks dream was very helpful in combat, it was considered part of the sub-set of illusion gifts, able to manifest nightmarish visions or trap opponents in their minds while also protecting your own from deception. Right now there was no chance she could materialise anything using it, her glamour was just too weak.

Dream glamour’s only real mid-combat application at this point was hunting someone down.

Every thinking thing held some dream glamour, and not just when they slept. With her senses, she could track it. It wasn’t easy, she’d expected to need to use it when he flooded the room with smoke, but he’d not done that, instead baiting her out. She cast out her mind and sought him.

She could feel the wall of people, their minds churning with glamour. It took a long second to sort through the mess of energy, but she felt a tug from the eastern pillar. She dashed forward a step of Levity powering her over to him. He was right by the pillar, and he only dodged by rolling away, abandoning his blade. Lance felt a little relief as surely this meant the fight was won. She wanted this done.

“Squire Lancelot, you fight well.” His voice came from a churning cloud of smoke on the opposite side of the arena.

“I have your blade, do you admit defeat?”

“Of course not. Why this is but the first act!” Lance's brow creased as a voice began to sing, it was a familiar song. The Battle of the Cairns, an ancient epic and marching song. He started with the traditional

“Arise, with sword and armour,

Arise, as the war drums pound,

Arise, for hearth and home.”

Arise, as the battle cries sound”

Lance didn’t know what was going on but she wasn’t going to deny herself the advantage of knowing where he was. She shot forward sword arcing towards where the voice was coming from. Something emerged from the mist, and it was only her lightning-fast reflexes that were able to cut it from the air.

A bow and arrow was a terrible weapon for a cultivator, only useful in ambush against the unaware and he’d just wasted his only chance to turn it into an advantage. The man was just some weak tricks cobbled together. She had a split second to hold onto that thought before two more arrows emerged from the mist moving even faster than the first. They exploited the opening the first gave her and smacked into her, one into her arm the other into her leg.

The blows were hard enough to stumble her, the arrows moved faster than any she’d previously encountered. Her armour held up, but she could feel the welt the attacks would leave. What kind of bow was the man using?

She heard curses and shouts from the spectators. But Lance ignored them. She needed to get to cover, her mind painted the image of that incredible speed of his nocking arrow after arrow.

“With every beat of the drum,

Our spirit strengthens, fears undone,

For in our hearts burns a flame,

To safeguard our land, our claim.”

Lance was moving, she was still outside the thick smog he’d wrapped himself in and already at a disadvantage. She retreated back behind the southern pillar for cover. Running straight at him was possible but in the smoke? No chance she would be able to knock aside the attacks. It was no weak trick. Worse, every second she spent thinking his smoke was spreading around the room.

“Arise, with sword and armour,”

She stepped and her foot caught on his discarded blade. That would do it. The chorus rose up. She hurled the blade ahead of the source of the voice. Running right behind it. Arrow one batted away, arrow two dodged, and arrow three pinged off her breastplate.

“Arise, as the war drums pound.”

The blade disappeared into the smoke, and she came swiftly after it. Tackling him out of the smoke, she expected resistance but found none. He had no mass, she might as well have punched a falling leaf.

They both tumbled out of the haze. His bow was knocked out of his hand, she counted that a victory even as she stumbled to regain her balance. Her tackle left him rolling across the floor like a circus performer before in one swift motion scooped up the blade she'd thrown only moments before and rose. Standing like a puppet drawn off the floor by strings.

“Now for the climax.” He laughed, it was hearty and warm, not mocking or cruel. Lance enjoyed fighting as much as anyone and couldn’t help but smile. Despite her earlier unease, she was enjoying this. The fight was different to any she could recall. She wasn’t about to let that distract her from winning though.

As the smoke behind him swallowed him up. Lance rushed forward keen to not lose sight of the slippery bard. A blade wreathed in smoke lashed out at her, she parried only to find it dissolve into nothing. The real blade came out in a flash of steel that hammered at the bruise the arrow left on her thigh.

“Arise, for hearth and home.”

Arise, as the battle cries sound”

Around the bard, his smoke collected leaving him with six arms with four blades between them. Lance grinned. This was a duel she could get behind. The many arms and not knowing which was the true blade made up for his average sword work. It pushed her to the limit of her skill, and several times she just had to trust she’d made the right decision.

A couple more hits snuck through, but finally, she pushed him into a corner and the blade was to his throat.

He dropped his blade and she could hear despite the blood beating a rhythm in her skull the Commander declared the win for her. It was only when the explosion of applause sounded that she realised she’d backed him up right before the watching crowd. She stared at Taliesin, he’d lost she could tell he’d really tried, but somehow in his loss she just knew he’d dragged them here for this moment. This was a moment out of a story. To manage that, to fight, and to use the techniques he had? She decided there and then not ever piss off the Bard.