The goddess sits on a stool conjured of water, “While humans aren’t of great concern, I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you of my earlier lesson. That this world is home to all that is... Other.”

Sibyl perks up, “Like pixies?!”

Viv nods, “Yes and dwarves, not many elves nearby, the rare kobold raid ship. Our primary concern is a rather large portion of the mountains southwest of here are home to goblin clans. A bit of cliffs would hardly stop one of their hunting parties.”

Arthur truly did underestimate the variety this world offers. He reviews his plans while making sure nothing is left out, “What of individual threats?”

Wispy fish girl does a spin, “Oh! I remember, last night I swear I saw either a cat or dog. Fur black as the sky so I couldn’t tell.”

“Could be either,” Viviane makes water sculptures of both, “Phantom cats and black dogs are no strangers to these lands.” Her water shifts, “Also dragons.”

That grabs Arthur’s full focus, “You’re just mentioning this now? Here we sit, planning on crafting treasure in a secluded welsh lake, within fire spitting distance of farmlands, and a week later you mention the scaly bastards?!”

She rolls her eyes and lays to float on her back in the pool, “It’s not as if Smaug will be visiting north wales.”

“Who?” The Orb actually drifts down towards her face.

Gently pushing it aside, “I wonder if I’ll be able to show you movies. My point was that I’m not concerned with any dragons of caliber arriving anytime soon. Goblins or wandering individuals, be they human, dwarf, elf, phantom or witch, that is what we may expect this first month.”

Arthur begins to contemplate his defensive strategy, “God help us if a true witch arrives.”

“I’m certainly already trying.” Viv sits back up, “Your plants define the first floor, keep them growing. What do you feel appropriate as a guardian for this floor? Who or what will speak for you, remember first impressions. You may ask anything in my knowledge while you work.”

While Viviane goes on about some scholar named Mendel, Arthur plants near six acres of oak trees, ferns, berry bushes, and mosses. Large stones are raised sporadically, smaller ponds, warrens dug.

After some time glaring at a thorn bush, Sibyl passes by with a toad. Our clever core gets an idea now we have large brambles that came move about and ambush unsuspecting passersby.

“Ah,” The Lady of the Lake spots an opportunity, “They didn’t have hedge mazes yet in your life did they?”

Sibyl bolts into the core room, “Is that some kind of special garden?”

Viv’s lips slowly curl to a grin, “You’d have loved them dear, be it dealing with an annoying guest or finding a quiet spot to be alone with your lover. King William the third loved them. The french nobility made it a sport as to whom could grow the best maze.”

The small spectral goldfish tries out her best puppy dog eyes at Arthurs core. Within his mind he gazes about the stretch of freshly planted soil. Its occasional standing stones, the brambles, berry bushes, and at the end his chapel and pond.

Finally he speaks towards Sibyl, “Would you be my gardener then, tender of the brambles and flowers, the oaks and the creatures to den beneath and in them?”

Her head bobs excitedly before she bows, “Without question I would take this responsibility your majesty. Tho, this form may be unfit for it.”

Arthur agrees, “Lady Viviane, Sibyl is a wisp, a creature of distant relation to yourself if I’m not mistaken.”

A small pout, “Distant being the keyword Arthur. However in general concept you are correct, and I do agree Sibyl would make a fine warden of your first floor. Representative towards those who only come to learn of your nature.”

He suspects that is all she can say by whatever rules bind her. Time to graduate from plants to animals it seems, “I will see to your growth in a few days Sibyl. Best make use of your remaining time as a wandering wisp and remember your spell craft as the Lady suggested.”

Another fish bow, “As you will My Lord, thank you.”

While spending days arranging a maze full of twists, circle backs, dead ends and tiny clearings. Arthur continues his lessons, pondering what manner of creatures to best populate a maze.

Our gathering team continues their own work. Victoria bringing bouquets of hawkweeds, holly, bellflowers, lillys. Sibyl leading a smaller deer breed, rabbits, badgers, weasels, and finally the first flying creature, a bat. He encourages her to find some birds and perhaps more insects.

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The pile of drowned victims is a bit much, Arthur elects to use the snake as his first experiment. Oddly the serpent takes well to magic, simply growing larger the more that is pumped in. It’s scales turning a luxurious black with hints of gold. However the new creature is in the water spirit’s territory.

Once more inspiration dawns for our core, “Sibyl have you recalled Merlin’s lessons for shapeshifting? Did he teach you?”

She swishes about the air, eyes shut, “Yes, he did, but it's very hazy, my apologies My Lord.”

Perfect, “That's fine, all shall become clear. The Lady once spoke, spirit eats spirit. Take the snake, and then take the water spirit who’s grown fat and greedy.”

Mirthful laughter escapes Viviane’s lips, “Well thought once more my champion. Yes, this will serve your purpose. Grecian lamias, part enchantress, part great serpent. A finer form would be hard to find for our dear Sibyl.”

A battle of wills plays out along the shore in front of the chapel. First the serpent, engorged by pure magic, but it cannot harm that with no flesh. Then the water spirit, once eel, now greedy and vicious for days of slaughter. Sibyl has a name and true soul however, her will, far more developed.

The serpent’s black scales become edged with bright gold, as does the crown of its head. Once she has usurped the water spirit of it’s magic, she let's it live. Having learned its lesson, it keeps to its duties of the pond and fountain.

Swimming ashore, her body nearly twenty feet long, her head raises. Scales turn pale, arms split, long blonde hair flows. From her serpentine waste up is a beautiful young woman of not more than nineteen years. She looks as she did the year before her engagement.

Joyful smile quickly sours, her scowl fiercer by the second before her mouth opens in a fanged hiss, “That Rotten Cur! Where was he that held imperative over… Ah,” A regretful moan, “My apologies My Liege. We were both given grievous wounds by that traitor.”

True to a painful degree, “He wounded both our hearts Lady Sibyl. My apologies in that mine were far quicker to kill. You’ve new life and purpose now, and vengeance is within the stars.”

Bowing low, “It is my great pleasure to serve Lord Athur. I anticipate the day Le Fay’s men step foot in our garden.”

Slithering in a way that makes her hips mesmerizing to watch she returns to the pond. Her voice carries all through the cavern as she hums a sad tune. A fog bank rolls out, lights of the fire bees glow like playful beacons.

Visibility lessons to only several paces and Arthur knows that more wisps would play havoc with anyone attempting the maze in such fog. So wisps are born, trees grow, brambles too, the maze is truly born.

The new wisps gather a harem of squirrels for Victoria to humor herself. Arthur now doesn’t hesitate to grant the future matriarch the wits of foxes, the thick hide of badgers, soft fur of otters dyed a deeper red. She grows to three feet in height, a mantle of quills, and a small crown of antlers.

“All things done in barely a week, a bonus is in order for sure.” Viviane is beside herself in glee, “While I seek your prize, practice your crafting young Arthur. Queen Victoria cannot be without scepter.”

With that she dives backwards into the pool and disappears.

Arthur continues to bring forth creatures to fill his maze, a bear sized hedgehog, foxes like wolves, tree pouncing badgers, some of the firebees grow terrible stingers. Of course a simple enchantment would work for a prize held by a squirrel queen. Once which may charm or command other such critters.

Like a squirrel sized shepherd's crook adorned at the top by silver holly and golden bellflowers. Finally a hint of spirit from all the small creatures, gathered to the dungeon. Runes glow around the bells and spiral along the haft. It’s done, Arthur’s first treasure, a wand of small animal command.

Using her new symbol of leadership, Victoria mounts a fox like a royal steed. Arthur deins to humor her and grants this one a coat of gold and white. A parade of strange sorts takes place just in time for Viviane to return and collapse in a fit of childish glee.

She floats back up, “Your reward was a surprise to myself, I was able to find what was sought and more. These small miracles won't come often, cherish them.” Wiping a tear from her eye she places her hands on the core, “Now let me guide your magic once more and mix in a touch of my own divinity.”

Arthur can feel his magic stretch beneath the pond beside their chapel. Down, and down they reach, a narrow endeavour, like a noble lady’s outstretched hand waiting to grasp her fallen jewelry. The hand clasps, and pulls, then a grugle within the pond.

Off to one side a geyser of streaming water splashes clear to the roof of the cave while the pond grows against the rock wall. The leaves of the nearby will turn an autumn red, its sweet berries counter the hint of sulfur in the air.

“A spring of warm mineral water, including a strong supply of bog iron.” Viv clears non-existent sweat, “Now, craft small treasures, hide chests near your most vicious and stalwart defenders. Finally a unique fine craft for the first to best Sibyl. Ah and before I forget, reinforce your walls so that none my cheat, magic and slag should do.”

As the maze grows, creatures claim their dens. Within deposits of quartz begin to sprout, glowing with traces of magic where it flows thickest.

Arthur considers his so-called loot for this floor. Pieces of leather armor amongst the dens, each resembling the creature that guarded them. Together the set bolsters resistance against claws, fangs, and quills.

The wand remains, however he pittys the poor hunter who fails to count the near hundred squirrels residing in that courtyard.

Finally the pond, what shall Sibyl grant?

Instead of a Lady of the Lake she is a Girl of a Pond. Arthur chuckles as he envisions a short sword. Not to belittle such achievement he recalls two of the most feared blades of earth. Now to choose… the gladius for those who bargain with Sibyl for passage, the kopis for those who strike her down. Without doing so the lock on the chapel shall not open.

One to hack, one to thrust, either shall appear stabbed in the water once her body fades from sight. For the spell on the blade, wet yet never rusting, always clean. The hilt, her lovely serpent's scale, let it poison the hand which steals it from the one who earned the blade fair.

Acorns and walnuts finally glow, woodpeckers and larks flit about, wisps mislead, the creatures have their dens. Brambles shift about and lash the unwary, the fog obscures the path. Treasures lay hidden among the glowing crystals. Amongst the ferns and berrys luck may find boon or blight. Finally Sibyl rests on the bank near the chapel, singing under the willow tree.

The first floor is complete. The new door is open, it reads ‘Welcome to Avalon.’