New Quest! Visit a place of Death and use Call of Gloam.

The town of Riverwatch settled into place around Dahlia. Griff stood where he had before, his hand slowly lowering from the stone indicated the elapsed time had been almost nonexistent. Dahlia wondered how that worked. She wondered about a lot of things she’d never given any thought to before. Strange questions bubbled through her mind—questions that went beyond the depth of thoughts Dahlia experienced in the Soulweald, questions that she had no suitable answers for. Where did the elaborately worked pieces of metal tools come from? There was no smithy to be found in Riverwatch.

“All settled, lass?” Griff asked.

“Yeah, I am. I need to visit a place of Death to use my new spell. Where’s that at?” Dahlia looked around inquisitively, but she saw no signs of mausoleums in the middle of the town. A place of death couldn’t be far, death stalked mortals like Mr. Disapoofer stalked deer—constantly.

“I’ll show you lass, then I’d better get to work sizing stakes for the palisade, and whatever else the guards decide they need.” Griff grumbled about the work—to hide the malaise and anxiety that stalked him about the impending invasion. Understanding the source of a mortals concern baffled Dahlia initially, but she quickly decided this new insight into the emotional status of mortals could help her. If generating emotions in humans granted her power, knowing the basics of the emotional process in mortals seemed to be a necessary bit of knowledge. Dahlia followed him closer to the river. Not all the way to the river, but along one side of the town, still inside the palisades, was a high stone wall with iron gates.

“Ol’ Menes kept watch over the graveyard for the last fifty years. He died this spring. No one’s taken on the job since, so we’ve kept the cemetery locked. Might be a zombie or two in there… practically a sure bet,” Griff grumbled. “I suppose we’ll need a key.”

“I can fly, or did you forget?” Dahlia laughed as she sailed into the air over the nasty rusted iron gate and into the cemetery. It was a lively place full of ivy, flowers, and small headstones. It didn’t seem creepy or evil at all. If anything, it felt like a beautiful place to cause some mischief to unsuspecting mortals. Still, Dahlia called her shadow to guard her. With the sun lowering by the minute, the bright well-lit graveyard might become a much scarier place in no time.

“Alright, let’s see…” Dahlia flew around until she felt a familiar twist of magic, a fragment of the glory of the Soulweald. Paltry and weak, the fragment represented the closest thing to home she’d felt since her exile. The essence of it really had no similarity to the Soulweald at all, but it was the spot with the strongest flow of magic she could find.

“Now, Mr. Disapoofer, you protect me too,” Dahlia demanded of her familiar, who she returned to her side. In a flash of magical motes and glittering dust, the large white wolf appeared. He immediately sniffed at the air to take in the scents of the area.

“Arrf?” Bone? Mr. Disapoofer asked excitedly.

“No, sorry boy. It’s very rude to dig in a graveyard,” Dahlia said in answer to the wolf’s question. Mr. Disapoofer made a sad whimper of longing, but when Dahlia didn’t relent he quickly moved onto searching for other smells. The stench of undead hung heavy around the few sealed mausoleums, but none seemed to be wandering freely outside.

Dahlia closed her eyes and thought about her spells. After a few moments the list of spells and abilities popped up.

Call of Gloam: Summon an ancient oathbound Fey spirit to uphold their failed oaths. Once summoned you may send your knight back to or recall them from the fey Courts at will. If your knight is defeated you may not resummon it until the next day. If your knight is banished they may be resummoned the next day at the cost of your highest level spell slot (not exceeding the spell level of the banishment).

“Here we go, guys!” Dahlia warned. She coughed a few times to clear her throat and then her soft voice stretched to fill the big graveyard. Her gentle voice rose from a whisper on the breeze to a powerful magical spell

The fairy sang, and as she did so, it was not the graveyard of Riverwatch surrounded her, but the immense Towers of Mourning of the Soulweald. Gigantic dark colossi filled to the brim with spiritual power and ancient secrets stood protectively above her.

♫”From shadows deep and twilight’s veil,

We call upon the ancient tale,

Bound by fate and failed oath entwined,

Rise, O Knight, through realms confined.

The shadows nearby jolted alive in time to the beat and the mortal souls still bound in the graveyard peeked out from the ground to bear witness to something the people of Riverwatch hadn’t heard in centuries.

Armor forged in moonlit glow,

Blade that struck many a final blow,

Sleeper in the dreadful ground,

Heed the call of my mystic sound,

Dahlia emitted potent pulses of primeval power not seen for an age on Nantes. Fairy dust choked the air around Dahlia until external vision of the tiny fairy was all but obfuscated, and then the swarm of glitter moved and cast about dramatically while she sang. Big, dramatic explosions of color not unlike the Fireworks spell filled her proximity.

In forests where twilight gleams,

Bound by ancient oaths and dreams,

Cross the veil between night and day,

Rise, O Knight, and join the fray.

An immense black tree filled Dahlia’s mind. Many of the Black Towers of Mourning had fallen to assaults by the Discordant over the years. A much larger monolith ended abruptly in a broken trunk. Yet the broken tree was not the representation of her Knight. No. His Tower of Mourning appeared damaged, its bark dull and dormant, but life and power still resided in the vessel. The noble Fey of this Tower could only manifest itself again by going back to the incomplete oaths that were made and carrying them out.

Spirits of the fey and night,

Hear our pleas and Bless this ancient rite,

Open gates that time long sealed,

Let the Knight of Death be revealed.

A name manifested itself in Dahlia’s mind. Xeras Duskmourn, The Lost Knight of Silent Threnodies. Without a shadow of a doubt, Dahlia knew this to be the true name of the entity that crossed the dimensional divides to come to her. A potent spirit from a behemoth of a tree! Giddiness filled Dahlia’s heart.

Bound by fate and oath entwined,

Rise, O Knight, your oath is mine!”♫

Twigs, grass, vines, and even lichen broke free from the living and dead shrubbery of the graveyard and formed together to create a vessel. The most striking aspect of the body that formed was the glowing, spectral eyes that radiated an intense green ethereal power. The same power that flickered over its body and beat at its core. It had wings shaped like her own, but they were made from twisting strands of the green energy. Antler-like branches grew from its temple to give it a commanding, majestic look. Its face looked more like a deer mask than a human face, but it matched the wooden body perfectly.

The creature was large. Human sized, possibly taller. Underneath the wooden armor that sculpted itself in a facsimile of plate or scale were glimpses of more of the spectral energy that fueled the core of the spirit. There was no doubt to be had that this was a fey spirit, though, and no mere minor pixie or elf, but a noble warrior!

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Quest Complete.

One strong hand clutched a wooden sword etched with green runes. The weapon rested almost lazily in its grasp, as if its weight were nothing. The back of the knight’s wooden hands were barbed and rough. Of course, that wasn’t limited to his hands. There were few places one could touch him without risking being pricked by brambles, save for the top of his head, from which a shock of white hair flowed down to his shoulders.

The knight pushed its blade point first to the ground, and kneeled, his wooden forehead pressing against the hilt of the blade. The details of its oath evaded Dahlia. She sensed she met the confines of its oath exactly, but without knowing what those oaths were, she couldn’t possibly know how tightly bound the warrior was to her will.

The shadows and spirits of the cemetery returned to their rest, bored now that the fairy quit singing, and eager to depart the presence of the green hued spirit warrior.

“My service is yours, mistress,” the knight said. He spoke Sylvan in a deep, for a fey, masculine tone that reverberated across the expanse of life and death. The strange effect was one Dahlia knew well, for many creatures of the Soulweald bridged this same gap. He spoke quite slowly, as if he had to reach a great distance into the past to remember the workings of tongues and the meanings of words.

“How long have you lain dormant?” Dahlia asked, not expecting an answer, but wanting one anyway.

The world of Nantes itself seemed to answer for Xeras—or his Will seized control of the ambient magic and forged it into illusions to answer his master. Flickered images of forests, mountains, rivers and storms flashed through the abundant magical energies. Stars flickered in the sky, twinkling in honor of the return of Xeras. Distant gods groaned as ancient wounds ached once more, and other timeless warriors sharpened their swords—for one of their own, a rival, had returned from a long absence.

Xeras himself spoke not a word in answer, for he had none to give.

Mr. Disapoofer barked a greeting to Xeras. “Ruff!” Hi!

Xeras’s empty wooden left hand patted the wolf on the head and the wolf’s tail wagged happily. Warp Wolves had the sharpest of senses, and Mr. Disapoofer had high wisdom. It was a good sign her familiar responded positively to her new servant.

“Rise,” Dahlia commanded the knight.

Dahlia cleared her mind and tried to focus on the compartmentalized bundle of sensations that were Xeras. The bond to the Knight felt deeper even than the connection she had formed with Mr. Disapoofer, who was her familiar. Mr. Disapoofer was a type of fey creature, while Xeras was an honest to goodness fey—a noble one at that—like Dahlia herself. What sort of fey didn’t really matter, the fey were nearly as varied and changeable within one race as they were as a whole. Dahlia suspected with a name like Xeras Duskmourn he hailed from the Soulweald, but the Shadow Court certainly seemed a possibility too.

“You’re pretty strong, huh?” Dahlia guessed.

“My strength is bound to yours, and I am as you are.” Xeras answered obediently and without hesitation when asked a question he could actually answer. He added on, as if recollection were difficult, painful, and an on-going process. “Once… I fought under the Black Towers of Mourning.”

“I saw. The tallest of the Black Towers of Mourning fell to the Court of Discordant Whispers a long time ago,” Dahlia said out loud. It was an old memory, and an old story that Nyxaria had told her and other faeries, even that bitch Deborah who didn’t deserve any stories.

Xeras didn’t react in any fashion to her remembering aloud, so she guessed he knew that. Hints of frustration and failure lurked behind a façade of calm. Had her knight been part of the entourage of whatever powerful Fey the shattered Tower of Mourning had belonged too?

“What’re you good at?” Dahlia tried to get a feel for her new companion.

“Killing,” Xeras answered flatly. He lifted the large wooden blade to show off its beauty, and the multitude of enchantments the blade bore. “Gloombough and I are bound by purpose, the unspoken pact between wielder and blade. Our every move is a dance choreographed by centuries of sorrow, every parry a whisper of the ancient spirits that dwell within. I am the hand, the breath, the resolve. Gloombough is the precision, the weight of judgement, the final refrain of a hundred thousand songs. We are the inevitable shaper of our master’s desire; we were the instrument of the Weaver of Souls, now we are yours.”

Dahlia listened to the knight with comically large eyes. Xeras spoke with the outlook of the ancient. Still, he spoke in a way that offered few concrete details. The Weaver of Souls could be any number of gods, Fey, or spirits and he created more questions than he answered each time he spoke.

“Are wood swords good for killing? Everyone here seems to use metal.” Dahlia inquired.

“Very good,” Xeras answered. He swung the blade horizontally through the air, leaving an after-image of brown and green.

“What about weapons like this?” Dahlia conjured illusions of Joel’s swords and Griff’s axe using Illusion (Minor).

Xeras grunted but said nothing. Did Dahlia have to be more specific with her questions?

“You’re very large. Can you fit in my shadow like Shadey, or hide in the between like Mr. Disapoofer?” Dahlia asked.

“Yes. Between.” Xeras answered with minimal words. Despite his quietness, Dahlia could hear his words grow with burgeoning intent. At this rate in a few years Xeras might have a personality. Which was fine, she probably needed his combat prowess more than she required his conversational skills… unless she got bored.

“Ruff!” People are coming. Mr. Disapoofer brought attention to humans unlocking the cemetery gate to investigate the surges in magic, strange voices, and fireworks display.

“Hide!” Dahlia commanded her minions as she flew around some brush and over the wall to the town. Why hiding was her instinct, she didn’t know, but it seemed like a bad idea to get caught doing magic in the graveyard.

The tiny fairy flew with the same ease as ever, even with a Shade, a Warp Wolf, and her Gloamknight in her shadow or riding with her in the between. A few blocks from the cemetery Dahlia came across a small school. The building was made of hewn logs, and a dozen little kids worked on writing their letters on small pieces of slate with chalk.

“Oh. Are you learning letters?” Dahlia asked as she flew above a little boy’s head.

“ACK! It’s a monster!” The blonde boy screeched.

“No, it’s a fairy! A fairy!” Another boy cried.

“Wow, she’s so pretty!” A redheaded little girl chimed in appreciation of Dahlia’s majestic fey beauty.

“I am pretty!” Dahlia agreed with her.

“Children, back to practicing your letters.” A stern woman quickly took control of the outdoor class. The huge woman had blonde hair in an extremely tight bun on the back of her head, and a perpetually sour twist to her lips.

“Isn’t it late to be having class?” Dahlia questioned bluntly. The sun had faded halfway over the horizon. “What’s your necklace of?” Dahlia asked the woman, as she flew in close to inspect the woman’s amulet. It looked similar to the symbolism she’d seen at the Pillars of Ascension.

“The Will of Lord Thoth isn’t for a Fey to question. Tis a holy symbol of the great god Thoth, Lord of Wisdom, Writing, and Knowledge! Are you why there’s been two alarms gone off in the last half-bell?” The follower of Thoth demanded in an accusatory tone.

“Nope! Probably Griff or Zorah. They’re getting the town ready for an attack by Snarf. I’m supposed to go back to see Lord Graystone, but I forgot where he lived.” Dahlia reluctantly turned away from watching the children and gave her full attention to their teacher.

“The Keep is in the center of town. If you are to see Lord Graystone that is where he should be. I swear, what kind of incompetent fool lets a fairy, a fairy run around town on their own? I shall give him a piece of my mind the likes of which he shan’t be forgetting anytime soon!” The blonde harumphed and waved her finger vigorously in the air, before she stormed over to protectively watch the children, with a glare that made Dahlia feel unwelcome.

When Dahlia realized the woman was protecting them from her, she wondered why. Dahlia had never replaced a child with a changeling before, and she didn’t really see the appeal to it. Maybe the disgruntled priestess thought she was a hag, eager for a meal? Dahlia shot off across the town in swift flight that left trails of fairy dust behind. The children, and the dour woman, all marveled at the sparkling magic before it faded from the air. They weren’t the only ones to stop and stare at the obvious magic as Dahlia crossed town to the keep.

For humans, perhaps the town was easy to navigate. Dahlia wasn’t a human. She was a tiny little fairy, and every building looked immense and giant to her. The scope of Riverwatch didn’t match the scale of a fairy abode, and so she found it difficult to navigate or remember precisely what building had what function. She only had to ask people twice more to find her way to the keep. The awful smell of human bodily fluids kept her from going into a few buildings outright.

Dahlia knocked on the door repeatedly when she found the keep. When that didn’t work, she used Magic Trick to knock on the door at a louder, human volume.

“Dahlia! Come in, come in. You don’t have to knock,” Amelia greeted her. “I’ll show you to your guest room.”

“Okay! Got any sugar?” Dahlia asked hopefully.

“I do,” Amelia whispered conspiratorially, and opened her hand to reveal a delicious salt flecked caramel.

“You’re the best! Want to meet my new Gloamknight?” Dahlia asked. “He’s only a little bit scary.”