This Order Be Cursed

[StrangeVsWeird]

There are moments in everyone's life where they face the dreadful possibility of having been outsmarted, of having been rendered a fool after experiencing an obvious lapse in sound judgement. For a person with average intellect, having these experiences was essential. They were a means to learn life-long lessons and it should have been the way Willow regarded her current situation, but no matter what angle she tried to look at it from, her blood still simmered at the thought of being tricked.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so aggravating if she had been the only affected. At least then, she would only have to worry about herself. That was not how it happened, though. Her younger brother, Braxton, had also been wrangled into the mess.

...maybe it was the other way around. Braxton was the one that had pulled her into it if she were willing to make an excuse for herself, but even if she gave the thought any merit, she still shouldn't have allowed the temptation of having access to a possible cure blind her to what, in hindsight, was obviously a ploy to dupe unsuspecting townsfolk. Desperation also had a heavy hand in biting her tongue to the suspicions of the two gentlemen spinning the tale of a knightly Order that traveled the lands in search of rare and possibly magical items. Still. She had a difficult time accepting her mistake.

Braxton, of course, had been snagged at the mere mention of knighthood. It was why he confided in his sister. The excitement of such a perceived glorious life was too much to keep quiet. Besides, she would have tanned his hide if he had just up and disappeared without a word and if any knew Willow, they would know she wasn't one who would rest until her kid brother had been found.

Braxton was no longer a child, a fact he had to remind her every so often, but he still harbored an untainted innocence she wished to preserve, whether he knew it or not. As such, it was difficult to stand aside and allow him reign of his life without her meddling. Of course, all of that changed the day a darkness settled over their town in the form of a mysterious disease. Willow's grip on his freedom had tightened, so it wasn't surprising she had invited herself to join him. If he had been displeased, he didn't show it. It wouldn't have discouraged her if he had. The fact the Order consisted entirely of men hadn't deterred her either.

Perhaps it should have. The thought of having to hide her true identity should have been daunting, but to Willow, it was just another challenge, an obstacle she could overcome if it meant she'd be given the opportunity to seek out a cure for what plagued her people, for what would ultimately save her parents' lives. The ability to keep an eye on her brother was an added incentive. So, could she really blame herself for turning a blind eye to her suspicions?

It's been several days since she and her brother found themselves practically abandoned in the Order's encampment two day's ride east of their town. The reception wasn't exactly welcoming. The sudden disappearance of the two gentlemen should have told her all she needed, but the perplexed aggravation of those in charge, especially the intimidating fellow she later learned the name of--Garridan--had painted a nice little picture of deep trouble. Being practical, she had suggested she and her brother could just leave. Apparently that was a laughable matter to some, a downright impossibility to others.

No, they're part of the Order now. There was no going back home. Not after having been subjected to their odd initiation that, if she were honest, had left her feeling...strange. Willow didn't just have this sense of being manipulated and the associating shame hovering over her. She was also fighting this peculiar sense of physical change, of something foreign swimming through her blood that somehow began altering the very fabric of her being.

Over the next few days, she had watched Braxton carefully. He embraced their situation with wide arms, seemingly oblivious to the tension between them and the others and if he did mention feeling more alert, having more energy, he attributed it to the excitement of having the opportunity to finally make something of himself, of being an esteemed knight -- a boy's, now a young man's, dream come true. As such, Willow didn't give voice to her observations threatening to become concerns.

So, the colors of the world seemed a little sharper, a little brighter. So, she could see the individual dew drops on a leaf of a tree thirty feet away. So, she could smell the rank odor of the men's sweaty feet three tents down from hers. It wasn't cause for concern. Right? Maybe it was the air in the woods playing tricks on her. Maybe she had finally snapped under the stress of all that weighed down on her and now her mind generated absurdity to distract her from the devastation of realizing she's become incapable of making any logical decisions.

That was the danger of keeping to oneself. Irrational thoughts had the opportunity to grow and fester if left unchallenged by an outside source, so after just a few days, she was starting to wonder if the men themselves were...normal. The past two nights, she's noticed them grow more irritable, more quiet. She didn't dare mention the cries and hollers they made through the night as they slept, born of horrific nightmares, if she had to guess-- awful sounds her brother could surprisingly sleep through.

She, on the other hand, could not and perhaps it was sleep deprivation that was warping her mind of reality. It had gotten to a point where she could no longer lurk on the sidelines, quietly observing all that she could. She had to do something and so, offered the men neighboring her tent she shared with her brother to sharpen and polish their blades. Their reluctance was apparent, distrust hanging heavy in the air, but after demonstrating her capability on the blade of one who had given in to her prodding, word had spread through the camp and she found herself with a pile of swords to work on throughout the day.

It was a mindless task, but busy work and she put extra care into each blade. She had been working on them since sunrise and now it hung overhead, its rays filtering down through the leaves of the tree she sought shelter under. She had to move into the shade. The skin on the back of her neck was prickling with the threat of being burned, though she was sure it was as red as a tomato and would make known the damage done later in the day. Chopping off her dark hair to aid in her disguise had exposed skin to elements it had always been sheltered from. It was one of the more annoying consequences of assuming the guise of a man.

Other irritants would present themselves soon enough, she was sure, but Willow was one that tried to live in the moment. Worrying about what may be would only drive her insane and she may already be knocking on insanity's door. She had to be careful lest she lose her mind altogether. Circumstances were certainly attempting to rob her of her good senses and the last thing she needed was being unable to decipher truth from perception.

Seemingly wholly engrossed in her task, Willow made a show of inspecting the blade she was working on. Holding it up to eye level, she gazed down to its point, rotating it this way and that so the light danced off the blade. She didn't let on that she had an ear for the men ten or so yards off to her left talking about this settlement she's been hearing bits and pieces of ever since her arrival. From what she had gathered, the Order was looking for something there and their presence had left its people nervous.

There were many things in the camp she wanted to understand more about. She supposed she could always approach Garridan and ask. He seemed to be the one all of the newer members interacted with, but there was something unnerving about being unable to look him in the eye. The eyes were windows to the soul. It was how she read people. Being unable to do so with Garridan meant she had to focus more on the way his body moved and the way his words sounded, both things she knew people could learn to control quite well. It's why she held the gazes of people she spoke to. Aside from the eyes, all else could lie and she wasn't one who took deception well.

Not that Garridan was a liar. At least, he presented himself as one who upheld honor and perhaps he wasn't so irritated with her or Braxton as he was with the situation and the men who had disappeared. Obviously, something wasn't done according to code, so although Willow had questions, she bided her time. She would wait for things to settle a little more, wait for her presence to become more accepted, before she started pestering anyone with questions.

...hopefully. If she were smart, she would wait.

 

[Dipper]

There would be rain tonight. The scent was thick in the air under layers of woodsmoke and leather. Roasted meat, too, more faint as the men ravenously tore through their hunters' catches and still returned to their duties hungry. It was sustenance, but it didn't quell the hunger burning in their bellies. Until the moon rose a few nights from then, they would continue to starve, looming over their morsels like animals over a kill. Garridan held them to higher standards, but every so often they slipped just enough for the beast blood to find a hold.

The allure of meat often muddled their senses, but they all knew there would be rain tonight.

Once they'd been fed they kept themselves busy by playing games of dice by the open fire, waving brothers over to join them until they were the center of the camp. In the evening, they would train, feast again, then rest, and if nothing was found in the nearby settlement, the Order would move on. Most common folk reacted negatively to their presence, their rumors spreading faster than the Order could move and reaching settlements before they arrived. The hostility was… bothersome, at first, but as the months wore on, Garridan minded less and less. They could keep their baseles suspicions all they liked - he cared none.

"Hill-Town's folk come from a long line of masons," came the weary voice of Tyr, the oldest among them. "What, I wonder, has led us to this place?"

"You are disappointed," Garridan said.

Tyr made a noise in the back of his throat not unlike a growl. "No. Your reasoning was sound. Disagreeable as these people and their history may be, I trust we may find something of value." He shook his head. "No, I simply doubt they will part with any information easily. Masons - argumentative, stalwart. This is what my memories tell me. Why our answers must lie beneath stone, I do not know."

"All men bend."

"So they do. But what of you? Have you anything to say of them?"

Garridan didn't say a word, and for a long moment, he barely twitched. Finally, as if he'd come to a decision after a long internal battle, he spoke. "I think they are easily cowed. I will speak to them myself if that allays their fears, but I do not expect answers to be given freely."

"You'll frighten them?"

"As I said."

"Hm." Garridan watched as Tyr surveyed the camp with the air of a distant guardian, interested in its charges but reluctant to be among them. Seclusion was his preference. It didn't affect his ability to lead, but Garridan worried for him sometimes. The curse was wearing on him worst of all, and if a cure was not found soon, then the worst was still ahead. Tyr tapped a few fingers against the plated armor of his chest and turned a faint frown on Garridan. "And our initiates?"

Garridan answered almost immediately. "Untested but eager. Useful, to an extent."

"The Order will have its justice served eventually, Garridan," Tyr said quietly. "Rend them limb from limb if you like, so that no others fall into the same trap of cowardice."

"By the moon's light, I will. That I promise."

"By the moon's light." Both Tyr and Garridan observed a short silence side-by-side until Tyr spoke again. "I think I've the time to study. The tome Erek found should shed some light on this particular land. I'll let you know if I find anything."

Tyr clasped Garridan on the shoulder before entering his tent, leaving Garridan to stand watch over the camp. His immediate elder, Erek, would be returning from an excursion to the west, where a river had been channeled through a sunken fort through unknown means. When he returned, Garridan, Erek, and a select few others would venture into the town to make peace - and if all went well, find answers to their questions. Catacombs were said to lay beneath the town itself, thus explaining the masons and their families who had once resided there. For now, it was their only lead.

Hunger and rage always stirred at the back of his mind when even the mildest form of anger presented itself. Soothing it was no easy task, requiring a decent amount of empty thoughts and effort to lead it away. The days leading up to a full moon were the worst and rarely could the youngest of their brothers maintain their composure. Their initiates would taste it soon enough.

Speaking of initiates…

One had taken up sharpening the men's swords. A respectable, if mundane, task. But the task itself wasn't what caught Garridan's attention; it was the commitment shown, and the readiness to take on a job so quickly where many would fail. Most initiates floundered at this point in their membership, unable to keep themselves busy, to integrate, requiring constant supervision until they found their feet. Those who refused to do anything at all were simply cast aside and forced into minor, meaningless labor. Under the smell of leather was something his fuzzy memories could not place, and it unnerved him greatly, but the initiate had shown no ill intentions, and therefor there was nothing to fear.

Garridan would watch him all the same.

As for the brother, he showed promise. Excited, eager, quick to place himself among the rest yet rarely accepted by the men, who saw or heard him coming and turned away. A cruel but necessary part of the joining process, as the weak and prone to quit didn't make good knights. The men would change their tone eventually, but the boy had to earn it.

He chose the eldest to speak to first. It wasn't him the initiates had to fear, not even when he stalked toward them like a wolf on the prowl. He was always the first to greet and the first to cast aside, so his intentions, albeit difficult to read on occasions where he couldn't find it in himself to emote at all, were always relatively clear.

He didn't have to shout over the sound of scraping steal or distant chatter. His voice was loud enough. "Rarely does a wise man part with his blade. Your skills of persuasion are noted, but not necessary." He paused, thoughtful. "We will convene around the fire soon. It is in your best interest to join us."

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Willow didn't learn anything new from the conversation she had been eavesdropping on between the three men she had trained her focus. Her attention went in that direction simply due to their close proximity rather than any other deciding factor and she was made aware that she would have to venture further into their circles as her brother had done if she wanted to learn all that she could.

...or maybe she could keep it simple and ask Braxton what he had learned at the end of the day. Though, he was one to pay attention to only his interests and so, she would be missing large chunks of the whole picture.

They were musings she must have gotten too lost in because she didn't notice Garridan's approach, didn't notice his presence until the sound of his voice startled her out of her thoughts. She nearly nicked a finger in the fumble to keep the sharpening stone from dropping to the ground. She was unsuccessful and the resulting thud of stone on dirt was, decidedly, an irritating sound in that moment. Her hazeled gaze trailed to his feet, then up the length of his armor, brows pulling in thought as she wondered how such a large man wearing metal could approach so quietly. She should have heard him, and yet, did not. Her attention lingered where his eyes should be.

"You startled me," she informed him after what seemed to be a moment of silent contemplation, mulling over not only his words, but the tone, the sound of his voice because she still could not accept that this man hid his face. She had to substitute what she could not see with what she could hear. She kept her own voice quiet and even, a tactic to curb what femininity she could from its sound. She could pitch her voice deeper, but she believed the alteration would be too obvious. There was the typical sound of a man's voice and then there was the sound of a woman attempting to speak in a man's voice. The difference was a stark contrast.

It was better for the men to believe she had a weak voice. It matched her slight stature after all. She had received a couple snickers the first night from the younger and newer members, a crude comment or two about her size. If she were a man, they were slights that may have stung, but considering she wasn't, they might as well have been insulting the air. She did, however, have to care about how she was seen. If she allowed the commentary, then her size would always be on the forefront of their minds and she couldn't risk the possibility that someone could start to question her true identity. If her size was made into a joking matter, it'd draw too much attention for too long.

Before Braxton could defend her, she squashed the snickering comments with a confident statement of her own. A true man's worth was not measured by his stature, but by the quality of his character and as far as she was concerned, they have demonstrated who the better man among them was. Short of calling them fools, she dismissed their immaturity with an air of indifference. Her size hasn't been commented on since.

"My father was a blacksmith." Finally taking her gaze from him, she bent at the waist to retrieve her sharpening stone and rubbed off the dirt granules on the leather at her thigh. "Persuading men to part with their blade is easy when the results speak for themselves." She appreciated the compliment. In fact, it was thrilling to hear and normally a grin would have broken across her face, but she was far too mindful of playing up her masculinity. She supposed men could be proud of receiving such compliments, but debating for too long could also draw suspicion. Gods, this was going to exhaust her more than anything.

Casually, she resumed her task when the stone was free of debris, refusing to allow her nerves of addressing a leader to play a hand in altering her demeanor towards him. She had to be careful with her words, how she came across. She's learning to avoid 'I' statements to reduce the possibility of mistakes. She could have easily said I'm the son of a blacksmith, but speaking normally would make it too dangerous, as daughter would be the natural response. Any slip could be her undoing and after witnessing how well her presence had been received, she certainly did not want to witness the reaction to the discovery of her also being a woman.

The thought gave her chills.

"Unless this man enjoys smashing through weapons--" She held the sword up, tilting her head so she could see the light illuminate the hairline crack spidering from one of the chips in the edge of the blade. She predicted the next good swing would snap it in two. "--he could use some more practice with his swordsmanship." The hilt indicated the weapon was relatively new and shouldn't have been showing such wear if owned by one who was skilled in wielding it. The comment was offhanded, information she didn't care if heeded or not, but thought to deliver just in case. This one belonged to a man she forgot the name of, but could find by the red of his hair and nose crooked from one too many breaks.

Carefully laying the sword across her lap, her gaze trailed in the direction of the fire Garridan indicated. She nodded. "I'll make my way over. I have a few finished swords to deliver back." If she thought about being too forward, being too chatty, being too anything, her resolve would crack sooner rather than later. Her focus floated back up to the faceplate of his helm.

"Thank you." It was genuine gratitude. "I know my and my brother's presence caused quite the stir. I'm relieved to see you're willing to work with us anyway."

 

[Dipper]

Startled. Not a word a knight would say openly. To Garridan, it indicated an honesty he could work with, a reflection of values their Order sometimes forgot in the pursuit of freedom. A value many men, to his disappointment, had forgotten. Perhaps this fresh blood would reignite that desire for good deeds and holy attributes, if only to show up the newcomers in their midst. Such was to be expected, even encouraged. They couldn't allow themselves to languish no matter how the beast blood warped them so.

They were all prideful to an extent. It kept them alive and proud, more willing to uphold the tenets of their Order. But its negative aspects showed their faces from time to time, most often following a full moon. Pride turned to envy, envy turned to hatred, and then they descended into animals fighting for superiority. Even for him and his oldest brethren, keeping them under control was no easy task. He simply hoped that, when the time came, these two would avoid that pitfall and rise above it.

It was not a very strong hope, but it was there.

"Blacksmith? A good profession. Valuable. Learning from our own may serve you well."

The breaking sword was no surprise. Victor, he recalled. More brutal than most, less respectful of the weapons Malachai provided them. His effectiveness in battle earned him some leeway so long as he returned the pieces. Over time, he'd incurred Malachai's wrath, forcing Victor to work with less effective, near broken weapons. Yet another source of shame, and perhaps the only thing keeping Victor in his place.

He said nothing after that, turning on his heel toward the fire pit where the men were steadily growing quiet in the presence of a cloaked figure. Erek, finally returned from his scouting, was regaling them with a story about the sunken fort, its innards already ransacked but its structure sound and firm against the elements. A good place to make camp someday, if they needed it. None of them particularly cared to stay near rushing water when their more bestial forms struggled to stay aloft in the current, but they would take it into consideration all the same.

Erek greeted Garridan with a curt nod. "The rabbits are poisoned," he said frankly, as if it were to be expected.

"For the cats or the dogs?"

"Dogs," Erek answered. "A simple mixture of household ingredients. The townsfolk do not want us here."

"Evidently," Garridan said with a frown.

"Don't worry yourself, brother. All men are amenable when approached with kind words." He smiled, but it was barely more than a twitch of his lips. "It isn't the first."

"S'not the last either, sirs," one of the men said, picking at his teeth with a bone. "We sure we want to go down there an' talk to them?"

"Does Owain still breathe?" Garridan asked.

The man flicked the bone into the fire. "Sure he does. Except he won't eat anymore. Thinks it's all poison."

Owain had been in agony since the month before. His misfortune started when the moon was high, and his bestial mind saw fit to devour a hapless farmer's prized sheep. No more than a few hours prior, the man was spotted rubbing poison into the sheep's wool, dangerous upon ingestion but otherwise entirely harmless to the animal. A beast's mind didn't care when it scented meat, and Owain was suffering for it.

That time, it wasn't an intentional slight against the order. Farmers protected their stock however they could. But the poisoning of wild prey close to the Order's camp was obvious in its intent. It brought anger to the forefront of Garridan's mind, an indignant wave of cool fury he tamped down on quickly. The townsfolk were scared. Malicious, yes, but it was rarely so simple. He would speak to them nonetheless. That was his duty as both a brother of the Order and a peacekeeper among wild beasts.

"Owain will be fine," Erek said. "In the meantime, we must think of a plan. The men of the town won't react kindly to our appearance."

Garridan grunted in agreement. "Five men to confront them. We offer them no lies or trickery - the sooner we ascertain their willingness to cooperate, the sooner we can move on. Even so, I think it wise to inspect their records while their leaders are away."

"Harmless secrecy." Erek leaned on his staff. "If that's what it takes, I have no objections. Who shall we take?"

"You, myself. Oscar is the fastest of us. Our initiates may also learn from this experience."

Oscar, their Sixth Brother, was smaller than most preferring light armor and grace over the raw power of the rest of them. Erek's expression wavered between disapproval and understanding, brows furrowing as he gave it thought. Oscar hadn't stood from his perch, but he was preparing.

"Oscar will serve well. The initiates… if you say so, Garridan. Let's hope they prove themselves. Initiates?" Erek searched the crowd for them. "Come, stand up. You've a job to do."

They would not achieve a higher standing from this mission. In the eyes of an Order so focused on combat prowess and honor, it was barely even a test of ability. But by joining them, proving their allegiance in the face of adversity, they would be one step closer to acceptance. Camaraderie would come much later. Garridan had low expectations on the matter, considering the method of their joining and the horrible stain their patrons' cowardice had left on their legacy. Time would tell whether their initiates would be able to rise above it.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Garridan left the young woman with food for thought. Perhaps Willow would seek out the camp's blacksmith and discover if there was anything he could teach her.

...or would be willing to, for that matter. Which, if she had any influence whatsoever, he would be willing enough within time. Willow's patience may be brought into question from time to time, but if there was something someone knew that she wanted privy of, she's been known to wear down even the more stubborn of resolve. She wasn't malicious in her approach, but incessant questions or a constant presence has served her well when trying to get another to divulge their knowledge.

It was a wonder what people would do just to get another to shut their mouth. If the Order's blacksmith demonstrated skills she'd be interested in learning, may the gods have granted him a heart willing to teach, if only for the sake of his own sanity. It was a suggestion she filed away for later investigation as she watched Garridan walk away.

It took her only a moment more to finish the weapon she had been working on and several moments after to deliver what she had finished to their owners…most of whom she found gathered around the fire she had been informed of. She also found her brother there, his grin and wave of a hand hard to miss seated among men who either narrowed their gazes at or simply ignored her.

Does Owain still breathe?

She quickly picked her way through the crowd and settled down next to her brother, a task made easier considering most still gave them a wide berth. She wondered for a brief moment how long the shunning would last, but quickly dismissed it as something she didn't truly care about. What she cared about was the kernel of truth buried in all fabricated tales. They were told this Order was seeking items of legend, rumored to be endowed with magical properties and even if such a thought was too grand to entertain, the truth of the matter must mean the Order was seeking something of significance, at least. Aside from that, they traveled, broadening her horizon of discovery. Maybe the answer to their problem was buried in the heart of a city she's never heard of, but the Order would eventually travel to.

It's this possibility she focused on and she'd be damned if she allowed the camp's disposition to discourage her in any way.

"You smell like boiled hide," she commented under her breath as she got as comfortable as she could beside Braxton, unable to bite down on the displeasure of being hit by the heavy scent of animal carcass. She didn't remember the tanning process having such a strong odor and she screwed her nose up to it, her stomach unexpectedly churning at the disgusting assault on her sense of smell.

Perfect.

Braxton only shot her a grin, one she refrained from rolling her eyes at, before they both turned their full attention to the men who spoke. Her gaze flickered from one face to another--or rather, what she could see of their faces--as each of the men involved in the conversation spoke.

So, the Order has friction with the townsmen of this settlement? She wondered how much of the conversation she had missed, but to hear a plan that specifically stated lying or trickery were to be avoided had her question the relations that had already been established. The Order was not welcomed.

...why?

She had only learned of the Order's existence roughly a week ago, but she assumed knighthood meant a group that held honorable intentions. Had that also been a lie? Have they joined a group involved in banditry instead? She swept the crowd with her gaze, hoping an answer would be blatant upon someone's face if only to staunch the growing dread building within her. Seekers of magic or not, if they were bandits who cared not for anything but themselves, then she wanted no part.

Braxton suddenly elbowed her, drawing her out of the worry that had snuck up and snatched her mind away from the present. Blinking, she rounded her gaze upon him and hesitated only a moment before following his silent indication to stand with him. Following his lead, she tried her best to keep the question from her face. Dammit, why was it so easy for her mind to wander?

Braxton stopped before Garridan and the other, a grin he likely couldn't help spreading over his face. "We're eager to assist how we can." Willow regarded him for the span of a blink before she caught the eye of the gentleman leaning upon a staff and gave him a curt nod of agreement. She will have to ask Braxton for the details.

She could kick herself, but before she could silently berate herself, her stomach suddenly rolled. She hardly had time to shift her stance before the remnants of her breakfast shot up out of her throat, narrowly missing painting Garridan's right boot with vomit. A hand pressed flat against her abdomen, she hacked and spit what she could of the sour taste from her mouth.

"Woah, Will. You okay?" She could feel her much taller brother hover over her and shrugged away his touch before he could fully grip her shoulder. Dragging the back of her other hand over her mouth, she nodded as she kicked dirt over the mess. Her left hand was on fire and although she was confident there was nothing left in her stomach, it still felt unsettled. She stared at the bit of cloth wrapping her hand, imagining how the cut to her palm must look. Was it red and angry? Filled with infection? She just checked it this morning and it was fine. So why did it burn all of a sudden?

Perhaps it had been done with a rusted blade. The initiation ritual was of a peculiar nature, some aspects she didn't want to admit she couldn't remember, but she did recall a dagger cutting into her palm. She curled calloused fingers over it and nodded her head once more. Maybe it wasn't the cut. Maybe it was the smell or the heat of the sun suddenly becoming unbearable.

What Willow wasn't aware of was that her body was reacting to the Order's curse that tainted her blood. Such a small frame meant the signs of the curse's progression would display themselves more violently than they may in Braxton or any other man.

Her hands found her hips, her fingers gripping her sides. She cleared her throat, her gaze flickering up to the one in the cloak. Erek? If memory served, she thought it to be his name. It didn't linger long on him before shifting to Garridan. "What would you have us do?" She asked as if she hadn't just almost splattered him with puke.

 

[Dipper]

No one was surprised. The men gathered didn't so much as breathe when the initiate vomited, their eyes glazed and tired as they looked on, a hint of sadness buried deep beneath steely resolve.

One by one, each of these men had suffered the same and pulled through on their own terms. Their better natures, the ones which held close the good values of their Order, would demand they lend aid to the ailing initiate. Their loyalty to one another, the animal instinct that drew them together in defense of what was theirs, their kin, saw the initiates as nothing but outsiders, and warned them away. Why should they help, they'd think, when they themselves received none?

As always, Garridan remained neutral. Unoffended. Judging by the way he observed the mark of induction on his hand - a curved slice, thickest near the starting point - it was in the first stages of healing. It would scar, mark the initiate and his brother as knights of the Order, and seal the curse within. He didn't have one himself as one of the eldest, but those who did claimed it bled following a transformation. The blood was thick and black, they said; blacker than night, and not their own.

It shed some light that made him curious, even if that wasn't his place. If there was a connection to be made then Tyr would find it.

Erek cleared his throat. "There's a settlement nearby that we wish to make formal contact with. They've been… less than pleasant toward us, but we are far from the wicked brigands they believe us to be. We'll meet them on even ground, assuage their fears, and hopefully foster a more cooperative environment.

"There are also matters we need to discuss with their leadership," he continued. "You see, catacombs were built under their town five hundred years ago, and in these catacombs is half of a forgotten warlord's crown. First Brother Tyr believes it was crafted to protect the warlord against the curses of his traitorous generals, who shattered it and split its parts into two upon his death. A valuable relic, to be sure, and one the townsfolk have no reason not to part with."

"That is our goal," Garridan said simply, before Erek descended into a long-winded explanation none of them had time for. Erek didn't appear to mind. "The Order's highest purpose is to seek these relics and assure their safety."

It wasn't a lie. They protected them obsessively, even the ones they had no use for. Although the original purpose of their Order was long forgotten, they still knew of their values and had long ago decided that the protection of valuable items did not conflict with any of them. Honor, integrity, preservation - it fulfilled their purpose. That there were relics so readily available fulfilled them.

Garridan folded his hands behind his back and leaned back on his heels, the clostest he got to relaxed. "This is not a test of your prowess. You will not be judged, observed, or challenged. All that is required is that you accompany us and learn."

"- May I speak, esteemed brothers?" Oscar had finally joined them, helmet held against his hip.

Erek bowed his head. Garridan only stared.

Oscar extended a hand toward the initiates, one after the other. "Oscar, Sixth Brother of our great Order. I heard of you when you arrived and regretably did not have the time to introduce myself then."

Kind, gentle Oscar. His smaller size and shy mannerisms often made him out to be the newest among the original twenty, despite his prestigious position as the sixth. Even so, he was the youngest physically. Twenty, as far as they could tell. Naive but not stupid, unparalelled with a dagger. While he was one of the more approachable members of the Order, Garridan knew he only introduced himself because they were to be working together for the foreseeable future. Oscar liked to forge connections where they suited him using his friendly demeanor, young age, and sly tongue to get him what he wanted.

The initiates would have to figure out for themselves whether he was to be trusted.

"I am ready when you all are. This settlement intrigues me - its legends, that is." He grinned openly. "Warlords, demons of old, curses and they who ward against them… Tyr should tell you the stories."

"I am glad you find amusement in this," Garridan said, the slightest hint of humor in his voice. Not enough to be sure. "We should move. I would rather be there before nightfall."

Erek hummed. "Yes, the rain. Let's be off, then. Grab what you need, initiates." He slung his staff over his shoulder and, surveying the gathered group, began his trek toward the edge of the woods.

Oscar saluted before casting one more look at the initiates, then followed close behind Erek. Soon, they were on their way to the town, with Erek leading them through the thick brush with a practiced ease. He'd traversed these woods before, and knew them well.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Accompany and learn.

Willow could do that. She actually enjoyed doing that.

She didn't realize how much tension was knotted into her shoulders until she was able to breathe easier at the prospect of such simplicity. The muscles in her back slowly began to unwind. Willow wouldn't give it voice, but she wasn't looking forward to being assigned tasks women normally wouldn't be required to do. Weaker countenances and whatnot. Not that she didn't want to get her hands dirty. She just knew she'd struggle and struggle never painted a man in a pleasing light. So to just follow along and learn? Yeah, she'd be happy to.

Willow kept up with the others fairly well. She was more nimble on her feet than her brother and it made it easier to traverse through the thick brush, exposed roots and soggy ground of the woods. Braxton did just as well, though he simply plowed through what he needed to in order to keep pace, much like the others who were just as large. Oscar's presence was a breath of fresh air for her. His introduction was promising,--a friendly face at last!--his mannerisms nearly making her grin, but she only offered a polite incline of her head in acknowledgment, keeping her face smooth of a smile she would normally have. Even a smile could be the crack someone needed to see past her illusion.

...maybe she, too, needed to wear a helm at all times.

Oscar was still somewhat taller, but the build of his body was similar to hers. He was small compared to the others, younger even if she judged purely by looks, and yet, he obviously had his place. A respected place, at that.

He was Oscar. Sixth Brother and his opinion held weight. For her, it helped that there was a man in the same category of size. It made her feel less like she was sticking out and he was proof that she didn't have to be a large man to have purpose in the Order. It had been something that gnawed at her. She would fail any test of physical prowess. Not that she wouldn't give it everything she had, but now the failure didn't mean automatic exposure.

Perhaps this masculine facade wouldn't be too difficult to maintain after all. Besides. She was learning more and more that the men had their own various priorities that preoccupied their attention. She could slip and no one would think twice. Vomiting before the crowd proved that. Perhaps the thought of being a weak man would cross their minds, but never the thought of being a woman.

...could she dare release some of the grip she had on maintaining her cover?

"So, if I may inquire…" Willow spoke to the men's backs. They've been traveling just over an hour...she thinks. She's been rather preoccupied with the sounds that reached her ears, the smells that tickled her nose. They mentioned rain and now it seemed its very taste wisped on the air. She had checked her hand. No outward signs of infection, and yet, it burned just enough to keep its presence known.

She had to force herself to focus on those she accompanied. Letting her mind wander would only make things worse. For now--were these hallucinations?--it was bearable.

She brought up the rear, allowing the men's bodies to make way through the brush that she'd otherwise have to wrestle with and it took her two tries before she made sound come from her throat. The first, she had hesitated, a combination of faltering confidence--would she sound too girlish?--and of having caught a bluebird hopping from a branch so far away, she had to question the reality of it. The second was forced, but once the words came, the dam had been breached and she settled down into the attempt of acquiring more detailed information.

"--why are the settlers wary of us? Why do they believe us to be these…'wicked brigands'?" Her gaze shifted from Garridan to Erek. Us. Yes, us. She said us. She had been given plenty of information to chew on, all of which she had a mind to follow up on. Catacombs? An enchanted warlord's crown? Legends? Demons? Curses?

How could she not ask more about it? It was a treasure trove to her. Such wonder to be discovered and all of it residing in a settlement that was practically her neighbor.

Odd how life seemed to play things in such a manner.

She just hoped this man named Tyr had a gift of gab because she didn't see an end to the list of questions she had. However, all of this information she could still give thought as she voiced what concerned her the most: what reason did the settlers have for their animosity?

 

[Dipper]

Their trek through the forest proved to be a quiet one interspersed with an occasional hum from Oscar. The green went on in every direction in a dense maze as the canopy above blocked out much of the sun. There was no ethereal light raining down, no blue sky, nothing to sooth a normal man. To them, the dim landscape was pleasant. The rich soil beneath their boots, the wild scent of animals in the air alongside the faintest hint of rushing water.

None in the Order spoke on these journeys, secluding themselves in their own minds out of a desire to clear their thoughts before an engagement of any kind with the outside world. It was a meditative process encouraged by Tyr. A calming balm to the anger always simmering beneath their skin, and a soothing exercise to keep them aware and ready should the worst befall their party.

Oscar was not one such man; he spoke freely to the initiate, falling in beside him to answer the question while Erek and Garridan continued on ahead.

"Townsfolk are a superstitious lot. One man down south tells a visiting man from the north that a roving band of warriors is camping nearby, they must be stealing cattle or grain or iron. They are not, but that is what the man says." He sighed, almost dramatically. "And so that visiting man returns home, and he tells his kin of this roving band terrorizing the south. It spreads and becomes twisted until we are no better than brigands."

There was a modicum of truth in those words. The truth was too complex for a pair of initiates to understand, much less believe. Most struggled in their first few months, the change wracking their bodies and clouding their minds like all the rest of the Order. They would kill, they would grieve for their kills, then they would feast. For any normal man, the shock would be too much. For them, the beast blood was a blessing in its own right. An improvement on their form at great cost.

Oscar, of course, would not reveal this to them. Garridan would speak to them himself and describe the situation once all had been revealed.

"Hill-Town, they call it." Oscar scoffed. "No warriors. If anything, we keep their dreaded brigands away!"

Garridan glanced over his shoulder at them. "Changing a stranger's views is no easy task. Whether they grow to hate us more or accept our presence is not our problem."

"We'll be gone before we can anyway," Erek said. "Look, up ahead. Their gate is open."

"Were they expecting someone?" Oscar asked.

Erek shook his head. "No, someone is… leaving, I see. I can't see their faces. They're heading into the woods."

Garridan followed his gaze. "Hunters?"

"Could be. Come, we should get closer so they may see us."

Erek trudged forward and out of the trees, flinching when golden sunlight beamed down upon his helmet. From the darkness of the forest, it was a difficult adjustment. Together, they made their way down the hill.

The town had a high wall constructed from well cut stone, with four squat guard towers spread evenly around it and with a single wooden gate stationed between two of them. Two men wearing padded armor stood watch outside, watching as their companions disappeared into the woods before they noticed the approaching knights, shouted, then retreated back into their town. They returned a second later with backup, all wielding farming instruments and hammers.

Flimsy tools grabbed on short notice, no doubt. Not one of those would pierce a knight's armor. This was a clear show of force the knights in question did not care for or barely noticed. Erek stepped forward regardless of the bared teeth and wide eyes, hands up in greeting.

"Greetings, friends. Please, we mean no harm. We only wish to speak to you."

One of the men spat into the grass. "Like hells you are! We heard o' you. Left Lumbertown starvin', drained Braxis's rivers--"

"Drained - we've drained no rivers!" Oscar pushed himself to the front. "We have no need for draining rivers or starving folks out. That was Wulf's lackeys and you know it!"

The man paused. "You know Wulf?"

Erek set his hand on Oscar's armored shoulder. "We know of him, we don't know him personally. He's been stalking your woods for some time. I assume that's why you poisoned the rabbits we share?"

"P-poison?" He blanched. "There's no rabbits in those woods, I been there. I know."

"No rabbits, he says." Garridan sighed and scratched under his chin. "There are rabbits there now."

Another man spoke up, more assertive than the last. "There're rabbits alright, but we didn't poison them!"

"It doesn't matter!" Erek stormed toward the men, one hand on the hilt of his sword while the other slammed the end of his staff into the grass at his feet. "We haven't come all this way to talk about rabbits. We have business with your leader. You have a mayor, don't you?"

The second man backed up and slapped the weapons of his comrades so they would turn them away. "Master Poul. Hold on, I'll get him."

The townsfolk formed an armed semi circle around the open gate protectively. Garridan respected their bravery; few would bother to stand up to them, even if they freely slung insults. To take up arms against a knight was almost a death sentence, depending on the order. Theirs had no such clause. Until an attack was made, their knights could not unsheath their blades. They couldn't draw innocent blood. As such, the five of them would stand in polite silence and wait for the town's mayor to reveal himself.

A balding man soon arrived, wearing thick green and blue robes, heavy boots, and a ring of iron chains twined around his white beard. He walked to them slowly as if hiding an injury, and came to a stop before an impatient Erek.

"You interrupted a funeral," he said with a raised brow. "I am Poul, Master of this town. Do us all a favor and make this quick."

Erek's lip was twitching. A snarl, or a smile? Erek had a temper hesitant to surface around his brethren, but when outsiders came into the picture, pompous and accusing, his fine control slipped away, inch by inch. Before it did, Garridan stepped forward to take his place and explain their situation.

Given how Poul's beady eyes watched them like a glutton defending his hoard, he wasn't sure how much he could get across.

"There is something beneath your town, an ancient relic of great importance to us. We need not bother you to find it - just let us in to find this relic, and we will leave your lands and your forests."

Oscar leaned toward the initiates conspiratorially. "He would never let us in. We may have to sneak around the back. No blood spilled, no coin stolen, no harm done."

"Leave my lands, you say," Poul said. The rhythmic stroking of his beard was rising Garridan's ire. "This relic is important to you, yet it resides under my town. Why should I part with it?"

"It has only historical value. There's no coin to be earned on an old half-crown of iron." Erek leaned forward so that he loomed, only slightly, over Poul. "It could prove dangerous if any but us were to hear about it. Wulf collects relics himself, I've heard. He'd be interested."

"Wulf," the man spat, "is a liar, a cheat, and a thief. Why would he--"

"I think he would, Master Poul." One of the men came to stand just behind Poul. "He wears Gunter's Cloak from the far north. Rumor says he's been lookin' for more."

Garridan watched as Poul's jaw worked. A vein throbbed in his forehead. Townsfolk did not trust the Order and would not part with an artifact if it meant giving said artifact to its Knights. They would not lie or force it from him, but they would encourage a wiser course of action. Wulf was known in these lands as a warlord of his own. Any leader who cared for his citizenry would gladly part with an object entirely useless to them if it meant turning that man away.

"Let them in," he said to the guards. "You, knights. I must attend my niece's funeral. Until I come find you, I must request that you stay at the inn until the proceedings are complete. We will speak then."
Erek inclined his head stiffly. "We are honored and await your signal."

The knights entered without resistance. A small town such as this would have only one inn - now they had to find it.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Wulf.

Willow caught her brother's eye, a cold unease sweeping through her at the unexpected mention of the corrupted warlord. For simple folk, the name was linked to chaos, pain, and ultimately, fear. Braxton fidgeted on his feet, but pulled his spine straight and tipped his chin up ever so slightly. He didn't need to say a word for Willow to understand that his joining of this Order had just become much more significant. It wasn't just a dream fulfilled. It wasn't just a means to prove his worth. It was now a way of being part of a force that could oppose Wulf if he ever crossed their path.

She supposed it wasn't so surprising that the Order could be confused with the devastation Wulf left in his wake. This Order was unaffiliated. They didn't fly a banner for a king they're sworn to. So when townsmen stumble across a camp inside their woods of well-armed men dressed in plate armor with no other identifiable markers, it was understandable they would arm themselves as best they knew how: with aggression and hostility. Against a group equipped for battle, it'd be madness to risk believing the strangers had good intentions, especially if they had shown up unannounced.

Willow wouldn't begin to imagine how the Order's presence was established. Whether they were proper and thought to inform the settlement in the vicinity of their encampment didn't change what they obviously had to do now. Her heart squeezed at the sight of the townsmen brandishing farming tools, each ready to face certain death in order to defend their home. Even if they did poison the rabbits, could they be blamed?

She didn't fault them, not after seeing what they had as weapons to use for fending off any threat. She grew more and more empathetic the longer she stood there watching the exchange, not realizing she cursed under her breath in sympathy at Master Poul's mention of burying his niece. For a settlement this size, the niece was likely known by all. Whether she was liked or not, a funeral usually wasn't a cause for celebration. Tension was already heavy upon them. With the added threat of armed men in their woods, Willow could understand why they'd implement certain measures of protection, even if such measures were questionable.

The invitation inside their walls was a good sign. At least there wouldn't be any bloodshed right there at their gates. Erek seemed ready to smash a skull. She had to wonder how often the Order was forced to interact with folk that were essentially isolated. They were speaking to men as stubborn as the ground they fought to get to yield food. The townsmen would be hard-headed, even if one eye was blinded by the brilliance of shining armor and sharpened blades.

She just hoped these talks would remain civil. She wasn't prepared to discover what the sight of a man bleeding out would really look like.

Remaining silent, Willow followed the men into the town. There wasn't much to look at that would make her think this place sat on top of catacombs that supposedly held magical artifacts. Her gaze roamed freely, touching on others that stared at her and her company with hardened wariness, but otherwise, she preoccupied herself with sketching out a mental map of the settlement.

They didn't have to travel far when the building they could see the second story of from the gates had a sign that came into view. Before she could make out any of its faded letters, quickly assuming it was the inn they were looking for, she felt a subtle tug on the hem of her tunic.

A small hand slipped into her own. The flame of the cut in her palm cooled to the touch of the little girl beaming a large gap-toothed smile up at her. With hair as spun gold tied up into twin tails on either side of her head, the child couldn't have been more than three years. Eyes as bright as a sun-filled sky reflected Willow's face back to her as perfect as if she were looking down into wells of clear water. The smile that graced the woman's face was easy and she didn't think twice about following the girl who wordlessly indicated the desire with a soft tug on her hand.

It's only when Willow lifted her gaze, took her eyes from the girl, that she realized the world had darkened and the only light was a soft glow that seemed to be emanating from the child. Those that walked past paid no mind, the noise of their bustling settlement having dulled, as if she had been plunged under water. A quick scan of her immediate environment didn't reveal the location of her companions and the question didn't have to leave her lips before the girl twisted her head around with the large grin still in place.

"Nyna show you sumpting."

"Nyna?" Willow's voice was soft, but by no intention of her own. As if she were also trying to speak underwater, she couldn't raise her voice above a certain level.

"Nyna!" The girl declared, her child's voice echoing as it would in a large cavern, stopping short to throw her arms wide in a gesture to indicate herself. Willow's gaze flickered around, her subconscious working hard to understand what was occurring, but she chuckled nonetheless and nodded her understanding as the girl took her hand and began leading once more.

"Nyna." She gently squeezed the child's fingers and pressed her free hand to her own chest. "Willow," she informed and the girl's smile grew, but she shook her head.

"Eryis."

Willow's ears twitched, a crease appearing between her brows. A foreign name and yet, somehow familiar. She didn't have time to question. The girl pulled her around the far end of the inn she should have been walking into with her comrades, but a voice in the back of her mind whispered something about displacement. She wasn't where she thought she was.

The ground sloped down from the large building and at the bottom of the hill, it opened up to a large pasture that stretched on into the horizon. Clusters of sheep and cows dotted the landscape close by, the sun shining in all its glory upon them, but the colors were dull, almost lifeless, like looking through a black shroud.

"Look." Willow followed the tiny finger pointing behind them, her gaze fixating on the gleam of the helmet she immediately recognized. Garridan strode toward her, flanked by Erek and Oscar, but others were with him, people she didn't know, all dressed in a suit of armor much different than what they had been wearing moments ago. Her body tensed up at his quick approach, doing her best to keep from cringing, but before she could react to the realization that he wasn't slowing down, he--and those with him--marched right through her.

Through her! ...like she was made of water.

Her skin prickled and she twisted to catch the men continuing on, but their image was gone. Heart thumping against the back of her ribs, it's then the spell she seemed to be under began allowing her to understand where she was. Still, her head wanted to shake, disbelief and subtle horror threatening to cloud her judgement. She felt a squeeze, a tug of her hand and wide eyes dropped to the girl.

"Nyna show you sumpting." She didn't have a grin this time, but a wobbling pout of her lips. Eyes wider than hers, the child was pleading for the woman to listen.

It took a shameful moment to gather her courage, but Willow pulled in a deep breath to steady herself and nodded her head. "What would you like to show me?" She blinked and they were no longer standing in the shadow of what would become an inn in time. They were in the pasture, at an entrance that had been hidden to her atop the hill. Now it stood like a maw and if she had a sliver of her mind to spare, she'd wonder how she didn't notice it before.

"Monster." The girl's voice was tiny, a frightened whisper that Willow had a difficult time deciphering its source. Did it come from the girl clutching her leg from behind or did it come from within? She didn't know the answer as she couldn't help but stare at the mass of twisted shadows looming up over Garridan and his men.

Even the purest hearts will rot with age...

"It will spread." Willow snapped her gaze to the one who spoke, a wizened woman now holding her hand in the girl's place. Brittle, white hair but the same eyes and grin of missing teeth gazed back at her with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. "The darkness." The old woman sighed as if the revelation was merely a small annoyance, her clear gaze drifting. Willow's followed, the men and nightmare gone, the earth they had been standing on now black and cracked in painful disturbance. She watched as the shadows slowly spread, the plants withering, the animals toppling, the birds falling, the buildings crumbling, the people collapsing, the sun darkening in its wake...like a disease. "And it will consume everything."

The old woman smiled kindly when Willow shot her a perplexed look. Nyna made it sound like an absolution, as if she had accepted the world's Fate long ago and she was simply watching it run its course. "Unless?" Willow demanded, refusing to believe that something so devastating couldn't be stopped.

The woman patted her hand as if to soothe her and chuckled. Blood ran hot and swift through Willow's body, her neck tinged red with the anger that welled. Nyna seemed not to notice and simply nodded off to Willow's right. "Unless you can stop my grandson from destroying the light."

There was a shift in the air as Willow's head turned, the sounds and sights and smells hitting her so sudden and so hard, she was nearly knocked to her knees. The only thing that kept her standing was the sight of a necklace with a smooth, round crystal pendant hanging off the end. The glowing light she saw on Nyna pulsed warmly in the center of the crystal and Willow somehow knew that neither the people gathered, nor Master Poul, could see it for what it was.

The old man held it over a smelting pot. Melted metal bubbled in anticipation of receiving the valuable trinket. The display was ceremonial, but also served its purpose in dissuading any thoughts of grave robbing. Willow watched, with heart in throat, Master Poul release the chain.

It fell.

Willow reacted.

She knew it'd be futile, but she reached for it anyway.

It all happened so quickly. She stood among a crowd with no memory of how she got there. She shoved past a man standing before her and leapt to save an old, dirty trinket with no idea why. Even as her fingers closed around the chain and she yanked it up away from the threat of its destruction, Willow couldn't believe she had it in her possession.

She had it and then, just as suddenly, didn't.

The chain seared into her skin, the scent of burning flesh wafting into her nose, and she immediately let it drop to the ground at her feet.

A stunned silence hung in the air. No one moved for a long, drawn moment. They stared at her, the weight of their gazes something she could feel. She could only stare at the crystal in the dirt, the light within darting around inside as if excited to have been rescued. Her hand burned, her body shook, and her breathing was near erratic.

"Thief!" The accusation was short and curt, but it was quickly followed by another, one louder, more angry and drawn out.

"Beast!" Her gaze darted up, not understanding. "The chain is made of silver!" Someone said. "It burned his skin!" Came another. She was shaking her head, her hands coming up in a show of innocence. It'd be a gesture she'd regret. "See!?" Another pointed at her hand and her glance at it revealed that, sure enough, the chain had imprinted as a burn into the side of her palm, some areas of her fingers showing the same damage.

She had only a second to think.

 

[Dipper]

Men watched with hooded eyes, fingers curled tight around their iron tools. Women turned their heads away and murmured curses and fearful words. Children, ever so curious, peeked out from around the corners of their houses, large eyes gleaming in the sun as they looked upon the only knights they would ever see. They jabbed their pudgy fingers at them and spoke amongst each other, trading stories and tails and wild imaginings that nearly brought a smirk to Garridan's mouth. The innocence of youth. Children were none of his concern, but they amused him.

Poul continued his ceremony without them. The group convened, seemingly not noticing their fifth member's disappearance as Erek quickly began talking.

"If this… Poul… knows the entrance, our work should be quick. Tyr said the catacombs weren't very large, just enough to house the honorable dead. It shouldn't take us much more than a day and a night."

"Then we can be on our way?" Oscar asked, thumb brushing the carved pommel of his dagger. "This place is… I cannot say, there is just this feeling about it. These eyes on my back-- they burn."

Garridan shared the feeling. There was a feeling of wrongness in the air that his senses couldn't pick up on; the town smelled of sweating skin and cooking food, the skies were grown grey, and all he could hear was the occasional ping of a hammer striking steel. There were men in the guard towers trying to hide that they were watching the knights.

"Sidi tur oculium," Garridan said to Erek, leaning toward him. "S'aiit. We should be ready."

Erek followed his gaze. "Auet."

Oscar stepped into their defensive circle, hand raising. "Ateniat, brothers. You will spook them by speaking a tongue they do not recognize."

Tense situations often called for more defensive communication, but Oscar was correct; the foreign tongue would not sit right with these townsfolk, who likely only spoke their own tongue and hadn't ever heard that of another. The Order had come across many, had absorbed a dozen through its men, and it was easy to switch between them until the language itself faded into the collective tongue only the Order spoke. Its old ties to their past made it persevering. Though it lost some of its identity over time, it could never fade.

"Hold on," said Oscar, helmeted head swiveling. "Where is--"

"Thief!"

They turned around to face the congregation and their initiate's position in the middle, hunched over an object that must have been of value. Master Poul had staggered back, hands wide apart and mouth gaping open, yet no sound came out. His eyes were wild and frightened.

All of them were. Enraged.

"Beast!"

Garridan's chest thudded at that. In what world would poor townsfolk such as this own ornaments with silver, much less jewelry at all? He didn't waste time, storming forward to push the growing crowd back with the bulk of his shield, sword safely and untouched at his hip. He would not be the first to draw blood on this day. Erek and Oscar joined in without hesitation. This one may be an initiate, but he was of the Order. He would never leave the Order. He, his brothers, understood the duty of protection they must extend over all their kin, regardless of status.

"What have you touched?" Garridan asked coolly.

"What could have compelled you to do that?" Oscar met the gazes of several townsfolk through the slats in his helmet". Stealing right out from under the Master's nose - that's not Knightly. We do not steal!"

A burying ritual. They were burying the Master's niece. The Master held a high position among his people to have earned such a title. One of respect, if the reverence in their voices was anything to go by, meaning this desecration would not be taken to kindly.

Poul's face scrunched up in anger, red rising in his cheeks. "You! Y-y-you animals! I invite you here against my best judgement and-and you repay me with this?! Theft! Interruption! Desecration! And you-" he pointed to the initiate, "a monster in our midst. Kill it. I want it dead! Get it out of my town!"

Oscar grabbed the initiate by the arms and yanked him up onto his feet, wrapping thin cloth around the exposed burns.

"What were you thinking…" He shook his head. "What were you thinking."

"Back. Down!" Erek snarled and stomped forward, brandishing his staff. "You get back! Go home. Find your families, stay inside, and do not come out until we are finished. Go!"

The townsfolk scattered save for the guardsmen flanking Poul, their exposed faces blanched and lips drawn taut. There were more guards than Knights, but no guard would face an armored knight on even ground. Poul continued to point, erratically jumping between shouting his commands at his men and demanding the knights leave. They were at a standstill. They always ended this way; the Order strayed from violence where it arose, unwilling to force innocents into subservience.

This time they would not leave. They couldn't risk it.

"Master Poul," Garridan said, "it would not be wise-"

An arrow struck the dirt several inches from his right foot. He looked up at the guard tower.

"... Sorry…"

"..." The man in the tower waved and ducked. Garridan continued. "We have a great need for whatever is down in your catacombs. You need only allow us to see into them, and we will be on your way. We bring no curse to your lands."

"No curse," Poul grumbled. "No curse. You've brought a beast into my midst. Are you- are you all just-"

Erek lowered his staff. "There is no danger here, Master Poul. It was an overreaction. We will speak to our brother later, but for now… Please allow us in."

Poul shook his head vehemently. The chain keeping his beard tied began to shake loose. "No. You want me to take risks for my people, but I will not! Not on this day, not on any day. You. Will. Leave."

"Wulf will find out soon enough," Oscar said blithely. "I hope you men can withstand his might… I say we leave. There are better places elsewhere."

Perhaps there were. The warlord's half-crown was the only promising relic Tyr had found in many months, after even more finding nothing but fakes and myths. They were growing weary with their failures. The exhaustion turned to hunger, and the hunger turned to rage; eventually, it would take its toll on both forms, and whether their minds remained strong enough to keep the two together was unknown. None of them dared to find out. Tyr would not read beyond what was necessary.

He felt the worst was to come, and if they left now, he knew it would only crawl that much closer.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

The men coming to her aid surprised her. She was going to run. At least, try to. The line of trees into the woods was only a few yards away, but before she could even get her legs to move, all four men she was with surrounded her. It was unexpected. Why would they defend an initiate they haven't truly accepted? Her brother, of course, but the others?

It was her shock that kept her from biting out a retort to Oscar's reprimand. A good thing, in hindsight. She shouldn't be responding in such a manner to any of the Brothers. Oscar then yanked her up to her feet, his strength rendering her musings obsolete of him being somehow weaker due to his size, and proceeded to wrap her hand, deepening the effect her surprise at their actions had over her. She was dumbfounded and it took her too long of mental scrambling to make sense of the situation transpiring before her.

When she finally managed to do so, Erek was barking at the townsfolk to go inside.

"Master Poul." She called his name just seconds after Oscar's heated suggestion, and drew the old man's attention as she slipped between Garridan and Erek, dropping to her knees as soon as there was room to do so and dipped her head in a show of respect. She had the trinket cradled in the cup of her hands protected by cloth, both now marked and burning in their own way. There were too many questions whirling inside her head, a growing storm she was losing more and more grip upon and the frustration of not understanding, the need to have answers, was fueling her boldness to address the town leader. Or was it foolishness? Either way, she couldn't keep her mouth shut.

"Whether beast or no, I am not the threat you need to worry about." Beast or no. Beast. They called her a beast and Poul gave orders to kill. She should have been more concerned, but her lack of understanding gave her means to focus on the Order's purpose here. Carefully, she drew forward at her waist and deposited the necklace onto the ground before her, her movements gentle as if any amount of force could shatter the pendant. Resting her hands flat on her knees, she dipped her head lower. "I meant no disrespect." She didn't venture to explain herself, somehow believing the why was unimportant. She allowed a silent moment.

"Though, if I may be so bold, your anger is clouding your judgement." Retrieving the trinket back into the protection of a cupped hand, she pressed to her feet, her eyes--sharp and heated--rising with. "The mere mention of Wulf should have chipped away at that stubborn hide of yours." Her gaze darted to the men at Poul's side, only to drift and eye each that she could. "If Wulf does come seeking this relic that may be within these catacombs, do you truly believe he is such a man of honor that he would approach and request your permission to enter?"

She bristled, an anger she was unfamiliar with giving strength to her voice. "He and his men would laugh at such an image." She nearly spat, her gaze cutting to Poul. "That laughter will be the sound your men die to, the sound your women are raped by and the sound your children will be enslaved under. Your settlement will be ransacked, your buildings demolished, everything your people have worked for laid to waste and only in the settling of the debris, the smoke of his fires, and the last dying screams of your men will Wulf even begin to think to check the catacombs for this relic you may not even be in possession of." She worked her jaw, nostrils flaring. "Or have you not heard what happened to Vale's Ridge?"

Without waiting for an answer, she strode toward the taller man despite age having bent his spine, and slipped out the small dagger she had secured to her side with a worn sash. Quickly balancing it on the flat of her palm, she offered the hilt of the blade to Poul. "If you believe me to be a threat deserving of death, then so be it." She held his gaze, her resolve unwavering. She's accepted the possibility that the man truly would plunge the dagger into her body, but wouldn't allow herself to worry unless the blade actually pierced her flesh. "Whether you spare my life or not, you're still left with two options. Either you remain set in your decision and subject your people to Wulf's certain devastation or--" She blinked then and drew in a quiet breath, blowing what frustration she could out with the exhale. "You allow a different story to reach his ears. One that tells the tale that whatever relic had been beneath Hill-Town's feet was taken by an Order of knights, who then followed the river South."

The last statement was fabricated as she truly didn't know what the Orders plans were and she altered the tone of her voice to indicate that the last bit may just be an added detail, true or not, to divert Wulf's attention away from their settlement. If the story did reach him, he'd have no reason to snoop around their home. Her gaze flickered down to her other hand she brought up and unfurled her fingers from around the trinket. Her voice softened. "We have interest in relics. You were going to destroy this one. It's obvious they have no worth to you. Parting with them could be as easy as breathing air, if you'll allow it to be."

 

[Dipper]

They were brought to silence by their own curiosity; the initiate had never spoken at such length, but his prostration at the old Master's feet brought a sneer to Erek's lip, a derisive, disapproving grumble to Garridan's chest. Oscar looked away. No knight in good conscience would bow before any man, not even their own; among the Order, respect lay within one's actions toward his brethren. He need not speak or lower himself like a mere servant. Perhaps it was best that only a few men of the Order had joined them, or the initiate would have been knocked aside in disgust, and the tense peace that reigned over them now would shatter.

Master Poul and his guardsmen trembled at the mention of Wulf. His deeds were known across the valley, shared in detail amongst every village and town and city. Even that distant King, far up on his cliff over the sea, knew of Wulf, and gathered his men against him. Wulf took what he desired. He killed when he pleased. Poul had been effectively trapped by the initiate's order, and judging by the purse of his lips and the fearful widening of his eyes, he knew it.

He ignored the blade and stepped away, once, twice, until he was out of reach of the knights' swords. His throat bobbed as he worked to get words out, his pathetic trembling slowing into a tremor. To Garridan, Poul would be better off in the catacombs himself, but he was no murderer.

"He would do far worse than what you describe… Whether you take that damnable trinket matters nothing to him." He breathed in sharply through his nose. "He will come if he pleases. But… if you take it far away, if you spread the news that we have nothing but dirt and stone… then perhaps we can come to an accord."

He did not ask for the jewelry back.

Erek wasted no time. "Then you'll lead us to the catacombs at once."

Poul shook his head, offering his hands in supplication. "I do not know how! We have no records of such a place. We have crypts, nothing more."

"A hidden entrance in the crypts, then?" Oscar asked, head cocked. "Unless it is outside of the city. Would a town of masons build their catacombs directly below their homes? Is that stable?"

"Our crypts are outside of our city. Under a hill. The rain comes often. If we left our markers out in the weather, they would be worn down." Poul wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. "Only our most prestigious are buried there. My niece will be interred there at midnight…"

Garridan rested his hand on the pommel of his longsword. A heaviness loomed over them all, pressing down on their shoulders with a weight even more ancient than the curse in his veins. A sudden tide of anger floored him, so intense as to force him forward a step, lips twisted into a deep frown. His head tilted downward to inspect his boots, his good eye catching the tiniest of raindrops on the toe. The rain was coming soon.

"Lead us there, now."

"I-"

"We have no time to waste. The sooner we find this relic, the sooner we may leave, and your safety will be assured."

Garridan folded his arms across his chest as Poul stuttered.

"I… y-yes. Very well. Come this way. Mary, if you would," he gestured to the uncovered body of his niece. The woman named Mary complied and settled a fine grey sheet over the nieces face to hide her from the knights. Poul continued. "Follow me."

Erek took point, walking beside Poul and nearly a head taller than the man, while Garridan and Oscar followed close behind, with Oscar holding his hand out to test the occasional raindrop. His playful nature often chafed with the Order's more serious matters, but none ever said a word against him. He was competent, resourceful, and a true knight. What he did to keep himself occupied was none of their concern.

"We have an hour," Garridan said to him.

"Rain is hardly all that bad, Garridan," Oscar said, flipping his hand over. "Especially when the moon-- is that it?"

"Our forefathers spoke of several," Poul said and knelt down in front of a thin slab of stone, pulling it away with a surprising amount of strength. "This is the only one I know of."

There was a hole in the hill. Old steps led down into absolute darkness, the space just wide enough for two men to enter at a time. Poul entered first and lit a lantern on the wall once he reached the bottom, then waved them onward.

Oscar took the first steps past the entrance, the toe of his left boot testing the next step before he continued, and when he reached the bottom, he wandered off past Poul. Erek followed, then Garridan and presumably the initiates.

Wet soil, musty clothes, parchment, candle wax. The crypt was tall enough for Garridan to stand fully, and wide enough for them all together and have plenty of room for more. Each wall had three rows of semi-circle holes with a carving for what Garridan assumed were names underneath. The back wall rounded outward with a bare middle; a family crest had been hung there in the form of a round iron shield with a single blue ribbon hanging from a spike at the shield's center.

"Search the room," Erek said. "See if you can find anything - a mechanism, a hidden door, anything."

"There are no graves to rob," Oscar said with a hint of amusement in his voice. "We commit no sins by being down here."

Poul laughed, a vicious, hateful noise. "Your presence enough tarnishes the holy rest of our forefathers."

"As if it were holy in the first place," Oscar said flippantly.

"Hold your tongue, Oscar."

"Yes, Garridan. This wall is clear."

Garridan felt along the edges of the crest. The stones were cut more efficiently here, straighter than the rest and their surfaces were smoother. "Would they have covered it up?"

"What?" Poul asked. "Your catacombs? I cannot say."

Erek went to stand by Garridan's side, reaching to pull down the crest and set it aside as respectfully as he could manage. Poul said nothing of the matter, so he must have done something right. "A man trying to hide something would. Here-" he pulled one of the stones free easily. "I can't see anything past it, but if the entrance is in this crypt, this is the way."

"Things are hidden for a reason! Consider the cost, sirs. Why would the men of old seal away entire catacombs? To what end?" Poul came closer, brow pinched with worry. "Our crypt is holy because we have made it that way. But catacombs… that is the realm of the dead. None of our priests have ever set foot in there, if it truly does exist. Please, be careful. What manner of things could be lurking down there?"

"He may have a point," Garridan said, leaving the stones alone. "We are not here to rile ancient things we have no means for fighting."

"I do have a-!"

"There are catacombs down here, Tyr has said as much. He's read the writings of the forefathers of Hill-Town. Only dead lie here - nothing more." Erek scowled, glancing to Oscar as if seeking the younger man's help.

Oscar barely contained a shrug. "Souls stuck in dark, damp places like this are not the friendliest types."

"Then we've come here for nothing." Erek said. "Is that it?" He turned back to the wall and pulled stone after stone free, precise in his movements despite his apparent anger. As Garridan and Oscar stood back, Erek worked, until the gap became an opening, and the opening became an entrance just large enough for Erek to fit through. And it was an opening; although the area beyond was dark, there was definitely something beyond this wall.

"I will go looking. I know the rites, if they soothes you Master Poul. Join me if you wish, but this shouldn't be long."

"He has grown irritable in the past few months," Oscar said quietly.

"Indeed." Garridan ducked into the hole and followed after Erek.

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

"You shouldn't have done that." Braxton's voice was soft at her side, ensuring his words were for her alone. Her gaze, brows pulled, swept up to his face, but he held it for only a breath before pulling his away and focusing on what was ahead. In that moment, however, Willow saw the concern. She saw the disappointment and her heart sank down into her gut.

"Shouldn't have done what?" She didn't know whether to be angry or to be hurt by her brother's demeanor. She had to fight to keep her voice from rising, to keep it even and as controlled as she could.

"Men don't bow to other men." He said it so matter of fact, the lining of his jaw hardening against her. For her own good, she supposed. Perhaps in his own best interest as well. "Especially if a Knight. Such a display was dishonorable."

Willow bristled and sucked in a breath to release the string of excuses in her defense. She had a thousand and one reasons why she behaved the way she did.

"You were taught to do that your entire life, though." His voice grew gentler and this time when Braxton glanced down at her, whatever disappointment she had seen was replaced with sympathy. "For you, it was proper and wouldn't have been seen in such a harsh light if…" He stopped himself and finished the thought with a wordless sigh.

As a woman, it would have been normal. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She didn't realize it was something to have been ashamed of, but instead of exposing her, all it did was knock her down a few tiers in the eyes of the other men. It soured her stomach to know she had acted normally in the heat of the moment, but that her normal was drastically different from what would be expected of a man. A knighted man, at that. "I'll do better," she assured quietly, accepting the lesson with as much grace as she could muster.

Anger still simmered her blood. If she allowed it--and gods, was it difficult to not give in--she could dwell on how unfair it was to pretend. Did they realize how difficult it was to do? How even the simple act of urinating was a challenge all on its own? Of course they didn't. They didn't even suspect her as being anything other than what she said she was. They just now thought her to be...what?

A worm? That's how she felt now that she understood where she erred. She shouldn't have cared, but it'd make life so much easier if she was somewhat respected.

"We should try to get you home."

Willow's gaze had been drawn by Oscar's interest in the sporadic raindrops, but the statement rendered the sight dull and nearly nonexistent as her attention turned inward to her thoughts. Home?

She managed to swallow back the humorless chuckle that bubbled up in her chest. "Garridan will not allow it. I've already suggested that once before, remember?"

"I remember." Braxton didn't look at her and didn't offer any insight into his plan, not even so much as confirming that he had one. Willow didn't press for an explanation, unsure if her current state of mind could handle the answer. Her head was filled to the point that it ached. If she could avoid stuffing more into it for the time being, she would.

They remained silent, following behind the Brothers at a respectable distance. Both left the other to their own thoughts up until they watched the others begin the journey down into the crypts.

"Think it'd be reasonable for one of us to stay behind? Keep...watch?" Willow's voice was still soft even though the others had descended down beneath the earth. If she had been chatting the entire way, she would have grown quiet the closer they approached. As it was, her skin only prickled and her gaze darted to places she could almost swear she saw shadows move.

It was as if she knew where the entrance was long before Poul pulled free its covering.

Willow didn't like dark places in general and she tried to convince herself there was purpose to staying behind other than attempting to avoid confronting the source of her unease. Was it cowardice or logic that had the heaviest hand in this decision? Someone should remain behind just in case…

In case of what, she wasn't entirely sure. In case townsmen tried to flank them and catch them by surprise, having decided they were a threat after all? In case they make a wrong turn somewhere down in the catacombs and end up lost? If the men don't poke their heads back out within an hour--Garridan had said an hour, hadn't he?--then she would…

Go back to camp and find Tyr?

Braxton simply nodded and disappeared down the steps. She wished he had said something, but seeking reassurance wasn't Knightly either, was it? She crossed her arms and stared down the steps. A faint light at the bottom was the only source flickering weakly at the dark that threatened to consume it. In the distance, thunder rumbled and the sun had already begun its descent.

The shadows drew longer, seemed to grow deeper and Willow watched on the edge of disbelief as they seemed to stretch and cover the entrance the men descended down. She tried to reason that it was normal. The entrance was in the shadow of the rocky hill it was cut into and a quick perusal of her surroundings confirmed nothing was out of the ordinary. Though the longer she stood there, the more and more she became less convinced.

The men's voices faded, having moved further into the rock. She strained her ears to listen to the last of them she could, immediately regretting she had placed so much effort into doing so. Instead of silence, there was a faint disturbance and the longer she listened, the more and more it began to sound like whispers, then whispers of a language she didn't understand.

She cleared her throat, ready to call for her brother just to hear some form of normalcy, to shatter what obviously was born from the figment of her wild imagination. A strike of lightning and crack of thunder nearby startled a yelp from her instead. Her hand flew to clamp over her mouth, her eyes tearing from the staircase toward the growing storm, but what they landed on made her still.

The rain came steadier now, a light dusting of the earth, but the downpour wasn't far behind. Regardless, Willow still had difficulty making out the figure approaching from the direction of the town. As if bathed in shadow meant to trick her eye, Willow was unsure what she was looking at. Her hand drifted down from her mouth to land lightly upon the dagger's hilt at her waist. She didn't bring a sword. What use was a hunk of metal she didn't know how to use? Even if she had, the thing would be too heavy and she'd likely go for her dagger anyway if she had found herself in a situation that required she draw a weapon.

"Who goes there?" She called, turning her body to face the image directly. As soon as the question left her mouth, the image seemed to shift and reveal itself to be the woman from earlier, the one Poul had addressed to cover his niece. Mary? If memory served.

She cleared her throat and stepped forward a space. How to address a woman as a knight? M'lady? Madam? Woman?

Hells.

"Mary, is it?" Her voice still pitched to travel, but dropped the closer the woman came. "Is there...is there something I can assist you with?" For all the reasons Willow could think, not one made any sense as to why this woman would travel this distance by herself in not only the approaching night, but a billowing storm.

"Why, yes. I believe there is." The woman replied in a normal tone, one Willow could hear as if she were standing just five feet from her. A smile crawled across the woman's face and if that hadn't been enough of a warning, a flash of lightning revealed the creature's crimson eyes and contorted, withered body.

Willow fell back the step she had taken, ice running her veins. She blinked, the creature gone with the flash, but the woman still held that smile, her approach steady and measured.

A Walker? Monsters of old…

Gods, how much of her mind has she lost!?

Willow steeled herself, her grip wrapping the hilt of her blade. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you to go back home, please. Whatever concern you have can be addressed upon Master Poul's return to town." She didn't trust herself. She could be seeing things. Her hallucinations could be getting out of hand.

The woman chuckled and Willow grit her teeth, but before another word of warning could come, a strong hand with long, thin fingers wrapped her neck. The woman at ten yards was now right before within the blink of an eye and Willow's hands flew to dig at the hand cinched around her throat. The woman, now creature, had grown taller, its limbs thin and winnowed, its face sunken to reveal bone beneath papery skin.

"Meddler." Its breath smelled of rotting flesh and if she were capable, Willow would have gagged. "Where is it, hm?" The creature lifted her from off her feet with a strength it didn't look to have and as if she were nothing more than a doll, the creature held her out to examine, its dark eyes flashing red in the strikes of lightning roaming her body. "It should have died with the niece, an heirless wench, but I should have known it'd try and choose another. Had I known it would be someone outside the village, I would have poisoned more than just the rabbits."

Willow's clawing at the hand was futile, her kicks like that of a child's and growing weaker by the second. Her blood ran hot, her body filling with what seemed as lead, her vision feathering from lack of air. The creature leaned in and inhaled deeply, ignoring how much struggle she was putting up. "You're not like the others. I wondered why it'd choose a man, but you're not like them, are you?" It chuckled. "Well, no matter. It must be destroyed. My master would be quite displeased with me if I fail." Its gaze wandered then, to the entrance at Willow's back. "Though, the master will be ecstatic to know his pets have finally found their way back ho--"

The screech it let out was inhuman and haunting, threatening to burst Willow's eardrums. The release of her throat was immediate and Willow fell, the dagger she used to slice through the creature's forearm still in hand.

The world suspended.

The impact she expected didn't come, not until too many seconds later when she realized she had fallen into the entrance and what she would feel would be the edge of stairs smashing against her back. Her world tilted, her body twisting up over itself and when she finally came to a crushing stop at the bottom of the stairs, it was a wonder she still was conscious. The monster's face loomed at the entrance, its expression twisted into a terrifying rage, but then a flash of blinding light filled the crypts. Another screech of pain reverberated down the staircase, but then the walls rattled and Willow watched in horror as the supports crumbled, the earth giving way, the entrance collapsing into nothing more than dirt and rock.

She lurched up, snatching the lantern from where it hung before it was swallowed by the earth and scrambled back until she hit the far wall. The entrance gone, carved in on itself, the room filled with dust she choked on. How she was still moving, she didn't know, but she threw herself through the only other opening, stumbled, lost her footing and spilled out onto the floor of a larger chamber.

Hands and knees, she sucked in what dustless air she could, her throat and tongue parched, lungs burning for air. Gripped by an uncontrollable coughing fit, she could only muster out a couple words at a time in response to the voice yelling in her ear.

"Can't...go back." She shook her head, the hand she felt on her shoulder leaving as a body pushed past her and back into the crypts. It was only a moment-- a moment she took to try and get her vision to focus, her mind to grasp who was who and where she was--before the jostling of metal reached her ears once more.

"It's collapsed." She couldn't tell who spoke. She assumed it was Braxton. "What happened?" A demand, a mix of concern and aggravation coating the words.

"Walker," she managed, her voice hoarse, and as if uttering the single word used up the last of her strength, she lowered herself to the floor, pressing her cheek to the cool of the earth. She focused on catching her breath, no longer trying to fight to make the world stop spinning.

 

[Dipper]

Master Poul fell back, cowering under the arch in the wall the Knights had made as the world fell around them, arms thrown over his head and body curled tight like a child's. "What have you done?!" he shouted to no one in particular. His eyes were blown wide with panic. "What have you done?!"

Oscar was one of the closest to the opening; he whirled about fast enough that his plate armor came together with a loud clack, followed by a few tentative steps back toward the entrance. But there was no entrance to see, he found, as only rubble remained of the crypt's entrance. Now, they were cocooned in darkness even the knights could barely see through, suffocating, oppressive, and eerily silent.

"Collapse!" he called to his brothers who were farther down the tunnel.

"Collapse?" said Garridan, leaving Erek's side to observe the sloping rubble where the stairs once were. "How? What happened?"

"I cannot say." Oscar knelt down to help Poul to his feet, while Garridan propped up the initiate. "Our initiate friend may know. Or his brother - the two of you were closest to the entrance. What happened?"

Garridan held the initiate's shoulder in a firm grip, quickly inspecting him for injuries before he prodded any further. "You fell, but that is not enough force to cause an entire collapse. What did you see?" There was a knowing glint in the smooth curve of his helmet where the lantern light struck, a curious line to his mouth. But the initiate was likely shocked. His breathing was too labored to ge a proper response out of, so Garridan left him there with orders to his brother to keep watch, then gave the same orders to Oscar to make sure Poul did not keel over then and there.

There was no doubt; these were the catacombs they'd been after. Lanterns lined the walls, skeletal remains were laid out at rest in the grooves of the walls, and

Shadows-but-not rushed the tunnels to pass through them, intangible as wind and just as powerful as it whipped through their armor, their bones, their very souls-

-and was gone in an instant. Erek staggered back. He pressed a hand to his chest and breathed and Garridan did the same.

"There are forces at work here," Erek murmured. "Tyr must know. Tyr will know. Do you feel it, Garridan? That…"

"It was familiar." Garridan nodded. "I did."

"Don't question it." Throwing back his hand, he silenced Garridan before he could continue. "Don't think of it, even. Let's find this relic and be done with it - there should be an exit the deeper we go. Does Oscar know?"

"I will follow your lead," Oscar said once Poul was well.

"Good. Then let's continue."

The uneasy blackness in Garridan's chest was growing the deeper they went, as if something were stroking its rotten talons across his shoulders in some wretched, cruel greeting, as a vicious man would greet his beleaguered servant. He bore his teeth at the sensation. Inside, the beast blood cackled and whined, both in glee and in fear of what lay ahead. Did the beast recognize it too? His senses didn't, but inside he knew. He felt it.

Without Tyr's guiding wisdom, Garridan was lost, frustrated, and restless. The ceiling in these catacombs were too low, sparking an anger in him that wasn't natural. He pushed it down deep, yet his frustration only grew.

"Erek," he said. "I should not be here."

"Our reward will be greater than our suffering, if Tyr is correct. Hold on brother. We don't have to stay here much longer. And I smell fresh air ahead! We're close to an exit, and our prize."

A few more minutes passed. The telltale ring of iron grew in their ears, but there was an underlying hiss as well. A tomb lay ahead, and inside was a single stone coffin, inscribed with the runes of a dead language.

"What do they say?" Oscar bound over to the coffin blithely, bending over the inscriptions without touching.

Erek shooed him away. "It's a warlord's tomb, Oscar. They're just dead men's writings. They likely depict his deeds, or how much they hated him. Help me get the lid off."

It wasn't desecration in their eyes. This was not a holy place, and they knew because they knew all of the holiest of places. All of the Order knew on instinct what was and was not worthy of their respect, and this tomb, although impressive and fit for a king of old, was not constructed under the eyes of their gods. The lid was moved easily with their combined strength, toppling to the ground with a heavy crack that split the stone beneath their feet. Inside was the body of a man, covered respectfully in coarse fabric, and atop his head was half of an iron crown.

"Smells like iron alright," Oscar said and backed away so that Garridan could lift the piece free. "Is it supposed to be so.. plain?"

Garridan turned the piece over in careful hands. "There were no fine smiths in that age. This is what we came for." He showed it to Erek. "Tyr will be able to tell if it still contains its old magics."

The crown cracked in his hand, spider webbing out across the iron like glass. What was once solid grey iron was now translucent, firm as iron should be, smooth and wet as melting ice. It heated in his hands until they burned. He grit his teeth and held on tighter.

"Tnure aut amissivon aiuq, siretu aut ezirp." No, he wasn't speaking, he couldn't speak because his throat was closing and his jaw was wired shut, and in his chest was a rumbling voice not his own. Smooth like the seductive lilt of a snake, and harsh, piercing. "Sirtsnom ellesim im suxelpmoc tnenam repmes. Esse iticillos etilon. Munob es rep tse sutluts, sutluts sunimod terap senac tucis saiuqiler siraidisni metua ut."

The darkness shrank away through the cracks in the catacombs along with the crown's seething heat. Its translucent surface faded from grey to gold, and no burns marked his hand, though his hand still stung from its touch.

Erek held out a pouch for Garridan to drop the crown into. The third brother drew the drawstring tight and hooked it to the belt at his side. Although Garridan knew Erek could see his eye, he would not meet it and turned away, the lines of his face deepening.

Oscar rubbed the side of his helmet, then wrapped his arms around himself. "I feel insulted."

"You were," Erek snarled. "We're leaving. This way."

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

How long could she lay here without seeming like a weakling no one should bother paying any more mind to? Surely one's patience would wear thin after so long of attending to a man who refused to get off the ground. Though, in her mind, she had plenty of reasons to stay there.

The air was thin down here. She should have been able to catch her breath sooner, but it was like trying to breathe in a spiderweb. There was substance, but no quality. Even if there had been, she still wouldn't want to move. She hurt. Her back, her neck, her head all screamed sharply for her attention. Maybe she broke something. How could she tell?

Get up.

"Stop toeing me, you scoundrel," she grumbled into the earth, jaw working to keep the pain from her voice.

"I'm not toeing you," Braxton defended and she slit an eye open to the shift of his armor as he squatted down next to her. Pulling a glove off with his teeth, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You're burning up," he declared after a moment, but she only sighed.

"Then let me burn."

Braxton was silent, but the others were not. The whispers continued, speaking among themselves as if contemplating what to do with her next.

"Where am I?"

Vah'st Aria.

"The catacombs." Fingers wrapped the collar of her padded armor and attempted to ease her up from the floor. A sharp hiss escaped her, one she couldn't stop, and the pressure was immediately released. She settled back to the ground, prone on her stomach and not daring to move. Someone cursed and the whispers grew louder, as if trying to determine that she was who they thought she was. They argued as if she couldn't hear them, uncaring if their words were insulting.

"What do you want from me?"

The Light.

"Try to sit up, Will."

To Guide the Heart.

"What heart?"

"Will."

She slit the same eye open again to look for her brother, but immediately crushed it back closed when pierced by a golden light. The earth beneath her hummed, a vibration seeping up into her body that seemed to weave through and touch a part of her she didn't know she had. That part lifted its head, ears perked up at attention to what it could hear coming from down the passageway.

It was an unfamiliar voice in a foreign tongue, a harsh language that had Willow unknowingly curl her lip into a disgusted snarl.

Get up.

The whispers grew more frantic now and when she tried to open an eye once more, she was greeted by the gleaming blue of a sharp gaze set within the face of a beast. It regarded her with mild interest, its demeanor regal and controlled. Its thick tail was the only thing that moved, a casual flick every other moment.

"There's a wolf."

Braxton blinked down at his sister, dark brows drawing at her soft comment filled with a quiet wonder. His gaze flickered up where her attention had been drawn, but the space was empty. Lanterns lined the passage and he surmised that the shadows were playing tricks on her. That or this fever was getting the best of her.

She was talking nonsense to the very air.

"Will, sit up, huh?" His gaze dropped back to his sister's form when she didn't respond right away, his lips pressing into a line when he noticed how much more shallow she was breathing. He didn't have to call for her. didn't have to touch her to know her consciousness slipped into the black he's surprised hadn't taken her sooner.

Still. The largest part of him wished she had enough strength left to at least get out from under the rock. He cringed as he carefully turned her over onto her back, knowing full well she'd be in pain when she woke. How she managed to do so much damage in so little time was beyond him, but Willow always seemed to surpass the norm when it came to anything, really.

He felt her head once more, but took his hand back almost as soon as his skin touched hers. Worry bloomed deep in his belly. It should be impossible to be generating so much heat and yet…

Maybe she was more ill than they had both suspected. He shook his head and smashed down the thought of looming death. No. He had to believe the Order would know how to help her.

Shifting his focus on getting her out, he propped her up until he had enough leverage to throw her over a shoulder. Maneuvering through the passage was a challenge. His body felt cramped and he had to remain crouched, being careful he didn't accidentally smash her into any rocky protrusions, skeletal remains or old, rusty lanterns. When he finally emerged from the passage, Erek was cinching closed a bag, nothing sweeter to Braxton's ears than the declaration of leaving.

"Succumbed to fever," he said, voice rough with the strain of carrying a limp body. He didn't ask if they had found what they were looking for, wholly occupied with simply getting out. "On your lead." He nodded his head at Erek, determined to follow the man who was just as determined to find a way out. "It's not good," he added, hoping his voice didn't betray too much of his concern, though it was difficult not to be when he could feel the heat from her body beginning to warm through his armor.

It's not normal.

None of this was.

 

[Dipper]

Garridan's hands still burned. Doubts lingered in the back of his mind as he started flexing his fingers curiously and inspecting his palm where he should have marks. The crown's cleansing effects were… powerful, to say the least, not not powerful enough to affect him in any meaningful way. He kept these thoughts to himself, however, as he knew nothing of ancient relics, nor was he so cruel as to dash Oscar's hopes, who'd been nothing but enthused about the possibilities.

They arrived back at camp just as the storm hit. Heavy raindrops pelted their armor, sliding down the grooves of their plating to soak them to the bone. At the center of a storm was not a knight's place. It slowed them, weighed them down, tuned their senses to the scent of wet earth so intensely that they could not detect anything else. It was a maddening sensation. The ailing initiate was lucky for his unconsciousness, despite the circumstances.

One of the men approached them from the medical tent, there purely to fulfill his duty. "Next to Owain, if you please."

"If it is what I think it is," Oscar said quietly, "then we should be prepared. We have no more than a couple nights ahead."

A couple nights before the moon rose. There should have been more time, but they arrived in these woods later than anticipated. They were sequestered deep among the trees and were thus unlikely to cause any harm to the townsfolk. Garridan had made sure of it. He would lead them away, toward the river if he had to. There were deer down those sloping, forested hills, enough to keep them occupied for a full night.

Tyr met them at his tent, just under the overhang that protected him from the rain. Erek and Garridan joined him, passing over the bag containing the iron crown.

"I see you are all in one piece. What of our initiates?"

Garridan rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, thumb worrying at the smooth metal. "They performed well enough, though the smaller of the two has yet to grasp proper decorum."

"Hmph. Such things happen when they are not properly integrated." Tyr rubbed at his eyes and led them into the tent. "Come, let us look at the piece you have found. I have read a great many things about its properties."

Inside, a light wooden desk was set up in the center, with a number of tomes spread out across its surface. Two weapons racks sat at the tent's back left corner, and on the right was a chest of the same light wood as the desk. The embroidery on the inside of the tent was a colorful twisting design filled with words they could speak, but no longer read. Tyr was no closer to figuring it out now than he'd been months ago, as if there were a block preventing them from truly understanding.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

"There was something in the catacombs," Garridan said to Tyr, who was carefully inspecting the half crown. "It… spoke. Maybe. The words were difficult to parse."

"But familiar," Tyr said offhandedly, only somewhat invested in the conversation.

"Yes."

"This crown is indeed what we were looking for, if you were wondering." Tyr set the crown on the wooden desk between him and Garridan and Erek. "I can feel that it is eager to fulfill its purpose but… There is something else."

"Something else?" Garridan asked. "Tyr, whatever was in those catacombs was wrong. If there is something else to that piece, then it is dangerous."

"You suggest that it's cursed?" Erek asked. "We went all that way for nothing? I won't give it up because of a feeling."

Tyr held up a hand and the two knights quieted. "Although this information is troubling, I cannot say for certain what we ought to do about it. If it did not harm you, or appear to intend to harm you, then I would suggest we proceed with caution, but not so much as to forget our original intentions here. I will speak with Malachai to ascertain the origins of this iron. In the meantime," he straightened out a rolling piece of parchment across his desk, "I have added our initiates to the logs. You are free to train them as you see fit."

Garridan cocked his head. "You have recommendations…?"

"No," Tyr said simply. "I was hoping you would. I know nothing of these initiates. I may not ever."

"I will get back to you another time." Garridan bowed his head to Tyr, then Erek. "It will take time for me to find a place for them. I will take my leave now."

He didn't wait to see Tyr and Erek return the gesture, turning on his heel and leaving the tent. The rain had slowed, but only just. The soaking cloth under his armor became even heavier as he made his way through the camp toward the medical tents where, if all was well, their initiate would be.

It couldn't be the blood fever. No man had ever experienced it so early; only on the cusp of the full moon did it awaken for the first time. But perhaps events in the catacombs had altered the process, he couldn't say for certain. Magic was a fickle thing, these ancient relics even more so, and thus the process, their curse, and the magic surrounding it was as much a mystery as their origins.

Frustrating as it may be, agonizing over it would do him no good and he made his way toward one of the communal tents, where some of the men gathered together purely for the companionship under a heavy storm.

Oscar was sitting in one corner, his helmet between his boots. He looked more like a sodden dog than a man the way his scraggly brown hair fell across his face. "What of our prize, Garridan? Was it worth the trouble?"

Garridan settled beside him. "Tyr is looking into it."

"That explains plenty," Oscar said with a roll of his eyes. "If you are wondering about our dear initiates, I am not the one to ask. He was unconscious."

"I know. If the curse is speeding up, however…"

"I do not think it a horse, brother, but we will find out soon enough. His own brother watches him closely. If only mine did so much."

"You remember a brother from before?" Garridan asked.

Oscar scoffed. "No. But I like to think I did."

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Tell the one 'bout the knights!

Yeah, 'bout the knights!

The father chuckled and scooped up his two children into his arms, carrying them to their beds. One he set down, the other scrambling from out of his hold and would have bashed her face into the frame of the bed if he wasn't quick about catching her. Oblivious to her near catastrophe, the child clambered up onto her bed and faced him with an eager grin.

The one-um, the one where they were help-um-helping the pwincess!

She pushed curls from out of her face and blinked at him with large, hopeful eyes.

You mean the queen?

Yeah, the -ween!

No! The story 'bout them fighting the wagon!

The dragon.

Yeah! The wagon!

I'm-um-imma be a knight when I--papa, when I'm's as big as you!

The girl stood and found her balance on thin legs before giving her imaginary sword a good swing that toppled her back to the straw of her bed.

You can't! You're a girl!

Am not!

Are too!

Papa, I can-um-I can be a knight, wight?



"Whatever it is you're thinking, don't." Willow snagged her brother's wrist, her voice a mumbled thing, but before he could take her seriously, she tried for a small smile and slitted an eye in search of him. Finding him through her blurred vision, her smile stretched. "You musn't worry so much. I've been careful. I'm sure I'm not ill. I don't think I could withstand mother's fretting if I were."

Readjusting herself into a more comfortable position, she let her hand drift down to rest on her belly. "I'm just tired, is all. Do me a favor, little brother. Feed the pigs for me?"

Braxton had grown still at the mention of their mother, deceased for well over two weeks now, but openly stared at the mention of the pigs. He cleared his throat. "Will." His face flushed hot at the soft giggle that came from her, his gaze darting up to the healer of the camp in hopes the old man didn't hear.

"You haven't called me that in years," she stated, lifting an eye open to regard him thoughtfully. "Is everything okay?"

He shifted uncomfortably, leaning closer and dropping his voice into an urgent whisper. "Will, please watch what--"

Her brows drew sharply together and she pulled away from him, propping herself up onto her elbows in order to look at him better. "Why are you acting so strangely?" Her gaze dipped, assessing what he wore. "And why are you dressed--?" She suddenly grit her teeth, eyes smashing shut to the pain ripping through her head. "Gods, I feel like a house was dropped on me. What happened?"

"Ah, so she wakes."

She.

Braxton's heart skipped, his breath trapped in lungs that refused to work. He stared at the old man, practically feeling his blood drain from his face. Hamish the Healer, as the man had introduced himself, had his spine pop and crack upon straightening from over various parchments that were spread over a large table. He didn't seem to care that his hip knocked over a glass vial from the edge of his study as he made his way around and toward them. The glass shattered and whatever gray liquid was contained within seeped into the dirt.

Willow craned her neck around to gaze upon the one who addressed them, sliding Braxton a questioning glance. She smiled nonetheless and Braxton dropped his gaze to his feet, words of protest caught in his throat. If it wasn't her words, it'd be her smile that would give her away.

"How do you feel?"

"As if I've been set on fire and a horse trampled me with sole intent to try and put it out."

The old man chuckled. "I like her," he commented casually, catching Braxton's eye with an amused twitch of thick, wiry whiskers.

"I was poisoned, wasn't I? It's that damned handmaiden. I told her I had no interest in that baker boy!" Willow screwed up her mouth to one side in annoyance, pain, but also thought. "Did I almost die? Is that why you're here?" First question directed at the healer swiveled to rope Braxton in as well.

"Where do you think you are?" The healer hunkered down beside her with a drawn groan. A curiosity glinted deep within his gaze as he held a small lantern up next to her face, not only looking for signs beneath her skin, but at the way her pupils reacted to the only source of light within the large tent.

She immediately cringed from it when her gaze swung back to the old man, automatically tucking what she could of her face behind the shrug of a shoulder. "Um. Fyrebrine." It was muttered, the struggle with pain evident in her voice. "Could you--"

"And what time of year?"

She swallowed and shook her head, her attempt at shielding the light from her eyes ineffective. "Sixth Summer, New Moon." Nearly five weeks ago.

"Why doesn't she know?"

"The poultice I gave her may be affecting her memory."

"What poultice?"

"My memory?" Willow cleared her throat and setting her jaw, she regarded the man before her as if fending off an insult. "With all due respect, sir, I have quite the sharp--" She stopped short and scrunched up her nose, putting it to the air to take in a few shameless whiffs. "The rain certainly has brought a strong scent with it and--ow!" She yanked away from the healer, pinning him with an incredulous look as if struggling to understand how best to react to him snatching out a few strands of hair.

He held the short stubs pinched between finger and thumb up in the light, seemingly studying how they looked before rubbing them between his fingers with a casual air as if what he did was perfectly normal. "Haven't sprouted extra hair as of yet," he mused before rubbing them out to fall to the ground.

"Ex-extra hair!? Why in all the world would I--" Willow clutched the tunic at her chest to readjust at the sudden sensation of feeling exposed, drawing further away from the old man.

"How's your tongue? Do you have an odd taste upon it? Something akin to rust or..." The healer drew closer, bobbing his head as if trying to peer into her mouth. "And your teeth? Have they shifted any?"

"Shif--shifted!?" She blinked at him, eyes wide in bewilderment and finally grew too uncomfortable to remain where she was. Despite the pain it caused to do so, Willow rolled up onto her knees and pushed herself to her feet. With one eye drawing shut to the pain that pulsed through her head, she fixed the other on the healer. "Forgive me sir, but while I appreciate all you've done for me, I must get back to my studies. I'm sure Duke Fallon is wondering about my whereabouts and it wouldn't be proper if--" Brushing the straw that clung to her tunic, she cleared her throat and set her hands onto her hips. "Well, you know how dukes can be." She glanced at her brother, forcing the other eye to open. "I'm sure my brother will sort out any payment that is due? If you wouldn't mind, of course." She dipped her head, but turned on a heel before there was a reply.

Braxton surged to his feet to go after her.

"Remarkable," he heard the old man murmur and Braxton cut him a voiceless question, but the old man only shook his head and turned to wobble back to the desk at the far end of the tent, placed beneath an outcropping of rock where his parchments were safe from the weather. "Ensure she doesn't wander too far. The Moon is on her rise." Hamish waved him off, falling into mutterings too soft for Braxton to continue listening to. He watched as the old healer found a quill and began scratching at some parchment, but soon turned and quickly strode after his sister.

She must have hesitated when she stepped outside of the tent, realizing that she wasn't in Fyrebrine, because it took him only a moment to catch up to her. "Will!" His voice was curt, but low, wanting to draw only her attention.

And draw her attention he did.

She whirled on him, eyes sharp and narrowed. "Why do you keep calling me that? I haven't seen you in three years, Braxton! The least you can do is--" She didn't finish, either realizing how she sounded or taken aback by the confusion that breezed across her brother's face. Drawing in a deep breath, she gestured out with hands flat, as if shoving down her irritation. "I apologize. I'm quite perturbed and more so than usual. Every little nuisance is getting beneath my skin. It's as if I have no skin at all..."

She trailed, her gaze wandering to take in the tents and what she could see of the camp's details in the rain she cared nothing about standing in. Blowing out a breath, she lifted her arms with intent to interlock her fingers behind her head, a stance she often reverted to when in thought or looking to unwind by stretching what she could of her muscles, but stilled at the lack of hair. Gasping, one hand smashed flat atop her head, fingers curling to latch onto what she could, only to begin patting around it, eyes wide and cutting to Braxton's. "What happened to my hair!?"

Her voice didn't rise above an alarmed, almost accusing, whisper, thank the gods, but he could see the panic build behind her eyes and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep her from ousting her secret. For a startling moment, it looked as if she may lose her composure, but then she pressed her lips into a line and drew in another, steadying breath through her nose.

"Okay, no matter," she reassured herself and clearing her throat, casted her gaze about in search of a horse. "That's not the issue. The issue is that I need to--"

"Willow, please." Braxton's voice was barely above the fall of rain, the rumble of thunder, but she heard it as if they were standing beneath a clear sky. "You're not thinking straight. The moon has nearly swollen to its fill. We've been in each other's company for nearly four weeks. You--"

"Four weeks!?" She matched her brother's volume, unconsciously understanding it was important to keep from drawing attention to themselves. Dragging an arm over her face to clear it of water, she shook her head. "I wouldn't have just left Fyrebrine. I was studying at their apothecary. I was this close to discovering what could potentially help the Afflicted and I wouldn't just leave mother to--"

Braxton reached out and clamped her shoulder, bringing her bright gaze up to his. He shook his head and he could see realization, the dawn of understanding bloom behind eyes glinting with a fever he suspected she still was under the influence of. Still, she shook her head, disbelieving and stepped away from his touch. Working her jaw, she wrapped her arms around herself. "Will." His voice was gentle, though concerned. She couldn't break and begin crying, not while they stood out in the open for anyone to stumble upon.

Her gaze shifted, landing on nothing in particular and although she fought her damndest, her face crumpled and she dropped her head. Silent sobs wracked her small frame, but she allowed Braxton to step close and guide her to the nearest tent, taking them both out of the rain. It was a small covering, but empty and dark, though Willow didn't need long to regain composure.

"We, um--" she cleared her throat. "We at least gave her a proper burial, right?"

Braxton nodded. "Of course."

"So, then--" She cleared her throat once more and forced a deep breath to get rid of the tightness in her voice. "Where--where are we?" Eyes adjusting quickly to the dark, she found Braxton's face with ease, his solemn expression quite clear despite the lack of light. It was a phenomenon that didn't go unnoticed, but did go uncommented. One thing at a time.

"Well that's...where it gets complicated." Braxton scuffed his boot in the dirt, his gaze dropping to stare at what he could hardly see.

"Complicated how?"

"Well, we--oh, I can't believe this is happening." He sighed, then eyed her. "You don't remember anything?"

She shook her head, readjusting her arms to cross beneath her breasts aching from being bound as flat as they could to her chest. Another oddity she had immediately noticed but didn't understand the meaning of. "The last I remember...I was reading through a Sage's account of a plant he described as having a peculiar healing property…"

Braxton dragged a hand down his face, a quiet groan escaping him. "Okay, listen. We've joined this Order of knights through a series of what we've come to realize was a suspicious and unorthodox initiation conducted by a pair who disappeared immediately after. The men aren't exactly welcoming, but that's really no fault of their own. We had to establish a ruse that you were a...man."

Willow blinked, the lump in her throat disappearing at the ridiculous explanation coming from her brother. A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped her. "What?"

"Yeah…" He drew the word out, rubbing the back of his head. He was unable to look her in the eye.

"They think this is a man?" She threw her arms wide and dipped her gaze, returning it with a look expressing how ridiculous he sounded.

He shrugged. "Uh, yea--I mean, not--not a strong man, obviously, but…"

"Why would I agree to such a thing?" She demanded, crossing her arms more tightly this time, her gaze heated and unblinking.

"Because you heard they search for old relics...that may contain old magic."

She softened her stance and nodded her head thoughtfully. "Old magic? Well, yes, I suppose...knights, you said? Have they actually found anything?"

"Yes, we have just returned from these...these catacombs and they have found something, but I was too preoccupied with you to--"

"We? What happened?"

He sighed. "Well, you certainly didn't make the greatest of impressions. You...well, you conducted yourself rather poorly in front of a select group of Brothers, managed to cave in the entrance into the catacombs and before you could even explain what had happened, you passed out. So, all in all, you're probably the worst man they've ever met."

She only stared for a moment, silently processing what she was told, knowing full well she would have to ask for details later. She wasn't fazed by the slight. She wasn't a man, so why care how she was perceived?

"So, what of the relic?"

"I'm unsure what they've done with it. But...you have also brought something back with you." He looked at her, brows furrowing, then had his gaze drift down to her side where he saw her tuck in the necklace. Following his gaze, she patted at the sash there, then dug her fingers between the fabric to retrieve the small lump she felt.

As soon as she touched the object, she ripped her hand away with a hiss and thoughtlessly planted the tip of her finger on her tongue to cool the burn. "It burned me," she muttered around her finger, then pulled it to gaze at the small welt that formed over her skin, running a thumb thoughtfully over it. Not wasting another moment, she inverted the cloth around her waist and shook the object out from it.

It plopped to the ground, but before she could make out any details about it aside from being an ordinary necklace with a small pendant, a soft glow of light faded into view at the back of the tent. Her gaze flickered to it, her breath hitching at the image of a little, incorporeal girl grinning at her before scampering between them and grabbing up the necklace.

Braxton, who had been bent over to gaze at the necklace, immediately snapped up and away when the jewelry seemed to flicker to life and rose from off the ground. It hovered at knee level and he could only stare.

Still grinning, the little girl pushed past the flap of the tent and walked out into the rain. Willow lurched forward, throwing open the flap, but stood within its frame, watching as the little girl began to skip down between the tents. She swallowed. "Do you, um...do you see the little girl?"

Her brother was beside her, his gaze unwavering as he stared out through the rain as well. "No, but I do see a small, glowing orb bobbing around."

Willow chuckled out of sheer disbelief. "Should we...should we follow?" As soon as the question left her, the girl stopped and looked at her, swinging an arm in a gesture that she should do just that. "The um, the girl is beckoning."

"Willow." Her gaze flickered to her brother. "You had also mentioned a Walker."

She scrunched her brows. "A Walker? Like from father's stories?" Braxton only nodded and Willow looked back to the girl.

"Well, this just gets curiouser and curiouser," she commented casually and didn't hesitate stepping out into the rain. They followed the girl at a wary distance, weaving through the camp until she slipped through the opening to a larger tent. Willow eased to a stop at its entrance, using fingers to hold aside the flap just enough to peek through. Braxton mirrored her on her right and they both took in the contents of the tent.

A group of men were gathered inside, the tent functioning as some sort of common area. Willow's gaze roamed over them, but searched and found the girl who navigated her way through the men and toward the back. She watched as the girl came to a stop before two men near the far corner, twisting her head to throw Willow a grin before dropping the necklace into the dirt at the feet of the man on the left. As soon as the object hit the ground, the girl dissipated into mist.

"Who is that?"

"The man we don't want finding out what you really are." Willow glanced at her brother, who cleared his throat. "Brother Garridan." Her gaze returned.

"And the one next to him?"

"Brother Oscar. They are two of the three we accompanied to the catacombs."

"Ah, so the men I must come clean to."

"Wh-what!?" Her brother's hand was upon her shoulder and she stepped away from the flap to let it fall close. Her own came up to cover his and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"No more games, Braxton. I cannot focus properly on these relics or magic or anything of value if half my mind is working to maintain a lie. Besides--" She dropped her hand and stepped away from him, turning back toward the flap. "I rather like the use of my words and I imagine I had to stay rather quiet to sell the facade."

Braxton swallowed. "Yes, that was quite odd for you." He fidgeted uncomfortably. "I'm unsure what consequences we will face. They could kill us."

She glanced at him with a frown. "You said they were knights."

"They are."

"Well, then." She smirked and squared her shoulders. "It was only I who misled them. They cannot fault you for wanting to protect your kin." With that, she stepped through and into the tent. Her gaze found and held the image of the man the necklace was dropped before.

She imagined he would be much more difficult to approach if she had any recollection of who he was and what their exchanges have been like. How many times did she interact with this man? What was said? How did she behave?

None of it mattered.

She kept her gaze fixed, blocking out the clusters of men she weaved through to get to her destination. Her feet squelched from the liquid that collected in her boots, her clothing soaked and dripping a trail behind her. When she came to a stop before him, she lightly clasped a wrist before her and inclined her head, looking more like a wet rodent than anything, she was sure. The necklace still lay in the dirt.

"If I may interrupt, Sir Garridan." Her gaze rose and she willed her quiet exhale to slow the beating of her heart. "I've found myself in a peculiar situation and I've been led to believe you are the man I must speak to about it." She glanced at his smaller companion next to him. Young, even younger than Braxton, it seemed, and she couldn't help the small smile that touched her lips. Her gaze slid back to the larger man. "Would you be able to spare a moment?" With no gaze to look into, she dropped hers back to the necklace. A wisp of light swirled within and she lowered herself to a knee, stabbing her fingers into the dirt and scooping it up into her palm. Using the earth as a barrier between object and skin, she pressed herself back to her feet.

Bandages wrapped both palms, but the thing burned her before and she wasn't going to chance it again. "I believe the events of today were of some significance that should be discussed sooner rather than later."

 

[Dipper]

"I must have grown up... maybe on a farm. With a… dog. No chickens. Their feathers..."

"They get stuck."

Oscar guffawed. "Beast blood be damned, a mouthful of feathers is no way to wake up."

Garridan smiled faintly. "And yet..."

"I continue to wake up with a mouthful of feathers." Oscar leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, fingers interlocked in front of him. "Erek comes-to with bones, but me? Feathers. I am more cursed that the two of you combined, I reckon."

Despite the torrent outside, the men were joyful. They spent the time trading armor pieces and unusual trinkets, chatting mindlessly or observing the match of strength in the center of the tent, where a small crowd gathered. When they couldn't draw their swords, they had to find other ways to keep their minds off of the rising moon. They drew blood, more often than not. A wild part of them demanded it, but was contained enough not to be riled by it when it was from another man cursed.

"Remind me again why we recruited Victor..."

Victor, who towered over most of the men in the tent, was oft considered to be a tad... daft. Strong, skilled - if brutal - with a sword, but an absolute idiot in a fistfight. Or a battle of wits. Or anywhere else that wasn't a battlefield, really. A man half his size but quite a bit taller than Oscar danced around him as if he were a giant, landing hits as easily as Victor landed sword blows, so quickly that poor Victor was beginning to look confused. He had no mind for strategy, so he kept on trying to bring down his fists on the smaller man, to no avail.

The men laughed. Garridan smirked. Victor kept trying.

"A strong man is a useful man in the absence of any true intellect." He watched, amused, as Victor was toppled into the mud, and the men broke out in cheers. "Rest assured, I--"

Something plopped down in front of him, inches from the toe of his boot. He looked down curiously and moved his boots away, as if it would burn him should they touch it.

"Did you see that?" Oscar reached out a hand and pointed to the pendant dropped at Garridan's feet.

Garridan gave into curiosity and prodded it with his boot anyway. "I see it."

"That wasn't there before was it--"

Oscar's mouth fell agape. Garridan froze. Between them, the puzzlement was palpable, and even the men around them began to take notice. Though Garridan moved to grab the necklace, he aborted the motion in favor of standing upright as if doing so helped him see the interloper better.

A woman in their midst was unthinkable. Impossible. Women were difficult to bind with oaths of pretty words; they slipped through the cracks, saw through them too easily where the men were happy to abide. Deception was at play here by the men who'd seen fit to eschew their laws in favor of escape, a coward's way out and an action that should be deserving of execution.

Now that she'd taken the oath, execution wasn't a viable solution to the problem. Laws of kinship were rather clear among the Order. To lay a hand upon a brother was akin to kin-killing, and punishable through shunning-- a caged man ignored by his own brethren led to misery, then sorrow, then, eventually, death by his own hands. Brutal, but efficient. Keeping them in line was rarely necessary once they'd taken the oath.

But the law was there, just in case.

Garridan stood up and leaned forward, well into her space and sniffing like an animal, and though he berated himself internally for not detecting her before, he found that she had done well to hide herself among them, and he was fascinated by the fact that she smelled as they did. Dogs without their fur were still dogs under all the leather and cloth.

Then he pulled back. He wasn't done with his inspection, head cocking slightly. Her heart beat the same, too. Her eyes shone the same in the lantern light. The curse had taken hold inside this woman. All they had to wait for was the moon, and then they would know if the beast had as strong a hold on her it did on them.

"Peculiar situation indeed," murmured Oscar, looking both awed and bewildered.

Such was not the case for Garridan. His mouth twisted into a deep frown, disapproval rolling off of him in waves. "We will speak elsewhere."

Oscar stood to follow after him. "Should Tyr hear about this…?"

"No," Garridan said. "You can come with me."

"Oh, right. I was in the catacombs. My input is quite valid."

Hidden under the characteristic playfulness in Oscar's tone was a strained caution he took on when he was uncertain, frustrated, or otherwise at a loss. Garridan felt much the same, except he was significantly better at hiding it.

Mud squelched under his boots as Garridan walked out of the tent, finding a secluded spot near the edge of the camp where they could speak with some semblance of privacy. He stepped under the trees for some protection from the rain. Throughout the camp, men were darting in and out of tents with shields above their heads.

Erek was among them. He stopped in the middle of camp to cast Garridan a curious look, but made no move to approach before continuing on his way. How crazy he must look, standing outside in the storm with a deeper scowl than usual. They knew better than to pester him at this time. Not that he intended to look so stern or grim, but… he had his days. He wasn't exactly looking forward to discussing this, either.

This. He didn't even know her name, now that he thought about it. What they'd been given was a lie. It made her a curiosity to a man like him, whose job it was to keep track of who came and went and who took the oath, who was allowed to pass it on. He'd been effectively spat on by the men who brought them here, and the reminder of that fact only increased his anger. When they were found - and they would be - Garridan would be the one to bring them in. Tyr would let him inflict whatever punishment was necessary to make a point.

They weren't kin anymore, anyway. It wasn't against their laws.

"You look ready to draw your sword," Oscar said as he came to stand beside Garridan, hands behind his back. "I would hate to be our late brothers."

"My sword need not be drawn when we find them," Garridan growled. "But we have our initiates. The curse cannot be removed, as we well know. I am… considering our options."

"Options. Very ominous."

A quick death was not assured. A trial was laughable. Garridan had a fearsome reputation as being particularly unforgiving, despite his relative kindness toward newcomers to the Order. It was all that kept him from being seen as soft, alongside his impressive skill with a blade. But swordplay only went so far in a world where everyone could wield one.

Garridan cleared his throat. "She was the unconscious one, yes?"

"Right, she." Oscar ran a gloved hand through his hair. "That was... her."

"And to think I thought any man could be shorter than you."

He could hear Oscar grit his teeth. He grinned all the same. "Was that a joke? Lords have mercy, I must be losing it."

 

[StrangeVsWeird]

Willow drew in a sharp breath and held it.

She's witnessed many things that men have done when interacting with a woman, whether herself or another, but Garridan's behavior was unexpected and…

Odd.

Heat normally may have tinged her cheeks when he stepped and loomed down into her space, the proximity unwelcomed and violating acceptable social conduct, but when he inhaled, sniffed her, that heat of perplexing embarrassment blew through her like an angry gust of wind. Skin from the soles of her feet to the very tips of her ears ignited, burning a bright red as if silently announcing just how out of place she truly was. If she had a reaction, it was held fast, her jaw wired shut, gaze transfixed--though unseeing--on a dark patch sewed into the wall of the tent just over the knight's large shoulder. She could count the beats of her heart, could feel each and every second dropping into the moment like grains of sand sinking through a pot of honey. Time stretched, seconds feeling like minutes and these reaching to touch eternity.

Willow has never been rendered speechless before and to have a man accomplish such a feat prior to proper introductions being made would have intrigued her if her mind could spare a piece for the thought. As it was, it scrambled for understanding, her gaze shifting when he finally pulled away, her jaw growing tight when she found there was no way to see past his helm to his face for potential answers. Reading his body didn't prove helpful either. The tilt of his head was indicative of curiosity, though she still couldn't piece together how his sniffing aided in any sort of information gathering.

Before her mind could chafe her nerves raw, the shorter of the two spoke. As if shattering a spell she had been ensnared in, Willow released her breath from lungs happy to relax and she was given the small gift of the ability to glide her attention to Ser Oscar. He regarded her with a bewilderment she could thankfully see and she couldn't help but wish that it was him she had to speak with. She'd never give it voice, but the other had sparked within her something of a nervousness that threatened to manifest itself as trembling hands.

She still had one loosely curled, chunks of dirt and globs of mud spilling from the sides as the pendant sunk to settle in the middle of her bandaged palm. The other she didn't know what to do with. Having it hang at her side made her feel more exposed and she was suddenly conscious of how idle it was. She began to run her thumb over the tips of her other fingers, the gentle friction a tactile stimulation that aided her with calming as she stood a silent witness to the short exchange between the two knights.

Knights.

She was in the presence of knights.

In a camp of knights!

She imagined her life's pursuits would take her many places, but she never once considered to be crossing paths with men of honorable legend. Gazing at from afar, perhaps, but to be in their camp was difficult to grasp as truth.

Perhaps this was a dream.

A very awkward and peculiar dream.

She watched the two depart, her jaw lining with an irritation she didn't understand the source of. "Well, hello to you too," she breathed, it taking her only a moment to follow after them. She allowed the distance, trying to ascertain if Ser Garridan's stride would reveal to her secrets of his thoughts. Her skin still prickled at what had transpired, though her blood, thankfully, had settled enough to allow her skin to fade back to its usual shade.

Stepping back out into the rain had her reuniting with her brother, the air about him so strained, she could feel it brush against her skin. "The knight is strange, but at least he hasn't shoved a dagger into my gut yet." Her comment was clipped and she slid her brother a sharp gaze at the lift of his brow. "The man sniffed me, Braxton. That can't be normal."

"...sniffed you?"

She shook her head, her gaze dropping to the pendant in her hand as it flickered, the light inside swirling as if growing nervous that the man it was dropped in front of was moving further away. She lifted her eyes, easily finding the pair even through the rain and bustling of other men scampering between tents. "Who is Tyr?" She started after the knights, her brother matching her quick pace.

"He's, uh, he's the one everyone seems to answer to."

"Their Knight-Commander?"

"I'm unsure what distinguished titles they use, if any. 'Brother' is a common address." He looked her a question. "Why?"

"They mentioned him," she replied nonchalantly, watching as Ser Garridan finally found a place he deemed fit for conversation or rather, what she hoped would be for conversation. At the edge of the camp seemed both proper and ominous. "Braxton." Her tone of voice drew his attention immediately and she eased to a stop, her gaze lingering on the two men beneath the tree. "Whatever is decided of my fate, you accept it with grace worthy of your knighthood."

"Willow, you're talking as if--"

"Dishonesty could be deemed as treason. There's no telling what sanctity I've tainted with my lie."

He scoffed, incredulous. "I can't just stand by and watch them--them--you're my sister!" His voice dropped, a harsh whisper that Willow whirled to, her jaw hardening against his words.

"I am no longer your sister. They are your brothers! These men your kin. You will not intervene and betray the oath you've sworn to them." Her voice didn't rise above his, though it was difficult to keep from gesturing to place emphasis on her statement. "You did swear an oath, yes?"

"As did you!"

She settled back onto her heels, not realizing she had stepped up and onto her tiptoes, an unsound anger driving her to turn a caution into a confrontation. Catching it had her bite her tongue, watching her brother's stance relax now that she was no longer in his face.

Being irked so easily was unlike her. It, along with all things it seemed, was not making sense.

Breathing out a sigh, she forced her shoulders to relax and shook her head. "Is a forgotten oath still valid?" Her gaze trailed back to the men. "I need you with me considering I'm at a disadvantage with my lack of memory, but I cannot bring you with if I can't trust you to abide by Ser Garridan's decision." She cleared her throat. "Choose quickly. I don't wish to test his patience any more than I already have."

Her gaze flickered to her brother and although there was a moment of hesitation, he nodded his head. "You can trust me."

Her smile could brighten the night. "Good." Nodding, she rocked up into a light jog to close the distance to the tree as quickly as she could. Running straight into the arms that would take her life? Well, no one could say she was a coward, at least. Slowing as she neared the two, she stepped beneath the shelter of the tree, dragging an arm over her face to clear it of rainwater. Placing a respectful space between them and herself, she faced the pair in much the same manner that she did inside the tent.

"Sers, if I may first offer my appreciation for agreeing to speak with me." She dipped her head, clasping the wrist of the hand that held the pendant before her. "I understand the situation is rather...unorthodox." She had faltered, her mind working overtime to try and bring pieces together that would paint a reasonable picture. It didn't help that the taller knight held himself in such a manner that made her heart flutter with trepidation. He was intimidating and even more so being unknown to her.

Steeling herself, she lifted her head and squared her shoulders, her gaze drifting to the other as her brother stepped up next to her side. "I cannot begin to properly explain--"

"The healer claimed a poultice she was given is affecting her memory."

Willow blinked, her focus wandering up to her brother at the interruption. Catching her eye, he cleared his throat and scuffed a boot. "Sorry," he muttered.

"He's correct," she resumed, returning her attention to the two. "Some people have adverse reactions to dragonskin and I happen to have a sensitivity to it. If memory is of import, which I assume it must be, I should have it back in full within the week. As it is, I've gathered in simple terms that I...shouldn't be here." She pulled in a steadying breath, gritting her teeth to the nerves crawling through her body. She willed herself to stay still. Fidgeting could only irritate the men more.

She cleared her throat. "Forgive me. You're making me nervous." She addressed Ser Garridan directly. "My mouth runs when given such fuel."

 

[Dipper]

"I make many people nervous. That you continue to speak is… commendable, I suppose."

She was daring, he'd give her that. He'd been told many times that he had an unwelcoming, unfriendly aura, despite his attempts to be otherwise. Few ever wanted to chat. At the very least, she had the attitude of one belonging to the Order, if a tad too sharp-tongued and wordy. Whether that would protect her in the coming days remained to be seen.

Muscles in his jaw twitched when he forced the word out, glad his harsh glare was masked by the helmet. "Unprecedented. We have never accepted women… intentionally. You were tricked, as far as we can gather."

"Fugitives." Oscar leaned toward the woman conspiratorially. "They cannot hide forever. It is them who ought to be punished, in our," he looked at Garridan, "shared and completely honest opinion."

"I've no reason to do you any harm," Garridan clarified. "And you've no reason to fear me. The oath has already been taken. All we can do now is wait and see whether the pact is sealed."

Never once have they lost a man to the curse. A woman, on the other hand, was another matter. She very well could perish to the beast blood, more raving mad than slavering beast incapable of returning to human form. Should that be the case, Garridan was glad the camp was deep into the forest so that the villagers went unharmed. He already had enough on his shoulders-- best not to add more to his shame.

As he'd said; unprecedented.

"I initially intended to speak to you about the events at the catacombs, but seeing as you no longer remember, we will move on. As for your… predicament… The Order will find out eventually. It was foolish, attempting to hide this." He turned his gaze on the brother, gaze piercing despite the helmet. "And possibly deadly. That remains to be seen. You leave me in a precarious position-- it is not Tyr's choice who finds a permanent place among us, but he does not take easily to change. Your time here will be rife with difficulties."

"I suppose you can take comfort in the knowledge that we are knights. We have laws and honor. As a…" Oscar paused, frowning, then snapped his fingers. "A sister of the Order, they will not dare touch you. Oh, and then there is the moon…"

Garridan cut him off. "Regardless, you have used deception to enter our ranks, and that will not soon be forgotten. Meager accommodations will suit the both of you, at the edge of camp. You will be the last to the hearth, the last to feast, and the last to seek favors." He folded his hands behind his back, softening the edge in his voice somewhat. "I will not always be around to protect you in the coming months. Whatever the men heap upon you, whether it be barbs or menial tasks, you must bear with as much dignity as you can muster. Both of you."

He paused to gather his thoughts, trading a look with Oscar. "My shelter is open to you, should you need it. But only under the most dire of circumstances or it will be seen as weakness on your part."

Or favoritism. Many men saw his self-imposed guardianship over the initiates as favoritism already, despite his claims to the contrary. It was his job. He took to his job with pride as the one solely responsible for strengthening the Order's numbers and raising up new knights to their cause. But his protection, honestly given, would only extend so far out of fear of it weakening the initiates. These were good men, in their own way. What humiliation they would bring to the table was minor compared to lesser men, but it was humiliation all the same. All initiates experienced it, survived it, and came out on the other side as a respected member of the Order, making these two initiates an especially appealing target.

It was part hazing, part punishment. He would try to lessen the blow where he could. As his trust had already been broken, he would not deny they deserve it to some degree, but Garridan wasn't a cruel man.

In cases like this, he wished he could be. He hadn't the heart for it.

"Try not to worry too hard," Oscar said. "We have good men. Stay far from Victor and Samuel and you should be fine enough to wait it out. They will forget the two of you are initiates soon enough!"

Oscar would likely distance himself from them, at least for as long as it took for the men to accept the two. Friendly and welcoming as he may be, Oscar never was one for alliances where they didn't suit him. Perhaps his past experience with them would soften him to their plight. Garridan could only hope, for Oscar's sake-- he needed the companionship, pitiable bastard that he was, always lurking alone.

"The moon will be full tomorrow night. The men will be retreating into the woods, but I would rather you two come find me. At evening tomorrow, you will ignore all that the men say and make your way straight to me." Garridan stepped out from under the trees to get a look at the darkening sky, still grey with storm clouds. Beyond that, a nearly full moon. He could already feel the itch. "You will find me, and speak to no one else. Is that understood?"

Oscar raised his hand. "You may want to move your tent now, before the rain lets up and the hunters return." He peeked around the corner of the storage tent in front of them. "A nice spot just opened up near that fallen log over there. Try that out. And before I forget, the men may only leave bones. If you can cook, they make good broth, but there is good foraging around here, too."

With that, Oscar bid them farewell. That still left Tyr, and presumably Erek. Malachai wouldn't care. He didn't look forward to dealing with any of them.

"Before you go, I must ask… What of that pendant?"

He had the sense that if he were to touch it, it would scald his skin just as the crown had. Instinct, or did it, too, have otherworldly properties? And if so, how had she come across it? How had it ended up at his feet in the commons tent? He hadn't imagined any of it-- Oscar saw the same thing, probably wondered the same thing. Tyr, he figured, would want to know as well once he'd figured out the crown. That is, if Garridan's suspicions were correct.

Part of him hoped they weren't. They didn't need more than one magical artifact in this camp.