The Green Knight was a part of the forest, and in turn it was a part of him. He felt the passage of years untold, he learned the wisdom of the ancient trees and he watched over the forest with what he would once have recognized as the very human emotion of contentment. It was a rest well-earned, yet, he did not forget his oath, he knew that this respite would last was for but a while, his duty did not permit a final and enduring slumber. However, the years grew longer, the silence greater, and the Green Knight began to feel himself fading. A wish, a desire, a quiet prayer for release from thousands of years of servitude began to beckon him onwards, speaking words of freedom and of new beginnings, promising new lands to explore and new adventures, offering peace and death at last.
"Forgive me."Summoned at the last moment and pulled back from the jaws of death, the Green Knight heard a voice he knew, a voice he loved, he knew her so well, he had served her for so long, and he knew that she spoke the truth,
"I cannot let you fade into memory just yet, my brave knight, there is one last task I must ask of you, one last deed for you to do."with a soft caress, full of warmth and affection.
"Tavra," the Green Knight began, feeling a soft caress on his cheek, full of warmth and affection.
A thundering voice replaced that of Tavra, and a regal voice full of command and urgency echoed across the void, "Arise! Arise knight of green! Far too long have you slumbered! Arise! Arise once more, oh faithful servant of Tavra! A red day is upon us, a day of death and loss, a day of shattered shields and broken swords! Heroes once more must walk these lands, for Ansus is lost without you. Forget not your oath, oh knight of green, and remain faithful to your lost memories."
"I had…expected another, but I honor my oath," was all that the Green Knight could manage to say upon hearing the voice of the God King Andurias, before complete silence overwhelmed him with a sudden rush of force.
The Green Knight awoke in darkness, far from the warming rays of the sun, deep beneath the ground, and surrounded by the cold embrace of crumbling stone. A single torch burning weakly illuminated the shrine in front of which he found himself kneeling. Thick roots cut pathways through the stone reclaiming what had once been lost to the hands of men and colonies of moss had taken hold of what little space remained. There was no malice, no hatred, no bitter sense of betrayal, only a feeling of loss that gnawed at this heart. He could not sense Tavra, he could not see even the smallest hint of her presence, he could not hear even the quietest whisper of her voice, and he could not feel even the soft touch of her guiding hands. Emptiness, the Green Knight felt only emptiness, and the feeling filled even one like him with a new sense of dread. Something was wrong, something was horribly wrong, and the gods were no longer there to provide the answers.
For a long time the Green Knight remained unmoving in front of the collapsed shrine, lost in deep thought and seeking for any thread, any hint of divinity that he could have missed. Finally, satisfied that there was nothing more to discover, he rose to his feet, examining himself with modest curiosity. To his relief found that he was unchanged from his last memories, time had not touched him like it had the rest of the room. His armor unmarked by either time or the weapons of men still protected his person. The grim sword Foebane, in all its terrible beauty, rested in the grip of his strong hands and the fearsome bow of Swift Justice, lay beside him with a fresh quiver of arrows. Missing was only the banner of Tavra and the Heartwood spear, whose absence troubled the Green Knight greatly.
There was but one choice offered to the Green Knight, to struggle, to bleed, to move unceasingly forward, and to fight to his last breath, again. He had rested long enough, he reasoned as he raised an ironclad fist into the air and smashed through first layer of crumbling stone, drawn to the warmth of the sun and the smell of fresh air that called to him from the surface.
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News of the doom of Kolantis had spread across the lands like wildfire and Harald had done what he did best in times of trouble, fled as fast and as far away as his legs could carry him. He was neither a hero nor a fool, although he generally considered the two things one and the same, and therefore trouble held little interest to him. Daylight found the old bard nursing a tankard of ale in a seedy tavern, a crumbling ruin of stone fit only for the common whores and criminals which plied their trade in the alleys of the village each night. Ever open to new sources of revenue, they were also perhaps the only inhabitants of the village still pleased at the arrival of a vast number of refugees. Yet, so full of fear and despair was Harald, that he had not even noted the name of the quaint seaside village in which he found himself.
What did it matter? he thought, death was coming, and all that was left was to squander...no...enjoy his few fleeting moments on Ansus within the merciful embrace of complete and utter drunkenness.
As focused as he was on his third tankard of ale, Harald could not help but notice the intricate carvings which lined the walls and pillars that supported the crumbling building in which he sat. Old bordering on ancient, the craftwork was far too good for a simple tavern. Some chapel or other Harald presumed with idle disgust, yet another failed prostration to some long dead god. Draining the filthy tankard of ale, Harald let out an angry shout, tossing coins in the direction of the nearest server and loudly demanding his fourth tankard of ale. There was much drinking to be done and little time to do, after all Harald Silvertongue, bard of legends, had no intention of facing his imminent death with so much as a hint of sobriety left in him.
The sound of stone smashing, followed by the fearful shouts of the other patrons, roused Harald from his drunken revelry and he looked up in time to see the heavy oaken door leading to the kitchen flying off of its hinges across the bar, before shattering into several smaller species against an innocent wall. Caught completely off-guard Harald tumbled to the floor, spilling the better part of his tankard of ale upon himself. A towering figure dressed in a most striking shade of green bent low to pass beneath the now bare archway idly brushing dust from its shoulders as it strode into the room.
Some manner of demon Harald thought hopelessly, as a thousand terrible thoughts raced through his mind. The old bard had encountered ethereal beings before and he did not relish the thought of doing so once more, the experiences had rarely been enjoyable or good for his health.
Illuminated by the torchlight the creature stopped and cast a slow gaze across the room. Daring to cast a glance at where he guessed the eyes of the being resided, Harald shuddered as he took in the strange visage of the foul creature. Adorned with armor of metal and wood, the face of the figure was hidden beneath a great helm decorated with the antlers of a beast Harald was certain that he had never seen. Worse still, a fearsome sword, fit to cleave several men in two, rested menacingly on its hip and a massive bow, far larger than that of any man, was strung over a shoulder. It had come prepared for war, there was no question about it, and Harald felt certain that his doom was finally upon him. With a sudden purpose the unnatural figure began to advance towards him and the other patrons muttered fearful prayers as the strange figure looked down at Harald Silvertongue. The old bard risked a quick shout for help, which promptly went unanswered, before returning his attentions the creature. Once again, he knew, he was on his own,
never count on the peasantry to risk their lives for an old man he reflected bitterly.
"Begone foul apparition!" The old bar roared summoning what little courage still remained in his heart as he he threw the now empty tankard at the armored figure, "I am Harald Silvertongue and the gods themselves give praise to my songs! Return to the abyss which spawned you, lest I smite you with all the power of my ancient magics!" Watching the heavy iron tankard bounce harmlessly off the armor of the silent figure the other patrons of the tavern cowering in a corner of the room let out a shared noise of despair. Harald for his part, was certain that the hour of his own death was upon and closed his eyes, unwilling to watch the movements of the demon's sword as it cleaved him in twine.
However, it was not cold steel that touched the bard, no, instead it was laughter that greeted the cowering old man. Opening his eyes, Harald studied the figure which remained standing above him. When recognition dawned on him, Harald let out a pitiful, mewling noise of despair and frustration. Blending his words into a string of curses, the old man began to scramble backwards on the floor, trying in vain to escape the ever-advancing figure that followed him each step of the way. For the first time in decades, fear completely overwhelmed the razor sharp edge of the bard's tongue and the normally sharp bite of his wit, "NO! No! No! You can’t, you can’t possibly be here! You're not real! You’re a story, a myth, a simpleton who got himself killed thousands upon thousands of years ago playing the hero for some fool of a goddess."
Harald could not say why, but the old bard knew that beneath his helm the Green Knight was smiling down at him as he answered, "Ah, and yet, here I am."
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"The Green Knight returns! He walks amongst us again!" shouted an ancient looking beggar jumping to his feet, stories long forgotten from his childhood suddenly re-awakening in his mind as he madly began to wave his hands in the direction of the Green Knight. "Gods above, he's real!"
The other patrons of the tavern glanced fearfully in the direction of the legendary knight that now stood in their midst. For the stories had never been too clear as to how the Green Knight treated those of less than honorable nature and worse still those guilty of a great many crimes. Some even remembered the knight as a demon, called forth to punish the wicked, before dragging them off to the afterlife impaled on his sword. More than one mouth was formed into a shocked and gaping O. Yet, not all faces were so grim and some like that of the old beggar were lit up with the smiles of children, having just found out that their childhood stories had been true all along.
Harald Silvertongue however was having none of it, and instead held a hand defensively over the hilt of his rapier, "St- Stay back!"
Shaking his head the Green Knight raised the old man to his feet with a surprising gentleness and nodded in the direction of the oaken door leading out of the sordid tavern certain that the grizzled old bard would follow him, "Come, some fresh air would do us both a great deal of good."
Stepping outside into the daylight, the Green Knight heard the sound of waves striking the shore, he tasted the salt carried by the wind and he felt the warmth of the sun beneath his heavy armor. He had once known the village, a seaside hamlet with only a humble chapel dedicated to the gods. A site of remembrance and pilgrimage in ages long forgotten, where the immense power of nature met the unbridled might of the unforgiving ocean. Yet, no longer was this true. The Green Knight did not he know the lands he now looked upon. Long gone was the forest which had once claimed the lands, replaced by works of stone and wood, roads and even piers, reaching out into the ocean like fingers, the creations of countless generations of settlers that had tamed the wild lands and dared to venture into to ocean. For a brief moment, the Green Knight felt the weight of eons crash down on him, the world had changed, and left him far behind.
He heard the old bard shuffle next to him, betrayed by the now rather empty sack of coins at his waist.
Gesturing towards the village with a wide motion of his arm, the Green Knight addressed the silver-haired bard,"Harald Silvertongue, your finest hour is upon you, redemption is within your grasp, remember the man that you once were, and return to the path of righteousness."
Harald looked the knight with obvious disdain and spat irreverently on the ground, "Ha, death more likely, so I'll politely suggest that you shove that offer up your-- "
"Silvertongue," the Green Knight interrupted, his voice full of menace and steel,"Do not lightly test my patience, for we have much work to do, you and I, and little time with which to do it." Forestalling further argument, the knight turned towards the elderly bard and spoke of memories rather lost to the ravages of time,"Harald Valbrandrsson, your oath has not been forgotten and you have not yet been released from your duty."
The old bard recoiled as if struck, fear and shame playing across his normally controlled features. When the color returned to his face, the old bard let out a loud dejected sigh and shook his head slowly from side to side. Running a nimble hand through his hair before replacing his foppish hat Harald nodded quietly to himself, as if seeking assurance, "Fine, fine, let's go be heroes then, just remember that I expect proper rewards for my services, none of this martyr garbage for me."
"Onward then," the Green Knight said with a laugh, taking a stride forward into the street.
"Yes, onward to suffering...death...and in all likelihood even more death with the promise of a fancy casket...if we are lucky and the gods are generous," Harald quipped hurrying after the knight.
