Knights Apocalyptica

Those Of The Verdant Oak,

It has come to my attention that one under your charge is of rare magics; if wasteland rumors can be believed. Eyes that can pierce the veil and see the inner workings are reminiscent of what has driven my own success in this field. I’ll admit, I’m curious for my people to gauge just what capability they have, and establish an insight.

If they are anything like me, and our future is tied together as two cities that remain in this wasteland, I would be grateful for one of my Magi to have a conversation with this promising young one.

-Chairman Trell, Written Note to Verdant Oak, (3rd Era, 308)

Garin hunched over on the outskirts of the village, hidden away from view. The festive settlement pulsed with life, its inhabitants coursing like lifeblood through narrow streets and between tents. More than anything, he wanted to dive into the crowd, make introductions, forge new alliances, and hear stories from those who lived in the wasteland.

But not now. Not yet.

He remained concealed behind a building, ideally still, driven by a mission—or what he believed to be his mission.

Dame Robin's instructions had been characteristically cryptic: "We keep our grounds as clean as possible, but we’re just people and food falls on the ground. Mice are common in the wasteland, and there's food and warmth in the winter. And where mice flock, their tiny ears can hear anything, even if they don’t understand.”

A simple thumbs-up had been his response. Her meaning was clear, even without explicit instructions. At least, he thought so, but now, shrouded behind a building with a small army of rats gathering before him, his belief was shaken a bit.

Garin had been developing a unique talent—an ability to scout and perceive situations that would escape most people's notice. While his control wasn't as refined as Erec's fury or whatever strange skill Colin possessed, he implicitly understood Dame Robin’s hint. The knights' primary goal was information gathering, and if he could communicate with mice to gain intel, then that was precisely what he was meant to do.

He told himself this was a test—a chance to prove his worth, show that he could advance at the same pace as Erec, and earn the attention and care of his mentors.

Focusing his talent, Garin continued to summon mice, gradually, clustering into a small but growing group before him. Their half-ears twitched, alert and curious. He felt a wave of sensations from his tenuous connection to them—images of hunger, desire for freedom, and survival.

But Garin was in control.

Stamping down on their primal impulses, he pressed forward with his willpower. He retrieved various snacks from behind him courtesy of the free food stalls throughout the village, scattering them across the dirt.

It was a simple bribe, but an effective one. Feed these one-tracked-minded creatures, promise more food, and cooperation becomes effortless.

The mice, emerging from a long, cold winter and grateful for warmth, were easily persuaded by his bribe.

As more mice gathered, Garin felt the connection growing. His skin began to itch, and a small headache built at his temples as numerous minds linked with his own. They asked—no, demanded—to know his purpose and what he wanted.

What would be most useful? He wondered. What information would the Kingdom want?

His mind drifted to the various groups that had entered the tournament, pledging allegiance and agreeing to the vow of safety. Who would the king be most interested in monitoring?

Two groups immediately stood out.

The first wore old-world tan clothing, bearing old-world flags. They carried an eclectic mix of weapons—pistols, swords, even guns brought through the walls. They were outsiders, with an unknown background, at least. As far as he knew.

The second group dressed in deep reds, reminiscent of priests, but distinctly different. Chains hung from their necks, masks obscuring their faces. Clearly not from Vega, they seemed to have emerged from the furthest reaches of the wasteland and would have the least intel about them.

Garin divided his mouse reconnaissance team. Half would track the tan-clad strangers, a third would follow the masked red-robed individuals, and the remainder would gather general intelligence—listening for conflicts, heated discussions, unusual interactions. Anything that stood out.

Communication was subtle. With these creatures, verbal commands were useless. Instead, he pressed visual images into their minds, clear intentions without words. Like the birds he'd worked with in Vega, he knew they would return and report.

His deadline was simple: they would reconvene and share their gathered intelligence when the sun set.

The mental strain intensified. His headache grew as his talent solidified through dozens of tiny minds. The mice's eyes gleamed with an almost intelligent light, as if borrowing a fragment of his consciousness to fulfill their mission.

Then they were gone, scurrying in different directions, each with a precise objective.

He didn’t know what kind of information they would get, but he hoped whatever he would find would be useful for the Knights.

Garin rubbed his skull, groaning and looking skyward. He'd fulfilled Dame Robin's unspoken request. Now, all that remained was to relax and perhaps engage in some interesting conversations. A more traditional form of reconnaissance and connections.

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"As soon as I get rid of this damn headache," he muttered, a wry laugh escaping his lips.

Sneaking from the shadows, he moved toward the village center, curiosity burning. What were his allies up to? He could only hope Colin was staying behaved, and Erec hadn’t found trouble.

— - ☢ - — - ☼ - — - ☢ - —

He was here somewhere, tucked away in a little library. As Colin’s eyes scanned the festival grounds, searching, knowing that the target Dame Robin had told him was here, lay hidden somewhere within.

Though he wasn’t an Arch-Magi, he was related to the most prestigious among them—something of a lieutenant, from what Robin described to the Chairman of the Archmagi himself.

It was a surprise, at first. But as Colin strode through the cloud, resplendent in his full regalia, it began to make a bit more sense. Why not him? And it wasn’t just his blood this time, which had garnered this interest.

For someone to be interested in what he knew and his talent, enough to want to talk with him and pass along that message to the Knight order, made him feel validated. To see someone acknowledging him for his magical prowess from a city whose power was completely dictated by the force that one managed to gain through the beautiful art of mysticism, it was a validation that he craved.

Colin reflected as he cut through the crowd, watching people part before him. They wore stern, sizing looks, in awe of Armor.

Or maybe in awe of their city.

But, he didn’t care if they were in awe of his nobility; for it was the content of his magic and the progress he’d earned that deserved him his current status.

A year ago, this thought wouldn’t have resonated so deeply. He would have considered the fact that his acknowledgment was a mere course of action. As natural as the sun rising. But now, Colin felt a sense of pride after what he'd seen and had done this last year. It wasn't the same sort of pride that had plagued him all of his life, but rather, the pride that his hard work had seen results.

He had put in time and effort. Now, this was the result. Everything led to this, from that old bastard, Sir Abel, cooperating with him despite wanting nothing to do with him but conceding due to his talent.

Colin felt his growth, and it emboldened him.

He thought of his many nights poring over the old work that Sir Abel had left behind for him. All those sleepless nights he'd spent on their supposed holiday vacation. Working, slaving away at those old manuscripts, all in an attempt to understand more.

But why?

Because magic was life, he would take as much of it as he could into his world now that he saw it clearly.

People parted, and he strode forward. Coming closer to the place Dame Robin told him to go, his eyes scanned.

Somewhere was his building, and the greatest Arch-Magi’s lieutenant was in that building. Keen to ask him about his magic.

His pride burned brighter, traveling through his veins like a golden spark of electricity, urging through every single muscle in his body, traveling down his spine, and leaving tingling sensations in its wake.

Was this what that tin-can felt whenever it got into that severe battle state?

Regardless, this was an opportunity, merited by something he’d earned with his own hands. A precious thing that even now filled him with a new warm sensation inside.

He intended to capitalize on this opportunity.

For what was he, if not a creature of opportunity? He was no longer the same man. Who lurked in his father's shadow. No. Though he might not have slain something as dramatic and kingdom-altering as the rot behemoth, he was becoming something more.

He could see himself advancing. He could feel it like the cliffs and the magic around him.

Even now, his eyes flared gold, and he saw it stirring in the air. Its presence everywhere was a magical and enchanting warmth that belonged to life.

Magic operated under his regal command. It didn't respect him purely because of his blood. It didn't respect him because of his new palate. No. It respected him because he poured in the hours late at night, wielding it and finding its hidden, most secret forms deep within.

He knew this was his destiny. He knew that he would not be left behind. And he knew that when he was done, he would become a pillar of the family of Nitidus.

Soon, he reached the location that Dame Robin had given him for his contact. It was a small library, less populated than the other sections of this village, filled to the brim with dusty old tomes that the kingdom thought they could get by without. Some digital archives were scattered within, too, accompanied by a few screens.

When he entered, a fellow knight stood behind the counter, overseeing the dissemination of information. It was believed that by sharing glimpses of their culture, these people might better understand one another. They might see the Knightly Orders and the Kingdom and witness its greatness and supremacy.

Those who could see such greatness in the face of the state of the wasteland beyond the Steel Curtain would no doubt be swayed to understand that cooperation was to their great benefit.

The man Colin was looking for was tucked away in a shadowy corner, surrounded by tomes that detailed information not vital to the operation of the kingdom of Cindrus, but likely things they did not have in the city of Vega, where such knowledge was prized and hoarded.

See here the difference between us. See how we share what we know with the common folk and outsiders and revel in it.

Colin grinned as he sat down, happy his expression was hidden beneath his helmet. His armor creaked as the stabilizers adjusted to secure his position and reduce the strain on the wooden chair that, without such equipment, would no doubt collapse into a useless pile of lumber.

It was a feature built into these Armors to give a presence of civility among the knights who wielded them. Though he admitted, as he sat, it was more formality than anything—a social nicety he accepted.

The man looked up at him: balding, grey-silver hair lining his beard, showing his wizened status. His being older wasn’t surprising, given his status. Even now, Colin realized, it would take decades of effort to truly consider himself a master of the beauty that was mysticism.

And he knew that even in the kingdom, their understanding, developed over centuries, was not quite a full accounting of what was possible with this magic.

Which is why this was such an intriguing meeting.

“If you wouldn’t mind taking your helmet off,” the man asked, his voice warm and worn as if it were used to giving orders.

Colin balked initially at the request, but, after a brief hesitation, did as he was asked.

Better to start this on the right foot.

The guy regarded his face with a smile, “So, now then. If you wouldn’t mind showing another student of mysticism… These all-seeing eyes of yours.”

Colin waited, folding his hands as he stared at him. “Often, when one wants to trade, they present what they wish to give to receive what they want. If you are interested in my Talent, I can show it to you. But, what I’m interested in is your magic, and your glyphworks…”

The guy gave a bold grin and leaned forward.

“I expected as much. Wonderful. Yes, let us have a chat about magic. I see no harm in spreading it to another, especially if these rumors of what your eyes can see are true. To see the inner workings of magic, while feeling it? Inspiring.”

Colin stared as a smile came to his face.

He would take any mentor, any tome, any piece written on a scrap of paper as long as it offered more knowledge of this glorious magic. He’d listen, judge, and determine its worth if it took him further. And in this man in front of him, he thought he saw a shared soul.

“My name is Colin Nitidus. It is a pleasure.”

“Magi Raphael; equally so, as the Arch-Magi will be delighted that you are so willing to engage in a friendly talk of our shared love.”

With that, Colin honed in, ready to get to work.