Open What grows out of mud

She had promised to wait outside at Will's insistence, but the anticipation of meeting someone new had turned the Shadow Knight to pacing. Already, she had wandered in the path of many of her brothers and sisters in-arms, and with sheepish smiles, Saskia ducked inside the building. It was quiet, but now that she was in and facing down the hall that would take her to the cells, she took a glance around before slowly making her way down.

Should she call out? Pretend nothing was wrong and stroll in with a big grin? The sunshine she often felt at bringing mirth to others did not summon as easily, and perhaps that was due to how she saw Willard before he had gone in.

Told her and the others to wait, but he could not blame her for trying to help.

Her hand found the handle to open the door, but before she could turn it, the door was wrenched open with a small force. Saskia yelped, staggering back a step before regaining her composure and smiling hesitantly. "Oh... you must be Venla." If there were titles, Saskia was unaware of any.

All she had heard was the danger she was, words that came from the squire Haelyn. All Saskia heard from what she gleaned from Will was that the girl he was sweet on was scared. That struck a resonance within her, a presence within the shadows she learned to no longer be afraid of.

Today, she had offered to help... if Venla allowed it.

Just do it.
“ I’m busy. “
You are and you aren’t. I’ve chosen you for the job and told the Captain as much.
“ Like I’m the only one. Plenty other magicians out there — why won’t they do it? “
They’re actually busy.

And that smile when he’d said it was forever etched on the back of his eyelids. Annoying.

Still, presently, he marched down the hall, reciting the bullshit to himself over and over. Properly doused in l'esprit de l'escalier. Of all people, he truly was the last person to do any of this — and fuck Oliver specifically for thinking otherwise. This was Dawner business, so fuck the whole Dawn Sanctum too, while we’re at it.

He rounded the last corner huffing curses. Where there was supposed to be just a door, were unbidden sights — Saskia Kerraelas, to start with. Even with her back turned, there was no mistaking that long blonde plait and an attire tailored exclusively for shadows, and past her shape he could make out that the door was open. Great.

“ What’s going on here. “ Not really asking, just accusing, he finally came to a halt by the side of his fellow Dusker. “ I’ve business with Venla Thiel, at present. “

His look bounced to whom stood in the door frame.

“ I assume that’s you. We’re to proceed with your training, at once. “ His gaze traveled about the features of her face, measuring her blankly. “ Impressive work, I’ll say — You’ve been the talk of the town over and then some— Hey! “

Spotting a yet another someone behind her, he tilted his head to gaze past. It wasn’t the easiest to do, short as he was. Was that fucking Willard?

“ What in blazes are you doing in there? “ Was there a mix up? Did the Captain send you, of all people, after all?

“ Actually— “ He rose a palm, then rubbed it over his forehead. “ I don’t care. Just wrap up — whatever it is. I’m waiting outside. “

With a nod to Saskia, the bare minimum form of Dusker kinship, he turned to do as he’d announced. Buckles about the belt clicking a tune to his homicidal pace.

“ You have five minutes, Venla Thiel. “

She barely had time to feel the door yield under her hands before there was a body in front of her, blonde braid and a hesitant smile, a voice already halfway into her name. "Oh... you must be Venla."

Who is this?

She hadn't braced for a stranger, had expected an empty corridor. She stopped. Swallowed. Her throat worked, and nothing came out of it. The letter was still crushed in her fist. Venla managed something like a nod, "I..." The woman was still looking at her, that hesitant hopeful look, and Venla felt something in her chest twist at being looked at like that. Like she was some sorry, soft thing. Pity. Like her own ruin was the only interesting thing left about her.

Then a new voice came. Already irritated before he'd even rounded the corner, and she turned toward it. Barreling in hot the horned, short knight. The corridor swarmed for a moment, so many faces she'd never seen turned toward her all at once, exactly the thing she just had told Willard she couldn't bear. She felt her cheeks flush. "Impressive work", his words made Venla do a face. Wanted to tell him there was nothing to be impressed by, it had been wild and awful.

"We're to proceed with your training. At once."

At once. Not tomorrow as Willard said. "Who're you?" she asked. She'd not even had a chance to breathe, to work out what she even was to do with her brother. Now, ready or not.

"Five minutes," she repeated, and loose enough to let the little fury slip through the crack. "Five minutes to do what, exactly? Say my farewells to the furniture!?" She held her free hand, palm open to show her cell. She had nothing to pack, nothing to gather, nothing to change into besides the clothes she'd been locked up in (decides the clothes from Willard that she did not want) and a cot she wasn't sorry to leave behind.

Her eyes flicked past him, toward Willard's retreating back.

Venla tossed the balled up letter into the cell without so much as a attention to where it landed. "There," she said, flat, dusting her hands like she'd just set down something heavy, while turning back to the horned knight, "I'm ready."

Saskia winced the moment she heard and saw Syr Kaarle. She did not hide it, letting her expression freely show just how she was feeling in this awkward situation.

As Will passed her, she lightly kicked his shin and gave him an exaggerated frown if he turned to look at her. He knew she would chew him out later, especially when Syr Kaarle made her feel like they had been caught busting out the weaver of wild power.

"Five minutes to find — oh..." Saskia's readiness to answer, to be helpful, it became quickly evident to her just what state Will's visit had put Venla in. The Shadow Knight kept quiet, looked between the departing dusker and to Venla. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. There had been dry lump of unease at the back of her throat, and Saskia did not want her voice to crack as she attempted to speak again.

"Come along. I can show you to the training grounds." Saskia quickly moved to follow the shadow of Kaarle, to lead Venla out into the outdoors and get a glimpse of Astenvale Monastery. "Ignore the stares. It happens, but say the word and I will block you from their view with shadows." She smiled, beaming. It certainly was not her first time to do something of the sort.

Up ahead, Syr Kaarle had already covered a great length of distance. "Blazin' stars, he's quick." She sighed, and reluctantly sped up her pace.

He pocketed the keys without further incident, despite having no use for them. Children, with their wit and their sass — so be it. He may have chuckled a little at the sight of Willard’s face as the lad had turned to go like some beaten hound. Trouble with your lady love, huh?

Fucking hilarious. On a better day he may have whistled a tune to it, but sadly even all his schadenfreude couldn’t undo the strange lack of cheer that hung heavy as the eerie mists outside. It was getting colder. Perfect weather for the wicked, is what Syr Hoffren liked to say.

Bald cunt is probably sitting at the Knoll as we speak, still. As if himself hadn’t, once duty finally came knocking. There were words at his back, at present, but he’d not hear them. He’d said what he’d said, farewells to furniture or naw — door opened and closed as he let himself out, way ahead.

There was no settling to rest, so he remained standing some steps away from the door, staring at the dense grey distance like some lofty philosopher king of old. Like there were things to see, shapes in the fog, ghosts. In truth, he was merely chewing on the inside of his cheek, picking at the well-worn parts with the points of his teeth.

The silence lasted a total of some ten seconds, but they had been long ones. He glanced past his shoulder at the two who exited, hands on his hips.

“ Joining us, are you, Saskia? “ Not arguing, he merely quirked a brow and smiled lopsided as if tickled by the whole prospect. “ Very well — Suppose an old goat could use another pair of eyes on good Miss Thiel. “

Without further ado he resumed on his way, rounding the big building for where the covered path forked off. His choice was for the sticks, the cobbles running out and turning to mere soft, if well-beaten dirt that snaked betwixt the trees. Into the old woods.

“ How does it feel to use the power, Venla? When you did— “ He waved a hand in a nondescript gesture. It brought a spark to his gloved fingertips, a shooting star that danced until the cold air swallowed it whole. In the gloom and damp of the trees, even a whisper could be heard beneath their footfalls.

“ All that. Was it good, at least? “

The moment her boots left the threshold of the cell, she felt it.

Her pulse kicked hard and fast, suddenly loud in her own ears, and every nerve in her body lit up at once like she'd stepped out of cold water into blazing sun.

Oh.

It flooded back into her like breath into a drowning body. Uncurling slow and languid, stretching itself back into the spaces the null cell had emptied out of her. It was warmth that wasn't warmth at all but the memory of it, threading out along her arms, down into her fingertips, into the marrow of her. For one dizzy, breathless moment she nearly staggered with it. Her eyes flicked to Saskia a moment.

"Come along. I can show you to the training grounds."

"Training grounds... Aye.. thank you.." The words came out slow and distracted.

Days of silence, of nothing, of being just a plain woman. And now this, this sudden terrible fullness, blood gone static in her veins. The air went sharp against her senses and bright, every leaf, root and every small dying, rotting things beneath the leaf litter. She could feel the shape of it all pressing at the edges of her. Registering against something in her that hadn't been able to feel a single thing for days. Some fierce unbothered thing in her chest arching up like a cat after a nap.

It was hers, the way blood was hers, the way bones was hers. This current running under her skin like a river under ice, indifferent to whether she wanted it or not. The null cell had shown her what she was without it. Small. Ordinary. Wallowing. A woman with dirt under her nails. With a heart doing its mortal work.

She caught herself at it, realized, with a small jolt of embarrassment, that Saskia had said something after that too. "Sorry," she said, and meant it, glancing at Saskia, making herself pay attention instead of just standing there like some fool who'd never felt her own blood move before. "I didn't... what was that you said, just now?"

She followed Saskia and him into the trees. Kaarle strode on ahead of them both, and Venla found her eyes settling on his tail without much meaning to, the way it flicked side to side at his heels. The sight of it put nothing fearsome in her mind other than old Lilly's tail back home, swatting flies in the evening pasture.

Was it good, at least?

She knew the honest answer to that. It had felt good. The way fire feels good to someone cold and wet. Not despite the horror, but under it, tangled up with it, indistinguishable from it in the moment. She couldn't say that. Not plain. Not after her being honest with Helena. Venla kept her face carefully blank, watching that little spark die in the cold air.

"I don't rightly remember most of it clean." A small pause, a small shrug. "There were moments it didn't feel like fear."

Help, yes, that is what she supposed she was here to do. Saskia glanced at Venla with a grimace, hoping she did not take unkindly to the word.

There was some unspoken connection between Venla and her power, and with Saskia and her shadows. She had not been the first to fear her own magic, but it was the same song she knew Venla had learned the melody of. It was something to fear, but familiar enough that wielding it just felt right.

It hurt Saskia to not say something like that. To tell Venla she understood... but when she had told her knights, her family, her friends... they accepted it. Supported her. If she said those same words to Venla, why did it feel like a lie warming at the base of her throat?

"Well, that's a start," Saskia mused instead. She grinned, softly, but looked up at Kaarle. "If one was scared of their own extension of power, it would mean more work for you, no? I remember when Syr Merrylees was a squire and he feared his fire. Burned his brows off, thrice, before anyone was able to help him. Although I think the second time was more of the fact he was scared of Syr Cathmore than his own candle's flame."

When eyes weighed heavily upon the trio as they moved, Saskia rolled her eyes at them. "It's alright you didn't hear me the first time, Venla. My offer will always stand. If you ever want to hide or just not be seen, I can cast you in shadow. Make you blend... although my weaving is strongest at night." In the bask of the sun, her shadowwielding was significantly less than what she could at night.

He pursed his lips at the response, disappointment in the next exhale.

“ Shame. “ Could’ve been interesting to listen to, he had figured. Nothing like discoveries while they were still brand new, fresh enough to touch. He keeled his head to angle his hearing when Saskia spoke in turn, but the side of his eye picking up her shape. For her words, he had a thoughtful hum and a whole lot of nothing in turn.

“ More work, less work, who’ll know. “ Spiced up the humming and hawwing with a shrug. “ Usually some fear is good. It teaches a very primal sort of respect, at least, if all else fails. But— “

No fear? That usually resulted to too much confidence, too much ungirded curiousity, and presto — recklessness. Or so himself had been told, all those years ago.

“ Does the river fear the water that’s in it? And if it doesn’t, should it? “

He sounded a little airier then, echoing some though he’d had when reading through Sangsot of Balihot’s Analogy of the River, wherein the author argued that the Shroud was as much a part of the Weaver, as it was apart. On those things of fear and further personification of the elements, the long dead polymath had never commented.

No sooner had Saskia finished another surge of her assurances, the overflowing kindness, when another popped out of the mist like anemones from the spring snow — too damn soon and with all the rage of a— well— man with a freshly installed leg?

It looked painful. But that wasn’t what he was holding back a grimace for, merely staring as the Pursuant wasted no time dressing Saskia down. He’d say nothing, sporting his customary frown despite the boil of resentment renewed in his chest by such a wanton, high-definition sight of Bebin Theros.

You take the only one I love with you to another mission of yours like that again, Basilisk, and I’ll make sure you lose more than just a limb.

He’d told Oliver nothing good ever came of rank. Self-sacrifing, overconfident idiots, all of them. In addition to one in their midst having been a legitimate health and security hazard to everyone around him. Why is Faramund still alive, Bebin?

And somehow, he was the unruly goat. Still, he mirrored the man’s smirk and huffed, as if amused, but it was strained in it’s escape past the teeth. By the time the high and mighty had finished speaking, he was as well-composed as any man who’d had plenty practice dousing their rage, staring at the distance and dreaming of being there, somewhere.

Fuck. Me. Running.

“ Right. “ He seized initiative, daring a cursory glance at the Pursuant before leading on. “ We’re just about there. A bit ahead, the clearing. “

Parliament of Shrouded Elms. It shone in the opaque air, opening at the end of the path. The sparse, trodden grass underfoot was yet wet with last night’s rain, sloshing as he exited the shade of canopies.

The trees surrounding the unassuming patch of open ground were old, enough so to be in communion, whispering to each other through the roots far beneath the soil. They shared the Shroud they’d drank up and breathed in over countless years, which had made them tall and lush with an iridescence to their flesh. Though beautiful, that quality didn’t persist long after being exposed to air, let alone when the wood was dead.

Sentinels. Watchers. Companions. Some younger ones bore the names of old friends. Stability for the weave that had the want of being tossed by any which tug. They’d need plenty of it, if what he’d heard was correct. Blight Burl, the Pursuant had said.

In the branches above, a robin was alerting with a loud ticking sound. He drew in a weary breath and turned to face their star-crossed ‘trainee’, urging Venla along to where she might stand so all the trees could asses her. Himself took some five broad steps back from her, not so much keeping distance as giving space.

“ Alright. “ He tossed back his head, decisive. “ By description of what your powers wrought, am led to believe they are not particularly destructive nor conjurative. “ The latter of which is highly disputed, anyway. “ But purely transmutive. You made something out of something else, recomposed it, but is your reach constricted to merely— that material? “

Blighted. Alive? His tail curled up to a spiral, then loosed again. He took off one glove and rose the bare hand in the air, palm at her.

“ Reach out to me. Try at the strings that are available to you — Intent or instinct, whichever comes first. “

I’m dying to know what you’ll play.