The Lady in the Lake - A Crimson Knights Tale

[Cèsar de Quart]

Hi all.

 

This is my way of placing my homebrew chapter, the Crimson Knights, into the 42nd Millennium. It's got almost no action and it's mostly worldbuilding. Feel free to criticize.

 

English is not my first language, so excuse the grammar errors, the register problems and the misused words.

 

+++The Lady of the Lake+++

 

The room was silent, eerily so. Giant arches of steel and masonry towered above, sustaining the full weight of the fortress. Down below, the sound of thunder and the lightning's flash was not perceptible in the slightest. It was more a cave than a chamber, an ancient hole in the ground where, centuries ago, the Lady had made her lair, her sacrum. Legends told of a cataclysm which drove the Lady beneath the Earth, of an entrapment, of a war between the fay folk and the darklings.

 

 

Knight-Master Gawalin didn't believe in those legends, but he did recognise the reality and the power of the Lady. He, Paramount of his Court, Peer of the Order, Master of Oaths, Astartes Commander, stood alone and almost naked, his footsteps the only sound to pierce the chamber; this, and his breath, which grew heavy with every step. He was used to heavy stomping, but rite demanded that the Knights entered the Chamber of the Lady dressed only with ceremonial white tabards, as a sign of respect, of fragility in the presence of a superior being. Gawalin may have been a skeptic old dog, but he knew better than to disrespect his Chapter's beliefs.

 

At the center of the chamber there was a pond, water dark as night and quiet as ice. Fireflies, or what looked like it, flickered above the water, seemingly forming patterns in the air. Gawalin knew these patterns; this was his third time as Knight-Questant. He knew the whisps were in sync with the Lady, and that their movement could show her mood. Gawalin had been here before, but that didn't make him any less nervous. He stopped right before his feet touched the water and took a deep breath.

 

Rite told them that only in the stormiest of nights, or the sunniest and clearest of days, was the Lady to be disturbed. She may even welcome her protected Knights and talk with them, discuss the events of the world, give them aid and counsel. The Chaplains advised against talking with them too much, for several Knights had been lost without a trace after visiting the Lady, and Chaplain-Master Garramore wrote down in the Red Chronicle that the Lady may capture the souls of those she deemed worthy of becoming her companions.

 

He gathered his thoughts and stepped into the water. A chill ran through his body when the cold water touched his skin, but soon the lake warmed up, while the whisps flickered around him.

 

 

When he was waist-deep in water, the shadows above him thickened and the water seemed to glow unnaturally. A very warm light, a very homely feeling.

 

 

—It's been a while —said a familliar voice behind him. It was a man's voice, grizzly, deep, almost sepulchral. Gawalin knew it very well.

—Fifty years, give or take.

—Gawalin, my boy, you've come so far... and these scars?

—Last crusade, Ork artillery shrapnel. As well as some hunting scars.

 

He tried to keep the answers to a minimum, so that he would not be drawn into the void of memory and oblivion, but also so he would not disrespect the memory of he who had been his mentor.

—Each year I forget more and more how it felt, to fight, to march, to bleed... but it's good to see you again, boy.

—Master Rollosse —Gawalin said—, it's a pleasure to see you again too.

—Are you here for Her?

—Yes.

—So I see... no courtesy for the old man.

—You know that's not true. There are new candles and frankincense every morning at your altar. Your portrait at the Genetorium is much revered, and your children are proud and strong. They are also all still alive.

—Yes, yes, I know... Allow me the privilege of mockery, now that I have little to care about. And I am immensely proud of my children. And of you, my novice. I can't see your badges, have your risen in rank since the last time?

Gawalin gave a glimpse of a smile.

—Well, somewhat, yes...

—Good news, good news! We should celebrate!

 

The Knight felt joy for the first time in a long time. He was about to say "yes", but a sudden pinch in his brain made him realise he was being dragged into the illusion. The Mists of Memory, as the elders called it. His heart froze in a moment, like a raindrop in the coldest of days. His face turned to stone.

 

—I'm here to see the Lady.

 

Rollosse was not there. He was alone again. A fleeting sensation invaded his body, the warmth of the sun on his skin. He knew the moment was near.

 

—I am here. —The Lady whispered. Her voice was cracked, very low-pitched, and her accent was... off, somehow. In a very unrecognisable way. She never spoke in the same voice or the same tone, but she always had the same impossibly subtle accent.

—We have seen the Omens, my Lady. I have been sent to consult and to beg for direction.

—You have been sent? How impersonal, my brave Gawalin. How... unwilling. Do you not want to see me?

 

The water splashed gently behind Gawalin. A woman, pale-skinned, dressed in white, carrying a chalice in her hand, walked on the water of the pond, in light that seemed to come out of nowhere. She reached his face with her hand and touched his forehead, and from there her finger descended following the broken bridge of his nose, the scar on the side of his face, the greying beard.

 

—Can I be blamed? —said Gawalin rashly. He did not step back, but he was growing impacient... no, tired. His mind was not at ease, resisting the Lady was proving more difficult than it had been before. This uneasiness manifested as impertinence.

—Of course —she said, bringing her finger to his cheek, and holding it as one holds the cheek of a loved one—. We are all masters of our own actions. Are we not?

—Are we?

—Oh boy, you come with more questions than I expected —the Lady removed her hand and walked about, encircling Gawalin—. Will I ever get a straight answer from you? You were always so pleasant, but also... I have always been able to see distrust in your eyes. A flicker of doubt.

 

Her hands were caressing his shoulders, but made sure to avoid the metal plugs, the implants and the adamantium prosthetic arm.

 

—Could it be —she continued— that you don't trust me?

—It is our creed and our belief, that we live by the Emperor's Will and the Lady's Mercy.

—"Our creed", "our belief"... what about your belief? What do you believe in, Gawalin?

—In myself —he said at once—, and in my duty, and my honour, and in the blood of my ancestors, the teachings of my preceptor, everything else is myth and supersti...

 

The Lady put a finger on his lips. Gawalin had slipped, and her spell was growing tighter. She made him reveal his deepest, most hidden thoughts. This was her power and her influence. Gawalin felt the water grow colder around him, and yet, his forehead began to sweat.

 

—Thoughts like these beget monsters, son. You are brave and clever, but you must not wander too far from the shore. The sea is... a dangerous place.

 

The waters were cooling down as the Lady walked further from Gawalin. In a moment, she was only a shape against the sun, almost impossible to distinguish from the darkness surrounding it.

 

—My Lady, please. Don't go...

—I have been here since the Iron Master was murdered —said her, now in a different voice, much more sombre, but as always, with the same uncanny accent— since the Murderer raised a bloody heart and claimed the start of a war he could never win. I have been here since this world teemed with the Children and since the Birth of Terror cracked the firmament. I watched your ancestors and your brothers, I've taken care of them. I know you, Gawalin. Do not hide your fears, I know them well. Do not fret, the enemy is not here. Only you and me.

—How can I know...? —Gawalin shouted, almost unable to control his own thoughts.

—Because I love you, my son —he felt her arms around him— I love you all.

—My Lady, I... —he began.

—Yes... —said she, face to face.

—...I have been sent to consult the Omens...

Her light vanished for a moment. The whisps buzzed about and produced a sound that could almost be described as a laughter.

—Indeed the Omens have been sent by the Starwalker —the voice came from behind his ear— Stars blacken, my son. Even here, a laughter of Ruin can be heard. The Eye is... the Eye is...

 

Gawalin felt lighter all of a sudden. The Lady had stopped talking, but he could feel her presence always behind him.

 

 

—My Lady?

 

The wisps all buzzed more and more excited. The water was as cold as ice, almost unbearably so. He had faced Orks big as a Leman Russ, Eldar legions of ruthless ability, the blue quelling rays of the Tau, he had looked the metallic dead machines in the eye and seen the green light of doom. He had done and seen all that, but then and there, all he wanted, deep down, was to leave that pond and chamber forever.

 

 

—The Eye... is open. The Pillars of Eternity have cracked. Dust to dust and ruin to men. The Gate is no more. The corpse is rotting on his heavenly plinth, never to be reborn. The Son of the Elders' Hope is an infant who knows no better...

She was now in front of him, staring him at the eyes, at a breath's distance. Her face was swollen and her skin, wax-like, showed alien factions.

—What does it mean? —he asked in a whisper— Where does the Omen point to? Where is the Grail?

—The Grail? —she scolded him, and added, in spiteful voice— Forget about the grail, knight.

She vanished again, but so did the wisps this time. Something cracked, and a thundering sound reverberated throughout the chamber. The water was freezing around him. He ran across the pond as fast as he could, trying to avoid the shards of ice that formed at his waist and below his feet. Stones fell from the high ceiling. The Lady shrieked:

—Abandon all hope, knights! The Age of Mortals is at an end. The stars blacken. The Voice of Man is gone. Ye are entering a time of untold horror. He thinks he can save them, the fool. Like father, like son. There is no salvation. There is no future. Prepare, knight! Prepare for the world's end!

 

The thunder stopped. The whisps were gone. The lake was frozen and its light had disappeared. Gawalin panted heavily, laying on the floor. What did it all mean? Why did the Lady take such offense? Was it his lack of faith?

 

 

He began to write down what he had heard on a piece of parchment by the doorway. The Grandmaster and the others had to learn about this. There would be no Errantry that year, maybe there would never again be one.

 

As he walked through the door, he looked back one last time. He thought he saw the shadow of a woman at the corner of his eye, but he could not fix his sight on her. He would never see the pond again, but he would hear the Lady again, twice more. Once, at his moment of greatest triumph, and once again, before his death.

 

Outside, the storm raged on, but darker and weirder, for above the clouds, the stars realigned. Strange constellations cruised the Heavens. The firmament had cracked, and a scar ran through the Galaxy.

[The Vanquisher]

This has a lot of potential, though I only grasped the concept of the story at say(85% Heheheheehehehe)..... I love it  Cèsar de Quart!.... Please continue, make more of this

[Brother Lunkhead]

A vey fine tale indeed Good narrative.... and I must say that for not being written in your primary language, well done. I think the dialogue between the Lady and Gawalin should have been more extensive though. Adding more allusion and description as to who the Lady might be or even multiple allusions to point to different possible origins just to tantalize the reader might be in order (definitely don't want to give the mystery away though).

 

On the whole it's an excellent piece that leaves me wanting more