Page 2 of 2 The tale continues, as if the writer has laid down his quill for some days. “I had walked for many hours, my only sustenance being a mouthful of blackberries (How this fruit of the autumn is to be found on this spring day, I know not) and a drink of water from a stream that I found, dancing its way through this increasingly dark forest. Finally, the track had opened out into a broader avenue, fringed by the tallest and, I must admit, finest trees I’ve ever seen. Their boughs covered in golden leaf, trunks with a rich green moss. I felt as if I was being accompanied, and upon turning, I found two of the tree-creatures known as Treekin were just a few paces behind me, my herdsmen at last to be visible to me. I decided to accept my fate, whatever has brought me here, it must be the hand of The Lady that guides me along the path I walk. The avenue had opened up into a broad, circular glade, with a most huge and ancient tree in its middle, vast beyond all comparison with even the mightiest Oak I’ve ever seen growing in our own realm. I felt my herdsmen close upon me, my arms being seized in their gnarled ‘fingers’. From the tree appeared smaller, lythe tree spirits, those called Dryads in legend, now a known fact to me. They stripped me of my arms, and ‘crowned’ me with a circlet of woven flowers. When they moved away, I could see that the glade had filled with more such beings, also that there were a multitude of Sylvan Elves of all ages and both sexes (It is hard to tell them apart, the Elven women wear armour and bear arms as do their menfolk but the time I’ve now spent with them (How long is it? I know not whether it is days, months or indeed, years) has taught me to detect the subtle differences. My herdsmen pushed by unto my knees and the babble of elven voices and the sounds made by the tree-folk suddenly hushed. I became aware of a be-winged elfess, who had taken a seat in front of the tree. The others in the glade bowed in reverence to this beauteous creature, matched only in looks by our own Lady, I believe they may be some relationship between them.
“I became aware of a sense of expectancy in this audience, their gaze was to one side, and in time I too became aware of a distant noise, the sound of a hunt, horns, calls, animal noises made by both horse and hound. The throng, as if by some unheard or unseen signal, all moved outwards, taking me with them, into a large circle. From the unseen side of the great tree, the hunt burst. In its van a creature of huge size, legs of a cloven beast, torso of a man, its huge head, with elven feautures, crowned by a shock of ‘hair’ woven with strands of ivy, horns such as seen on a great stag projected from its crown. This creature projected such an aura of power, that I was, to my shame, almost unable to control my limbs, stopping them from shaking and my bowels and bladder nearly vented themselves. This wild circus of being, riding elves and hounds, conducted three circuits of the tree, before disappearing momentarily behind the great oak, to reappear split into two columns, one each side. They formed an avenue of flesh, stretching between myself and the thrones, both now occupied, as the being had taken station upon the previously empty one. I saw him take the hand of the winged beauty, and gently bend his lips to it and kiss. It now spoke, the voice was like a wind of prodigious force, blowing through a forest at night. All around me, the inhabitants of the wood rose to their feet. His consort spoke too, her voice was as a babbling brook, coursing over a layer of stone. I realised whom it was that I was kneeling before, the Lord and Lady of Athel Loren, not myths, but real. Orion and his sorcerous consort, Ariel. My herdsmen propelled me towards them. As I neared, the beastial king let out what I assume was a roar of laughter at my obvious fear. At his side, between the two thrones, appeared another, normal (if any Elf can be looked upon as normal) elfen female. The beast turned and spoke to her. She in turn addressed me. ‘My Lord Orion bids you welcome to his realm, he orders you to feel no fear, as he has commanded that no harm befall you, at least for the present.’
“These words I found less than comforting, causing the beast to bellow its strange laughter again, joined by all bar his lovely consort. She arose, stifling the mirth, and approached me. Her hand touched my brow and I did feel suddenly calmed, whatever glamour she placed upon me soothed my fears. I first rose, then dropped upon one knee, it may be that I was no longer in my own realm, but I was and am still a member of the nobility of Bretonnia and thus still show due deference to both other nobility, no matter how strange they are. This elfen beauty curtsied to me and returned to her wooden throne. The beast again spoke to the interpreter, who relayed his oration to me once more. The gist of our strange conversation was thus, I had trespassed upon his realm, hunted his property (the white hart) without his permission, damaged his realm by my heavy footfall and attempts to cut my path to freedom and failed to bring a suitable gift for his consort, as was expected from any ambassador. My response was one of apology (what else could I have done, if the tables were turned I too would have levied such charges against an interloper to my own domain) and also to say I could not even think of a suitable gift to place before a person of such beauty as his wife possessed. I said that I could only offer my services to her as her champion. This reply and offer was relayed to this royal couple. It appeared to be received with favour, as the beast smiled and let out what could be regarded as a chuckle, the consort smiled and pronounced in perfect Bretonnian (thus adding to my concept of her and the True Lady being related) that my offer of service was acceptable as recompense for my crimes. She would send for me when these services were required. At this, my audience was at an end and I was returned not only my arms, but my mount was also brought before me. Whatever strange practices these Sylvans perform, their care of horses is equal to our own, my charger being groomed perfectly. My path out was indicated and I bowed once more to my hosts and mounted. Queen Ariel rose from her throne and again approached me, she presented a square of woven green cloth to me, which I tied to my pommel, before bowing and turning my horse in the direction they indicated.”
The diary has another pause here, the script changes somewhat. “My services have been called upon, how many times? – I’ve lost count, for how long? – I know not. Sometimes it seems every step my horse takes is like the passing of a season, it steps, the flowers of spring blossom, another step and the air is full of the bees of summer, a further step or two and the trees turn to their autumn hues, before a further pace and leaf falls all around us. My blade has been drenched in the blood of innumerable minions of Chaos, Beastmen, humans deformed in body or mind, even the most loathsome of demonic entities have been impaled upon my sword. I’ve lead the Wild Hunt, danced with the wild Elves called Wardancers, talked with the Forest Spirits, seen whole forests move across the ground. The Lady Ariel has now said I may return to my home, but she will call one last time upon my services, then I shall be freed for eternity”. From my interrogation of the witnesses, examination of the possessions of the knight and the reading of this diary, I conclude that he was indeed as he claimed, François, Duke Melmon of Quennelles. Taken from us 1000 years ago by the inhabitants of the Forest of Loren, returned and, as he was promised by their Queen, finally released from his servitude for the rest of eternity.
Your Loyal Servant
Viscompte Adam Gallon de Mansefield
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