Phantoms Beneath the Apple Tree [Black Ticket Thread]

[Cen]

The road was untouched. Vines had grown across the path long ago, leaves from decades ago had fallen and decayed, leaving only a dirt like residue that was dried by time in lieu of the sun, as the road was blocked from nearly all of the light of the sun. Nobody had taken this old road in almost sixty years, not since Cen's grandfather had gone as a boy with his own father. They had gone to clean the burial site of their ancestor, Cedidale, the greatest Knight of Cornwell who had died a rancher in servitude to the Marques he'd once fought to protect. Of course he hadn't died in the stable or his bed, instead he died out in an apple orchard on a morning ride, set upon by bandits in his old age. For generations men who had been given his name and his dream to restore their family to their knightly status would travel to the man's shrine to clear away the vines and grime that covered it as a right of passage. However, Cen's father had chosen to throw away the call to knighthood, and had decided against going to the tomb and shrine, also avoiding taking Cedidale, Cen's oldest brother.

It was a misty morning, the ground was covered in a translucent layer of the thick air as Thunder's heavy hooves beat down in a rhythm against the road that had been reclaimed by nature. Every few yards, Thunder pulled up, and his rider had to place a hand against his neck, and press his knees to his side again. Then the horse would begin once more to walk forward, only to stop again. He was spooked, his ears were pressed like he was alert, and even while walking the usually focused horse swung his head back and forth to look about the forest. Usually the massive beast was showy and bold, but now it was cautious and slow. Cen didn't like that the horse was in such disarray, but he had decided to do this, to come and give his ancestor what he deserved. He would press on.

He must have been getting close, he began to see apples in the trees, and he had hear the call of thrushes. That was how the story went, Cedidale the First had died beneath an apple tree while the cry of thrushes sounded overhead. Attacked by bandits as a sixty four year old man, protecting a mother and child, a wound in his side slowly sapping his life away. He'd then been buried beneath the same tree, his shield and his lance kept by the side of his tomb. The seclusion of the area had kept the shrine free of robbers, and the mountains to the north along with the surrounding trees made the tomb safe from the elements for the most part. In truth, it was a perfect resting place for the afterlife of a man who's life had been dedicated to the safety of others. It was just so far away from the farm that his family now called home.

At another one of Thunder's fits, Cen tried to spur his horse on, but the massive animal wouldn't budge. He stood,s knees locked, gaze fixed on a single point. Cen followed his mount's eyes, and saw there an odd swirl of the mist, that suddenly began to rise and grow, until it was a massive cloud that reached almost as high as Thunder's head. Then in a rush, the mist flew away in every direction, and instead of mist or nothing at all, there stood a man. He looked vaguely like Cen remembered his great uncle looking when he'd met the man as a child, but he had sharper features, and the man was only about five foot six, which was far shorter than most of the men in Cen's family. His hair was dark green with massive streaks of gray, his eyes were light gray, and he had a mustache as thick as a mule's mane. The man's face was covered in lines of worry and stress, but those eyes that peeked through his bushy brows held in them a familiar optimism to the young rider. He wore clothes similar to any farmers, but his left side had the shirt torn up, and his stomach looked bloody and torn from what Cen could see.

As rider and horse looked at the man in horror, both too shocked at what they'd just seen to move, a soft smile lit his face. "Howdy there kiddo. Boy, you sure don't look a lot like the rest of 'em."

[Cen]

The horse and his rider both looked on at the man with utter shock in their eyes and their mouths hanging open. Both of them, Thunder's mouth was agape. At the same time as his horse's neigh, Cen let a shout escape his lips, "Who are you? What are you?" The man smiled through his thick green mustache, and then began to laugh, placing his hands on his hips. He had a thick chest, even for an old man, and a set of shoulders that one day must have been capable of crushing a man in his youth. His eyes held a familiar twinkle, a completely comfortable set of eyes that could make one feel safe in the head of a complete stranger.

"My name's Cedidale. Guess it's been long enough since someone came down here that nobody remembers what I look like. That's just fine. You, you're one of mine aren't you?" Cen gripped the reins of his horse a bit tighter wrapping them over his wrist once more. He crossed his right hand over his hip, and wrapped his fingers about the hilt of his arming sword so tightly that his knuckled were white in seconds. An insane man had just appeared from an explosion of mist, and was claiming he was Cedidale. Cen had never met his oldest brother, but he knew that the man was almost as tall as he, and that their hair was the same color. This man wasn't his father, he wasn't his brother. Those were the only living Cedidales. Meaning, this man was insane.

"My name is Cen, son of Cedidale, of Cornwell." The man smiled. "So you're not the oldest then. That's a bit odd. Most of the time, the oldest one comes for me. That's fine though, you being here means'yer probably the one who's the most sentimental. Y'can follow me kid." He turned and immediately began to walk, a thin trail of mist following him as he went. Thunder didn't move. Cen didn't move. "C'mon kid, I haven't talked to anybody in about eight hundred years. I have a lot to say." The tall rider hesitated. Following a crazy misty man, it didn't seem like a very smart move. He made a lot of moves that weren't particularly smart.

He pressed his knees to his massive horse's ribs, and Thunder began to follow the man of mist. It was odd, but Thunder had been getting more comfortable with the man every moment since he'd appeared, to the point that now he was moving normally, without the same hesitation he'd had before. "Who are you? Really. Really who are you? How do you know I'm not the oldest kid?"

The man slowed himself enough that Thunder came to stand beside him. He ran his hand along the big horse's nose, and Thunder neighed in the same way he seemed to do when he found something Cen did comical. A mist man just brushed Thunder's nose, this was a completely fine day, Cen wasn't snapping. "I'm Cedidale." "The Cedidale?"

"Yes."

[Cen]

Oh so then Cen was snapping. That was fantastic. The magical man who could just appear out of the mist was his great great great great great and also another number of greats grandfather, and he was fine. He was just fine, walking through the early mist on the chilled day. Cen had snapped, and he was now in his death throws of sanity, slowly slipping away from the light of his final moments seeing clearly. Great. Fantastic, Cen was glad this was happening. He nudged Thunder, and the horse kept moving, Cen's misty ancestor walking in the front.

"I don't know if I believe you." Cen's voice was weak, like a child asking for a treat from his mother, hoping his father didn't hear. It was a voice he'd used a lot as a child, and his father had often heard him. He'd never gotten many treats. However, instead of yelling about how the tall nine year old couldn't have any more custard, the misty weird man simply laughed at the grown man.

"Well kid I don't blame you, but I am the true Cedidale, without flesh or bone. You must forgive my sudden appearance. It's been so long since any of you boys came to see me, I felt my blood making its way back to my tomb and I began to boil in my grave, this is the first time my spirit has risen since my death, I'm sorry that I forgot what being a specter means." After a few more steps, the misty man with olive hair stopped and threw his head back in a massive laugh. "I must sound ridiculous saying sorry so much, sorry about that. Oh, I said it again."

The lime haired Cornwellian laughed for a second at the old man who was actually either a ghost or a figment of his crumbling mind. "Actually, you um, sound a bit like me when I feel like ah've messed up." The misty man that didn't exist turned and looked at the tall rider, his smile twisting the left side of his thick mustache up.

They made their way for a few feet, then the man looked back up at him again, "So Cen, you the second boy?" Cen shook his head, figuring it was most likely the wisest course of action for him to just willingly talk to the weird ghost man he said, "Fourth kid, third son."

As they walked Cedidale nodded, and smiled again. "That makes sense, my third son was the most sentimental. That's probably why you're the one coming to see-" The voice of the phantom was cut off by a high pitched scream. Both Cen and Cedidale snapped their necks to look ahead of them. Cen could barely make out what looked like a small shrine, that must have been what he came for. In front of it was a mother clutching her young daughter, being circled by five brigands.

At the same moment, Cen pressed his knees to Thunder's sides and from the mist erupted a phantom horse at full gallop. As Cedidale the first drew a phantom saber from his saddle, Cen son of Cedidale pulled Sleipnir free, and the ancient knight and the youthful squire rode hard to the rescue of the mother and daughter.

[Cen]

The ancient Knight of Cornwell atop his ghostly horse rode with a confidence his corporeal descendant couldn't match. If he was seeing things, if this apparition beside him was only in his head, he couldn't tell if the brigands or even the woman was real. He did not want to tilt with windmills. Still, on the off chance his mind was working, he couldn't turn away. He held Sleipnir loose enough that it kept true instead of rocking with every step of his monstrous horse's gallop. He pressed his legs tight to the horse's sides, tightening his position on his back and holding himself steadily in place. It also worked to make himself a smaller target.

A few moments before he would have clashed with one of the bandits, he allowed himself to give another look to Cedidale. The man sat his saddle in nearly the exact same fashion as Cen, the only major difference being a slight flare with his feet. Cen pointed his toes down, Cedidale had his pointed up. Other than that, the shorter, darker haired, older man sat his saddle the same way as the younger one. The younger one was real though. At just the last moment, Cen snapped his head back forward, to see one of the brigands had started running at him, sword over head. With a rough pull of his reins, Cen sent Thunder galloping to the right, so that he passed the brigand away from the range of the shortsword in the man's hand. There were three brigands in total, and Cen directed Thunder's path around the first and so that he would ride in between the bandit and the mother and daughter who hugged each other on the ground.

Cen thrust Sleipnir over Thunder's head and tried to pass the second brigand, this one with a lance, and tried to thrust his own at the bandit's chest. However, his opponent twisted away from Sleipnir, and aimed his own thrust at Cen's side. THe spearhead tore through the skin below his bicep, and Cen cried out in pain. Well. This was real.

He kept Thunder moving, wheeling about the mother, circling back towards the bandit with a lance. When the distance was closed, he thrust his lance down, and succeeded in piercing the man's right shoulder with Sleipnir. As he began to pull the lightweight weapon back for a second attack, the sword of the first bandit took him in the shoulder, clanging off the pauldron he wore. It caused his first wound to wring with even more pain, and he almost lost his grip on the reins of his horse. From the other side of the clearing, Cedidale's voice came loud and clear, "What you might need is a shield kid." As Cen rode away from his pair of attackers, he saw Cedidale locked in combat with the third bandit, their swords clashing. While he spied him, from the mist that still obscured the feet and hooves of all around the small clearing, suddenly soun a familiar cyclone towards Cedidale's rein hand, and a massive kite shield made of a thin wood covered his hand. The thing was tall but it looked so thin that must not have been able to withstand two blows.

Cen shouted back as he wheeled about, "Don't have one!" Cedidale grunted as his shield withstood a rough blow. "Take mine! Beneath the apple tree." Cen turned and saw it, the tomb, a stone coffin beneath the shadow of a tall long dead apple tree. Clicking his heels into Thunder's sides he went full tilt towards the tomb.

Upon reaching it, he saw on top there was a rusted sword of the exact make as the one Cedidale now fought with. Beside it was a shield that looked again to be the same as the one held by Cedidale. It was oak, intricately designed, and a fourth down from its rounded top, there was a perfectly circular gray stone. Cen lofted it as quick as he could and thrust his fist through the rough leather straps on the back. He turned around, and saw both bandits moving toward the mother and daughter. Thunder went into a harsh gallop.

He reached the two men in time to be between them and their target. The man with the sword aimed a hard blow at him, but Cen moved the shield to block it. As it came, he saw that it was a blow with incredible strength behind it. It would probably shatter the shield, if not dislocate his arm. The sword rang against the shield, but the oak stood strong, and his arm stung with a bit of recoil, but not nearly as it should have. Well. This was real?

[Cen]

The misty brigand was thrown back from the impact with the shield, his sword being forced back as if the man had aimed his hardest strike at a mountain of solid stone. However, the tall Cornwellian was given no time to ponder the implications of his flimsy shield holding fast or the man being sent reeling, for the brigand with the lance rushed for him, and Cen was forced to bat the spear thrust away with the shield of his ancestor. This time, the man was not sent back, meaning that the shield did not through some off fashion bounce an attack back towards an opponent. Perhaps the man had simply misjudged his swing, and stumbled. Yes, that must have been it.

Before either of the brigands could regain their composure, Cen kicked Thunder's sides, and sent his horse into a gallop. He put some distance behind himself, and then brought his horse to wheel about, and rode for the man with the sword. The astral bandit was just rising again when Cen made his pass, Thunder true to his name filling the clearing with the sound of his massive hooves beating against the earth below him. Sleipnir made its first cut into the man's cheek with a quick thrust, then the tall rider brought his lance back before driving it down, and driving it into the brigand's hip. As his massive horse rode on, the serrated blade of Sleipnir's head wrenched itself free.

Now riding hard for the bandit with the lance, Cen gripped his reins tight. It was entirely different riding with this massive shield hanging on his arm, his hand barely passed the straps on its back and yet gripping his reins. When he was just in range of the second bandit, the man lunged, and attacked him from his right side. Cen's lance was in his right hand, the shield on his left arm. He had no way of protecting himself but to twist and shift his weight in the saddle, and that barely saved the young man's life, as the point of the other man's spear drove into the metal of his breastplate and not into the flesh of his throat. Thunder did not stop, he kept moving hard and fast, before Cen wheeled him back around for another pass.

As the horse hit his full stride once more, Cen made sure both brigands would be on his left side, then brought his right arm higher, fighting through the slight difficulty of the horrible pain that he felt. Not a big deal, just a triumph of the human spirit was all. As he rode past the man with the lance, he barely registered as an ill timed thrust of his opponent's lance bashed uselessly against the stone at the very center of the top portion of his shield. A quick jab of his own aimed too late for the man's chest passed through the man's arm, and though it produced only a trail of mist from either side of the cut, the arm flopped uselessly at the man's side.

Passing him, Cen reached the other man, the one with the sword. Quickly aiming a thrust at the man's head, Cen found that the spectre still had strength enough to dash it aside. However, the man's block left him exposed, and Cen's deadly spear, it's shaft light as hollow bone, dove into his open chest. Without a sound, the man's body evaporated into fog around the Cornwellian's weapon, and Thunder rode on. Cen looked back, Cedidal was still faring well, but perhapse he could assist his ghostly ally and ancestor.

[Cen]

Thunder's hooves bashing the earth beneath them filled Cen's ears to the point that he blocked out the rest of the world. He could only smell the horse, his own sweat, and the scent of the wild apples that hung from a few of the trees of the wood. He could only feel the strap of the shield around his wrist, the reins in his left hand, and the oak haft of his Lance in the right. His he could only taste his own dry hot breath that always accompanied riding in a battle. He could only see the man fighting his apparitional ancestor.

When he passed that man, the sound of his lance tearing the air reached his ears, and like it had before, his spearhead burst through the mist of the man's shoulder. When he pulled it out, there remained a hole in the phantom's form, the edges of the 'wound' whirling as the mist dissipated. Pulling harshly on his horse's reins, the massive mount turned, and barreled toward the most troublesome of the brigands. He heard Cedidale let out a yell of energy, and assumed the best, that the ghost he preferred had ended the other.

With his shield in position, Cen rode to make a pass at the last bandit, who was staring him down, lance in hand. When the pair were in range of the other's lance, they both aimed their thrusts, and drove them home. Had it not been for Cen's new shield, he'd have been dead. His enemy's spear glanced off the edge of the massive thing, and tore through Cen's right cheek, drawing a thick line of very real blood. Sleipnir tore through the spectral chest of the other man, and quickly the mistral foe was no more.

Suddenly, it was only Cedidale, the pair of innocents, the horse, and the rider. Slipping Sleipnir into the hole on his saddle, Cen dismounted with one swing of his long legs, and landed on the ground below. He quickly pulled his flask from his smaller saddle bag, and a rag from the larger one. The tall Cornwellian dashed the Whiskey onto the rag, then pressed it onto his face, gritting his face to the sting. He'd need to try and sew the wound, that or burn it. Treating had never been his finest area back in Laus as a Page.

When Cen looked back at the center of the clearing, he saw both the mother and child, in the arms of Cedidale, the old knight smiling bigger than Cen had probably ever seen a man smile. The former Squire hustled over to them, but before he could reach them, the other forms dissipated and only Cedidale remained. The wily Knight smiled as he looked at Cen, "You know, I didn't need a thank you when I fought those bandits the first time, didn't get it of course. The last one there with the lance had put me down just when I did the same to him. This though... this was nice."

He looked up at Cen, then let his eyes fall to the shield still strapped on Cen's wrist. "Stoneoak suits you."

[Cen]

Blushing slightly, the tall rider looked down to his wrist, where the tall thin shield rested. "Oh rahght. Sorry 'bout that." He quickly worked to unstrap it from his wrist, and began to extend his apology, "Ah wasn't gonna keep it, my ma always told me if you robbed a grave you'd get eaten by a dragon. Of course that's just superstition, but ah wouldn't want to steal from a grave anyway. It'd feel wrong." For a moment, Cedidale simply smiled at his descendant with a twinkle to his eye, but then he waved his hand. "No, no, I think you should keep it. Roland knows I don't need it."

Cen's face twisted, and he looked down at the shield. "Ah can't-" Nonsense, you can go out and use it, for me. I'm long dead kid, sitting here as a nothing, I had assumed good was gone from the world." The clouds shifted overhead, and thick beams of light began to shine through the thick brush. The phantom turned, and watched a pair of birds fluttering about. Their song was as happy as any other, but their flight was anything but tranquil. A small red robin, his chest red as fresh blood was fighting a blue jay almost twice his size away from his nest. Still, the battle cry of the fearsome sentry touched Cen's ears like a lovely warble. It wasn't too long before the Blue Jay flew off, and Cedidale laughed in front of his descendant. He then turned back, and the same twinkle rested in his eyes, "Then you came."

The tip of "Stoneoak" hit the dirt below, and Cen placed both his hands on the top. "Stoneoak's a spectacular thing isn't it? I received it as a gift from my Marquess after the battle in which I became a Knight. I fought a big man, massive, Knight of Caelin. He swung this long chain with an iron ball the size of your fist attached at the end. He killed two of the boys who'd been picked up with me from the village, and none of the Knights around him were doing anything about it." Wait, what? "So I stepped forward, and I faced him down. By the time I was close enough to the big man, he'd shattered the little shield I was wearing, and he broke my left arm when he did it. I still brought him down, and pried the crest from his chest." His eyes were lit with a different fire now, as nostalgia overtook him. Cen was in a state of shock. This contradicted nearly everything he'd ever heard.

"I was brought in front of the Marquess along with one other, and I was made a Knight. It was one of the best days of my life. Then my lord realized I was without a shield, and at the same time as his mystic used his ways to fix my arm, a shield was brought from the Marquess' armory. They told me it had been a gift some time ago, and they called it Stoneoak. They told me only to use it in public for a short time, a proper shield would be crafted for me. So I didn't use it, but the next three shields I wore broke in battle same as the first. One day Stoneoak was all I had, and I needed it. A group of raiders was attacking a small hovel, and I was merely passing through. I rode to the defense of the innocent, and when a blow that should have shattered Stoneoak crashed against it, it did nothing. I won the day."

"So when I returned to Castle Cornwell, I searched the records on the shield. I'd learned to read by then thank Roland, I don't think I could have waited for some scribe to read it all out to me. The shield had been a gift to commemorate the finishing of the castle itself. A great forest of oak had been cleared to make way for the castle, and the stone at the shield's center had been below one of the tree's roots. The wood and stone were forged into the shield, likely meant to only be looked at. It sat collecting dust in the store until they gifted it to me. I found something else, an old legend. I knew that Cornwell Keep had been built on a battle field, but I did not know that it had been in the Scouring. According to an old story, at the end of the battle an old druid had buried a flat stone circle to help the dead in their passing. Eventually, a forest grew up across the battlefield, and eventually Cornwell took its place."

Cen couldn't believe that. That this shield couldn't break was one thing, that it was almost a thousand years old was another, but Cedidale having won his Knighthood? His family had for ages believed themselves to have been from a noble house, as old as Cornwell itself. They would be taking back their rightful place if they won their name back. Now however, he knew that to be a lie. Cedidale the first had simply had a moment in the sun, and his children had been chasing after that same light ever since. Cen's heart dropped, his dream seemed farther away than ever.

The mist began to fade, and Cedidale laughed. "This was nice kid. I haven't talked about the old days in ages. It felt... good. Please, use Stoneoak. I never knew a man who jumped to save those in peril as fast as me. I think you might have been a hair quicker." As he spoke, the stocky man slowly began to fade away, leaving Cen in the now brightly lit bit of wood. The tall rider walked over to Thunder, and secured Stoneoak to the saddle. Then he started the short walk to the shrine. It was time to do what he'd come to finish.

---

Cen rode back through the dirty path with a grin plastered on his face. His resolve to chase Knighthood had swelled once more, perhaps higher than it had ever been. The Epitath on Cedidale's tomb had been visible once it was cleaned, and it had read:

'Here lies Julius, once Sir Julius Cedidale named for the now gone village of his birth bearing the same name. Though he lived nearly all his years as a Knight, he was born a farm boy, as Cen son of Gaius.

[End Thread]