A Knight of the Realms

April 23, 303 May the grace of God lend me strength in these lands. The sorcerer Archimago freed me and some of my brethren from the trials of Emperor Diocletian. By what means, I do not know. Yet his sorcery has brought us to what he calls the Realms, a place of wonder and beauty that even the greatest of poets could not fathom. Architecture that surpasses the glory of Rome: towers with foundations free of rock and soil, roads that shine like the rising sun and gates that with a single step lend passage to faraway lands. These marvels are both wonderful and terrifying to behold. Those who inhabit and call this place home are most peculiar. Archimago calls them Fae, and, though I have never crossed their paths before, they speak our language with ease and fluidity. As if natives of our homelands themselves. There is another amidst their company who also understands the workings of the Fae, a woman garbed in black; her speech is both familiar and foreign to me. Yet there is a comfort there, as if we were destined to venture forth upon distant roads. Her name is Una. George of Lydda

Year 512? Betrayal has been thrust upon me, enacted by the hands of the sorcerer himself. Dear Una, forgive me for my actions. I should never have doubted you. I ascended the steep winding steps along the mountainside, drawing closer to the wizard’s tower, seeking revenge for false dreams. Alas, Archimago is nowhere to be found. Instead I am greeted by the sight of massive stones, looming archways and enchanted thresholds. I cannot deny the grand view of the valley below, nested here high above the world. The presence of Duessa I can sense, but not of you. Light be upon me. Once I considered the workings of Fae a blessing from God, nowadays I am not so sure. Una, I hold on to you for I can no longer recall my time and place beyond the Realms. Years have passed since I first saw you, but, every time I return to the world of men, nothing is as it once was. Some days I can barely remember my own name, and remind myself that I am a knight of the red cross. If you should find this letter, seek me in the Realm of Annwn. Saint George

Year 1560? Ruins and scorched earth is all that remains. Was it here that I slew the great dragon, the terror of Eden? Or was this the kingdom of the round table? My memory fails me once more. Names come and go: Archimago, Duessa, Britomart… Una. I can feel them amidst the rubble as Knight Errants come and go, serving a Queen from the mortal realm. I used to partake in their journeys, back when they sought artefacts in the name of god and king, where bravery was tested and secrets unveiled. Alas, in the span of a millennia, I no longer recognise them. Their ranks dwindle, filled with warriors who guide and defend Druids and Hermetics as they themselves wither with age. While I, a saint, a martyr, a knight, remain lost to time. Perhaps we both have. Una, I feel compelled to leave this for you. The Fae reclaim this castle as I write, working their magick to restore its charm and beauty. They and you are my people now, my home. I only hope I will see you again. Knight of the Red Cross