The Storytellers Treasury - The Knight & The Vow Beneath Golden Boughs

[Starfelt 1437]

 

Spoiler

OOC INFO: 

(Will Update Later!)
Shop Stall Located - (TBA)

Publishing/Print House - (TBA)

(Discord - Starfelt)
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Special Shout out to KBR, and those of the Lorraine Discord for looking over my story and helping me get things going! & If you read the full story a thanks to you for taking the time! 

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Lorraine, where the echoes of ancient steeds and the whispered counsel of knights still linger, every stone, river, and forest holds a tale. The people of this proud place have, for centuries, lived by the twin pillars of honor and faith, shaping a culture steeped in chivalry, devotion, and courage. From the hallowed halls of noble courts to the mist-shrouded villages of the commonfolk, stories have always been the lifeblood of Lorraine, binding its people across generations and time.

It is to these stories, myths, and heroes that The Storytellers Treasury is devoted. Here, we gather the epic tales of knights and errants, the whispered folklore of fae and saints, and the lyrical verse of troubadours who have long celebrated love, valor, and virtue. Our pages seek to illuminate the grandeur of Lothringian heritage, to preserve the sagas of those who upheld the Cross, the lance, and the honor of their people, and to ensure that the songs of their deeds echo far beyond the forests and hills of Lorraine.

In the Treasury, you will find more than mere chronicles. You will find the legends of chevaliers who rode against impossible odds, the secrets of pilgrimage and relics, and the vibrant tapestry of a people who prize art and literature as fiercely as they prize valor on the battlefield. Here, the line between history and myth blurs, for every tale carries the heartbeat of Lorraine itself. The Storytellers Treasury is a place for all who seek to step into this world, whether as readers, writers, or chroniclers. We offer a haven where the legacy of Lothringian chivalry, faith, and artistry is not only remembered but celebrated, inviting you to lose yourself in the timeless dance of courage, honor, and wonder.

 

 

Spoiler

The Storytellers Treasury presently keeps the works of a small but distinguished circle of authors, each contributing their own voice and tradition to its growing shelves. This collection is only a beginning. As new authors step forward and new stories are entrusted to the Treasury, these voices will be joined by many more, and the shelves will continue to grow.

• Sebastien Jean-Chastel - A chronicler of Lorraine, Sebastien Jean-Chastel writes of Lothringian history, folklore, and legend, preserving the chivalric memory of the land through romances, mythic retellings, and accounts shaped by duty, faith, and honor.
• Pius della Fiore - A poet of refinement and restraint, Pius della Fiore crafts poems and sonnets concerned with beauty, longing, and devotion. His works favor measured verse and quiet emotion, drawing from courtly tradition and personal reflection alike.
• Thamir Bin Taariq al-Rashid - A keeper of Qalasheen tales, Thamir Bin Taariq al-Rashid records histories and folklore shaped by heat, wind, and ancient memory. His writings carry the cadence of the road and the weight of oral tradition, preserving stories passed from voice to voice across generations.

 

For those who wish to hold these stories in hand, physical copies of the first tale, and future works of the Treasury, may be found at our stall in Rittersburg, Little Lorraine.

Authors, poets, and chroniclers who wish to see their works kept, sold, and shared beneath the seal of the Storytellers Treasury are invited to reach out. If you carry a story worth preserving, there is room for it here. Many tales yet remain untold. All business inquiries may be directed to Sebastien Jean-Chastel.
 

 

 
 A Story By - Sebastien Jean-Chastel

The first story kept within the Storytellers Treasury is a romance of oath and quiet wonder. It follows a Lothringian knight sent to guard what his vows did not name, and the presence he finds waiting for him in the deep woods of Lorraine. Beneath gold leaves and watchful stone, duty softens into devotion, and faith is tested not by force, but by mercy. What passes between them is not claimed, nor spoken aloud, yet it binds all the same.

This is a tale of vows made where no court stands witness, of love that lingers rather than conquers, and of a knight who rides on changed, carrying something truer than glory. Thus begins the Storytellers Treasury, with a promise kept in shadow and remembered in silence. 

Spoiler

☨Theme☨

It started with a walk through the forests of Lorraine, those golden leaves obscuring the moonlight, breaking it into pale silver shafts that pierced the thicket below. An armor clad knight silently strode upon horseback, a torch held firm in his grasp, its fierce orange glow cutting through the softer silver of the night. He had not intended to be here. Exiled to the forest to patrol old shrines of bygone eras, this duty was a punishment, not an honor. And so he rode, deeper into the woods and further into the night, until at last he came upon it.

The shrine he was sent to guard, to watch over. The villagers spoke of a spirit- a lady of the woods that dwelled within the shrine, a guardian of pagans' ways, long cast aside. The knight believed little of such things, yet he found himself entranced by the shrine. It must have stood for centuries, and yet the details endured, time had not warped the stonework. A statue stood at its heart, - a beautiful fae-figure, arms outstretched as if to embrace. Nature had claimed it lovingly and embraced the statue, moss coating its back in a soft green shroud

The knight shifted uneasily within the dark. He dismounted and secured his horse’s reins around a tree, before turning back towards the statue.. It had changed..- the figure now knelt-one hand extended toward him in offering, in greeting. The knight stumbled and reached for his blade, lifting it defensively, only for the sword to be wrenched from his grasp and pulled into the darkness ahead. Shadows seemed to close in around him, the forest tightening its hold, his horse whinnying nervously at his side. Then a voice spoke, carried upon the wind, so soft it might have been missed by anyone less alert. “--Knight- oathbound..- You may kneel with honor, or lie without.” The words were half threat, half warning. 

The knight’s hands clambered about- scrambling for another weapon, hands moving towards his saddle, but as the voice sharpened, his motions slowed.  He turned back toward the shrine once more. It had changed again. The statue now held his sword, its tip pressed into the stone as both hands clasped the hilt. “Your hands remember peace. That is not the common choice.” The unseen spirit said, its words slicing cleanly through the air. This time the knight answered  “I am not your enemy spirit of old, I am here to guard your shrine in these times of strife- from those who would erase histories long past.” The forest fell silent. The wind held its breath. After a long moment, a softer voice whispered, “You stand watch for an old thing, unbaptized and unnamed.You would shield what your order calls false.?” The knight lifted the visor of his helm, revealing his face to shrine and spirit alike, and nodded. “Yes. The villagers hold you in their hearts, Lady of the Woods. I defend you in their name.” The spirit did not answer. Taking the silence as permission, the knight set about making camp. He laid out his bedroll, built a small fire, and fashioned his satchel into a crude pillow. He fetched water from a nearby stream for his horse, fed his companion, then settled before the fire, his gaze lingering on the looming shadow of the shrine. The fae statue still clutched his blade, tip pressed into stone.

The first night of his watch was quiet.. Leaves whispered overhead, and occasional gusts sent them tumbling through the firelight, the small fire offering a bit of respite within the dark night. He did not sleep at first, unwilling to risk it, until exhaustion claimed him and darkness crept gently into his thoughts. When he awoke it was gentle, a veil lifted from his eyes.. And before him stood a mighty stag- grazing calmly among the brush. Proud and unafraid, it strode toward the shrine and bowed its great antlers in reverence before casting the knight a single glance and vanishing into the trees.“Strength does not always hurry. The forest teaches some to endure, not to strike.” A voice spoke upon the wind once more, the knight surged to his feet in startled haste, helm discarded, golden hair spilling free as his blue eyes searched the woods. Slowly, memory returned, and his gaze settled once more on the statue..It appeared unchanged, his sword still pressed into stone, yet something felt different. The way the hands held the hilt, perhaps, or the angle of its arms. He could not name it, but he felt it all the same. The knight pushed the statue to the back of his mind, avoiding the idea of pagan spirits entirely as he shifted to climb onto his horse- stroking the creatures mane as he rode out into the forest, patrolling the lands around the shrine with a soft patience- enjoying the woods and the peace that came within them- even in such times of war.

Days passed in this calm rhythm. Nights beneath the golden canopy, days astride his horse. Until one evening, the wind spoke again, curious now, clearer. “When you kneel here, what are you asking for?” The knight was already kneeling, mid-prayer. “I ask god to protect my kin while I am far- my brothers in arms, I ask him to guide me while I walk upon this plane.” He spoke up quietly, eyes glancing to the shrine- the fae-statue still holding onto his longsword, clutched within its grasp, tip downwards to the stone beneath it.  “And I ask if you ever intend to return my sword. I am far more capable with it than without.” He advised with a bit of annoyance. “You will reclaim it only when you turn from this shrine. Until then, it rests in my keeping.” the spirit replied gently. Then, after a pause  “Carry your journeys to me, for I have stood here and watched none. Describe the world that stretches past this wood, that I might follow it with your words.” The voice asked. So did the knight speak, tell tales of his knightly quests, his chivalry duties,- he found himself detailing his life, his family, his kin- further even his goals.. His hopes, his ideas for the future of his people. - The voice upon the wind didn’t speak back.. But the knight knew it had heard him in full, and as the knight finished with his recollection, night had set upon the forest.. And he found rest came easily that night.

The next morning did not lift akin to a veil, it was torn into being, dragged from the depths of slumber as a blade pommel found itself brought upon the sleeping knight's head. Dazed he shifted upwards- held in place by the enemies of his kingdom. “A pious knight guarding a heathen’s shrine? Foolish boy, you stand on cursed ground. Kneel to your true king, not to whispers of the old woods!” the leader of the war-party spoke unto the knight. The beating was brutal. Outnumbered, the knight endured blow after blow, fighting back when he could, refusing to let them see his faith broken. Even when consciousness fled him, they did not stop. His heart thundered, then faded, and he stepped into the space between worlds. But the release of death did not come… instead a voice upon the wind spoke … “I have held the forest longer than men. I will hold you now. No iron, no fury, can touch you while I am near. I do not bargain with death. Not for you, my… Knight.” 

When he awoke again, it was in pain- his body screamed from it, ached with it. His eyes struggled to open, but when they did.. The sight laid out before the knight was strange entirely.. The men laid out around him, they looked as if they were in some form of slumber, he would have believed such had it not been for the red ichor that leaked out of wounds placed over their hearts- punctured through their armor. His gaze then shifted to the fae-statue.. It stood, different but the same.. His longsword pointed downwards, tip pressed into the stone of the shrine yet.. A drop of red ichor crawling, tracing downwards along the edges of the blade. The knight stared- he knew what the spirit had done, but he had not known why.. “Lady Of The Woods..- please.. Speak unto me, why save me.. A knight.. Whose order calls you false, who has shown you little kindness in truth?” The voice upon the wind did not answer at once,then, softly, as though the words were being set down rather than spoken  “You mistake me. You have shown me no small kindness.” A pause, long enough that the knight might have thought the voice gone.“You stood when others would have struck. You listened when iron was taken from you. You kept watch over what your vows did not require.” The air seemed to settle, heavy and close. “They came with faith sharpened into cruelty. You came with duty worn thin by mercy.” Another pause, quieter still. “You did not raise your blade for glory. You raised it because something here mattered.” The unseen presence lingered near him, not touching, but unmistakably close. “I did not save a knight of an order,” the spirit said. “I saved the man who chose to remain.” A final line, almost a confession, spoken low enough it felt meant only for him “And I would not let them take my protector.” The knight didn’t have the strength to reply.. Satisfied with the spirit's response he quieted, resting.. Healing.

 

The knight's dreams came quickly.. He was in a golden forest- but it was different from the one he had been in previously, this one was bright, embraced in a constant golden light, the forest floor dotted with scarlet red roses, and before him.. The stag he had seen in the forest stood- proud, strong, mighty.. Its antlers, tall and massive, looming, but the noble creature seemed at peace with the knight's presence as it turned and began into the forest.. so the Knight followed.. Walking through the warm rays of golden sunlight that reached through the canopy of trees- his gaze lifting upwards only to find that the canopy never ended, the trees expanded far.. High, and yet those rays remained unbroken, distinct, warm and pleasant as they shimmered over his face- his body.. And then he saw them- a looming figure standing amongst the thicket, long onyx colored locks  braided into intricate patterns and decorated with olive branches and the red roses of the forest, soft defined features, a thin frame draped in silks of amber, and gold. There they stood- plucking free a singular pomegranate from a mighty fruit tree a jet black raven perched upon the branches- before the figure sunk their fingers into the flesh of the fruit, the ichor of the fruit dripping down their fingers and wrists. “You are… more than the wind in the trees, more than the light between the leaves… and yet I feel you here. I would kneel forever in your presence if it meant I could remain near you.” The knight spoke as he stepped before the fae-figure, coming to kneel before them as his gaze lowered from their sights.

And then they spoke.. Their voice sweet like the scent of wildflowers and honey upon a summer breeze “You would kneel, and yet your heart stands taller than you know. The light, the wind, the leaves-  they are nothing beside the weight of your heart here.” The figure spoke, hand reaching forwards to grasp and cup the knights cheek, lifting their gaze upwards to settle over their own. “Step close, knight. Let the wind and leaves be our music, if only for a moment. If this is our last night, let us dance as though no shadow can touch us. Take my hand. Let us move, just once, before the light calls you away.” And so, the knight extended his hand outwards to take up the faes, only to place his lips against the top of their hand, and then with a flourish the knight lead the spirit into a dance, showing the spirit how the men and women of the mortal courts dance, regal, defined, step by step. The spirit mimicked his steps with flair and added twirls, before they twisted and grasped for the knight, drawing him into one of the dances of the fae-courts - wild, dramatic, with flair and without reason. The nature around them joined in on the movements as the wind caught up and carried golden leaves up into the air, only for the leaves to cascade in a gentle fall back to the ground once the winds shifted. The knight had to forget his courtly teachings, and instead he relied on the spirit before him to guide him, along with his own instincts. Slowly the dance evens out.. A mix of the two partners entwined, mortal and fae. The world spun around the pair- before they found themselves in a moment of passion, lips meeting… 

“Vow this to me, your sword will never fall from honor, and your heart will remember what is true, even if no one else does.Promise me, as you have protected me, that you will protect what deserves it, beyond all eyes and kings. Vow to carry what you have learned here, the trust, the closeness… and let it stay with you, quietly, always.” The spirit spoke out softly as their night together came to an end

“I swear it… every step I take, every battle I fight, I will carry this with me. I will not forget what I owe you, nor what you have shown me. I vow it… your memory will be with me, in every heartbeat and every silent watch I keep. What is true, I will guard, as I have guarded you.” The knight bid with a soft reverence as he cupped the fae’s cheek..

And then he awoke, his body laid out upon the shrine as the fae-statue stood over him- hands held outwards as if to embrace. His longsword within his hands, folded over his person.. His wounds.. Healed completely- the bodies of the men that attacked.. In one of the latter stages of decay..- his horse stood nearby, untethered from the tree he was prior tied to, his mane longer- the thicket around the knight seemingly overgrown..- and then he rose to his feet.. Casting his gaze backwards over the shrine as he pondered what had happened… and like that the shrine collapsed into rubble, whatever magic holding it together blew away within the gentle breeze that made its way through the forest- sending those golden leaves cascading around the knight.. Who carefully mounted his horse, and began the journey home Changed. Roses now decorating the golden forest floor- and a curious raven loomed high in the sky, soaring free upon the winds… 

Written By- Sebastien Jean-Chastel (Starfelt)

 

 

 

The Storytellers Treasury does not close with a single tale.

More stories of Lorraine, and other realms will follow- romances and legends, myths half remembered, and the lives of heroes whose names deserve to be spoken again. New voices and new hands will soon join the Treasury, each adding their own telling to its growing shelves.

(A Business of the Rittersburg Business Association)

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