Most knew of the Aghyrric Order through rumor, through ghost tales, but the truth of it was somewhat stranger: the blackened plate-armored sentinels that had appeared from nowhere to stand guard near seemingly-random groves and forest clearings were actually the accidental combined result of mycelial overgrowth and poor alchemical hygiene by the Royal Sorcerers. As it turns out, the Sorcerers’ magic was just as potent drunk as sober, and during one particularly bacchanalian celebration of recent breakthroughs, one young sorcerer—hot-headed from mead and eager to prove himself—had attempted a complicated spell. Summoner Alaine was not only quite unsuccessful in his casting, but had also been turned himself almost instantly to a noxious black dust, and managed to disappear another summoner entirely.
The dust of Summoner Alaine was disposed of by the maids, eternally patient and eternally unamused. When the eldest maid was done emptying the ash into the river, along with other refuse from the Sorcerer’s nightly carrying-on, she clapped her hands together to shake loose the remnants, and promptly turned into a large beech tree.
None of this was ever explained to the townsfolk, of course. So after the strangely potent ash had washed downstream, and after the 7-foot-tall, armored, immobile black knights sprouted seemingly overnight at five disparate areas of the Great Forest, those townsfolk were quite content to invent explanations of their own.
§
No one had gotten very near to the Knights of the Aghyrric Order, besides Wheelwright Wagner, who had been found the next day, cleaved completely in half at the waist. Much to the townsfolk’s surprise—and likely even more to Wheelwright Wagner’s—both halves were completely healed, a thin and blueish skin stretched over the bottom of the man’s detached torso.
Wheelwright Wagner described how the Knight had sprung to life when he got within a few meters of the glade, stepping forward with one foot and swinging its giant claymore sword upwards, directly through the wheelwright, and then immediately resuming its statuesque watch. When the novelty of the whole affair had worn off and the chores of the day loomed, the townsfolk dispersed. Wheelwright Wagner and the Legs of Wheelwright Wagner regarded each other warily for some time, and then made their way back to their shop on hands and feet, respectively, where they awkwardly attempted to resume the toil of wheelwrighting.
§
Had anyone somehow managed to get very near to any one of the Knights, they would’ve found the Knight to be even stranger than the fates of the maid or wheelwright. They would have seen the pieces of that heavy black plate armor, though shiny and segmented at a distance, were all connected to each other, joined underneath their broad protective surface through soft gossamer gills which breathed out a nearly imperceptible dark blue steam when the wind blew. They might have seen also that the ornate filigree decorating each plate—depictions of battles and nature scenes, heads of forgotten royalty, etcetera—all shifted uncannily, embossed hieroglyphs slowly animating in pictorial storytelling. And had someone gotten somehow closer than that, they would’ve noticed that the spout-shaped eye slit of each Knight’s stechhelm was full of an impossible darkness — like staring down the deepest, most perilous ravine in the kingdom.