Chapter 12: Archer's Tale + Paladin's Tale + Knight's Tale
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Baron Wilfrey is a tricky fiend to track down. The Falcon Forest is a dense and difficult place to navigate. Without the elf here to show me his maps, I found it easy to get lost. Thankfully, I know a thing or two about Sorceror spells too and knew how to use Location to calculate my position.
When I revealed myself from my hiding spot and jumped out right before Baron Wilfrey, the rogue made a grand display of showing off his trained falcon and sending it away, that he might draw forth his leather glove and throw it at my foot in challenge.
Yessiree, Dwarves are a common sense lot. At the same time he was throwing his glove at my foot, I was throwing an arrow into his head, right through the visor.
"Don't try to impress a dwarf next time."
-Deanna
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Let vigilance be my shield, to protect us from our squalid pasts.
Let faith be my weapon with which I carve a path to a stronger future.
I am NOT afraid.
The Almighties are my steward, and I SHALL NOT fear.
For I believe that if it is my time to leave this mortal coil, I shall go with no fear or regrets. Not even death may separate me from my beloved Alicia.
And if it is not yet my time, o demon dragon -- then there is NO FORCE OF MIGHT OR MAGIC that may stop me!
The faith in my soul is my light. And the light be my strength.
Thank you, Almighties--that the light shine on this humble warrior.
Amen.
-Samuel
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Day 100,
The Dread Knight was not a difficult foe to find. In this stretch of woods called the Jouster's Way, he had welcomed so many comers and slain so many that a spectacle had erupted here. Multicolored tents housed various well-to-do sightseers and minor nobles.
In this time of anarchy, apparently, the Triple Crown arenas weren't good enough. They demanded blood. The matches here were to the death.
As I arrived, the Dread Knight himself was engaged in a joust with a young aspirant. A youth who cried out in hopeful vengeance for a friend who had similarly been cut down by the dread warrior.
Vengeance was not his that day. For with one single pass, the aspirant was knocked from his horse. And as the Dread Knight approached and the youth begged for mercy, the knight only laughed and delivered his 'mercy' in the form of a blow that caused instant death, to the raucous cheer of the assembled peanut gallery.
The whole sight of it sickened me. And not because I have an aversion to blood sport. I believe even a blood sport between warriors can involve fair, glorious combat. But this...there was no honor in it all. I had certainly lived with a dearth of honor in my younger days crawling around Varn with Faulkner, but in the time since we'd started traveling as a group, I'd yearned for something with a little more glory in it. And now, to see this reminder of my youth lain before me, I was sick of it.
So I threw down my challenge immediately to the jeers of the crowd. And the Dread Knight accepted and began to turn his steed to face me down.
I had no steed myself. And at this, the crowd erupted in uproarious jeering laughter. To them, it looked like yet another contestant walking into certain suicide. And for his honorless part, the Dread Knight did not dismount himself--opting instead to charge at me from his superior position.
I stood my ground and watched carefully and spied my opportunity. The steed was restless. Tired and unsteady. It was not as 'broken' at the Dread Knight was treating it. And there was my chance.
Feeling the feral basal rage of my half-orcish blood rising within me, I worked myself into a frenzy--and when the horse was just barely several yards from me--I made an enormous display of brandishing my flamberge, point-side out, like a spear held above me, and let loose an ear-piercing warcry!
Startled by the display, the steed skidded to a stop in its tracks, nearly falling over itself and rearing up with a frightened whinny, the Dread Knight appearing confused and losing his balance, dropping his lance as the crowd suddenly fell silent and watched solemnly.
And there--with the horse reared up and the Dread Knight unsteady, I reared back and threw my flamberge as hard as I could. It toppled end over end, until the heavy flat side of the blade knocked the Dread Knight right in his face and sent him sprawling to the ground in a cloud of dust. The horse galloping away without a second thought.
I may not be as strong as your typical half-orc. But I pride myself on my accuracy. When I hit you...it's always PRECISELY where.I.mean.to.
Among the murmurs of the crowd, I walked toward the supine figure of the Dread Knight, pausing only to retrieve my flamberge from its nearby resting place.
As I stood over the knight and he shuddered in fear at my obvious victory over him--he suddenly whimpered and begged for mercy.
"HE BEGS FOR MERCY!" I shouted for the crowds to hear. They responded with jubilant boos and jeers. This time directed at the fallen warrior who was, only moments ago, their favored champion. The chant began erupting from the stands. "BLOOD! BLOOD! BLOOD!" Their cries spoke to the adrenaline and anger I felt raging through me, and I returned to the fallen one and prepared to give him the death he so richly deserved.
"For the love of the almighties! On your honor as a knight give me mercy!" the pitiful man cried.
At this, perhaps because of his choice of words--I stayed my hand and felt some of the bloodlust leave me. I motioned for the crowd to hear me.
"Yes, Dread one. On my honor as a Knight, I -WILL- give you mercy."
Before the crowd had a chance to erupt in protest, I shouted out for them to hear:
"THIS TOURNAMENT IS OVER! LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN! OR ELSE!"
Like a breaking spell, the assembled crowd, frightened at my threat, began to divide among themselves and make their way back to the cities.
As for the Dread Knight, I left him there. Dumbfounded. Broken. A shadow of the threat and fear his name once elicited in people. Though the man himself lived--the Dread Knight was forever dead now. And Cron would not mourn his passing.
For the first time that I can remember...
I felt Good about myself.
-Volkmeir
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