The Knight, The Demon and The Dragon - I

[satinkira 6059]

THE KNIGHT, THE DEMON AND THE DRAGON

PART I - THE JEWEL OF THE DESERT

 

 

Music

 

 

In the early days of Almaris, there lived a Knight named Cirdan, who had grown weary of the constant battles between the ever-warring nations of Urguan and Oren. He had heard rumours of a great city to the East, a rich, peaceful oasis called Kivdrona - so one day, he packed his satchel, and travelled to the Jewel of the Desert.

When he first arrived, he was struck by the immensity of the place, and sought to gain a better view of the city. So he climbed to the top of a hill which sat squarely behind the city, where he found a Monk, garbed in green and staring out over the view.

The Monk looked back to the Knight, and called out to him.

 

"What's your name?"

 

"Cirdan."

 

"And how, Cirdan, do you prevent someone from telling a secret?"

 

An odd question. But, the Knight reflected, Monks are odd people.

 

"I tell them not to share it."

 

"And if they do not comply?"

 

". . .Well, if it comes to that, I suppose I'd cut out their tongue."

 

"Ah! But I have met those who have written down secrets with their hands, and so passed on the knowledge that way."

 

"In that case, I'd cut off their hands, too."

 

"Ah! But I have encountered those who are so determined that they write with their feet, too!"

 

". . .Then I'd just kill them."

 

"Ah! But I have met those who return to life as spectres, murmuring secrets into the Wind for all to hear.."

 

The Monk shook his head.

 

"No. The only way to truly keep this secret is Oblivion."

 

After speaking, The Monk dissolved into the air. 

The Knight stood still for a minute or two, before eventually shrugging. He thought little of it; the magicks of the East were unfamiliar to him, as were their cultures. Perhaps this was a local custom of some sort. He began the journey down the hill.

Gusts of wind buffeted his journey, and he eventually arrived at the base of the Amphitheatre. Above him, he heard the roar of the crowd, the clash of steel, the screeching of vultures-

 

"Do you take pleasure in murder, Cirdan?"

 

The voice of The Monk.

The Knight whirled around, finding The Monk holding a sharpened glaive, dripping with fresh viscera.

 

"Whose blood is that?"

 

"Why; after having spilt so much, I would expect you to recognise your own.."

 

The Knight looked down, and finally spied the growing pool of red at his feet. He gagged, and shock drove him to withdraw his sword - but the Monk moved blindingly fast, piercing the chest piece of the Knight innumerable times before he could even lunge.

Cirdan collapsed to his knees.

 

"I have pierced you thirty-and-three times, Knight. You will die here."

 

Above, the crowd roared in rapturous delight. It seemed the fight was over.

The Monk loomed over The Knight, and for a brief instant, Cirdan spied his true form; dark eyes glistening, spectral wings hanging from his back, a Crown of shadow upon his grinning, mutated skull..

I have, The Knight weakly realised, stumbled upon a Demon..

Death embraced Cirdan.

 

 

Spoiler

The above is a chronicling of irp events in a folklore style, something I thought would be fun to write. I'll be posting some more of these in the run-up to the submission of The Ash-Knight. Credit to Traveller for the screenshots.