Greyvin

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” *** In the gloomy twilight, on a tent in the humid city, a knight-errant adjusts his helmet before heading, with a firm step, towards the old witch. With respectful reverence, he takes a seat on the cushion that has been offered to him. The jingling of the sword resonates in the wet air, and the smell of moss surrounds a figure marked by countless battles that reflect the fatigue of the road. She, with her gnarled hands, awaits the story that lies in the wanderer's mouth. —"In the fields of my birth, where the oak leaves whisper unknown tales, in a nameless kingdom under the banner of a ruler who fell prey to oblivion, I swore allegiance with the promise of the sword and the duty of justice. I was named Greyvin Silverveil... Sir Greyvin Silverveil, when the days were woven with my windy encounters and my nights with the brilliance of the stars that guided me and my steed to a new dawn..." —The fire flickered in response to the uncertainty it instilled; as if the flames had begun to dance to the beat of its own words.— "But the designs of destiny have decided to bring me to this sordid town plunged into the deepest decadence". The ancient sorceress listened with such attention to the epic that her cat eyes pierced, like sharpy incandescent needles, the restless soul of her guest, —or at least, what seemed to remain of him—; the one that made way with a shouted silence. She nods her head vigorously and smiles with feline cunning: —"Throughout my journey in these dim valleys, I have reached these winding alleys full of rotten shacks in search of answers while facing the most dreadful beasts, those that, without ever shutting up, whisper coldly in the back of my neck... Always from the periphery of human reason". With these words leaving shyly his lips, the lost gaze of that poor exile would flash with such force that it would completely absorb the response of the bewildered woman. Rising abruptly, he was trembling to the sound of light emitted by the tarnished lamps. The rusty armor creaked with every step tooked towards the chair of —now not so peaceful— the receiver. His sword would echo again on the creaking wood, this time, with a haunting melody... The prelude to an unexpected turn of events. Keeping bloodshot eyes on the old lady, Silverveil's afflicted mind would eventually succumb to the madness that, distorting reality, imprisoned his true essence as a martyr for the freedom of an already perished legacy... Where were those moments where he fought for the good of his nation and was acclaimed for it before everything went terribly wrong? —"You're just another illusion in the twisted narrative of my nightmares!" —He screeched, as his heart came out of the throat— "Let me be, I beg you on my knees... For the God sake, let me be once and for all!" In a frantic trance, the sword, without scruples, would unfortunately find its target. The fire, which once witnessed what was told, would flicker weakly lamenting the tragedy that had just happened, reflecting in his burgundy blade a fractured hero who gave everything... In exchange for nothing. THE END P.S: There is an image generated with the AI of Bing to illustrate you a little; I'm pinning it here because the website wouldn't let me put the link: https://www.bing.com/images/create/caballero-errante-con-una-mc3a1scara-de-plata-con-for/655482f8d4774ea6afb9886ecd0c6505?id=Wmw8aMahCsNio0JnHjAThg%3d%3d&view=detailv2&idpp=genimg&darkschemeovr=0&FORM=GCRIDP&mode=overlay