"The moon illustrates its shining beauty above the knight's grave."

That's what my father used to say, anyway. I never had a clue as to what he meant by it. I've heard others say it too, but having given no context or anything alike. Curious, old bloke, my father was. He was the kingdom's head beastmaster, and had been for quite some time. The adventures we shared rehabilitating all kinds of creatures were stupendous, but nothing could compare to those my father would detail as we sat at the campfire during those long, brisk nights of winter. Until his recent passing, I had been under his wing as the heir since my birthing, and it was destiny that I carry on the family trade until the last man to exist draws his final breath.

He was never afraid of new encounters, my father. Never one to back out of a fresh experience, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way. He was muscular, tall, and even as a young lad, his hair glowed with a silver pallet, and, his most distinctive feature, his rainy sky-grey eyes, which were passed down to me - along with his height, I suppose. I'm a rather lean fellow, this coming from our many days living poorly yet happily in a neighboring village to the kingdom, but I digress. His Highness has been ever so gracious in taking us in his steed, allocating us quite impressive suites in the Grand Inn, amenities included, with access to the most marvelous farms and animals, some of which we'd previously never even seen before!

There are goblins, imps, gnomes- my apologies. I tend to get excited when I describe topics I'm knowledgeable about. My ambition is to travel the world as a journalist, you see. I love Crosia, this mighty kingdom. I love it dear to my heart, truly so, but deep inside myself, I feel the urge to travel and scribe my findings growing stronger and stronger each day. I would give almost anything for the chance to discover every species of creature and describe them in a published work of mine.

My favorite creature would have to be my "helper", which is just our friendly term for a household butler. Rathal was just a newborn when his original family was struck by an earthquake. The poor child had fled and ended up in an orc camp, raised up until he decided it was his time to dispatch. After what seemed like an eternity, he wound up at the Inn, cold, tired and hungry.

On the topic, my daily dosage of imaginary daydreaming was cut short from the little one bursting into my hut, eyes beaming with urgency. His common-tongue was bad enough as it is, with his native tongue being orc, second being dwarvish, third being elvish. It was almost impossible to decipher his message. I had managed to make out “king” and “favor”, before I assisted him in calming down, ever so slightly.

“Mass’er…”, he panted, “His Might has requested a fav’r upon yer service immedi’t’ly.” That was his final sentence as he finally caught his own wind. It took me a moment to gather my thoughts - I was in shock. His Grace, the King? Even considering a peasant such as myself for even the simplest of deeds? Unthinkable!

“Are you sure he requested me, Rathal?”, I responded. Never have I questioned the honesty of an elf, especially not one as loyal as that little guy, but I had to be sure I had understood him correctly. There was not a chance in Aqor he would call upon ME for anything.

“Aye, sir. He wanted to send a letter, but with the season getting colder, the aviaries are getting rather rambunctious. He told me ‘e specific’ly needed yer service. Di’n’t say what fer. Jus’ wanted me t’ come grab ya right away.” His words barely left his mouth before he gripped my shirt and yanked me in his direction, hardly giving me a chance to put away my feed and close the door behind me. It was at this moment that I had realized there had been noises of large swarms of people, loud and quite obscene.

Rushing outside, immediately shoving through the mysteriously unhappy crowds of people surrounding His Highness, we finally made it to the front of the mass. We weren’t able to progress much further, however, as the Kingsmen held us back, threatening us by unsheathing a hint of their blades. This action was put to a halt, however, as the king swiftly jumped in and ushered them to peace. Not too old was the king. Handsome, charming, and an incredible warrior, as was his father, and his father’s father.

“At ease, Brenton. At ease, Garris.”, he motioned to his guards to stand behind him and his beautiful, strangely older queen. The guards were removed from the path, and the king knelt to face my friend at eye level with a small smile. “I thank you for your service. You may now return to your home, kind elf.” Rathal took this with a welcome nod, striding gracefully away from the crowd and back in the direction of our home.

“As for you, Sir… err… My apologies…”, he had left a pause in his words in order for me to remind him of my name.

“Oh- Godfrey, your Grace. Abraham Godfrey.”, I responded in a soft tone, not wanting to seem too rude.

“Ah! Right! The beastmaster’s apprentice!”, the king bellowed, realizing his sudden announcement of my father. “Er… I’m terribly sorry about his passing, my dear fellow. He truly was a man of the people.” He frowned at the mention of the event of my father’s death, however, his demeanor quickly resorted back to mild and pleased. “As is his only successor, I’m sure of it. Regardless, I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ve got a request for you.”

“A… request, Your Highness?” I tried to appear ignorant. It was my most common practice of courtesy.

“Yes, Sir Godfrey.”, his Grace sighed and looked me dead in the eyes. It seemed as if His focus drowned the background noise out, as if the only thing I could hear was His voice. “I’m going to be perfectly clear. This is a dangerous errand, my boy. Are you sure you’re fit for the task?”

A dangerous task? Me?

“Well… Yes, Sire. Anything for Your Royalty. Though… Why isn’t His Squire carrying out this mission… If I may ask, Your Highness?”, I asked out of sheer curiosity, trying my hardest to not sound crass. All of His Grace’s tasks are to be carried out by His Squire, who happens to also be His Highness's youngest son, Ambrose.

The King didn’t appear offended at my inquiry, but rather, gave me that much familiar look of incoming grim news. “That’s… What I needed you for, my boy. My Squire… He was... Last seen yesternight amongst the royal feast, but was nowhere to be seen come morn’. We’ve searched the kingdom, everywhere and else. Our finest Royal Sleuths have inspected certain… Evidence, left behind by whom we believe took him from us. Analyzing the left-behind footprints, certain markings, and presumed behavior has led our Royal Sleuths to one final conclusion. My son, my Squire, Sir Ambrose, has been taken by the gnolls of the vast forest that surrounds us. I’m sure of it.”

The kingdom was indeed surrounded by an incredible forest, filled with the most beautiful and kind creatures known to man or woman. We, as a nation, are forbidden from entering deeper than the entrance, however. The common phrase is, “The deeper the grove, the darker the creatures.” Nobody from Crosia in this day and age has ever gone deeper, and to say His Might’s own bloodline had been seized and taken into the thick, dark, inner forest… Well, you’d have to be mad to believe it.

“It sounds… Bloody demented, I understand, but… It’s the only event that could explain this terrible occurrence. Not many believed me, as obvious as it is, and those that did… Well…”, he paused as the crowd continued to roar in angry confusion. It appears as if the kingdom’s people had begun to lose faith in their mighty superior, already beginning to question his sanity. “I had heard of you and your father’s findings and I… I knew of all people, you’d at least lend me some patience and hearing.” The crowd began to grow louder and more rowdy, as the Kingsmen had begun to push people away. His Majesty swiftly grabbed a hold of my arm and drew me towards the castle, whose drawbridge seemingly slammed onto the ground in urgency. Making great haste, His Grace led me to the Great Room, where lay the empty thrones of Her Grace and His, along with barren dining tables and beautiful matching tapestries and rugs.

I hadn’t any time to admire the décor, however, as His Highness spared no second before continuing his statement. “As a beastmaster, you have great expertise in dealing with creatures such as gnolls. I understand this is sudden, and unspeakably perilous, and I understand if you think I’m mad and wish to-”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I dearly apologize for interrupting, Your Majesty, but I haven’t a single thought of your madness.” I couldn’t help myself from bursting in. “Gnolls. My father informed me a little about them. I have some scribings in my journal.” This response, albeit intrusive, seemed to relieve His Grace by a small amount. “I’m unsure if I’m fit for the quest, however. As willing to do anything and everything for His Royal Family, I’m afraid I’m no match for what’s beyond the visible boundaries of that forest. The rumors I’ve heard… I wouldn’t make a single night out there alone.”

It was as if His Might was waiting for me to respond in this way; he had an answer seemingly in the back of his mind and replied almost immediately. “I’ve sent a bird to the elves of Steirys as soon as I could, and they responded in the same manner… Those swift bastards.”, he chuckled under his breath at his last comment. “They’re sending their most experienced Ranger to accompany anyone participating in my quest.”

I said nothing. I was still attempting to collect everything mentally. His Grace gave a long breath, looking at the ground before looking back up at me, uttering one, singular word. “...Gold.”

I looked into his eyes with slight confusion, but he continued. “...All the gold you could dream of. Gold, food, royalty, praise. Anything. Name your price.”

I was struck aback. This is incredibly unlike His Grace, who enjoyed remaining humble and close-knit to his Royal inner circle. “Your- Your Majesty, I couldn’t ask for-”

“I beg of you, Sir Godfrey.”, he pleaded, transitioning abruptly from informative to desperate mannerisms. “I beg of you. I will give you anything- I will do absolutely anything! You’re the only one here with a fleeting idea of what these creatures are.”

I didn’t respond once more, only this time to ponder the quest over. If His Majesty is good for his word, of which I would never question, I could use his promised aid on my future adventures. That is, if I were to live after. I had battling thoughts, but, after what seemed like a never ending war in my mind, I finally came to a decision.

“Your Grace… If I’m guaranteed the finest Elvish Ranger in the land, and I’m rightfully equipped… I… I-I will accept your proposal.” I had never spoken with such hesitance in my life. My heart was in my throat. I immediately regretted those phrases ever escaping my thoughts, but alas, it was too late. His Highness had already grabbed my arm once more, leading me down a maze of beautiful corridors throughout the Royal Castle, all whilst hollering various terms of excitement and appreciation. I wasn’t nearly as focused as I should’ve been, though. I was too distracted by the imminent fear that plagued every fiber of my body, mind, and soul.

We stopped at a pair of decorated double-doors of spruce, His Might beckoning me to stay put. I did as told, and He rushed into the dark room, shutting both doors behind him. Taking no time to spare, His Majesty re-appeared, a long object covered by a silk, black cloak in his hands. His smile beamed as he paused before taking one knee, holding the covered object out to me. Confused at first, I grabbed a hold of the cloak and slowly cast it aside, revealing a beautiful gold sheath, housing a mighty, similarly beautiful claymore. My jaw dropped as I felt shakes throughout my body.

“Y-Your… Your Majesty- I can’t-”, I stuttered. I was in absolute disbelief. His Grace himself was blessing me with any knight’s finest accessory.

He stood back up and unsheathed the weapon. The blade was so sharp it could slice an ogre into diced pieces in seconds, so clean one could reflect the entire kingdom off of its shine. Carefully lifting it up and placing it just above my collarbone, alternating from shoulder to shoulder, His Majesty cleared his throat and spoke with pride. “It’s in my greatest honor to appoint you, Sir Abraham Godfrey, an official Royal Knight of Crosia. May you serve your duties, and your loyalty serve you.”

I almost broke down into tears of overwhelming joy, confusion, fear, and just about every other conceivable emotion. His Might bowed to me, sheathed the weapon once more, and held it out to me again. I waited for a brief moment before shakily grabbing hold of the hilt and slowly lifting it out of His hands. It wasn’t too heavy, and felt firm and reliable. I had no reference, however. The only sword I’d ever held was a wooden one when I was a lad.

His Majesty stood back up once again with a smile. “Only knights are allowed to travel for the Royal Family. I’m sure-” His Grace was interrupted by the sound of the loud drawbridge of the castle, following screams from the ever-so-rampant mob, including some oddly specific slurs of the Elvish race. As the drawbridge had begun to close, He quickly steered away from me and in the direction of the castle’s entrance. Unsure as to what I was to do, I followed closely behind. Not too long into our trek, we were approached by the loud clunking of the two Kingsmen from before, Brenton and Garris, lifting a meek figure in a rather large, dark indigo cloak.

“Your Majesty. We found this tree-jumper tryin’ to trespass our beloved kingdom. Said he was lookin’ fer ya.”, one of them bellowed. Finishing his statement followed the two guards tossing the figure onto the ground in front of them. A deep-pitched grunt escaped from its covered face, leading me to believe this was a male, and from the sound of “tree-jumper”, he didn’t sound fully human.

“Why don't ‘cha go back to yer flowers ‘n’ yer little bows ‘n’ arrows there, ya plague?”, the second one hollered.

“Brenton! Garris! I demand you leave at once! This individual has come to aid my quest!”, His Highness scolded, only to receive compliant chuckles from the two, who walked away while exchanging remarks regarding “the king’s madness” and “his bloody quest”.

His Grace, obviously having knowledge of who, or what, was being presented to us, approached him with a smile, and offered a hand to help stand him up. Slowly but surely helping this individual up, the individual took a moment before coming to terms with where he was. Quickly flipping his hood down revealed a very pale elf, with the distinguishing features being the pointed ears and the shaggy, quartz white hair. The only feature about him not unlike the entirety of his race was his complexion - seemingly colorless, almost grey skin. The elf was curiously pale, even for his kind.

“Y-Your Majesty… I-I… It’s an honor-”, giving a very sloppy and flustered bow, the elf locked eyes on His Might, who interrupted him with confidence.

“Spare me the salutations, my companion. Now is not the time. You must be…”, His Might trailed his last sentence off, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a tattered parchment scroll, unrolling it and quickly glancing at its contents. “...Ganamede Morora, correct?”

“Y-Yes, Sire…”, the being mustered quietly.

“Splendid.”, His Grace announced before turning back to me, not even giving me a sliver of a moment to gather my thoughts. “Sir Godfrey, your servant has already gathered your armor and your horse at your Inn. I must equip Sir Morora with his necessary items. At the sun’s peak, you both will ride south. You will only stop to rest. At every village or town you come across, or anywhere else that may host an aviary, you must send a homing bird and inform me of any new occurrences in your adventure. Finally, the most important note… If anyone at all questions your doing, you two will answer only with that you’re foreign travelers curious of the outside world. Understood?”

At this point in time, I was simply, blankly nodding along. It had gotten too much to comprehend when the elf became part of the ordeal. Without further question, His Grace escorted this strange Ganamede Morora in the same direction as I had gone before, leaving me to exit the castle myself.

Upon my exit, a smaller crowd awaited, most of the resentment targeted towards the elf. I had received my share of name-calling, but nothing more, as I walked further and further from the mob, allowing me to finally be with my own thoughts for a bit, walking slowly and dazed. My moment of clarity didn’t last for much longer, however, as I was greeted by my excitable friend at the Inn.

“Mass’er! Mass’er! His Grace has lef’ ya some equipment!”, he exclaimed, bouncing excitedly as he spoke. Sure enough, just upstairs, next to my cot lay a long tapestry, with various bits and pieces of armor strewn about. Not unimpressive armor, however, as the iron was complimented with intricate designs of gold, showing off an emblem of the proud stag on the breastplate, signifying the kingdom’s mascot.

I was in awe at the beauty of the equipment bestowed upon me. Never in my lifetime had I seen such wondrous battle gear. I sat on my cot in absolute disbelief, staring at the armor in front of me, too shocked to make any movement. It wasn’t until I felt a tug on my trousers that I returned to reality. I look down to see my elf holding a rather colorful feather, and a gleam in his eye.

“What’s this, Rathal?”, I question, slowly accepting the feather from him.

“A gift for mass’er. I-It isn’t much, but I wan’ed to give ya somethin’ to remind ya of home. I know you’ll do amazin’. I believe in ya, an’ if ol’ father were here, he’d say the same.” With that, he left me to myself.

Those words circled through my head over and over as I stared at the feather. It was at this moment that everything had collapsed onto me, mentally. I had obviously realized my decision before this moment; however, I hadn’t had the chance to stop and really understand what I had gotten myself trapped into.

I was about to go on a life-threatening journey to find His Grace’s Royal Squire in the most dangerous lands of Aqor.