"That was my introduction, I suppose."
"Are you suggesting that this is only a tiny proportion of your story?"
"Perhaps."
"A more confident answer please, Lizard."
"Well, yes. I could honestly prattle on for years, after all, I am condensing centuries worth of experience in a story I need to tell within one evening." The Steadfast Knight took another glance towards the entrance of the cave.
“It seems as if your story has eaten away at my schedule, I may have to take my leave soon,”
“By all means, I will be here for a very long time: in fact, I will probably still be here, even after your passing, frankly.”
“That is certainly a reassuring thought, however, what if someone else happens to find you?”
I shall simply incinerate them, as I usually do,” replied the Mighty Lizard. The Steadfast Knight took a minute to digest this thought, and encountered a logical oddity with this statement.
“If a fiery damnation is your typically routine, why am I still standing before you?”
“Well, I was simply bored.”
“Bored?”
“It has been over twenty years since I have last met a human! Of course I would get bored sitting in this cold, desolate cave.”
“I… suppose that does align with the stories I have been told.” The Steadfast Knight took another look towards the crimson stripes painted across the sky outside, flooding the room with a rosy atmosphere. “Nightfall is approaching; I must return to my comrades.”
“Farewell, Rushed Knight,” replied the Lizard. And with that, the Knight spun on the back of his heels and marched out of the cave, engulfed by the rocky silhouettes plastering the fading sky.
The Knight sat by the crackling fire, beside his trusted companions who laughed and cheered at their past tales, no matter how stale nor mundane they sounded, for the spear of alcohol would slash away the shame. The smoky carcass of a wild boar sat roasting underneath the starless sky, being observed intently by the Steadfast Knight, who was idly gazing into the flamey tendrils.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
There was a sudden pressure put onto the metal plating on the Steadfast Knight’s shoulder: it was a hand which originated from that of his good friend, the Rugged Brawler.
“You want a pint?” The Steadfast Knight turned down the offer with a dismissal palm. “You were away all day. We can’t really set off without you.”
“Apologies for the delay,”
“We’re planning to go tomorrow morning - we’re skipping breakfast as well so make sure to-” The Steadfast Knight waved the Rugged Brawler’s remarks away with the motion of his hand, indicating a slight annoyance. The Brawler turned away, slightly offended by the disrespect, however continued to enjoy the night with the extra pint of bear he had earnt.
When the morning sun rose above the towering tree-lines and the dawn-awoken songbirds chirped their diurnal melodies, the group was already packing their equipment into their carriages. Large tents and boxes of supplies were compressed into tight crates or rolled up into their respective positions, loaded onto horse-powered carts which were operated by members of the Iron Gauntlets. Their banner was hung proudly on their armour and carriages, depicting a clasped fist clad underneath plates of steel against an orange background.
Their 4-freight strong convoy drove through the deep forest along a beaten road, where monsters and beasts would come crawling from the flanking copses. The dismantlement of these creatures was spearheaded by the Steadfast Knight, supported by the aforementioned Rugged Brawler and the Silent Wizard. The three were very well-known for being strong, rumoured to have previously tackled calamities on astronomical scales, and through some stories may be a shade of truth, many reports of their actions have been eroded by the oral transmission of their tale. Some fibs have even managed the seep into their identity, cementing their iron names within the dusty lines of history.
They stopped at a hamlet for the night, resting their muscles for the next leg. Their horses were ushered into a shared pen with several other cattle and the local residents welcomed the party with open arms. The warm night passed by as the sun rose above the farms once more. The combatants assumed their positions and started marching towards their destination again, leading the carriages along the way. They cut through the open barley fields which blanketed the land underneath a jade carpet, stretching on before reaching a forest’s edge. As they drew closer to their destination, the number of fields and towns shrunk rapidly, slowly being encompassed by more and more forests and vegetation. The density in creatures increased alongside, causing the party to be engaged at all hours, constantly on alert by the frequent assaults.
Along one such road, they were stopped by a man standing in the middle of the dusty route. The lighting was dim due to the thick canopy above, but the man was still clearly visible. There was an unsettling feeling of immense power emanating outwards from the unknown character, but he seemed passive for the moment.
The person slammed his mighty, wooden staff onto the ground and bellowed: “Who are you fools to enter the lands of the one who commands the very soil you stand on?” The man’s thick neck vibrated as he spoke, his long, unwashed beard shaking in tandem. A large, gnarled staff was being weld in one of his bulky hands, the other concealed by his moss-sewn garments.
“We come to subdue the one of great might, and restore this land once more to its peaceful state,” said the Steadfast Knight calmly.
“Subdue?” spat the man, almost in disgust. “This Lord of Vines is not one you can simply hack away with; its roots spread far and wide, across great stretches of the Britania isles. You think a measly knight and his band of miss-fits can burn the reign of the almighty king?”
“I understand your position on this matter, however, this creature has poisoned the windswept soils of this damned island, and the resulting chaos ensuing must be ended, and with the command of the Bretwalda himself, I shall defeat this mighty foe,” replied the Steadfast Knight.
The man snorted mockingly. “You have little value for your life, Unknowing Knight, I shall wish you luck anyway,” and with that, the man handed the Knight a lit torch. The fire being produced from the end was quite warm and unnaturally bright, crushing the shadows around itself, filling every crevice with its orange gradient. The Distracted Knight turned to the man to ask for the reason for this gift, but found that he had disappeared into the flanking bushes, his comrades also having missed his departure.
“What a strange druid,”