OnyxReaper
Mind Over Metal, Metal Over Flesh
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Already the blade came swinging down,
carving into the Dark Lords' crown.
The naive swordsman smiled wryly,
Instead it was the Demon who ended happy,
The hero's head was lopped off,
and his death offered no more than a scoff,
from the Darkness that killed him so easily...
"Grandpa! Stop it already!"
"Huh, what have I done?"
"It's... the rhyming, it's terrible!"
"Oh my, I guess I better stop with it then..."
"Grandpa, go on with the story, just no rhyming!"
The old man grinned, his limp arms outstretched, his hand stroking the top of the young boy's head, sat by the fire in front of him. He withdrew his arm, took a deep breath and went on.
So, here we should begin again. What I speak of is a grand old tale, and an unusual one at that, sadly I don't have long, and I'd love to pass on my experiences to you. Well, here goes...
It all started nearly a century ago, yet again, another hero rose from the masses; and by order of the king this nameless knight gathered his blade and tools, moving on to vanquish the demon lord, who'd taken a princess, held captive for nearly a century. Hundreds of knights had fallen already at this powerful foes hands; but this no-name knight, one without title or land was by far the strongest challenger as of yet.
After a long and treacherous trek over hundreds of miles of foreign and vicious land; this unknown hero came upon the object of his destination. A decrepit castle of Gothic design rose from the land, a monument almost to the power of man that had since fallen from this place. All around the field lay small stone tablets. Gravestones? Each with a blade or bow beside it. He moved forward cautiously and carefully, kneeling to inspect the grave that lay furthest out, the hero became aware of the creeping feeling that had been clouding over him. Growing with intensity with each step he took closer to the grave. It lay their so simply, moss had grown over it's surface, cobwebs collected around it. With a simple brush of his gauntlet he cleared it. And upon the stone a name was written.
Here lies The Twelfth Knight, not the first, nor the last, but the most honorable as of yet.
The hero gazed at it slightly longer. Not a name, but in fact a title. the biggest question was how this gravestone had came to be here. In a place inhabited by no one other than a captured princes, the demon lord, the dead and him; there was no one who could've laid this. The Unknown Hero tensed, heavy footsteps moving forwards, closer and closer as he began to look up. In haste, he drew his blade towards the unknown figure. Heavyset in black plate mail, armored from head to toe stood the Demon Lord. A jagged, brutish sword hung at his side. However, he was not the first to draw his sword. It was the Hero, he roared menacingly, sprinting at speed towards the enemy. The first arc of the Hero's blade was stopped, knocked off-course by a punch from the armored foe. The second however came unhindered, slashing upwards it dug under the demon's helmet, tearing it off his head. The monstrous foe, that rose against all was little more than a man under his fear-inspiring armor it would seem. a blue pallor seemed to have taken over his skin however, leaving it both azure and somewhat translucent.
Distracted by the sudden shock that the Demon King looked like nothing special, the Hero didn't notice the jagged blade flashing from it's sheathe, what he did notice was the vile and torturous pain that burned through his body as it punctured through his left side, forcing him to keel. In a vicious rage the Hero sprang forwards; his blade aimed for Demon Lord's exposed face. Lighter footsteps this time. The blade connected and tore flesh, the Demon's blood came spurting, dripping down the Hero's blade. a light body fell, the armored figure remained standing; and in front of him the hero, wrenching the blade from the body as he gazed at it. A woman, lightly clothed in a now red-stained white dress. Long auburn hair streaked down her back as she lay there, a soft gurgle coming to an end as she made a light choking sound. The Demon Lord froze, then keeled, cupping the woman in his large hands. His body shaking erratically as he lay her to rest, running his guarded hand through her hair. He sobbed. And that was all. For that was the last action of this Demon King. The Hero slowly grasped hold of his sword. The crimson red dripping town the silver blade. With a quick and fast swing, the Demon King breathed his last. Falling upon the woman. Limp
The Hero grinned as he grasped his fallen foes helm, holding it at his side as he moves on. Murmuring only to himself lightly "It would seem the princess is dead... What a stupid girl. My pay shall be halved for this... Why did she save him anyway, damn cow..." And with that, the Hero left the castle grounds. I should tell you however, that the Hero did not return. He died in the wilderness somewhere in his weakened state. But unlike the other knights, he did not get a grave, his body was not buried, his sword not lay beside him, no. His corpse became a feast for the beasts, and his blade would be taken by some brigand, bandit or thief.
The next knight was sent, to them the Demon Lord's death was yet to be known. And this knight returned unharmed. Boasting about how he slew the great foe, and falsely sobbing, crying to his newly-earned mistresses and noble companions about how the beastly Demon slew the princess; and how he, empowered by the rage at what the foul demon had done to the fair maiden slew him in one strike. Unable to save her.
carving into the Dark Lords' crown.
The naive swordsman smiled wryly,
Instead it was the Demon who ended happy,
The hero's head was lopped off,
and his death offered no more than a scoff,
from the Darkness that killed him so easily...
"Grandpa! Stop it already!"
"Huh, what have I done?"
"It's... the rhyming, it's terrible!"
"Oh my, I guess I better stop with it then..."
"Grandpa, go on with the story, just no rhyming!"
The old man grinned, his limp arms outstretched, his hand stroking the top of the young boy's head, sat by the fire in front of him. He withdrew his arm, took a deep breath and went on.
So, here we should begin again. What I speak of is a grand old tale, and an unusual one at that, sadly I don't have long, and I'd love to pass on my experiences to you. Well, here goes...
It all started nearly a century ago, yet again, another hero rose from the masses; and by order of the king this nameless knight gathered his blade and tools, moving on to vanquish the demon lord, who'd taken a princess, held captive for nearly a century. Hundreds of knights had fallen already at this powerful foes hands; but this no-name knight, one without title or land was by far the strongest challenger as of yet.
After a long and treacherous trek over hundreds of miles of foreign and vicious land; this unknown hero came upon the object of his destination. A decrepit castle of Gothic design rose from the land, a monument almost to the power of man that had since fallen from this place. All around the field lay small stone tablets. Gravestones? Each with a blade or bow beside it. He moved forward cautiously and carefully, kneeling to inspect the grave that lay furthest out, the hero became aware of the creeping feeling that had been clouding over him. Growing with intensity with each step he took closer to the grave. It lay their so simply, moss had grown over it's surface, cobwebs collected around it. With a simple brush of his gauntlet he cleared it. And upon the stone a name was written.
Here lies The Twelfth Knight, not the first, nor the last, but the most honorable as of yet.
The hero gazed at it slightly longer. Not a name, but in fact a title. the biggest question was how this gravestone had came to be here. In a place inhabited by no one other than a captured princes, the demon lord, the dead and him; there was no one who could've laid this. The Unknown Hero tensed, heavy footsteps moving forwards, closer and closer as he began to look up. In haste, he drew his blade towards the unknown figure. Heavyset in black plate mail, armored from head to toe stood the Demon Lord. A jagged, brutish sword hung at his side. However, he was not the first to draw his sword. It was the Hero, he roared menacingly, sprinting at speed towards the enemy. The first arc of the Hero's blade was stopped, knocked off-course by a punch from the armored foe. The second however came unhindered, slashing upwards it dug under the demon's helmet, tearing it off his head. The monstrous foe, that rose against all was little more than a man under his fear-inspiring armor it would seem. a blue pallor seemed to have taken over his skin however, leaving it both azure and somewhat translucent.
Distracted by the sudden shock that the Demon King looked like nothing special, the Hero didn't notice the jagged blade flashing from it's sheathe, what he did notice was the vile and torturous pain that burned through his body as it punctured through his left side, forcing him to keel. In a vicious rage the Hero sprang forwards; his blade aimed for Demon Lord's exposed face. Lighter footsteps this time. The blade connected and tore flesh, the Demon's blood came spurting, dripping down the Hero's blade. a light body fell, the armored figure remained standing; and in front of him the hero, wrenching the blade from the body as he gazed at it. A woman, lightly clothed in a now red-stained white dress. Long auburn hair streaked down her back as she lay there, a soft gurgle coming to an end as she made a light choking sound. The Demon Lord froze, then keeled, cupping the woman in his large hands. His body shaking erratically as he lay her to rest, running his guarded hand through her hair. He sobbed. And that was all. For that was the last action of this Demon King. The Hero slowly grasped hold of his sword. The crimson red dripping town the silver blade. With a quick and fast swing, the Demon King breathed his last. Falling upon the woman. Limp
The Hero grinned as he grasped his fallen foes helm, holding it at his side as he moves on. Murmuring only to himself lightly "It would seem the princess is dead... What a stupid girl. My pay shall be halved for this... Why did she save him anyway, damn cow..." And with that, the Hero left the castle grounds. I should tell you however, that the Hero did not return. He died in the wilderness somewhere in his weakened state. But unlike the other knights, he did not get a grave, his body was not buried, his sword not lay beside him, no. His corpse became a feast for the beasts, and his blade would be taken by some brigand, bandit or thief.
The next knight was sent, to them the Demon Lord's death was yet to be known. And this knight returned unharmed. Boasting about how he slew the great foe, and falsely sobbing, crying to his newly-earned mistresses and noble companions about how the beastly Demon slew the princess; and how he, empowered by the rage at what the foul demon had done to the fair maiden slew him in one strike. Unable to save her.
