Chapter 1 The Knight
Ancient books often speak of knights with endearing words of praise and glory that swept childish ears and whimsical hearts as stories of great and glorious knights conquered lands filled trembling nights. Curiously (or not), none speak of ordinary knights. Why should they? It would be odd that a story should be written about someone so average. So, such is The Knight.
In a short grassy field, colored just as one remembers from childhood, lay a still figure. There was no mistaking the figure for anything but a man. His feet were not large, though not mistakable. And I suspect his boots may be deceiving both me and you, dear reader. I imagine that when The Knight received his boots, they may have been wet and already muddied and worn from their previous wearer. I doubt The Knight had ever met him. They lay perfectly still and upright. The Knight’s body refused to move. His armor shone clearer than any metal, despite the grief and manglement his plates had endured.
Strangely, The Knight showed not one bit of skin. What knight with true honor would? The Knight laid still for a few moments more. Then his fingers twitched tenderly, like a child waking from a decent dream. Though, he did not kick or cry as one should expect. The Knights' posture did not much change. His back rose like a swan stretching to fly a short while, and his plates met each other with a squeaky tink. The Knight’s eyes deceived him for a moment. He shook his head and looked overhead, and The Knight did not speak. The sky above him felt unreal to look upon as rivers of shooting star dust colored like a distant memory you do not have, shot across the sky as if it were habit. The Knight’s gaze was left unchecked, and he did not move. Brilliant clouds of the beautiful remains of stars swayed gently like an old man caressing the cheek of his mate. Countless stars shone plainly through the daylight, while here and there rested circles of such a perfect darkness that they appeared to be holes cut into the heavens. Green and deep sapphire waves flowed loosely throughout the sky, as if an ocean had somehow found its way upward. The Knight shook his head and looked down. His hands rested in sand, or what he thought was to be sand.
The Knight stared at his hands a long while, before deciding it was a good idea to move them. The Knight sat there in silence, staring harshly at his hands, as if he were attempting to yell at them to move; even an inch would have sufficed. Sadly, his hands had nothing to say in response. He lowered his head and set his gaze before his hands, staring down at an imaginary abyss.
The Knight’s breathing (however unknowingly to him), pulsed gently alongside the breezey trees that were only a few steps away from The Sanctuary. Each breath did not change in rhythm, and neither did the swaying of trees. It is often wise to gather thoughts before gathering your body.
When The Knight’s spell had broken, he shook his once again. Though, The Knight knew his task this time. Without so much as a grunt he forced his fingers to twitch. Then his wrist twisted and squelched painfully. The Knight did not grunt or groan. What decent soldier would reasonalbly complain? Finally, his dull silver gaunlted clanked as The Knight lifted his arms. His arms outstrecthed for possibly the first time in what could be labled as forever, and The Knight felt relief. Raspy yawns quietly echoed underneath his fitted salet helmet, and The Knight stretched his back. He looked at the ground and realized his legs were sat up, The Knight decided to follow their lead.
The Knight rose, and he stood tall for a moment. The Knight took a long breath, exhausting the fact that his vision had been lost there for a moment. When his vision cleared he understood the beauty before, though beauty does not mind in moments like The Knight had. The Knight spun in many circles, and who could blame him, he was just as surprised as you or I would have been if you were in shoes.
His eyes were soon drawn elsewhere, towards the Mountain of Yhyn. It rose beyond all reason as a perfect pillar of pale stone. Mount. Yhyn’s sides were covered in such a vibrant moss that only an artist could sleep and dream about nightly. The mountain seemed to far off for an ordinary mind such as The Knights, and yet The Knight still could see it. Set within the face of Mount. Yhyn was the Eye Of Yhyn. Purple in color, with beautiful green seems in its pupils, and its large pupil adjusted to The Knight. The Knight looked at Yhyn, and Yhyn looked back. The Knight did know why he expected it to blink, but perhaps everyone expects an eye to do such things when it is staring directly at them. In respectful shame The Knight lowered his gaze towards the single narrow path in front of him, he simply did not need the path until now. He looked to his left and found nothing, then to his right and found nothing again, and so, having nothing else to do, he walked.
The Knights' steps were heavy and awkward, and there is no better way to describe it. Perhaps he felt like a baby in his armor, taking his first steps clearly at a disadvantage. Though, unlike a newborn, The Knight remembered how to walk much quicker. As The Knight set foot upon the trail, and I suppose you would agree, that for a second-handed trail it was kept much nicer than one should think. Particularly for a world that seemed all too lonely, and yet The Knight could shake the feeling that something living lurked nearby, or perhaps everywhere. The Knight looked as far ahead as his eyes would let him, and came to the conclusion that the path in front him had no end. Dear reader, I suppose you know that this could not be farther than the truth. Distance of the mind has a way of tricking reality. This did not bother The Knight. So, he continued walking.
Far did The Knight walk. Steps carried his heavy head down the petrified path and through thick trees. The Knight could not resist looking upon them. Each tree was so close to being the same, and yet, each was so uniquely theirs. Though I suppose that may not be too far from the truth as you know it. His hands stretched to lay his gloved fingertips across their aqua-green and deep chocolate brown bark. His arms swayed only with his steps, and The Knight took his time. Now, it is impossible to say The Knight's expression, but as he looked up at the iridescent blue leaves, you would have a childlike smile spread far across your face, just as I suspect The Knight would have looked. Those same leaves were opaque enough to let what should have been sunlight through. This caught The Knights attention as he ran towards a clearing in the brave branches above him. Curiously, The Knight did not understand why he did not notice the absence of the sun, yet, her beams still shone.
Touching the back of his neck, The Knight’s eyes knew only to widen. As he stepped out from underneath the canopy, he could not see any semblance of a sun. Nyrr is not a place of such structure. Nyrr does as she pleases, and will continue to do so.
After a brief moment, The Knight recollected his mentality and continued forward. Far did The Knight walk, or so it seemed. Distance is peculiar that way, and perhaps distance has had a few too many conversations with time, or too few. Each step carried weight. And though each step was lighter at first, there were times The Knight turned to show a companion a new thing he had just laid his eyes on, only to be met with absence and Yhyn. The sky drifted slowly overhead in its impossible colors, and the Eye of Yhyn remained fixed upon him, neither nearer nor farther than before. Underneath his helmet, he snarled his teeth. Yhyn saw and Yhyn understood. The Knight looked ahead of him and saw the same path he had been walking for some time now, and he looked behind him only to be met with the treacherous trail he had just walked, which is a peculiar feeling when one has spent a considerable amount of time walking. Whether The Knight knew that feeling before Nyrr, I cannot say, though he knew it now. His footsteps were still fresh.
After some time his shoulders grew heavy, his steps became slower, and though he uttered no words, one imagines that somewhere within his heart he wished for company. Nyrr has a curious habit of hearing such wishes.
Beyond a gentle rise, a thin ribbon of smoke curled into the painted sky. Intrigued, The Knight’s motivation improved. He walked faster than should have the right to in standard issue armor. As he approached its source, He saw, there, nestled among broad luminescent fields, stood a small village. Tall and wild purpur plated stone buildings surrounded wide and beat paths. Tyrebleons lived there. Curious folk who stood scarcely higher than the breastplate of an ordinary man, though they are pleasantly round and remarkably sturdy. They concerned themselves with little besides farming, herding the great Freth, baking excellent bread and had never seemed troubled that the rest of the world considered these rather ordinary occupations. The Knight entered the village, and not one Tyrebleon flinched. A Tyrebleon has long arms that hang almost to their knees and short legs that carry them with surprising speed whenever there is work to be done. Their hands moved swiftly on either a mill, a stone or a field nearby. Their skin bore the quiet colors of the earth itself, while grass grows where their hair ought to be.
Every few steps brought some new wonder that drew The Knight’s attention elsewhere. His ears twirled his attention towards a hum. Across the surrounding fields grazed herds of the gentle Freth. Their long necks provided enough length to slothly chew on the bursting fields before them. Nyrr has a simple way of feeding, and it is often a more pleasant experience than one should expect. The Knight approached a lone Freth cautiously (though lone is more subjective in nature, Freth are rarely found alone), like it was a beast to pounce on. Now, this one particular Freth had excellent hearing and faced The Knight slowly. The Knight paused and he swallowed his throat, and I suspect you might have too. Oh, to be faced with a beast that truly means no harm.
The Knight and the curious Freth looked into each other's eyes. The Knight looked hard into her large black eyes. The wind blew and The Knight felt the grass on his hands sway and he turned. The grass and the flowers below him,which were to be sprouting neat arches of magenta water that reflected a sharp gold, reached nearly to his knees; and he wondered why he hadn't noticed before. In turn, The Knight looked at the ground beneath him awhile. The Freth before him stepped forward, perhaps to gather The Knight’s attention, as animals do. The Knight shot his head upward and met the Freth who was heading straight for him; and The Knight began to move out of her path. Do not be threatened by the size of a Freth. They are big in size and gentle in touch. She brushed against The Knight, and he did not move. Her mossy fur was much softer than one should imagine. The Knight moved his hand down her back, and much like a cat, the Freth began to hum softer than usual. She nodded her long neck up and down and began to eat. Her chews were only unpleasant to hear when so close, and her siblings had similar behaviors. The Knight, as bothered as one should be, hurried back towards the town.
As he made his reentry into the village, he saw an elderly Tyrebleon who was sat upon a stone watching, pointing towards an oven, and what seemed like was giving instruction to a clearly younger Tyrebleon. The Knight stopped walking and watched intently. He was struck with a feeling that one gets when experiencing something you only know happened when you were a child. The elder Tyrebleon looked at The Knight and smiled. He slowly raised his hand and waved.
Perhaps it was the quiet, or maybe the smell of the fresh bread that was baking in the oven steps away from him. I suspect it might have been the exhaustion finally hitting him after walking for all that time, and The Knight’s body simply rested. Whatever the cause may have been, his legs suddenly grew heavy beneath him. His vision blurred around the edges, and the bright colors of Nyrr softened into one another like fresh paint meeting rain. The Knight did not realize what was happening before it was far too late. His gauntleted fingers slipped from the weathered wood. The ground rose gently to meet him, and darkness settled over his thoughts with surprising kindness. His eyes shut, and he rested.
When The Knight woke, he rose with the gentle peace of a morning that has nowhere else to be. The soft and endless light of Nyrr rested calmly upon the little room in which he lay. For several moments he did not move. His helmet still covered his face. His sword remained beside him. Every buckle of his armor was fastened exactly as he remembered leaving it. Nothing had been stolen. He stood and grabbed his sword and fastened it like he had for years. Then, almost without thinking, one hand slipped beneath the plates upon his left side. He felt skin. The Knight expected to feel an open wound, but as he wiggled his fingers and hand around he felt nothing but the feeling of his own callous skin. The room was so quiet that beyond the little window he could hear a Freth humming somewhere in the fields, and The Knight sighed, knowing he was still in the most familiar place he had discovered.
The Knight fastened the last buckle of his armor, straightened his back, and stepped through the little wooden doorway. The village was as lively as it should be. Everywhere there was work to be done, yet nowhere was there any haste. The village seemed content to let the day arrive at its own pace. The Tyrebleons greeted The Knight politely enough. They offered small bows and warm smile. The Tyrebleons greeted The Knight politely enough. They offered small bows and warm smiles. One approached The Knight. The friendly Tyrebleon before him did not retreat. Instinct moved before thought and The Knight’s gauntleted hand closed around the hilt of his sword. The friendly Tyrebleon before him did not retreat. Instead, he tilted his head with the innocent curiosity of a dog studying a sound it had never heard before, and regarded The Knight with eyes that seemed incapable of suspicion. I have often wondered whether kindness is easiest when one has forgotten how to be afraid. Realizing no harm was intended, The Knight slowly released his grip and allowed his hand to fall to his side. The Knight examined him and noticed what the Tyrebleon had in his grip.
The Tyrebleon carried an apple in his hand, though calling it merely an apple has always struck me as rather unfair. As the Knight slowly grasped the apple from his newfound friend’s hand, he looked deeper at it and squeezed slightly. Its thick skin carried deep reds, warm golds, quiet greens, and hints of violet that shifted gently beneath the light of Nyrr. The Knight raised it to his mouth and he took a deep bite. The crisp sweetness settled somewhere far deeper than his stomach. As he swallowed and felt its cool nature glide against his stomach, he no longer felt the ache deep inside us all. The Tyrebleon before him extended his arm and his fingers towards The Knight. The Knight looked back, and matched his action and their hands met.
