Prologue
King Isaiah II era- 1360
Long ago, before the clashing of blade on blade grew to be naught but a primitive ritual, there existed a troupe of sorts. This troupe was not a troupe of entertainers or jesters, but instead a select band of warriors. They’re names were riddled across the land from sea to shining sea, although only ever spoken in legend. Yes, the tales of these brave heroes were of bravery, intelligence, and strength. None knew exactly where the stories had come from, only that they were blatantly false. Then again, every child who had heard the story kept it in the back of their mind that someday, all of Naah, Luruk, Wikkuk, all of the world really, would be saved by these brilliant knights.
The legends are constantly changing, never having a fixed point. There was always Sir Frederick though, the wisest, bravest, strongest of them all. One farmer could tell you with fixed certainty that Sir Frederick was not of royal blood. He was instead of peasants, born in the lowest corners of Tihr. The story would get a bit foggy, as its never clear if Sir Frederick was an only child, or if he had any siblings. The farmer would continue, saying that Sir Frederick was knighted under the king himself, and sent off to a land bred only for the best. That land would be called the Irodon.
The Irodon castle, huts, and houses, were all at least in part constructed by Sir Frederick, despite the rumors the farmer’s wife had tried to poison him with. Many battles over the Irodon would be fought, many times Sir Frederick himself leading out in front. He was above all in the world the greatest swordsman of all. Longswords, short swords, daggers, if it had a blade, Sir Frederick would use it to the fullest extent. His favorite weapon had to be the longsword he had named “Peace”. Peace spread across the lands as it also spread across the enemy’s chests and faces. It was but a year into his protection of Irodon that his troupe was appointed to him.
Sir Donald, one of the King’s personal guards. He was incredibly famous for his bravery, despite the enemy’s power. Stories dictate of a battle he had fought with a doppelganger of the king, who had used his looks to try to usurp the true king. Sir Donald, however, cleaved him where he stood, recognizing all the imperfections the liar had worn, be it the number of rings on his right hand, or the number of loops his belt had gone through. Before Irodon, he was a teacher in Tihr, training knights in manners of combat and morality.
Sir MacDouglas, a master strategist and marksman, who had commanded several battles in the past, many with next to no casualties on his behalf. Sir MacDouglas was the master of the ambush, and had personally calibrated Irodons defenses on his arrival. Above all his brains though, was his ego. He stood with a look that demanded perfection, and he expected no less. This type of thinking led him to view his track of thought superior to all enemies, debating with his friends how many he could personally slay in a given battle. His home had been in Manchester, although he kept telling people he was born in Porlan, Dero, Tihr, Erik, an all sorts of places, even once claiming he was a man of Wikkuk-born.
Lady Winona had also been present. The Farmer would tell such fabulous stories of the woman, who had cleansed herself in the enemy’s blood after a decisive invasion of Irodon. Many rumors had followed her however. Plenty had assumed she had faked her sex to be knighted by the King, however the farmer would demand that these accusations were but the works of jealous, feeble-minded men who had not one bone of glory in their body. Lady Winona was Sir Frederick’s right hand, her skill with a longsword not quite paralleling his own, but surpassing all of her peers. She was also a beautiful dame, sought by many but all turned down. She had a history with Sir Donald as his student once upon a time, and he witnessed the death of her former beloved(Who the farmer would not tell you the name of).
Lastly was Sir William, the youngest of the troupe. He had been barely knighted when he was assigned to Irodon. He commonly negated most praise he received. Equipped with a battleaxe, Sir William was fearsome in battle, although he denied Sir Frederick’s praise. Upon battle, the enemy may have feared any man, but most took fear to Sir William. A young woman had taken a fancying to him rather early on, and he pursued her adamantly. When at last they were together, a battle was fought, and she left the poor man when she witnessed him split a man’s head open.
Within the sight of such fine soldiers, Sir Frederick bowed. He was incredibly humble, taking little to no joy in killing, despite the overwhelming joy he had experiencing victory. The death of an enemy who had faced him alone would incarcerate Sir Frederick’s mind. In truth, he had killed but one person by themself. The farmer would grow uncomfortable, disheartened by the hero’s troubles. The man Sir Frederick had killed was Sir Red. Sir Red had sworn a vow of death upon the King of Naah. Sir Frederick hadn’t hesitated before he cleaved Sir Red’s head from upon it’s shoulders. The act had distressed Sir Frederick, and he vowed an oath that was as follows:
“Upon this day, the sun go down
May God look upon me, may he not frown
For I swear upon my name, my life
To cause no harm to those with no strife!”
At these words the farmer would grow giddy, and demand you tell others the tales of Sir Frederick and the Knights of Irodon. If you agreed, he would tell you even more tales of chivalry and swordplay, and by the time you grow weary, you won’t have heard the half of it.
