As the sun took its evening plunge into the great depths of the sea a ship pulled into port, the Glory Water. It's dark wood and ropes nearly blended in with the dimly lit ocean in that betwixt state of daylight and nighttime. The sails, though, white and proud like a pearl, captured what little light the moon offered and shone brilliantly. The captain could be heard barking orders as the deck came to life like a busy anthill. The plank was dropped onto the pier with a thud. Sailers, one after the other started pouring out. Carrying crates salt, bags of seeds, seemingly everything in-between. Somewhere in the middle of the madness, down walked the plank of the Glory Water of a burly man who did not fit the scene. He stood taller than most, his dark hair flowed as he briskly walked. His build was lean and powerful, the blood in his veins young. He sported a coat made of animal hide, opened in the front and underneath padded leather armor that looked untouched strapped to his chest, leaving his midriff exposed to the world. His pants a bit baggy except tied around the ankles with cord, and lastly his light shoes that made me look like he floated above the ground as he walked. This is Warsile, a peculiar Knight not shining.
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The port was mostly quiet, no other ships or seafarers in sight and town matched. On the other end of the pier sat the small, sleepy town. A plethora of wooden plank walls and tin roofs that slant. All of the buildings were so compacted they seemed to all be one. Two lines of buildings on either side of the pier with a loosely paved street in the middle and opposite, another line of buildings.
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Our valiant hero, Warsile, walked out onto the street. Searching for an inn, eager to get along with his quest. Looking down one side he peered a few lit windows illuminating the now darkened world around them. Night owls needing a nightcap maybe. Down the other the same sight except for a few sparsely placed signs but all was dark, closed, until finally he spotted a more lively structure and more importantly a sign hanging out front, a sign of a filled tankard. It's production of light cut fiercely through the darkness the street held so dear. If there were one place to find information, it was there.
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The door to the only part of the town that shown any life was propped open by a can, letting light bask the street. It was welcoming, as a tavern should be. Walking inside his eyes struggled to adjust to the newly found brightness. Once they did he realized the loose meaning of "alive". The place was lit up but with a quick glance garnered that besides the barkeep, all of the tables and the bar set lonely. It was an odd, but pleasant site. Circular tables were spread around and ropes and nets hung from the rafters. To the left, a set of stairs and finally on the back wall, the bar, with 5 or so barstools. Warsile thought to himself the simpleness of this place was refreshing. He took the middle seat of the bar and looked at the barkeep, really looked. He was a rugged, short man. He wore a beard that hung like an ornate medallion. It only complimented his striped shirt. Warsile looked him in the eye and began to talk.
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"I am a mighty knight from a far away kingdom, my name is Warsile and my father sent me on a quest of merit to your humble little lands to slay a beast rumored to be in Feebel Castle. Where is it?" He finished with a smirk that radiated confidence. The barkeeper laughed and answered back.
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"So ya don't even ask a lowly barkeeps names?" He looked at Warsile up and down. "Say, how do ya plan on killin' a monster with no weapon? Not to mention you look green kiddo, your clothes, armor, it ain't seen no action I bet."
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Warsile felt insulted a commoner would question his ability so boldly. He pushed his shoulders back, letting his coat slip just enough for him to reach back and brandish a sword hidden from its sheath on his back and he held it up to the ceiling. It was a fine blade. The edges, from hilt to tip were elaborately inscribed. Pictures of great warriors fighting even greater beasts, along with religious words. Most eye catching, though, were the two rubies on either side, right above where the blade and hilt meet. This was a masterfully made weapon. Warsile spoke lightly.
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"See these rubies commoner? They are the blood droplets of Mother Earth herself. I knew the man that picked through the soil to find them and they make me powerful, they are who I am."
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The barkeeper's eyebrows raised as he leaned in for a better look. "This sword looks fresh out of the ovens boy. It's pretty but pretty doesn't win ya fights."
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Warsile slid his sword back in its sheath with a disgusted look on his face. "I will bring it back bloody if you just point me in the direction of Feebel Castle, commoner." He said with a grimace.
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The barkeep, both sensing and disregarding Warsile's agitation answered with a subtle laugh. "Sure sport, just walk down Main Street to the south then take the first left. We got signs up if ya can read."
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Without a word back, Warsile stood up and stormed out. This disrespect was tolerable no longer. Walking down the street he thought briefly of burning that bar to the ground. Watching the ashes drift away in the night. He thought the locals would of given him a better welcoming. He didn't even get a chance to ask why the bar, hell, even the town was so dead and felt desolate. Why the air tasted stale, why the moonlight looked hazy, why everything seems abnormal. All the more reason to get to Feebel Castle and back to his fathers, he thought. Reaching the first fork in the road, he took a left and continued the trek.
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Outstretched before him laid a small, dirt road that seemed to go on forever. On both sides endless lines of pines so dense he couldn't see anything that laid beyond it. Under the yellowish glow of the moonlight, he walked. Darting his head left and right at every creak or broken branch or leaf rustle. Before long the humble little port town of wood and scorn vanished out of view, not that Warsile ever once bothered to look back. By this time the moon had hit it's peak in the sky.
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It wasn't until the moon was nearly sat that Warsile finally caught a glimpse of something more than a forest. On the side of the road, nearly tucked away behind an abundance of trees and bushes sat an Inn. A joy only matched by relief washed over him as he picked up speed. He reached a sign out front of the establishment that read "Legless Dragon Inn". Walking down the path he noticed the Inn looked more like an oversized cottage. A mix of wood and curious stone trimmings. A chimney that looked almost too tall, made of the same odd stone. It was grey but it looked verging on smoke and he swore the longer he stared at it that it had a subtle movement to it.
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Inside was skillfully as put together. More narrow, smokey stone lines all of the trim. Some ineligible inscriptions. The wood was glossy, as close to a mirror as you can get. The room wasn't too big but it felt spacious since it mostly laid bare besides the counter on the right side. On the center wall hung a massive painting of a gothic, creepy castle. It's colors washed out. On the left a staircase with a twisty wooden banister and stone spokes. Behind the counter stood a small, boney man. Both his hair and lips full. He wore a long sleeved, white shirt and on top of that a black vest. Before Warsile could open his mouth the man spoke.
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"My, you look drained. My name is Epier, can I offer a fine Knight as yourself a room?"
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Warsile was pleased to meet someone pleasant in comparison to his last encounter. "Actually, yes. I have been walking most of the night. I would like to rest my feet."
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Epier smiled. "Absolutely!" He turned around to the wall, picking out a key and handing it to Warsile. "Here's a room key, third door on the right up the stairs. You'll have a neighbor too, that's always fun. That'll be 3 gold pieces my heroic Knight."
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Warsile fished 3 gold pieces out of his pocket, laying them on the counter and taking the key. Ignoring most of what was just said to him. "Thank you kindly. You are the first mannered servant I have met since arriving to this godless place."
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Epier's smile lessened. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Don't mind us, everyone has been a little wound tight since that creature appeared in the old castle and left us governedless."
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Warsile leaned in. "I am here to defeat this creature. Where can I find this castle?"
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Epier's eyes lit up. "Oh that's good news! The castle is a days journey up the road, give or take, but I know a shortcut!"
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"A shortcut you say? And tell me, what happened to the monarchy that resided in this castle?"
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Epier took a breath and wore a toothy smile. "Well the shortcut isn't hidden or anything, it's right behind the Inn here. A small walking trail we use to use to deliver goods to the old king. As for the royal family, well, no one is for sure but many nights ago the creature invaded the castle, forcing the Old King and his two daughters to leave. The night was moonless and no one saw where they took off to or where they've been since."
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A surprising look overtook Warsile's face. "Really? No one has seen them since? Does this Old King not have a name? No one is governing this land?"
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Epier shook his head. "No, they all vanished into thin air apparently. The Old King renounced his name a long, long time ago. Not long after his wife, his queen, died. I guessed with no sons he wanted to be the last of his blood, his name, on the throne. It's not all bad, though, in his elder years he's grown passive. He has a very hands off approach to ruling but without having an authority figure around some people have grown more daring. Thinking they can take what they please, do what they want."
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"That what happens first, lawlessness." Warsile spoke. "I will go rest my tired bones for now, for a while but after I will slay this beast and report to my father to appoint someone to take over, I can assure you." Warsile said, beginning to walk off and up the stairs.
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Epier following behind him enthusiastically. "You're a blessing if I've ever seen one! The Kingdom of Voke thanks you!"
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Up the stairs and down the ornate hallway. Warsile walked to every door, trying his key until one finally opened. It was every bit as pretty as the rest of this place. The room had a huge bay window over looking the pines. On the right wall was a big bed and adjacent to that was a small desk. Warsile, taking his coat off and slipping his sword and sheath over his head, kicking off his shoes, fell into the bed. His mind wondered of the Old King and his daughters, where they might be. He wondered of the creature he was to face, not a soul has told him exactly what it is. He did not wonder long before closing his eyes and drifting off.
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Warsile awoke bathing in sunlight and birds chirping. The sun was highest in the sky, cutting through all shades of darkness that plagued the world but a few hours ago. This was not at all the setting he thought he would find himself anytime soon but he didn't give it much more thought than that. He got dressed, got up and decided there was no time to waste.
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At the bottom of the stairs he stood. The pleasant inn owner was no where to be found but the backdoor to the supposed shortcut was in clear view. Warsile stepped through it.
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It opened to reveal more forest but also a small path into said forest. Oddly enough, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Right behind the back wall of the inn was a table and at that table sat an old man. Draped over him was a full body length coat and atop his head sat a brimmed hat that hid his face and on his back, a rusty sword. "Hello? Someone there?" The old man said in a raspy, shaky voice. He rose his head, his eyes strikingly caught Warsile's attention. They were grey and hazy, this man was blind. As grey as his overgrown beard and long hair.
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"Yes, old one, I am here." Warsile said back finally. The old man put his hands on the table in what looked like a bid to stand up but his arms were shaky, not unlike his voice and he decided to sat still. "Your voice is hearty, are you a hero?" The old man said. Without missing a beat Warsile said yes. The old man tilted his hat, the sleeve of this coat slipping just a little to show part of some battle scar on his wrist and said. "No, no, not quite yet, if you will ever be." Warsile opened his mouth, ready to argue his worth but the old man kept talking. "I thought I was a hero, I tried to be one but I think I failed." The old man said. Taking a small red stone from his pocket and fidgeting with it. "It was so long ago. I am suppose to do something here but I can't quite remember now. I have been here so long, waiting, that I have forgotten what I am waiting for." Warsile frowned a bit, realizing now the senility of this pitiful old man. He felt pity for him. Warsile noticed a small scar on the old mans neck. He was clearly very brave or very lucky in his earlier years. Whatever glory he once knew was long gone. The old man wouldn't even remember this conversation tomorrow, he thought, so Warsile started walking down the path. The old man rambled more but it got quieter and quieter. "I had to slay a terrific monster. I wanted to be terrific myself." He trailed off.
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This path looked heavily walked. The king must of gorged himself daily on whatever it was the Inn served. The trees stood so tall they blanketed the trail in shadows that stretched in all directions. If it weren't for the quest and the creature, this would be a quaint sight, Warsile thought to himself. He didn't walk long at all before grey stone cut through the greenery. This is some shortcut, he thought to himself again. As he pressed forward the castle grew, eclipsing the sky. It was all a dull grey. A very basic castle with two watch towers on each side and a huge opening in the middle, along with what seemed like a gate hoisted up already. He finally reached the end of the path that stopped right at the edge of a massive clearing in the forest where the castle strongly stood. It was a few hundred feet away still but all of the grass in between was dead. It looked more lived on than the path that brought him here. He pressed onward.
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Arriving and stepping through the huge gate and into the grand courtyard. This was the castle, it was that similar smoky stone, unlike the outer walls. It had ledges and tight angles, decretive carvings and very pointy roofs. In the middle of the tallest tower that was the center piece of this marvelous structure was a circular stained glass window. Made of all colors of the rainbow. It stood a tad lower than the watch towers on the outer wall. Looking left and right the plain outer walls encircled the castle. Fixing his glare forward were steps that led up to the castle doors. The doors themselves were notably bright blue and stood 10x as tall as any man. Warsile took a deep breath and made his way up the steps and to the blue door. Putting both his hands on it and pressing as hard as he could, cracking it enough to slip through.
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Inside Feebel Castle it was dark but from what he could gather there were another set of stairs in front of him with pillars on either side and a cushy rug under his feet that stretched up to them. Slowly he walked up the steps, carefully, deliberately. Putting his right hand on the handle of his sword and drawing it equally stilly. As the top came into view so did the multicolored light from the window he saw earlier. This room was soaked in colorful light. It was vast but eerily empty except for the throne that sat on the other end. It looked like it was carved from one piece of marble and it shone in the pretty light. The ceiling seemed to go on forever, home to a pitch black that made Warsile nervous when looking up. He carefully observed the rest of the room that didn't make itself obvious already. There were only two doors visible, on the left and right walls. Stepping up on the final step, Warsile picked through his pocket and pulled out a single gold coin and tossed it in the middle of the room. It tinged loudly, echoing, and that's when he saw movement from one of the dark corners of the room. He squinted but couldn't make out the shape. It was mostly just a dark blob. Warsile shouted, "Monster? King? Show yourself!"
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The blob extended, it stood twice as tall as Warsile, humanoid in shape, he determined but it's head looked somewhat small from behind and it's arms longly out of proportion. It turned and took a few steps toward Warsile, finally under the colorful lights. Warsile's eyes widened, a terrifying grimace overtook him. This creature, it's overly small head wasn't a head at all but one, big eye, attached to a slender neck. It's torso looked human but on either side were those abnormally long, skinny arms. A more horrific observation came to Warsile, this thing stood upright but it had no legs. From the mid-waist down he was shaped like a serrated butcher knife, but he hovered above the ground. All at once, without warning, the creature took towards Warsile. It's body weight shifting as if it had legs and was running but none could be seen. Warsile was in a state of frozen fear as the creature sprinted across the room silently. Just before it reached Warsile, finally, he rose his sword and attempted to swing. In a fierce clash the sword came down as the monster was now in range, it landed with a chime, as if striking a rock. Both Warsile and the beast stood facing each other. Warsile dropped his sword, a shocked look on his face, he muttered under his voice. "What are you?" Before trying to push it away, but right when his hands made contact with the monster something amazingly dreadful happened.
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Warsile's eyes began to flicker, growing hazy, like a multicolored mist just rolled into his eye sockets. Then the world around him dissolved, breaking away and flying past him in a rainbow vortex, like he was running at an incredible speed. The monster stood disturbingly still in contrast. Then a bright whiteness before Warsile blacked out.
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When he came to he laid in the same throne room but the silence was replaced by a subtle roar of life but gasps quickly overtook it. Warsile raised his head and blinked, rubbing his eyes while grabbing the handle of his sword. Everything was blurry and his ears were ringing insufferably. He could make out a man standing at the maw of the throne, with a crown on his head. His face bare and his hair lush. Around him stood several guards and as Warsile looked around he realized the room was filled with knights and nobles alike. The king spoke but Warsile couldn't hear what was being said. The king pointed at him and the guards unsheathed their swords and began walking forward. In a panic Warsile, sword in hand, picked himself up and ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the stairs. The guards gave pursuit.
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His eyes still filled with a film, only seeing vague shapes and dull colors as he propelled himself through the massive dreary blue door into the fresh night air and through the courtyard. Guards on his feet and catching up. Warsile ran straight, towards the tree line, where the old path had sat. As he passed through the gate and into the open field arrows rained down on him. One grazed his neck, leaning a bleeding gash. He finally reached the path, it looked less treaded than before, from what he could tell. He kept running at full speed.
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Reaching the Inn, Warsile turned around, no more guards were on his trail at this moment. His eyes were still blurry, maybe even worse than before. His neck stung, the pain finally catching up to him. He sheathed his sword and ripped part of his coat off into a long strip and wrapped it around his neck wound. Not sure what's going on he decided his quest, this adventure was over. All he wanted to do was go home. He bypassed going back into the Inn and walked to the path and headed back to town.
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The moon was full and bright, thankfully so, it made traversing the road more bearable for his unrecovered eyes. Just then, a sound catches Warsile's attention from behind him. Turning around he noticed a couple of hundred of feet behind him peculiar lights, like that of lanterns. An unknown fear washed over him. So he darted into the woodlands, deciding to walk the rest of the way through the trees alongside the trail. Ever vigilant and cautious. He walked for a long time, until his legs felt like dead worms. He was so impeccably tired. He sat underneath a big tree, making sure to sit where he wouldn't be spotted from the road and he rested his eyes. Breathing in the cool night air deeply and thoroughly.
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He slept but a few hours, being awoken in a cold sweat by an all too familiar nightmare of that creature. Opening his eyes it looks like his sight is beginning to fail him but his heart was too strongly longing for home to fret about it now. Standing up, he pushed on walking towards town.
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The moon was close to sitting as Warsile could at last see, kind of see, the town. It looked odd, though. In the new morning light, through his now hazy sight inside the tree line he saw the town but it was smaller, less developed. He even spied what looked like a construction site but it's what he didn't see that shocked him, there was no dock, no pier. "This can't be" he thought. Again, an unknowing fear gripped him. From behind one of the shacks, out rolled a wagon led by a horse, lanterns hanging still lit on the sides. "That must of been the peculiar light I saw" Warsile thought. Deducing that it must of passed him by as he slept. It was driven by similar looking guards in armor, encrusted on the breast an emblem of Feebel Castle, not that Warsile could make it out. As they rolled passed a few slips of paper escaped their wagon, flying wistfully by the wind. They look off back down the path leading out of town. Warsile took off from the tree line to retrieve one of the pieces of paper. In hand he hid in the safety of the trees again. The paper read there was a suspicious man on the lose, charged with invading Feebel Castle. Alarmingly, but not surprisingly, the description of the man matched Warsile! Warsile sat down in shock and sadness and fear. He scratched his head. "How could this happen?" He pondered. Warsile went over the events in his head as he sat there in the woods but something most frightening occurred. Along with his vision, his memory began to be blurry. The name of the ship he arrived on was lost, so was the day of the week. He vaguely remembered the town but only because the one that stood before him now was so different. He couldn't quite picture the walk to the castle and only bits and pieces of the actual castle remained in his head. Soon he struggled to name the kingdom he was in, and then even the kingdom he was from. But the monster stood vividly in his brain, at least for the time being, and the colorful vortex. "No!" He said out loud, with a shriek. "My memory cannot fail me like this! Like my eyes!" He pulled his sword out with fury. "I must not forget who I am, at least!" He shouted as he used the tip of his sword to inscribe "Warsile" into his arm. Soaking his arm, the ground and his sword in warm blood. He fought with remembering harder and harder and this was terrifying and frustrating at first, until he forgot that he couldn't remember.
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