Trash Panda

The Hive

@Burthstone

Yes it is :) Most of our players dropped out so we're accepting again

Royally Spellbound

The silence dragged on as the king had yet to appear. Lander scuffed his foot against the floor in boredom, the plush carpet masking the sound. He was finding it harder and harder not to try and fill the space with words. He still had things he wanted to say to the nobles, questions he wanted to ask. Why were they doing nothing to help the underfed masses in the kingdom? Why were the taxes still being raised when the villagers were already struggling to keep up? Did he even care? Lander had to bite his tongue to keep from asking these inquiries aloud. If he wanted to make a difference, he would have to be more tactful about it.

Just when Lander was beginning to feel like he could no longer keep his silence, the doors opened and the king entered the dining hall. Lander sat up a little straighter in spite of himself. He had thought the king looked regal before, but up close it felt as though they came from two different worlds. The king wore clothes of the finest material Lander had ever seen and he carried himself in a way that commanded the attention of anyone close by. In his hand was a bulging sack of was Lander suspected was his prize money. The king noticed where he had fixated his attention and addressed him when he sat down.

“I am sure you are eager to obtain your well-won prize. However, I implore you to be patient. There is an additional matter I wish to discuss before you leave.”

An additional matter? He couldn’t imagine what the king would ever wish to discuss with a simple peasant. Before he could inquire further, the food was brought in and set down on the table. His eyes widened at the sight of it. The size his portion alone was enough to feed a small family. It didn’t feel right to eat so well when his own friends and family were hungry at home, but the smell was too tantalizing to resist and he hadn’t had anything to eat since the day before. To make up for the guilt, he slipped some bread into the folds of his clothes to bring home later for his parents. Once that was done, he ate ravenously, only just realizing how hungry he was. The food tasted even better than it smelled. Seasoned with expensive herbs and spices, it was wonderfully rich. The nobles didn’t seem to notice though. Of course, they grew up with such fine cuisine. They probably didn’t know any different.

After he finished eating – there was still plenty of food left on his plate, as the portion was too large to finish despite his incessant hunger – a servant came around to collect his dish. Lander thanked him for doing so, but the servant just cast him a strange look and walked away. He ignored it and turned to the king, who looked as though he was preparing to speak again.

“Now to the matter at hand. I am in need of a personal guard, and I ask that you would fill the position. You have shown yourself to be more than capable. It would be temporary, until you are no longer needed, and you would be paid handsomely for your work.”

There was a long pause. Lander stared at the king incredulously. He wanted him to serve as a guard? Surely he had plenty of knights who were more than capable of filling the position. Then the princess spoke up, mirroring his thoughts with her words.

“Father, you have the knights. What could you need a personal guard for?”

“Not for me, Moria. For you.”

This time it was the princess’s turn to stare. Apparently this was all news to her.

“What? For me? I do not need a guard.”

“You do if I say you do. I have received a worrisome threat, and I cannot allow harm to come to you.”

A threat? Lander leaned forward slightly, as if that would help him hear the conversation better. Perhaps this was the clue he needed about the increasing number of knights in the villages. He was right all along. Something did happen in the inner kingdom. To his disappointment, Moria brushed over the comment without a second thought.

“What about the knights? Surely they’re more suited to such a position.”

“That is why I held the tournament: to find the strongest in Camelot. I had naturally assumed that Sir Jerald or one of the others would have won, but it seems I was wrong.”

“But… Father, he’s not even a noble!”

“I do not care what he is, so long as he can protect you.”

“Father, I–”

“Enough, Moria,” the king sharply cut off his daughter’s complaints. He turned back to Lander. “You can always decline and I will send you off tomorrow with your prize. It is your choice.”

It was a surprisingly generous offer. The king was even willing to pay him for his services. He could send more gold back to his village. He didn’t enjoy living in the crowded inner kingdom of Camelot and he was at a much higher risk of being arrested for sorcery here, but it was a small price to pay for his family’s wellbeing. Lander realized everyone was waiting for his response. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I will do it.”

Royally Spellbound

I agree, this is a fun one :)
I posted my reply~

Royally Spellbound

Lander stood slightly dumbstruck, his blue eyes roaming over the crowd. It was the first time since the tournament started that he didn’t have his mind focused on other things, so he finally noticed just how many people were watching him. The roar of their cheers and applause was deafening. He glimpsed a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and turned to see Sir Jerald struggling to get up from the ground. Lander reached out to help him, but the knight swatted his hand away and shot him a poisonous look.

“Don’t touch me, peasant,” he snarled. He got shakily to his feet and put a hand to the wound Lander had inflicted upon his side. His fingers came away flecked with dark red blood. The knight clicked his tongue and muttered to himself, “I’ll have to get this cleaned…” He straightened his back as much as he could without wincing to try and appear dignified as he walked away.

Lander was left standing by himself in the center of the arena. He fidgeted with his sword hilt uncomfortably. The king never gave any directions about what to do next. He glanced up at the stand where the king had been sitting to find that he had vanished. Where did he go? Lander looked around, but there were too many people to pick out any individual face. Was he supposed to have followed the king out? Did the king decide not to pay him because he was a commoner? Dozens of questions like these flitted through his mind as he stood in the arena.

He was put at ease when the man he assumed was the king’s advisor approached him with the princess. The king himself was not among them. Perhaps he thought Lander was unworthy of his time. It was not an impossible theory. Even the princess’s disgust for him was concealed thinly enough for Lander to notice it when she addressed him.

“Congratulations, Champion Lander. Your fighting skills are… admirable,” she said. There was no mistaking the hesitation in her voice when she offered the compliment. Lander was not offended though. He was only here to claim the gold for his village, not impress some arrogant royal with his swordsmanship. She could despise him if she wished.

“Thank you,” Lander said.

“As part of your reward, you have been invited to dine with the royal family tonight,” the king’s advisor said. Lander wasn’t sure if he wanted to attend, but the advisor’s tone suggested that he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He nodded and followed the two out of the arena. Dinner was part of the reward, but what about the gold? The advisor had said nothing about it. Lander once again feared that the king had revoked his offer.

“When will I see my prize money?” he ventured. He knew the question made him sound greedy, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to be sure the king would keep his end of the bargain so Lander could fulfill his own promise to his family.

“In time,” the advisor replied vaguely. Lander fell silent, deciding the man wasn’t going to tell him anything else about the matter. At least it still sounded like he would be paid for his efforts. That was good enough for now.

--

Lander couldn’t help but gape at the sheer vastness of the king’s castle. Even when he tilted his head back he could not see the top when he stood directly in front of it. The walls stretched out on either side, seemingly endless. There were probably hundreds of rooms inside. The royal family had so much wealth, it was astounding. Yet there were children dying of starvation in the outer villages. The thought made him feel sick.

“This way,” the voice of the advisor pulled him from his thoughts. He realized the other two had gone on ahead and were waiting for him by the main portal. He hurried to catch up with them as they went inside.

The interior was even more beautiful than the outer walls. Wood and stone were artistically arranged on the walls and ceiling, and bright red drapes framed the windows. When he looked up, the ceiling rose far above his head, making the room feel enormous. And this was just the main hall. He stared in childlike wonder at the luxurious estate. Off to his left, he heard a quiet giggle. He turned and saw a passing servant girl trying to cover her amused smile with a hand as she hurried past with a basket of clothes. Lander flushed. He was acting completely undignified. He tried to assume a more relaxed composure, but his eyes still flickered to the sides to look at the paintings that hung on the walls. How could anyone come to such a place and not be amazed at the intricacy of it all?

Eventually he was led to the dining hall. The room was long, with the door they entered from being on one of the narrower walls. A table commanded the center with a vast red carpet stretched out below it. Lander wondered if anyone else would be joining them for dinner. The table was built to seat many people. It seemed like such a waste of space if only three of them used it.

A memory stirred in the back of Lander's mind. He remembered the days before the curfew was implemented, when the villagers would gather together in someone’s house and everyone would eat dinner together. The hosting family would never have enough food to serve them all, so each guest always brought a contribution for the meal with him or her. There were also never enough seats at the table, so many of the villagers would sit on the floor or lean against the walls. Children would run around between them, skipping over legs and feet. Adults would drink ale and share stories with one another. Lander felt a pang of longing for those social gatherings. It was just another thing the new laws stole from his village.

“Please have a seat,” the king’s advisor said, gesturing to a chair at the long table. “The king will be here shortly.”

Lander nodded and sat in the indicated chair. The seat was cushioned and soft; nothing like the hard, wooden stools he used in the village. It was a minor improvement, but it still demonstrated the stark contrast between the lives of the royals and the peasants. He watched the advisor pull out a chair for the princess. It seemed like she didn’t have to do any manual labor whatsoever. Spoiled. The word flashed through his mind, unprompted, as he observed the scene, but he said nothing as he sat waiting for the king to join them. Besides, he doubted the princess would take kindly to any attempt he made at conversation anyhow.

The Hive

SoNem landed near the humans. He felt foua lick at the back of his throat like bile. If they tried to attack him, he would be ready. He then heard the thump, thump of the others landing beside him. His tail twitched in frustration. They had chosen not to listen and followed him to meet the humans. Well, no matter. If they wanted to help him finish the humans off, it was fine by him.

“We mean no harm. We come in peace... We wish to help.”

SoNem wavered. One of the humans was civil enough to speak Drakine? It had a thick accent, but the words were intelligible enough. Still, it could be a trap. Humans were tricky fiends, not to be trusted. He saw a flash of movement off to his right and Istaria came forward.

“How can you help?” she asked. SoNem looked at her incredulously. She trusted these humans after all their kind had done? Their Queen was gone; their home was gone; everything was gone. How could Istaria and Seulki go to them for help?

“This is ridiculous,” SoNem hissed. “We should kill them while we still have them trapped.”

Wherefore Art Thou? [Summer + Veiana]

Beo raised a brow at his new servant when she refused to complete the small task of stating her name. She was a stubborn one, that was for sure. All of his past servants were either happy to have the job –personal servants of the royal family were admitted to a room in the castle; quite a luxury to the lower-class men and women who were hired– or too nervous to argue over their duties for fear of being executed. The bravery (or perhaps stupidity) of this new girl amused him. He laughed and folded his arms over his chest.

“Something wrong?” Beo echoed. “Yes. My purchase is a bit dense. It doesn’t seem to realize I’m giving orders, not suggestions.” He leaned in close to her face and narrowed his eyes. “You would do well to stop fighting with me now rather than be executed later.” Part of him hoped the threat would be enough to keep the girl’s temperament in check. He didn’t want to kill her off so soon. This wasn’t because he felt any form of compassion for her; he merely didn’t want to lose yet another servant and have to wait for the next replacement. However, he kept his expression perfectly neutral to give none of these thoughts away.

“Now then,” Beo said coldly. “Would you care to tell me your name?”

Wherefore Art Thou? [Summer + Veiana]

That's fine! I'll try to get my reply up some time today :)

Royally Spellbound

Excuse the ridiculous length of my first post... XD
I tried to put in a lot of background information and it got out of hand. I promise my other posts won't be nearly that long lol

Royally Spellbound

The day was hot and humid. At least, that’s how it felt to the men in the field. They had been working from when the sun just peeked over the horizon to when it reached its highest point in the sky. Word had been sent from the inner kingdom that the king was collecting produce early for some royal event. So of course the peasants were forced to work twice as fast to prepare their offerings to their liege, under the stern oversight of his knights.

Lander wiped the sweat from his brow as he searched through crops of wheat and barley to find sections that were ready to be harvested. His eyes darted to the closest knight. They were officially described as overseers to make sure the villagers were working efficiently for the king, but he knew what they were really here for. The shifty way the knights’ eyes roved from worker to worker gave them away. They were hunting for sorcerers.

For reasons unknown, the king had been sending more and more of his knights to the outer villages to seize and execute suspected magic-wielders. Now there were even some stationed permanently to keep a closer eye on the peasants. Lander often wondered if something had happened within the walls of the inner kingdom. What else would trigger such a reaction?

One of the knights met his gaze, and Lander quickly turned back to his work at hand. He didn’t want any of them to suspect him of being a sorcerer, because he actually was one. He had kept a low profile since his childhood, mostly due to his parents’ protection and cover-ups, and so far the knights in his village were unaware of his talents. He wanted to keep it that way.

The workers finished their jobs just before sunset. Everyone returned home according to another newly enforced law: the curfew. No one was to be outside after nightfall. Lander walked with some of his neighbors past the knights, chatting idly to make himself look like just another work-weary peasant, however in reality he was listening to the knights’ conversation. He had gotten into this habit a few days ago when the king started stationing the guards in the villages. The eavesdropping had paid off twice since then. He had been prepared for two “random” home searches and had enough time to hide anything in his room that related to magic. So when the other villagers rounded a corner to head home, Lander slipped into a nearby alley to continue listening to the knights.

“…to enter the tournament? I know I am. I heard the prize is a sizable amount of gold.”

“Of course I am. I heard a rumor that the king is going to give the winner a portion of his land in the south.”

“Really? I’m not so sure. The king is allowing peasants to enter. I doubt he would offer up land if there’s a chance some lowly commoner could win it.”

“But what are the odds of that happening? I mean we’ve been trained to kill since birth. The peasants are only there to amuse the spectators.”

“That is very true. I hope I get to fight one of them just to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn’t stand a chance.”

The two knights walked off, laughing about the foolishness of peasants. Lander stayed behind. A tournament that commoners could enter? The winnings from something that prestigious would pay off his village’s taxes for a generation. It wasn’t even a choice; he had to enter. Lander slipped through the shadows to return home and tell his family the news.

--

“Absolutely not.”

“You’ll be killed!”

Lander glared at his parents as they forbade him from entering the tournament. He had been sure they would be excited about the news. He could win enough gold to secure their home for life. He hadn’t expected they would react like this.

“What if someone catches you using magic in the inner kingdom?” his father said. “You would be executed on the spot.”

“I’m not going to use magic,” Lander said tiredly. “Besides, I’m going to enter this whether you ‘permit’ me to or not. Don’t forget, I’m not a child anymore. I just figured I would tell you my plan before I left.” His parents fell silent at that. He knew they would always think of him as in inexperienced young boy, but that didn’t mean they could dictate the decisions he made. He was only still living with them because he was worried for their sakes. Everyone in the village had noticed the increasing taxes by now, and Lander’s parents were struggling to keep up in their old age. Lander lived with them to help them make payments to the king. Sometimes they forgot that little detail and treated him like he was still under their custody.

“If you do this,” his mother finally said. “Just… be careful.”

“You know I will,” Lander replied. “And you take care of yourselves while I’m gone.”

--

Lander left early the next morning, journeying to the inner kingdom on foot and making use of the cart of the occasional travelling merchant. He arrived as the sun began sinking in the sky, leaving him with plenty of time to explore the marketplace.

The inner city was bustling with activity. There were more people packed together in one place than Lander had ever seen before in his life. He knew they had to be middle-to-upper-class commoners. There was no way the royal family was this large. He wormed his way through the crowds, searching for the location to sign up for the tournament. After a while of being jostled by the elbows and shoulders of strangers, he finally found it. The man in charge of admittance made a face as Lander approached him.

“Let me guess, you’re here for the tournament tomorrow,” he shook his head and muttered to himself. “Now they’re letting peasants enter? What is the king thinking?”

“Careful, saying such things could be considered treason,” Lander said casually. The man shot him a wicked look.

“Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter,” he spat. “No royal in his right mind would listen to the accusations of such a low-class commoner.”

“Well this low-class commoner would like to enter that tournament now,” Lander said. “And he would appreciate it is you add his name to the list.”

“Fine,” the man said. “I hope you know I could send you packing right now, but I won’t. I think I would much rather see that smug look of yours get wiped off your face when you face a real warrior in battle.”

“Thank you for your generosity,” Lander said. He gave the man his name so he could write it down. The man did so, and then looked him over again and sneered.

“I hope you’ve brought something stronger than cloth to wear to the fight,” he said. “Otherwise you won’t last long enough to entertain me.”

“I’m sorry, but this is all I’ve got,” Lander held his arms out and shrugged. “If you point me in the direction of an armor smith, I’d be glad to oblige you though.”

“You’re an odd character,” the man shook his head again and scoffed. “But I suppose I’ll be nice just this once.”

Lander soon had his new armor and sword. It was nothing like the fancy equipment used by the knights, but it would serve its purpose. The only problem was that he had spent all of his money to purchase it. He didn’t even have enough left over to buy food in the lower-middleclass market. He could afford to go hungry one night, but he needed to find a place to stay. After all, the curfew was enforced in the inner kingdom too.

He was fortunate enough to run into a middleclass woman who was willing to take him in for the night. She didn’t even ask for any payment. Apparently he somehow reminded her of her son who had died two years back, so she was happy to help him. He made a mental note to give her some of the money for her troubles if he won the tournament.

Lander woke up early the next morning to practice with his new equipment. He struggled with figuring out how to put the armor on, as he had never worn such a thing before, but he learned quickly enough and soon he was headed out to find a good place to warm up.

It seemed he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Other men in armor walked the streets of Camelot. All of them seemed to be headed in the same direction. New to the area, Lander followed a group of knights to find out where they were going and so he wouldn’t get lost. Eventually he came upon a training ground where the men were sparring with each other and practicing their fighting techniques. Lander stood off to the side to watch. These people were quite obviously professionals, and their training showed through in their swordsmanship. For the first time, Lander felt a twinge of doubt that he could defeat them. He was mostly self-taught, which was helpful in the sense that his style was unorthodox and his opponent wouldn’t be able to predict his next moves. However it put him at something of a disadvantage for the same reasons. He also wasn’t used to wearing heavy armor into battle. It took away from his speed, which he always relied on in the past to win matches against his father and the other boys in the village. If he wanted to win this tournament, he could leave no room for error. Lander approached one of the knights who was standing off to the side, taking a break. He had to fight against one of them to find out where he needed to improve on his own techniques.

“Would you care to spar against me?” Lander said. The knight looked him over and snorted.

“Your armor looks like it came from a secondhand market,” he said. “Where are you from?”

“Why does that matter?” Lander dodged the question. “The only thing that really counts in battle is a warrior’s skill, not where he comes from.”

“With words like that, I can only assume you’re not a knight,” the man narrowed his eyes. “So what are you? A commoner?”

“Yes,” Lander said simply. “Now will you fight with me or not?”

“A common peasant is challenging me to a match?” the knight said, his voice pointedly loud to attract the attention of anyone else who happened to be standing nearby. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No,” Lander glanced to the side as heads turned to see what the commotion was about. He didn’t want to draw this much attention, but the knight was giving him no choice.

“I am second-in-command of all the knights of Camelot,” the knight said haughtily. “You would do well to stay out of my way, commoner.”

“Well congratulations to you,” Lander said “But my request still stands.”

“Then you are a fool,” the knight hissed. “Very well, I am not against putting peasants in their place.”

The knight drew his sword, a beautiful piece of work with ancient letters carved into the blade. Lander’s shabby sword looked like a child’s toy in comparison. He studied the knight’s stance and the position of his weapon, and then adjusted himself to a stance that best matched it. He saw a flicker of something in the knight’s eyes when he did this, but it was gone too quickly for him to read it. The knight lunged forward to strike at Lander’s side, but he parried the blow just in time. While he was safe against the first attack, Lander could feel the effects of the weighty armor slowing his movements. He would have to react even faster to account for the lack of speed.

They exchanged blows for a while, neither one able to find an advantage over the other. But then, as the knight pulled away from him after yet another attack, Lander spotted a weak point in his defense. He moved in to strike at it. His heart sped up as he began to swing his own blade down. The knight was responding too slowly to cover up his blunder. He could win this fight. But at the last second, he turned his sword and missed the opening. The knowledge that he could have beaten the knight was good enough for now. He didn’t need to give his abilities away before the real fights began. Lander purposefully misstepped so the knight could bring his sword down on his shoulder. The armor he was wearing protected him, but the blow still knocked him off-balance. The knight put his sword point against Lander’s throat.

“Do you yield?”

“Yes,” Lander dropped his sword and held up his hands.

The spectating men cheered, but Lander’s opponent looked uneasy. The knight knew he threw the fight, but Lander knew he wouldn’t say anything for the sake of his own pride. He also knew he stood a chance at winning the tournament if the man he just faced was one of the best fighters in the kingdom. Lander sheathed his sword and walked away to continue practicing on his own. His could feel the cold gaze of the knight following his back as he left.

--

The stands around the area were completely packed with people. It seemed like the entire kingdom of Camelot had come to watch the knights battle each other. Lander walked among the tents where the other contenders were preparing. He didn’t have one for himself, or course, so he contented himself with setting up in a secluded corner. So far, he hadn’t seen very many other peasants. He had only come across three or four of them. They were easy to pick out due to their plain armor (or lack thereof) and rugged features. Lander knew he must look the same way to the knights, but he held his head high in the confidence that he was skilled enough to face them.

“There you are,” a voice called out behind him. Lander turned around to see the woman who had taken him in the night before. In her hands was a long, bundled object.

“What are you doing here?” Lander asked.

“I came to give you this,” she held out the object. Lander took it and drew the object from the cloth that covered it. His eyes widened in surprise. It was a longsword, masterfully crafted with a double-edge blade. “It belonged to my son,” the woman explained. “I thought about it for a long time, so don’t try to talk me out of giving it away. I have no use for it anymore. Please, use it to defeat those awful knights.”

“Thank you,” Lander said. He slid the blade into its sheath and strapped it to his armor. “You’ve done so much for me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the woman shook her head. “Just win one for me, okay?”

The knights began filing out of their tents and heading to the arena. The tournament would soon begin. Lander said goodbye to the woman and quickly joined them, slipping into the line as they stepped before the crowd. It was here that Lander got his first look at the king. He was standing in a raised section at the front of the arena, holding up his hands to silence the audience. He definitely had a regal appearance, wearing fine clothes and jewels and a golden crown that reflected the light of the sun. There were only four other people in the stand with him. Two were obviously servants, and one of them looked like some sort of advisor to the king. The last person was a young woman who also wore luxurious clothes and a more feminine crown. Lander guessed she was the king’s daughter. He had heard a little about her, but royal gossip hardly ever reached the outer villages so he only knew her name: Moria.

“Thank you all for coming,” the king’s voice projected over the arena once the crowds had hushed. He described and explained the rules of the tournament to the knights, then called the first two competitors to step forward. Everyone else was to either return to their tents or wait on the sidelines until their names were called. Most of the knights walked back to their tents. Lander marveled at their arrogance. They weren’t going to stay to watch the competition, to find weaknesses in the other knights’ techniques before they had to face them. He chose to watch from the side.

The battles went by rather quickly, as the first knights were badly matched and one side always dominated the other. Then the first peasant was called. He was one of the commoners with no armor, so his status was completely apparent to everyone watching. Lander felt a pang of sympathy for him when the crowd jeered. The fight was over before it even started. To make a show of his skill, the knight didn’t even unsheathe his sword. He just battered the peasant with the covered blade until one strong blow to the head made him lose consciousness. It was cruel, but at least the commoner wasn’t killed, Lander thought.

He watched two more battles before his name was announced. “Sir Baul and Lander, come forward.”

Without the title of a knight, everyone instantly knew he was a peasant. He tried to ignore the jeers as he stepped into the arena to face his opponent. Sir Baul was a bear-like man. His size was intimidating, but Lander could tell he was slow. Compared to the knight he sparred with in the training grounds, this man wouldn’t be much of a challenge. The two fighters unsheathed their swords and the king called for them to begin.

Baul charged first, shouting loudly to try and frighten his opponent. But Lander wasn’t about to fall for such a simple trick. He sidestepped and swung his sword, using the flat of his blade to knock the larger man off-balance. When Baul stumbled, Lander brought the hilt around to hit him in the small of his back. The knight still had too much momentum from his initial charge. When Lander added the extra force, he couldn’t stop himself from falling to the ground. Lander set the blade of his sword against Sir Baul’s neck. The battle was over. His mind was racing. He won. He won against a real knight. He looked up. Instead of the usual cheering and applause that came with a victory, the crowd had gone quiet. The spectators whispered among themselves. No one expected a peasant to defeat a knight.

But that didn’t matter. Lander sheathed his sword and walked out of the arena.

--

He won his next fights with ease. The opponents grew increasingly more skilled as the competition was shaved down to only the best, but Lander was more than a match for all of them. The audience had even begun to cheer for him towards the end. He was an unexpected underdog that made the tournament more entertaining for them. At last, he made it to the final match. There was only one other man remaining.

“Sir Jerald and Lander come forward,” the king said. “I must say, this was not the final battle I was expecting.” His eyes fell on Lander. “However, have proven yourselves to be the greatest among the knights gathered here. The winner of this last match will take home one hundred gold pieces and have the honor of dining with the royal family. I wish you the best of luck.” This time his gaze rested on Sir Jerald. Of course the king would want one of the knights to win the tournament. It would be an embarrassment to the kingdom if a simple peasant bested one of Camelot’s finest warriors.

As Lander took his place in the arena, he lifted his eyes to meet his opponent’s. Then he froze. It was the knight he had fought with that same morning. Sir Jerald smirked at him.

“Well, well,” he said venomously. “It looks like I will have my revenge sooner than I thought.” As Lander had suspected, Jerald had caught on to what he did during their last match. “This time, I will put you in your place, commoner.” With that last word, he darted forward and swung his sword at Lander’s side. It was the same opening move he had used in their last fight. But this time, when Lander moved to block the attack, Jerald altered the course of his blade and struck him in the arm. The blow almost made Lander drop his sword, but he managed to keep his grip.

“I went easy on you last time,” Jerald said as they parted. “Consider yourself honored that I’m using my full force now.”

“Shouldn’t you be focused on the fight rather than bragging?” Lander said. He lunged at Jerald. Despite what the knight was saying, he knew Jerald had made a mistake in their sparring match. He was just trying to use big words to cover it up. Lander still had a chance to beat him.

They both fought viciously, the crowd roaring its approval all around them. Finally, Lander saw it again. The knight pulled away from him after an unusually strong attack. While he was recovering his balance for another blow, he had an opening on his left side. Lander didn’t hesitate. He swung his sword right into it and felt it connect with a chink in Jerald’s armor. The blade didn’t cut very deep, but it was enough to draw blood and knock the knight off his feet. Lander stood over his fallen opponent, breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe it. He won the tournament. He lifted his gaze to see the king’s reaction. If he was shocked or disappointed, he showed no sign of it.

“It seems we have our winner.”

The Hive

I'll try to get a post up some time this weekend :)