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Knights have been the things of myths and legends and fairy tales for many years. Some Knights can be found as in historical fact, The Knights Templar as an example and such can be found in any literature of any good library.
The Knights of the Round Table however is something that some say is half fact, half fiction, the times of King Arthur is said or lead to be believed to be the last moments of what had been a golden age, not much is known or stories may vary on what happened to those knights, it is said or belief in magic faded and had left the world of man after all the knights of the round table had been broken.
Maybe not their spirits, some others may perhaps, nothing is for certain, the fellowship if you will of the round table had come to an end as most of the stories about Arthur and Merlin goes follow that pattern, there may be stories that may tell of what happened to those knights, what they went on to become.
But who was the very last knight of the round table? It could be one of many possibilities, even if it is known who the last knight really was, it does not really matter as far as this story is concerned, as it is purely fictional in a scenario most would not expect with many twists and turns: WARNING! This story does contain a multi plot strand which I have split up but made sure the reader knows where each strand begins and ends.
As so not to confuse anyone, some chapters are short, some are long, which could not be helped. Please bare all of this in mind before commenting. Also please note that this story is meant to be about a two changes in a knights life, the first one taking place in the life of another man without giving the plot away too much, to another change in his life as something else, again, I do not want to spoil things, you will see each plot strand unfold as this story goes along.
THE LAST KNIGHT
By Pet Baby Amy
A crack of thunder roared over darkened skies, lightning flickered and arced out across the horizon, that ribboned like wild streaks of fire crackers, darting everywhere, striking everything and anything that got in its path. The lightning, was no ordinary lightning, for it changed from blinding white, to crimson red, a purple hue, to a menacing evil like green. The rain was not a natural one either, for it burnt like acid on anything that it came in contact with.
No mortal being would be out on such a dark day as this why, nothing could or would be able to survive the Dark Storm, that was what it had become known as, that was what it was, a dark deadly wrath. It was the bringer of DEATH. For nothing on Azeri could ever survive that unholy rain, that storm of pure ultimate evil, lands would be destroyed with everything on it, even living underneath it....
And yet, there was something out there, galloping probably for it's shear life as the land it rode on decayed and disappeared from beneath it. Regardless of that fact, the horse rode on with a cloaked rider, wearing armour that seemed to somehow defy the rains of HELL.
No matter how many times the lightning leashed out, as though it had a mind of it's own, trying to strike the mysterious rider down. Who or what ever the rider was, was probably thee most skilled horseman, woman, or possibly demon, in all of Azeri.
The Azeri themselves were essentially a humanoid like race, they were near Elf like with their pointed ears, piercing eyes like pure sapphire, fiery red hair for the females, golden like blonde for the males.
Both had equally long hair, some Azeri males had short hair, but no woman had short hair, nor were they ever allowed to have so, a long forbidden decree still held by all Azeri, even though that decree came from a very ancient and near forgotten past, the decree held, it was enforced and kept alive, why? No one can really say for sure, Azeri has a long dark history, one it was trying so hard to put long behind them. This was a new age, the age of Knights and Magic were at an end.
No more maidens in distress, no monsters to fight and slay, or Princesses to rescue from dark tall towers or from evil tyrant fathers or uncles. The Azeri in some ways were fast moving and growing beyond such things, but for a new Dawn to rise, the old ways had to go and be forgotten once for all. There were some that still clung onto the old ways.
The Dark Storm acted also like a sort of unholy cleanser, it wiped out all believers of the old ways and anything else. It would last for days, years, decades. New life would begin again once the storm finally died down. It has never lasted any longer than that, though once the Dark Storm had lasted for a Millennium, but only once and never again since then.
A vortex of deadly force was sent after the strange knight who's horse seemed to also not be effected by the deadly rain, after dodging each deadly bolt of lightning, the Dark Storm had other ways to deal with this strange knight, defying it's very nature. The deadly swirling hurling hurricane was eating up everything in it's path, yet the horse and the knight stayed firm, not even being caught up in its deadly vacuum.
The Dark Storm was furious, a cloud of death was sent the knights way, enveloping all, there was no escaping it. But the knight and it's horse stood firm and waited. He or it, or what ever this knight was, had no intentions of out running the black cloud, as it drew ever more close to the knight, he suddenly whipped out from his scabbard, a sword unlike any other, for it was a sword of pure white light, it was the purest and most brightest thing ever seen.
And with it, the knight sliced the dark cloud in half, which then suddenly dis-burst into a shower of darting dark wraith like tentacles, which frazzled out into nothing afterwards. Nothing was seen after that... there was nothing, was the knight killed even by his own mighty blade? There was no life for a long, long time, how the Azeri survived, or even a small handful of them to start over a new race, no one shall ever really know.
The New Dawn had already begun and it flourished in an amazingly quick time. So much had changed and the Knights of old and magic had truly been forgotten. Every one was happy and everyone knew each other, apart from one person, a stranger, that had recently rode in on a black mare, it's coat was as black as ash, there was no gloss to it's coat, the man was dressed in clothes no one recognised, clothes of steel and metal.
It was of course that strange and mysterious knight, how he also survived, was as equally unknown as to those last survivors of the Azeri race. But everyone were friendly enough as they past him by, even though they could not see his face. “Good day to you stranger.”
"How is your day stranger?” The knight did not reply or talk in return, he rode on into town and soon got off his noble stead.
There was a tavern near by that was also an inn, there was several in the town of Wyre why it it was called that, is just as strange, for it was a new town and all of the old ways and everything to do with the past were gone, yet the name it self was of the old ways. It did not seem to make sense and even the people of Wyre, did not seem to be too bothered about the town's name either. Nothing seem to fit about the town of Wyre, yet everyone all acted as though everything was perfectly normal.
The Knight who had a greater mystery about him, or it, did not care for the odd way of the town or it's people. He tied his horse to a near by place that was meant for securing horses if one chose not to take their horse to the local stables. The knight had no fear for his horse or anyone trying to steal it, not that anyone would, there was no signs of bandits etc to be found in the whole town of Wyre. The towns folk were friendly and kind to a fault, no mater how rudely the Knight ignored them all as he went up to the counter of the tavern, placed a bag of gold on it and for the first time he spoke.
"Yes stranger, what can I do for you?” The knight had a male voice, deep, or that could have been because of the visor he wore, it covered his whole face and was part of his helmet. It was of a strange design now on one at all recognised in all of Wyre. Yet they did not seem to be put off by it, the people of Wyre were very strange people in deed, perhaps it was the perfect place, for an equally strange, mysterious knight. “I need a room for six nights, no more, no less and it has to be room number six for which I shall pay you six of the finest ever gold coins which you wont find anywhere else.”
This was an odd thing to say from a knight who wielded perhaps a holy sword of some kind, it had to be, for it to have been able to send the dark and deadly death cloud into nothing. With his gloved hand, the Knight took from the money bag six of the largest and brightest gold coins anyone had ever seen in all of Azeri. Strangely it was witnessed that this knight had even taken 6 maidens to bed with him, one for each night that he had stayed, each one he had misused and he even took back the money which he had paid the inn keeper with, had the knight turned bad? But before the knight could leave on the seventh day, a strange woman took him back to his room, from which the strange lady or the knight never returned...
TO BE CONTINUED....