He ran the stone down along the blade of his sword, narrowing his eyes on the edge he made with each pass. The scraping was doing its part to keep him focused on the idle task. It was just barely enough to keep his mind off of anything and everything that had sharpened his mood more than the blade.
He hadn't heard the door open, but the Jester was in the room with him now.
Face masked by the strange cloak he always seemed to wear, his head tilted oddly to one side, and he purred, "I see you had fun in town the other day."
The Knight felt, rather than saw the wicked grin that was pointed his way, and only offered a grunt in response.
"I guess that explains your mood now. I won't even bother asking."
"You never do." At least his reply had included words this time.
The Jester laughed. "Yes, well maybe you're just a little too predictable after all these years. You hold on way too tightly to hope."
The Knight sighed, and decided he wouldn't even grace that comment with an answer. He didn't have the energy to fight right now.
As he reached for the door to leave once again, the Jester paused, turning back. "So what will you do now?"
The Knight paused, using the back of his hand to wipe the gathering sweat from his brow, and turned to focus cold, determined eyes on the hooded oddity at his door. "What else can I do? Try harder, and keep trying until something happens." The last part of that sentence hung in the air and he tried not wince. It had sounded grim, even to his ears.
The Jester hadn't said anything, and strangely enough, didn't even smile- on the contrary, he looked stunned for a moment before turning back to walk out the door.
The Knight closed his eyes, setting aside his weapon and tools, and exhaling slowly, trying to calm his heart and nerves. "A candle in the breeze either flickers and gets brighter, or just goes out. That's the choice I'll have to make."
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
A Shot in the Dark
The Knight screamed, and suddenly found himself standing, feet planted securely on the ground.
Moments before, he had been in a free fall, sailing down through the darkness with only his sword, his armor, and his wits, and no way of knowing when or if the pit that had opened up to swallow him would ever end.
And it was aware.
The darkness had moved around him, swirling, brushing against his body with a mind of it's own. The only thing that had kept the panic contained where it tried to claw its way out of his stomach was the feeling that he had something to do. And so, without knowing if she would hear, if his message would reach anyone at all, he did what he had gone there to do.
He screamed her name.
* * *
It had felt like a dream, but he couldn't be sure. Someone stepped up to his side, and placed a hand on his shoulder. There was no emotion to the gesture; It was simply an offer to help stabilize him, now that the visions had stopped. Though their eyes met, the Jester, ever his unbidden companion, had nothing to say. Where he had just been, they both knew, his compatriot could not follow. He could only stand by and simply watch.
Later as the Knight lay back down to rest, stripping his silvered armor to stand bare, he felt... bitter. The loneliness he felt inside would have less of a bite if he could just get some answers.
To say he was lost lately was perhaps an understatement. Because his sword was not needed, he had no place either. And yet he had stayed, telling himself each day that it would only be a little longer.
The townspeople did their best to make him feel wanted and at home, and while he didn't brush off their kindness, neither did he feel compelled or content to stay. They were good enough people, but to settle down among them would feel a little too much like pretending, like losing a vital piece of himself.
He tried not to let himself think on it too much, but every now and again he caught himself wondering if his sword and skill would ever again be needed at all. Things were peaceful now, and he should have felt thankful.
And yet every so often a sense of foreboding would lance his senses, like a terrible warning of something closing in from a distance, insisting he needed to be ready.
It had been so long since he had heard from anyone that may be able to understand or explain what he was feeling that he was unsure of what should be his next steps to take. When he tried to hold onto hope, with it came soft whispers of other emotions, unwelcomed. Like those connected to the Dark Princess.
He didn't want to think about it. He tried not to. It always came back to her.
Sleep was settling in, and he was grateful. Pulling the leash from his mind, it wandered into nostalgia, showing him faces of old friends, taking him back to when he first started preparing for a battle that had never quite come...
Moments before, he had been in a free fall, sailing down through the darkness with only his sword, his armor, and his wits, and no way of knowing when or if the pit that had opened up to swallow him would ever end.
And it was aware.
The darkness had moved around him, swirling, brushing against his body with a mind of it's own. The only thing that had kept the panic contained where it tried to claw its way out of his stomach was the feeling that he had something to do. And so, without knowing if she would hear, if his message would reach anyone at all, he did what he had gone there to do.
He screamed her name.
* * *
It had felt like a dream, but he couldn't be sure. Someone stepped up to his side, and placed a hand on his shoulder. There was no emotion to the gesture; It was simply an offer to help stabilize him, now that the visions had stopped. Though their eyes met, the Jester, ever his unbidden companion, had nothing to say. Where he had just been, they both knew, his compatriot could not follow. He could only stand by and simply watch.
Later as the Knight lay back down to rest, stripping his silvered armor to stand bare, he felt... bitter. The loneliness he felt inside would have less of a bite if he could just get some answers.
To say he was lost lately was perhaps an understatement. Because his sword was not needed, he had no place either. And yet he had stayed, telling himself each day that it would only be a little longer.
The townspeople did their best to make him feel wanted and at home, and while he didn't brush off their kindness, neither did he feel compelled or content to stay. They were good enough people, but to settle down among them would feel a little too much like pretending, like losing a vital piece of himself.
He tried not to let himself think on it too much, but every now and again he caught himself wondering if his sword and skill would ever again be needed at all. Things were peaceful now, and he should have felt thankful.
And yet every so often a sense of foreboding would lance his senses, like a terrible warning of something closing in from a distance, insisting he needed to be ready.
It had been so long since he had heard from anyone that may be able to understand or explain what he was feeling that he was unsure of what should be his next steps to take. When he tried to hold onto hope, with it came soft whispers of other emotions, unwelcomed. Like those connected to the Dark Princess.
He didn't want to think about it. He tried not to. It always came back to her.
Sleep was settling in, and he was grateful. Pulling the leash from his mind, it wandered into nostalgia, showing him faces of old friends, taking him back to when he first started preparing for a battle that had never quite come...
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