They came upon steeds of mottled grey and white, clad in armor of shining steel. Their lances were held erect, bearing the arms of an argent lion upon a field of black and crimson. These seven knights rode from the mists of the west, bringing with them the sound of thunder. The lands, so desolate, so choked by darkness and decay, would tremble with each thundering step of steed.
And there, on the horizon, would stand an army of immense size. Crimson eyes peered at the seven dawning lights in the distance. A bestial roar came from with the ranks as a large arm raised a savage blade. Thunder and lightning filled the skies as the army of beasts snarled and began to move forward.
The seven knights lowered their lances to place speaetips before them. A blue light spread 'cross them all as a mighty voice spoke among them. "For our fallen brothers! Into the breach, my brethren, that we may avenge these lands!"
In unison, they charged. These few...these brave, brave few...
Large brown eyes peered from behind a blanket, staring intently at the old man closing the tome. Suddenly, boy beneath the blanket lurched forward.
"It cannot end there! I won't be able to sleep! What happened, Grandfather?!"
The old man smiled and leaned forward. "Aahh..so you DO like my books..."
"I like the tales of battles..."
"They are more than tales, grandson. They are our history...shall I read more?"
The young boy nodded eagerly and shifted under the blankets to make himself comfortable. The older man smiled and patted his head once before reopening the book...
Their lances plunged deep into the flesh of those beasts and demons gathered there. The noble knights of the Order of The White Lion charged deep into the heart of the the battle. Outnumbered many times, their steeds ripped from beneath them, the dropped their lances and brandished their swords. Blood spilled from the gashes in their armor and one by one, the mighty lions fell...till two remained. Vargas and Balthazar...
They stood back to back, bloody weapons and bodies, but no force could break their spirit. The demons closed in slowly, savoring the smell of the knights' blood. Slavering fangs gnashed in anticipation of the meal to come...
But alas, most of the wretched beasts wod feast upon steel! Vargas and his sword and Balthazar with his spear would show themselves to be warriors of finest stock. A large portion of the beastly legion had fallen to just these two men. For bit a scant moment, victory seemed like a possibility...until a blade made it's home next to Balthazar's heart...
"No!" The child cried in protest.
"But it is what happened, grandson..." The old man said with a solemn sigh before continuing to read.
Vargas was alone amidst a sea of fire and blood. His anguish drove him to fight on. His pained cries could be heard across the lands. So much so that a greater demon heard it and drew closer. The great horned beast was as tall as as a hundred men, with the strength of manh more. It's very voice cause the world to tremble and other demons to cower. Bit Vargas was not afraid. He raised his sword to the sky and called upon the gods to aid him; to bless him with the power to vanquish the beast!
But the firey hands crushed his body... The demon hand lifted Vargas into the air to devour him, but in a final act of defiance, Vargas drove his sword into the beast's eye. The beast slammed Vargas's lifeless body to the ground and ripped out his sword, casting it away...
The skies turned blood red. Ashes' scent now upon the wind...the sun to never truly rise again. It is said that it was that day that hope truly died in Ayenee.
"That's terrible! Did no one slay the beast?!"
The old man shook his head. "No...the demon still lives. I have seen it with my own eyes..."
The young boy sat up once more. "Could you not slay it?!"
"I was an old man then...i am an older man now...it pained me to be unable to face the beast. It pained me even more to share this story with you, Tyrtaeus..but do you know what pained me the most my child?"
"What, grandfather?"
"Watching my son die..."
Suddenly, the boy's eyes widened. And for 20 long years, he kept that story in his heart...
Twenty years...
Twenty years of pain...
Twenty years of anger...
Twenty years of devotion...
For twenty years after hearing his grandfather's tale, Tyrtaeus trained diligently under his guidance. But while time made the young lion strong, the old lion grew weak...
"Tyrtaeus, come closer, grandson..." His words were weak now. Grandfather's sun was setting and anyone who looked into his weary eyes could see it. Tyrtaeus knelt at his grandfather's bedside and took his hand.
"You have trained hard...and you have made me proud. I am honored to dub you a white lion...It is the tradition of our people that father trains son...but Vargas..."
Tyrtaeus nodded. "I understand, Grandfather. You need not speak it..."
"Tyrtaeus...my time is nigh...so I must speak my last request swiftly...The last mission of our order was to assist the people of Ayenee in their war against the legions of Malach...Twenty nine years, grandson...and the task has yet to be completed...I fear that death make take you..."
Tyrtaeus closed his eyes and squeezed his grandfather's hand. "Lions do not fear death...We are mas-"
"Yes, my boy...we are masters of life and death...All that I have taught you...I must ask you to forget...I have lost one son...I cannot lose you too."
Tyrtaeus placed his forehead upon his grandfather's hands, sobbing between words. "I cannot...stay my hand grandfather...The task must be completed..."
Grandfather smiled weakly and kissed Tyrtaeus's hand. "I know...I expected...no less...The sword above the mantle...it was has been passed down from lion to lion...from my father...to me...to Vargas...and now, to you...tonight, you sit your vigil...at sunrise...you ride east..."
(Rushed, I know. Sorry.."
And there, on the horizon, would stand an army of immense size. Crimson eyes peered at the seven dawning lights in the distance. A bestial roar came from with the ranks as a large arm raised a savage blade. Thunder and lightning filled the skies as the army of beasts snarled and began to move forward.
The seven knights lowered their lances to place speaetips before them. A blue light spread 'cross them all as a mighty voice spoke among them. "For our fallen brothers! Into the breach, my brethren, that we may avenge these lands!"
In unison, they charged. These few...these brave, brave few...
Large brown eyes peered from behind a blanket, staring intently at the old man closing the tome. Suddenly, boy beneath the blanket lurched forward.
"It cannot end there! I won't be able to sleep! What happened, Grandfather?!"
The old man smiled and leaned forward. "Aahh..so you DO like my books..."
"I like the tales of battles..."
"They are more than tales, grandson. They are our history...shall I read more?"
The young boy nodded eagerly and shifted under the blankets to make himself comfortable. The older man smiled and patted his head once before reopening the book...
Their lances plunged deep into the flesh of those beasts and demons gathered there. The noble knights of the Order of The White Lion charged deep into the heart of the the battle. Outnumbered many times, their steeds ripped from beneath them, the dropped their lances and brandished their swords. Blood spilled from the gashes in their armor and one by one, the mighty lions fell...till two remained. Vargas and Balthazar...
They stood back to back, bloody weapons and bodies, but no force could break their spirit. The demons closed in slowly, savoring the smell of the knights' blood. Slavering fangs gnashed in anticipation of the meal to come...
But alas, most of the wretched beasts wod feast upon steel! Vargas and his sword and Balthazar with his spear would show themselves to be warriors of finest stock. A large portion of the beastly legion had fallen to just these two men. For bit a scant moment, victory seemed like a possibility...until a blade made it's home next to Balthazar's heart...
"No!" The child cried in protest.
"But it is what happened, grandson..." The old man said with a solemn sigh before continuing to read.
Vargas was alone amidst a sea of fire and blood. His anguish drove him to fight on. His pained cries could be heard across the lands. So much so that a greater demon heard it and drew closer. The great horned beast was as tall as as a hundred men, with the strength of manh more. It's very voice cause the world to tremble and other demons to cower. Bit Vargas was not afraid. He raised his sword to the sky and called upon the gods to aid him; to bless him with the power to vanquish the beast!
But the firey hands crushed his body... The demon hand lifted Vargas into the air to devour him, but in a final act of defiance, Vargas drove his sword into the beast's eye. The beast slammed Vargas's lifeless body to the ground and ripped out his sword, casting it away...
The skies turned blood red. Ashes' scent now upon the wind...the sun to never truly rise again. It is said that it was that day that hope truly died in Ayenee.
"That's terrible! Did no one slay the beast?!"
The old man shook his head. "No...the demon still lives. I have seen it with my own eyes..."
The young boy sat up once more. "Could you not slay it?!"
"I was an old man then...i am an older man now...it pained me to be unable to face the beast. It pained me even more to share this story with you, Tyrtaeus..but do you know what pained me the most my child?"
"What, grandfather?"
"Watching my son die..."
Suddenly, the boy's eyes widened. And for 20 long years, he kept that story in his heart...
Twenty years...
Twenty years of pain...
Twenty years of anger...
Twenty years of devotion...
For twenty years after hearing his grandfather's tale, Tyrtaeus trained diligently under his guidance. But while time made the young lion strong, the old lion grew weak...
"Tyrtaeus, come closer, grandson..." His words were weak now. Grandfather's sun was setting and anyone who looked into his weary eyes could see it. Tyrtaeus knelt at his grandfather's bedside and took his hand.
"You have trained hard...and you have made me proud. I am honored to dub you a white lion...It is the tradition of our people that father trains son...but Vargas..."
Tyrtaeus nodded. "I understand, Grandfather. You need not speak it..."
"Tyrtaeus...my time is nigh...so I must speak my last request swiftly...The last mission of our order was to assist the people of Ayenee in their war against the legions of Malach...Twenty nine years, grandson...and the task has yet to be completed...I fear that death make take you..."
Tyrtaeus closed his eyes and squeezed his grandfather's hand. "Lions do not fear death...We are mas-"
"Yes, my boy...we are masters of life and death...All that I have taught you...I must ask you to forget...I have lost one son...I cannot lose you too."
Tyrtaeus placed his forehead upon his grandfather's hands, sobbing between words. "I cannot...stay my hand grandfather...The task must be completed..."
Grandfather smiled weakly and kissed Tyrtaeus's hand. "I know...I expected...no less...The sword above the mantle...it was has been passed down from lion to lion...from my father...to me...to Vargas...and now, to you...tonight, you sit your vigil...at sunrise...you ride east..."
(Rushed, I know. Sorry.."
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