But now we look back to the night
The men of graveyards had their fight.
Now we learn what came to light,
Ding Dong Derry and the Death Knell tolls.
The man with the tattered cloak
Climbed out of the cold and ancient tomb.
He stabbed the third and spake no word,
And shoved him in a hole to rot.
He crept to the castle to fight those left,
They would pay for his brother's death.
Of life the young man was bereft,
Ding Dong Derry and the Death Knell tolls.
The Vassal showed his new master around the castle. "That one is the Grave-Keeper."
"No I'm not!"
"Quiet, you. This one is the Watchman."
"Hello, mister Shehnai!"
"I'm the Watchman!"
The Blackguard turned to the Vassal, arms crossed and head shaking. "Are you drunk?"
The man knelt to consult a book hanging loosely from a sack around his waist. "No, but according to my records, you are."
"You're a very foolish man."
"That may be true. I often wondered why the King looked so much like the Head Chef."
Suddenly, a shout was heard from a corridor. The Blackguard rushed to see what was going on. What he found was a grim sight. A man in a gray, tattered cloak held a dagger to the throat of the Warden. The Warden's longsword was evident on the ground, the gray man's blood dripping from it. The man himself was quite a sight. His eyes glowed golden, almost a primal sight. His face had a long gash across it, and his blood streamed down his face and down the Warden's armor. His robes were covered in blood, and a neat hole was torn through it. It had evidently been quite a struggle. The Warden dripped with sweat, and the man stared hard at the Blackguard. "Don't move, or I kill him."
The Warden gulped, speaking to the Blackguard. "He's fast. Every time I thought I had him, he was behind me. I got him a few times, but nothing seems to stop him. His willpower is incredible..."
The man in the tattered cloak slapped the Warden with the flat of his blade. "That's enough out of you."
He shook his head, and grinned cruelly at the Blackguard. "Well, what shall it be? Will you step down, and allow the true king to take over? Or shall I kill every last one of you?"
The Blackguard shook his head. "The 'true king,' as you call him, is dead. Slain by my lord. Do not pretend that you can win."
The man in the tattered cloak shook his head, then began to tremble. "No. You lie... you lie!"
He began to shake with rage. "You cannot kill justice! You cannot kill honor! You cannot kill hope, kill purity, kill knowledge! The true king stands for all of this! I stand for all of this!"
"And yet you wield a hostage. You betray your own definition of honor."
"Do not mock me! I will kill you!"
"With that toothpick? You cannot hope to get past my armor."
The Blackguard slapped a black glove against a jet black chestplate with golden trim.
"What did I say about mocking? WHAT DID I SAY!"
"Calm down, little man. All this shouting proves nothing."
"You damned monster!"
"Thank you, I'm sure I am."
The Blackguard chuckled darkly.
The man in the tattered cloak dropped his weapon slightly, tightening his grip when the Warden struggled. "Don't move. You're already dead. Believe me, I know about the dead. My brother was once the local Grave-Maker, then your King took over. He killed my brother, Urseph, and took the castle from the king. I laid my own brother, my own brother! into a grave. It was my duty. I have watched over this cemetary for ten years since, waiting there with your Desecrator and your Necromancer as they committed blasphemies on hallowed ground. Well, no more! They are slain! Slain by truth!"
The Blackguard yawned. "Yes, very exciting. And what do you want me to do about it?"
The Grave-Keeper's eyes narrowed. "I want you to die."
He tossed the Warden away, and kicked his sword at him. "Take your sword."
"W-what?""Take your sword! I am no coward! I will not fight you unarmed!"
The Warden bent to grab the longsword, then stood, only to find a sword in his chest.
The Blackguard kicked the man off of his sword. "If you will not kill him unarmed, then I will. He is no more than a liability, now. Now come."
Unknown to all those at the castle, a lone man had been dispatched to collect the King, to tell him that the threat had ended and to bring him back to the castle. He had left two hours ago, and was on course to return shortly with the King. It would be a shame for the King to return to such a mess...
The Blackguard's sabre slashed at the man in the tattered cloak. It seemed as though the blade was as big as the man himself. "Have at you!"
The man in the tattered cloak, although damaged from the battle with the Warden, was nimble enough to get out of the way of such large strokes. He would often appear behind the Blackguard, slashing at his back. It barely left dents in the armor, but it was enough to be an annoyance.
The Blackguard decided to change tactics, swinging his blade at the target in an attempt to smash him with the flat of the blade, rather than crashing it over his head. It still proved too unwieldy to hit the man in the tattered cloak. "Damn you, stay still!"
"But I'm having so much fun! I tell you what, though, I'll stop playing around."
The Grave-Keeper slashed through the tightly wound hide keeping the Blackguard's chestplate together. The back plate crashed to the floor, and the Grave-Keeper shoved his blade in between the man's shoulderblades. He screamed in pain, grabbing at the man. The man only dodged the fist, slashing across the palm. The Blackguard whirled around, tossing the Grave-Keeper flying. He landed nimbly on his feet, but the Blackguard was finally able to connect a hit. When the Grave-Keeper leapt away, he revealed that only his cloak had been slashed.
The Blackguard stopped a moment to catch his breath. "No more! No more! I shall do what must be done to end you!"
He raised his sword to the heavens, shouting, "Ancestral sword! Grant me your power! I will kill this man if it is the last thing I do!"
A beam of energy appeared, and the sword began to glow. The Blackguard swung at the Grave-Keeper, and there was a flash of light.
At the end of it, both the Grave-Keeper and the Blackguard were on the ground. The Blackguard kneeled, panting over his sword. The Grave-Keeper was flat on his chest, struggling to rise.
The Grave-Keeper collapsed, for the last time.
The Blackguard panted, trying to lift his sword. "I knew... this was the cost... I only hope... that this is the end..."
He fell to the ground, dead.
The Vassal looked over his papers, shaking his head. "Who will run the castle, now?"
A door slammed open, and a booming voice stated flatly, "I will."
The man trudged on, his horse becoming more and more tired as they neared the great King Myral's hiding place. The man dismounted, pushing a stone away from a secret doorway. The King turned sharply as he entered, eyeing him suspiciously. "You... only my most trusted know of this place. I do not know your face."
"That is no matter. I have been sent to collect you."
"The rebels have been destroyed. No one will stand against the great King Myral ever again. I am to escort you back to the castle."
The man stormed into the castle, patting bloodied gloves on the curtains. The Vassal flinched, watching the tapestries dirtied by this large man. "And... you are?"
"No one of importance."
He shook his head, patting a large, dark beard. "Your King has been slain by my hand, less than an hour ago."
The King had gotten up onto the man's horse, sitting behind him.
"You want to know how I knew about this place?"
"I have wondered, yes."
"I've been here before. Many a time. You know, I was in exile for a while."
The King stiffened. "You!"
The horse bucked the King off, onto the ground. The rider turned the horse to stand over him menacingly. He pointed a blade at the King's throat. "I told you I would come for you. Did you not believe me?"
"I... you were... dead..."
"Yes. I have been through hell. And back. Back to kill you."
"You don't... you don't have to do this."
"Yes. Now you see. Offer me money."
"Everything I own.""Offer me power."
"All that I have will be yours."
"Offer me anything I want."
"Bleed for me."
"You have three days. You will swear fealty to your new King, or you will perish. I'm sure you will all make the right choice."
With that, Sir Maston left the castle, laughing maniacally. His revenge had finally been fulfilled.
Tom the Mime sacrificed himself to kill usourselves&we!
usourselves&we was/were the last wolf! THE CORRUPT KING HAS WON!
Gray Mage was killed!*
*Gray Mage offered to die for plot-related reasons. Basically, he died so TBFProgrammer could win.*
Mostly because I had no ideas for Medieval III, other than one lingering one, and the survivors were never mentioned in the narrations before today, so there isn't much to use from them.