And after a LONG break, so so so sorry dax...here the story continues, please format pics for me:
As the door closed behind them, the Knight thought he heard the sound of stone breaking to rubble.
With the story rising to a climax and nearing its end, our Knight and the Ranger, along with the Old Man who helped him avoid the poisoned figs were jostled intermittently by men of the patrol. The Knight was then witness to an enormous gathering hall, heraldry of black and grey decorating the walls among various decorative weapons and tools of war. Left and right, the walls mirrored one another and in each corner burned fires in large black furnaces emitting smoke Cedar and Oak.
In the center of the room, a gnarled old tree grew, and bound to it was the princess, haggard and worn. Tears streamed down her face and her clothes were torn from the whip held by a cackling little toothless man in rags. She was gagged.
The Knight seethed.
Opposite our Knight, at the far end of the hall, was built into the stone a magnanimous throne and in it a thin man with black hair and serpentine eyes, wearing chain armor with black and grey heraldry, the Duke of Middle Earth. To his left, a buxom woman in silver, grinning and holding a thin rod, the Witch of the East. At his opposite, a Troll, the Prince of Midian. And for good measure, six black Knights staggered throughout the room.
The Duke stood, drew a saber and announced, “You have arrived good Knight, this moment is upon us.”
The Witch screeched, the troll roared, the Black Knights tensed and the patrol turned pointing their swords at the three.
In a perfect combination of speed, agility, prowess, and form, the old man and the Ranger dove, one left another right, as our Knight dropped, unsheathing his sword while lifting it up, spinning round cleaved each member of the guard – a few in the aorta, one in the chin, and another through the skull. With blood spraying and spurting from the wounded and dead the Knight stood, chainmail littered in red.
As no scene remains idle while you’re occupied, the Knight took the battlefield in: the Ranger had shot the man in rags through the eye, out the back of his skull; the arrow 10 feet behind the victim’s body twisted on the floor. Two black knights were down with more arrows and the Prince’s left thigh spraying blood with each heartbeat, but still a threat.
The Ogre made his way toward the Knight.
To his left, the old man had torn off his robe, and wore black robes. He and the witch were staring intently at one another 20 feet apart, every movement of the arm or leg, or eye, or brow was countered by the other. They fought in a battle of metaphysical pugilism.
As the Ranger continued to loose arrows, the Knight and the Ogre charged toward one another. A moment before they met, the Knight collapsed to his knees, sword ready, sliding toward the beast. A second later, the Ogre was an invalid – green blood further changing the Knight’s hue. Our hero then moved toward the head and neck, slicing it from the body.
Witch and Old Man (now magician) still staring; three more black knights down and the Prince now shielding himself behind the princess and the tree, blade to her neck, the Knight closed in slowly – a flash to his left.
“End this Moridin, you are done,” said our Knight.
“Nothing ends you feckless fool, all is eternal,” said the Prince, and with a flick of the wrist and pull of the arm, the princess was no more.
A scream, a growl, a howl, the Knight charged; the Prince, now slashed across his belly howled himself, though in pain, and laughed, then cried, and finally moaned. It would take a few hours to bleed out and the Knight wasn’t going to make it easy. He turned toward the princess who was now a pale, ashen white, without breath or heartbeat, drooling.
The Knight collapsed. Looking up he found his two companions and the scene of the room – the bodies of the patrol behind him, the black knights dead in front of him, the troll pieces all around, the torturer nearby, a mound of green ash and the prince gurgling.
“This is not the princess Knight,” said the old man.
“Eh?”
“It’s a changling, a doppelganger. You must find the princess and she is with Anna.” And with that he was gone.
The door burst open; a solid stone foot entered, then a body then a head. The statue had come alive.