The Fairy Tale of The Count
In the Principality lands where the men are noble, handsome and strong, and the ladies are beautiful and shining as the spring flowers on the banks of River Amaranth, there once lived a simple Knight's Squire of one of the greatest counts in the land. This simple Squire followed his master on all the adventures, war-campaigns and tournaments he took part in and became highly liked by his master.
On their way to the great tournament in Ost Weld, the Count and his Squire were stopped at the bridge at Glaender's Creek by the infamous Black Knight who wanted to challenge the Count to a fight to the death. The Black Knight knew that he could not beat the noble Count in a fair duel at the tournament, and so sought to use trickery and deceit to defeat his most feared opponent. The Count, accepted the challenge in the name of the Knightly Code that had served him so well.
The Count wielded his sword against the Black Knight who stood laughing on the bridge with his terrible mace in hand. The weapons clashed in sparks and light as the two fought in a battle on life and death. Soon, the Count had fought his rival to a standstill, but the Black Knight laughed, and out of the forest came a swarm of arrows that struck the Count down.
The Count fell to the ground, his body filled with the deadly arrows of the Black Knight's allies in the woods. The Black Knight spoke: "Now the tournament of Ost Weld will be mine. The immense reward is mine for the taking! No other lord in the land can ever challenge me now." He thought the Count was already dead when he rode away and his archer allies escaped into the forest, but out of the woods, came the Count's Squire to tend his master's wounds.
The colourful banners fluttered in the strong wind and the trumpets sounded; the crowd spoke aloud and the noise of hooves and armoured men was heard mingled with the giggles of the ladies. All the commotion of the yearly tournament of Ost Weld. This year was special though; the Duke of the Principality had invited all the noblest knights in the land to fight over the prize of generations, this year, the winner would win the hand of the fair princess Arleena.
The knights rode up one after one and presented themselves to the Duke and his entourage. The Black Knight stood there amazed as the Count, in full armour rode into the arena. "I thought you were dead, you bastard", the Black Knight spoke silently to the Count, "but you surely have ten wounds in your body, and you are no match for me in that condition." The Count spoke naught, but stayed silent in his closed helm.
The days passed and the knights took each other out, one by one. Soon, only the Black Knight and the Count were left in the tournament and the final battle was to be fought. Silence fell as the battle was prepared, the two knights facing each other in one, final, great cataclysm. The knights spurred their horses onwards and collided; the sound of heavy armour and the splinters of the Count's broken lance. The Black Knight was thrown to the ground but was soon on his feet again, wielding his mace.
The Count made the Black Knight fall again with several mighty blows to his shield and body. Finally he lay there, helpless, the Black Knight, spitting blood, and the Count came up with his sword held high. He opened the visor on his helm and the Black Knight could see the face of the simple Squire.
The Squire spoke: "Now go to your death, you lousy Black Knight. Go to your death with the knowledge that a simple serf's son killed you, and that this serf's son was trained in the arts of war by the Count you so treacherously murdered." Then he ran the Count's sword through the Black Knight's throat and watched him die. The silence and astonishment was total at the tournament arena of Ost Weld.
The Duke rose from his seat and spoke: "I promised my daughter to the winner of this tournament, and you shall have her hand, Squire, for you, my lad, are truly the greatest knight in the land! You shall have land and you shall have riches! You shall have all the attributes of your fallen master, and you shall be a Count!" And then the crowd cheered as the princess Arleena put the crown of Amaranth leaves upon the simple Squire's head and smiled.
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