Fantasy The Death of Chivalry

[Battle-Sister May]

⚜ The Servant of the Lady ⚜

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It was a cold autumn morning that rose that day, the yellow and brown leaves being slowly dragged across the cobblestone, depositing themselves by the sides of the road as the wind swoop them away from where they fell. The branches of the deciduous trees were covered in tones of golden, red and brown, the wind making them move at each new gust of air, blowing some away from where they stood, and making them dance in the air as they fell, before slowing their fall so that they could delicately touch the forest floor in their landing, creating a beautiful carpet of multiple tones.

It was no surprising news to anyone that winter was creeping its way into Paradis, they were now closer to it than they were from past summer, soon the first snowflakes would start to fall, and cover the land in a blanket of white. In the old days, the coming of winter was a moment of celebration, the festival of the last harvest happened, honouring the Lady for the bountiful year, and asking that the same could happen next year. Nobles and peasants mixed together, dancing and singing praises to the matron of the land, the Lady of the Lake, eating their fill with all sorts of delectable dishes and washing it down with all sorts of delicious beverages, alcoholic or otherwise.

Little flags and great standards where placed all over the cities and villages, depicting two things: The heraldry of the duchies, each of the twelve bearing a unique one, and the heraldry of the kingdom, the crowned lion of the Leoncour rulers. At the centre of settlements across the region, great bonfires were lit, so that everyone could gather together and sing their praises to the Lady, warm up from the cold and harsh bite of the wind and just enjoy that moment of unison peasants, nobles and merchants could share together in the one thing that bound them: The fact they were born in the mighty kingdom of Paradis.

The Handmaidens of the Lady held great ceremonies during those festivities, seeking to marry the couples that formed, baptise those who were born, and mourn those who had passed. It was a considered a great blessing to be born during autumn, a time where it was said the Lady walked among the common folk, her spirit ever present in the hearts of men! A time of happiness and abundance, indeed.

Her knights always paraded in full armour across the streets, carrying the banners and heraldries with pride and joy, riding on the backs of their mighty warhorses. The processions were always led by the Grail Knights, the twelve warriors who had proven themselves worthy of drinking from the Golden Grail, in the presence of the Lady herself. The living gods of Paradis, they were called by the people, due to the unearthly powers and lifespan granted to them by the blessing of the goddess. Those were followed by the few Questing Knights that remained in their homeland, those brave and selfless souls who had renounced titles and lands in search of finding the Lady's blessing, travelling across all lands that composed the known world, slaying mighty foes, duelling worthy adversaries, and lending their blades to worthy causes. After, came the Knights of the Realm, the regular knights, blessed and named by the king or his dukes, followed closely by their squires and the Knights Errant, those who had reached age and left their place as squire to seek their glory and finally take their place as a Knight of the Realm.

But such events were left behind years ago, when the Faith started to spread among the land. Now, autumn was a time of mourning and grief, for it preceded the dreadful winter, when the Great Sun hid itself from the eyes of men behind the grey skies. The people of Paradis had abandoned the old ways when the Faith of the Great Sun spread across the land, becoming its most followed religion. It was a foreign faith, one that came from the far East in the ships of merchants and explorers, and one that garnered many followers as the Sun Priests threaded the lands, preaching their teachings to any who would listen.

In a fist moment it became mostly popular among the peasantry, greatly in part for its sheer simplicity, after all, unlike the Lady of the Lake, who showed herself only to those few chosen nobles, all could see the sun shine in the sky, all could feel its warm embrace, and the way it helped crops grow. The sun had always been there for the populace, after all. It was only a matter of time until it spread to the merchants, and finally the nobility of Paradis itself, the faith in the Lady all but forgotten and shunned by this new religion.

The Handmaidens preached, but no ears heard their words, the Fay Enchantress, the very representative of the goddess of nobility and courage, lost her place by the king's side to the High Exarch of the Sun. The majority had soon become the shunned minority. The knights fell in disgrace, their ways not fit for the new dogmas that had taken over the kingdom.

They were deemed outdated, warriors bound to old traditions no longer accepted by society as a whole. Their numbers dwindled, each generation less knights were named in the kingdom, their lordly titles revoked, so that those faithful to the Sun could have their lands.

"The Sun is here to ensure the survival and success of our race!" A sun-priest preached in to the crowds amassed around him "The Sun watches over us!" Those present replied in fervent prayer "We were chosen by Him to take over the world that is rightfully ours! The elves, those filthy creatures are born in hedonism, sin and malice! They are all filthy magic users!" He shouted, as the crowd joined in a displeased hoot "They use the imagery of our Holy Sun, the audacity on them knows no bounds!" He said, as the crowd shouted in displease "DEATH TO THE KNIFE EARS!" Someone shouted from the middle of the crowd "And the dwarves, those stunted rock eaters! They strip mine the lands that are rightfully ours! They excavate our minerals to forge their weapons and armour! Weapons and armour they soon use to wage war against us!" He shouted, even though the human nations were close allies of the dwarves, but before they could scream bloody murder at the race of miners, the eyes of the old priest were caught by something way more interesting "And that man... A follower of a false goddess..." He said, his crooked finger pointing towards the knight who walked past the crowd, together with his squire.

Those present turned to face the heavily armoured man as he crossed the streets, dressed magnificently in his armour and livery. He would not dignify the priest with an answer, he had better things to do with his time than worry about the ramblings of a zealot. He was Sir Henri Marchant, last living Grail Knight of Paradis, an old and bitter soul who had seen all of his devotion and hard work turned to dust in the wake of an outsider religion. He turned to look at his squire, his voice sounding muffled behind the grand helm "Do not listen to those rambling maniacs." He told the boy "They believe they can break our spirit if they scream heresy at us enough times. Am I understood?" He asked.

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Spoiler: Squire Gentil Willcox

Cold airs beginning to grow in intensity as the winter Came. Leaves that littered the ground, difficult to clean up and that made annoying crunching sounds when stepped on. And the thought of knowing that soon, the cold white blankets of snow would hail down upon the kingdom of Paradis like rain...Oh, How Gentil adored it! A few paces behind Sire Henri's mighty stallion, the brown haired boy dressed in a bright red and blue tunic with black tights hummed a little song he heard from a bard during their last stop at a Tavern as he rode upon a significantly smaller pony with a shiny light brown coat and blond mane he liked to call Honey-Crisp. It was because her favorite food to eat was apples, but the Squire had made a discovery that she seemed to enjoy the taste of a sweet Honey Crisp apple better than the average Red Delicious or Gala apples.

The streets of Larret were rather kinder than the rumors had described. To some, it seemed like the average hub for commoners, but to Gentil, it was a rather comforting site to see. Nothing said a wonderful town like seeing Merchants barter fairly with its customers, Neighbors talk with each other peacefully, and friends with bellies full of bread and cider walk down the streets and converse as if they were brothers. Gentil closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of his hair blowing against the wind. Times like these were what Kingdoms should be fighting for. Not for something as silly as currency or power, but for these times of just merely living to continue. But alas, no matter how strong his barrier of optimism (and ignorance) could be, even he could see that this wish currently would not come true...yet.

Turning a corner and crossing a street, the calm-clip clops of Honeycrisp were drowned out by the loud hoots and hollers of a nearby crowd. Opening his eyes, he turned to the crowd and tilted his head at the priest causing it all. These times were also more confusing. Weren't priests supposed to spout words of kindness and love rather than hate and malice? Especially toward the other races? Hearing the Sire, he began to listen to him intently. Unfortunately, his young filly of a steed did not listen, for it was too afraid of the large crowd. With a neigh, it reared up on its hind hooves, causing Gentil to let out a yelp of alarm before he fell of his saddle and onto the hard cobblestone street. Groaning, his eyes widened and he quickly scrambled up, turning toward Sire Henri and nodding vigorously with a big grin, as if nothing happened.

"Yes, Sire! I understand!" He chirped happily, walking up to Honeycrisp and petting her mane. This had caused his steed to calm down, her frequent breathing slowing and her alarmed stumbling ceasing. He didn't blame his fall on her. He should've been holding on more tightly. And he knew from experience how she got around loud crowds. Turning back to the crowd, he scratched his head and turned back to Henri. "Sire, this faith...it is confusing." He tilted his head, innocent eyes trying to peer through the helm. "If the sun benefits all races, wouldn't that mean it chose all races as well?" With a frown, he turned back to the crowd. "And what is wrong with elves and dwarves? Haven't the elves provided us with knowledge? And haven't the dwarves provided us help with our mines? And hows is the Lady of the Lake false? Aren't there nobles who have seen her power firsthand?"

His avalanche of questions were met with some glares, as well as murmurs, from the crowd. Blinking, he turned back to Henri. "Why do people follow such a confusing Faith, Sire?"

Battle-Sister May

 

[Battle-Sister May]

"Indeed, the sun benefits all of us. As much as it shines over our crops, so it does on the crops of elves, dwarves and halflings." He told the boy "Those maniacs know nothing of what they are talking about. The sun favours no one." He explained to the youth, while the crowd watched, murmurs rising from their midst "This priest and his fellows are here only to lick the boots of the kings and grab power wherever it turns up for them. Liars, thieves and backstabbers, the lot of them." He said, and one could almost hear the fury of the priest boiling inside him, his pale face turned red like a pepper, yet he didn't reply "Religion is supposed to bring peace and assurance to the hearts of men, not hatred and fear like those farces do."

"And yes, there are, there always have been." He replied, looking at the young squire through the dark slits on his helmet, before adjusting the tall ornament that stood on top of his helmet "I remember well of the day I was chosen..." He told the boy, as the priest seemed to still wait for an answer, while listening in on their conversation "I had taken the Oath of Questing seven years before. I had travelled all over the kingdoms to prove my worth." He explained to the boy "It was..." He was cut in the middle of his speech "No one wants to listen to this heretical tale, old man." He said, pointing with that hateful finger at the knight "Filling the head of this youth with the fantastic tales of this "Lady of the Lake"! Have you no shame on how you turn this innocent boy away from the Sun's holy light?" He asked in an accusatory tone "Clogging his ears with this nonsense about how the Sun favours all? The Sun favours humanity and humanity alone! Those monsters will soon be punished from doing such assumptions, and so will you, knight!"

At each word that came out of the old man's mouth, one could see that Sir Marchant held tighter and tighter to the reins of his warhorse, a gigantic war beast as big as it was heavy. The Paradisian warhorse were a breed of horse exclusive to the nobility of Paradis, the finest horses one could ever acquire, so much so that they were never exported from their homeland, to keep other nations from taking this edge from the Paradisian military. Bigger, stronger, heavier and far more spirited than any other horse breed, they were made for a single purpose: Combat. As strong and resilient as a beast of burden, as fast and swift as a racing horse, and with an aggressive and explosive demeanour, the Paradisian warhorse was the perfect steed to carry a knight into battle. Alas, with the slow disappearance of the knights, the demand for those fine steeds had entered a steady decline after the Faith of the Sun took over as the main religion of the kingdom. Few were the breeders that still made them available, most preferring to keep the more elegant parade horses, or the light hunting horses available, as well as the occasional pegasus they could wrangle from the mountains.

Most already had difficulties handling a knightly warhorse with both hands and feet, but Sir Henri did so with a single hand, pulling the reins of the beast until he was facing the priest directly. He climbed down from Redeemer's back, and kept his eyes on the priest, hidden behind the helmet. The man towered over the commoners present even without the tall ornament of his helmet, standing a head taller than the tallest man present "Tell me then, o honourable devout of the Sun, what glories can you count? How many children were left to starve by the Faith's tithe? How many families were kicked out of their lands for different beliefs? How many purses were emptied by the Faith's taxes?" He asked, slowly approaching the old man, pushing away anyone who tried to stand in his way "Those are no achievements fit for an honourable man, but only for thieves and cowards." He said, standing face to face with the short old man, having to look down to face him "I have more honour in the tip of my little toe than you have ever earned in your whole pathetic existence. I have slain mighty wyrms, faced off hordes of undead and orcs, bested more champions of Darkness than you can even begin to count. I have lent my blade to worthy causes all over the Known World, from the scorching deserts to the south to the frozen wastes of the north. The Lady chose me for a reason, whether your feeble mind can understand it or not." He turned around to face the crowd, that stood in shock "Disperse." He ordered, and that was something they quickly took to heart, scurrying away "And you... If I ever hear you spreading slander about my order or the allies of our land, I'll tie you to Redeemer and drag you all the way from Larris to Couronne. Do I make myself clear?" He asked, the priest shaking in place as he stared at the frightful figure the Roaring Knight of legend made upon his own "DO I?" He asked, receiving a hasty nod from the man as he spouted apologies, before running away.

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Gentil smiled when Sire Henri answered his questions. No matter what anyone in these streets could say, his Sire always had truthful answers! There was no reason the boy could think of that the knight would ever lie to him, and Gentil owed the Knight his belief after he so kindly decided to take the young boy as his Squire. He could still remember that faithful day back at his town. That rare look of pride his father adorned as he saw Gentil off, as well as his mother's tears of happiness and his brothers and sisters fond farewells. The beginnings of a day dream abruptly ended when Sire Henri continued, and Gentil nodded intently, although he frowned at his Knight's choice of words.

'Maniacs' was a bit of a stretch. His mother had always taught him that some people spoke or acted bad things for particular reasons. Maybe the priest had feelings of Isolation under the faith of Lady Lake? Gentil looked at the old priest and tilted his head slightly at the sight of the tomato-hued man. Was the priest sick? Has he been in the sun too long? Gentil giggled at his little joke, yet his attention was immediately trained upon Sire Henri, who was beginning to tell his tale of being chosen by the Lady! He nearly squealed with joy! Oh, how he loved the Knight's stories! They were almost as good as the one's papa used to tell when he was little!

Unfortunately, the old knight's tale was interrupted by the priest himself, who began to shout rather rudely to his sire. Eyes wide in surprise, Gentil couldn't help but kick the cobblestone lightly and twiddle his thumbs a bit. Was it wrong to feel guilt being a Squire? Gentil loved it, truly he did, but sometimes it felt as if it but as much curse with the rewards. People had now claimed his Sire to be a corrupter of sorts ever since Gentil's first few days of service to the Knight. It was as if Gentil himself have only added to the list of slander thrown at the Knight, and this caused the boy turmoil inside for many nights now. He knew the Knight was good. He wasn't exactly a jolly man of sorts, but he still had a heart of gold! It was just covered in a bit of rust...

He stared when the Knight jumped from his warhorse, a beast that even Honeycrisp sometimes strives to keep away from. And he could only watch with a nervous intensity as the Knight retorted. We-Well...at least the Priest was learning his lesson! Bu-But the knight could've handled it a bit more kindly. Still, the squire couldn't help but nod at the list of the Knight's achievements. The Knight had shown plenty of evidence that proved these feats all true. Not that Gentil had any doubt at him! Gentil watched the crowd disperse, allowing him to guide Honeycrisp to where the Knight was. He winced when he saw the old man run away from the knight. This looked very unfavorable from an outside perspective. "We-Well, Sire," He said to Henri. "Now, maybe he shall think twice before spouting such nasty words in this city." He then blinked and looked around. "Speaking of, Sire...should we continue travel? Or are we stopping here for today?"

Battle-Sister May

 

[Battle-Sister May]

The old knight let out an annoyed sigh when he walked back to Redeemer, the great warhorse that awaited besides his squire. He knew that this event would only strengthen his infamy among the people of this city, the people of Paradis already called him 'Oppressor' anyway. It was a long way he had fallen, from being the legendary Roaring Knight, leading armies against the enemies of the kingdom, of gathering glory and honour to the cause of the Lady of the Lake, to now arguing with old priests in the middle of the busy streets. It was becoming harder and harder for him to keep the chivalry code of old, how was he supposed to protect a people who hated him and his beliefs?

"We will spend the night." He replied, looking at the boy, his voice bearing the tiredness of 400 hundred years of battle in that single quote. It was sometimes hard to remember that the knight was moving in to completing 450 years of life that same year, probably the longest living Grail Knight recorded in the whole history of Paradis "Though I do not expect us to receive any warmth from this people, I at least believe they'll still accept my money." He told the young boy, shaking his head "If the church has not yet decreed that making business with knights is a heresy." He said, lifting the visor of his helm just slightly to spit on the ground with disdain "I only wish to return to Muisillon as quickly as possible." He told the boy.

Muisillon was their current destination, the domains of Sir Marchant, where he served as duke. It was the last bastion of chivalry within the realm, and the only place where worship of the Lady was still common practice, a place where the knightly houses of old had been confined to when their lands started being taken over by the faith, and even now there were conflicts within their lands between believers of the Lady and the ever creeping believers on the Faith of the Holy Sun. It was not uncommon for the old duke to have to have to intervene in a conflict involving the two of them, and more often than not, those were started by those faithful to the Sun, but even so, he tried his best to be a just and fair arbitrator, no matter how many times they screamed 'bias', 'favouring' and 'unfair' at him.

He shook his head "There was a time, before the Faith took over those lands, where Paradis did not have a true lineage of succession. We were ruled by a king, yes, but those were chosen from the ranks of the Grail Knights, and ruled to their deaths." He explained to the boy, as he tapped his heels to the sides of the mighty warhorse, spurring it onward through the cobblestone covered streets "Everyone of those who were elected by their fellow Grail Knights received the right to bear the house name of the first to ever be chosen by the lady, Leoncour." He explained, talking about Gilles Leoncour, the Uniter. He had been the first Grail Knight, and the first Royarch (how the Paradisian kings were called) to exist, having united the land under his banner and ousting the orcs that had occupied the land, many centuries ago "It was not until Louis Leoncour turned to the faith of the sun, a few generations back, that we had a true Royal House." He said, clearly displeased.

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Gentil could only give the knight a look of concern as he made his way back to the horse. The squire knew that underneath all the armor and the grime from travels or battle, there wasn't just Sir Henri, Grand Knight of the Lady, but also a tired aging man. The boy could only imagine the inner sorrow his Sire was hiding under all this aggression and bitterness, and it was becoming scary knowing the ways to bring out at least a little of his happiness were dwindling by day. Looking down at the ground, he blinked and began walking back to Honeycrisp. If the Squire could just find one...hearing a neigh, Gentil quickly looked up and at Honeycrisp, who was already at his side, nuzzling his cheek. He couldn't help but smile and run a hand through her mane. D'aw. At least he still could make one creature happy.

Perking up at Henri's words, the Squire quickly nodded, although looking at the ground a bit in disdain when he watched the Knight spit at it. His sire couldn't have spoken truer words. As much as the boy hated to admit it, there were just some people out there willing to do anything if it'd mean good coin. And it felt...odd how that fact was now somewhat in their favor...that is, if the priest grew a heart and wouldn't cry heresy, as Sir Henri had explained. And although Gentil would hardly see a Priest committing such an act of hatred, memories of the crowd just around the area a few minutes ago and the red-faced priest screaming his Xenophobic telling weren't exactly helping him confirm his doubts. At the mention of Muisillion, Gentil grew a wide grin.

Muisillion...the rumored last domain of Chivalry. He didn't know much of the Dukes, and he knew little of the knightly houses except from the information Sir Henri told him, but he was still excited to travel there. It seemed like the only place that seemed to have a chance of pleasing his knight again, and the knight spoke mostly good things of it! Would they meet the Duke? Would they have tea or crumpets or fresh biscuits in one of the war rooms?! The thoughts only caused him to shake and grin wider in excitement.

His attention turned back to the Knight as he continued, quickly hopping upon Honeycrisp and gently motioning for her to follow, to which the filly complied obediently. Looking up at the knight, he frowned at his displeased tone before shaking his head. "...Ya know, Sire," He began after moments of silence. "There was a saying my mother always told me when I was small...she would always say that 'There's always a bit of manure before a garden sprouts'." He recited with a proud smile. He didn't really get it at first, but as the years grew on, he knew what she meant. "We'll get back to those times, Sire. A promise like this is a grand one, I know, but isn't Grand one of your many titles?" He asked with bigger smile. "And I'll be there with you every step of the way, Sire!"

Battle-Sister May

 

[Battle-Sister May]

The old knight looked at his squire, letting out a small sigh as they took the streets of the city, the cobblestone sounding against the hooves of the horses, and ringing on their ears. He adjusted his great helm. He was an aging knight, he only wished there was someone better and less bitter to teach the young squire. In the ways of chivalry, of course, there was no one better, but her was rather biased when it came to a few things, due to his years spent as a knight. Spending years in warfare turned a man bitter and distrustful, now, spending centuries at that... It was clear to say that he had more than a few skeletons in his closet. There were few things that made him happy, and even fewer that could bring a smile to his face

Muisillon... The knight had been a long time away from home, and he longed to once more see it, see the knights who he called brothers, and visit the duke, that was actually his own heir. He had left his position as lord many years ago, but the Marchant family still ruled Muisillon. He acted as duke of Muisillon after his father's death, but soon gave it up when he decided to take the Oath of Questing to find the Lady, some years after becoming knight of the realm. It was uncommon for someone to abandon their titles like this, since one could be a Grail Knight and lord, but Henri did not want his duties to the Lady to be interrupted by his duties as a lord, and so, he abandoned any pretense he had to lands, titles and fortresses, leaving all of those to his still infant daughter.

Colette grew up to be a fair duchess and an honourable knight of her own, and he was more than proud of what she had become. His own quest extended for years before he was chosen, before the Green Knight duelled him in honourable combat, and after their defeat, allowed for him to drink from the chalice of the Lady. When he came back home, almost twenty years later, Colette was already a grown woman, and after seeing him, found in her heart to forgive her foolish man of a father for abandoning her at such a young age. He had become a paragon of justice, chivalry and honour, after all. She got married, had children, and those children had children. If anyone ever asked if he ever felt a moment where he didn't want to be a Grail Knight, it was the moment his daughter died. No man should ever have to outlive his children, he'd say.

The knight grumbled at the squire's comment "What I'm saying boy, is that every king was proved to be a competent man by actions, not simply birth. Lords I understand being bound by blood, but who will refrain nobles from abusing their power if not a beacon, like a grail knight? Now, the king we have is every bit as wicked as the foulest of the nobles. He is a coward with no honour, a spineless, spoiled bastard who can't even lift a sword properly." He said, his humours inflamed by this, before he let out a sigh to calm down "I just wish the old times had never left us, is all..." He said, the weigh of age showing up on his tone once more "We used to be a warrior people, respected by our rivals and feared by our enemies... Now we're but the laughing stock. The warriors that once were."

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