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In it’s lair in the darkest corner of the stable, the being called Ronevall was staring intently at its booty. The sword. To it, it shone like a fire brand. Its hand itched from touching the blade. Iron. Iron made its skin crawl, but it had learnt to master its fear. The meat bags killed those that could not bear the touch of iron. Why? It was pointless to ponder these questions. Meat bags never made sense. They were blind to the world. They could not ever see in darkness!

The sword. Yes. Such beauty. The edge. Straight. Sharp. Pointed. Made to cut bones and muscles, sever arteries and nerves, puncture lungs and livers.

Ronevall wondered, what did the sword signify? What was its meaning, it’s purpose? The Dark Lady had ordered the knights to steal it, buy why? The fools had failed. The tall hypocrite had talked a lot not of nonsense, the other knights had hated him for it. Why had they just not killed the knight of the Keys? They could have, and taken his sword. End of story, start of a new one.

Instead they had played one of their talking games, but none seemed to like it. While they talked, he had stolen it. Then the squires threw it into the well! And then they all forgot it. It made no sense! Stupid meat bags! He had stayed when they all ran off. He had saved it. Now it was his, only his! No one knew, not even the Dark Lady!

The being laughed merrily in his darkness.

He had won.

But what was its purpose? He had never been able to talk to iron as he was to other things. He would have to think. Its purpose … was to kill. Yes. That was all the meat bags ever did with their swords. Kill each other. He remembered seeing blades running red, red as anger, red as joy …

And then he saw it all. The purpose. In that flash, the sword became one hundred times more beautiful. It had only one purpose. To kill. It was useless to anything else. You could not cut wood with it, nor sheer sheep, nor carry water. So, he need not talk to the sword. He knew it’s will. Its purpose.

They should be friends. It should be fun.

”Ronevall?” squealed a scared little voice.

The being startled, angry. His reverie had left him inattentive, vulnerable. Stupid. It did not do!

But it was only that girl. She was following him. What did she want? He had pondered her purpose, but found no answer. She was as pointless as the other meat bags.

Or was she?

The brilliance of it all made him laugh out loud.

”Ronevall?” she said again, a bit firmer in voice. She had recognized his laughter.

”Yes! I’m here girl! Among the saddles!”

He saw her fumble her way through the darkness. Meat bags could not see in the darkness. Useless things! He looked at the sword in his hand. He looked at the girl. She was almost upon him now!

His blood started to sing, the joy of life filled him.

His purpose was to help his friend. His friends’ purpose was to kill. And the girls purpose …

In the morning, they found most of her blood in the stable, but they never found the body, nor the slayer, nor the murder weapon, thought they all knew she was dead and who had killed her.

And in the shadows, the Dark Lady smiled.



12 months ago
Score 0++
It seems like this Ronnevall fellow needs some good ol Christian love!


12 months ago
Score 0++
... and an iron cage. That would help. A lot.
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