The very walls of the tap house shook with the wassail of drunken revelers. Of which their riotous noise could be heard from far cry. On the inside, the hall reeked with the obvious stench of vomits along with that of grime and sweats from the unwashed men and wenches clustered about. On one hand, the cracking but pleasing voice of a male minstrel mounted upon a platform in a corner of the big hall wafted through and through the boisterous activity carried on by the crowds. On the other, the booming voice of a blind drunk man rose decibels above that of the minstrel, as he recount the hearsay narrative of Sir Ogunmola with the wyvern to the yearning ears of men about.

Located in the heart of the community, sandwiched amongst rows of uniformed high-rising houses; the tavern, a two-storied edifice denned tyke, thieves, gamblers and blue bloods, in seek of a time-out after the day's hard toil. Right below the floor was the pit➖the gambling hell, infamous for brawls and thievery. The pit was an oval room housing sections for cockfighting, slugfesting, card gaming, billiards and the sorts.

"The valiant knight smite the wyvern, once, twice, thrice..." The rumormonger; a skinhead man with rum-nose drawled, theatrically kicking and punching the air in a simulation for fight. "In defense the beast breathe a gust of fire..." He belched, taking a quick swig from the goblet he held by its stem with his right hand.

"Prithee, tell us more!" The listening crowd roared.

Seated in a spot within the hall, with arms entwined over the table before him, the knight's page looked into the small green eyes of the lady sitting athwart him. Though, irked by the man's bruit about his sire, he paid the tale and its teller no mind. He was here for a dear purpose, that being a tryst with his lover.

"Is that all true?" The mere slip of a lady asked, indicating the gossiper with a nod.

He swiveled round to look the man for the tiniest second, before giving a response. "I daresay, it's a fib with a grain of truth."

"Uhm..."

"I was there whence both forces came fiercely at each other."

"Then you must tell them lot all this is but a lie, and force the man's fib to his face." She opined.

"No," He said. "Not in my right mind shall I." He added, lowering his gaze from navigating over to the cocottes strutting about to accost customers for their wares.

"Why not? Scared of him, huh?"

"Not at all," He frowned. He wasn't here to ramble on trivial matter of such. Adroitly, he switched the gears of their discourse, to what matters to him the most. "The king's feast? You coming over?"

"Well, I can't tell for now, for no man knows what the morrrow holds."

"That's sure a fact." He agreed, but later argued his point "You must come, for its an open house banquet. There isn't a need for a backdoor access. All is invited."

"Very well then. I'll come."

"Good," He said with a smile upon his face. "Go I must now ere mine sire made me out. See you at the feast." He leaned over the table, brushed her lips in a kiss, before bolting off his seat and out the tavern.

Her gaze lingered on him for long before she tore through his hold on her, and bound to her feet. She started the opposite way without a look back at the gossipmonger and his spellbound hearers.

Swithe-footed servants in clean-cut apparels, bearing trays full of platters of delicacies and goblets brimming with wine glided back and forth over the marbleized floor of the teeming grand hall, stopping to drop a platter or goblet at intervals over tables on which feast are spread. Crystal pendants hung overhead washed the big hall in dapple of reds, grays and orange accent to compliment the decor established earlier by the king's decor troupe. The pleasing smell of sweetmeat and pullet wafted through the room along with giggles of well-off women decked in surcoats, and floor-length cambrics aligned with brooches, and also the susurrus voices of men in woolen tunic and cloaks. While peasants dizenly dressed in gipouns and mantles busied themselves with gobbling down the feast spread out before them, never paying mind to the backchat of the upper class seated on high-tables in the hall. It was a night for all, and they had journeyed from vasty lands to the castle, knowing there's no better time to be fully sated than this now and then opportunity.

The king plumely swathed in a bejeweled dalmatica sat in the midst of his partisan nobles and courtiers. His high-backed seat placed upon a dais rose above all that was in the room, to show his sovereignty over them. His crown shaped out of pure gold sparkled sheenly at the slightest movement of light reflection over its glittering surface.

He sat in courtly regard, chest puffed out, and sinuous arms gingerly rested upon the arms of the crowned-chair. He passed a furtive side glance at his wife, who sat foremost to his right. Her earth brown skin aglow like that of burning embers, her coiffed tangerine hair gravitating down her back and tiny shoulders in curlicue. Her spangly set of teeth, the rarest collection of pearls. She was a dazzling sight in her downy linen kirtle, with beaded neckline, curvaceous outline that reveals her appealing curves and pleating embedded with precious gems of good sort. Then a half-smile at the glamorous young man in a calf-length dalmatica with soft eyes evenly brown as his, sitting close to his left➖his only son, and the heir apparent to the throne. His black luxuriant hair, a distinct opposite to his wood-brown own.

"'tis time for the King's speech." A count splendidly dressed in silk robe, gussied with sequins and rich gold embroidery announced.

At the mention of this, the king rose supplely to the cheers and applause of the crowds assembled in the hall. "Ahem... It's thus far a great eve with you my good people." He began mellowly. "It's more than an honor to have many a company like ours dine as one big family. Also, I must say to you that I'm happy to host this feast and be in the midst of you all. Thank you for dining with me..." His last word was drowned out by another wave of cheers, chants and applause. "The feast has just began, so fill yourself to the stretch." He added after a momentary quiesce took over. After which, he took a bow, edged out of his seat and started out toward the exit, with several guards scrambling in his wake.

Sir Ogunmola leaned forward in his seat by a table crowding over with other nobility and dignitaries, watching as the king along with a swarm padded out of the hall. He twirled in his seat with the fluent grace of an elemental, to meet the huge brown-black eyes of his page, who stood inches behind him.

"What duty of me do you seek sir?" The boy asked forthwith.

"Nothing of substance, I feared." He whispered his response back. "You tarry right here, while I have some words with the king." He added, shot to his feet, and walked away from the hall in big strides. He had been informed earlier of a congress called by the king, which is to be attended by a smattering people in the king's circle➖the knight of the oval room.

He watched the knight's disappearance from the hall, swiveling around to feast his eyes on the faces of men and women seated around tables in the big hall. On sighting a familiar feminal face crammed in the company of sevens around a corner aloof, a smile tugged at his lips. "Ara." He muttered under his breath, and scurried away to meet her.


King Latoosa along with five other members of the circle➖all knight bannerets with exception to the heretoch converged in the oval room, dimly litted with candlewood hung around in holders through the room. They sat there in circles, an eerie silence blanketing them.

The heretoch, a wizen-faced man with scarred nose broke through the wall of silence in his breaking voice. "You may begin now my lord."

The king who had his face cloaked in a gratified expression at the feast put away with the act at once, the lines of his face all drawn out morosely. He had employed the act earlier to put the minds of his people at ease, but now that he was in the company of his faithed cadre, he felt there isn't a need for that no more.

A huge blow has been dealt him earlier, so terrible that it was nothing short of a disrepute and total disregard to his name and pride. And being who he was, a man who pride himself in the greatness and military prowess of his empire, he couldn't stand it, any more than he already had.

"A tragedy has struck me and my household." He began. "I hold the notion that this gathering know of my twin brother."

There were several nods of acquiesce in the room, followed by an unisonous "Aye".

"Lord Deinde, the liege lord of Asante." One of the knights voiced with a slight shift of his weight in his seat. "What woe has beset him, my lord?"

"His first daughter; Orente with her envoy were assailed by unknown men on their way back to their land on a voyage from Eba Odan two solar days agone." The king explained.

"Then a search party must be summon at thy hest, my lord." Opined Sir Ogunnaike, a swarthy man of average build now peaking at his forties.

"That never stray my heart for once Sir Ogunnaike." The king responded much surly this time. "But I fear that's not in a cinch the problem at hand."

"Then, what's eating at you, my lord?" The heretoch asked this time.

"That Sir Kurunmi is the strange fact that the bodies of her envoy has been found on a route by a search party earlier to-day."

The King's response came as a shock to the room, with each man tossing the other an askance look.

"And the young maiden?" A knight with distinct brown saucer-eyes asked.

"Feared missing from earlier reports sent my way..."

"Then you must have anew reports, my lord." Sir Ogunmola had his first remark in the talk.

"I really do Sir Ogunmola." Saith the king." The account from my spies put it to me that my niece was nobbled by King Gaa of the Irawe empire."

The room was once more cloaked in silence at the mention of the tyrant king, whose sordid ways has swept through kingdoms like wildfire. Though, the mention of his legendary name chilled the men to their bones, they did well to hid it under the great care of a vacant expression.

"I believe thou wotteth what discredit this means to me and this empire." The king said to them matter-of-factly.

"Of course we do, my lord." Sir Kurunmi answered for all. "And we would fain stand by you whatsoever."

"If so, I bid thee, knights of the oval room by the fealty thou owe the crown to get my niece back from the evil King Gaa in the grace period of an hebdomad." The king said in a final note of authority.

Shooting to their feet all at once, they vowed to the king. "By our fealty to the crown shall we get her back to safe hands, even at the cost of our lives."

new member am i welcome nice story indeed

devilmaycry1:
new member am i welcome nice story indeed

Sure you are sir. Welcome on board

Please kindly give your reviews good people

Five pair of eyes stared keenly at the mappings painstakingly impressed on the rolled out papyrus laid atop the squared sturdy table at the center of the room, lighted by torches hanging off fixured sockets in the staging room. Their various hearts musing on a way around the loop of the parlous undertaking at hand.

They were all men bound to the crown by a fealty, a bond that mustn't be broken in no circumstances. They're a piece that must sacrifice their all for the crown and the land, oblige to a role that must be played with blind loyalty.

In hard times like this, their actions are the last-ditch to save the day and pride of the great empire. And their folly at such time are always a huge blow for all and sundry. For one, as to avoid such, they had assembled in the room to rub minds in concert.

"There're but two best points for an incursion if we must stand a chance at striking hard at the heart of the City." Sir Kurunmi stated to the circle, his fingers darting across the face of the map. "The orient champaign, and the craggy ponent." He added, placing toy soldiers➖a miniature figurine of knights, chariots and Calvary soldiers at the either sides of the map.

"A battle on the plains will make us apt to the full force of their host..." The grating voice of Sir Ogele trailed off.

"And the craggy lands a good cover will be." The saucer-eyed Sir Alado finished for him.

"Very well then." Sir Kurunmi said. "We must have two troops at the ready for this onrush."

"And what have you in heart as tactics?" Sir Ogunnaike asked in curiosity.

"Simple, we strike with our finest army from the mounts, and create a distraction on the plains with our chariots and cavalry troops."

"Or mayhap, we see it from this light." Sir Ogunmola said after a long abstraction from the talk.

"What have you in mind Sir Ogunmola?" Kurunmi demanded of him.

"A grain of an idea just crop in my heart." He said to the riveted men hovering over the table. "I think we need not strain ourselves much on this matter."

Being a practical man, Sir Ogunnaike was forced to ask yet another question. Not that he hasn't a trust in him, or his words, but because his hard-headedness got the better of him. "Have you a better a plan then?"

"Yea and methinks we stand a better chance at getting the lady back with this ploy of mine."

"Then say it already." Sir Ogele was eager to see him burst the bubble.

He traced a finger over the map to the heart of Irawe landmark. "We can get here in the eye of the city with little wiles." He said diplomatically to the hearings of the enraptured men.

"And how do you say we achieve that?" The heretoch asked this time.

"What do you say of a Trojan, and a mote diversion." He made his point with a rhetorical question. "Long ere they discern our ploy, many a men would have fallen by our blades, and we'll make out of the city with our prize in apace."

"Very wileful of you Sir Ogunmola." Sir Alado remarked with a chuckle.

"Have you any objection to that, Marshal?" Sir Ogunnaike asked, facing the heretoch.

"Not under the blue air will I say a no to such brilliant idea." The heretoch said brightly, relieved of the burden of mulling over the issue. "Now that we've a plan already, so must we put it to bear soon enough."

"Aye sir." The other men chorused.

Soon as the boom of their voice subsided, Kurunmi drew his blade, heft it mid-air, and punctuated the gesture with a shout. "To victory!"

In automate response, the other knights also drew their weapons, thrust it mid-air, in accompaniment with a wild chant of their own. "To victory!"

Sir Ogunmola stood scanning about in the unaired semidark room. His gaze skimming over the walls draped with arras depicting several pictorial patterns of horse-riding men, a caravan of merchants, and a procession of carracks on sail. Albeit small, the room was a depository of arts and trophies in itself, as many pieces of art were pinned against the walls of the room in array.

Of all the objects on display in the room, one was of greater appeal to the knight, who strode over to it for closer inspection. It was a pair of antlers probably collected from a reindeer, its surface was gleaming white and its tapered ends, sharper than any blade the knight has ever seen. Unable to resist its charm, he was forced to traced a hand over its surface.

"Who have we here?" A husky voice said from behind him of a sudden, cutting him off his groaking on the appealing piece. "Oho! It's you my knight friend." The voice added in unrestrained astonishment.

"Been a lang time old friend." He responded by way of greeting, watching as the stumpy figure of a man with oxeyed-eyes and snub nose descended ungainly down the stairs from across him.

The man proceeded toward him in short pace, with the wooden floorboard creaking under him with every steps. He walked past him, stopping short by the hung antlers he had caught him groaking at. "This was bequeathed to my father by his grandpa." He said, indicating the antlers with a jut of his jaw. "Now you see it's a hand-me-down legacy, which I'm afraid will be a custom of my family."

"I've come for something of dearworth, Onaolapo." He announced to the elder man, as he wasn't having any of his tale telling. He was here as regard to something of much worth than old family lore.

"And what would that be grand knight?" The man asked, turning round to settle his gaze on him.

"I've come to seek your favor."

"What favor of me do you ask?"

"I'm afraid you have to swear to me first."

The old merchant stared at him for long, trying to put a rope on why he had requested for an oath. "Fine then. I swear to aid you in whatso you've come hither to ask of me." The man said at last, casting him a wareful look.


At the wee hours of the morn. A guard with bottle-green eyes watched the approaching merchant's caravan and the dust cloud in their wake as they neared the borderline bulwark of the city through the visor of his helmet. From their ragged looks and dishevelled clothing, he could easily suspected they had journeyed from a faraway land to get here.

Without looking their way, he turned on his heels, walking snappishly toward a tent few meters away. He halted right before the tent, announcing to the rest of the guards on post. "There's a caravan in bound."

At his announcement, there was an instant reaction from the guards, who scurried out of the tent over to the wall.

The company of merchants and their wagons were waved to a stop by two bulky guards in cuirass, with their blades strapped to a belt at their sides. The red pants which marked them as the imperial guardsmen of the empire danced around as the trade wind steadily blew.

"Howdy fellows." Greeted one of the guards whom are only distinguishable by their heights as their face were concealed by their helmets.

"Hullo sir." A stumpy man, seemingly the leader of the company returned.

"How goes your journey?" The other guard asked this time.

"Very fine, thanks to the god of trade."

A look at the billowing flag bore by one of the wagons, and the guards could tell from whither they've journeyed. The red and blue stripes running over the white background of the flag was the official blazon of Ota➖a city to the west of Irawe empire.

"May I have a look at what's hoard in those wagons?" The first guard asked politely.

"You may of course, sir." The man said with a wan smile.

At the go, the guard walked up to one of the wagons, drew up the canvas drape over it, and stuck his head inside. Silk, fleece, linen, and heavy fabric were laid in neatly piles within the wagon. Trying not to take any chances, the guard fingered the wares one after the other, until satisfied with the assessment.

"All good." He said as he withdrew from the wagon.

"The finest there is sir." The merchant said of his wares to the guards.

"Let them through." The other guards shouted at the assent nod of his mate.

"Thanks to you two." The merchant bowed, gesturing to his confrere to ride on to the wall.

"Be safe through your trade in our great city." The guards yelled after them as they proceeded through the gate.

The stone castle of Irawe rose head and shoulders above other edifices in the empire's capitol vicinage. The frosting on her cake; its two hundred and a fifty steeple, pointed at the sky in the defiant manner of the tower of babel, blocking out half the superficies of the orange setting sun. Curling around her neck region from which the steeple protruded, like a tie, was her battlement, pale watched-out by the passing of age and seasons. On the face of things, one could tell the empire was living up to its famed alias 'the stone pit city'.

A look at the court, and one would live in retrospect of the stone age, as all within the throne hall was fashioned from stone, save for the embroidered drapes hanging over sash windows. The quartz floor spread out in network of hatching lines, reflecting the image of the confluence in the big room. The arched ceiling overhead, glutted with ornate lightning fixture and carven depictions of the empire's myth.

King Gaa sat as if carven out of a stone, like the slab of stones under him, that was his throne. He held a codex away from his pear-face, his fierce gaze changed over to his royal court sitting in conticent within the room. His mind tossing a loop around the issue at hand.

The wait is finally over. Several days after the abduction of the maiden lady➖Orente, his love-druery, there was a response at last from her people. The message written in the codex brought in by his emissary, had detailed the sighting of Koso's horde on the eastern plain.

Now was his chance to prove to the world what demon he was made of. A victory over Koso➖an empire with formidable horde and impregnable posture will bring him fully to spotlight. It's time to bring to light the army, he had long been breeding in advent of such situation.

"Prepare the ranks Marshal." He said to his cross-eyed general.

"Aye milord."

"I want every men in our garrison at the ready. It's time to make a statement." He finished, rose to his feet and walked out of the room in jaunty steps, leaving behind the severally men in elan robes to themselves.

The ear-splitting war cry of scrapping men was winnowed by the strong gale blowing on the plains. The brown-earth field of honor, now a spring of crimson as men in the all red of Irawe confluxed with the white and blue of Koso empire in blood-and-guts. The coppery smell of blood filled the air, along with wails and groans of men as heads were loped of bodies with axes, innards gutted by lances, eyes and other bodily organs gored by arrows, horses and riders fallen to swords.

Both forces had came in contact a little minute past the undern of day, while the sun in its mightiness began shedding the earth with warm glow of its yellow hue.

With little ado, they had got down to business, the clangs of blades coming against another and cries of dying men drowning out every bits of the throb of war drums and claxon of horns issued by a distinguish set to steered the soldiers into action.

In the middle of the on-going action, Kurunmi mounted upon his sabled Destrier was, on the foreground of things, slashing, swinging, with his wrought made blade to bring many a men to their end, while also burying its keen crescent end in the hearts of the unlucky lots hardy enough to rush into him.

Few yardage away from him, Sir Ogunnaike in a display of bravura on his war-horse broke through the ranks of enemy forces, erasing men with every single swipes of his serrated blade, like he would do ink on a sheet.

As time dragged away, so is the gradual depletion in the numbers of sea of heads that was the riotous gathering of the combatting men.

Irated by the adversary's progress on his troops, the marshal of the Irawe legions stepped up his killing fling, cantering through lines on his all-white Steed to remove men from the face of the earth.

His sifting movements through the battlefield brought him to the end of Sir Ogele, who was naught short of a whirlwind swallowing all in contact with him in a dazzling show of swordsmanship.

Registering the damage done by the other, both men stared hard at each other from several paces away, kept their mind off the haps around them, raced at each other with faces imbued with rage, and swords aimed at each other.

Varying chants bounced off the walls on the west wing of the stone castle of Irawe, as guards circled round a table to propel the duo pitted in a drinking bout to victory. They had a wager placed on either of the two, and watched in a mix of awe and jitters as both men battle it out to an end.

The taller and bulkier of the men watched with dimmish eyes as a lean chap filled his goblet to brimful with a red wine jetting out of an amphora. His vision was almost coming to him in a blur, his auditory sense failing him as it picked faint sounds of the chants of his name. But still, he couldn't resist the urge to outmatch his adversary. And with the thought of victory accompanied with loads of cowries flashing through his mind, he grabbed the goblet off the table, finishing the content therein in the goblet in a draught.

His action was followed by another wave of wild chants from their spectators, who were all riveted by the display.

The other man; a long-nosed man with skinhead watched his opposition gulped down his thirtieth round of the day, but not any furtherance as he slumped down to the ground in drunken stupor. Paying no mind to the reactions that follow on the coattails of his slump into marginal consciousness, he poured himself his thirty-first round of the day, guzzled the wine in his goblet, and rose to the cheers and jeers of the spectators in triumphal vaunt.


Outside, Dan Alado with a handful of soldiers cloaked in the red twilled uniform of Irawe guardsmen irrupted into the battlement, taking on the few guards standing about the breastwork.

About a minute span later, the squad marshaled by Alado, who plied an axe trounced the men in a fleet, severing armeted heads off torsos, splattering blood against the stone walls of the battlement, till their was none of the guards upon their feet.

"Very good." Saith Dan Alado to his men. "Now get down to business." He added, watching as the men hotfooted over to the cracks in the breastwork, dropping taut ropes to the billyoh of soldiers in line at the foot of the castle. The men responded very fast by grabbing at the ropes, while creeping furtively against the wall in a rise successively.


A wave of cohorts spearheaded by Sir Ogunmola trooped down the corridor of the castle's harem on a sly, removing guards manning archways and arcades as stealthy as they could, in order not to draw unnecessary attention.

Their plans were panning out so far. They have a horde engaging the Irawe's battalion on the plains➖a thousand miles away from the outskirt of the empire. And yet, an army here to rescue the fair lady Orente, after being prised through the border with the help of the merchant friend of Sir Ogunmola.

The knight stopped short, bringing each singly heads with him to a halt. Having known the castle plan issued by their spies by rote, he could tell the boudoir in which the lady was kept was close at hand, of which he wasn't ready to take any chances.

"You must all linger here and hold off the guards, while I get the lady." He gave them his behest and made wightly out of sight.


Lady Orente sat forlornly in her boudoir, disregarding the smell of roasted lamb and havier saluting her nostrils from plates of delicacies laid upon the table in a corner of her grand quarters, hedonically laid out with varied exuberances➖with its gild coated cornices, prim pieces of furniture, draperies that coalesce with the bright red color of the walls and fuzzy animal skin carpet.

Tears ran down her black dappled eyes unbidden, the spastic motion of her heart aligning with the sniffs of her aquiline nose. Her erstwhile appealing features now drawn and woebegone from sleeplessness and oft brooding.

Ever since she was nobbled that night, she had been full of hopes that help would reach out to her in her plight from somewhere, somehow. And since none has come hither, her faith has been waning of late, to leave her in an abyss of despair.

While she was drowned in the deep of her hopelessness, a man of great height in a tabard, with fine-tuned habitus walked in on her, startling her from her reverie. She made to shout but decided otherwise as the body language of the man predicate no hostility.

Seeing her reaction, the man removed the veil covering half of his face, to reveal a finely long nose, round brown eyes, and a high-brow. All features of mighty handsomeness.

"Heigh-ho!" She exclaimed at the sight of the man➖the famed knight of the Koso kingdom and the far reaches of her boundary.

"Be not afeard milady." He said. "I have come to get you to safety."

The lady sprang to her feet at once at the mention of this. At last, she was having a chance at the freedom she yearn. "Then we must get away in amain." She said, gathering the hems of her floor-length plaid muslin with her dainty hands.

"This way, milady." He said leading her all the way to safety.

In an anon, the din and moan of clashing men filled the hall on the west wing of the castle. Stirless bodies laid in heap across the floor, while injured party writhed in throes of living death.

The guardsmen had been surprisingly attacked by their adversary whilst they whiled away the hours, watching another twain take on each other in yet another drinking contest. Afterwards, the mirth and glee in the air erstwhile has been polluted as the fight reach a full-blown onslaught.


Outside the walls of the castle, Lady Orente sat dernly at the backseat of a voiture, racing down a cobbled street. She sat thinking back on the haps back in the castle with her heart throbbing heavily in her chest.

Shortly after she had made away with the knight from the pit of hell that was her boudoir in the castle, they had both dashed down passageways, averting guards on post at intervals.

She had guessed the knight knew the in and out of the castle and had obligingly followed his lead, until he scampered into a room to ask something out of the ordinary from her➖to rappelled down the wall to a band of soldiers at the ready to take her away from there.

She had also thought he was out of his darned mind to ask something of such of her right on the spot, till she had an afterthought of what crossroads she was. Rappel down to safety, or worse, get caught and be ensnared in the keep of the evil King Gaa.

Having decided on the former, and with a rapid instinctive thought, she tore off her abounding gown, grabbed the rope the knight had set down for her against the window and set to work.

'I'll create you a diversion milady.' The knight had said before running off the room.

Albeit, she couldn't shake the thought of the knight with a heart begotten of duty and allegiance to crown and land. She also couldn't wait to see the ley and greens that was the beauty of her land.

At the distant knell of a bell from the castle, the carriage turned left as the road bifurcated, pelting along the path to safety.


Sir Ogunmola found himself pinned down in a hall by four guardsmen. He danced around the mighty blows struck by each of the men, trending sidewise to dodge or parry the pelt of blows targeted at him. While he battle it all out with them, his thought wander off to something else. With the lady already rescued, and hightailing to safety with their men, he ought to make a signal call to men stationed at the battlement. He dismissed the thought at once, focusing on the present.

Just in time, he turned and twisted around another blow swiftly, head-butting one of the guards, and at the same time, disarming another with a shove to the side.

At the loud knoll of a bell probably announcing their intrusion into the castle and summoning the guardsmen to be on their guards, he stopped for the briefest of minute, knowing he had to end this right away, for in no time more men will trooped in.

And this he did with a fierce aggress on the guards, twirling around on the balls of heels like a swivel chair to gash open the neck of one of the guards, which of course, sent a spray of blood through the hall. He sent another to oblivion with a flying kick, and last not least, he buried his blade into the chest of the remainder, who howled in pain before crumbling down to his end.

That done, he ran off to the nearest window, brought out a doeskin handkerchief, and waved it vigorously through the window.

What ya think good fellas?

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Kindly say what you think of this piece folks

It's not easy adapting an era one has not lived in and capturing the feel of it. The medieval times with its damsels, knights, Lords, castles, speech and violence though usually romanticized tends to be a compelling read. Nice to see someone tackling the less traveled paths here.

Funny thing to note, I read a medieval/sci fi book months ago where a Lord, his knights, vassals and peasants were whisked off into space. They end up having to adapt to tech and conquering a galaxy in their search to return home. You just happen to be writing both a...

goodluck

just2day:
It's not easy adapting an era one has not lived in and capturing the feel of it. The medieval times with its damsels, knights, Lords, castles, speech and violence though usually romanticized tends to be a compelling read. Nice to see someone tackling the less traveled paths here.

Funny thing to note, I read a medieval/sci fi book months ago where a Lord, his knights, vassals and peasants were whisked off into space. They end up having to adapt to tech and conquering a galaxy in their search to return home. You just happen to be writing both a...

goodluck

Thanks so much... Am happy it's a thrill for you

Very interesting story,following

Harchoredey:
Very interesting story,following

Really delighted you find it thrilling

"Lo, here comes the signal." One of the men-at-arms stationed at the battlement called to the attention of his mates.

"Bless you Ogunmola." Sir Alado said on sighting the signal call. He retrieved a horn from the pouch tied at his side, blowing smartly into it with precise mastery.

The blare of the bugle horn was winnowed thru and thru the castle. And at its call, the koso turms withinforth, foreknowingly sheathed their weapons, retreating at once through their former passing into the castle.

In swithe response, the guardsmen stunned by their queer actions gave a chase.


Two men slovenly dressed in a tatty cape shouldered their way through the crowded narrow street, lined at either sides with stores. The forme, was a man of moderate height, bugle saucer-eyes and sharp crooked nose. He had a spaniel of selfsame jet black color as his eyes collared at his side. And on the hither side, was his fellow, head taller than him in his twenties, or so he looked with his fine youthy expression.

"That was some stunts you pull out there lad." Quoth he, the first man.

The other took a draft from his bouget, ignoring the briny smell wafted about by the near gale from the seawater not far away from their position. "'tis fair to say we all did well." He said whisperingly, turning his head ever slightly hitherward the eastern sky, on whose domain the sun had burst in upon in full glare. Its glassy surface lustered in smoldering gold.

Now cloaked in the grimy apparel, both knights looked like just any churl tramping through the streets. They had shook off the company of biga and horses of the guardsmen dogging after them after their escape from the castle. It has taken a long span of fleeing, along with witful stalling to escape from the claws of death and doom.

They walked the final lap of their long walk to the dock, where a merchantman awaits them, squeezing their way through the thready traffic of the throngs going about the street, likewise averting the keen scrutiny of imperial guards patrolling the street.

Shortly afterwards, they found themselves crammed among the crowds swarming at the pier. The aura around the dock was laden with a matching of salinity and fishy smell.

"Noontide will be upon us soonly." Sir Alado pointed out as they made through the pier arch with a bunch. "Our host on the plains must well be retreating now I ween."

Sir Ogunmola gave a nod of concession to his remarks, watching as the surgy main hit the aft of the galleon docked upon the sea's glazed surface. "Now we have the lady away from the evil King. All's well that ends well." He said as they disappeared into the waiting arms of the large ship, knowing the voyage back to home soil will be a very very long one.

holarbolu:


Really delighted you find it thrilling

I love the use of early mordern english as well as how it is set in the olden times

Harchoredey:

I love the use of early mordern english as well as how it is set in the olden times

Am happy you do man... Hope you'll keep following?

holarbolu:

Am happy you do man... Hope you'll keep following?

A faithful follower,as long as am on nairaland

Harchoredey:

A faithful follower,as long as am on nairaland

I promise to give you nail-biting account of our dear gallant knight.

Kurunmi now withdrawn from the highlight of the warring scene, sat upon his mount watching the heated clash as his men tackled their adversary, to give them a taste of their fierce aggress. The fight had lasted well over two hours, and none of the sides are willing to back down even with the evident ghastly backwash of the fight. The casualties of both forces are far too high, and with the inst wave of the fight, the strokes of cataclysm will eke even more.

After a long groak at the dreary scene, he dared a sidelong glance at Sir Ogele, who was equally scathe and swaddled in tourniquet as his aggressor; the Irawe general, after a friction in the heart of the field of honor.

"'tis high time I bring this to an end." He said. "Full many a heads are already fallen, I can't bear the sight of any further."

In reaction to his words, the maimed knight gave a quizzed look. "And what if the company over at the castle are yet to retrieve the lady? Verily this cause of ours will be all but naught." He argued his point.

The heretoch gave a feeble nod of his head to his line of reason, turning it over in his mind for fugitive minutes. "That's a point well made, but I think there's little margin to dally over such matters. We must follow through our laid plans with high hope with no regard to what ifs, no matter what."

"Hope thou wottest that our failure here, means a failure to crown and duty.?"

"Of course I do." He gave a reply with a half smile. "There's always a morrow to end this." He finished with a pat on his shoulder, beckoning on the band of arms men at hand to signal the retreat.

In no time, they sounded their shophar and other musical instruments in unison, the effect of which brought the Koso horde to an abrupt stall, and an instant disorderly retreat from the plains. They rid themselves of the carnage at once.

Seeing the enemy lines dissolved into a jumble of fleeing heads, one of the prominent men of the Irawe battalion, raced his mount to the General's side. "Permission to follow suit milord?" He demanded pantingly.

The General took his time, watching as the clutter of the opposition armies hightailed from the field. "Nay, we stand back." He said loud and clear.


King Gaa fixed his dark-haired chief of guards an icy look from his perch on his stone throne. Since the bedlam was hushed, the dolt of a being had kept rambling on how they had tried to thwart the progress of the Koso host by locking up every gates on every passageway in the castle, likewise how they had given a wild chase after their escape with the King's sweeting lady. At the end of it all, he had finished his stupid tale by admitting they had escaped from them on a close call. All in all, he had dared to tell him they had escaped with his object of love from the stronghold of his castle. What insolence!

"Take my avowal my king, we'll get her back very soon." He said with a bow and watched the king rose to his feet elegantly. On his face was writ an epos in disappointment of their failure, along with something else inhuman, something evidently plastered on that smooth face of his, now suffused with saffrony bile, like the spangled rayon robe he had donned.

The man felt uneasy at the sight of him in that remote world, quaking involuntarily on his feet. He knew not what he had done or say to umbrage him so much, but was full of wits as to the meaning to the King's countenance, the look upon his face promises naught favorable. Certainly.

"Verray." The king said with a pinch of sarcasm to his voice, striding toward the thunderstruck man briskly. "You must get her back." He added grimly, slipped a hand into his robe, and felt the warmth end of a pommel.

In a fleet, he withdrew a damascened dagger from his pocket, and with a lightning-speed buried its nose into the man's heart unerringly. He watched the man leaned into his thrust, felt the oozes of blood from the gash licking at his fingers, and retrieved the dagger from his chest.

He ignored the thud of his lifeless body as it collided with the ground, and shouted at the guards stationed about. "Get the dolt's stiff away from mine sight!" He bade them, and on instant, they high to his side, carrying the stiff away from the throne room.

Episode four coming your way soon.

holarbolu:

I promise to give you nail-biting account of our dear gallant knight.

wow,that is nice waiting

bring it on man

Keep it up Op