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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!"

Please kindly give your reviews good people

Mitchell slipped into view within the enclosure of the training room out of nowhere, in the blinking second it takes to flicker on a Lucifer. His gaze ran down the length of the vast mighty room in the wake of the little face-off by the two teenage psychics, which left the floor cluttered with sticks, poles, rods and debris. All of this; the disorderliness, the damage inflicted on the room itself, doesn't move a hair on him. The whole of it was meant to be, for such ensued as a backwash after a hassle between psychics, and even in a trivial fight between their kind. This and many implicit reasons made his kind a threat to humankind.

Being an universal, he had been there from the start, watching in the backdrop, cloudy to the most argus-eyed, in the very manner of Chaos. He had watched the wrangle with a mix of delight and awe, with Malcolm surpassing beyond the cap he had him placed on through his assessment.

The boy had fought with eye-popping array of skills, of which he had never stumbled upon in his whole life as a paranormal. His every moves were fluid, his counter well-timed, his tidy fling of offenses, a pure bliss to watch.

This breathe life into the questions budding in his mind, and also gave backing to his suspicion of Omni's assessment of the boy. Even as a skilled universal with a wide range of powers that could be tap into, he had his weak link, a point vulnerable as that of Achilles, that wouldn't give enough claim to tackle Omni's valuation.

His blunt skills with the anomal house serves as hindrance to double check on Omni's valuation, not only was he unable to read minds, he couldn't as much as tell which was which when it comes to psychometry.

This alone had him at a strait; a juncture where he must choose to trust Omni, a top shot of the mansion as well as the agency, whose unfaltering loyalty couldn't be questioned, according to the creed of the organization, the very corner-stone of their operations was 'Trust must be squared on all sides, it's always a give and take.' Or otherwise, choose to see her as a rat that must be removed at once with no relic of her to be seen anymore.

At the moment, he had chosed not to take sides, willing to see and reason unbiased, till the wheels are set in motion and whatever Omni was scheming became plain as day, of which he was sure the wait will be a thrill.


"Here you are. Have you any mind the hell I've been through rummaging through the nooks of this place all for you?" Malcolm said, closing the door of the three-bedded room noiselessly behind him.

"You could have search better, you know?" Omni returned with the frivolity of a child, her legs dangling off the fringe of his bed.

Her devil-may-care demeanance was nothing short of a spark to his anger at her for meeting her sitting idly in his room while he had navigated through every damn concourse, combed through as many rooms in the bunker in seek of her. Her flippant response, a salt to his growing hurt, and along with it came the question 'Why have I got myself winded by a lost cause?'

With the toss and sway of fury in his head, he took a seat beside her on the bed, allowing sleeping dog to lie for the time being, likewise burning out every coal of rage within him to embers. Now, he had something vital to retrieve from her, which an outburst at the very moment may deprive him of.

"I've got something to ask you, anyway..."

"Don't." She cut him off, cupping his mouth with her hands.

If floored by her strange act, he gave as little away, his only reaction being a heft of his brows. Soon, he felt a ripple in his mind, a vigorous split through the curtain of web in the choicest part of him, then a life-like feel in that far and away place. He knew at once what the foreign feel was, it was her again in his head, just like the last time she had triggered her into drawing into the prized part of him.

'I know what's in that little head of yours Malcolm, long before you made the choice of coming over to ask, long before the break of dawn.' The voice in his head began in a metallic note.

But how could that be possible? He wondered. It doesn't make any sense in the real world at least, for someone to know what's going to happen in the far beyond without divination, a gift he was 110% assure Omni lacked.

'Your doubts, I can see them as vivid as an image.' The voice said again. 'What you seek is but an answer, isn't it? But even you lack the true answer to what's so intrinsic as that. Doubts are 99.9% of what made us as humans, it's the drive that pull us up to seek more every now and then. Our doubts are the fountain from which our curiousity spring, and this made us who we're, what we're.'

If you have the answer and knew of it all from the start, why keep it away from me? Malcolm wondered. He couldn't get a hold on why this should drag on.

'Somethings are better to be lock in the shadows Malcolm, for death is fairer than their knowledge to us.' There was silence for a second span. 'You're never a psychal-physics boy, but a psychic of the rarest substance; universal. Your power is never limited within a house, you can have as much of the mansions at your call anytime.'

Thought as much, he cognitated. With her presence in his head, thinking was a strain. "But how can you even tell this was gonna happen in the first place?"

'Through foreknowledge boy. I even had doubt in that myself.'

"Why would you ever doubt your own power? I think it's kinda odd."

'Yes, it really is odd, but you wouldn't know until you have to juggle more than two gifts at once. When you have to choose between light and darkness.'

"One last question, anyway. What kind of psychic have such powers as you? you know having almost every power in a house within your reach."

'The perverse, those are my kind. A piece of advice for you boy; you'll keep your knowledge of this a secret, as much as you must stick with your psychal-physics affinity, nothing more will be brought to light.'

"But why should I?" He snapped. Shucks! After all he had endured, he wasn't going to be allowed a taste of the riches of his new discovery.

'Not all questions can be suited with answers. Sometimes, we need to hold on to a thing without a bit of reason to. Do this, for what lies beyond is by far greater.'

Once more, he felt the withdrawal of the presence in his head, every single feel of telepathic hold stub out, for him to have the totalitarian rule of his mind.

Omni sprang to her feet at once, her gaze lingering on him. "Guess that fills your curiousity to satisfaction boy?"

He didn't as much as gave a nod, before she waltzed out of the room with stealthy footsteps.

And now is the time to have what you've all been waiting for good people

devilmaycry1:
new member am i welcome nice story indeed

Sure you are sir. Welcome on board

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."

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.

Your reviews folks

More coming at the heels of the last update. Stay tuned

[Episode three: King Gaa ]

The whiplash of the driver's flagellum exhorted the yoke-drawn hansom into a scurry over the roughcast terrain of the route on the fringe of Koso empire. The driver's awearied eyes trained at the path beyond. His skilled hands guiding the cab along the path crowded at either sides by shrubbery. Seated behind him in the canopied carriage was his ward➖a young maiden lady who also happened to be his liege's daughter. And riding ahead of them in bunch were the company chosen to accompany them in their voyage.

Overhead, the sky brimmed with legions of stars along with the lone towering orb that was the the moon. This with the clement nighttime weather ensured it was a good night to journey. Deep inwith the bush, coyotes tooted in haphazardness, while a choir of crickets assented their lead with chirping chorus.

They had set upon their enterprise to Eba Odan➖a trade center far and away a sennight ago, and were returning to town with a deal of merchandise after their long venture.

Their smooth traversal was cut short as a confetti of arrow snarled at the riders from archers waylaying in hidden positions in the bordering bush.

The riders fell off their horses in quick succession, thumping out an an oddly rhythm as they fell into an embrace with hard ground.

In the fleeting second that follows, a yell of throes escaped the lips of the scrawny driver, as another arrow nail squarely into his brow. He lost his grip on the reins on instant, tumbling off his perch on the cab to his death.

The aftereffect of this was the careening of the hansom, coupled with the fearful shriek of the lady that traveled through the night.

After pitching sidewise for the briefest of time, the hansom toppled over and came to a final halt, it's upended wheels whirling as every last bit of sound was subdued from within the carriage.

At that, hooded figures donned in tight-fitting robes, which merged well with the hue of dusk emerged to the fore of the course. Two figures dashed over to the fallen cab, dragging out the swooned body of the lady out of the carrier.

"We must get away now." A gravely voice piped amongst the figures. And with less flurry, they dispersed back into the gloomth with their price.

Episode three on the way!

It's unbelieving that the guardian spirit sent from above to aid her in her plight was the finest knight thru the land. It was out of this world that she was riding on the same horse with the knight highly distinguished from his peers. What's worse was, she'd had the mind she was in love with him at first sight, or mayhap that was a thought watered by her lustful feeling. She had heard the legendary tale of the knight from hearsay drifted along by common folks every now and then, but has never come across the man in the flesh, and now that she beheld him, she was willing to bed him right away, and bade a bye to her long kept chastity. She would give her virgin blood to him with no afterthought. That was wrong to think of, but still, she couldn't shake off the thought.

Once again, he had saved the day as ever. A knight in his twenty-third year; waxing in strength in his salad days, formidable to most adversary, dauntless and brutal when need calls.

He rode homeward to safety with the lady sharing his saddle, and the boy getting along in selfsame pace on his mule, as the sun sink down in the horizon westward.

He raced the horse along the trail hewn out by their prior passage through the thick, paced past pathways and shoulders off roads, and shot down over crag and knoll, never taking his keen eyes off the path yonder.

The horses' hooves along with his yell winnowing through the air at the hour as they breezed past.

Kindly tell what ya think 'bout this

mema900:
That is what you see

Anyway, it's what I believe in

[quote author=mema900 post=66845217]That is what you think[/quote


I see you can do it!

Freebiez:
Looking interesting. Like the drawing you got there

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mema900:
I know am lazy....my mama use to say it when i was small

Methinks otherwise... I see you are not, I see you can do it. I see you can hold on.

[quote author=mema900 post=66837723]Too long...i cannot come and kill myself with long write-up [/quote

Am guessing you are pretty lazy... But anyways, you gotta check this out.

Through it all, lady Egbin stood upon the boulder watching the battle betwixt the wyvern and the gallant knight, who has shown a skill superior to that of any man wielding a sword she had ever seen. What manner of man fight with such prowess? She couldn't help but wonder on the spot.

There's but a man she had heard many a tale about his heroics, who was audacious in the face of death, dry as dust in adversaries, unflinching even in the keep of danger. He was the best warrior ever birthed by a man in their land and neighboring empires➖a lone wolf that could tackle down a remuda. Or could it be what she's thinking...

She watched as the scene unfurls with much steam, both side coming at each other in full-blown onslaught.

Before long, the wyvern lashed out with its tail, which met the knight square at the chest, casting him heavily against a mesquite fifty paces off.

With the damage done, he picked himself off the ground, retrieved his blade nosed into the ground not far off in a fluid deft movement, and wiped at the filter of blood at the side of his mouth. He'd hit his rear hard against the tree, and perhaps might have broken a bone from the impact. But being who he was, and what was long ingrained in him as a knight, he was willing to fight it through, no matter how unfavorable the odds seems. Fighting to the end, that's the code by which a knight must live.

Bubbling with rage from the inside, he dared a fleeting glance at the snarling creature, who did naught but mirrored his very own fury with its body language.

Giving him as little time to breathe, the wyvern charged at him again, while he breasted with its lunge head-on, skidding sideways to avert the arc of fire hosed down from its mouth.

With the agility of a monkey, he rolled out of the reach of the leavings of fire spurted from the wyvern, bracing himself up for more of its tail deadly swing which came as a followup.

Both side stood their ground, tactfully waiting for yet another crack or opening in the palisade of their defenses, for long time.

As time cart away, He fought twice even harder than he had before, making precise footwork around its attack, which affords him a minute luxury of making a passado on it. He followed through with rapid blows in succession, swirling around another swing of its spiky-tail, which afterwise was a bad move by the creature, and gave him a chance at victory as he plunged his blade right into its heart.

The wyvern gave a final beat of its wings, falling off its feet to its death on instant.

He watched as the fall heaved a pillar of dust from the ground, twirling around to meet the amused look that now replaced the frightened expression once plastered on the lady's youthy face.

Lady Egbin removed the hand she had sealed her mouth with on reflex as she watched the wyvern slumped to its end. The darned creature had fallen by the blade of the knight at last, for which she was more than pleased.

Soon enough, he sheathed his blade, making onward the boulder in a smooth elegant gait. He stopped short by the boulder, dipped in curtsey, and reached a hand out to the lady, in the very chivalric manner of a knight. "There's no reason to be affright no more." He said to her in a voice soft as the brush of summer's breeze.

Obligingly, she tucked her tiny, prim hand into his strong own, feeling the callused pad of his thumb against the back of her palm, as he set her gently down from the boulder.

The calluses of his hand and his sure grasp gave an assent to her prior conjecture of how great a man he was.

"Thanks so very much, sir." She said, feeling a mite of rue as he withdrew his hand from hers. The very touch of him against her skin was honey-sweet and had thinned the strong wrench she had on her emotion. Likewise battering into her wall of defense, leaving it in a mess of splinters. She was raw for once from the inside.

'tis indeed wrong to have that cropping up in her silly mind at the instance, so outright improper to have such a feel for an absolute stranger, those scruple she was aware of. But still, what manner of woman wouldn't wind up at the sight of such pretty face man, but a frigid woman?

"By what do find yourself at this peril, young miss?" He asked.

"It's very much a long tale to tell, sir."

"Still I fain to know." He pressed.

"I was riding with my hunting party before the darn creature came out of the blue, after which I've lost touch with them." She explained.

He nodded in understanding, turning away from her as he remembered the boy he had ordered to stay clear of the scene. "Asanke!" He called out loud. "You may come hither now that all is hushed." He added ever so slickly.

The red-haired boy emerged from his hideaway in the woods on the back of his mule, with a black shock of unruly mane, and a contrasting brown tail end. His Sire's Destrier reined at his side as he galloped along to meet him and the lady.

"What name art thou called, lady?"

"Egbin, the first daughter of duke Sodeke." She gave him a fond narrow smile that crinkled the corner of her eyes.

"I know your Sire for sure." He said. "But you i've never laid eyes on before now." He added in a level voice.

"That must be because I have always sequestered myself in the study of my father's shelter."

"Then you must be a well-read lady." He remarked, turning again, this time, to take up the bridle of his horse.

"I'll take that as a compliment, sir." She said coyly.

He mounted the horse with an uncanny grace, straddled it with his sure muscled legs, and snuck his feet into the stirrups on either sides. "You'll ride with me back to town." He announced, reaching out a hand to her to pull her up the saddle.

She felt a tingling sensation as his hand wrapped around hers once more, in the bid for her to breast the saddle of the horse.

As she slipped in before him, seated betwixt him and the horse's ears, she felt the gentle caress of his breath against her neck, which pour thrills over her making her forget the pain of the stitch in her side for once.

With a kick at its side, he had the beast spun around in liquid ease, reining it into a two-beat stride with a gentle spur of his knees.

Unable to rein in her inquisitiveness, she was forced to asked the question long on the tip of her tongue with no afterthought. "Sir, art thou the famed knight, sir Ogunmola?" She stuttered out.

He gave a brief smile at her sand, and naive undertone in her voice, before giving an evasive response. "And if i say yes?"

"Oho!" She said in astonishment. "By the lord, it really is you!"

Long last, she came to a halt inches away from the mouth of a high cliff, bending over in a bid to regain her wind. She wasn't going down to an oxygen debt, she had resolved on instant impulse. And she would rather die from a drop from the cliff than live to see a torturous fate at the hands of the heinous creature.

Silently, she prayed for her end to come as fleetly as possible, full of high-hopes that the passage into the netherworld will peace her worldly sufferings.

On the other hand, the wyvern alighted from altitude, landing on its paws in a swift sweeping motion, with blood-red eyes gleaming with overwhelming gusto. Now, it has her pinned, with no way around the straits she was caught in.

Just in time, the fate and gods she had cussed no less than an umpteenth time came to her aid with a manifestation of a guardian spirit➖a knight riding on horseback in shining armor, on whose wake a redhead boy also ride.

"Come no any further!" He waved the boy to a halt. "Stay and watch the scene aloof." He added in a final note of injunction, climbing down the horse, which reared at the sight of the terrifying creature yonder.

"Aye sir."

Afterward, he marched breast-forward towards the creature and the hapless lady in long big strides.

"Fie!." He hollered, and watched as the wyvern swiveled around to face him, sizing him up with face scrunched up in a glare, and mouth parting in a snarl. "How about you square it all out it with me, big fellow?" This he said with the drawing of his blade; wrought of pure adamantine steel, with gilded tilt, broad metal blade and a tapered nose, that has tasted a thousand cask of blood.

Her heart leaped in joy at the turn of events, her almost crumbled faith rising from its ruins, along with a new feel of hope.

"At last, sweet heavens harken my plaints." She breathed, slipping away from the spot to the boulder beyond.

Irked by his insolence, the wyvern lurched at him, flailing its spiky tail to home in some damage.

On instant reflex, he ducked fluidly under the blow, sidestepping around more coming on its tail. He did brilliant skirting the dead on target thrusts and lunges thrown at him by the wyvern with its tail, rolling under as yet another blow came at him.

Long into the fight. He found an opening, with a sashay around the threshing tail of the wyvern, and with a dead-aim thrust he gored its right eye.

A roaring screech escaped the mouth of the wyvern as darkness suck up its impaired eye, staggering back with a furious stamp of its paws that shake the ground beneath them.

Episode two: [The Wyvern, the fair Lady Egbin, and the knight.]

One could hear the rustling of leaves, so as the cracking of twigs, likewise the heavy stomps of running feet through the woods. And also, the flapping wings of birds perched on boughs and birches of trees as they took to height as the stomps grew louder and nigher.

Sweats swam down a face fairer than that of a morning rose, but now made unsely by the impending doom. Prickling tears tore their way down virid eyes that did all to put to shame the green of emeralds. Raspy ragged pants came in spurts through an orifice bordered by two fleshly fold of tissues, lushly red as ripe tomatoes. Also, the chest that bore the weight of twain mound of flesh heaved up and down in a fast-tapped cadence. While wobbly legs tugged the whole bulk of the running figure at the bidding of the mind, for dear life.

Lady Egbin ran in amain through the woodland, past thicket and glade, over mound and crag, pulling the flare end of her silky flowing gown to her side as she darted along in a pace that could eclipse that of a wheezing arrow.

Every steps sent a grid of pain through her body, and each breath, a spike tearing through her lung as she skittered and meandered past in an uneven line

Right on her tail was a creature with red ominous tiny orb of a eyes, an ugly galling snout, and a mouth fraught with jutting craggy teeth, from which a screech and gust of fire escaped. With every beats of its enormous wings, the creature soared bulk large in the air, wagging its evil serpentine scaly-tail, dead-set on having its fleeing prey to itself.

'tis unfair to be chosen this lot of hers. So very wrong to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And what's worse, is her implacable fate and gods that has forlet her at this dark hour, leaving her to the dooming end that beckons to her.

She had cursed and cussed over and over, since the wyvern had came out of the blue, to bring to an end what was once a fair and bright moment of her life. Stiil yet, the gods has left her for doom, to what will be a grim end of her span at the hands of the darned creature.

"Somebody help, please!" She shrieked with the last ounce of strength in her as the shadow of the wyvern loomed over her.


A hide of land away in the fields vestured in green. Sir Ogunmola was on one of his ofttimes hunting course, riding on the back of his Destrier horse;➖Tasuloru in a prance, with his pageboy, a red-haired boy, who had his quiver, filled with fledged arrows strapped to his back upon the saddle of his mule.

They rode through the thick, cloaked in permeant silence, the only source of life activity being the chirps of insects, and tweets of birds.

Shortly, the silence that was the sovereign at the hour was lanced through by a booming shriek from a far off distance in the woods, which got a hold on the attention of the two riders.

"You harken that holloa? Don't you?" He asked the boy straight off.

"Aye sir." The boy said. "But there's no telling whitherward it sprung?"

"That's a distress call for certes." He opined. "We must reach out to whomever that was sooner 'fore something dire set upon the fellow." With that he spun his horse around, kicking at its sides to spur it into a dash toward the sound. While the boy followed in selfsame pace on his trail.


Lady Egbin scrambled through the thick of her misery, evading the grabbing tentacles of wild ivies, and vines, the pricks and tugs of pineweed and other wiry plants. She resisted the urge to claw at her face crawling with insects, along with the instinct to rub at an itchy spot on her brow, pumping strength to her legs as she tried to throw off the dogged creature upon her.

She was running on a low on strength with each daring attempt to force her legs to run, just as she was about winded, in a short time. But still, she wasn't allowed the luxury to wait and get her wind back with the dogged creature giving a chase on her.

With tears burning her eyes, and a glance on the path dead ahead, she could tell her doom was sealed. She was running straight into a standstill➖a point where there will be no where to run no more.

The knight of valor episodes.

[Episode one: Another victory yet]


It could all begin with the orient sun burning high-red from the isle far off in the azure sky. Or better still, the clamor of gleeful spectators foregathered in the crescent arena with dewy-eyes filled to brimful satisfaction as they watched the two figures sparring upon the ground of the arena strewn with sand. Or rather, the unremitting resounding clangs as blades met squarely against the other, the low grunts emitting from the brawling twain, and the sweats and blood, now merged into one swimming down their faces. They've both ventured into this ticklish enterprise to serve the interests of the bubbly crowds, who had a bet placed on their heads, likewise the blue bloods, all preened in robes and garbs, who watched on in pleasure.

"How much longer will you hold back, prithee?" The flaxen haired knight asked his adversary amidst the clamoring and scrapping.

"For as long, till I think otherwise." Quoth the other man, who parried a blow trained at his chest by the older knight, and fluidly sidestepped as more jabs came fleetly at him.

"You find me a worthy adversary?" He couldn't help but ask the question long cropping in his mind.

"Methinks, all mine adversary are worthy all time." He gave him a pat reply, deflecting more blows as they come.

"Oh, really?"

He was dubious of that, for his adversary was indeed the best swordsman through the land of Koso and the neighboring empires. And also think him a cocky fellow who vapors with his every victory and accomplishment.

"Pay this your mind, if thou fain to live of after with your heart."

Flaxen-haired growled at his remark in contempt, going on a high with his every attack. "Fight now and save thine skin, or else, I shall have your head." He caught a smile rippling across his face, and this made him even furious.

"I must say our time is well spent, sir Ananke." Was his only response as he traded blows for blows, this time with more intensity than before.

A minute span later, he had him sprawled on the sandy ground of the arena, his epee blade trained at him, after he had feinted to a side and threw him a biting blow on his brow.

That was it. As always he had another knight on his knees, another credit to his name, a new add-on trophy to his glorious streak of victory.

He gave a feeble smile as the crowd of spectators roared his name, with hands threshing in mid-air.

Thrilled by their reaction, he also joined in with a toss of his hands in victory, relishing every flying moment in pure gratification.

He was ever so the gallant knight of Koso, the finest warrior of the land, the impregnable swordsman, the best of men to ever don a knight's tunic of the great empire. He was of noble birth. He was dark and very dangerous. Sir Ogunmola, he was called.

That night, soft moans escaped from within the walls of one of the bedchamber in the imposing castle of Koso.

On the inside, the room was Spartan, with drab high-rising walls, and windows draped in tapestry, the only furnishment from within being a reading table, and chair, likewise a pallet stationed on the far right wall, upon which rested feather pillows.

Cuddling against the left wall of the room, dimly litted with the burning glow of a candle were two figures, stripped to their birthday suit. The form of the first figure was that of a feat-bodied man, with inky mane of hair, and a bulk of two hundred and a twenty, and an even strength, similar to that of a Destrier horse. His mate in the act was, a gold-haired lady with buxom build and blue flecked beady eyes, twinkling ever so as the stars.

After the triumph in the arena, Sir. Ogunmola found himself on another ground, different from that of the theatre of war. It was not a ground of blood and sand, rather it was that of heightened pleasure, and bliss.

The young lady had strutted into his bedchamber with a beamish demeanor, and found him lying spread-eagled in his bed.

On sighting her, he had bound off of his bed, striding in a trot to her side to engage her lips in a French kiss. After which, the pleasure play as ensued.

"I must be gone now my lord." She mumbled out as his skilled hands roamed about the superficies of her body.

"Why must thou fleetest so soon, my dearling?" He asked once as his hand slipped into the moist canal betwixt her thighs, stroking over it in circles.

She writhed at his touch, funking deeper against the wall as he went on with his fiddling with her button (clit). "I'll go now and come sooner, that I promise."

"And if I say no?" He asked, looking up at her twinkly face.

"I think not, my lord." She said with a smile. "I really must go now." She withdrew from his hold, scampering about to gather her clothing strewn in the room.

He watched the light-of-love woman, he had come to love as she swam into her cloak in haste. He regarded her with much love than any lady in the land, more than the pretty daughters of the lords, willing and ready to throw themselves into his arms at all cost. She was of low-birth, yet he loved her servile self to any patrician.

"I love you, my lord." She said without waiting for his response as she bolted out the oaky door.

"I love thee more, mine darling, Moremi." He returned in a low voice, bending to retrieve his mantle off the ground.

That was the other side of this knight, the 'fave' of most wenches through the whole of the land➖an attractor of lewd looks from vassal lords mistresses, and servantry. The shady part, and wanton personality that fills the vacuum of his being to a whole.

I'll be starting something new on this thread folks. And it will be the inception of a series I called the 'Knight of valor episodes'. It's basically a work of fiction, and it promises to take us on trip through the tale of a gallant knight, called Sir Ogumola. Through out this piece which has a setting of medieval time and will be mostly written in medieval English, I will syncretize some famous stories to my interest, and tell it afresh from the perspective of my protagonist, a good swordsman and wanton being. Hope you enjoy the adventures of sir Ogunmola.

Been cooking up a lot for ya'll... Just hold on a bit.

Will love to have your views on this

CalciumB3:
am using a small phone.....just avoiding irrelevant hanging

Got it boss. All the best as you take us on a spin through your world of thrilling adventure.

And what 'bout this?

Gracias... Too short though.

Wowzers! This is a masterpiece op. Fire on!

My venturous hand found her smooth puffy cheek, racing, darting across the acreage in the fluid movement of a ballet dancer. My aching lips found her soft pliant ones in a lust-drive for pleasure. My hands grazed her chin, to the depression within her neck in a frantic race of bubbling feel for that one deadly sin, tracing an invisible map over to her nape. Switched over to autopilot, my hand ventured on, way down to her spine, and in one swift swipe, I had her lacy gown swimming down her body. I stared into her glassy eyes, which beckoned onto me in a serpentine whisper; luring, and calling me, with a promise of a taste of paradise.

I gave in to that silent voice within her brown beady eyes, and tucked both my hands around her neck. And together we shuffled toward the waiting embrace of my bed. Our lips moving in hungry unison, my hands skittering over her body, to bring her to the high cliff of pleasure. While her hands paced relentlessly over my now bared torso, snaking through the tuft of hair on my chest, and over abs and pecs, painstakingly chiseled out of my body.

Long last, we found the comfort of my bed, as we clutched to each other for dear lustful feeling, each a dependent parasite on the other, like a lice on skin. Our breath mingled, as our heart acclived for more. And the beats of our hearts thumped out as one.

In no time, we're both in our birthday suit, both unashamed of the other in the raw, just as it was in the beginning of time, between Adam and his Eve.

Once again my enterprising hands was at the go, as it found the mound rigged upon her chest, and from this; kneading and handling ensued. The ongoing torture pleasure was an seesaw experience, going up and down on an even swing, as she also found the core of the man in me, stroking, and jerking it with pure deftly mastery.

This went on for a long time, before I took up the bridle of leadership, and stroked down her abdomen with my active tongue, until I reached down her place of ethereal bliss➖the very paradise enclosed within her. Labium.

My mouth dipped into a genuflect to worship in that holy altar within her, pleading her with each tender lap of my tongue, and my hand joined in her praise with the slip of my fingers into that membrane of flesh.

She holloaed in ecstatic joy and I joined soon as the first wave of that precious fluid spurted out of my erect statue, ready and waiting to plunge into that well within her.

Sudden and sadly, I found myself lost in a rather world. A world where there's no company with me in the closet of my tiny room. A world where there's no plummy girl to take me on a swing to the summit of unrivaled pleasure, but my pillow, which I must have been riding for long to take me to that far and away world.

But to my dismay, I found my member as hard as a plinth. From this and the obvious fact of, a sticky substance splattered across the fly region of my trouser, I could easily realized I have done it again. I had MASTURBATED over again.