Knight Lautrec: For the Love of Fina.
Prologue:
A boy, short even for his age of six years, staggered languorously on scrawny legs with knobbly knees. Spindly pale arms; mottled with a myriad of freckles, slouched off bony shoulders. His nose twitched and he bit at the corner of his parched, cracked pale pink lips. Slender fingers were the only part of his body in perpetual motion; nervously dancing by his waist.
Blinding white light spread across the church; from the southernmost stain glass windows which stretched from the base of the chapel to the topmost spire. The blanket of light showering from above diffused across the vastness of the hall, and withered as it encroached into the corners shadowy depths. The boy's opaque eyes squinted as the light rolled over his ridged brow and sunken cheek bones.
The air was redolent of the countryside; wood dust from freshly axed trees and the sweet smell of viscous sap. It was the scent of homely thoughts that resided in his mind. Yet it was hard to distinguish their faintness from reality or reverie.
Bare feet, crusty with soil and filth, struck misshapen harsh rocks which sent shivers snaking up his body, pricking the sparse white hairs along his pallid skin. He stopped at a jagged rise of stone steps, which paved the way before a towering wooden platform four times his height. Unkempt, lank strands of auburn hair draped over his eyes as he lowered his head from the glowering expression of the man seated atop the long, haunting incline before him.
"This one Sir, he is not fit for work. Frail and sickly I'm afraid." A Priest, swathed in white glossy silk robes turned towards a robust man settled on a luxuriant throne made of ancient oak; imbedded with crystalline shards from the spines of magic imbued golems. Ephemeral rays from the sun diffracted as they passed through the shards, sending iridescent diamond shaped reflections spiralling. Projecting colours onto the Priests robes; indigo, violet, navy, then briefly flashing a spectrum of yellows. As the sun faded the robes morphed back into their original plain white.
The King pensively stroked at the jet black bristles ruggedly trailing down his chin covering his thick tree trunk neck. Slathered over his heavy, leather russet garment were a ludicrous amount of jewels, crystals, sapphires, rubies, and studded pieces of onyx and obsidian. Alongside the ostentatious varieties of rare stones and gems were trophies from fallen beasts; the many now lifeless blue eyes of a hydra sea serpent were dotted down his sleeves. Festooned around his neck were a plethora of beast's teeth, ranging from cyclopean trolls to Wild Boars. And some rumours claim the thicker, yellowing teeth once belonged to Taurus and Capra Demons born from the chaos of old. These usually large fangs appeared miniscule aside the sole, enormous sharp curved tooth of a drake's dangling in the centre of the necklace. Yet still it was not ample enough. Fixed in his multitude of rings were absurd nacreous pearls from giant clams. And on his crown, emanating above all else was one grandiose ruby situated in the centre, surrounded by weaving gold filigree. Every faceted surface on the King glimmered in the pellucid light of day.
In the silence the boy looked up for a brief moment, searching the decor beyond the King. Standing out between the giant windows was a wall tessellated with fragments of brightly coloured tiles; depicting a crowned Knight wielding a great long sword. Its hilt was imbedded with a glaring eye of a red drake. The Knight was plainly decorated in mail and layered with plate armour. Poised with both hands over his Longsword; its blade pointed to the ground. The yellow ceramic material gleamed so bright it was as if its colour were taken from the suns very rays. Its resplendent nature exalted the Knight above the medley of kneeling soldiers that encircled him.
The King restively shifted his puissant boulder-esque arms against the bronze burnished hand rests of the throne. Plump fingers began to raise, to dismiss the boy, yet they dithered. He leaned forwards and stared deeply into the milky eyes of the young boy. Bestirred, he looked in the direction of his advisor. The Priest dismissively flicked his hand whilst averting his glance and nose from the boy; whose patch work rags were blemished in sordid stains of yellow and brown.
The eyes of the King were wide with assent. Though he paused, once again. As he lowered his fingers the Priest's expression twisted to one of astonishment.
The diminutive figure below them was stolid, wistful of the King's response.
"Sing for me boy."