"Heal staff? Bah! I'm fine! A scratch like this will heal itself! You should have seen the time I fought the Giant Scorpions of—"
—Support conversation between Crimean Royal Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran and Rhys.
This is the story of how I, Crimean Royal Knight, Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, great and mighty warrior, vanquished the Giant Scorpions of Melior.
It is a long and epic tale, on par with the most valiant and noble chivalric tales of old, full of knightly valour and courage, of heroism, loyalty and tenacity. It is a fearsome tale, full of peril and danger, blood, monsters and ferocious battles. In fact, all you tender young maidens who might happen to be reading this, I would not blame you if you turn away now. It would save you much heart-ache. Because believe me, this story is a doozy! But I will not keep you in suspense any longer, and if you think yourself strong enough I will commence my brave tale.
It all began on a dark and stormy night. Lightning cracked, gates creaked, wolves howled and somewhere in the distance a baby began to cry. But this was no ordinary baby. This baby…. was ME! Yes, on that day Crimean Knight, Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran was brought into the world and the very fate and balance of the universe itself would be changed. Forever.
Now, my childhood was uneventful and I will not waste time telling about it. Let it be suffice to say that I read a lot of books on knights and chivalry.
But as I said it was nothing extraordinary so I will skip forward to my second year of enlistment, to the year when I met him and was thrust forward into a most extraordinary set of circumstances leading toward my successful smiting of the dread scorpion foe.
I had been training for two years to become a knight of my beloved Crimea. Oh beloved Crimea, most beautiful of countries! You whose fields are pleasant and hills soft like butter. Whose forests are plentiful and rivers full of bounty! I have sworn to protect you even if my fingernails are ripped out from the roots revealing the bare, vulnerable flesh wich they cover with a million paper cuts, even if they tie my body to two horses galloping in opposite directions so that my body is ripped in half, even if they pick out my brain from my nose, even if…
Ah, but I digress.
As I was saying, I was in my second year of training. Already my zeal and passion for the cause was self-evident and all the other knights looked up to me, much like a bush looks up with awe to the superior nobleness of the mighty cedar. Not that bushes can really look at things or anything, but you know, it's a metaphor. I was top of my class in the previous year and was prepared to once again claim my rightful title. This year we had been horse training, and already I and my beloved horse Brunellus were as much in sync as soap and suds. I was far superior to the rest of my classmates and all would have been well, if it were not for HIM.
Oh, I will never forget that fateful day, that day when I met HIM. Every singular instant of that day has been branded into my memory, the way the sun floated high in the sky , how each blade of grass that composed that mighty field blew in the breeze, the smell of tired horses and metal and steel. Everything is as clear to me as if it was a mirror and I was standing right next to it. I was wearing my lucky red undershirt and holding my ax stoutly and boldly. I had had porridge and steak for breakfast that morning. Or maybe it was ham… Well it doesn't matter.
But him! I remember him as clear as day! He was sitting straight and tall on his horse, whose face was long and noble with clear black eyes and ears pointed back like arrows (the horse, not him). He was adorned in bright armour that gleamed like silver in the sun, and on his face, oh, on his face was the most striking expression (Him , not the horse)! As soon as I saw that face, I knew that he would be a worthy opponent. His hair was green as the noble boughs of a leafy forest. His body was lithe and strong. But it was his eyes that told me the most. There was something about those tiny gashes of his that told of an unspeakable determination, a certain tenacity and nobleness not found in others. They were scrunched up in a perpetual squint, peeking out in an almost careless observance of the world, as if he was so strong and powerful he could not be bothered to open them and glance more closely at his surroundings. What arrogance! What pride! He walked through life blindly with his eyes shut, trusting his skill alone to carry him through. Oh how I loathe those eyes!
It was the end of the year, that day, and we, the knights in training, were to compete in a race. My horse, Brunellus, and I, Kieran, soon to be Crimean Knight, Fifth Platoon Captain, were ready to claim victory. We had been waiting for this moment, for this sweet taste of victory, of triumph, our entire lives. The instructor asked if everyone was ready. Ha! We were BORN ready. All our training and hard work would finally be reaching its culmination in one short, swift victory.
Brunellus flew across the field with the swiftness of a pegasus and the strength of a wyvern. His flaxen mane flowed through the air like honey and I stood stoutly in his saddle, and together we were like one swift true arrow, he the shaft and I the feathers. His hooves pounded into the ground and we surged in front of the other knights, leaving them behind in a cloud of dust. All except one.
The air was rushing in my face and at first I was not conscious of the figure just behind me. All I saw was the quickly passing ground and all I felt was Brunellus' warm pounding flanks. We reached the first jump and he leaped into the air and I was soaring. He barely wobbled as he landed on the ground again, only giving a faint thud. But as he landed I heard another thud, like an echo of my own, and in the corner of my eye I could make out a flash of green and a pair of squinty eyes. It was him.
And then he was next to me, and then he surpassed me. In anger I spurred Brunellus onwards, and we raced side by side. But then in the last, final moment, he somehow pulled ahead and the victory fell to him. To him! He, some squinty eyed upstart! A man who could not even be bothered to open his eyes when he woke up in the morning! Oh, the humiliation! Oh, the disgrace! Oh, the dishonour! Oh, the shame! Oh, the ignominy! Oh, the utter humiliation of it all!
I was so ashamed that I locked myself in my room, stripping it of all decorations and lying prostrate on the cold stone floor, neither eating nor drinking. At times I would flagellate or hit my head despairingly on the wall, so disgraced I was. But on the third day, my friends forced me to eat once more and I did so reluctantly. But with this small morsel food my soul was renewed and I was immediately overcome by a raging fire within my heart. I would have my revenge!
At once I sallied forth and interrogated all my companions in order to find out the name of that fearsome knight who had vanquished me. His name, as I soon discovered, was Oscar.
Oscar. A more hated name had never crossed the threshold of my mouth. Its very syllables were distasteful to me.
Yet I spat out that repulsive word anyway, swearing an oath upon the heavens that from this day forward, he, Oscar, would be my enemy. He would be my one true rival, my adversary, my foe, the only man who could even come close to challenging my might. Oscar. Pah!
Yes, and he would pay for challenging the greatness that was I, Kieran, soon to be Knight of Crimea, Fifth Platoon Captain. Oh how he would pay. Indeed, I made a vow that day, as the sun hovered bright and glorious in the deep blue sky, that I would never rest, nay, not even sleep, to eat nothing but the dew off the grass, to have neither leisure or joy until I had avenged myself against this…this Oscar. Neither rain nor snow nor gloom of night would stay me from my vengeance!
And from that day forth I was a different man. I was consumed by a burning fire of zeal, of a vaulting ambition that overleaps itself, and my thoughts were consumed day and night of how I could upshow this terrible rival of mine. I could not just challenge him to a duel, no, that was too simple, and beside Oscar was too tricky for that. I would have to overpass him, not only in fighting and swordsmanship, but in every aspect of life.
So I threw myself into training, determined to make myself stronger. I jogged up staircases. I fought beneath waterfalls. I did push ups and sit ups. I wrestled bears. You know, the usual training stuff. There was a veritable montage of it.
At first I would return home so weak I could barely stand, covered in cuts and bruises, my face awash in blood and sweat, but I persevered and soon… well actually I still returned home covered in cuts and blood. But a true knight will fight on even with all their limbs hacked off, declaring it only a flesh wound. And soon I barely noticed these unfortunate war wounds and could fight for hours on end without even breaking a sweat.
Days passed into months and months into years, and I focused on my goal with a nearly fanatical devotion. Everyone noticed my extreme vigour and enthusiasm and I did well for myself, rankwise. I was recognized for my skill and promoted, and later became captain of the fifth platoon.
But Oscar was not in my platoon and this worried me. How was I going to take my revenge if he wasn't nearby watching my superior might? How was I supposed to rub it in his face if he never even heard about it? Sometimes I would hear people talking about Oscar in the mess hall, spreading rumours of his strength and power, and I would be filled with a righteous wrath. I had to do better than him! His name might be whispered in mess halls but mine would bounce off the halls of kings and queens! I would have to do something extraordinary, something particularly remarkable and amazing in order to defeat my rival once and for all. Something they would talk about for generations and Oscar would hear it and be ashamed FOREVER!
And thinking back to all the books of chivalry that I had read, I realized that the best way to do this would be to smite some fell beast and rescue a fair maiden. Then all would speak of my bravery, they would compose great songs about me and all would know the name of Kieran and realize that it was a million times better than the name of Oscar.
And so I once more sallied forth, determined to find a dread foe to slay. I travelled to many villages in search of those of need, like the knight errants of old, in search of an adversary worthy of my might. I slew many monsters in those times (This is when I smote the Mad Crocodile of Khartaroum, among other things) but none of these victories, as awesome as they were, are anything in comparison to the Giant Scorpions of Melior which is yet to come. In any case, I had much success and returned in triumph to my cherished post as Crimean Knight, Fifth Platoon Captain in the Crimean capital Melior, certain that word of my victories had perpuated every corner of the continent. But alas, the next day I struck up a conversation with my companion in the regiment, and he had not even heard of the Mad Crocodile of Khartaroum. At first I supposed that he had not gone out of his house much, but alas, neither had the others. Once again Oscar had defeated me, may they curse he and his kin for generations!
Distraught with failure, I had nothing left to do but throw myself, heart and soul, into my work. I pursued my duties with a single-hearted zeal and was rewarded with my hard work with an important task (Something that not even Oscar could claim as his own, I am happy to say), and due to these circumstances I was finally able to find a beast worthy of my might to slay. But that comes a little later.
My platoon, as part of the Royal Guard, was stationed to stand guard over the Royal Villa in order to protect the then hidden princess, the most noble and valiant Elincia Ridell Crimea. No one else knew of her at that time, but we who guarded her knew and adored her. Often I would watch her from afar, dreaming of the day that I could put myself in peril on her behalf.
It would come sooner than I had imagined.
One day she was walking through the gardens, floating through the grass like a flower petal through water, her green hair streaming like a field of grass in the breeze. It is funny that the two people I care most about both have green hair; yet one I loathe and the other I adore. She was looking up at the sky pensively, thinking who knows what, but certainly deep, wonderful thoughts, belonging not of this world but instead of the heavens, which is where she surely originated. She was not paying attention to the earth and for this I do not blame her, for she is not of this world but the heavens, and thoughts of the lower workings of the earth would only blemish her holy countenance.
I watched her with a smile, but that smile soon turned to dread as out of the ground suddenly rose a most fearsome monster!
It was about 10 feet tall. Its claws were enormous and rather like nutcracker, at least it would have been if nuts were as big as a horse. It had no mouth but a single, gaping hole lined with teeth that oozed a slimy green liquid flanked on each side by a forest of hairy pincers. Its eyes were pitch black like a starless night and exuding pure evil. Yet these features, terrible as they were, were nothing compared to the ferocity and viciousness of its tail. It loomed in the air like a dancing sword, a long piercing lance capable of getting critical hits 100% of the time, and of those times able to hit four in a single move.
It was this beast that approached the dear princess, its jaws slobbering and claws clacking. Lost in thought, the princess did not notice, and without even thinking of my life I threw myself directly into its path, shoving the princess to the side! (May she forgive me for my violence, but it was necessary)
"Stand back!" I shouted at the Princess and I wielded by axe bravely in front of the dread scorpion foe. (For this was indeed the Giant Scorpion of Melior of which so much has been said)
"Um," then spoke the Princess, so eloquent and noble as always, in perfect composition despite the terrible peril which was threatening her, "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," saith I, "You were nearly killed by yonder scorpion, whose mighty claws were about to crush you to smithereens. But never fear, milady, for I, Crimean Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran will save you from this feared foe!"
"Scorpion, what scorpion?" she asked, then spotted yonder scorpion (Frankly I don't know how she had missed it, since it was about as big as a house), "Oh I see! Thank you for warning me."
She would have stepped around the scorpion and continued her walk but I could not let such a monster live after taking sight of our dear princess.
"Wait!" I cried, "I must smite this dread beast!"
And I unleashed a powerful stroke of my axe, so powerful it would have split apart solid rock. But the beast was surprisingly fast for its size (it was about as large as a castle) and narrowly dodged my mighty blow. I realized that I would have to unleash all my power and skill if I wanted to survive this battle. So again, mustering all my inner strenght, I cleaved the air with my ax and it through its claw like butter. Yet my stroke had so much strength and momentum that even after loping of the dread beasts claw it kept on going and got stuck in the ground. I will take it as a testament to the power and strength of my blows that it there became stuck and could not be retrieved despite my most valiant efforts. I pulled and pulled, but it was in vain.
Seeing my flustered attempts to free my weapon, the princess did a curious thing. During this whole incident she had appeared to be withholding a serious amount of mirth, but at this point in bubbled forward and she laughed. This is another reason why the princess is so great; she is capable of laughing even in the face of danger. How brave and courageous!
With a ferocious tug I freed my ax from its prison and had at it once more. I at last managed to strike a killing blow on the beast, but no sooner did I knock it aside than did some small objects on its back (which I had at first, to my detriment, assumed to be nothing) fell to the ground and came alive. These small objects were baby scorpions, and at once in a mighty swarm came to avenge their mother's death. Each one was about the size of a small pony, with claws as wide as a sheep and a tail like a tree trunk. A lessor knight would have been thrown into a panic at the sight of such a sea of enemies, but not I, Crimean Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran. With ruthless efficiency I stamped out the foe, screaming my battle cry and striking fear into their cold little hearts.
Fighting evil understandably makes quite the commotion, and I soon attracted the attention of the Commander of the Royal Knights himself, Sir Geoffrey. He asked me what the problem was, then laughed when I told him that I had just vanquished a mighty foe. He later claimed that the Giant Scorpions of Melior was nothing but an ordinary scorpion, but I do believe he was just jealous that he was not the one to save the princesses live. In any case, the princess herself soon strove to defend me.
"Geoffrey," she said, her voice as warm and melodious as the finest flute, "Please don't laugh at Kieran." (At this I was warmly heartened, for she knew my name) "I wasn't paying attention and didn't notice that a scorpion was nearby. If he had pushed me aside who knows what would have happened?"
My heart was flooded with a fierce adoration at these most joyous words, and I immediately got down on my knees and pledged to her my undying devotion, saying that even if enemies slashed open my chest and took out my still beating heart, that even if they gouged out my eyes and put them in their drinks, that even if -
"Thank you, Kieran," she said hastily, her face oddly pale, "I don't think that will be necessary but I am glad you feel that way nevertheless. You have done well."
"Better than Oscar?" I asked eagerly, never forgetting even in my triumph the sneering face of my one true rival.
The princess wrinkled her fair brow in confusion. "Who's Oscar?"
And at this I knew I had claimed a complete and utter victory. Not only had I defeated a dread foe and rescued a fair damsel in distress, bu the princess knew me, Crimean Knight Fifth Platoon Captain Kieran, and not Oscar. She had thanked me, but no Oscar. Oh what bliss! What ectasy! Her most pure and holy words were worth a million words tumbling from the mouth of lessor individuals.
And I knew now that I had unequivocally achieved victory over my dreaded rival. I returned to the barracks that evening in truimph and went to search out that squinty eyed dastard. In anticipation I searched, with a joyous relish of soon seeing that calm smiling face turning shock and anger and those squinty little eyes opening wide in astonishment. How shocked he would be! How ashamed and disgraced he would be!
Yet my sweet victory soon turned sour, for although I had not realized at the time, Oscar had outstepped me once more. Although I searched both up and down, alas, I could not find him. Had he heard of my success and had fled in humiliation? Why that coward! And I had thought him worthy of being my rival!
I found some knights who had been in his platoon and asked if they had recently seen my rival. They did not know who my rival was so they asked me to describe him.
"He's about 8 feet tall with bulging muscles and an expression of fierce determination," I told them.
"Never heard of him," they replied, so I had to pull out all my descriptive skills in order to further my quest.
"He's got green hair and his eyes that look like this," I said and I pulled the corner of my eyes into a squint.
"Oh!" they exclaimed, "You mean Oscar. He left the regiment six months ago."
D'OH!
Curse you Oscar!
Fin
AND THAT'S EXCACTLY WHAT HAPPENED.
Pretty much.