To Pipo the Rabbit: It's part of my headcanon on what could happen when Mole Knight got his own campaign. I also happen to be in an anthropology course, so yeah. I'm thinking classic "archaeology" featuring Indiana Jones and Lara Croft, but with REAL anthropology! :D
To the guest who knows German: I'm formally only at A1,2 level in my knowledge of German, far away from a desirable amount of fluency. I just started formal education on the language last semester. Thank you for confirming my translations and for the comment! It means a lot to me!
To Spiked Dragon: I almost published this chapter when I saw your suggestions! I can do 'salute' and 'underwear', however I would not include the 'stealing clothes/underwear' part, especially with Shield Knight. That's sexual harassment and I don't want to include any of that sort here. I can deal with wanton murder (just so you wait, there's someone in here with a 500+ body count), but not that. I guess I'll have to rework it, like salute being Shovel and Black's first engagement with Shovelry! I have no idea what to do with underwear, though. I appreciate your suggestions!
Apologies for the late update. I still have tons of schoolwork to do, most of them have to be restarted due to a fire just over a week ago. The next letters may be affected, but Iwillfinish this. If you have any things to say to me, leave a review, or send a PM my way. Someone PMed if this is in a linear timeline, to which I say nah this ain't linear. I have events jumbled around, but I guess you could piece together the plots of each arc anyway.
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I is for ice.
"Mona, I just bumped my head against the drawer." Plague Knight protested as he was forced down on a chair. His mask was off, and his hood pulled back. As if he had any power to fight back – after all, the poison he had recklessly breathed in still tainted his lungs and blood, and he was at a ridiculously close range with death. Death could just move a finger and he'd be dead, and that's how close to death he was. "Hee, it's just a little thing, nothing more."
"I was worried. You can jump down my height and you'd die." She scolded him, gently placing a small bag full of ice cubes on his head. "I told you to call for me when you wanted to stand up!"
"But Mona-"
"No buts, Plague Knight!"
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I is for influence.
"Hey, look at this!" A little dwarf of a kid laughed maniacally, holding his toy shovel and shoveling the snow into it, then flinging the loose poff of snow to his front. It landed pathetically on the foot of the Stalwart, who only chuckled at the attempt.
"I can do it, too!" Another dwarf of a kid knitted his brows together and shoveled the snow into his little trowel, then throwing it forwards. The trowel slipped from his grip and flew majestically with the white blob, crashing pathetically by the foot of the Stalwart, whose lips curved upwards when the metal clinked on contact with the ground.
"I can do it better! At least I didn't throw your spade!"
"Hnn! I didn't mean for it to slip, my friend!"
"I'll become a student of Shovelry!"
"I'll become one, too!"
"Let's bet! I'll be the best shovel knight!" He blew a raspberry at the other kid.
"You're on!"
"Now, now, children." The hulking warrior swooped the boys up into massive arms, and grinned at them. "Shovelry… means being nice to others!"
"Yes!"
"Uh-uh!"
"Now, what's our motto?"
"Slash mercilessly and dig tirelessly!" The duo answered in chorus.
"That's not what I… but well, I want you two to grow up into friendly and brave knights!" He plastered an encouraging smile on his face.
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I is for ink.
Tinker Knight hummed to himself, sitting on a tall stool to look at a copy of the Flying Machine's floor plan and blueprints. Marks and notes were written in perfectly detailed English, outlining and describing the degree of damage suffered in the third 'floor' of the airship due to the fire started by someoneaside from Propeller Knight and himself. Tinker Knight had seen large amounts of gold transported to the Clockwork Tower in carts and wagons, all worth exactly 450,700 gold. He had seen Treasure Knight almost collapse in a sobbing fit when Propeller Knight angrily announced the cost of damage. He had seen the ship's captain actually explode in anger, and it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that he hoped would never happen again. He had seen hellin the heavens. Seriously, that Frenchman's display of anger was something! And his equally angry German subordinate scared the living daylights out of everyone! Except probably the phantom menace. That bastard doesn't have emotions. With rivers of blood on his hands, the Tinker Knight wouldn't be surprised if the apparition admitted to emotional death.
Oh, what a time to be an engineer.
He carefully poured ink liquid from a pouch into a pen he made just for himself through a small funnel he also made only for himself.
Thunder suddenly roared, causing the tiny knight to yelp, fall off balance, and spill the black liquid all over the papers laid on the table.
Curse you, Enchantress, and your bad weather,he mentally shouted.
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I is for impress.
"Um, Mona, c-can I show y-you something?" Plague Knight fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs together, unable to look at her in the face. She turned around, brow raised.
"Is there something wrong, Plaguey?"
Plague Knight angrily fought off the red dusting his entire face. Briefly forgetting that he had a bird mask on, he pulled at the edges of his hood to try and cover his face. Mona grinned at the flustered little guy and patted his head fondly.
"You know, Plague Knight, why don't you show me what you want to show me?"
The little bird man's cute little mask tilted up to look directly at her like a child getting his birthday toy. He pulled out a knife and an apple out of his pocket dimension, flung the apple upwards, and jumped to follow it. Using the skill he had secretly practiced for fifty-two days and nights, he slashed expertly at the red apple, slicing it into eight perfect wedges, before falling back to the ground. He caught the apple slices with a plate he materialized as soon as his feet touched the ground, and he proudly showed it to Mona.
She clapped merrily and then took an apple wedge to munch on.
Her happy face completely melted his heart.
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I is for important.
There.
He fondly placed the little locket onto what he believed was going to feel so comfortable when laid upon. The trinket barely depressed the small cushion, and he even lovingly pulled a blanket onto it like he was tucking it to sleep.
Stay there. I'll come back for you.
Specter Knight cast one last glance at the trinket softly. With a very heavy heart, he closed the lid to the magnificent chest he made solely for what everyone else would know as the Phase Locket. He quickly flew away, his left hand glowing yellow to summon the bones of former warriors to recollect and rise up from the blood colored dirt. He spoke his only order to the three Boneclangs with a cold and hard tone, as hard as he believed his voice would become. He wanted this word as law, as something that, even at the end of the world, shall never be broken.
Protect the chest at all costs.
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I is for insurgency.
King Knight is a treacherous bastard, I know, but hear this out. I heard from the servants still at Pridemoor Keep that he's planning to invade the new village.A woman whispered into the ear of a passing knight.
Really?
It's the safe haven for us. If he takes our new home away, we will be forced into slavery.
That's horrible!
The woman faded into shadows with a smile, the concealed saber within her cloak glinting a little as her figure dissolved in the darkness. She watched the knight already start to fear for his new little home and its occupants. Her black hood, decorated at the hems with spears and swords crossed over gladiolus flowers, was pulled up over her face, and her eyes scanned the crowd for ripe targets. Her overcoat, colored navy, had a tail, and the slightly darker shades of the same spear-sword-flower insignia printed on the cloth attracted the attention of several knights talking by the cobblestone roads. They became silent, and they nodded at her in hidden respect. With a smirk, she lost herself in the busy narrow side streets, whispering to a couple of little children, running and playing with hoops.
King Knight's been doing very bad things to the people trapped in the keep.
What kinds of bad things, miss?
He never gives them good food and makes them sleep in horse stables. He gives so many impossible decrees and has those who couldn't do them beheaded.
No! Why would he do that?
Because he is a bad man.
She could barely conceal the ecstasy when the children stopped to play and ran out and away. She walked down more streets and silently stalked by as men, women, and children began whispering and spreading her sayings. She heard every hushed whisper as they spread truths and lies about abuse and evil plots. Everything was going perfectlywell. The woman went into a dark corner between houses.
She chanced upon a man, sitting by a crate with bread with garlic spices sprinkled over it in his hand. He nonchalantly munched on the bread, the slight literal burn from the garlic making him scowl. She noted his light blond hair that flowed down to his shoulders, the curiously wide-brimmed hat that would prevent the sun from shining on his handsome face, and his deep red eyes, something that was so odd yet exotic. She paused for a moment to watch him. It wouldn't hurt to stop.
His blood red eyes darted up to her, and spotted her watching him. He threw a neutral glance her way and tipped his hat slightly. He walked out of the dark corner, and into the sunlight, lightly brushing against her hand his own gloved one. She almost withdrew her hand violently, for his finger was colder than ice. She gaped at her hand for a split second before looking up at the man, only to see that he had completely vanished in thin air.
A man, cloaked with a similar hood but dyed brown instead of black, tapped her shoulder when she walked into an empty alley. She turned and flashed a grin at him. His thick brows rose up ever so slightly.
"Did something bother you?"
The woman shrugged. "I think I encountered a ghost. But that's out of the league of our little thing, right? Everything is going swimmingly today, One."
He chuckled. "You're mad, Five. Six and Seven are still about to release their diversion and propaganda, but you already beat them to it."
"Brother, you ordered us to spark the resistance." The woman, Five, let her smile become wider. She almost giggled, but she contained her happiness. "I created the chaos we truly need."
"I appreciate how you think ten steps ahead. It's something you learned from big brother Siegfried, hmm?" The man smiled, and it was her turn to glower.
"You self-centered little idiot."
"You forget. I'm four ranks above you. That's insubordination."
"Hmph."
The two put down their hoods and talked merrily, slowly walking down the road as siblings, and not as rebels.
The blond man with the garlic bread rematerialized by the crate, his expression unreadable as white-gold armor began to form around his body, his hands shrank down to black and shriveled, and his clothes turning into the tattered hooded cloak he loved to wear when he felt cool. He stared at the garlic bread still in his hands and thought about the things he just learned. First, there was an incitement of resistance within the village. Second, he knew who two of the leaders were. Third, his disguise actually worked, except that he was still very cold. Fourth, garlic bread couldn't force him back into his coffin, and it was a huge relief since the baked pastry, he begrudgingly admitted, tasted great.
He spun around and disappeared within a swirl of red and gray, teleporting out of the village and into the large chamber of the Tower of Fate. He grimaced a little when he knelt before the woman sitting on the highest window.
"Enchantress. There is an organized rebellion in the works within our valley. Your orders?"
The sorceress gazed down, her eyes unreadable. "Let King Knight take care of it. Do not let him know, he must know on his own."
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I is for igloo.
"Head count." Polar Knight gruffly harrumphed as the entire Order of No Quarter huddled around a small candle in the Igloo of No Discomfort. They had insisted on going to the Frigid Flight for a group meeting instead of the Tower's dinner hall due to a quick survey pointing out the food being the cause of the frequent fighting. After fighting about if Plague Knight was to blame of their chaos, they chose to go to the icy mountains and brave through snowstorms.
They were then rightfully defeated by General Winter. They were stuck in deep snow with most of them tired. Polar Knight had ordered the creation of a temporary shelter, and surprisingly, no one bickered with one another.
"Wrrn." Treasure Knight piped up, raising his hand up.
"Two." Mole Knight whispered, and then pointed to a knocked out Propeller Knight, curled in Polar Knight's fur coat. "Shh. Three."
"Ugh." Tinker Knight mumbled, snuggling in the cloth draped over him, shutting his eyes. "Four."
"I am here. I'm fifth!" King Knight announced.
"Heh." Plague Knight simply waved a small hand. "Six."
All eyes belonging to awake knights then fell to Specter Knight, who was somehow completely lost in the allure of the orange light of the small flame. He had put both of his hands to the general area of the tiny fire before noticing the confused glances of his fellow members. "Seven." He straightened his composure and stood up. "I'll be outside."
He phased out of the igloo through the wall. Once out of the sight of the others, he sighed, and tiredly sank down to the ground and leaned against the outer wall of the igloo. He unconsciously put his scythe on his lap and rubbed his hands together. For a split second, he saw the appearance of his hands change from pitch black and shriveled to a healthy beige… fully alive.
Back inside, the entire band was silent.
Plague Knight briefly thought about teleporting out and back in the cozy confines of his bedroom. He had all the teleport potions needed to go to the back of the moon and back home hundreds of times, but somehow, something made him not do it. He couldn't put a finger to it, but he certainly didn't like looking at a silent Order of no Quarter and a freezing Tinker Knight.
Mole Knight kindly let Propeller Knight rest on him. The blades of his helmet were a nuisance, so they had to dismantle it through Tinker Knight's instructions. The nobleman was fast asleep and recovering from hypothermia. Mole Knight felt it was good. He recalled the time he himself had passed out while exploring the Lost City for the first time, armed with only a lamp and the company of a few other archaeologists seeking it. The other guys halted the expedition, carried him outside, and submerged him in pond water. Ah, good times.
Polar Knight held a freezing Tinker Knight on his left arm, awkwardly thinking to himself that the engineer might be a baby with a genius adult mind and a very short fuse of patience. He was reminded of his once little and jolly daughter, his tenacious yet ill-fated daughter, trapped and helpless somewhere out there.
Treasure Knight stared at the candlelight, and briefly found a boy living alone in a humble hut by a shore. The small boy was fondly ruffling a dog's head, grinning as the puppy panted happily. The sun was already setting, and they both watched it disappear in the watery horizon.
Tinker Knight awkwardly snuggled in the cloth now bundled around him. He let out a deep sigh, memories of faces mocking him for his size and martial incompetence, and more contempt when he had built weapons capable of firepower greater than the most powerful cannons. Those negative faces were replaced with awe and ineptitude, and they never went near him again.
King Knight furrowed his brows a bit, recalling the rags worn by a past self with the bucket of sudsy water and the mop, dirty and dull compared to the colorful and fashionable garbs of noblemen. Those decadent men never did look at him with pity or pride, honestly appreciating the worker's efforts, but he wasn't buying it. He felt only pretentious gazes.
Propeller Knight sighed in his slumber as he dreamed of France, the friends he had left there, the freshly baked bread, the jovial and beautiful women. He dreamed of his large home, the courtyard packed with both servants and nobility eagerly waiting for him, genuine smiles on their faces. At one moment, however, those smiles turned into angry scowls and all of them wielded weapons and torches, and the large mansion behind them ablaze. They shouted the worst profanities and obscenities at him, drove him out of his homeland, out of France, and denied him amnesty and forgiveness for a crime he never truly committed. Tears started forming in his closed eyes.
Up next: J is for job.