The Knights rode through the castle gates amidst the cheers of the entire populace. Here were the heroes of legend, those who would save them all. In their newly fashioned armor with their polished swords, they looked every bit the storybook heroes of old. Not one who saw them believed they would fail.
Near three hundred strong, they rode in search of the God. Legend had it that a God had built a monument of glass ages ago and that he resided near it, tended by his followers who saw to his every need.
Guided by no more than stories told to young children, the Knights rode into the wilderness. In the forests they killed every evil creature they encountered, but those were few and far between. It was as though almost all of the vile beings the Knights often hunted had moved elsewhere.
One night a wave of fatigue washed over the Knights and they fell into a deep sleep. They dreamt of a place near a valley; there were people there. Their semi-conscious selves were at first elated, for they thought they had reached their destination. As they came closer, however, they saw despair in the faces of the people, how tired they looked without an ounce of joy in their souls. Realization dawned upon the dreaming Knights: Here was the lair of the God and those humans were not his adoring subjects but his slaves. They drifted closer, but as they neared the monument they felt rather than saw a hand reach out and block their view. The dream ended, but they did not stir till morning.
While the Knights were troubled by what they had seen, they were no less determined. More importantly, their knowledge was not so limited now. They were being drawn to the west as though they knew it was where they had to be. And in their minds and hearts rang a verse that had somehow come to them as a result of the dream. It was a prayer long forgotten:
We are your children, Though long forgotten, Do not forsake us.
Sun Jun 15, 2014 9:04 pm by ulphrlanet