THE ONE-EYED BRIGAND - PART 2
In which a cave is invaded, a magician finds power, a terrible evil is unleashed, and a guard captain gets his brutal revenge
A few seconds passed, then the explosion blew rock and dust off the walls of the cave mouth and shook the trees around the cave entrance like an earthquake. Marcelles reared and Sir Simon hefted his blade, twirling it in the night air.
“FOR THE LADY!” With his cry, Sir Simon spurred forward into the smoke filled cave entrance, with Otto and his men baying like hounds at his heels.
The explosion had been sudden and powerful. One Eye’s men lay dead or writhing in pain at the front of the cavern, while others, shocked by the tremendous force of the blast, stumbled numbly away towards the rearmost caves. One Eye knew what the blast was and immediately started pushing his way towards the rear of the cave, making for the leather curtain that marked his inner sanctum. That was when the knight tore through the smoke-filled entrance, followed by a group of howling mercenaries. One-Eye’s single bulging eye widened in surprise as he recognized the caravan guards and the knight from his earlier raid. As one of his men burst into flames, One-Eye caught a glimpse of the wizard who must have cast the fireball that heralded the surprise attack. What had happened to the thrice-damned sentries then? Incompetent wretches! One-Eye’s thoughts were whirling as he pushed and shoved through scrambling bandits, shouting out orders to form ranks and fight back. Some of his men complied, but most just drunkenly threw themselves at the warriors in the cave’s mouth. Trapped like rats in a hole, the brigands could do little but desperately fight back and hope to escape. Some had already slipped past the intruders and now ran off into the dark forest, screaming in fear.
Ignoring the whimpering prisoners who scrambled to find cover at the back of the cave, One-Eye reached the curtain and swung it aside, entering his sanctum. He closed the curtain behind him, and seized the bloody rune-inscribed axe that lay on the crude stone altar in the middle of the room with his meaty hand. One-Eye hurriedly began chanting the invocation his Lord had whispered in his ear many nights ago, when he had first been gifted with the hideous weapon. The stone was still occupied by the freshly mutilated corpse of a sacrificed merchant and he bathed the axe in gore as he chanted. Now was his chance to truly earn all of his Lord’s favor. The whispers started again in earnest and the blade seemed to scream with hunger. One-Eye knew that the Murderous One had heard his prayers. The whispering voice told him as much, encouraging him to single-handedly finish off the intruders who threatened this holy space. Swinging the mighty axe in a bloody circle above his head, One Eye whirled about to face the entrance to the small cavern as the leather curtain was flung open.
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Sir Simon’s charge would have made many a Bretonnian noble proud. Brigands scattered under the pounding hooves of Marcelles as the knight’s mighty blade rose and fell almost too quick for the eye to see. The sword flickered out and a rogue stumbled back, a bloody gash were his eyes had been. Rising and falling, rising and falling, Sir Simon was like a windmill of death and destruction. Yet, he did not just fight without a purpose. He slowly cut a path towards the back of the cavern, where he saw the prisoners, huddled in a corner for protection during the chaotic fighting that now roiled in the cave. His blade hissed again, leaving another bandit laid open to his ribs and Simon continued onwards.
The brigands in the cave were many. In his time, Jean had recruited almost a small army to his command and the cavern was quite large. Otto and his men had used the surprise of their sudden attack to their advantage. The old mercenary was fighting like a beast, his hammer swinging in might arcs as his men pressed their advantage over their drunken foes. Otto was laughing as he fought. He had not had a battle as good as this since he had battled against the undead at Hell’s Fen with the old Ostland Corps. The hammer checked a sword swing, whirled in Otto’s surprisingly deft old hands, and thumped into the chest of bandit trying to stab him from the side. This was excitement the old man had not known in years, a fight that most caravan guards could only dream of. These bastards had slaughtered his band of mercenaries earlier this day and now Captain Otto Spiegel was repaying them the favor with a steel hammer and strong arm.
Otto shouted orders to his men as they hacked their way through the throng of ill-prepared bandits. His men made for the back of the cave as well, hoping to reach the prisoners and then fight their way out to the woods. It was an ambitious plan and with the spells of Josef Brugel beginning to flicker through the huge cavern, quite a plausible one.
Josef Brugel had been a scholar all his life. He had joined the Colleges of Magic when he was but a boy, learning and studying all that he could as he grew. As a wizard, he had never been particularly powerful, so instead of galavanting with armies he had simply studied more books and wrote more texts. Now, as he strode through the cave blasting his hard-learned spells into the face of despicable enemies, Josef Brugel was reborn. He felt power singing through his veins that he had never known before. The surge of energy before each spell exploded into the air left his heart pounding and his blood pulsing. Josef felt like an unstoppable god of war, a veritable Sigmar, blasting his magic into the faces of those who tried to run at him with their simple clubs and knives. Fools, he thought as his next ball of flame chucked a bandit across the cave, fear the wrath of Josef Brugel, wizard of the Colleges of Magic!
The fight was almost too easy. Now he understood was his fellow wizards always talked of the thrill of battle and the excitement of combat. This was an experience like no other. And the spells, the spells came to him with such ease and power. He had never felt this way before. The mercenary captain who had held such a low opinion of him earlier would have to eat his hat after this. He was outclassing even the knight! In the mad rush, Brugel caught a glimpse of the bandit’s leader ducking into a cave behind a leather curtain. Here was a fitting challenge for a god of battle such as Josef Brugel! He would expunge this bandit leader like a man might crush an angry ant. Blasting a rolling ball of fire ahead of him to clear a path, Brugel charged forward, drawing his sword for the first time as he did so. Whispering the words that activated its magical properties, Brugel smiled as fire licked up and down the blade. Cutting down two more bandits with a suitable flourish, Brugel threw aside the curtain to the leader’s cavern, preparing a spell to throw into the man’s face. He was greeted with a horrific sight. The words of the spell died on his lips as Brugel released an ear-splitting scream of terror and pain. Gone was the unstoppable god of war. There bandit leader stood covered in blood and gore, whirling a howling axe above his head and screaming a violent war cry, but that was not what had staggered the now-howling Brugel.
It was the sigils, the carvings and symbols that covered the small cave’s walls and the gruesome stone altar in the center of the room. Brugel’s clothes were ripped to shreds on his body as he screamed in pain. He felt the presence there, malign and powerful, thundering through his feeble magic defenses and ripping into his terrified mind. Brugel wept tears of blood as his skin was cut a hundred different places at once by something that ripped into the very core of his soul. The wizard fell to his knees, still releasing an unearthly shriek.
Marcelles reared as Brugel’s screams cut through the cavern. Combat seemed to cease as men turned to face the crumpled wizard. Sir Simon’s pommel stone was glowing with an intense light as he tried to clear a path to the howling wizard, who had fallen to his knees in front of the entrance to a smaller cave. Suddenly, right before Sir Simon’s startled eyes, Josef Brugel’s chest exploded in a welter of gore. The bandit who had been blocking the knight’s path was spattered with burning blood and screamed as it ate into his skin. Sir Simon’s shocked eyes remained fixed on the body of Josef Brugel and he reigned in Marcelles before they got any closer to the gruesome sight. Brugel’s chest was pumping an unnatural amount of fountaining blood and yet the wizard was somehow still alive, his terrified shrieks piercing through the cavern. Some of the prisoners in the back of the cave wailed in horror at the scene unfolding before them.
That was when the arm emerged from the gaping hole in Brugel’s chest. It was red-skinned and ended in a vicious black claw that seemed to drip with blood. Even Sir Simon had to resist the urge to cry out in horror as another arm, then the head of a monster was revealed slowly out of Brugel’s chest. The wizard’s eyes widened in shock and his screams grew louder as a full-fledged lesser daemon, a blood-letter of the horrendous Khorne, emerged from his shattered chest. The daemon was cackling as it impossibly pulled its bulk out of the wizard’s torn body and stood up to reveal its full height to the horrified onlookers within the cavern. The monster was tall and unnaturally lean, with skin that seemed to seep with blood, and its bestial face was terrifying to behold. One of the black-clawed hands reached back into the wizards chest and drew a long, vicious two-handed sword made of some jagged black metal.
“FRRREEEEDDDDOOOMMMM!” The creature howled as it swung its sword in an arc over its head. The blade dropped, hissing bubbling blood, and decapitated the still screaming Brugel with a single stroke. The monster then turned to the bandits who lay between it and the entrance to the cave. Chanting what seemed to be a list of names, the blood-coated daemon hit the bandits like a bloody hurricane, his sword whirling in a horrendous typhoon of death and gore. Marcelles was a well-trained Bretonnian warhorse, raised in the best of stables since he was but a young pony. However, he was not trained enough to prevent him from rearing at the horror of the daemon. Sir Simon cried out in surprise as he flew off Marcelles’ back when the horse reared. The steed charged for the entrance of the cave whinnying in blind panic and all consuming terror as Sir Simon yelled for him to return. The bandits had completely forgotten about the questing knight in the face of the daemon’s onslaught and now fled before the mighty creature, giving Sir Simon time to retrieve his blade and push himself up off the ground. The daemon had to be killed, if that could even be done. It was his duty to the Lady and to the quest for the Grail to banish such a creature from the land. He hefted his blade, steeled his nerve, and charged at the blood-letter from behind. The creature, as if sensing a worthy foe, swung away from the disemboweled corpse of one of Otto’s mercenaries to face the knight and howled a challenge. Simon’s only reply was a swinging blade and the daemon’s sword met the attack with a hiss of blood and clang of steel.
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Jean One-Eye was surprised and gladdened by the sudden appearance of the daemon. Of all the men in the cave, he was by far the least terrified of the horrendous scene that had just enfolded. The wizard was a fool to think that he could challenge the power of his Lord. It was truly a sign of favor from the Bloody One that such a creature had arrived. The whispering, which had once muttered to him about escape and release, had now fallen silent. He hefted the whining axe in one hand and raced towards the cave’s entrance to watch the daemon cut a bloody path through his own men and his attackers. He saw the knight fall from his fleeing steed and howled with delight as the man struggled back to his feet. Without the steed, the knight was much more vulnerable to attack. And yet, the knight still charged into the path of the blood-letter, engaging the creature in single combat. Seeing an opportunity to wet his axe, One-Eye roared as bloodlust overcame him and he charged at the knight’s back with the weapon raised. So overcome was he that he barely had time to bring the axe down to block a hammer swing aimed for his chest. He reeled backwards from the blow as an old warrior stepped over the corpses of bandits to face him.
“We have unfinished affair. You kill my men, now I kill you. Let us see how good you are with dat axe ja?” The old man’s demeanor was calm and collected, as if he had not even been phased by the daemon’s bloody appearance. The old mercenary swung his hammer and stepped forward as One Eye’s single bulging eye widened. If it was a battle the man wanted, then it was a battle he would get.
“DIE!” One Eye screamed, swinging his howling daemon-imbued axe forward to cleave the old man in two. Otto Spiegel carefully side-stepped and swung his hammer at One-Eye’s head. The bandit leader dodged, screaming as he whipped the bloodthirsty axe towards the mercenary’s unprotected side. Otto deftly parried the blow with the handle of his hammer, reversing the swing in an attempt to strike out at One-Eye’s open guard. One-Eye caught and turned the blow with the axe’s massive blade. His next flurry of swings was vicious and drove Otto backwards, nearly knocking him off balance. It was a vicious assault that would probably have killed a lesser warrior. Otto was, however, a veteran fighter who had killed more than enough tough opponents in his day. As he fell back under the bandit’s assault, he waited for the perfect opportunity, the single opening of the guard that would come with such an assault. He spotted it and swung, his hammer slamming into One Eye’s chest and hurling him backwards with the power of the strike. Otto approached the prone figure on the floor then noticed that there was not even a dent in the man’s chest. “Sigmar’s blood. Dat would have felled ogre.” Suddenly, as if on cue, One Eye sprang back to his feet and swung his axe down in a mighty cleaving blow. Otto barely had time to bring his hammer up and the handle was sliced neatly in two by the bloody axe.
“You’ve quite an arm on you. Such a blow you struck. A shame that it will not help you now, for I am blessed with the powers of the stone. It told me I would be! Behold my wrath ignorant fool! Gaze upon what true power is!” One Eye’s massive hand reached up and ripped off his eye-patch. Otto gasped in surprise. Where there should have been an empty eye-socket, there was now a mutated blood-red eye that resembled that of a reptile, its pupil elongated and golden. It leaked a streak of blood down the monster’s face. “I no longer just a bandit! I have grown great. Those foolish knights who would have had me die for them will now see my blessed blood-eye and flee in terror. My Lord has told me so. I know!” One Eye lunged forward, swinging his axe with an anger and fury that had been built up since the first day he had been forced to humble himself before a knight. Otto leapt back.
“You are crazy one ja? I kill you damn it. I kill you!” Clenching the hewn shaft of his hammer in one hand, he reached down and grabbed up a sword from a dead bandit. The two warriors clashed again as their fight began anew.
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Sir Simon had never faced a daemon in combat before. He had heard stories, told to him by his grandsire, of massive hordes of gibbering monsters that had fallen before the lances of proud Bretonnians, but actually fighting such a thing was different. And yet, Simon took faith in the fact that the Lady was with him. This was but another test, and one he would not fail. The daemon, a creature of such malice and rage that Sir Simon could barely comprehend its existence, was all fury. On the other hand, Sir Simon was fighting coldly and with calculated blows. He had once heard an Empire knight deliver a speech on the fact that no Bretonnian knight knew how to fight when off his horse and had balked at the notion. If that knight could see Simon now, he would have been awestruck. Of course, Simon had killed him in a duel, on foot, but the point still remained. The sword, though seemingly huge, was light and fast in Simon’s hands. The blade clanged against the jagged black sword of the daemon, who howled and tried to take off Sir Simon’s head with a single mighty blow. Simon leapt backwards, whipping his blade up as he did so. The daemon roared as the sword seared through its flesh. Thrice blessed in the waters of a lake the Lady was said to have emerged from and forged on an anvil in the heart of a Dwarven hold, Sir Simon’s family blade was anathema to a daemon. The purity and craftsmanship of its steel ate through its gory hide, ignoring the thick skin and horrendously powerful magical aura the creature exuded.
Sir Simon was astonished by the blade's power. He pressed the attack confidently but was hurled backwards as the daemon finally struck him a glancing blowing that deflected off his great-sword and clipped his chest. The pain was tremendous and Sir Simon felt as if his soul was going to be yanked straight out of the tiny tear where the blade had struck. As Simon staggered to stay on his feet, the pain seemed to lessen and the pommel-stone on his sword glowed with a warm light, as if dispelling the tainted magic in the wound. Now both he and the daemon had been blooded, yet neither showed any signs of weakening as they clashed together once more. This time, it seemed that the combat was even more furious.
The swords clanged and crashed as the daemon and Sir Simon whirled round one another in an attempt to find an opening, Sir Simon grunted as he took a cut to the leg. The pain was nearly unbearable. Again the pommel stone glowed, and the soul-wasting nature of the wound subsided. Simon slashed in quickly and the daemon yowled as the sword sliced into its forearm. Though his blade was strong and his skill well-honed, Simon knew that he could not hold out forever. He was just a man, but this daemon had limitless strength and was never going to tire. Simon stepped into the creature’s swing, deflected the evil blade it wielded, and struck hard with his own. It staggered back, lashing out with a kick of its clawed leg. The questing knight felt the wind being knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards over the corpses of the bandits that littered the caverns blood-slick floor. With a cry, he slipped and fell to the ground. Roaring in delight, the blood-letter of Khorne hurtled forward, slicing down one of Otto’s mercenaries who tried to leap in and protect the prone knight as he struggled to stand. As the monster rushed forward, raising its blade for a massive killing stroke, Sir Simon’s hazy vision cleared and, as if guided by the Lady herself, he saw the opportunity he was looking for. The greatsword came up in a thrust off the ground, stabbing at the monstrous daemon’s unprotected chest. Ready to deliver the killing blow, the daemon never saw the attack coming until it was too late. Piercing through its chest, then through its dark heart, the sword’s tip emerged from the back of the daemon with a wicked hiss of burning blood. The daemon howled as its black blood spurted from the wound. Only three droplets flickered onto the side of Sir Simon’s face and yet he cried out as the boiling liquid burned him.
“NOOOOOO! NOOOOO!” Screaming, the daemon seemed to collapse on itself. The blessed blade of the family Montforte had pierced its heart and banished its essence from the mortal plane. Sir Simon rose to his feet, ignoring the pain of his wounds and yanking the sword out of the howling daemon’s chest.
“In the name of the Lady and for the glory of all Bretonnia, I expunge your vile presence daemon! May you never curse the face of this land with your blighted feet again!” The sword swung, the daemon’s head flew and the corpse collapsed to begin fading on the ground. Sir Simon turned as he heard a pained cry from across the cavern.
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Otto Spiegel had fought many battles and had proven his martial prowess time and again. And yet, despite his skill, he was unable to stand the onslaught of the vicious bandit leader. Perhaps his age was finally starting to catch up with him, or Sigmar was not with him this day. Whatever it was, Otto was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. His hammer and sword were simply not strong enough to hold off the relentless axe of Jean One Eye.
“Die! Die! Die! Die!” One Eye was almost chanting, swinging his howling daemon axe relentlessly. He had not even noticed the fall of the blood-letter and would not have cared. The mercenary captain was in his grasp and he would not disappoint his Lord now! These intruders and fools must be punished. They had invaded the sanctity of his lair, killed his bandits, and now threatened to desecrate his sacred cavern. The madness of the bloodlust was upon him and there was no stopping. As Otto’s borrowed sword rose to block the axe, its blade failed and snapped. The axe’s swing continued, biting into the mercenary’s side and taking a deep drink of the old man’s blood. Otto staggered, stumbled, and then dropped to the floor, his broken-handled hammer and shattered sword falling next to him. Jean Blood-Eye roared in victory and his axe howled with him. Stepping forward, he raised the vicious weapon to finish off the wounded mercenary leader. With this one dead and the knight battling the daemon, there was no way he would lose. He would become mighty and he would kill many knights in the name of his Lord. Those foolish nobles, who would have ordered his death at a moments notice, they would now know what it felt like to be faced with a master stronger then they. Laughing maniacally at the thought of his former lord being forced to bow down to him in fealty, One Eye raised the axe over his head for the killing stroke.
That was when Sir Simon hurtled into him. The knight was heavy in his armor, not to mention strong, and he struck the bandit leader at full tilt, knocking him backwards and off balance. The next blow would have killed the bandit had he not stumbled over a corpse. Simon’s sword stroke went wide and Jean managed to regain his balance, swinging his daemonic axe overhanded into the knight’s guard. Blocking the blow with his sword’s hilt, Simon lashed out with the mighty blade. But, Sir Simon was weakened from the fight with the daemon he had only just vanquished. He could not truly match the bandit leader’s ferocity, especially now that the man had been imbued with some wicked blessing from the daemonic presence in the cavern. Jean lashed out with a low kick, slamming his boot into Sir Simon’s leg wound with an awesome strength. Gasping in pain, the knight dropped to one knee. Jean One Eye smiled wide and laughed. He flicked out his axe, sending the blade of the Montfortes skittering across the floor of the cavern.
“You will die knight, but you should feel pleased. You are the first to kneel before me. Soon, others shall follow you and they shall die just the same.” Laughing, Jean One Eye kicked the wounded knight again, knocking him onto his back. “I don’t need that daemon to kill you! You could never have defeated Jean Blood-Eye, the greatest bandit in the Old World!” The axe rose to the highest it could go. One Eye wanted the blow to be brutal and strong. That would please his Lord even more. He roared and his axe screeched as he prepared for the final swing. Sir Simon groped desperately for the dagger at his waist but he knew it was too late. The Lady had declared it his time.
Suddenly, in what seemed to only be a split-second, One Eye's head exploded as a thrown hammer slammed into his skull. The decapitated corpse flew back across the cavern and the demonic axe clattered to the ground, not far from Sir Simon du Montforte. Captain Otto Spiegel hefted himself up against one of the caverns walls and smiled. He had never missed with a hammer, not since the day he had been taught to throw by his father.
“I save you now knight. We are even ja?” The old man laughed, then coughed. Blood stained his white beard. “I tell you knight, I tell you I split his bastard head like fruit.” The old man leaned back against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, his blood leaving a trail on the cavern wall behind him. His two remaining men rushed to their dying Captain’s side, for it was clear that Otto Spiegel would not survive. Sir Simon stood up, wincing as pressure was put on his wounded leg, picked up his sword, and limped over to Otto.
“This was very brave and honorable thing you did, Captain Spiegel. Troubadours will sing tales of your courage. ‘Twas not the behavior of a mercenary of the Empire. Perhaps I was wrong in my judgement of you. Go to your rest with the blessing of the Lady, for you have helped do her work this day.” Otto Spiegel laughed, then coughed again.
“Your Lady is a comfort to you ja? Ach well. Thank you friend knight. I get my vengeance did I not? I sleep well with Sigmar. Perhaps I see your Lady too.” Otto Spiegel’s eyelids fluttered, he sighed, and then he fell limp in the arms of one of his mercenaries. Sir Simon stood slowly and then he heard the shrieking wail. The axe that Jean One Eye had been using was screeching and keening in a desperate thirst for blood. Simon limped to his blade and hefted it. He stumped towards the daemonic crying axe.
As soon as he got close, the whispering started. It was subtle, not overly-intrusive, but very appealing and convincing. Come knight, wield me... I will grant you power. I will give you fame. You will kill hundreds and men will sing tales of your greatness. Your family’s lands, I will help you reclaim them. Your uncle, his death I can... Sir Simon shook his head and stared at the pulsating axe. The Lady was the only strength that he needed in this world. He scowled in disgust and removed his helm to reveal his sweat-stained face.
“Daemon’s blade. Killer of good men. You are fit for no one to carry.” The sword of the Montfortes rose and fell, smashing the axe with its purity and strength. A great wailing filled the cavern as the spirit trapped within the blade shrieked in torment. It had been released from its prison, but not in the way it had expected. The essence of its being was sucked back into the reeling winds of Chaos and magic, sent back to the dark place were it had originated. Sir Simon hefted his sword again and turned back to the prisoners, some of whom had been freed by one of Spiegel’s remaining mercenaries. The young lady amongst them rose and came towards the knight who stood in the center of the cavern.
“That was a valiant fight sir knight. Thank you for rescuing us. I had almost lost all hope.” She shuddered at the memory of One Eye’s filthy touch. Sir Simon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The Lady Giselle smiled. “What is your name, so that I might tell of this tale to those I meet? I, Lady Giselle, shall guarantee that all will know of this bravery.”
Sir Simon shook his head and smiled. “ My name is Sir Simon Du Montforte, knight of the Quest and of the Lady. I am glad you are safe mademoiselle. These mercenaries and I will see you back safely to the edge of the woods, where the local men at arms should have assembled. I was not alone in this fight. Do not let that be forgotten. Please guarantee that the man there,” Sir Simon pointed to Otto Spiegel’s corpse, “receives a proper burial. I trust you with this my lady.”
Sir Simon escorted both Lady Giselle and the other prisoners back to the main road, where they were met by the local lord. Otto Spiegel’s body was placed on a carriage with those of his men who had died in the fighting to be returned to the local castle for a proper burial. Sir Simon, in speaking with the local captain of the men-at-arms, guaranteed that the caravan and its heroic guards, who had reached the nearest castle already, would be guaranteed safe passage back to a route to the Empire.
Once the prisoners had left, Sir Simon, using his sword’s protective aura, destroyed the now powerless altar of Khorne, and then burned the inside of the cavern clean of bodies and debris. He took special care to behead and burn Jean-One Eye’s accursed mutant corpse, now nothing more than a shriveled husk of flesh drained after the magical energy had been sucked from the cave. Of Josef Brugel’s corpse, nothing was left but a bloody stain upon the floor. Such is the fate of all wizards, Sir Simon thought as he rode out of the cave. Alas Josef Brugel. May whatever god you worship bring you to some sort of peace. So much for such strange allies. Sir Simon sighed. Such was the temporal nature of companions while on the quest. It was time to deal with other matters. He knew a proper destruction of the cursed site would take place as soon as word reached the local sorceress, who would no doubt scour the clearing and search for any remaining bandits.
The leader of the local men-at-arms urged Sir Simon to accompany them to the local castle for rest and celebration, but he flatly refused. It was not yet time for him to once again show his face in the court of a fellow noble. That much was guaranteed by his disenfranchised state.
Not only that, but he heard the Grail calling again and he could not ignore its tugging pull. The quest would carry him ever onwards. Such was the burden that he chose to bear when he offered himself to the Lady and the Grail. Sir Simon, guaranteeing that the Lady Giselle was in safe hands, turned Marcelles and rode off into the night with the sight of the Grail on the horizon.
Thus ends the first story of Sir Simon ladies and gentlesirs. Fear not though, for the quest of Sir Simon was full of many adventures in far off lands before its end. Those tales, however, must wait for another day to be told.
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