The Frog Knight and the Willow Tree

THE FROG KNIGHT AND THE  
                                              WILLOW TREE
          There is a willow tree at the crossroads leading up to Ingrosol High Tower, that much everyone knows. What most people don’t know, however, is that that willow tree is in fact home to one of the bravest knights in all of Ingrosol. He did battle with a fearsome island wyrm, saved an entire village from the clutches of villainous longboat pirates, and even helped teach under-privileged children how to read. His name was Sir Callister and he is most beloved by all those around him; or at least he was before he was turned into a frog.
          As you know frogs are ugly and very unlikable, so as you can imagine it was inconvenient for Ingrosol’s most applauded champion to be transformed into something so hideous as a frog. The Klergybird could have just as easily turned him into something useful; a lion for instance would have been much more appealing. But as it were, the bird chose to curse him with the misfortune of being the amphibious abomination we know as the frog.
          Nobody quite knows where The Klergybird came from, or for that matter what purpose it serves other than to unnerve the common-folk. The Klergybird is no ordinary bird. you see. Curiously enough, it can perform great miracles and bestow terrible curses that seem outside mortal jurisdiction. It will guide a lost traveler one day and then steal the facial hair off some unsuspecting gentleman another (it’s especially infuriating when it turns said facial hair into facial grass).
          None of that’s important however. The point of this story is how Sir Callister went from being the most idolized knight in all of Ingrosol, and then suddenly became a leather-backed, mud hopping terrorist to fair skins everywhere (they are not very forgiving of warts in Ingrosol). It all began in the most unassuming of ways. Sir Callister was making his rounds just as he had always done, when suddenly he was assaulted by the whole of the village.
          “Calamity!! Terror!!!” they cried in unison.
          You see, mobs, while terribly efficient when it comes to burning down houses and destroying public property, are unfortunately somewhat lacking in their capacity for self-expression. (The three things you must remember if confronted by one are as follows:
            1.Never look a single person in the eyes for more than four seconds, because
                it will inevitably make the other rioters jealous.
            2.When addressing a mob speak quickly and use small words. If even one
                person in the mob gets bored he or she will begin punching the other
                members of the mob in the stomach in order to occupy themselves.
            3.When listening to the mobs demands always remember to look ashamed of
                yourself. By the mob's rationale, whatever injustice has been visited on them
                is of course your fault, and therefore humiliating you is the only way in which
                they can rectify it.
          Only by remembering all three of these rules can one hope to survive an encounter with a mob.) Sir Callister, being the noble and heroic knight that he was, found himself unable to seem ashamed. Now this put him in direct violation of rule number three, (as you can imagine, the mob was not too happy about that). In a frenzy they charged him and began dragging him away by his legs. He could have easily fought them off with his sword, but his patriotism and valor would not allow him to harm any citizen of his most sacred Ingrosol. And so Sir Callister allowed the villagers to carry him away to the outskirts of town all the while trying to make out what exactly had them in such an uproar.
“…Property Values!!!!”
“…Green Lilacs!!!!”
“…Klergybird!!!”
  “…Reparations!!!!”
          It was no use. The mob was too difficult to understand (they’re like children in that way). Finally, after a short while, the mob arrived at its destination. They hurled Sir Callister to the front of the group, and he found himself standing in front of a row of houses which, aside from having slightly different roofs, were identical in every respect. He turned to the mob hoping for some direction as to what they wanted from him. The mob roared and roared, but when all their voices combined it was absolute nonsense. So Sir Callister decided that it would best for all involved if he simply set out toward the houses and figured out the problem for himself.
        It was when Sir Callister made his way to the back of the houses that he first saw The Klergybird. He would have thought it just a large, black pigeon if not for the three golden hoops that dangled around its neck. He had never actually seen it before and now that he had, he really for the life of him couldn’t recall why people made such a fuss about it. Surely something so small and unassuming could not be all that bad. Perhaps if he could just shoo the bird away it might make the villagers happy. They did after all mention The Klergybird in all of their bellowing, (that much he did know for certain). And so he knelt down and picked up a small stone. After all he didn’t want to kill The Klergybird, just scare it away.
      Sir Callister quickly gauged the distance and when he was confident he could hit his mark he gave the stone a throw. It was in the air only a moment when suddenly…wham!!!! The stone had somehow changed its course and struck Sir Callister square in the face. However, instead of the small stone he had thrown, it was now twice its original size, three times its original weight, and hard as stone, which made sense because it was, in fact, a stone. He fell and hit the ground as though he had been smacked in the face with a hammer. He lay there unconscious for what could have been an eternity, but then again it always seems like an eternity when you’re unconscious, so for all he knew it could have just as easily been ten seconds (Just another of life’s many inconsequential questions, to which he would never get an answer).
      When he did finally wake up, however, he felt strange somehow, as though his body were somewhat altered. (Of course you and I know it’s because he’d been turned into a frog, but at this point in the story Sir Callister doesn’t know that. That bit of information was given to you in confidence, and only because it made the story seem more interesting. I’m sorry if I ruined the surprise, but the story serves no purpose if you stop reading it after the first paragraph.) Anyhow, now that he was awake, Sir Callister’s brain was pounding so hard that he was sure it was trying to break his forehead open. So it was with great effort, yet somehow less than what it used to take, he stood up. As he stood there he struggled to keep his clothes from falling off of his body. Now if his face had not just been crushed by a rock, he would have asked himself, “Why are my clothes falling off in the first place?” But as fate would have it, his face had been crushed by a rock, and as a consequence he didn't ask that question. There was nothing out of the ordinary about his clothes falling off; as far as he was concerned they had always done so.
      In all actuality, it took the better part of five minutes for Sir Callister to realize what was amiss. He noticed it when he bent down to pick up his sword. It was heavier than it used to be and he couldn’t lift it. It was then that he first saw his hand.
      It was a sort of brown that very closely resembled the color of mud. His skin was covered with blisters and warts. He franticly grabbed at his face, only to find that it too had been warped and mutated. He had a snout, a very round and elaborate snout. His feet were webbed and covered in pimples. He had been turned into a frog.
      Now being the gallant and heroic knight that he was, he regained his composure. After a moment, he confidently turned and marched out to address the mob. The Clergybird was gone after all, and the fact that he was turned into a frog was a small price to pay.
“Kill the Monster!!!!”
   
  “Unnatural!!”
   
      The mob was not impressed with Sir Callister’s new form, (Obviously.) As soon as he came in their sights, they began shouting and throwing stones at him, (as if he hadn’t already had enough of stones.)
“Wait my friends. It is I, Sir Callister!!!”
“Abomination!!!!”
“Spawn of evil!!!!!!”
      There was no point. The mob had no interest whatsoever in what Sir Callister had to say. He was no longer the distinguished and honorable knight he had once been. He was just a frog, or even worse, a toad. He would never have the respect of the villagers again and for the first time in his life, Sir Callister was ashamed of himself. He ran as fast as he could away from the mob, stopping only for a moment to pick up a small mallet that had been left by one of the villager’s door. Even as a frog he was still a knight, and he needed a weapon to fight off injustice. When he finally stopped running he found himself under a willow tree, (hence the title of the story.)
      He stood there in sadness for days on end, thinking good and hard about why the villagers had turned on him. The only thing he could come up with was that he was, for lack of a better word, ugly. Surprisingly enough Sir Callister was not mad about that. He wasn’t in the least bit upset that the villagers had booted him out of town. It was fearful ignorance that drove them to chase him out, not malice or hatred. Even if the villagers themselves did not realize it, they were afraid of what Sir Callister had become. All the rage and hatred they spewed at him was simply a more powerful and commanding way of stifling that fear. They didn’t hate him, they just tricked themselves into thinking that they did. For the first time since he came to the willow tree Sir Callister knew what was needed of him. He vowed then and there that he would remain under that willow tree, protecting Ingrosol and its people from any threat. Till the end of his days he would fight to protect those who had cast him out, after all they were only frightened, and only certain small frog knights are immune to that.

Storyteller’s Notes: Sometimes being noble will leave you broken, hated, ugly, and stuck under a tree, but you can hold your head high because your life has great value; more so than those who just roar with the mob.

P.S. The mob was upset because The Klergybird had changed all of their white lilacs… into green lilacs.