Eye of the Hurricane

Dialog



Dialog:
In the practicing estates where numerous knights drilled on their maneuvers, a knight was noticeable in the battlefield of the estate, gazing at the gorgeous azure sky. Numerous billowy clouds floated by him. Sparrows took flight felicitously above the tree line. The sun caste smoldering heat down upon the distinguishable knight, wilting up the ragged ponds, creeks, and some profoundly small rivers.
The knight wore an illustrious silver shawl, swaddling lightly around his legs, and lustrous and laminate armor with an insignia of royalty in pattern of an energetic hawk. He stood in green troublesome, completely useless, and unattractive pasture grass, swaying back and forth in the flocculent breeze.
A fellow knight, also distinguished, proceeded in the direction of the gazing knight. He continued ponderously through the useless pasture grass, crumpling succinctly underneath the knight's feet, and producing a new path. The distinguishable gazing knight heard his colleague approaching.
"What is it, Vol?" The knight inquired, glancing over a shoulder and tearing his concentration on the billowy clouds in the azure sky. His arduous, slightly wind burned face burrowed a placid expression and only the wide blue eyes revealed the unsettled energy that burned beneath the unperturbed exterior.
Straightening his illustrious cloak while perceiving strong pollen and fragrance of nearby pine,
the knight said. "Well, Christh, Jorg reports there is a captivating young woman being severely harass by several ill-mannered patrons down at the Antayer."
"What do you want me to do about the harassment situation?"
"You are acquainted with this captivating young woman. Do you feel it's necessary foe me to oversee the situation?"
"No, I'll oversee the situation, thanks anyway."
Christh discontinued his admiration at the gorgeous azure sky. They briskly sauntered across the pasture to the central Lytesque stables with breeze whistling in their ears. Vol followed mutually behind, speaking not one single word, but grumbling to himself. A youthful stable retainer, in the time considered, had an exquisite solid brown with black physiological touch stallion, large as a knight, and properly saddled.
The youthful retainer humbled himself sincerely and yielded the bridle straps. Christh unconsciously grabbed the bridle straps from the retainer and dexterously mounted the scrupulous stallion. The exquisite stallion whisked ears nervously back for a brief instant. He whirled the beautiful stallion around then proceeded in the direction of the defensive furrow and the gigantic wooden drawbridge, hooves hammering in moderate steady thunderous rhythm.
Galloping by, several guardsmen scrutinized him in partially silver armor, with red and black uniform underneath. Every guard hauled a warrior's spear with family swords along their hips. He bounced on the huge spirited brown stallion's posterior in anticipation of suburb. He ceremoniously cantered down the foremost cobbled boulevard, which the masonry's usually take care of. The masonry's did exceptional and glorious work.
Citizens crowded the boulevard, weaving in and out at a hurried step as the gentle breeze murmuring over the tile rooftops blustered them along, jostling passed one another with barely a word or a glance. The recognizable distinctive, vinegary, and nectarous mixed smells had his nose twitching tenuously. Thieves tarried along one side of boulevard in appalling bloody red uniforms with their sect signet embroidered on left breast. The clerics serenely lounged on the opposite side in purple damask robes, scrutinizing the thieves. He recognized Jorg casually leaning on a grayish wooden post next to a luxuriant, puissant white stallion. He cantered nonchalantly, advancing through the continuos local traffic up next to Jorg.
"How many patrons are in the Antayer, Jorg, and are the patrons aware of our presence?" Christh inquired, glancing at the lively tavern of the Antayer.
A shingled wooden token dangled directly overhead of the entrance and the uppermost of the guild, swaying to the gentle breeze.
"I can't offer accurate number. There are too many tavern patrons, maybe two dozen or more." Jorg answered, stroking his white stallion.
"Stay here. I'll handle the harassment situation."
Dismounting down from the stirrups, he bound the leathery bridle straps firmly to the wooden post, which Jorg leaned against, observing the Antayer. He glanced at Jorg then proceeded toward the Antayer. Noticing a thundering inferior brougham carriage out a corner of an eye, he paused. The brougham carriage driver bowed apologetically to him. Once the brougham carriage continued down the boulevard, Christh made sure there weren't any more similar carriages thundering down the avenue.
Entering the Antayer, he shoves open the squeaky doors, echoing across the tavern to perceiving ears. Inside the spacious Antayer tavern was crowded with vermilion suits, he observed. The tavern full spiteful callous faces whirled around and scrutinized him. He marched to the claret mahogany bar counter as the vermilion suited spiteful callous faces deliberately encircled and glared at him with their keen eyes. Christh searched the spacious tavern for the young woman. The stocky bartender discourteously meandered from him.
An ossified vixen in black robe quickly took the stocky bartender's place and glared at him with something calamitous evil in mind. She enshrouded with a frilly bonnet, daintily embracing a burnished stave with a meticulous engraved snake's head.
"A beer." Christh requested over a shoulder, assuming the bartender was still expecting his request for a drink.
"Sorry, I don't exactly serve malt beverages. However, I do serve this."
A blunt thump thundered on the claret mahogany bar counter behind him. He whirled around to discover a monstrous leather pouch overflowing with shimmering gold coins. He couldn't comprehend precisely what was occurring before him and stared confusedly at the ossified woman.
The ossified woman continued. "Five thousand gold pieces and entirely for you."
He glanced at the ossified vixen momentarily then glimpsed back through the alcove window to Jorg, who was observing the tavern. In the floccent breeze, Jorg skillfully bestowed the impression of being statuesque, including his jade outfit had the similar perception.
"What do you want?" Christh inquired, glancing at the monstrous leather pouch, and avoided the ossified woman. The spiteful callous faces stood motionlessly around him, forming a barrier of hematic vermilion uniforms.
"My name is Sylvia. My Lord cordially requires you to convene with me, tonight." The ossified woman was a malicious enchantress shadowed with hair, which hooded around the inscrutably wrinkled features, like a thickly tangled mass of spider meshes and with eyes like glittering jewels of wickedness.
"Why me? Could you select some other knight to meet with you?"
"Just be at the appointed location and time then I won't be coerced to mercilessly exterminate you later."
"I don't desire any participation of the idiotic meeting."
He shoved the pouch across the mahogany bar counter, keeping his eyes away from any spiteful callous faces, and proceeded through the adious throng. He thrust the squeaky tavern doors open and walked across the cobbled boulevard in the direction of Jorg. Many exorbitant carriages overwhelmed the boulevard along with numerous knights in dingy armor and unpleasant habiliments of overlaid defensive chain mail armor.
Scowling at the monstrous leather pouch, the ossified woman seized the pouch off the mahogany bar counter with a wrinkled hand, rattling the royal gold coins articulately. She placed the monstrous leather pouch into a concealed pocket of the gleaming black shawl then maliciously glowered at him.
"This is completely all right, sir knight, because the Lord won't tolerate this certain type of acknowledgment specially from an egotistic knight like yourself." She exclaimed, which cause the spiteful patrons to settle back into their seats, grinding the legs of the chairs throughout the Antayer.
He glimpsed in both directions of the boulevard before crossing the street. Two questions aggravated him -- who in the eternal damnation is this hideous senile witch, Sylvia, and why did she ridiculously selected him? He did not particularly know and did not specially care either. He unfastened the leather bridle straps from the wooden post and mounted up onto the stallion's stern briskly.
"What was the intense harass alternation in the Antayer all about?" Jorg inquired.
"The Antayer patrons were profoundly drooling over a woman like they never encountered a beautiful woman before, so I had to mention a local brothel." He answered over the thundering carriages, which traveled by them. He ingenuously misinformed his respectable friend and detests it considerably.
"Entire commotion was about an exceptional beautiful woman?" Jorg questioned, clutching the leather bridle straps to the gorgeous snowy white stallion.
"Yeah, the young beautiful woman stated that she could entertain the patrons like little boys out for the first time." Christh answered with ludicrous witticism.
Jorg ascended the gorgeous snowy white stallion, disregarding Christh's dreadful ludicrous witticism. On the hard-compressed cobbled boulevard the gorgeous stallions stretched out, satiny manes and tails streaming fully in the sunlight. They galloped down the cobbled boulevard in the direction to the monarchical castle, hooves hammering a constant rhythm. Upon arriving to the monarchical castle, they waited at the defensive furrow because the drawbridge was partially up. Once the weary guards lowered the massive wooden drawbridge to clattering chains and sprocket wheel, Christh directed the course to the stables. Vol in lustrous silver armor was waiting for them, conversing with the young teenager stable retainers, and had them bowing to every sentence.
Noticing Christh with Jorg, Vol pronounced, spinning in their direction. "There will be a highly exceptional joust today, two jubilant fine young men who tenaciously desires to be knights. Our majestic King will have a monstrous feast subsequently following the exceptional knight-errant joust. The benevolent victorious contestant will eventually be trained to be a sovereign knight."
Pausing before Vol, Christh stated. "In another words, I will definitely instruct the victorious knight-errant joust. I suppose I have most definitely asked for it."
Jorg exhaled at Christh, shaking his head, and sniggered farcically.
"You could put it that way, yes, you definitely did." Vol concurred by nodding.
Christh and Jorg yielded the leather bridle straps to a bowing young stable retainer in an attendant's uniform, who scurried hurriedly off towing the beautiful stallions. Vol led them to the Djelfian door of the monarchical castle with entwining Vergainvillea vines proliferating most of the stone wall. The door unexpectedly opened as several bustling servants move toward them with the dauntless King marching several paces behind. Christh noticed that it was a warm afternoon at the Verton monarchical castle. The ancient pile of stone blocks, which had served the royal family as a comfortable home for eleven generations and bored the salty cool-sweat acquired every day before change in weather.
"There is where I designate the knight-errant joust will be held for the two exceptional young men. There must be a winner today." The King requested and designated the sea of crested futile grass for the knight-errant joust held.
"Yes, sire." The imperial servants bowed to their King then scurried off to prearrange the rustic knight-errant jousting field.
They bowed to the King, glancing at the bustling imperial servants who hurried by again. They separated, in their direction of preference. Christh proceeded to the imperial garden, making his way into the elegant and exquisite flowers and plants.
Velvety fragrances and impervious pollen filled his nostrils elegantly along with a rumble of quietude. He approached a corpulent white divan settee, sitting on the cool adamant surface to scrutinize at the marvelous blue azure sky. As the breeze trembling and mellowing in his ears with angelic musical chiming, he conceived a turgid shape of gigantic dragon in the milky billows, peacefully streaming by.
Many enigmatic questions about the decrepit crone filled his consciousness without any reasonable answers, which he could not conceive. Abruptly, a youthful male servant appeared out of nowhere, interrupting the tide of enigmatic questions, and walked up to him, touching mildly Christh's shoulder.
Bowing, the youthful servant said blandly. "Sir Christh, the errant-knight joust is nearly about to commence."
"Yes, I will be present at the momentous errant-knight joust momentarily, thanks."
He wrenched himself away from the drifting and trundling billow clouds in the placid breeze. The youthful servant bowed to him again and darted off to the memento's knighthood joust. 'Time fly's briskly by when you are admiring something,' he contemplated. He remained on the corpulent white divan settee for a moment longer, glaring at a ocherous salmon geranium, embracing its dashing beauty. He marched in the direction of the vociferous prattling troupe and out of the captivating imperial garden. Squeezing through the throng, he regarded Vol proceeding the crowd, settling into a vacant straight-backed chair next his friend. The gleaming brass cornets echoed deep melancholy music, seemly coming from everywhere. He glanced at Vol while scrutinizing the King.
"Vol, I want you to train the errant-knighthood champion." Christh exclaimed into Vol's ear.
Pivoting in the straight-backed chair with perplexity and impulsive eyes, Vol remarked. "Me?! Why me? You have unceasingly instructed the errant-knighthood champion and at least sixteen valiant knights who are distinguished valor's themselves."
"I don't yearn to instruct anybody at the present. Besides, you have been my extremely dependable assistant for numerous years. What are their names, Vol?"
"Holger and Sfen; they're in their mid-twenties and both are anxious to become knights."
In disbelief, he stared fixedly at a short scrawny boy with lengthy arms and swollen nose in page's uniform, shouldering through the throng of patricians, then continued toward him. The short scrawny servant stood before him, patiently embracing a yellow parchment with unknown signet. Swiping an expeditious second glance, he realized that the scrawny servant had a yellow parchment. The servant bowed then scurried off disappearing into the throng of virtuous patricians. He unwrapped the folded yellow parchment then read it.
'Casually ride through the neighboring suburbs and I'll peacefully convene with you at designated place! If you aren't at designated spot, I'll most definitely track down and exterminate you myself!'
The yellow parchment note appeared to be an obviously threat issued by the demonic enchantress; Syvia. He crumbled the tawny parchment note up and thrust it into a breast pocket, writhing nervously in the straight-backed chair. The imperial trumpeters echoed their gleaming cornets again in constant deep melancholy music. The two young errant-knight gentlemen enthusiastically mounted onto their stallions and acquired lances from the youthful stable retainers.
The crowd of virtuous patricians stifled to the deep melancholy music by the imperial trumpeters. The two young errant-knights stormed thunderously across the grassy jousting field, hooves pounding vigorous rhythm, and overshot their targets by striking the other knight's shield. The kindling lances fragmented and splintered to the blow. They reached the end of the grassy jousting battlefield and received new kindling lances from the youthful stable retainers.
Twirling around, the two young errant-knights thunderously raced at each other again and pummeled their shields with metallic blunt sound, shattering their kindling lances like runty tree trunks. The crowd of virtuous patricians cheered at the forcefully blunt blows. They reached the end of the grassy jousting battlefield, pitching their shattered kindling lances down to the young stable retainers, and received two new lances. Wheeling the sumptuous stallions around to charge across the massive grassy field for a thrice time, they converged with silky manes and tails streaming loosely back.
At the intense apex, Holger pummeled off his stallion, plunging onto the grassy pasture. Plunging off the stallion's rump, Sfen held on to the leather bridle straps, jolting ferociously. The crowd of imperial patricians lunged up from their Launtian oak chairs in heartfelt expression, struggling for air, and cried because terrified of loosing their money. Numerous meters away from the end of the grassy jousting battlefield, Sfen tumbled off his stallion's rump and onto the pasture. The affluent imperial patrician's money did not exchanged hands, because neither young man was the outright victor of the errant-knight joust for knighthood.
Snickering mellowly avoiding a disagreeably hobgoblin side glare from Jorg, Christh said. "It appears that you have to instruct errant-knight contestants. I think you will do an excellent job instructing both errant-knights. They will be quite fine knights."
The charismatic King screamed voicefully over the whining imperial patricians. "It's a stale mate! Although it's the first time in two decades. That was an excellent errant-knight jousting match that I have seen in years."
Chuckling at Jorg again, Christh bounded up out of his chair and marched, through the bustling and dispersing imperial patricians, in the direction of the castle entrance. Some of the imperial patricians and other knights spoke as he hurried passed. "On your way to clean up for the festival tonight? Have a joyous time."
Once inside the main hall, he stepped into a smooth stone wall corridor sparsely decorated with elegant intricate tapestries and paintings with thunderous and heavy footsteps. Many imperial patricians in the corridors were still chatting about the excellent errant-knighthood joust competition between Sfen and Holger. By the aristocrat law, the two youthful errant-knights instructed to be imperial knights. Trotting toward the expansive swirling stairs, spacious enough for ten abreast, he continued to the knight's quarters. A beautiful female servant in red and blue uniform raced by, attempting to prepare for the knighthood observance festival this evening, and slightly curtseying to him.
The hallways of the knight quarters, their grained stone walls, decorated with few and scattered elegant yet simplistic tapestries and painted screens of bustling imperial Lords, Dukes, and Knights. Exception for the thunderous footfalls, the hallways was silent. He almost stifled on the dusty, vaporous, and putrid air from the dusky incandescent torches, which hung in ironclad perches along the walls, upon reaching the door to his bedchamber. Upon entering his bedchamber, he grabbed his small silver flute off a small table and blew numerous notes of a young child's tunes with melodious, smoothing music, which filled his ears.
He played his silver flute beautifully for hours until a voluminous storm swelled and settled over the kingdom. The thunderous lightning meddled with his delightful and symphonic music. A knock echoed with an incandescent flash of summer lightning discharge from the swelled nimbus clouds.
"Come in." Sighing, he said frustratingly, placing his silver flute onto the small Tonazian table next to the bed.
Another servant in red and blue uniform opened the door, or was it some boy, and stepped into his bedchamber to very resonant, spontaneous, and thunderous bellowing thunder throughout the kingdom. The bottom of the Elmirian oak door grated across the monolithic floor. The servant delivered a second parchment then bowed skittishly and scurried off into the corridor, closing the oak door.
He unfolded the parchment by breaking a paraffin wax seal imprinted in a pattern of circlet with a shaft crisscrossing a sword then read it. 'Did you forget? I guess that you will be dead within minutes, maybe days if you are lucky. Come now and I will forget killing you.'
Climbing off the bed, he lumbered over to an oak writing table with a candelabrum. Beside the blazing candelabrum taper, set an obscured mosaic gold tureen. He placed the parchment into the blazing flame and the smoky wick of the candelabrum, then into the obscured mosaic gold tureen to let it burn. After a moment, he snatched his argent gray and silver imperial cloak embroidered with a massive exquisite silver hawk.
Dressing hurriedly, he scrambled out of his bedchamber and into the main corridor, marching in the direction of the enormous swirling stairs. Thunder echoed throughout the corridor with a flash scintillated from the windows. The atmosphere had transformed from anhydrously musty to dank. Several malodorous rats slithered around, scrounging for food.
He descended the flight of capacious steps and treaded into the main hall, attempting to appear unconcerned and unhurried. The hallways were empty at this time of night, because everyone was in their chambers getting ready for the knighthood observance celebration. Upon reaching the stable doors, the rain gradually began to tormented in viscous waves, a massaging and placid shower.
The aphotic hours were thunderous fulminant and on the threshold of laying the dust. The
spectacular scintillating streaks of fragmenting lightning recoiled into the silvery stratum clouds. Sometimes the silvery stratum clouds themselves flickered due to lightning discharging from within.
The frantic storm overlaid the city, Verton, the capital of the kingdom. Every year the moderate seasonal rainfalls usually trickle down from up stream. It was not a dense sprinkle, but the frantic nebulosity had hampered over the capital city. The surging rain disentangled the air and deteriored the fragments of oddments in the avenues. The next day would be extremely humid and almost everybody would constantly complain about the torrid weather.
He rode on his loyal stallion, prancing through the empty cobbled avenues of the drenched city. Unexpectedly, it started to drizzled harsher onto his solid characteristic features and trundled down to his chin. He sat solidly on the stern of his beautiful cerise stallion with his trustworthy, blessed, and antiquated sword, which sat loosely on his hip.
It was a fashionable piece of exquisite weaponry and originated by a long line of excellent combat specialists. He realized this extremely well and wore it dignifyingly. It had a strong handle of saddle worn leather because of active military service and decorated with consolidated gold with silver, rubies, emeralds in a significant braid relic. The trustworthy sword edge was steadfast, honed to razor sharpness, and shrewd for battle.
His beautiful cerise stallion pranced and danced with a rhythmical representation of the imperial line to the mating solicitations of wild creatures filling the air. Staring forward, he passed by numerous stray animals, who turned their shining red eyes upon him fearfully. The rudimentary file of stone homes shifted by as small kids, who supposed to be in bed, and dogs with taunting yaps dexterously evaded around the stallion.
After an enduring and severe rainstorm, many citizens will become contaminate with curable diseases and ills and occupy the offices of the local doctors. Illnesses and contamination gave the local doctors remarkably good business for several weeks. He certainly had better life since new astonishing inventions and healing agents been discovered.
In years past, the divine kingdom was once truly peaceful place before separating in two fractions during the first devastating civil war. One fraction skipped millennia and vanished, while the other fraction grappled with numerous virulent hostile episodes. Featherwood, the second fraction, was also once peaceful kingdom and lost touch with the neighboring kingdom, Blackwood.
A state of bewilderment sustained the kingdom with nonperformance of archaic indoctrination, the religious principles and beliefs. The imperial King was renowned ruler, but a dreadful business man when it comes to affairs of the other neighboring kingdoms.
"Psssst!" A piercing voice shrieked out of nowhere, interrupting his contemplation's.
He took a mercurial visual investigation of the main avenue behind him as well as the Djelfaian oak doors of nearby reddish clay thatched houses. He snapped the leather bridle straps to continue down the muddy cobbled major avenue. The beautiful silky cerise stallion's ears nervously flounced back for a trice.
"Christh!" The harsh voice shrieked again.
Coming to a complete halt, he scrutinized at a shadowy figure, who was waving an ossified hand at him, in a narrow side alley. The shadowy figure wore a black flowing robe with an extravagant silky hood, which covered the gauntly face. He steered his cerise stallion toward the mysterious and ossified figure as his eyes brightly lit up when he distinguished the shadowy figure. The shadowy sorceress' face shrouded thoroughly with abhorrence.
"Sylvia?! What do you want?"
Sylvia stood in the center of a voluminous slimy puddle, but on the shimmering and glimmering surface as her flowing robes unaffected by the violent storm. She grasped wooden staff in her left ossified hand with a brilliantly carved snake's head on the tip with detailed scaly body enveloping around the glabrous shaft. Christh almost over looked the pygmic glistening burnished scalp with irritating muscles of small movements. It was impossible not too. She appeared somewhat resembling an unmerciful shimmering statue.
Her mischievous eyes were relenting, somewhat gleefully, sleeted blue and slender and profoundly placed. She had a drabbing shadow from underneath her silky flowing hood, surrounding the chin and the tender lipped mouth, which did not habitually smirk. She had been attractive, gorgeous, at one period, but unforgiving time had been resentful to Sylvia.
"The Lord says that he has his minions in position and ready. I pity this kingdom. Nice day, eh?" She ridiculed then simpered again.
"Yeah, so? What does he want from me? What would I receive out of this, uh?" He inquired, disregarding her geniality.
"I'm in no position to tell any answers, except, what the Lord wants me to tell you."
He was soundless for an interminable time then pronounced. "But, I want to know."
"All I can tell you is this. Set a trap for your fellow knights."
"What?! He knows that I can't do that, besides I will be a traitor to the kingdom." He exclaimed.
"No, you can't. But, the Lord would kill a man for not following his instructions, specially a knight like you."
"I'll think about it."
"You better think fast."
Whirling around, he noticed a small quantity of soulless black knights in gleaming sordid armor precipitately stepped behind him. They surrounded him before he had an opportunity to go after his trustworthy sword, coming out of doorways and alleys of the avenue, everywhere. He sighed and lowered his head, closing his eyes.
"I knew that you would agree with me, Christh."
"I better get back to the castle." He said melancholy.
Her somber eyes lightened up then mocked disdainfully again. "Have a sunset day."
"Yeah, sure, whatever."
The soulless black knights shifted, revealing a broad course out of the gloomy side alley. He nervously galloped pass the spiritless black knights, sensing the cerise emotionless eyes stare at him, as a chill rode down his spinal cord. He quickened his beautiful stallion out of the gauzy alley onto the cobbled central avenue in the slow steamy drizzling rain. His eyelashes instinctively flinched back and forth, squinting.
His beautiful stallion pranced the erect imperial line. He galloped down Izzar's Lane onto Merva alley and came upon a massive granite bridge with screaming and yelling drunken men.
Spinning his head at the two drunken men, he noticed they a third gentleman surrounded against the stone balustrade. The nobleman had a worn leather pouch with numerous letters, hanging out, and wore a black dispatch's uniform with silver trimming and a tiny SilverHawk combined with a large S in the circle. As if magically, he unsheathed one of the inebriated drunkard's ordinary sword.
Becoming impressed, he observed the letter dispatch wield the ordinary sword with some adroitness while frightening the two drunks. The two inebriated drunks cloddishly sprinted down the aphotic avenue and into a wall of darkness. He urged his stallion onward to the letter dispatcher.
"Pardon me, but you were quite skillful with that sword." He confessed.
"Thank you, sir knight. I better get to the royal palace or the King will have my head." The letter dispatcher said.
"Wait, I could teach you some maneuvers of a knight, maybe more." He persisted.
"I don't know, sir knight." The letter dispatcher said, shrugging uncertainly.
"Don't worry, I'm sure that the King would let you have a day or two off."
"I was all right, maybe I will, sir knight." The letter dispatcher agreed, stroking his stony chin with a free hand.
"Come, I was going to see the King anyway. Do you want to come with me?" He inquired to the letter dispatcher, nodding in the direction of the imperial palace.
"I'm Thorsten and your name is, sir knight?"
"Christh, a SilverHawk Knight."
Compact silvery thunder bolt slashed down, through saturated and frigid air, like a sharp harpoon. With a strong surge of a brisk west wind, particularly now, the thundershower was pouring down severely.
Twenty minutes later, they motored into the imperial knight's stables and dismounted, handing the leather bridle straps to a drenched stable retainer. In that point in time, he instructed the letter dispatcher his first assiduous knighthood lesson.
"Yeah that's it! Now, you have it." He exclaimed optimistically.
After the assiduous knighthood lesson, sitting on several slabs of hay, they chatted for a while in the empty stable building, except for the on-looking stallions.
"Well, Thorsten, let's go and meet the other knights."
They marched to the entrance of the imperial palace, a large structure of modernization extension of fifteen thousand square feet with two guards on either side of the huge and wide oak, ironbound door. The door overshadowed over him with an embellishing metal latch, placing his gaze on eyes of enormous russet lion head, which was the palace entrance knocker. Entering the massive imperial palace, the King had arranged the knighthood observation festival.
Once they arrived at the knighthood observance festival, a musical ensemble was performing a rejuvenating up beat piece. Music was a stylish piece, which been dictated by a prominent and talented individual. Some citizens even graciously labeled him a brilliant and profound symphonic artist of his time and borne ahead of his time as well.
Nearly, all the imperial SilverHawk knights were at the enormous dining table with the King sleeping peacefully in the middle. After dancing and waltzing, every patrician would visit back and forth at the buffet table, most of the aphotic night having a nibble to eat and a graze to drink.
"Hey, guys. This is Thorsten. He wants to be a knight and I'm going to train him."
"How do you do?" Matthias welcomed Thorstern benevolently.
The other imperial SilverHawk knights stood up, stepping around the enormous dining table to Thorsten, and encompassed him in a spacious circle.
"This is Tobias, Rebecius, Hayoris, Jorg, Morpheus, Motetus, Holger, Vaguris, Oedipus, Hazijure, Sfen, Tedzahr, and Vol." He introduced the imperial SilverHawk knights.
Thorsten stared into Tedzahr's eyes and something mentally snapped in his consciousness. He remembered a cheerless past, which befell during the ferocious day of his parents' demise and lost touch of his younger brother.

. . . The day was quite appealing as Thorsten marched along a corrugated path going home. Suddenly, a towering and muscular teenager sprinted across his path, smirking mischievously with long brown hair and stony face. Finding it rude, the teenager sprinted into the dreary woods as he followed, flashing through towering oak and somber hickory trees and eluding nebulous shadows.
Lingering behind the mysterious teenager, he sprinted over crumbling leaves and needles and did not use his speed entirely. Somehow, the enormous teenager vanished in the shadowy and gloomy wall of towering oak and somber hickory trees and bushes. . .

The mindfulness dissipated when he released of hand. Thorsten unexpectedly lunged into the waltzing patricians with a gorgeous and youthful red headed Madame. Chuckling, Christh observed them. The imperial SilverHawk knights glanced inquisitively at him then wheeled to Christh.
"So, you're training him to be a knight?" Jorg inquired. He wore vague ashen green uniform that could have paled into leaves or a shadow and a matching shawl, faulting in the gentle breeze and whirling through variant hues of greens and browns.
"Yes, I am." He responded.
"He's a messenger carrier." Vol mentioned.
"He was, but now he's training to be a knight."
"How did you and why did you chose him?" Tobias inquired.
"Well, I saw him riding toward the castle. He ran into these two drunks, who tried to throw him over the railing of the bridge. But, he skillfully drew a sword from one of the drunks and defended himself with the sword. I was impressed with his dexterous movements. So, I asked him if he wanted to be a knight. Here he is, now, dancing with a foxy red head." He recited, nodding at Thorsten.
The fellow knights grasped some ceramic mugs of beers and drink, enduring joyously drinking, waltzing, warbling throughout the knighthood celebration night. One by one, the SilverHawk knights past out until he was the only one awake. He marched up to his bedchamber, ascending the broad spiraled stairs that led to the imperial SilverHawk knight's quarters.
Next morning, the imperial SilverHawk knights woke to immense headaches and had glorious brunch. The King marched into the majestic hall lightly on his feet, staggering unsteadily, to the imperial knights. The imperial knights sat at the enormous dining table, melancholy drooping over onto their hands, and glared at their food.
Unfolding a parchment, the King read the note. "There's a report about people tearing up the countryside."
"You want us go there and quiet it down?" Jorg inquired, massaging his forehead.
The vociferous utterance made his headache, and fellow imperial knights' headaches as well, even more excruciating.
"Well, yes. I do." The King growled.
"You got it, sire!" Christh pronounced moderately, attempting not to talk too loudly.
"Thank you, Christh, very much."
"Let's go!" Morpheus quiescently screamed.
"No!" He exclaimed solicitously.
All the imperial SilverHawk knights closed their eyes, grinning to the pulverizing torment then glanced at him. He watched the King marched pass the servants, who were cleaning up the mess from the knighthood observance festival and step through rays of sunlight, flowing through the windows dimly in the morning. The fabulous smell of fresh cooked bacon, scrambled eggs, toasted bread filled his nostrils, inducing a tantalizing hunger. The servants bowed to the King and continued on their duties and responsibilities.
"Thorsten, you will take Morpheus, Tedzahr, Hazijure, Holger, Sfen, and Oedipus to the battlefield and practice on your moves or do whatever. We will go and take care of the disturbance."
"Whatever you say, Christh. Just be careful."
He led the sizable assemblage of SilverHawk knights down the corridor in the direction of the imperial stables. Thorsten and the rest of SilverHawk knights sat around the dining table and watched the servants clean the majestic hall without trying to make fewer noises than necessary.
Hours slowly rushed by with no message from Christh or the SilverHawk knights as Thorsten began to writhe in his seat when explosion of the large oak, ironbound door, slamming against the wall. Several stumbling steps into the enormous main hall, Christh weakly collapsed to the marble floor of the majestic hall. Bounding out of their seats and grimacing in the direction of the entrance, they sprinted over to and hoisted him onto his feet. The imperial servants watched in horror, discontinuing their work.
"What happened?" Jorg questioned in dumbfounded wonderment.
"We were setup." Christh paused then gasped for air before continuing again. "Someone captured the knights, but I escaped."
"Who was it?" Matthias demanded angrily.
"I didn't stop and ask." Christh interjected, turning to Matthias. "You better run and hide. Just run away and hide from here." He commanded.
"Why? No, we don't." Jorg remarked confoundedly.
"You don't have to, do you? You have to because they are coming here to take over the kingdom. Trust me, I know because they have captured all of the good imperial knights." Christh controlled his
inflaming annoyance.
"What about us?" Thorsten interrupted.
"That's why I want you to run and hide." Smiling vaguely, Christh responded.
"If that's what you want us to do then that is we will do." Jorg concurred.
Thorsten whirled around to the remaining of the imperial SilverHawk knights, who were observing him. He cautiously hoisted him off the numbing marble floor then carried him to the enormous dinner table. The remaining imperial knights commenced to complain and refusing to believe the circumstances. As the imperial knights followed, he placed Christh down onto the dinner table. Turning around to the remaining SilverHawk knights, he knew that Christh was correct.
"Let's go before they get here. Whoever is coming." He uttered authoritatively, heading for the oak, ironbound door.
Once to the imperial stables, they selected their battle stallions, mounting, then traveled to the mammoth bascule bridge. Crossing the mammoth bascule bridge, in thunderclap of stallion's hooves, they turned right onto a local road as a massive thunderous dust cloud trailed behind them.
The guardsmen scrutinized the imperial SilverHawk knights leave the castle estates with their keen eyes. A frigid, morbid chill settled across the kingdom; not because the glorious doubled-sun had settled behind the western mountains. After that day, the remaining imperial knights rendered themselves indiscernible and infinitesimal from the dark Lord. It was the last time the imperial SilverHawk knights or anyone else had seen the King.