His mighty axe swung side to side. The head of the demon spun off in the general direction of the axe at the point of connection. Foul demon blood gushed and soaked into his green tabard, and splattered across his gleaming green helmet.
A giant hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him up and backwards into the maw of Beal. Giant gnashing teeth raked across his clamshell plate armor. His head was within the maw and the horrible forked tongue ran across his helmet’s face plate. Dropping the axe he pulled the dagger strapped to his off arm and drove it upwards.
The teeth stopped gnashing as the daggers tip pushed through the brain pan. The jaws dropped open and he slid out of the mouth to the ground. He lay there not caring if another demon showed up and finished him off. But there were no more demons there or anywhere else on the battlefield.
He lifted his visor on his closed helm slowly and sucked in fresh air. His eyes rolled up into his head and he hit the blood soaked earth more dead than alive.
Demons are not of this plane of existence and for the most part their husks do not survive for long once their evil spirits which drive them have left their forms. He awoke how much later it is not known, all the demonic forms that had littered the valley were gone. Except for Beal. Beal continued to shake his dagger still stuck in its brain through the roof of its mouth. He staggered to a large rock about the size of a head. He carried it in both hands and placed it in Beal’s open mouth between his jaws. No point in losing an arm for a dagger. He reached in and pulled the dagger out. The jaws tried to snap shut and stuck on the rock.
A heavy sigh came out of Beal. And then almost in a whisper. “Thank you, and for that kindness I will remind you”
Demon trickery was nothing new to him. Being thanked was. “Remind me?”
Beal lifted one finger and pointed towards him and almost smiled. “You had a squire”
“I’ve had lots of squires”
“You made him a knight”
“I’ve made several”
“Ha ha ha” Beal rumbled. “You really have forgot.” And with that Beal took his terminal breath and crumbled to dust.
He stood in thought trying to fathom whom he had forgotten. He scoured the battlefield for weapons he’d dropped in the melee. His horse wandered on up and butted him with its nose. The horse was a pale horse almost white, with a greenish sheen. The horse was Mortimer. Mortimer stood still as he was loaded up with weapons and paraphernalia of the trade. The trade was murder, murder and death.
The gore was gone. A pennon floated on the tip of his lance. A green skull on a field of white. The same symbol marked his shield. A word came to mind Sosaria. And the word became a place. And the place was associated with a name Roberto.
His lips curled back in a smile so tight it was reminiscent of the rictus of a corpse.
“Come Mortimer we have a long way to travel” said the Green Knight.
A giant hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him up and backwards into the maw of Beal. Giant gnashing teeth raked across his clamshell plate armor. His head was within the maw and the horrible forked tongue ran across his helmet’s face plate. Dropping the axe he pulled the dagger strapped to his off arm and drove it upwards.
The teeth stopped gnashing as the daggers tip pushed through the brain pan. The jaws dropped open and he slid out of the mouth to the ground. He lay there not caring if another demon showed up and finished him off. But there were no more demons there or anywhere else on the battlefield.
He lifted his visor on his closed helm slowly and sucked in fresh air. His eyes rolled up into his head and he hit the blood soaked earth more dead than alive.
Demons are not of this plane of existence and for the most part their husks do not survive for long once their evil spirits which drive them have left their forms. He awoke how much later it is not known, all the demonic forms that had littered the valley were gone. Except for Beal. Beal continued to shake his dagger still stuck in its brain through the roof of its mouth. He staggered to a large rock about the size of a head. He carried it in both hands and placed it in Beal’s open mouth between his jaws. No point in losing an arm for a dagger. He reached in and pulled the dagger out. The jaws tried to snap shut and stuck on the rock.
A heavy sigh came out of Beal. And then almost in a whisper. “Thank you, and for that kindness I will remind you”
Demon trickery was nothing new to him. Being thanked was. “Remind me?”
Beal lifted one finger and pointed towards him and almost smiled. “You had a squire”
“I’ve had lots of squires”
“You made him a knight”
“I’ve made several”
“Ha ha ha” Beal rumbled. “You really have forgot.” And with that Beal took his terminal breath and crumbled to dust.
He stood in thought trying to fathom whom he had forgotten. He scoured the battlefield for weapons he’d dropped in the melee. His horse wandered on up and butted him with its nose. The horse was a pale horse almost white, with a greenish sheen. The horse was Mortimer. Mortimer stood still as he was loaded up with weapons and paraphernalia of the trade. The trade was murder, murder and death.
The gore was gone. A pennon floated on the tip of his lance. A green skull on a field of white. The same symbol marked his shield. A word came to mind Sosaria. And the word became a place. And the place was associated with a name Roberto.
His lips curled back in a smile so tight it was reminiscent of the rictus of a corpse.
“Come Mortimer we have a long way to travel” said the Green Knight.