One Last Knight. A Series of Short Stories.

Something new!

Small happenings in and around the random corners of Enverdolmal.

Often just short musings, observations, or questions.

All random!

All Canon!

Enjoy folks!

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Dunda held his mallet,

He was but three years old.

His Mum said he could have it

Till he grew grey and old. 

He ran around and banged on things

His parents never cared.

To separate him from the thing

Neither of them ever dared. 

It was a bit of a strange toy

But so too was its wielder.

It would bring comfort to the boy

A staunch confidence builder. 

When war came calling

He would hide

As boulders rained down 

from outside 

Of walls not tall enough to matter,

Booms 

and 

Bangs

and

Shouts

and

Clatters.

Under his bed

He hid that night

As the battle raged around.

His home and Dorpie battered till

Most of the walls fell down...

A raid had taken many lives,

One being his beloved Mum...

His mallet was all that he had

More than enough, far less to some. 

His father would be taken next

As Aether racked his form...

Evaporated in a blast,

From this world, he was torn...

The boy would become a young man, 

And one day he would hear,

one final knock upon his door,

The end of all his fears.

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See you all over at the gates of Enverdolmal soon enough!

Safe travels folks.

And as always,

Stay say.

Stay healthy.

Stay vigilant.

-Redd.