One Last Knight. A Series of Short Stories.

Hey! Welcome back to the gates of Enverdolmal!

I hope this finds you all well.

Healthy. Hydrated.

All of the good things, and none of the bad ones!

I hope you all are enjoying the new cover art!

I love my artist! She does an amazing job every time.

Check her out via the character art post on the official

One Last Knight Facebook page!

I won't keep you.

I am sorry for being away and not very consistent.

Been trying to heal up and get back to work.

I will see you all back here shortly yeah?

Thank you kindly for your support and love and loyalty to my stories and characters.

It really means the world to me. 

With that being said, I present to you:

"The shape of you." Past 1.5.

Enjoy.

-------------------------

Lysin sat with his legs crossed beneath him across the bar-like counter from his friend and reefer purveyor, an Elfym by the name of Sir Marygin Whana Tigglesworth III.

A young Elfym that most referred to as "Tiggy" for short. 

A nickname that had stuck since he was a child, and would forever more. 

Lysin's eyes were nearly the color of rose petals, so much he had smoked within the past 20 minutes or so.

As were Tiggy's, but even more so than his guest.

The dispensary was closed to the public by this hour, yet Lysin was not the average shopper. 

Their friendship went as far back as the first day that this shop had opened. Lysin had quickly befriended the then owner -Sir Marygin Whana Tigglesworth II- who was Tiggy's father, and the boys had been fast and close friends for just as long as they had been smoke buddies. 

The world around them was very little more than what either of them could see beyond a span of maybe a yard in length, so thick and dense was the smoke that their quick session had generated. Three squat and round pipes were splayed before and between the two, begging, daring either one to take another hit of the earthy reefers before the other moved to do so.

Tiggy moved for the bowl on his left, it was packed to its rim with a fine blend of three reefer stains that together cumulated to what he had affectionately named "Snooty Mcboots."

At a whiff, one would pick up fine notes of what smell like ripe Skuttle berries, Florpmop flowers, and...raspberry? 

He placed one end of the round pipe between his thin pink lips with his left hand just as his right picked up and swiftly struck a match across the rough patch of sand-like paper that he kept atop his polished countertop. As the flame sprang to life, the skilled and experienced smoker drew in a long and deep breath, pulling the little flame that danced atop the tip of the match into the bowl and onto the grape-sized pile of finely ground shreat.

He sucked the hot, smoke-laden air into his lungs in a single pull and held it their with ease, then held the little device out in offering to his fellow partaker. 

Lysin raised his right hand in protest before reaching out with that same hand for the bowl that was in the middle before Tiggy had made his choice. With just as much skill and dexterity, he set his chosen strain ablaze and drew the smoke into his lungs as his friend had not a moment before.

His indulgence of choice this night was his all-time favorite batch of reefer that he had ever had the honor of smoking. It was rare, hard to produce, and only imported during very specific times and seasons of the year. It was called Starchild, and it was all that Lysin lived for these days.

With his studies complete, and his days free of any real responsibility, he had taken to a new a different field of study. Reefer splicing and farming.

His Magic studies had been -in his opinion- far to simple, and by the time he was set to graduate, he had published a half-dozen books on a handful of the magic styles he had been studying. 

His Martial Arts studies had been mastered with such ease that several of his instructors had learned and invented some new techniques and tricks from the rapidly budding student.

His mastery of the Chakram was both awe-inspiring and bewildering to all who bore witness to his craft. 

Lysin's life had been made easy by his astonishingly high level of intellect and acumen. A fact that had not always gotten him the attention of those with the best of interest in mind for him. 

But alas, he was not to be distressed of distracted this night. He had finely come across some good and potent Starchild!

As he held his breath, trapping the dank smoke inside of his mouth and lungs, he locked eyes with Tiggy from the opposing side of the counter, daring him to exhale first.

Both of their heads slowly began to spin from the lack of oxygen and the near immediate effect of the burnt reefer. 

Any moment now, either of them would add just a little more smoke to the hazy room.

Both of them had amazing lung capacity.

It would be a while.

Nothing could ruin his night.

Well...almost nothing.

Lieutenant Obot was on the prowl that evening and when he was about, not a single smoker was safe. 

Obot and his minions would be the least of Lysin's problems soon enough. 

From somewhere off on the distance, way back in the deep of the shreat fog, Lysin thought he heard a knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Maybe he was just high as fack...

Man, oh man.

That Starchild! 

--------------------

Zandara watched as the group of five soldiers made their way down the narrow alley way.

They were not her target this night...

But they were in her way. 

She contemplated her next move for a handful of seconds before she made her move.

She was tired of waiting.

Of planning.

Of replanning...

She was tired of putting of her destiny.

That body was hers.

Lysin was just utilizing it until she was ready to take control of his life.

She was ready.

Right here. Right now.

The soldiers would have to be done away with.

Unless they continued on their way.

She waited just a bit longer.

She watched....

They had but this once chance to save their own lives.

A part of Zandara...a HUGE part of her wanted them to stop at the door to the Smokin' Bloke. 

Her chakrams thirsted for a bit of lubrication, and blood was her favorite substance with which to do so. 

--------------------

Obot and his lightly armored men set their paces.

Not a smirk or a grin or a smile on their stern faces...

Their shields in their left hands,

Their lances in their right.

All steady

And ready

All prepared and willing to fight. 

Not a person or merchant or shadow in sight

They all figured it would be a slow, and simple night.

Ahead of the group, Obot gave a command.

To stop any person outside where they stand.

His idea of rules was to keep a firm thumb

Or laws would be broken, he knew every one. 

A smell of burnt reefer did whiff past his nose.

He ordered his soldiers to be on their toes.

For even though shreat was both legal and allowed

He hated it so, and of this point he was proud. 

With a step

And a step

And another step more.

He found himself and his men outside the front door

Of the Smokin' Bloke dispensary, his single most hated place

He couldn't wait to yell in its new owners face...

Knock

Knock

Knock on the door at this later hour.

There was really no need, just abusing his power...

Before the door would have a chance to open

From behind his men, a single word was spoken.

"Move."

--------------------

The first of the soldiers turned to face her...

And she flipped out!

Before he could react or thrust his lance forth, her foot kicked out.

Before he could register pain, his tongue flicked out.

Before he could utter a word, it was snipped out...

Her foot had been far to swift, may as well had been ripped out.

He had bit off his tongue from the force, it was spit out.

That was more than enough to lay the man low.

His eyes rolled back quickly, he swayed to and fro.

Zandara stepped past him and ducked as she did

Another lance chanced her, off her ribs it skid. 

Off steel plate it glanced.

He had not a chance

Her right hand shot forward and grabbed his right hand. 

The Elf gave a grin, it was part of his plan

But he hadn't expected her attack to land...

From seemingly nowhere can the first deadly blade it

Was spinning so fast!

Was it facking serrated? 

It cut through his gauntlet

And dug right into the bone.

Zandara was dauntless

All that he could do was moan.

Fell to his knees

In a breeze 

The next two stepped up,

Both of them hesitated

That's where they messed up.

Should have been coordinated

One tip down, one tip up.

She dodged them unabated 

Two chakrams then slipped up

Into each of their chins

She had revealed five.

The two Elf's head split in two

Just Obot was now left alive...

Porubus had moved with the other in ridged stride

But the newbie had failed him and so they both quickly died...

The first Elf to attack had drowned in his own blood

His tongue had been torn out so bad, it was now a nub.

Succumbing behind him, the one with the jagged stub

He bled out as fast, soon he would be food for the grubs...

Obot was cornered 

His back to the door.

He lowered his lance

Took his chance

And charged forth. 

--------------------

Welcome back to the gates folks!

I hope that this made sense in the way i presented it, and I hope it was enjoyable as well!

I'll be back with the next chapter just as soon as I can dream it up yeah?

And some Character Dives and more world lore will be dropping as well!

I will see you all back here soon enough!

Till then, and as always! Safe travels folks.

Stay safe.

 Stay healthy.

 Stay vigilant.

-Redd.