chapter IV
There were no paths in the wood. No beaten ground, easy for travel. Siphter trekked for days and nights before reaching another fantastic site. Two suits of armor the color of amethyst knelt at the center of an ancient ruin. Surrounding them were warriors bodies of old and new in different states of decomposition. Their weapons skewed throughout the rubble of the forgotten castle floor. Axes, swords and bows, belonging to once great warriors were deteriorating from rust. To Siphter, the site looked as if no one had been there for centuries, but there were two newly lit torches placed at the knight’s feet. They gleamed and bounced off of the time worn walls, illuminating the surrounding area.
Our hero bent down, pulling a sword from a boney hand partially covered in flesh. The fingers snapped off the saber and echoed against the remains. He looked around for the evil that could have committed these atrocities. As he began to approach the center of the room occupied by the armor, he heard a swift clang of metal. The knights were now standing tall with their hands on the hilts of their swords. With his blade held tight, Siphter walked toward the possessed suits. The violet armor glistened in the torchlight. Matching Siphter’s pace, they approached him for battle. They were possessed by a dark energy. Siphter could feel their yearn for violence and swordplay. The haunted knights surrounded Siphter, bringing their swords above their heads. Gripping their hilts with both hands, they brought down their heavy blades for Siphter’s neck. He rolled, dodging their attack. Bringing himself to his feet, he raised his sword, ready to face his fears. With his newfound weapon at his side, Siphter ran towards them as fast as he could. As he swung for one of the suits of armor he heard the air being sliced before him. Siphter thought he had dodged the attack but when he looked down he could see a laceration on his thigh. The knight’s blade cut through his trousers and he could now see his wound was bleeding profusely. Surveying the rubble, he found a leather sheath and fastened it to his thigh to stop the bleeding. With his blade in his hands he wanted to fight, but he knew he had no chance of surviving if the battle continued to play out like this. “The knights have not continued to attack,” Siphter thought. Our hero untied the sheath from his thigh, now covered in blood, and placed it around his waist. He then housed his weapon for safe keeping at his side. Siphter approached the suits of armor slowly. Their heads seemed to follow Siphter as he came closer, but still no sign of an upcoming attack. Our hero now inches away from the warriors, reached out his shaking hand and whispered, “Truce.” One knight sheathed its sword, walked back to the flickering candles and knelt down to its original prayer position. The other stuck out its metallic, cold hand and shook Siphter’s. Then slowly crept back to join its partner. Our hero felt something oddly shaped in his palm. The knight must have given it to him during the exchange. When he opened his hand he saw it, an alien looking item. It looked ancient, but somehow this relic was in pristine condition. The knights had given him the first temple key.
