Yon Epilogue.
England; the Dark Ages; Tuesday.Somewhere in deepest, darkest England, in the darkest depths of the Dark Ages – on a Tuesday –
a lone knight marches along a dark – and deep – forest path with long, purposeful, heavy strides. He seems to have carried a great weight upon his shoulders and, indeed, in his heart; a weight that seems to get lighter with every step he takes.
In fact, the nearer the knight gets towards his quest’s end, the lighter his heart begins to feel; the straighter his back begins to stand; the prouder his feet begin to rise and fall as they propel him onwards to everlasting glory.
As he begins to reach a realisation of his accomplishments, and of the horrors he has left behind, he starts to whistle: a melody born out of pure chivalric joie-de-vivre.
Even the losses that this music reminds him of – for this brave knight has lost many a merry music maker – cannot silence the noble song.
He marches on.
He whistles.
… … … … … …
Around a corner, without warning, the trees that encumber the edges of this particular forest path part; light spreads in where once there was darkness, and a vast plain opens before the knight’s eyes.
The sight of yon mighty Castle of Camelot, on a small rise not so very far away, fills our valiant knight’s heart with joy.
As he approaches the castle walls, his incessant whistling finds words coalescing in the air about him, forming into a song that stirs within him fond memories of his many minstrels. Tears stream manfully down his bronzed cheeks in memory and in gratitude.
I found the Grail, and I’m okay,
I sleep all night and I quest all day.And lo! For from the mighty castle walls doth come an echo: Camelot’s musical minstrels have sighted the approaching knight, and honour him with yon sound of music!
He found the Grail, and he’s okay!
He sleeps all night and he quests all day!… … … … … …
Hearing the magical minstrels of Camelot fills our brave knight’s heart with longing, and he strides up to the castle gates with the manly gait befitting a heroic Knight of the Round Table returning successfully from a God-granted quest.
I’m Sir Feyman and I’m alright,
I slay fell beasts ‘cause I’m a Holy Knight.The echo reverberates from the walls above!
He’s Sir Feyman and he’s alright,
He slays fell beasts ‘cause he’s a Holy Knight.… … … … … …
A dozen English men-at-arms peer over the walls, gasping when they recognise the renowned heraldry ‘pon this valiant English knight’s surcoat. The rumbling chains of the rising portcullis barely drown out the glorious English voice singing gloriously beneath the watching soldiers.
I didn’t cut down the Tree, I ate my lunch,
I went to the lavatory.
Last Thursday I found the Grail,
A knightly epitome.Sir Feyman – for it is he, our wondrous and musical knight – walks through the castle gatehouse, to a roaring echo of minstrels and faithful men-at-arms.
Beadocáf cut down the tree, Feyman ate lunch,
And went to the lavatory.
On Thursday he found the Grail,
Our knightly epitome!… … … … … ..
Saint Sir Feyman – for it is thus, his full title – marches through the bustling castle courtyard, a courtyard full of life: market criers selling their wares; men-at-arms exercising; fair dames promenading; various knights watching the fair dames promenading. As he and his knightly aura enter, the courtyard’s occupants turn, as one, to catch a glimpse of the legend walking amongst them. A slow applause begins to build.
I don’t cut down trees, I fight and quest,
Then hark as my minstrels sing.
I got rescued by Sir Keardwall,
A knight most astonishing.A dozen dozen minstrels join the hundreds of onlookers in echoing this glorious truth.
He don’t cut down trees, he fights and quests,
Hark as the minstrels sing.
He got rescued by Sir Keardwall,
A knight most astonishing!… … … … … …
Saint Sir Feyman reaches the castle keep, seat of the great King Arthur, King of Britons and Defeater of the Saxons himself! He pulls open the great oaken door with his vast muscular and weather beaten arms. The solid doors creak under the weight of time itself.
Feyman strides forth unto yon Reception Desk.
“I have come to deliver yon Holy Grail of Christ unto our King.”
“Have you got an appointment?”
“I… er… I don’t, no, sorry.”
“You’ll have to take a seat then, I’m afraid. I’ll see what I can do.”… … … … … …
As the receptionist looks down his carefully scribed list of appointments, the temporarily dispelled heroic and joyful fervour returns to Feyman’s heart, and the song to his lips.
I cut down beasts, I wear high heels,
Suspenders and a bra!
I fight for Old King Arthur,
Just like my dear Papa!The studious receptionist echoes this lusty chant, glancing hopefully up at the handsome knight before him!
He cuts down beasts, he wears high heels,
Suspenders and a bra!
He fights for Our King Arthur,
Just like his dear Papa!Yon receptionist continueth yon songe!
Oh he’s Sir Feyman and he’s okay!
He sought the Grail and went all the way!
He brought it back, we praise his name,
Forever and a day! The blushing receptionist suddenly comes to a halt, looking first down his list of rendez-vous, and then back up to the joyfully whistling Feyman.
“I’m… I’m afraid he can’t see you today, Sir Feyman. Can you try again tomorrow? Say, at 9 o’clock sharp? He might be able to squeeze you in. Can’t guarantee anything though. Terribly sorry.“… … … … … …
Name: Saint Sir Feyman, Discoverer of the Holy Grail of Christ, Glorious Judging Saviour of Sir Beadocáf and Slayer of the Black Knight, Soiler of Underwear, Fiendish Smasher of the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog and Destroyer of the Vicious Lobster of Chateau L’Homard.
Bio: Sir Feyman gladly accepts his role in any quests, but is always suspicious of the motives of his fellow questers. He likes to play music, but doesn't have the opportunity very often. He fights with swords, but doesn't get too attached to his equipment.
Lost Members: Naughty Melga the Possible Witch.
Deceased Retinue Members: Maine the shy Minstrel. He usually followed Feyman around, blindly agreeing with him, even though he taught Feyman many things, including how to play music; Eric the Lutist, who bravely followed Sir Feyman for over an hour, only to be sliced in twain by the Black Beast of Aaaaarrrrrrggghhh. Crannock the Minstrel. Hurled himself to death in shame at his terrible final composition.
Weaponry: Headless Flower Troll Corpse.Inventory:Chivalry: 7.
Duels Won: 1/2.
Arms: 1/2.
Wounds Acquired: Re-smashed nose; Re-smashed Face! (Ye face is covered in blood! And dirt! -2 to seeing until it is cleaned off!).
Minstrels: 0/3.