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Lost Swords and Second Meetings
Oct. 27th, 2019 06:29 pmIt's a chill and quiet afternoon at the lakeside at the hour Galahad has agreed to meet Beelzebub. He's calm, save for the slight apprehension gnawing at the back of his mind that is him not having his prized sword at his side. It's been a while since he's brought other weapons into the Nexus, but carrying this particular sword has become habit. It simply seems to be his luck that the one time he wears it on back rather than near his right hand --the place he usually keeps it close to him-- is the time he loses it in a tavern. He feels strangely naked without it. He doesn't have many articles left to keep his lost love close to him with, but this is one of the more precious and important ones.
Galahad doesn't remember much from the night in the tavern, besides a few flashes of the man he'd met there and some of the trouble they'd gotten into with some of the tavern's regulars. It isn't like him to get into a drunken scrape but, he thinks, he might as well add this new happening to the list of things he's done differently since stumbling upon the Nexus some few months ago.
He waits now, his fingers toying idly with the wooden cross pendant around his neck out of habit, as his gaze shifts from the lakeside to the skies above. According to Beelzebub's last message he should be arriving through the skies, but it's almost hard for Galahad to picture despite all of the strange things he's seen in the Nexus since his arrival. Looking up, he squints slightly through the fog and hovering, ball-shaped lights floating through the air as he tries to pick movement out of the quiet skies.
Galahad doesn't remember much from the night in the tavern, besides a few flashes of the man he'd met there and some of the trouble they'd gotten into with some of the tavern's regulars. It isn't like him to get into a drunken scrape but, he thinks, he might as well add this new happening to the list of things he's done differently since stumbling upon the Nexus some few months ago.
He waits now, his fingers toying idly with the wooden cross pendant around his neck out of habit, as his gaze shifts from the lakeside to the skies above. According to Beelzebub's last message he should be arriving through the skies, but it's almost hard for Galahad to picture despite all of the strange things he's seen in the Nexus since his arrival. Looking up, he squints slightly through the fog and hovering, ball-shaped lights floating through the air as he tries to pick movement out of the quiet skies.
Although he had been hopeful that the Well of the Chalice would offer some divine insight into his quest --a renewal of one of his visions, or perhaps a sign that he was on the right path-- that Galahad left empty-handed in the end did not surprise him. Many times now he had left holy sites without further clues to his final destination.
He had expected this. He had understood from his very first glimpse of the holy artifact in a waking vision, that finding it would be difficult. It would be a test of his patience, perseverance, and faith. He accepted this, and had instead chosen to practice gratitude for the opportunity to measure the strength of his faith. (After all, a faith untested was a faith unworthy of one of Arthur's men, let alone God.) Very few men would ever witness holy perfection, and it was paramount to him that, as adoptive heir to Arthur's dominion especially, he prove Camelot's devotion to the King of Kings on the court's behalf. He had verbally staked his life on finding the Grail before the entire court, and his resolve to find the artifact was still strong.
Any disappointment he felt, Galahad soothed with the consolation of a quiet meal in the wood outside the Well's chapel. As he ate, he contemplated the worn and dirtied map spread out beside him.
"Where do we ride next?" He idly questioned his horse, in between bites of the bread and cheese the Well's priest had granted him. "We have gone on pilgrimage all the way to this place, and the furthest reaches of Briton and Arthur's domain." The horse twitched an ear in relaxed response, and then turned away from his master to drink from the small river before the knight's feet. "I have heard wild tales of a wood in the north that people say is the last place Saint Hector stood before he ascended to Paradise. Is that not a promising locale?"
The horse's tail flicked at insects buzzing around its hindquarters as he nibbled at reeds growing from the riverbed, but he gave no other response besides that. Smiling, the knight decided to take pity on the beast and grant it some peace. This he offered in silence, along with a pat to the horse's neck. "Eat your fill, Amr. Tomorrow is a long ride."
He had expected this. He had understood from his very first glimpse of the holy artifact in a waking vision, that finding it would be difficult. It would be a test of his patience, perseverance, and faith. He accepted this, and had instead chosen to practice gratitude for the opportunity to measure the strength of his faith. (After all, a faith untested was a faith unworthy of one of Arthur's men, let alone God.) Very few men would ever witness holy perfection, and it was paramount to him that, as adoptive heir to Arthur's dominion especially, he prove Camelot's devotion to the King of Kings on the court's behalf. He had verbally staked his life on finding the Grail before the entire court, and his resolve to find the artifact was still strong.
Any disappointment he felt, Galahad soothed with the consolation of a quiet meal in the wood outside the Well's chapel. As he ate, he contemplated the worn and dirtied map spread out beside him.
"Where do we ride next?" He idly questioned his horse, in between bites of the bread and cheese the Well's priest had granted him. "We have gone on pilgrimage all the way to this place, and the furthest reaches of Briton and Arthur's domain." The horse twitched an ear in relaxed response, and then turned away from his master to drink from the small river before the knight's feet. "I have heard wild tales of a wood in the north that people say is the last place Saint Hector stood before he ascended to Paradise. Is that not a promising locale?"
The horse's tail flicked at insects buzzing around its hindquarters as he nibbled at reeds growing from the riverbed, but he gave no other response besides that. Smiling, the knight decided to take pity on the beast and grant it some peace. This he offered in silence, along with a pat to the horse's neck. "Eat your fill, Amr. Tomorrow is a long ride."
