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The Phoenix Knight
by Richard H. Fay
Foul deeds breed diabolic consequences. Loss of hope and faith leads to the rejection of all that is sacred. Strife and misery give rise to black despair. Days of abject sorrow give way to nights of profound dread.
The dark thoughts stirring in the minds of evil men are finally given tangible form. Pouring forth from sulphurous cracks in the earth, Hell's vile progeny roam over a scarred and weary land. Waves of pestilence and death follow in their wake. The unquiet dead then rise from their mossy beds to exact a terrible revenge for mankind's unholy folly.
Lucifer’s host marches beneath a pale crescent moon. Mortal armies fall like stalks of grain before the reaper's sharp and deadly sickle. Demonic witchery breaks down stout walls and sturdy towers. Lofty seats of power and might crumble to dust. None are left to stand in the way of the vile mob’s malignant chevaucheé.
Noxious smoke and flaming brimstone fill the still midnight air as the pillaging horde puts peasant cot and village croft to the torch. The weak and the small flee into the quaint parish church, protected by its blessed stone walls. The damned pound ominously on the inviolable sanctuary door, while the innocent within pray for heavenly intercession.
In answer to the desperate pleas for divine aid, a shining paladin of light appears out of the desolate darkness. A holy avenger rises like a new sun from the ashes of ruin. His flaming sword and burnished armour flash like beacons of hope in the choking gloom. Astride a strong destrier barded in silver and gold, heaven's bright champion sets out to challenge the fell host.
Determined to keep safe the last remaining bastion of goodness and light, the stalwart stands like an immovable rock before the onrushing tide. The lone horseman waits until the ravaging devils are almost upon him, then he spurs his mighty steed deep into the thick of the savage fray. Black blood boils on the keen edge of his fiery blade as many a foul foe and undead fiend fall beneath his mighty blows.
Routed by the victorious paladin, the vanquished demons retreat back into the endless ebon abyss. The walking dead return slowly but surely to their mouldy graves, not to rise again until Judgement Day. Satisfied that his work is done, the angelic warrior brandishes his weapon in triumph then vanishes into the mists of time.
Copyright © 2007 Richard H. Fay
It's supposed to be just a taste of my writing style, a sample for the web site. I also wanted to bring back the religious aspect of paladins; they are supposed to be holy warriors, after all. Besides, the medieval period, when this story obviously would take place (or in a fantasy equivalent) was the Age of Faith. Now I think I finally have enough of my writing on the web site.
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