Once upon a time…

There was a man. He lived on a small hill in a small house all by himself. No wife, no kids, no parents. His house was a ramshackle thing fashioned from antiquated planks and boards salvaged from the shipyard of a forgotten river. Upon opening the door and taking that first step into the all too familiar dusk filled husk the first thought that crossed the man's mind was never the condition of his home. His mind was no longer equipped to worry about his condition as he had grown too weak to even realize his own disparity. Most of his time was spent at the church with its many visitors. He knew every face and name that passed through. But to his disappointment they had all been born hopeless. All seeking grandeur they never experienced. however Unlike them, he had experienced this life once. A life of adventure and chivalry. A knight's life.

In his day he was met with many beautiful handmaidens presented from the many noble families in an attempt attain a knight's valor within their house. However, like they expected all their attempts were kindly refused. The knight always wanted what he couldn’t have. Off to the outer stretches of the land a caravan would pass by every month with various stories that caught his ear but most importantly to him, a young stable girl who had travelled with the caravan since she was a little girl caring for the horses they used for transport. She was a fair lass with black hair that dangled in braids and somehow fine but rough skin with a darker tone, a stark contrast from the knight’s pale white appearance with a short and jagged brown cut. He had made an effort to see her every time she stopped by despite the miles long road he had to travel. He knew she was not from these lands by the way she talked about the sea, a foreign concept to the young knight who had lived on the mainland his whole life. Tales of a vast ocean intrigued him and his excitement peaked the girls interest. He had hoped that one day he could travel off to the distant land with the girl and experience this for himself. At this point he had lost count on how many times he visited the caravan and was running later than usual. Not wanting to leave a fair lady waiting he rushed as fast as he could to meet her. Upon arriving he could tell something was not right, there lacked the folk music the caravan would play and the flickering light of a fire. Everything was still. A loud bang alerted the knight which he swiftly rushed for only to find that all the members of the caravan were tied to the back side and the loud bang was the sound of bandits rummaging through their belongings. As a knight this was not a situation he wasn’t used to. He sprang into action immediately thrusting one bandit down. Quickly this seemed like a bad idea as he realized he was outnumbered five to one. The fight was no longer a skirmish but an execution. He looked to the girl as though he was waiting for an out but there was nothing of the sort just a plea in the eyes of innocence. Thinking all was for not. he did all he could hoping for an out. Soon everything was black and red. As the knight stood ravaged and bloodied he collapsed to the floor among the other lifeless bodies.

He awoke in his home unable to move as if he was trapped in his own body. Stewards would pass by to mend his wounds from time to time. Soon days passed, then weeks. Then the first day of the month approached. He was just strong enough to walk and attempted to make his way to the caravan he knew would arrive shortly. Walking the streets he noticed that he was getting an awfully large amount of look towards him, and not the looks he was used to. The knights walk turned into a hobble and his hobble into a crawl as he began to fade once again into the black beyond. He awoke once again, alone. He noticed next to him was something strange, something he had not seen before. A painting, made from fine oil paints and cut glass. The picture was that of a silver landscape that seemed to move beyond a still yes wavy ridge. He knew what this was. It was the sea.

Time had passed and the man would never be able to make the journey to the edge of town that he once could nor would he feel comfortable doing so. His face now scarred, his hair now turning a dark silver he knew he was not the glorious knight he used to be. The painting still sitting on the edge of his bed, had become the only beacon of light in his life of gray with the church being his only constant wishing he had never experienced the glory he had before but rather, wishing he was just another lost soul he saw come through the church.

One night a scream startled the man making him hobble to the outside with his rustic blade in hand. It was coming from the church. A young noble was being mugged in the dusk shadow of the church a women wearing clothes much too fine for this part of town. As the man approached the thief the noble women took notice of the ruined man. He addressed the thief directly taking a swing at the slum but ultimately missing. The thief acted out of nature stabbing the man in the gut seemingly regretting it as it happened. Out of shock the thief dropped the woman's belongings and ran off. The man now clenching his stomach stumbled back to his home not seeing the noble now speechless trying help the man but to no avail as she stood there confused and stunned. The man opened the same door into the same house on the same hill where he had always lived. This was not the first time he had been bloodied in his own home but this was not the same. He was tired and old. Not the same man he used to be, not even half the man but a broken man who would have his last breath without a family, friends or having ever seen the sea that he yearned so much for. His last act would be to lay down, and as he stared at the painting he knew so well, he tried to remember the good times.

A man woke up on a shore of fine sand that paled in comparison to the arcs of silver that flowed beyond the shore. He saw that even though the stars were bright the sky somehow remained dark leaving the constellations visible and a beauty unfamiliar. The man stood up violently stumbling in the sand toward the shore not aware of his surroundings. As he looked into the reflective pool he saw himself, a young man with butchered brown hair and fair pale skin, but this was not familiar to him. Realization washed over him that he had no idea who he was, where he was, or how he got here.

For some time the man sat on the beach contemplating his existence just staring out into the waves. He began to feel a presence almost as if something was wrong and almost as instinct he drew a silver blade from his belt turning around only to be met by something he never expected to see. A sword to his breastplate of pure gold, and even stranger a woman in armor holding it. She stood with golden wings and grace the man could never imagine, but then again he couldn’t imagine much. Almost as though her presence was enough he sheathed his sword and she followed suit. Before either could utter a word the man noticed a great stone citadel behind her that he had not noticed before. It was made of sterling white slabs that seemed to radiate a pure light cast from the stars. He looked back at the woman and back at the sea, they almost complimented each other. Although unaware of his past, he came to the conclusion that this felt right.

This man, was not me.