The next day Galahad left the town of Furnace to the sounds of clanging hammers and woof of billows as the townsfolk attempted to renew the art of fine steel work that had not flourished here in many years. Galahad was happy to hear the joyful work and left contented as he passed through the gates.

As of on queue, the unkindness of raven circled around him and followed him through the desolate, strip mined lands. By nightfall, all but a few had flown off and Galahad had to stop at the very edge of the depleted fields. Galahad made camp alone with but one raven as a vigilant spy.

Late in the night a fireball streamed through the sky filling the night with an eerie green light. It was as if someone as bolted a viridian arrow over him, and it landed not far away. Once again Galahad readied himself for an encounter because an event like this was always an ill omen.

From the spot of the fallen meteor the sounds of clanging came and the Wizard of Metal appeared at the edge of the camp of Sir Galahad. The wizard had come to parley so Galahad invited him to his camp under the strictures of the “open hand and bound blade.”

The wizard asked Galahad once again to leave the land as he had come and if he did so he would be escorted away under the peaceful banner of the King. He would then not raise arms against Galahad and thus this little war would be avoided, for he told Galahad that he did not like his skill, but it was something that he was wiling to use if he were forced.

Galahad explained that he was bound to this quest as part of personal honor. For he had made a promise to himself that if the portents should ever show themselves that he would free the land from the Dread Dictator. And if he was not true to himself, what kind of knight would he be after all. The wizard had to agree, such faith in himself was worthy and indeed the sign of a true warrior and that he would regret such an insignificant battle such as would soon follow, for he would then have to kill Galahad, and a noble warrior would lie in ruins after.

Galahad agreed, the battle would be futile, but what was he if he did not honor his own promises and his loyalty to the land. But the wizard was not done, he had one last offer. Galahad could join with the Wizard of Metal and the two of them could defeat the Dread Dictator together. Galahad pointed out that he would then be replacing the Majesty of Misery with a Wizard of War, and what real improvement would that be? The wizard would have to be true to his nature, and thus Galahad would have to dedicate his life to opposing the wizard once the King was removed.

Thus the palaver ended and the two agreed to meet the next day on the field of battle five miles further long the knights’ path.

Five miles further along the path of Galahad was the Golgotha of Spirits, a resting place for the ancient Knights before the rule of King Morpheus. Galahad thought this would be a cruel joke, certain the Wizard of Metal would raise the fallen great to battle him. The great and honorable raised to do the bidding of the malignant Wizard of Metal, it was a splendid irony, in many ways.

Indeed, the wizard was already waiting for him, perched on tomb of Sir Neville, the greatest of the former kings knights. Upon seeing the approaching knight the wizard stripped the voluminous black robes off to reveal a set of splendid battle armor and a formidable battle staff, glowing an eerie chromium green.

Galahad dropped his traveling cloak and unsheathed his newly repaired sword, his shining armor glistening in the verdant glow of the wizard even in the half light of day. It was a somber and dreadful site to behold.

The wizard offered Galahad one last reprieve as honor required, but Galahad refused knowing that the might of this sorcerer would come crashing down on him and that there was little hope. And with the final rebuttal the wizard let loose his spell.

The ground trembled, the ancient cairns crumbled, tombs toppled, graves were ripped open, and the great fallen dead emerged on all sides of Galahad to do one more battle. The stink of musty death was all around him and even Galahads strong hope was shaken to the core as he took stock of the situation, grave though it was.

But the wizard had acted honorably so far, conforming to all the ancient forms of parley and chivalry, would he once again act so honorably in the sight of certain victory? Galahad had one last chance, he called for the contest of champions.

All the dead knights stopped their approach and gazed at their temporary master who urged them on to victory. But the dead would not continue, an ancient honor had been called for and their master had to respond in the proper fashion, honor being more powerful than the magic even of a great wizard such as this.

Personal honor now called into question the Wizard of Metal took the role of Champion of King Morpheus and of course Sir Galahad was Peoples Champion by default. The two approached each other to do battle witnessed by the risen dead who would not interfere. A fair match was called for and the dead would see to it that a fair match would be held.

The two began to circle each other, sizing their opponent up. The Wizard was an accomplished warrior, this Galahad could see from his stance and deft movements. Suddenly blows were being exchanged and the ringing of steel sword on iron-clad staff echoed through the Golgotha. More strikes and the more hollow metal thumping of armor was heard.

With each strike and blow Galahads sword and armor began to glow, red and blue. With each exchange the knights effectiveness was more damaging and the wizard was amazed, how did a simple knight rate strong magic? The wizard poured more of his power into his weapon and defenses and soon the two were a mass of glowing light battling for their lives.

Before long the wizard began to tire and with a swift and sure stroke through the wizards neck piece Galahad ran his sword through and through, severing the wizards spine cleanly and killing him instantly. There would be no magic the wizard could utter or sign that could save him; he dropped dead.

The risen dead knelt before the new champion then went to the wizard and removed something from him as they returned to their resting places, each being rebuilt as the dead dropped the pound of flesh of the wizard on the sites.

Galahad was left alone again to continue his journey.

Two days journey later Sir Galahad entered the town of Temperance where the spell of King Morpheus seemed to be heaviest. The folks there would not greet him. They paid no attention to his shining armor, they did not listen to his story of hope, and in fact all thought he was but another phantasm sent by King Morpheus to tease and torment them with a ray of hope only to dash their spirits yet again.

In this town of woe Sir Galahad was drawn to a tavern called the The Fallen Dove. To his eye this was the darkest place within Temperance and Galahad supposed they needed his kind and hopeful words the most. He entered to a dark and cheerless common room and the once beautiful barmaid set a flagon of stale ale before him without a word.

He asked the barmaid why there was no minstrel, why this place was so depressed, even more so than the rest of the town? The barmaid responded that of all the places in town this was from where the Dread Despot chose to extract his Queen of Tears. Ionia was once the pride of the Temperance, a beautiful maiden of joy and laughter, innocent and carefree. She reveled in the day-to-day tasks and took it upon herself to make all who entered happy and light of heart. Then the spell of King Morpheus spread and the fragile happiness Ionia took from her work of spreading good cheer was taken away. She cared so deeply that the fall was so much the greater and her tears would wash the floors they were so great. Thus did the spell effect her the most and thus did the King take her away from here and make her the example of the ideal, sorrowful citizen.

Galahad mused on the fact that Ionia was the home of art and science, the home and foundation of the great hope of the world, and now he knew that it was she had inspired him. This was a piece of the puzzle that was bothering Galahad, not knowing who had sent the vision of hope. Now it all made sense. The barmaid pulled a black cloth off a rendering of the Glad Maiden, and he was instantly smitten, he now had a solid reason for his quest, one that was honorable as well as noble. He would free the land for her, to return her innocence and restore her to her loving family, then Galahad could pursue her for her love.

A shadowy figure in the darkest corner of the tavern giggled as he listened to Galahads notions of grandeur and nobility. He explained that the maiden was purely an illusion, an illusion as sure as the dread apathy that was spread over the land. But illusions can be real is those it affects believe in it. He should know, it was his stock in trade, for he was a wizard of the strongest illusions.

Galahad drew his sword and swung it at the shadowy form in the corner. The shadow did not even attempt to dodge the blow, for the sword passed right through it. Again the wizard laughed at the noble knight, did he think that he could banish an illusion simply by passing a sword through it? No, the wizard was not even there, it was but an illusion of an illusionist. He told Galahad that he could not confront him at this tavern, for the king had made a boon with the Queen of Tears father to never bother him and his place again before he could take his daughter, and he had agreed. So the next battle would have to wait, but there was no reason that the wizard could not get the measure of the man.

With that the illusion of the illusionist stood, and with a blurry bow, took his leave of the questing knight and the disheartened barmaid.

There really was nothing that Galahad could do in Temperance so his sojourn there was but a single night, a single night of restless sleep and dreams of misery and depression. The Kings magic was beginning to work its way into Galahads mind and he knew that he must make haste lest the dread that cloaked the land shroud his thoughts as well.

As Galahad prepared to leave the sad barmaid helped to prepare his provisions and gave him a tatted kerchief. Wrapped within the intricate kerchief was a simple cameo of a woman who bore a resemblance to Ionia. She explain that this was an engraving of her mother when she too was young and glad. However Ionia had never known her mother, for she had died in child birth, but her father had been careful to full Ionia with memories of her mother, all good memories and stories of glad times. Galahad accepted this and promised to return it to Ionia if he had the chance.

Galahad left Temperance and as he crested a hill could see the capitol city of the land in the far distance. The once beauty city of Skye was now a monument to darkness and nightmares and reflected this by being dark and dreary. But the city wall were still at least two days travel through the mighty forest that was truly its best defense.

Later that evening Galahad found a likely camping stop for the evening in an open glade. It seemed that this place was less affected by the malaise of King Morpheus and Galahad deemed it a fit place to rest. He gathered wood and prepared for the night.

After eating on the supplies he brought with him, for he did not trust anything that he may forage to be wholesome or edible, he set his sword to his side and closed his eyes to sleep if he could.

Dawn came suddenly and swiftly. The morning was bright and crisp and Galahad was looking forward to the final leg of his journey to the city of Skye. He policed his camp and buried the remains of two fine rabbits he had snared for dinner. Finally he packed his armor and sword and turned to the east to commence the trek.

There at the other end of the beautiful glade was another knight and his beloved. She was helping him with his armor and it was obvious that the two were in love. She was a happy soul, jesting with the proud knight as they two prepared to continue a journey. He was regal and the epitome of his kind, strong and chivalrous. Both were clad in the colors of Galahad own house, black and red, and the silver accents made them a sight to behold. They were somewhat familiar to Galahad, but he could not place them. They walked right past Galahad with barely any notice.

Galahad asked if they were bound for Skye, but they explained that they were bound for a better city under the new king called Psyche. The new city was a place of great prosperity where anyone could be content and find what they were looking for. Psyche offered the fulfillment of anyones needs should they but ask. They offered their companionship if he wished to join them. It had been a long time since Galahad had walked with anyone for the sake of simple enjoying their companionship. Galahad agreed.

The path before them was green with new growth grass and the trees glistened in ebony glory. The dew of the morning light glinted crimson and the black sparrows chirped off key in joyous refrains. The couple led Galahad along the path, she taking his right hand, the other knight to his left, his hand on Galahads shoulder.

Before long the three entered an expansive meadow. In the center were a set of ancient standing stones. The maiden and knight explained that the circle of stones was the portal to Psyche. With a laugh of delight they all dropped everything and into this ring they entered.

The peace of the bright morning suddenly faded as the three stepped into the ancient circle of stones and was replaced with the dark loathing of the former land as it was under the rule of King Morpheus. The maidens grip on Galahads hand tightened with vise-like pain as the knight forced Galahad to his knees.

The ground erupted in a growth of metal tendrils that wound around the maiden and the knight. As they snaked over their bodies the cruel steel cut their skin, blood flowed from the cuts in horrible amounts. Finally the vines began to wind their way over Galahad. Galahad twisted out of the frozen grips of the two entwined companions.

Galahad backed away and the tendrils flowed and sprouted from all over the circle cutting off all exits. But the two he entered with were not crying out in pain, instead it sounded as though they were enjoying the hideous torture. Their screams were those of a couple in ecstasy, and the cries of bliss just increased as sprouts of metal emerged from their bodies with blooms of internal organs for precious buds. Galahad finally tore his gaze away from the tortured couple as they died in complete, joyous surrender.

Behind Galahad were the Wizard of Wood, Wizard of Metal and a shadowy third figure, all laughing at him. They mocked Galahad with the fact that he thought he could so easily defeat them, that now he would be truly done for. All the while the swiftly growing vines were forming into the shapes of metal warriors, each growing many swords as arms. Only now did Galahad realize that he was unarmored and weaponless.

The metal soldiers began to move in on Galahad and the two largest were in the shapes of the knight and the maiden that taken him to this place. The smell of blood was thick around him now, oddly focusing his attention, sharpening his wits to battle precision. He looked into the face of the dead maiden again and placed the visage, it was Ionia. He looked again upon the countenance of the knight, and he realized it was his own. This could not be. In a moment of confusion, the thorny knight that was him jabbed a steel spike under his ribs in a deadly thrust.

Galahad blinked and the circle was now nothing but mist, broken brambles, and the standing stones. He stood in the cold morning, dark clinging blades of grass adhering to his naked body, many cuts from the brambles trickling blood. On the center stone sat the shadowy figure.

The dream now dissolved and Galahad was back in the what seemed the misty waking world, he took stock in his situation. No armor or swords, not pack, nothing but his wits and bare hands to deal with what had to be the third wizard sent by King Morpheus.

The shadowy figure atop on the alter of the stone circle stood, now not shadowy at all and clad as Galahad, stood naked to the world. He bid Galahad to approach in a voice very familiar, familiar because the voice was his own. Galahad asked if this was real and the other stated that is was a real as it gets, he had died and he was now to bargain for the disposition of his soul.

Galahad could not remember dying and stated so, but as proof his alter-self told him to lay hands on the stone alter, for surely that would be solid and real and proof of reality. But when Galahad laid his hands on the alter they passed right through. The double of Galahad explained it was not the alter that was immaterial it was indeed him that lacked the reality of the world. He, Galahad was now adrift between worlds, and his next actions would dictate the final resting place of his spirit. The other told Galahad to look behind as well, and seven paces behind him was his own dead body.

Still Galahad would not believe. As additional proof the double offered to answer any question for him, for in the realm between worlds all answers were known. This Galahad had learned early in his spiritual training. Galahad asked what had become of Ionia, for she was the nexus of his fall. He still had lingering doubts as to the reality of her and of course if his final quest had been in vain. The double lifted an arm and a scene played out.

The dismal interior of a bed chamber was illuminated before Galahad and within slept the sad form of Ionia. Sudden the Dread King Morpheus burst into the room and began shouting and beating the frail girl. So infuriated was he that she had the opportunity to send out a dream of hope that he pulled a silver dagger and cut her head off. He then dragged her body away and had the chef prepare a feast of her body and the denizens of the castle were all required to partake of her. The scene was dismissed.

Galahad fell to his knees. All the hope he had carried was for not. He would never be able to complete his quest, for there was nothing to complete. The hope of the land was killed and now even Galahad had failed. He was crushed with grief and the folly of his errand. If only he had listened to his brothers, if only he were not swayed so easily by hope, if only he had been faster or stronger or possessed the magic required to save the land. But alas, he was but human and now a failed human.

The double smiled.

Again the double lifted an arm and before Galahad were a simple chalice and a sword of black. The alternate Galahad bid him to choose his worth, for when he selected and then used he chose, it would determine the final realm he would inhabit. The choice was simple, the Chalice of God, sip of it and be sent to Gods side for eternity, or the Sword of Wrath, fall on it and dwell in the pit as he should. His vanity had been so great, dare he to choose the chalice?

It was the cruelest thing Galahad had ever experienced, the ultimate choice of his fate. If he chose to drink from Gods cup, would he be accepted for this last vain choice? If he fell on the sword, would God not then see his contrition and pluck him to his side as his last act had been the ultimate sacrifice for God? Did it even matter what he chose? Galahad did not know.

Drinking from the cup could also show the he accepted the grace and trust of God sending him to his side. Likewise, throwing himself on the sword was an act of suicide and thus a mortal sin and he would indeed be banished to the underworld for all time. He looked up at Galahad who bid him to choose, after all he did not have all day. All day?

Galahad rose having made his decision. Galahad stepped forward and plucked the floating sword from the air. He flipped the dark weapon, placed the pommel to the ground and gripped the tip preparing for the final thrust.

With great forethought and trepidation, he whipped the sword through the air and at the other Galahad, striking him square in the forehead. The world shifted once again.

Before Galahad was the Wizard of Mist bleeding profusely from a wound to the forehead by a three foot long wooden stake. The Chalice hit the ground nothing more that giant acorn cap. The body of Galahad behind him was nothing but a mere pile of leaves. Galahad went over to the Wizard and twisted his neck finishing him off for the defense of the land.

Galahad followed his trail back to his camp and retrieved his accoutrements. He donned his armor and strapped on his sword. He then found a pole of fallen wood, unfurled his banner and affixed it to the staff. To this he pinned the cameo of Ionia, raised the banner and proceeded to the walls of the once bright city of Skye.

As he progressed the woods around him brightened as the spell of King Morpheus was banished. Indeed the birds and animals therein became lively and the forest was alive with long dormant commotion. Above the sky cleared and bright daylight streamed in warming Galahads face. And as the light streamed in it spread and widened encompassing the whole of the forest. Before long the major fauna were escorting Galahad through the forest becoming his raised army. Deer, bears, wildcats and birds of all sort were flocking to his banner.

From deep in the heart of the forest hunters strove to the center of the light. Seeing Galahad instantly renewed their hope and they too gathered around the sign of the knight. The hunter sent off runners and vowed to raise more men for the defense of the land and the freedom of the people. By nightfall Galahad and his army were camped outside the walls of Skye, and there they waited and made bonfires to light the night in a cheery glow.

Throughout the night more hunters and swift scouts arrived and added to the rally around Galahads banner. The spell of hope wrought by the brave knight was spreading and news from far and wide told of the lifting of the malaise of King Morpheus.

Upon the walls of Skye Galahad received reports that the kings dire servants were mounting. The owls spotted dread machines of all sort being mounted. They reported that men of dark countenance were readying blades and sharp arrows to fend off any attack that may be made. It was a sleepless, but glad night for Galahad, for the land was wakening, even in the darkness, from the misery that so long held it.

The morning dawned bright and clear for the first time in a very long while over Skye. The only mar was the dark Castle of Phantasm that stood firmly against the light and was of course King Morpheus’s ultimate stronghold. Sir Galahad assembled seven of the strongest warrior he could and approached the walls of Skye in the ancient form of parlay. They stopped three hundred yards from the gate and waited.

The massive gates of Skye opened out rode four horsemen and a funeral cart. Parlay commenced.

The Dread Dictator bid that Sir Galahad leave the area and rule the surrounding lands as he pleased, but to leave Skye to his own fearful ends. Galahad rejected this. To counter, the kings man offered the body of Ionia as part of the bargain. A black tarp was removed from the funeral cart to reveal the prone form of Ionia encased in glass. Blood from a slash on her throat had stained the cushion on which she laid. Her skin was ashen and she was completely still.

Galahad, shocked that he was indeed too late to save his ray of hope bowed his head and considered the offer for a moment. He then rejected the offer and returned to his original objective, to free the land even though his own hope was gone. He had promised to free the land for the people and was honor bound to do just that. The kings messenger laughed at the bravado of the lone knight and return to defend their stronghold.

Galahads entourage returned to their staging area and Galahad recited the old words of encouragement and battle for his army. With that said he bade the hunters to blow their horns and attack.

Galahad knew that he stood no chance with a traditional attack and siege yet, he did not have the equipment and the manpower to break through the gates. Instead the horns marked an opening volley of arrows and the hunters took to the trees to pick off the enemy as they showed their faces. Meanwhile those without bows worked on a battering ram cut from a very old and straight oak tree.

The enemy tried to shoot arrows, but since the hunter took to the trees and were well camouflaged they were essentially firing blind. As the arrows of the enemy were expended, the birds and animals would find them and give them back to the hunter to use against the enemy. By the end of the first day the enemy was feeling many losses while the army of Galahad was in relatively good shape.

That night more hunters arrived and some trained warriors from several of the towns on the edge of the great forest. Word was indeed spreading of the fight for the land, and all who heard of this joined the rally of Sir Galahad. Work continued on the battering ram all through the night.

The next day the darkness of the city attempted to spread over the forest again. Seeing this Galahad had the hunter blow their horns again and the echoing and triumphant sound push back the dark cloud. Hope was serving in the stead of strong magic and it was working. The army of Galahad was again encouraged and the arrow barrage continued.

By mid-afternoon King Morpheus must have become agitated with the fight and sent a contingent out to attack Galahad frontally. They did not last long to the clever fighters and hunters of the land and soon Galahads army had more equipment for the siege that would eventually have to come.

By nightfall Galahad received word that the King was pacing the parapets of the castle, fretting the isolation forced on him by the defenders of the land. More hope was spread at the news and still more fighters filtered in.

That night the ram was ready for use and bears and hearty stags were harnessed to carry the solid tree. In the dead of night Galahad guided the ram to the gates of the city and began to batter it relentlessly as the hunters provided cover. Many fine animals were lost in the siege but the gate held but barely before Galahad had to call off his first major offensive battle.

The third day saw a return to the tactics of picking off the enemy as they saw them. But unexpected help showed up in the evening in the form of ballista’s from Furnace. Throughout the night Galahad placed the war engines in strategic spots and focused their potential on the gate and wall above the gate, that being the walls weakest point.

At first light Galahad let loose with everything he could from the massive crossbows. The response from King Morpheus was furious. The huge trebuchets behind the wall let loose flaming bails of pitch and tar and began to light the forest on fire. Galahads worst fears were being realized. Without the cover of the forest his people would be exposed to more attacks. The forest burned and Galahad retreated his forces back beyond enemy range.

That night King Morpheus sent out more raiding parties to further diminish the forces of Galahad, and although none of Kings Morpheus’s forces returned, Galahads army was gravely wounded.

The next day dawned cold and dank with black rain fueled by the ash of the burning forest. The Dread Despots spell of misery was taking hold again and Galahad spend that day and night fighting more skirmishes and rallying those he had left to the cause.

Once again the day dawned dark and more of his army was succumbing to the depression of Morpheus, and even Galahad was having a hard time maintaining the hope he once had. And then real hope arrived.

From the west came the sounds of many trumpets and horns. The ground began to rumble and through the forest the Knight of Old returned to free the land. With them they brought and army raised from every village and every town along the way. The sight of the parading knight is their shining armor lifted the malaise. The fluttering banners brought renewed joy as the protectors of the land once again came into action that was their birthright and duty.

The next morning under grim skies the Army of Galahad made one final all out attack. The fighters expended the last of the ballista missiles and then picked up the ram. Many were lost but before ling the gates of Skye fell and the final assault commenced. The knights rode in on powerful chargers and soon the battle for Skye was over, for King Morpheus had no more men to protect his hold.

Galahad claimed the right to confront King Morpheus on his own and no one would disagree or attempt to stop him for all saw his passion for the encounter was so great. After all, he had earned the right to finally dethrone the King, it was his hope and faith that got them all to this point after all. 

The gates to Castle Phantasm were already open as if inviting Galahad in and he did not hesitate to enter. Through the main hall he went and finally into the throne room that he remembered, revered and once loved. It was now lined with black cloth everywhere and the once beautiful statues and paintings we defaced and horrible. The chamber was lit with sooty torches adding to the depression of the place. At the far end was Morpheus and the casket of Ionia as Galahad had seen her the week before.

Galahad released his sword and approached the Dread Dicator who did nothing at all to oppose him. As Galahad drew near Morpheus started to giggle. He explain that Ionia was not dead, but rather sustained by Morpheus’s exquisite malice and hate, and that if he should die, then the sad Queen of Tears would die too. Galahad did not believe him and Morpheus removed the high collar from around his neck. Beneath was a cut from ceratoid to jugular exactly as was on Ionia. The cut was not deep but it was dramatic and he explained that the two were joined, for how else could she be his Queen of Tears otherwise? Still Galahad did not believe.

With that Morpheus unsheathed a trifle of a dagger, not much more that a simple eating knife, and cut the palm of his hand. With that blood welled up under Ionia’s had too. The two were indeed linked, Galahad could not kill one without killing the other.

Furious, Galahad swung his sword and brought it down on the throne of King Morpheus, spreading the sac cloth, charred bones and rotting hides all over the raised dais, but he did not touch the Foul Despot. Morpheus scrambled away from Galahad, his righteous anger hurting him by proximity.

Galahad was at a lose of what to do. He had already lost Ionia once, or thought he had, and to loose her again would be torture. But he could not let the evil king live either, could he? But he had to.

He called for his brothers to come and shackle, gag, and bind Morpheus and take him to the tower that once housed Ionia. He then bade that minstrels should come and play happy tunes and bring him wholesome and good food to eat. Galahad decreed that Morpheus should always have gladness around him, thereby torturing him all his days until he was a changed man and could be trusted or agreed to break the spell over Ionia. Galahad was not above some retribution, and this was fitting.

Eventually, as the gladness of Galahad invaded Morpheus, the spell on Ionia weakened and she would wake will Morpheus would sleep. The cuts healed and soon she was the maiden of gladness once again.

Galahad was right in his belief that Ionia was the one woman for him in all the land and before long the two were wed. But though they were happy and their house was always light and joyous, they were never graced with children. All thought this was one last curse from the dread Morheus.

The Land and Skye cleared and returned to former glory and health. The people were again contented and the harvests were bountiful. In all ways the realm was returning to health. But the land did not have a king.

The people offered to Galahad the throne of the Land, for it was only he who had the faith and courage to finally fight for the good of the Land and the people, but Galahad refused. He was the people champion, not their ruler. And with that the knights formed a counsel to ruler the land until a rightful heir could be found.

Many years later, Morpheus escaped from his dark tower in the castle and no posse was sent to find him. Honestly, the guard had grown weary of watching him and the spell with Ionia so faint that is really did her no harm.

No land was perfect, and with Morpheus loose this was certainly the case. But the flaw can be so small that is not noticed. So tha land lived on and all the people were happy.

To the reader:

This was a great experiment for me. As some of you may know, I am a wannabe writer, but when I write my science fiction it is heavy with dialog. I have been told that I write very good dialog, and knowing that, I wanted to try something different. With this short story, I have used exclusively narrative to tell the story as you may find in a traditional fairy tale. For me this was not easy. So many times I wanted to slip into dialog to help things along, so many times I had to force myself not to.

There was also another reason for this story. That was as an illustration to another members of our little community of what perseverance could bring and that to be rescued may not be a bad thing. That if one has faith in ones self, can look beyond the hardships, and keep an eye on the future, incredible things can be done by the power of your own will. If you want it bad enough, you can make anything happen.

Along the way I have showered the story with many allusions, iconography, parables, and symbology to help it along, some of it on point, some of it as side comments. Like much of my writing, there are deeper messages written within.

This is also the fastest I have ever written anything of this scale (and when I say scale I include the depth of meaning and not just the word count.) It is, as presented, largely unedited and I am sure that the technically minded amongst our readers will find that there are tense problems, word meaning errors, typos and assorted other maladies that to be honest with you I have a hard time correcting myself.

Do I plan on continuing the story of Galahad, Ionia, and King Morpheus? I doubt it. I think this story will stand alone and I will leave it at that. Would I rewrite this as a longer story, with more description and complete dialog? Maybe. There are a lot of things about this story I like and there are elements that I am not happy with and maybe a rewrite could help, but then again, maybe not.

So for now I am going to let it rest. I have a lot of other stories to tell in my more serious writing (Truth Inc., Levis’ New Genes, Sands of Time, Celestial Mechanics For Hire, etc.) that I may not have time to get back to it. On top of that there is my “Tower” series that I want to write, Forces of Reath (a least 4 or 5 volumes, and big ones at that) that took me twenty years to tell and I would bet that it will take me twenty years to write. I have a lot on my plate, we’ll see where it all leads me and if I can get back to it.

OK, so I haven’t been posting lately, so you have to ask why. Well, that is easy, I started a new job and the hours are long and it is not leaving much time to write. Yesterday I was asked to update and revise a piece of software I wrote a couple weeks ago, and today I started a new story. Then I attended a local Barbershop meeting and sang some. It has been a busy couple of days off, so not much in the way of posts.

But the real big thing was starting the new story. It is called Levi’s New Genes and it took a gruesome turn right off the bat that I had not quite anticipated and is now shading the rest of the story. I like it, possible a very dark story when I intended a rather light one. Interesting how things change when you did not intend them to. I have to admit, after reading what I wrote it freaked me out a bit, but then again the terror did spring from my mind, so maybe I am a bit biased.

Call the story a look into intelligence and psychology of the not so intelligent. I will leak more later, but you may be able to guess the further plot from the title. Should be interestig to see where this one take me.