the land was devastated and the common folk were coward under the rule of the dreadful King Morpheus.

The skies under the rule of the King were ordered to remain gray and rainy, the sun never rose and the magnificence of sunsets not seen at all. The passing into day was just a gradual lightening of the gray clouds and then back to darkness the land would fall. Worse than that, the nights, were the realization of dreams. The dreams were an awful reflection of the dark days haunted by the creatures of nightmares and useless feeling.

King Morpheus reveled in the despair and loathing he created. He strolled the sullen streets, feasting on the misery, dining on the dread, consuming the contempt around him as if perusing brutal buffet. Those who did view his hideous countenance then knew the face of uselessness, for it was their Kings’.

From the village of Temperance the saddest maiden, Ionia, was plucked as an example to all of what the ideal citizen should be. She was crowned Queen of Tears, locked in Castle Phantasm, and brought out and displayed to anyone who would dare to have any hope at all, thus crushing their spirits and were sent back to live a life of useless feelings.

But one evening, after a particularly dreadful day where the rain would not stop, gray, because it was mixed with the soot of thousands of chimneys, Morpheus drank of the misery a little too deeply, becoming heady with the dire feeling. He sank into his throne of sac cloth, burnt bone and rotting cattle hides and let slip his hold on the land ever so slightly as his own tormented sleep washed over him. For just a moment the dark magic passed.

The night sky cleared above Castle Phantasm for a moment and the light of a clear star pierced the window of the tower where Iona slept. The crystal light illuminated her dreaming face and her nightmare of sorrow turned to a vision of hope. The vision changed from being chained and helpless to one of being a soaring dove escaping from the land of woe that bound her, searching for the savior that would come and break the hold of the evil Morpheus on the land. Shortly the clouds resumed their ever present curtain over the realm and the dream failed as the dove was shot down into a bog of tar.

But the dream was strong and echoed over the land looking for the one that would receive it and embrace it. The dream visited thousands of people as it rippled over the realm, none of whom would accept that there was any hope and all despaired as the bird was swallowed by the greedy ground. And still the vision spread.

At the edge of the land, beyond the borders of the realm of King Morpheus, in the dead wastes where no one ever passed beyond, the remains of the loyal knights scratched out a living in a land of natural despair, only mildly affected by the spell of King Morpheus. Their lives we difficult and austere, but here they waited for news of the passing of the King or for an opportune time to return and reclaim the land for the people, but none dared to enter the land while the spell of despair was still upon it lest they fall prey to that very spell.

In the dead of night, one of these knights had a vision, a vision of a soaring white swan breaking free of the shackles of the evil king. He awoke in a startled relief, relief because the long wait was not over and he could take action. This was the sign he was waiting for, the sign that there was some hope somewhere in the land and if there was a single ray of hope, there was a chance to free the land to the people once more.

The knight, Sir Galahad, told the vision to his brothers but they all laughed and scorned him for his bravado. After all, would not all of them have had the same vision if it were a true ray of hope? None of the others could recall any dream from the night before, and all agreed that is a vision of hope would be remembered.

But Galahad knew that the vision was true and would not be dissuaded, so he packed up his armor, arms, paraphernalia, and journal and headed out in search of the swan that would be the salvation of the land and its people.

The dead wastes were slow in passing, treacherous and arduous. Many times did Galahad have to pull himself out of a bog. But all this did not dishearten him, for he was hanging onto the vision of the swan of his dreams. And though he had not met this swan, he knew as sure as he had a soul, that she was the key to his happiness and the salvation of the land.

As Galahad crested the edge of the wastes, finally entering the cursed land, he was spied by an unkindness of ravens who stormed into the dark sky and circled him. They circled him as if to draw some attention to him, to mark his spot. But after a few hours they abandoned their game and went to rest on the withered trees of the dark forest. But still the obsidian eyes of the ravens watched Galahad as he strove forward.

In the far-flung village of Draub, Galahad found his first night of relative comfort since starting his journey. He told the villagers of the vision he’d had and the folk were heartened knowing that one of the Knights of Old was once again acting on their behalf. Understanding the Knights’ quest they put him in the best room they had, that of the Mayor himself and fed him a feast of one whole chicken and some herbed potatoes. Galahad accepted these tokens of kindness with all the humility he could muster, for though it was the best they could offer it was meager in the extreme.

While Galahad was dreaming again of the Swan, the window to his bedchamber shattered and in flew three of the ravens that were watching earlier that day. Galahad, awake, unsheathed his sword and confronted the fowl birds.

One by one the ravens turned into caricatures of three wizards. The first one had arms like a tree, the next was clanky like some smithy had used scrap metal to make it, and the third was but a wisp in the shape of a man.

The wizards decreed that on the behest of the King, that Sir Galahad was to turn back and leave all hope behind of ever reclaiming the land. They explained that the swan of his dreams was in fact a fallen dove and now nothing more than a squab for his Majesty’s’ dinner plate and that has been the fate of the fallen ray of hope. Indeed, the King of Woe has consumed the hope that Galahad was searching for and thus he should turn back now or face the full might of the Ruler of Ruin.

Heartened, Galahad roared with laughter, for if this were the case, why would the Despot of Dispair even bother to challenge him, why not just let him run his futile course and thus crush his hope completely. This was a new ray of hope and Galahad waved his sword and banished the wizards from his sight, uplifted that the Majesty of Malady was concerning himself with one lone knight.

The day dawned brighter than usual over the little town of Draub. Galahad was treated to a meal of bland corn cakes and goats milk and the villagers all wished him the best of luck on his mission. This village now had a reason to hope, despite the wishes of King Morpheus.

Once again the ravens swarmed in the skies as Galahad made his way to the heart of the kingdom, and once again after a few hours the unkindness took to the trees to witness his progress.

As Galahad reached the center of a thick, unnamed woods, the trees began to bustle and move in odd ways. The very shrubs scurried from sight and all the fauna of the forest was moving in a swirl of action. On the road before Galahad was the Wizard of Wood.

The Wizard bid that Galahad turn back now or face the might of a twisted land. And with that shambling masses of foliage moved in around Galahad in the shapes of the most hideous of creatures. Galahad refused and unfettered his sword, preparing to face these monstrosities of nature.

The shrub-beasts moved in and whipped Galahad with their vine tendrils, slashing at the exposed skin they could reach. They tried to tangle him but Galahad was to fast and proficient with his sword to be caught but such devices. As he slashed his way through the multitude of animated bushes, great, ancient oak trees moved in and took great swipes at him with mammoth oaken arms, knocking Galahad around as if he were but a toy. The Wizard of Wood laughed now seeing the trees were having their way with the battered knight.

But Galahad was cleaver and knew he loved the land. Knowing that his sword was now useless against these trees, and would become dull is he kept hacking at them, he took a different tactic. He got up on one knee and took his sword and plowed and circular furrow around him. A circle, and ancient symbol of protection, and in this case a furrow showing he wanted to tend the land. The trees would not cross the circle drawn with the love of the land that Galahad possessed.

Seeing this, the hostile trees began to pelt Galahad with many acorns, whipped from long arms, and moving at the speed of bullets. One such acorn struck Galahad square in the forehead and bloodied him badly. The crimson stained seed fell to his feet, and he fell on top of it.

Again, the wizard rejoiced in the fall of the knight, for even his ancient magic could not protect him completely. It would not be long before a speeding acorn found a truly tender spot and did the failing knight in. But he could not see everything that Galahad was doing.

Galahad, on the ground grasped the damaging acorn and worked his fingers into the ground, digging a small hole. He popped the seed into the hole and with a silent prayer covered it up again. He reached around and freed his water skin, watering the newly planted acorn, again with a reverent prayer for the love of the land. The magic would not take. He needed to give something back to the land and so poured the last of his wine on the little mound.

With a ripple of the deep and ancient magic, the acorn sprung to life and the ground calmed. The forest was lightened and the embattle oaks were stilled in place in the glade of the battle. Sunlight pierced the veil of misery and wholesome magic infused the area around Galahad for many miles. The Wizard of Wood was thus defeated and since he was within the wholesome magic, was transformed into a weeping willow tree, dark, but inviting to travelers who may one day pass this way.

Galahad took rest in the hopeful glade as sparrows and all manner of small woodland creatures looked on. This forest would now have some hope as well in its’ heart.

A town called Furnace was next in the path of Galahad. This was a province known far and wide for its excellent steel, and indeed even the buildings were constructed of the solid material. For all of its’ austerity, it had once been a gleaming city, but now it was tarnished and rusted reflecting the apathy of the citizenry.

Galahad had a bad feeling about the town, but could not avoid it, for to do so would mean he would have to navigate many days around the strip mines that encompassed the town for miles on end. Beside, he was too tired from the last encounter, and if he could find people to help him on his quest as the fair folk of Draub had, he would at least be better off tomorrow.

Galahad approached the gates and the guards noting his gleaming and enameled armor opened the portal for him so they could see the beautiful craftsmanship. It did not take long before the whole town was gathered around to see the beautiful armor and reminiscing of the days of old when they had indeed work such magic of metal.

From deep in the crowd and old man approached. He inspected the armor of the knight and claimed that he had been the one to manufacture it. To prove it he pointed out his stamp and the assembled were duly impressed, for they thought for years that the old man was just a crank, but now that had changed and he was treated with renewed honor. The old man invited Galahad to stay with him for a night so they may talk and repair the dents in the armor that the evil forest had inflicted. Galahad was thankful for the skillful service and accepted the offer.

As they talked the old man recognized the mark of the Wizard of Metal and grew concerned. Banging out one particularly nasty dent he explained to Galahad that the Wizard of Metal was not just a worker of metals in his magic, but indeed a skilled master of war and that his craft was put to use in furtherance of the art of war. Great battle devices were said to be instantly conjured by the wizard and even the swords of the fallen could be made to come to life at his behest. Against this, if indeed this were a preview of what awaited Galahad, he did not know where to start or even how to approach such long odds. The old man had to agree.

As Galahad rested for the night the old man had an idea, if he were to help the knight, he would have to give him something to defeat metal, and took to his shelf of ancient tombs. He knew that heat was metals immediate enemy if it could be conjured in sufficient quantities and decided to make a sacrifice on the knights behalf.

From deep within a chest he pulled out two stones that were the secrets to his craft. One was a Fire Opal and the other an Aquamarine. Both stones were enchanted to produce there representations effects, fire and ice. To Galahads’ armor the old man affixed the Aquamarine and preformed a rite to infuse the properties to the armor. He then did likewise to the sword of Galahad, embedding the Fire Opal. Now Galahad possessed the essence of what had created his superb armor, and there was no other armor or sword like it in the land.

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.