Archie Sand Castle

Red Knight

The Red Knight

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With much to risk and nothing to gain, the Red Knight has been sent on a mission through the wild lands to find one thing:

The King's crown.

The Holy Mountain

With a hop and a skip the Knight was away, jumping over pebbles and debris. The road was treacherous with snow to his feet and trees in his way. In the distance, a howling made its mark. A deep growl and a yelp for help. Was it a man, or more? With no time to waste he flew past the trail of steps and reached an outcropping of stone in the middle of the thick pine forest.

A hole in the ground, nowhere bound. A darkness between the rocks. Stepping close the Knight treads on wet stone, visibly drenched with crimson-red blood. He skids but momentarily catches himself before losing his foothold and falling into the hole. With a tumble the Knight plummeted onto the ground. This cavern was deep, and eerily devoid of light. His only senses were touch and hearing, his ears filled with gnaws and the struggles of death.

Story 2

The first to hear the cries of man are struck with fear. A clock ticking, time losing its hold over our world. The dangers of Man are back to haunt.

“Yarn! Yarn, good prices- “ The man cried from his overdressed table. Rugs hung from the roof of his man-made awning. The day’s light shining brightly on expertly-crafted yarns, fabrics, and sheets of something else: The memories of God inscribed upon a particular sheet of silk- written a century ago, forgotten by time itself. The merchant only sees it as coin made out of thread, a luxurious piece hand-crafted by who-knows-who, beautifully tailored and given to him by the death of another. As the least-favorite son of a Sultan’s tailor’s grand-grandson, and the black sheep of his family, this is all he got. From the perspective of the family, it was a cheap throw-away, enough to shut him up and, be God-willing, make him forget about his right to his father’s other belongings.

“Yarn, good yarn! For you lady!” The man’s sweaty hands point towards a lady of well-worn leather and ginger hair.
“For you, good price!” He spoke.
“Oh- no thank you, really.”
“You must, please! Come here.” He argued, iron-willed to make a purchase.
The lady shrugged, sighed, and moved towards the table. In an instant her eyes shone with a tempered-gold, as the silk reflected in her pupils.
“Good choice! Well-made. Cheap.” He offered, with his hand stretched out. He grabbed the fabric before she could speak, and put it in-front of her.
“How much?”
“Cheap. Fifty dollars.” Despite his forced sales-pitch the woman did not even take her eyes off the fabric before responding in a near-instant.
“I’ll take it.”