#and every single one is a tall inhuman awkward ass dude

[smol-dargon]

A sneak peek on something I literally started working on half an hour ago!

Knight errant: (noun) a medievil knight wandering in search of chivalrous adventures

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The last thing he remembered was finding out the hard way exactly how painful an arrow to the eye was. The very next thing he became aware of was his armor clanking unceremoniously onto a slab of rock with him inside. Strangely, his eye didn't hurt anymore. He understood why almost immediately; his field of vision was half as wide as it used to be, the left side a complete void. Why was that socket itchy? He cautiously reached up to his left eye and felt nothing at first. But then, a familiar sticky feeling. He grabbed and pulled the entirety of a cobweb from his eyesocket... oh, that felt gross. But at least the itchy feeling was gone. He finally managed to bring his surroundings into focus. The world almost looked flat, as if everything were the same distance away. This was going to take some getting used to.

He wasn't completely sure what was happening, but he knew he could sit up, hop off the slab, and get to his feet. Right away, he recognized this structure. He was inside a crypt. Jumbled memories started to fall into place. He had died, it seemed. But then, if he was dead, how was he up and about now?

"It has risen again!", came a voice from his left.

He had to turn quite a bit to actually see the source; a gargoyle set into the wall had sprung to life, its stony visage contorting into an expression of surprise.

"Sir Daniel Fortesque, see? The Hero of Gallowmere who fell at the first charge! The fog of war and the shrouds of time conspired to turn the arrow fodder into the savior of the day..."

It glared directly at him, yellow eyes blazing with disgust.

"But we knows better."

He couldn't help but feel offended at this. Sure, he might not have been the best choice for captain, but he had at least led the charge with genuine courage in his heart! What did this pitiful little carving know of bravery?

"I'll show you!"

Or at least, that's what he meant to say. What actually came out was a barely recognizable mockery of his voice. There was practically no enunciation, and his once melodic timbre was now more of a ghastly moan. Just how long had he been dead?

"Let it alone!", came a voice from his right.

Another small gargoyle had piped up, evidently unimpressed by its compatriot's venomous words.

"Fate has given it a second chance! A chance to forget the ignoble truth. A chance to defeat Zarok and live up to the legend."

It squinted in a crude approximation of a friendly smile.

"We hopes it does well."

At this, both of them slumped, returning to their immobile states. Between the cryptic words of the gargoyles, the revelation that Zarok was apparently still alive, and the unsettling feeling that he had changed, he was reeling. He made his way down the hall, grabbing the conveniently located broadsword and star rune, and around the corner. A stream of water ran across the path, an odd design choice for a crypt. But he stopped and warily cast his gaze down into the clear water.

Oh, what a sorry sight he was!

He was nothing but bones! There wasn't a scrap of hair or flesh to be found in his reflection. In his periphery, he could see every bone in his hand and arm flex with a slight rattle and an unsettling freedom of movement. But what really upset him was the fact that his lower jaw was completely missing. This explained why he was so difficult to understand now, at least.

Ever the optimist, he decided to simply get on with it. Moping wouldn't bring back his good looks or his proper speech. Besides, a true knight wouldn't let a little death stand in the way of heroics. He shoved all those saddening thoughts of his living life to the back of his mind, hoping they'd fall out of the hole the arrow had left in his skull.

He checked himself over a little more scientifically. His armor was largely still in place, minus his gauntlets and helm. It felt unbalanced on him without the weight of muscle and skin, and it took him a few moments to get the hang of actually using his sword again. He did also find a shield and some throwing daggers. But he supposed this was as prepared as he was ever going to be. There wasn't anything else in the crypt that could help him.

He placed the rune in its pedestal, opened the gate to the outside world, and stepped out into the darkness.