#the squire scribbles

[lonesome-squire]

Cat!Geralt

My unhealthy obsession with the witcher meets my mediocre obsession with wc

[scribbledswans]

they overreactin fr

[orbiorbster]

back on Broadway yet again

[cicadaofthelake]

behold... eepy fish [wip]

[apomaro-mellow]

King and Prince 29

Part 28

“Summer will be upon us soon”, Nancy said while scribbling away on some parchment.

“Mhm, that means a new crop of squires, ready to start their trials”, Eddie was lounging on a chaise, playing with a mess of thread in his hands.

“You know I can’t give Lucas any special treatment. Not because he’s my brother’s friend, nor your paramour’s protege.”

Eddie turned over onto his stomach to look at Nancy sitting at her desk, his eyes sparkling. It wasn’t quite the reaction she had been expecting. He had heard her, right? That she wouldn’t be giving anyone preferential treatment? She never did.

“You think Steve and I could be paramours?”

“....I swear you only hear half the words I say.”

“I heard you loud and clear. I just don’t think Lucas will need a leg up or anything like that. But your thoughts on me and the little prince would be news to me.”

Nancy let out a breath. “I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with you pursuing him.”

“The ‘but’ is so loud you might want to get your intestines checked.”

“But, you should know you’re playing with fire. Even if he’s been unofficially disowned, he’s still a prince. One whose family has wished for our destruction. If this goes to your favor and you are wed, have you thought about what your subjects might say?”

Eddie stopped fiddling with the thread. “I have. And I’ve decided that while I am open to hearing concerns, I’m not giving up on him. Anyone with a problem with that can take it up with me personally.”

“Hm. I thought as much. Just don’t, you know, burn the whole kingdom just for him.”

“Do you really think I’m that far gone?”, Eddie asked.

Nancy thought about how she’d seen Eddie around the training grounds more and more and how that had everything to do with Steve taking Lucas under his wing. And because of that, she deigned not to answer.

-----------------------

“You really think I’ll pass?”, Lucas asked, panting as he put his wooden sword away.

Steve was wiping the sweat off of himself with a cloth. “I think you’re one of the most passionate kids I’ve ever met. You’re on your way to mastering swordplay and archery. You’re going to ace this.”

“So like, are you planning on actually marrying Eddie?”, Lucas asked.

He wasn’t the only one curious. Everyone in the castle was abuzz with this new development and of course, the news began to move from within the walls to outside of it. The gossip traveled and everyone had their own spin on it. The king was courting a young man was what everyone got right. But as to the identity of that man, people couldn’t quite agree.

He was a prince, no a duke, no an earl, no he wasn’t from the aristocracy at all. He was in his thirties, no his twenties, no he was only fifteen because he was around the children of the castle often, no he was, but as a mentor so he had to be at least a few years older. He was very handsome, no he just looked okay, well their immortal king had written so much about his appearance so he must be ethereal. The king had written a few, no many, no an entire tome’s worth of letters courting him.

“Either way, can you imagine it? A royal wedding?”

Jason could hear some woman prattle on with his mother while he wrapped up a few chops in the back.

“I can’t even imagine what that would look like”, his mother replied. “King Edward has never done anything like this.”

“He must truly be in love. And if the rumors are true, he’s a real bonafide prince.”

Jason slammed the meat down onto the counter, jolting them both. “Has anyone figured out which kingdom?”

“Oh, this is all just gossip, Jason”, Mrs. Carver said. “If His Majesty is truly courting with foreign royalty, it would be for the good of our kingdom.”

“Well how do we know it isn’t completely selfish? How do we know he didn’t just snatch someone up?”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Or how about this? If they are a prince? How do we know his intentions are pure?”

“Oh you’re being paranoid”, his mother said placatingly. She muttered something to the lady about him recently breaking things off with a lover and the woman nodded sagely before grabbing her order and leaving.

But it wasn’t as simple as all that to Jason. He alone, knew the truth of what was happening and yet he had to hear misinformation everywhere he went. In his own family shop, on the streets, even in the tavern. The very place he had met Steve one night and while he was trying to drink himself to numbness, he had to listen to a group of guys sitting at a table, trading rumors about Steve’s true identity.

“He’s not what you think he is”, Jason finally spoke up, pushing his drink away.

“Huh?”

“What’s the butcher’s boy going on about?”

“The man our king is trying to tie himself to”, Jason clarified as he stood up from the bar and walked over to their table. “He’s a lying snake.”

“And what do you know about him?”

“I know him too well. Met him right here, even talked to him at this very table. He looked sweet. Until he wasn’t.”

The men scoffed and that riled up Jason enough to raise his voice, garnering the attention of the other patrons. Even the musician in the corner stopped playing. Emboldened, Jason continued.

“His name is Steve. And he would come into town. He would, he would spread his legs and break hearts and damn those he left behind.”

“Ahh, he’s just a spurned lover”, someone commented.

“That’s how it was at first!”, Jason quickly regained control of the conversation. “I thought I was just another person on his trail, to be left behind when he moved to the next town because that’s what he led me to believe. That he was just a traveler. But then he gave me this letter. This letter told me everything and now I know the truth.”

When no one interrupted him, he kept going, telling them of the kingdom that Steve had come from. That he was a Harrington, someone who had actively pushed against their borders and that wasn’t enough for them. People began to leave, not wanting to hear the drunken ravings of a man who had been dumped.

But the seed had already been planted. And the longer this courtship went on without an official decree, the more doubt began to spread among the people. The story turned from their wise king finally giving his heart to someone, to an invasion in the form of a seduction.

“Why else would he be going after our king, huh?”, Jason posed the question to a crowd that gathered outside the butcher shop. “He was literally walking these streets, stringing people along, he could’ve had anyone. But he goes for the most powerful man in the country. Nothing he ever did made sense to me but when I got this-” He brandished the letter, crumpled but still legible.

“This made everything so much more clear. Within those walls”, he pointed to the castle, “Is an imminent danger. Today it’s just him, tomorrow it could be his whole army at our doorstep.”

-------------------------

Eddie was pretty good at keeping his ear to the ground. So he could tell almost immediately when the rumor mill began to turn against him and Steve. He hadn’t wanted to make an official announcement and thus thrust Steve back into the royal spotlight too soon. But what was happening was getting too much to ignore.

He knew of it, even before his council brought it to his attention. He was pacing about in a sitting room, Robin, Nancy, and Jeff there as he figured out how to bring it up to Steve, and how to move forward. Of course, as if summoned, Steve pushed the doors open and stomped in.

“Have you heard what they’re saying about you?!”

“I have”, Eddie said. “As well as what they’re saying about you.”

“It can’t stand. He can’t talk about his king that way. That isn’t why I gave him that letter!”

Eddie came over to Steve, clutching his hands. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you look with the fire of righteousness blazing in your eyes?”

Steve would have been embarrassed to say how fast he melted if it wasn’t for the fact that it came with how warm Eddie’s gaze was on him. It almost made him forget why he had come in here in the first place. 

“As I was s-saying, you can’t let this stand. You can’t keep letting him spread these lies about you.”

“What lies? You came from another country with the sole intent to seduce your way to my throne”, Eddie teased, bringing Steve’s knuckles up to his lips.

“Is that how it happened? Because I remember carting a package and dumping it in the dungeon”, Nancy piped up.

“I remember you handing him off to me with little regard”, Robin added.

Jeff started, “And I seem to recall-”

“Now those are lies and slander that I will not allow”, Eddie said. “I have always treasured you above all, my sweet.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t try and change our story, I was there for it. I will say, I think I’m getting to my favorite part…”

“Hey your faces need to be six inches apart at all times”, Jeff reminded.

“We are such good chaperones”, Robin shook her head.

“Eddie, let me do this for you”, Steve said, taking a step back from him.

Eddie’s brow raised. “Do what?”

“Fight for your honor.”

Part 30

Taglist CLOSED

@thesuninyaface @only-evanescent  @snakeorsquid  @ignoremyworld  @theclichefortunecookie 

@goodolefashionedloverboi  @just-a-tiny-void  @0body0disphoria0  @cinnamon-mushroomabomination  @samsoble 

@jamieweasley13  @y4r3luv  @xtkxkrzrizir  @un-knownperson  @greekgeek24 

@justdrugsformethanks  @potato-of-the-lord  @notaqueenakhaleesi  @swimmingbirdrunningrock  @queenie-ofthe-void 

@nebulainajar  @lil-gremlin-things  @nicememerino  @robininblue  @hornedqueenofhell 

@anne-bennett-cosplayer  @moomkin77  @here4thetrama  @bookworm0690  @autumncrocusandladybug

@lil-gremlin-things @littlebluejane @puppy-steve

[whalesongsblog]

Out of What Crypt they Crawl

Chapter 3: A gift given, a price taken

AO3 link

When they emerged from the woods, it had taken Ominis fifteen hours to speak again. Mira took twenty-four. 

Much to Erasmus Gaunt’s frustration, Noctua scrubbed the two of them down with lemon and salt till their skin was raw. Her shaking fingers wove sticks of cinnamon and Mugwort together, sliding feathers in between knots of string and hanging them over Ominis’s bedroom door, pressing one into Mira’s hands with a firm but wavering command to tuck it beneath her pillow as she slept. 

Ominis had received punishment in several forms in his short eleven years of life. From his father’s cane leaving scars across his back, to his nails being scratched down to the quick as he scrabbled against the cupboard door begging to be let out, he knew the repercussions of upsetting his family and paid them with diminishing protest. 

And yet. 

Mrs. Lakshmi’s soft but firm reprimand for taking her daughter into the woods made him realize he’d take a thousand punishments from his father over the disappointment in her voice. 

It had been a few days before Ominis was allowed to play with Mira again, and he hated the ache in his chest as the loss of her presence made everything just that much darker. But after swearing oaths up and down to Noctua as well as Mira’s parents, they had tentatively allowed the two back at each other’s sides. 

Sweat trickled down her neck as the hot summer sun hung in the blazing sky. Mira’s legs kicked, a soft hum leaving her lips as Ominis pushed the swing, his brows furrowed in thought.“Faster.” 

“Any faster and you’ll fall off. Besides, it’s my turn to have a go anyway.” 

Mira didn’t say anything for a few moments, reluctantly abandoning the swing to allow Ominis onto it. He felt around for the hollow of the tire and settled into it, hot dust kicking around his feet as he pushed off the ground. The old car scrapyard had been abandoned years ago and was rife with potential for make-believe. Miradevi had made it a kingdom, and Ominis her worthy squire; it had been a battleground at one point, a dragon’s lair another time. The strange gleam of the dust-coated, rusting cars in the sun lent a sense of whimsy to the place, and it was bordered off with high fences riddled with holes just perfect for two miscreant children to crawl into. 

“I think..” her chest constricted slightly, the words struggling to crawl out, the consequence of putting her thoughts out there severe to her eight-year-old mind. “I think I saw something in there, while we were running away. I saw something strange, Nissy-” 

“No, you didn’t.” His voice grew sharp. “You didn’t see anything, and you won’t say that ever again, do you understand?”

"No, I did-” Her voice rose, childish stubbornness mingled with offense at his dismissal. But whatever Ominis was going to say got lost in the rattle and scrape of rusted metal as the fraying bits of exposed fence were pushed through. 

“We heard you got into trouble.” 

Miradevi’s head jerked up from the pebble she’d been digging out of the earth with her toe as familiar voices drifted towards her. In the dreary social scene St. Ives bragged, she did have to consider herself immensely lucky to have found the three girls standing before her. 

Making friends with Charlotte, Evie, and Lorrain had been a tentative process marked by exchanging Starbursts on the playground and hesitant playdates, but the initial discomfort slowly melted over time as friendships made in single-digit ages tended to.

Mira had cemented a friendship forged with a swapping of candies and shy scribbles in a notebook with Charlotte Fawley easily enough, scarcely knowing the girl a day before throwing herself into the rather ambitious task of learning sign language. Evie Hornette had followed soon after, all large brown eyes and a soft voice, tentatively asking if she could play with them. 

Lorrain Morgana LeFay was the final piece. She’d stepped in and fallen into place easily as if there had always been a space meant for her at their side- and Ominis had a trio of troublemakers on his hands. 

Their parents all went up to the Manor on the mountain every month- a fact that Miradevi was mildly chagrined by. Her own were never invited, and none of her friends had any answers as to why the Lakshmis were not included in whatever fun playtime activity everybody else’s parents were involved in. 

Her attempts to wrangle answers from Ominis were unsuccessful, since he didn’t seem to know anything either. 

Lorrain crouched in front of her. Mira ducked her gaze again, avoiding the other girl’s evergreen-forest eyes, her strawberry-tinted hair swept into a ponytail and tucked under a baseball cap. 

“You should stop going along with everything he says.” She jerked her chin at Ominis, who protested. “He gets you into far too much trouble.” 

A shy smile curled Mira’s lips. Lorrain was everything she wanted to be. Outspoken, firm, always standing up for herself if Avery had a harsh word to say. 

"My mom said that you two could have died.” Evie chewed on the ends of her soft brown hair, her large eyes darting between Miradevi and Ominis. “That you’re lucky to be alive.”

Charlotte was not often one to step into the conversation. The world was unkind and more than that, it loved to hear its own chatter- scarcely had silence been carved into conversations enough for her to have a word in. Until now. 

She tapped on Evie’s shoulder, scribbling on the notebook perpetually gripped in her small hands before thrusting it into the other girl’s waiting grasp. Evie’s eyes narrowed as she read the cursive, mildly jealous at how neat it was. 

Did she say that in front of you? 

Evie blanched, knowing that the only reason she had that juicy piece of information was because she was eavesdropping. Her parents didn’t breathe a word around her, a thing that drew her to no end of frustration. 

“Sort of,” Evie said little else and left the reprimanding to Lorrain, who had always been the voice of reason. Amid the back and forth between Ominis and Lorra, Charlotte shuffled closer to Mira. 

She smiled as Charlotte wound her pinkie finger in hers, a silent assurance in her eyes. Charlotte heard enough when her parents thought she wasn’t listening. When the Fawley home was silent and the air only punctuated by the low murmur of conversation in the living room, Charlotte listened. 

And nobody understood why the girl had such persistent nightmares. 

___________________________________________

Sixteen years later. 

Two years after the death of Mira’s parents. 

Miradevi threw open the door, not caring about the freezing mist that washed over her, coaxing goosebumps from her skin. Ominis still wore dark glasses, still had his White Cane in hand as he approached the short steps leading up to the squat, red-bricked little home. She’d received a frantic series of barely legible texts from him a week ago and had heard the rumors flying around the town. She didn’t know how to make heads or tails of it, the sheer impossibility of the situation running a riot in her head. It was unheard of for someone’s blindness to simply… be cured. To vanish altogether, for Ominis’s sight to be restored entirely. 

She watched slightly slack-jawed as Ominis gripped the iron railing, his cane instinctively finding the bottom step. 

“...Miradevi?” 

She had never heard him say her name like that. One of his legs was braced on the second step, frozen in the action of taking another. 

“Ominis.” Her voice was hushed. He tilted his head up at her, catching the sound of her voice, finally recognizing it. His shoulders relaxed slightly, a tight moment stretching like a rubber band, poised to snap. 

“I didn’t recognize you.” 

“So you can-” Strangely enough, her voice broke. “Can you-?” 

He took another step, then another, then he was standing before her. A shaky exhale punched out of her as his hand lifted to brush along her jawline. The touch was so familiar, and yet- he was reconciling two different data inputs, his brain scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. 

He didn’t know why his throat closed up. He had no idea why there was a mortifying burn of tears in his eyes, but something he couldn’t name choked him from speaking any further. He’d known Mira’s sounds and scent for two decades of his life, every quirk of hers burned into his bones, seared into each cell of his body. But to see her- 

She was beautiful. Sweeping lashes and soft, wide eyes framed by thick eyebrows, her skin like espresso richness. The slight hook on her nose where he ran his finger along whenever he wanted to soothe her made her features look almost stately against the sleek cut of her jawline and plush lips. 

“This is what you look like?” 

Her knees almost buckled from the reverence in his voice.“Yeah.” Her whisper was soft, her neck tilted back as he examined her, his large hands turning her face this way and that. “I hope I don’t disappoint.” 

Ominis smiled, soft and adoring, not bothering to push down the impossible swell of emotion that diluted the chaos his world fell into. “You look like a ragamuffin. Just as I expected.” 

Something between a broken laugh and a scoff of indignation bubbled out of her as she pulled him into a hug, burying her face against his chest. Despite her being one of the tallest girls in class, he tended to tower over her. Once, she had found it monumentally irritating. 

In recent years, it had twisted into something else.

—

“I don’t know what to say.” Mira’s words were laced with an honesty fostered by years of friendship. She was sitting on the couch, molded into the gap at his side, a fluffy blanket covering their tangle of legs. “I mean, are you happy? Is this even something you wanted?”

Tea and sticks of jasmine incense warded away the chill hanging in the air as Ominis took a careful sip of his Earl Gray. Unfamiliar objects swam hazily in his newly born vision, his mind attempting to assemble the pieces. It was odd to see the sofa he’d spent countless hours lounging on and listening to audiobooks with her, her bedroom, the shelves and books he’d run his hands over, the small kitchen where her mother had patiently taught him to use a knife without hurting himself. 

“I don’t know.” His words were hushed, as if someone might hear the truth and throttle him for it. “I don’t exactly feel like jumping for joy, but if anyone hears me say that, they’ll think I’m insane.”

“I get it. If I woke up tomorrow and suddenly could like, taste colors or something, and have an extra sense I never had before, I’d freak out about it.” Mira caught the way his gaze squinted, the scrunch of his nose. “You want me to close the blinds?” 

“Please.”

She hopped off the sofa, her socked feet pattering around the wooden floors as the sharp pain of light blessedly dimmed as she drew the curtains.

“I started doing a little research on people who gained their vision back after having been blind for a long time, and- would you believe it- one guy straight up got depression, because he was disappointed by what he saw. But consensus is that it's really disorienting.” 

Ominis smiled slightly at her quick words, the rush of her sentences. “Everything I’ve seen so far has been up to my standards. Surpassed them, even.” He accompanied his words with a gentle brush of his thumb against her jawline. 

“Flatterer.” Mira turned away, suddenly achingly aware that he could see her nervous fidgets now. “So, how did it happen? People don’t just magically get their sight back, do they?” 

Ominis’s smile tightened. “With the… condition I had, sometimes it happens. I went to Dr. Davros, don’t worry. He said it’s alright. Once in a blue moon levels of rare, but not unheard of.” 

“Hm.” 

Dr. Davros, Mira maintained, was a bit of a quack. In a town where superstition supported society like rotting wood beams, she would have preferred for a doctor to be a voice of reason. But Davros was much like everyone else at St. Ives. She’d gone for a regular check-up and, as she slipped out of the small clinic, he’d pressed a small cluster of woven sticks and wiry string into her hand, muttering something about protection. 

Ominis laughed softly. “Look at the suspicion on your face, little duck. You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t like that you can see my expressions now,” Mira grumbled, turning slightly away. “It just makes no sense to me. And you seem weirdly chill about it. Do-” her mind jumped to their friends. “Do the other girls know?”

Ominis shrugged slightly, already feeling the weight of significance setting on his shoulders. There was always a price to pay for the miracles given to those who were chosen in the Gaunt family. “Everybody knows. And don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Now, am I helping you with your college applications, or not?” 

—

His father was not making things easy. The realization that Ominis was the one who’d been chosen, that Ominis would bear the weight of serving the Saints, was a realization that he’d taken in typical Gaunt fashion. 

By pushing and pushing and- 

“Which one of these is a knife, and which one is a goddamn spoon, Ominis?” 

Pain cracked across his knuckles as he reached for the objects sitting on the gilded table. He couldn’t identify what his father hit him with- a strange, elongated thing he’d know instantly if he just brushed his fingers over it, but Erasmus Gaunt stood at his back with fire in his eyes. 

Ominis hissed in pain, clenching his hand into a fist. Bruised skin bloomed red as blood spilled between split wounds, and it was the strangest thing in the world to see his own hands.“I don’t know.” The words bit out of him, the pain of humiliation far worse than that which throbs across his fingers. The cutlery sat before him, gilded and intricately carved. He remembered running his hands over the engravings, imagining what they looked like. Somehow, seeing it now, it falls short. 

Another crack, this time across his shoulder blades. Ominis caught himself in the middle of a flinch, and gritted his teeth tight. “The answer isn’t going to jump into my head magically-” 

“This is pathetic. You’ve been given your sight back and you couldn’t be bloody bothered to take advantage of it?” Erasmus’s voice rises, a cacophony against the building pressure of hazy shapes and colors his mind couldn’t make any sense of. 

“I need time.” Ominis screwed his eyes shut, a palm pressed to his forehead. “Please. Please, just stop-” 

His father’s fingers wound in his hair and yanked, a hiss of words like an enraged serpent breathed by his ear. Ominis bared his teeth but didn’t dare say anything more. He knew the tirade that was going to come.

“You have no idea how lucky we are. How lucky you are to have been chosen by the Saints over your brother. To be given this opportunity to prove yourself, to make our lineage proud. Pull yourself together, Ominis. You will need a spine of steel for the duty you will need to fulfil- and you are not getting up from this table until you tell me which one is a fucking knife.” 

Ominis snarled, his hands trembling. “That one.” 

Another sharp crack across his shoulder blades. 

“Correct.” 

—

Taglist! @butternutt613 @rosewoodcafe @heylorrain (MY GWORLS thank you so so much for trusting me with your MCs, and for letting me braindump. Ya'll are so creative and I'm so grateful to have such smarties in my life) @amethystandemma @anominym @rambling-tam @ravenwind-75

[ninhodoanupreto]

Just scribbles from an oc (Marion) who is a bounty hunter, here she is and her faithful squire "chuvisco" (I think it would be something like drizzle for the translation of the name) on another trip.

[holmesillustrations]

Vote for your favourite, the top 9 will proceed in the bracket. Since theyre all different shapes and sizes, make sure to click into the full views!

Paget Eliminations

Other Artist Eliminations

Full captions and details for each illustration below the cut:

All Sidney Paget illustrations are for the Strand Jul 1891 - Dec 1904

"Then he stood before the fire." Scandal in Bohemia Characters: Watson, Holmes

“Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.” Boscombe Valley Characters: Lestrade, Alice Turner, Watson, Holmes

“She went straight to her uncle.” Beryl Coronet Characters: Mr Holder, Mary Holder, Watson

"He burst into convulsive sobbing." Blue Carbuncle Characters: Ryder, Holmes, Watson

"I got one in with my stick." Cardboard Box Characters: Alec Fairbairn, Jim Browner, Mary Browner

"Good heavens! What is the matter?" Reigate Squires Characters: Cunninghams, Watson, Col Hayter, Insp Forrester, Holmes

"Fast asleep in his box." Naval Treaty Characters: Percy Phelps, Commissionaire Tangey

"He scribbled the appointment on his shirt cuff." Hound of the Baskervilles Characters: Dr Mortimer, Holmes, Watson

"Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question." Hound of the Baskervilles Characters: Watson, Laura Lyons

"My first movement, Watson," said he, "must be in the direction of Blackheath." Norwood Builder Characters: Holmes, Watson

"Holmes examined it in his minute way." Black Peter Characters: Hopkins, Holmes, Watson

"Holmes picked up the key and looked at it for an instant." Golden Pince-Nez Characters: Watson, Hopkins, Holmes, Prof. Coram

[lonesome-squire]

Full post of my pfp. i might change it soon to match more of the ~medieval~ vibe this blog is gonna have, but we'll see...

[dearabby1990]

Chapter 35: Best friends day out

You’re finally done drying your hair & add a little makeup just to brighten up your face a bit & spray some of your favorite perfume. Heading downstairs towards the living room you noticed how oddly quiet it is for a house full of guys only to be met with gareth relaxing on the sofa watching Miami vice he notices you & sits up “hey goober the others went out shopping for god knows what you know how Eddie gets when he wants something so I figured I’d stay behind maybe we could have a best buds day beings it’s been awhile since we hung out just us two figured we could grab a bite & hit the record store or something” you smile and plop on the sofa next to him “sounds good fluff & stuff” you giggle & toss him your car keys & you barely let anyone drive your baby it’s a 1961 Chevy bel air not as spiffy as the one you all had for prom but still you cherish it beings it was your moms car putting lots of love & care into it replacing parts with Eddie’s help & she just got a new paint job as a gift from your love he knows how much you love light purple so he went ahead & had jimmy paint it all for you. “Really?! I can drive Paula?! Sweet!!” You laugh and you both take off to the car “man this is so fuckin cool jame!” He starts up the engine & the radio pops on you dig through your cassettes & pull out Billy Squire & show it to him “oh fuck yeah pop it in!” “Alright this is gonna be the best day ever!” My kinda lover comes on & you & gareth are singing & using your bottle of cola as a microphone laughing having a ball “oh I have an idea gare bear watch this” you flip the switch to drop the top and his eyes bulge from his head “no fuckin way this is so bad ass!” You both have the wind in your hair & not a care in the world your glad you got to spend time with gareth you both haven’t had fun like this since middle school. He pulls into the parking lot & you notice he took you to your old fave spot his parents would take you guys here before the end of the camping trips before your parents would pick you up. An old 50’s style malt shop with the best milkshakes & burgers Indiana had to offer waitresses on roller skates 🛼 glide up to your car with a note pad & pen “welcome to Marybeth’s malt shop my name is Dolores I’ll be your server what can I get for y’all this fine afternoon?” She says with a megawatt smile teal dress white apron pink skates blonde hair in a high ponytail chewing gum gareth knows me well enough to where he knows what I always get so he orders for us both “yes can we get 2 bacon cheeseburgers an order of cheese fries & 2 black cows” (old school drink gross but very popular it’s cola & ice cream like a root beer float) “sure hun anything else for you & your lovely lady?” “Oh we’re just best friends but that’s all thanks” she winks at gareth “I’ll be right out with your drinks” she skates off. You start laughing hysterically “WHAT?!” He’s confused as to why you think something is so funny “she was totally checking you out man as soon as you said we’re friends her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree” you start laughing again “bullshit she’s just being nice it’s her job!” You try to calm you laughing for a minute “okay we’ll see about that” he turns to you “what does that mean?” “Ohh you’ll see” she comes skating back with your drinks “here you both go here’s some straws is there anything else I can get you both?” You look at gareth and smirk “actually Dolores my friend here has an extra ticket to guns & roses & needs a date & you’re so beautiful maybe you two can go together hed need your number though” his face is red he looks like he wants to kill you “really?! Yes I’d love that!” She scribbles down her number and hands it to gareth and skates back off into the restaurant “how the fuck & I don’t have an extra ticket to shit Jamie what the hell?!” You pull out an envelope & pass it to him “this was supposed to be a part of your graduation gift but I can see you need it now more then later” he rips it open to pull out two front row center seats to guns & roses & flies across the gears to engulf you into a hug.

You both eat your lunch talking of ideas of what to look for in the record store. “I still can’t believe this shit what a day & it’s only the damn afternoon not only did I get a date but I have tickets to the hottest concert in Hawkins this month thanks to you jame thanks for hanging with me today” he nudges into your shoulder you chuckle “no problem fluff & stuff but let’s hurry I have to get something for Eddie at the record store as part of his graduation gift OH! Before I forget I wanna throw a graduation party for Eddie & hellfire but I want to surprise him you think you guys could help me out?” “You don’t have to tell me twice I’m here for whatever ya need”. Pulling into a parking spot you both bolt into the record store grabbing the new Iron Maiden album for Eddie knowing he’s been wanting it for quite some time. Gareth finding all he was looking for “so what else did you get him for graduation?” You smirk at him “well… I was gonna keep this a complete secret but since I know you’re good at not spilling the beans I’ll tell you since it involves us all.. so I have an account from when mom passed I haven’t touched a red cent at all I have it for future decisions but I wanted to splurge a little so I went ahead & got us all tickets to fly out to Detroit for a few days not only to go on a trip but two concerts I got us all tickets to see Kiss & 6 days after that we go see… METALLICA!!” His eyes bug out of his head “I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!” He’s swinging you around the store almost taking out a whole display you’re cracking up. “I love ya too gare bear but remember secret!” He nods like a mad man “my lips are sealed promise.. oh man this is gonna be so fucking cool!!” You both head to check out it’s almost dinner time you’ll have to head back to start cooking sundown isn’t too far away. Hopping in the car you & gareth had a ball & have to try and make time for all your friends from now on.

[goldenheart-supremacy]

So part two of this

continuing from where the last post left off....

FIRST, Ballister gets a headache because once they sat together to brainstorm about what to do next, he has to stop Ambrosius and Nimona from arguing half the time.

One idea was to send Ambrosius back to infiltrate the institute and find records of possible suspects and Ambrosius shot that down because he said the first thing the director will keep him busy on doing is to find Ballister to arrest him.

They argued when Nimona called him lazy for not wanting to do it.

Nimona's idea was to go around now killing off any known murderers because if they go off on a killing spree to wipe out all murderers, they're bound to kill the Queen murderer too.

Ambrosius shuts this down too because he cannot just fucking condone murder just because the victims are murderers "There's a system!"

"The system sucks! And you suck! Him, for instance..."

"Did you really just go there?!"

Ballister tried getting in between them and at one point gave up and just let them get it out of their system. Meanwhile, he scribbles on a notebook about how many "shots fired" each of them got. Like...

Then break off the brainstorming session for some brain charging in the form of eating whatever food Ballister had stocked. Ambrosius goes to complain to Ballister.

"Bal, are you sure about this one? I mean, you said you didn't know who could have done it and how do you know it's not this thing?"

"Ohohohohoho, I may be MANY THINGS but do not FUCKING CALL ME A THING GOLDENGROIN."

"Well, 'Charming' definitely isn't one of those 'many things' you mentioned..."

"Fucking shove it."

"Point proven. Bal, seriously, she could be a parasite that mind controlled you to stab the queen!"

"Okay, can you guys, like, be cool? And Ambrosius, I didn't stab the Queen, the sword... THAT'S IT, IT WASN'T MY SWORD. I knew it felt off."

Then Ballister recalled that it was the Squire who gave him the sword and that he could be the murderer, or someone working for the mastermind if the Squire was just an underling.

"I knew that homewrecker was sus!" Ambrosius goes off in listing why, but no points are valid. He's just jealous.

So Ballister's like "Babe, I love you but like... We're not married yet?"

And Nimona kinda deadpans, "You thought your sword felt off and didn't bother checking it? Bruh, a whole lot of shit could've been avoided if you just went 'Homie, naw, this ain't my gear."

Ballister had nothing to say to that and just told her to shut up.

[cicadaofthelake]

im just gonna put these here

[high-fantasy-sw]

Concept Doodles Part One

Wherein I dump my Concept Doodles for the High Fantasy Star Wars AU

Costume Lineup for Anakin, featuring stick figures

Notes:

In TPM his padawan robes are supposed to look rather large on him. He's scrawny and undernourished at this point.

In AotC, his leater books are lighter than his robes and his sash is dark blue

His gauntlet represents his mechanical hand and is an enchanted golden glove (Clone Wars 2003 anyone?)

His enchanted Vader armor keeps him alive but he's constantly in pain; he's practically in a living hell

Force Ghost robes are identical to his RotS robes but in light shades now

Attack of the Clones Arena Outfit design for Padme

Attack of the Clones Movie-Poster-Redrawn-for-the-AU WIP (I have one for TPM as well but for some reason it won't render right now)

Vader Helmet Closeup (does i accidentally make him kind of look like Shredder? ...yes. yes i did. i swear it was an accident)

Adult Ahsoka concept sketches (ft modified Lekku and Montrals)

Notes: Now she wears a headpiece with horns; the horns are wrapped in the same braids that frame her face

Ahsoka concept sketch (since reworked but for posterity i may as well include this)

Ahsoka and Rex ft me being out of practice in drawing Clone Faces

Padme and Satine portraits, and a focus on Padme

Luke and Leia portraits ft an outdated Leia design

A New Hope doodles ft an Old Ben and a slightly more updated Leia doodle

Notes: He [Ben] actually hasn't aged that much since RotS. After all, he's only 50 years old (remind me to cross-reference the mini umbrella au that all my star wars stuff falls under). The main changes are the copious amounts of silver in his hair and the sun damage to his face

A case study of the post-Phantom Menace traumas and anxieties of a soon-to-be-knighted Squire Kenobi (and anakin who is already in the tonsure for some reason but don't read too heavily into that; i just wanted to figure out what his padawan robes would look like because this was before i did the lineup)

A silly scribble of Qui-Gon and Mace

[bucketsofmonsters]

To Kill the King - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

find the full book here

“Leo can we please talk about what just happened because that was weird,” Everand pleaded with him.

“That’s Sir Leo to you, my boy.”

It didn’t feel like the most relevant thing at this exact moment, but Leo had never been great at priorities anyways. “Yes of course sir, sorry sir. I just mean, the princess deciding to save us, did that not strike you as odd? Why would she do that, what does she gain from it?”

Leo gave him a patronizing look as he said, “Now I know you’re quite young and… we’ll say inexperienced but trust me, there are many young women who…”

“No, not… sir she was staring at me the whole time.”

Leo threw back his head as he guffawed. “You always know how to make me laugh, Everand. That’s why I keep you around. Now go tend to the horses, I have to figure out where I fit in in this place.”

“But sir I don’t know where the…” Leo walked out of the room before Everand had the chance to finish his sentence. “Where the stables are, not that you care. I’ll find them myself, it’s fine.”

Everand took to wandering the castle, hoping to stumble upon the stables sooner rather than later. After what felt like an hour of aimless walking, Everand realized he was going to have to find someone to ask for help. Amidst his wandering he saw several busy people he couldn’t quite manage to grab the attention of before they blew past him. He was growing frustrated, determined to pull the attention of the next person he crossed paths with as he turned the corner and saw the same mage girl he’d seen earlier, minus the ridiculous hat. She didn’t seem to notice him, focusing instead on scribbling into a notebook she had pushed against the wall. He slowly walked backwards, not particularly wanting to interact with the girl who had been giving him a death stare earlier. As soon as he quietly left her possible line of sight, he spun around to retrace his steps as far away from her as possible. He rushed off, checking behind him, making sure she wasn’t heading this way and, as he looked behind him, he ran directly into something he was certain hadn’t been there before.

A dark-haired girl stood in front of him holding a big basket full of white cloths. She looked a little dazed but luckily didn’t seem too shaken up by Everand walking directly into her.

 “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. You alright?”

She waved his concern aside as best she could with a basket in both hands and responded, “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Then her head cocked to the side for a moment. “Were you not just walking the other way? I’m almost certain I saw you in passing.”

Well, that wasn’t ideal. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m very lost.”

“Oh, I can help you with that. Where are you headed?”

“Uh, the stables ideally. Someone took me and my knight’s horses there when we arrived and I’m supposed to be tending to them.”

“You and your… oh you’re Sir Leo’s squire, aren’t you!”

And there went Everand’s amicable attitude. Of course she got excited as soon as she realized he knew Leo, this is how it always went. Didn’t make it any less irritating though. “The one and only. You were showing me where the stables are?”

“Right of course, apologies. They’re not far from here.”

She gave him a quick rundown of where he needed to go and he headed off immediately, not particularly keen on continuing this conversation any longer. With a rushed, “Thank you” shouted behind him, he hurried off to his destination. 

The girl’s instructions were good and he reached the stables within a few minutes. He felt his annoyance and tension leave his body as he saw Lilypad standing in a stall next to Destrier. He was glad to see they’d been taken care of and he was happier amongst the horses anyways. Leo always told him he was meant to take care of Destrier first but Leo wasn’t around and he had a soft spot for Lilypad. He walked in her stall, giving her some gentle pats along her neck. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had, girl.”

“Do you always talk to your horse?”

Everand nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard someone speak from directly behind him. He whirled around, only to see the young mage sitting on a bale of hay inside Lilypad’s stall, right next to the entrance.

“What are you doing here?” And how did she get here so fast? He couldn’t actually ask her that, he didn’t want her knowing he’d seen her earlier, but she’d been further away from the stables than him and he had come here immediately after seeing her in that hall.

“Looking for you, squire boy,” she said, hopping up to her feet as she did.

“My name’s Everand.”

“I’m sure it is, squire boy.”

He let out an irritated huff but decided not to press it, there were more important things to say. “Why were you looking for me?”

She tilted her head to the side and looked him up and down. He got the distinct impression she could see right into his head and wondered if that was something mages could do. “Why don’t you tell me squire. Why was I looking for you?”

He didn’t have the time nor the patience for this. “I wouldn’t have asked if I knew, mage girl.”

“It’s Mari, actually.”

“Alright, mage girl.” To Everand’s annoyance, she didn’t seem to much care what he called her, or at least not as visibly as Everand did.

“Yeah alright, well I came to find you because you are clearly up to something.”

“The only thing I’m up to is trying to take care of my horse, thank you very much.”

Mari redirected her attention to the aforementioned horse. “She’s beautiful by the way, does she have a name?”

Everand’s voice softened. “She’s called Lilypad.”

Mari laughed to herself, trying and failing to cover it up with a little cough. “Yeah alright, I guess that’s kinda cute. Does she help you commit crimes or do you do those on your own?”

Everand snapped. “For the last time, I just got here and I have no ill intent. I don’t know why you are so convinced I mean harm but I swear to you, I don’t. If you’re so set on bothering someone, go bother Leo. He’s the one who got banished, I’m just here to take care of the horses. I could not care less about you and your stupid little kingdom. You’re magic right? Shouldn’t you be able to test my intentions or read my mind or something instead of poking around in someone else’s business?”

For the first time since they’d started speaking, Mari seemed thrown. She mumbled to herself, barely loud enough for Everand to hear, “I’m not going to waste magic on a nobody like you.”

Everand threw his arms in the air. “If I’m such a nobody, why are you so intent on following me around, huh?”

Mari rolled her eyes again. “Alright, I’ll let you off easy this time, squire. Just know if you do get up to anything you will regret it.”

Everand rubbed his temples. “I’m sure I will. As long as you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful. I’m supposed to go to the squires’ quarters after this, where are they?” He hated asking her for help but he hadn’t seen anyone else in the stables and he didn’t want to have to repeat his little trip around the castle.

“Uhhh, if you go out the backdoor and to the right you’ll see a hedge pathway, it’ll spit you out right at the squires’ quarters. Anyways, just remember I’m watching you. See you around, squire boy.”

Everand muttered to himself, “Unfortunately you probably will.”

She poked her head back through the door and asked, “What was that?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, go away.”

She snorted. “I forgot you talk to your horse, carry on.”

And with that she was gone

. . .

Everand spent as long as he could with Lilypad and Destrier, but eventually he did have to part with them and find his way to his quarters. By the time he left, the sun was just beginning to set and he headed out the backdoor, looking for the hedge pathway Mari had described. He found it pretty quickly, an opening in a massive wall of bushes that led forwards, both sides surrounded by the hedges. He assumed it was some sort of garden he’d be heading through, hoping it was somewhere he was allowed to be. 

He hurried inside, wanting to find his quarters before night fell. The pathway took a right and then another right, which confused him, appearing to loop back on itself. As he continued forwards he found a fork in the path. Wanting to ensure he didn’t double back on himself, he took a left. He’d assumed it would open up to a garden or more open path but the hedges continued to surround him. By the third fork in the path, Everand realized what had happened. The mage hadn’t told him how to get to the squire’s quarters, she’d led him into a maze. Despite her trick, he could find his way out easily enough. He’d only taken about five turns and he definitely remembered them but when he went to return to the fork in the path he’d just travelled through, it was gone. He followed the path back further but the only thing he could find was a single bend to the right that had not been there moments before, no fork in the path to be seen. 

His breathing got heavier as he continued to move through unfamiliar territory that he would’ve sworn up and down did not exist mere minutes prior. As he travelled forwards, not only did the path seem unfamiliar but it gradually got narrower. Not liking the rapidly enclosing space he turned around but as he headed in that direction, the path only continued to get smaller and smaller as he progressed. He could feel the walls bearing in on him. He started to run, wanting to be free of the maze as quickly as possible. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew he had to get out so in a moment of panic he threw himself at one of the walls.

It was far easier to break through than he had anticipated and he found himself barreling through the hedge into a thankfully open pathway and slamming into something solid, or perhaps he should say someone solid, who fell to the ground with a yelp. 

“God this keeps happening, I’m sorry the maze just-” And then he looked up and saw who he ran into. The princess rose slowly from the ground, brushing off her white skirt to try and get rid of the dirt the fall had left on it to mixed success. “I am so sorry, I didn’t realize.”

He went to help her stand up properly but she waved him off and gave him a smile. “You should watch where you’re going.”

“Yes princess, sorry princess.”

“That’s really not necessary. You can call me Lorelai.”

“I can’t-”

“Oh of course you can, I insist. Wait, you’re the new squire, aren’t you? I remember you! I don’t think I caught your name.”

“It’s Everand princ- uh Lorelai. My name is Everand.”

She smiled wistfully to herself. “Everand, I like that. It suits you. You look like an Everand. Well, you look like a lot of things.”

Everand knew he should stop this conversation in its tracks but he couldn’t bring himself to. Her voice was kind and her gaze soft and he just wanted to talk with her forever. “What other things do I look like princess?”

She laughed to herself as he called her princess again but she didn’t correct him. “Well, Everand, you look very angry and very tired, and I would say that you look kind.”

Kind wasn’t one he heard often. He would hazard a guess that she thought many people were kinder than they were. That’s the thing about people with soft gazes and sleepy smiles, they liked to see the best in people. “Well, I hope I don’t disappoint you princess.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you won’t. Now what are you doing all the way in here? You just got here and you’ve already decided to try and best the maze? How brave of you. It can be quite tricky.”

“No, I didn’t mean to. I asked for directions from the mage and she told me to go through here because she was trying to kill me or something, I don’t know.”

A hand flew over the princess’s mouth and it almost sounded like she was fighting back laughter. “You’ve met Mari I see. She can be like that with newcomers, terribly sorry about that. I promise you she meant no real harm, she can just be… mischievous at times. She’ll come around though, I can feel it.”

“Didn’t mean me any harm? The maze tried to eat me!”

She nodded solemnly. “She wouldn’t have known that. She doesn’t believe in the maze. Not really. But don’t worry, I do. I think it’s just not your time to be here yet, Everand. Or maybe it is your time and the maze doesn’t like what that means. Either way, I would stay out of here if I were you. Until something changes.”

He looked around at the surrounding walls nervously. “Trust me, I intend to stay far away from this place. Right now, I’m just worried about getting us out of here.”

The princess laughed again. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I can show you out.”

“But the maze-”

“Trust me, Everand, we’ll be alright. Now where were you headed? If I know where we’re going the maze will take us right there.”

“Uh, I was going to the squire’s quarters?”

She nodded and shut her eyes very tight for a few moments before spinning around and looking at the hedges around her. “Please?” Everand could’ve sworn he heard them shifting around them.

Then the princess grabbed Everand’s hand to lead him along the path and he almost fainted. He knew that of all the things he shouldn’t have been doing, holding the princess’s hand alone in a maze was pretty high on the list. But was he going to pull away from her? Not in a million years.

She led him forwards for barely any time at all, no more than thirty paces and already Everand could see a gap in the hedges that lead out to some sort of small building. He held his breath whilst they slowly approached the exit. As the princess walked through the gap, Everand found himself speeding up, not wanting to be in there for too long while the princess was outside the maze and he was not. Suddenly he was very happy they were holding hands so the maze couldn’t slam shut with him inside. As soon as he exited, he finally let himself breathe, letting out a massive sigh of relief. The princess dropped his hand and turned to him with a proud smile plastered across her face.

“I told you I’d get you out of there!”

He couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, you did. Thank you.”

She dropped his hand and reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his face, one that had probably fallen there when he’d accidentally slammed into her minutes ago. “No Everand, thank you for trusting me. It means more than you know.”

Before Everand got the chance to respond, or maybe just stare at her dumbstruck, the door in front of them flew open and a kid came barreling out of the door, looking like he was barely fifteen. They seemed to be starting squires off younger and younger lately. When he saw who was standing outside of the door, he came to a screeching halt, staring with wide eyes.

The princess leaned down a little so she was closer to his height. “Hello. This is Everand, our new squire. Can you take him inside and introduce him to everyone for me?”

The kid nodded, awestruck, and the princess ruffled his hair. “Thank you so much. I will be seeing you around, Everand the squire.”

For once he didn’t particularly mind being called a squire. “I look forward to it, princess.”

She gave him one last smile and then turned and walked back into the maze. Everand instinctually went to tell her not to, that it was too dangerous, but he stopped himself. She seemed like she knew what she was doing.

[apieters]

For the oc ask game, my oc Barbara is a magical creature pretending to be a human.

Hello @scribbly-bear, Barbara sounds cool--what kind of magical creature is she? Torin Capintyre, by all accounts, is an ordinary man from the lowest ranks of the nobility of the Isles. Yet he always seems to know exactly what his distant cousin Peter, rightful Lord of the Isles, is thinking. Animals feel no fear in his presence, although that one time a bear lowered its head as if in a bow before him was certainly not what Peter expected to see. The early spring that Torin predicted--though he didn't exactly phrase it that way--came to pass, but surely such things are not unknown. There were a few times on their journey that they should have run out of food, but Torin always seemed to make the little bit they had last as long as it needed to, and knew what inns would be friendly and which hostile. And his claims that Lord Peter looks just like his distant and legendary ancestor, Peter Dragonsbane, are surely his fancy, taken from the late Lord Claas's fireside tales. Still, the confidence in which this humble squire of the Isles proclaims his right to rule the Free Kingdom of Heimar is jarring in Peter's mind. The Princes of Heimar will not confirm his election to the kingship just because he claims to speak to the gods...

[seanpultz]

As a film buff, I have such an imagination and somewhere in an alternate timeline or a parallel universe there is a story that could've been a great idea for a movie or you imagined a cast of actors who would look great together on screen. For years, I always imagined what it would be like if Bud Abbott and Lou Costello teaming with Judy Garland would look like. It's such a shame that it never came to fruition. But then again they were under contract to different studios. Judy was under contract to MGM and Abbott and Costello were with Universal Pictures. However MGM signed a three-film contract with Bud and Lou to take advantage of a clause in their Universal contract that allowed them to do one film a year for another company. In reality, Bud and Lou did Rio Rita, Lost in a Harem and Abbott and Costello in Hollywood for MGM. But thanks with a little AI and a little bit of tweaking of my own, I did manage to scribble out a possible story that I thought would be kind of beneficial for both Judy Garland and Bud and Lou. After many different attempts at a plot that would incorporate both Judy and Bud and Lou and taking into consideration the types of film Bud and Lou had done in their careers I thought the one type of film Bud and Lou never got the opportunity to tackle is a medieval set story. So I manage to concoct a story that would've been set in the medieval times. Now I know some of the aspects of the story I'm about to share with you may seem cliché by modern audiences but I'm writing this from the perspective of what 1940's audiences would've found unique at the time.

A Jester's Serenade

Bud Abbott as Bartholomew "Bart" Montague 

Lou Costello as Lancelot "Lance" Finnegan 

Judy Garland as Melody

Basil Rathbone as King Malachi Blackthorn

Dick Foran as Garret

and

Arthur Treacher as Goodheart

Once upon a time, in the kingdom called Veridion, there live two jesters. Bart Montague, a lanky fellow with a mischievous glint in his eye, leaned against the dusty wooden frame of the castle gate, watching the bustle of the town square below. The annual festival of Veridion was in full swing, and the air was thick with the sweet aroma of roasting meats and the laughter of townsfolk. His partner in jest, Lance Finnegan, a shorter, rounder man with a wild mop of hair, approached with a spring in his step that was unusual for someone so often the butt of their own jokes.

"Bart, I've had it with this foolishness," Lance announced, a rare seriousness etched on his jolly face. "I want more from life than making fools laugh at my expense. I want to be a knight!"

Bart couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's earnestness. "A knight, you say?" he responded, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you think you've got what it takes, Lance? You can barely keep your pants from falling down during our act."

Lance's cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and determination. "Look at me, I'm quick on my feet, and I've got a sharp mind. Plus, I've been secretly training with Sir Percival's squire when he thinks no one's watching!"

Bart's laughter subsided into a warm smile. He knew Lance's heart was in the right place, but the idea of his clumsy friend in shining armor was almost too much to handle. "Alright, Lance," he said, slapping him on the back. "If it's a knight you wish to be, then it's a knight you shall become—after we put on the show of our lives tonight!"

The two jesters made their way through the colorful throngs of the festival, their capes fluttering behind them. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets as they headed towards the grand stage where their fate, and perhaps the fate of the kingdom, was about to take an unexpected turn.

As they approached the stage, a commotion caught their attention. Goodheart, an old beggar known for his kindness and gentle spirit, was being harassed by a pair of the King's soldiers. The soldiers, burly men with scornful grins, jeered and poked at him, sending his meager belongings scattering across the ground. Lance's protective instincts flared, and he took a step forward, but Bart held him back with a firm grip.

"Hold on, Lance," he whispered. "Let's not cause a scene before our performance."

Just then, Garret, the Captain of the Guards, emerged from the castle, his expression darkening as he took in the scene. He was a man of honor, and the sight of his men bullying a defenseless old man was not a sight he tolerated. He strode over, his boots echoing through the square.

"What's the meaning of this?" he barked at the soldiers. They snapped to attention, their smiles vanishing.

Goodheart looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "They took my meager coins, sir," he said, his voice trembling.

Garret's gaze shifted to the soldiers, his voice icy. "Collect yourselves and leave this man in peace. And remember," he added, his voice carrying a hint of menace, "a knight's strength is not in his armor, but in his compassion."

The soldiers muttered apologies and slunk away, leaving Goodheart to gather his things. Garret offered the old man a hand, which he gratefully took, and helped him to his feet.

"Thank you, kind sir," Goodheart said, his eyes brimming with gratitude.

Garret nodded, his gaze lingering on Lance for a moment before he turned to address the crowd. "Let this be a lesson to us all," he called out. "Bullies may hide behind their power, but true strength lies in the heart!"

The townsfolk murmured in agreement, and the square fell silent, the only sound the distant strains of music from the festival. Lance felt a strange stirring within him, as if the captain's words had struck a chord that resonated deep within his soul. Perhaps, he thought, there was more to knighthood than he had ever imagined.

King Malachi Blackthorn, once a revered sorcerer, now ruled the kingdom of Veridion with an iron fist, his sharp eyes and severe demeanor casting a shadow over the usually festive air. Despite his disdain for the common folk's revelries, he understood the value of allowing such occasions to take place. It was a strategic move, a way to maintain a semblance of peace while he pursued his own dark ambitions from the confines of his castle. His presence was a stark contrast to the jovial spirit of the festival, yet the people of Veridion knew better than to let his tyrannical rule dampen their spirits. They danced and sang with a fierce defiance, whispering prayers for a hero to rise and free them from his oppressive reign. Little did they know, that hero might just be hidden among the jesters' capes and the jovial laughter of the very festival that served as a beacon of hope amidst the gloom.

The stage lights dimmed, and the townspeople took their seats, eager for the evening's entertainment. The festival's grand finale was about to begin, and Bart and Lance were ready to dazzle the crowd with their well-rehearsed antics. They took their places under the elaborate backdrop. The crowd roared with laughter as Lance attempted to recount the biblical tale of Jonah and the Whale , only to be continuously cut off by Bart's questions. Their chemistry was undeniable, the timing of their jokes impeccable, and the townsfolk were in stitches. The audience erupted into thunderous applause. The two friends took their bows, grinning from ear to ear, basking in the warm glow of approval that washed over them. Yet, as the cheers died down and the curtains closed, Lance couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to life than the fleeting adoration of a jest.

As the applause faded, a new sound began to rise from the festival's periphery—a hauntingly beautiful melody that seemed to weave its way through the very fabric of the night. The crowd's chatter hushed as the ethereal notes grew louder, and all eyes turned to the source: a young woman with a voice that seemed to hold the power of a thousand angels. Melody, a name that suited her as perfectly as the golden locks that fell around her shoulders, stood on a makeshift stage at the edge of the square, her eyes closed as she poured her soul into the song. Her voice, a poignant blend of innocence and wisdom, captivated everyone present, including Bart and Lance, who watched from the shadows of the grand stage's wings. They had never heard anything quite so mesmerizing, and for a moment, even their lifelong friendship was forgotten as they were both drawn to her like moths to a flame. It was a moment of pure magic, one that hinted at destinies intertwining and the possibility of dreams coming true in the most unexpected of ways.

As the final note of Melody's song lingered in the air, the crowd remained eerily silent, until King Blackthorn's cold laughter rang out from his throne-like chair at the royal viewing box. "What sorcery is this?" he sneered, his eyes narrowing on the trembling girl. "This is an outrage, using black magic to manipulate my subjects!"

The soldiers and townspeople, fueled by the king's accusation, turned on Melody with a fervor that matched their earlier mirth. They jeered and booed, hurling eggs and rotten vegetables at the trembling girl. Her eyes, once filled with passionate light, now brimmed with tears of humiliation and pain. Without a second thought, She fled off the stage in tears.

Bart and Lance exchanged a horrified look, the joy of their performance now a distant memory. They couldn't stand idly by while a fellow performer, especially one so gifted and pure, was vilified for her art. With quickened steps, they followed her. "Melody, wait!" Lance called out.

Melody stumbled into the dimly lit tent, her sobs echoing off the canvas walls. The smell of incense and candle wax filled the air, hinting at the various performers who had found refuge within its folds. She collapsed onto a wooden chair, her shoulders heaving with the weight of the world's cruelty. The flap of the tent opened, and in slipped Bart and Lance, their faces etched with concern. "Melody, are you okay?" Bart whispered, as they approached her cautiously.

Her eyes, red and swollen from crying, looked up to meet theirs.

At first, Melody shrank away, expecting more taunts and ridicule. But the genuine concern in Lance's eyes melted the icy grip of fear around her heart. "Please," she choked out, "don't mock me too."

"Mock you?" Lance gaped, his own eyes wide with shock. "We're jesters, not monsters." He offered her a handkerchief, which she took with a trembling hand. "You've got a voice that could charm the stars from the sky," he said gently. "Don't let that sour old man spoil it for you."

Lance stepped closer, his eyes soft with empathy. "Don't cry, Melody," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Here, take this." He pulled out a handkerchief, but in his haste, he didn't realize it was attached to a hidden string of cloth. As he handed it to her, the fabric stretched on and on. Melody's eyes widened, and through her tears, she managed a small, surprised smile. The tension in the tent broke as she watched in amazement as the handkerchief grew longer and longer, until it was clear that it would never end. The jesters' classic gag had inadvertently turned the tide of her sorrow into something lighter. "Whoops," Lance exclaimed, his cheeks reddening as he tried to reel in the runaway fabric. "I guess I'm not just a knight in training," he quipped, "but a magician of sorts too!"

Melody's smile grew, the tears slowing to a halt. "Thank you," she whispered, taking the seemingly endless handkerchief. It was a simple act of kindness, but it was enough to remind her of the joy she found in music, and the friends she had made in the most unlikely of places.

"Your voice, Melody, it's not just music," Bart said, his voice filled with awe. "It's a gift from the heavens above. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Her smile grew, and with newfound courage, she began to sing again, her voice soaring through the tent. The words of the song spoke of dreams and destiny, of hearts that dare to soar despite the cages they are placed in. The melody was a balm to their spirits, and as she sang, the anger and pain in their hearts began to dissipate. The tent, once a place of solace, now resonated with hope and camaraderie. The two jesters listened, transfixed, as the girl's words wove a tapestry of aspirations and the pursuit of happiness.

Lance felt a lump form in his throat, and he glanced over to see that Bart's eyes were glistening with unshed tears. They had spent their lives bringing laughter to others, but in that moment, they were the ones being healed by the power of music. Melody's song was a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, and it was clear to both of them that she was more than just a simple street performer—she was a beacon of hope in a world that desperately needed it. And as the final notes of her ballad faded into the night, the three of them knew that their lives had been irrevocably changed. They had found a new purpose, a quest that went beyond the confines of jests and giggles. They would stand together, united by their shared dreams, and face whatever the future held for them in the kingdom of Veridion.

The power of Melody's song had seeped into Lance's very core, fanning the embers of his dream into a roaring flame. He looked at his friends, their faces aglow with the magic of her music, and knew that he could not let fear or doubt hold him back any longer. "Bart," he said, his voice resolute, "you were right earlier. It's time for us to do more than just entertain. I'm going to become a knight, and with your help, I know I can make a difference in this kingdom."

Bart's smile grew as he nodded in support. "I'll be right there with you, Lance," he said, slapping his friend on the back. "We'll turn your fool's dream into a knight's quest!"

Goodheart, the old beggar they had encountered earlier, peeked into the tent. His eyes widened at the sight of the two jesters, now standing tall with newfound resolve. He had overheard their conversation and knew that he had something valuable to contribute. "Excuse me, young sirs," he coughed politely, his voice raspy from a lifetime of hardship. "If it's knighthood you seek, I may have a word or two of advice for you." His eyes twinkled with the wisdom of ages, hinting at secrets untold.

Goodheart, with a knowing smile, stepped into the tent, his eyes twinkling with the wisdom of the ages. He had once been a squire to a great knight, and his tales of valor and honor had captured the hearts of the town's children for years. Now, he saw in Lance and Bart the same spark that had once burned within him. "Let us begin your training," he declared. Over the next several weeks, the trio met in secret, hidden from the watchful eyes of the castle. The square that had once rung with laughter now echoed with the clang of swords and the clatter of hooves as the two jesters stumbled through their lessons. Lance, ever eager, threw himself into his training with a passion that surprised even himself, while Bart's mischievous streak led to more than a few comical mishaps. Melody watched from the sidelines, her melodious laughter pealing out as Lance tumbled from his horse or Bart's sword swipes went wildly off-target. Despite their initial struggles, Goodheart's patience and guidance began to show results. The men grew stronger, more disciplined, and their camaraderie deepened as they shared in the triumphs and tribulations of their newfound pursuit. Meanwhile, Melody's music continued to be their beacon, inspiring them to reach for greatness beyond the confines of their jester's attire.

Months passed, and under Goodheart's tutelage, Lance and Bart transformed from jesters to skilled warriors. Their friendship with Melody had blossomed into a bond of protection and camaraderie, and Lance, now more than ever, felt the weight of his newfound knightly ambition. His dream was no longer just a whimsical notion; it was a fiery determination that burned in his core. As they strolled through the quiet streets of Veridion one evening, Lance swaggered with newfound confidence, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of trouble.

"Melody," he announced, with the pomp of a royal decree, "henceforth, let it be known that any who wish to harm thee shall have to answer to Sir Lancelot Finnegan!" He playfully swung his wooden practice sword at an invisible foe, causing a few passersby to giggle.

Bart rolled his eyes but couldn't help the proud smile that tugged at his lips. "And what makes you think you can protect her, Sir Lancelot?" he teased.

Melody looked at Lance with a mix of amusement and affection. "Your valor is touching, Sir Lancelot," she said, her voice as sweet as the melodies she sang. "But I fear I am quite capable of handling myself."

Lance's face fell, but only for a moment. "Of course, Lady Melody," he replied with a dramatic bow. "But should you ever need it, my sword and shield are yours to command."

As the moon cast a silvery glow over the quiet streets, Captain Garret's imposing figure emerged from the shadows. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and for a heart-stopping moment, Bart and Lance prepared to defend Melody with their makeshift weapons. But to their surprise, Garret raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. "Fear not," he said, his voice steady. "I am not here to fight, but to offer an opportunity." His eyes, usually stern and assessing, held a glint of curiosity and respect. "I have watched your secret trainings, and I believe you both hold the potential to be more than jesters. If you wish to prove your worth, I can arrange for you to stand before the king and request knighthood." Lance's chest swelled with hope, while Bart's mischievous smirk grew into a genuine smile. They had found an unexpected ally in their quest.

"But why?" Lance asked, unable to keep the skepticism from his voice. "Why would you help us?"

Garret's gaze grew serious. "Because the kingdom needs heroes, not just jesters. And perhaps, with your unique blend of courage and jest, you can be the light that pierces the darkness that has enveloped us for too long." He paused, studying them both. "But know this, the path to knighthood is fraught with danger and deception. Are you ready to walk it?"

The two friends looked at each other, their eyes shining with excitement and trepidation. They had come so far together, and now, the opportunity they had dreamed of was within their grasp. "We are ready," they declared in unison, and with Melody's melodious laughter as their battle cry, they set forth on a journey that would test their friendship, their hearts, and their very souls.

With the protection of her newfound friends, Melody's music took on a new purpose. Her voice, once used to soothe the spirits of the townspeople, now resonated with a call to arms—a gentle yet powerful demand for freedom. The trio strategically performed at the edge of the town square, their acts interwoven with Melody's stirring ballads that whispered of rebellion and the promise of a better tomorrow. Her words became anthems of hope, echoing through the cobblestone streets and seeping into the hearts of the downtrodden. The townsfolk, who had once only dared to dream of a world free from King Blackthorn's tyranny, began to murmur of change. A quiet revolution was brewing, and Melody's songs were its fuel. The air grew thick with anticipation, and even the most cautious among them could feel the tremors of a future where jesters might become knights, and a girl with a heavenly voice could lead them to victory.

King Blackthorn's spies, ever vigilant, soon brought news of the trio's blossoming rebellion to his ears. His face darkened with rage as he listened to the whispers of a jester with a dream, a musician with a message, and a guardian with a conscience. He knew that such unity could threaten the foundations of his power. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a squadron of his most ruthless soldiers to apprehend Melody and bring her before him, her enchanting voice silenced once and for all.

Later that night, the square was alive with laughter and music as Melody's sweet voice filled the air once more. The townsfolk danced and sang along, their spirits soaring higher than the flaming torches that lit the night. Unseen by the revelers, a shadow fell over the festival as King Blackthorn's soldiers, armed and menacing, crept through the alleyways, their eyes searching for the source of the sedition. Just as Melody reached the crescendo of her most rousing ballad, the sound of clashing steel pierced the night. The music faltered, and the dancers froze. The soldiers descended upon the gathering, their faces twisted with malice. In the chaos, Bart and Lance managed to fight alongside Captain Garret, their newfound skills surprisingly effective against the invaders. But it was Melody's voice that truly became their weapon, as she sang a haunting tune that seemed to tug at the very fabric of their hearts. Despite their efforts, the soldiers were too many, and in a heart-wrenching moment, Melody was ripped from their grasp, her cries for help lost in the cacophony of battle. Garret, ever the protector, was captured as well, leaving the two jesters to watch in horror as the village they had sworn to shield went up in flames, a twisted smile on the face of the retreating soldiers. As the inferno raged, Bart and Lance knew that their quest had just become much more than a jest; it was now a battle for the very soul of Veridion.

As the flames of the village square danced in their eyes, Bart and Lance stared in disbelief at the smoldering remains of their shattered dreams. Defeated and desolate, they slumped against the charred stones, their makeshift weapons useless at their sides. Goodheart, his eyes glistening with a mix of pride and sorrow, placed a gnarled hand on Lance's shoulder. "You can't let this be the end, my boy," he said, his voice crackling like the fire that surrounded them. "Melody's light is not yet extinguished, and neither should your spirit be." He turned to Bart, whose shoulders were slumped in despair. "Your hearts are pure, and your friendship unbreakable. Use it as your shield and your sword." The old man's gaze grew steely. "Go, find Melody. Show King Blackthorn that the power of laughter and song cannot be so easily silenced. Prove that jesters can indeed become knights in the most unexpected of battles." With newfound resolve, the two friends nodded, gripping their steel swords given to them by Goodheart firmly. They would not rest until Melody was safe and the tyranny of Veridion was brought to its knees. Together, they vowed to bring joy and justice back to the kingdom, one jest and one battle at a time.

In the cold, stone chamber of King Blackthorn's fortress, Melody stood defiantly, her eyes flashing with the fire of her convictions. The king sneered, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile. "Your little performance was quite enchanting, Melody," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "But it seems your dear Captain Garret had other intentions."

Garret, his hands bound and his expression a mask of fury, glared at the king. "You lie!" he bellowed. "I stand for the people, not for your twisted games!"

Melody's heart was a tumult of emotions—shock, anger, and betrayal all fighting for dominance. Yet, she refused to let the king's words shake her. She knew the man before her was not the honorable knight she had come to admire. Instead, she turned to Garret, her voice strong and clear. "Your actions have spoken louder than any words, Captain," she said. "You've shown us the true meaning of courage and compassion."

The chamber grew tense as Blackthorn leaned back in his throne, his eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure as he watched Garret struggle against his bindings. "Ah, the valor of a traitor," he taunted. "But fear not, my dear Melody. Your dear captain's betrayal is but a small price to pay for the greater good of the kingdom." His smile grew colder, and Melody's heart sank as she realized the depth of the captain's sacrifice. Garret's eyes, filled with pain and regret, met hers briefly before he lunged at the king, his bound hands striking Blackthorn's face with a resounding crack. The guards, their loyalty to their monarch unwavering, descended upon Garret like a pack of wolves, their blows raining down upon him. The sound of flesh meeting metal and bone snapping echoed through the chamber, and Melody's horror grew as she watched the man who had offered her friendship and protection be torn apart before her very eyes.

With a flick of his wrist, King Blackthorn signaled to his guards. "Take him away," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Let him rot in the dungeons until the morrow, when his treachery shall be made an example of." The guards dragged the defeated Garret from the chamber, his eyes never leaving Melody's as he was taken away to face his grim fate.

Turning his attention back to Melody, King Blackthorn's smile grew sinister. "Now, my dear," he said, "you have a choice to make. Use your enchanting voice to sing my praises, to turn the hearts of the people against this ridiculous rebellion, and I shall grant you a life of comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams. Or," he leaned in, his breath foul with the stench of power, "you shall join your traitorous friend in the dungeon, where your sweet melodies will be lost to the world forever."

Melody's voice did not waver as she stared back at the king. "I will never sing for a tyrant," she declared, her eyes shining with the unyielding spirit of a true heroine. The color drained from Blackthorn's face, his fists clenching in rage. "Very well," he spat. "Take her to the dungeons! Let her think on her decision as she shares a cell with the man who foolishly tried to protect her." With a wave of his hand, the guards closed in, their rough hands grabbing her. As she was led away, she could hear Blackthorn's maniacal laughter echoing through the halls of the castle, a chilling reminder of the darkness they faced.

In the bowels of the castle, the dungeon was a stark contrast to the opulence above. The air was thick with the scent of despair, and the walls echoed with the faint whispers of past agonies. Melody was thrown into a cell, the heavy door slamming shut behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine. Her thoughts raced, her mind a whirlwind of fear and determination. Despite the cold, damp embrace of the stone, she felt the warmth of her friends' belief in her, fueling her resolve to stand firm against the king's demands. Meanwhile, Blackthorn plotted in his chambers, his thoughts twisted with rage and cunning. He knew that breaking a spirit like Melody's would not be easy, but he was more than willing to use any means necessary to bend her to his will. As the candles flickered, casting eerie shadows on the wall, he ordered his most feared interrogator to prepare for a long night of 'persuasion'. The sound of his sinister laughter sent a chill through the very stones of the castle, for he knew that the jesters' hearts would soon be tested in the crucible of pain and fear, and he was eager to see if their friendship could truly withstand the fires of adversity.

In the cold, damp dungeon, the only light came from a solitary torch flickering on the wall. Garret and Melody sat on the stone floor, their wrists bound with heavy chains that rattled as they moved. Despite his pain, Garret's eyes searched Melody's face, which was a map of bruises and determination. "I never told you this," he began, his voice low and earnest, "but I was there that night at the festival when you sang. I watched from the shadows, moved by the beauty of your voice and the courage in your eyes. That's when I knew, deep down, that the kingdom needed more than jesters to survive. It needed heroes like you."

Melody looked at him, her own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

"I wanted to," he replied, his voice strained with the effort of speaking through his bruised jaw. "But I didn't want to burden you with the weight of my hope. You had enough to bear already."

Garret's confession filled Melody with a warmth that countered the chill of the dungeon. "You truly believe in me?" she asked, her voice shaking.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "More than anyone, Melody. Your voice has the power to unite and heal. That's why I tried to shield you from this fate."

Melody's eyes searched his, understanding the depth of his sacrifice. "And what of your dreams, Captain?"

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. "My dream is to see you safe, your voice free to change the world."

Their hearts resonating with a bond forged in adversity, they began to sing a duet, their voices intertwining in a poignant melody of love and hope. The song grew in power, filling the dank dungeon with a warmth that seemed to chase away the shadows. As their voices reached a crescendo, their hearts aligned, and in a moment of pure emotion, they kissed, a silent promise to stand together against the tyranny that sought to silence them. The sound of their voices grew stronger, echoing through the castle's corridors like a battle cry, a testament to the enduring strength of friendship and love in the face of darkness. And as their lips parted, they knew that no matter what fate had in store for them, they would face it side by side, their spirits unbroken and their voices unbowed.

Back in the bustling town, Bart and Lance had not wasted a moment after Melody's capture. Their minds raced with plans of rescue and rebellion, their spirits fueled by the memory of her hauntingly beautiful song. With the help of Goodheart and some of the more adventurous townsfolk, they managed to procure a map of the castle's hidden entrances. The journey to the fortress was fraught with danger, but their determination was unshakeable. As they tiptoed through the shadowy corridors of Blackthorn's stronghold, their jesters' instincts served them well, turning potential disasters into comedic escapades. A misstep triggered a trap door, sending Lance plummeting into a pit of straw, only to emerge sneezing and covered in hay. Another close call had them accidentally setting off a cascade of rolling boulders, which they barely dodged with a perfectly timed pratfall. Despite the gravity of their mission, they couldn't help but laugh at their own misfortune, their friendship providing a beacon of light in the gloom. Yet, with each mishap, they grew more adept at navigating the treacherous labyrinth, their bond tightening with every shared look of relief and every whispered strategy.

As they ventured deeper into the castle, the laughter and camaraderie of their earlier escapades fell away, replaced by a solemn silence that hung heavy in the air. They stumbled into a dusty chamber, filled with shelves groaning under the weight of forgotten scrolls and parchments. The light from their makeshift torches danced across the pages, revealing a trove of secrets long hidden from the public eye. With trembling hands, they began to sift through the documents. The discovery they made was so stunning, so utterly unexpected, that it took a moment for the gravity of it to sink in. There, in the dusty annals of the castle, they found the truth: King Blackthorn was not the rightful ruler of Veridion. Goodheart, the very man they had watched being bullied in the town square, was the true heir to the throne. The revelation hit them like a thunderclap, and they stared at each other, their expressions a mix of disbelief and dawning understanding.

20 years ago, Goodheart ruled the kingdom of Veridion with his wife The Queen. By that point, the Queen had died giving birth to a daughter so he had to rule the kingdom alone following the death of The Queen. Eventually, a sorcerer Malachi Blackthorn mounted a treacherous coup and deposed Goodheart. Goodheart believed his daughter to be have been killed in the coup and he is forced to live his life as a beggar. Eventually, they piece together that Melody is Goodheart's long-lost daughter and the rightful heir to the throne.

As the weight of their discovery settled upon them, a soft, familiar cough echoed through the chamber. They whirled around to find Goodheart standing in the doorway, his eyes gleaming with a mix of hope and regret. "I've been watching you two," he said, his voice filled with quiet pride. "You've come so far from the jesters I knew. You've become true heroes of Veridion." Lance and Bart stared at him, their mouths agape, as he continued. "You see, I am not just a simple beggar. I am the rightful king of this land, and Melody," his voice grew hoarse with emotion, "is my daughter. For twenty years, I've lived with the guilt of failing to protect her and my queen. But now, with your help, I can set things right." The revelation shook them to their core, but it also brought a newfound purpose to their mission. They had not just been fighting for a jester's whimsical dream or a musician's voice; they were fighting for the very future of their kingdom. Goodheart's vow to reclaim his throne resonated within them, and together, the trio steeled themselves for the battle ahead. They had to rescue Melody, reveal the truth, and overthrow the tyrant who had stolen their destiny. The fate of Veridion rested in their hands, and as they moved with renewed vigor through the castle's shadowy corridors, their hearts swelled with the promise of redemption and the sweet taste of justice.

Bart and Lance tells Goodheart to gather the townspeople to in an attempt to storm the fortress. Goodheart nodded solemnly, the gravity of their mission etched on his weary face. "I will not fail you," he said, before slipping away into the night to gather the townspeople. With newfound urgency, Bart and Lance continued their clandestine search for Melody and Garret. The castle's labyrinthine corridors seemed to close in around them, each step echoing like a declaration of war. Their hearts pounded in their chests, not just from the exertion of their quest, but from the knowledge that the fate of Veridion rested upon their shoulders. They had to be swift, silent, and precise, like shadows dancing in the moonlight. They had to be more than jesters; they had to be the knights they had always dreamed of becoming.

King Blackthorn's eyes narrowed as he heard the distant murmur of a growing mob, the sound of their fury rushing towards the castle like a tidal wave. His gaze fell upon the map on his desk, the hidden entrances they had discovered earlier now marked with a snarl of rage. "Guards!" he bellowed. "Jesters have infiltrated the fortress, searching for the girl. Find them and silence them permanently!" The castle's alarms sounded, sending soldiers scurrying like ants to protect their malevolent queen. Meanwhile, Goodheart had rallied the townspeople, their faces a mix of anger and hope as they marched towards the castle with makeshift weapons and unshakeable resolve. As the king's grip on the throne grew more precarious, he knew he had to act swiftly. "Sound the battle horns," he ordered. "We shall meet this rebellion with fire and steel." The air grew thick with tension as the clank of armor and the stomping of booted feet echoed through the fortress. Blackthorn knew that the night ahead would be a bloody one, but he had no intention of letting his ill-gotten power slip away without a fight. As the two forces converged—the jesters navigating the treacherous halls and the townspeople charging the castle gates—the fate of Veridion hung in the balance, poised on the edge of a knife that gleamed with the promise of a new dawn or the finality of despair.

The night air was torn apart by the fierce cacophony of battle as the townspeople of Veridion clashed with King Blackthorn's soldiers. Arrows rained down from the castle's ramparts, piercing the darkness with their deadly intent. The ground was slick with the spilled blood of the brave souls who had dared to challenge the tyrant's rule. Flaming torches cast hellish shadows across the faces of the combatants, while the stench of burning oil filled the air as the jesters' cleverly placed traps turned the castle's own defenses against its corrupt ruler. Despite their valor, the tide of battle began to turn in Blackthorn's favor.

Back inside the fortress, the echoes of distant battles grew louder as Bart and Lance navigated the torchlit dungeons. The scent of damp stone and despair was almost palpable, but it was the sight of Melody and Garret, their faces etched with hope and fear, that spurred them on. When they reached the cell, they found the pair leaning against the bars, their eyes glued to the chaos unfolding beyond the castle walls. Lance stepped forward, his voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Melody," he began, "there's something you need to know." She turned to him, her eyes wide with anticipation. "You're not just a street performer," he said. "You're the daughter of the true king of Veridion." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of their implication. Garret's eyes widened in shock, and he fell to one knee before her, his bound hands clasped in a gesture of reverence. "My lady," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "I am unworthy to stand before you."

Melody, stunned by this revelation, searched the faces of her friends for any sign of deceit, but found only earnestness and hope. Her mind raced with the implications of this truth. "But what does this mean?" she whispered. "What do we do now?"

Bart, ever the pragmatist, took charge. "We get you out of here, first," he said, fumbling with the lock. "And then we deal with that madman Blackthorn."

As the lock clicked open, the sound seemed to resonate through the very stones of the castle, a declaration of intent that could not be silenced. The three of them stepped out into the flickering torchlight, the warmth of their friendship and newfound kinship a stark contrast to the cold embrace of their surroundings. They had a battle to win, a throne to claim, and a kingdom to save.

As they sprinted through the dungeon's narrow corridors, the roar of the battle above grew louder, the vibrations of clashing steel and the cries of the townspeople echoing in their ears. Suddenly, a squad of guards rounded the corner, and in the ensuing confusion, Lance stumbled into a side passage, his heart racing. He watched in despair as Bart, Garret, and Melody were swallowed by the shadows, their muffled calls for him fading into the cacophony of the castle's chaos. Alone and afraid, Lance knew he had to find a way out, not just for himself, but for his friends and the future of Veridion. Summoning his courage, he forged ahead, his dream of knighthood now a stark reality. Every step was fraught with danger, every shadow a potential enemy. Yet, the thought of Melody's voice, her song of hope, propelled him forward. He had to believe that together, they could still change the course of the kingdom's destiny.

But as he ventured deeper into the bowels of the fortress, Lance stumbled upon something far more sinister than he could have ever imagined. The air grew colder, the walls adorned with ancient runes that seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy.

Lance's heart skipped a beat as he emerged into a chamber, the air thick with dark magic. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the source of the malicious aura: King Malachi Blackthorn, his eyes glowing with a sickly green light, standing before an ancient tome bound in human skin. The king's twisted smile grew wider as he looked up from his arcane studies and spotted the jester. "Ah, the little mouse has found its way into the lion's den," he sneered, raising a sword that crackled with eldritch energy. "But fear not, for I shall give you the battle you seek, Lance Finnegan. A knight you wish to be, a knight you shall face."

With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle, Blackthorn launched himself at Lance, the blade of his sword slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning. Lance, with nothing but his wits and the steel sword given to him by Goodheart, had no choice but to defend himself. The clang of steel on steel reverberated through the chamber as the two men danced a deadly waltz, their every move a testament to the power of ambition and the lengths one would go to achieve it. The tyrant's blows were swift and precise, each one aimed to cut Lance down, while Lance's own strikes were clumsy yet driven by a fierce determination to protect his friends and claim Melody's birthright.

Their duel was a spectacle of light and shadow, the flaming torches casting dramatic flickers across their sweat-soaked faces. The very air around them seemed to crackle with the tension of their clashing wills. Each parry and thrust brought them closer to the truth of their destinies, the very fabric of Veridion's future hanging in the balance with every strike. And as the battle raged on, it became clear that this was no ordinary fight, but a clash of ideals and dreams, of good against evil, of hope against despair.

Bart, Garret, and Melody emerged from the castle into the chaos of battle, their hearts heavy with the weight of their mission. The townspeople were outmatched and outnumbered, their makeshift weapons no match for the king's seasoned soldiers. Desperation painted the faces of the rebels as the castle's gate creaked under the relentless onslaught. In that moment, Melody's eyes searched the battlefield and fell upon the terrified faces of the townsfolk. Raising her voice, she began to sing once more, a song of unity and valor that seemed to pierce the very night itself. The tune, a melody of hope and defiance soared.

As Melody's powerful voice resonated across the battlefield, the townspeople's spirits soared, bolstering their courage. Garret, standing tall beside her, shouted the revelation to the heavens, "Behold, Melody, daughter of the true King Goodheart, the rightful heir to the throne of Veridion!" The stunned soldiers faltered, their morale wavering as the truth echoed through the night. The crowd's gaze shifted from the fiery battle to the girl who stood with a regal poise that belied her street performer's garb. Goodheart, tears streaming down his face, pushed through the throng, reaching for his lost daughter. The moment their hands touched, a palpable surge of energy rippled through the air, a silent promise of justice and redemption. The townspeople fell to their knees, pledging their allegiance to their rightful ruler. With her father at her side, Melody's song grew stronger, her voice a beacon that cut through the din of war, rallying the weary rebels. Together, they stood as a symbol of hope, a testament to the enduring power of love and truth in the face of tyranny. The tide of battle began to turn, and the walls of the castle trembled with the collective roar of the people's determination to reclaim their stolen destiny.

With Garret's valorous cries joining the fray, the townspeople of Veridion surged forward with renewed vigor, their makeshift weapons now wielded with the strength of a thousand knights. The castle's gates, once a bastion of Blackthorn's tyranny, now trembled with the force of their collective will. As the final barricade fell, the castle's once-mighty defenders dropped their arms, recognizing the true power that had been unleashed.

Above the tumult of the battle, Lance and Blackthorn's duel raged on, a dizzying display of steel and shadow on the castle walls. Their silhouettes danced against the backdrop of the fiery night sky, a macabre ballet of fate. Each blow was a clash of light and dark, echoing the deeper struggle within Lance's soul. His eyes never left the king's, a silent promise of the justice that was to come. On the ground below, Bart, Garret, Goodheart, and Melody watched with bated breath, their hearts wound tight with hope and fear.

In a twist of fate that seemed as if it had been scripted by the gods themselves, Lance saw an opportunity in Blackthorn's overconfident grin. Drawing on his years of jesting experience, he feigned a clumsy misstep, mimicking one of their old comedy routines. The king, caught off guard by the unexpected maneuver, stumbled and lost his footing. His eyes widened in shock as he realized the deadly mistake he had made, and with a final, desperate cry, he plummeted from the castle's ramparts into the abyss below. The ground trembled as his body hit the unforgiving earth, and his malevolent reign over Veridion ended in a moment of poetic justice. Lance stood at the edge, panting and trembling, his sword still raised. He had become the hero he always dreamed of, not through knightly valor, but through the cleverness and wit that had once been the hallmark of his jests. Looking down at the shattered body of the tyrant, Lance felt a strange mix of relief and grief. He had slain a monster, but in doing so, he had also taken a life. The realization weighed heavily on his shoulders, a stark reminder of the gravity of the path he had chosen.

The townsfolk below, witnessing the tyrant's fall, erupted into cheers that echoed through the night, their voices a symphony of liberation. The castle's remaining defenders dropped their weapons, recognizing the futility of their cause. The battlefield transformed into a scene of jubilation as the people of Veridion embraced one another, their laughter and tears mingling in the cool evening air. The kingdom stood on the precipice of a new dawn, one where the chains of fear and oppression would be shattered by the light of hope and freedom.

The four companions, their hearts pounding with the excitement of victory, descended the castle's stairs to be met by an adoring crowd. Goodheart stepped forward, his eyes shining with pride as he addressed the people. "Veridion," he called out, his voice strong and clear, "I present to you, Melody, your true queen!" The townsfolk fell silent, awestruck by the beauty and poise of the girl before them, and then they roared with approval. Melody looked out at her subjects, her eyes filled with the same fiery determination that had fueled her father's reign. "Together," she said, her voice resonant with the power of her lineage, "we will rebuild this kingdom and restore its former glory!"

The crowd's cheers grew louder, a crescendo of hope that seemed to shake the very stars above. The jesters had become heroes, the lost princess had been found, and the dark night of tyranny had been vanquished by the light of their collective spirit. As they walked among the people, basking in their newfound respect and admiration, Lance couldn't help but think of the long road that had led them here, filled with laughter, tears, and the unshakeable bond of friendship. They had faced their fears and conquered them, not with brute strength, but with the power of love, humor, and the unyielding belief in a better tomorrow.

Goodheart, now a beacon of justice, swiftly addressed the cowed soldiers of Blackthorn. "You who have served under a tyrant," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with sorrow, "are no longer knights of Veridion. You will be stripped of your ranks and confined to the very dungeons you once guarded. May your days of darkness lead you to the light of redemption." The soldiers, once feared, now cowed, offered no resistance as they were led away. The square was ablaze with the light of new beginnings, and in its center stood Garret, his heart swelling with love and valor. He knelt before Melody, his eyes brimming with hope. "My lady," he said, his voice trembling, "will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and ruling by my side?" Melody, overwhelmed by the gravity of the moment, placed her hand in his. "Yes," she whispered, her voice carrying the sweetness of a thousand melodies. "I will stand with you, Sir Garret, and together we shall restore Veridion to its former glory." The crowd erupted in cheers, their hearts alight with joy and hope. Goodheart, witnessing this union, turned to the two jesters who had become so much more. "Bart, Lance," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "you have shown the valor of true knights. As a token of my eternal gratitude, I hereby dub thee Sir Lancelot Finnegan and Sir Bartholomew Montague, guardians of the realm and loyal protectors of our future king and queen." The jesters knelt before the man they had once called a beggar, their hearts swelling with pride. They had found a purpose beyond laughter, a destiny they could not have foreseen. As they rose, their capes fell away, replaced with the gleaming armor of knighthood. The kingdom of Veridion had been saved not by might alone, but by the power of friendship, courage, and the unyielding belief in a world where even the smallest voice could change the course of history.

The square transformed into a sea of celebration, the townspeople's cheers reverberating off the castle walls as they hailed the return of their rightful king and the revelation of his heir. Amidst the jovial chaos, Sir Lancelot and Sir Bartholomew emerged, gleaming in their newfound knightly attire. Lance, still unaccustomed to the weight of the armor, took an overly dramatic bow, his legs wobbling beneath him. With a clatter and a thud, he toppled over, sending a ripple of laughter through the crowd.

THE END