Sir Dael - How the Penguin Earnt his Helm

'''HOW THE PENGUIN EARNT HIS HELM Concerning the meeting of Dael with the Gargoyle King'''

'Brave Sir Dael, brave Sir Dael, riding through the wood Brave Sir Dael, brave Sir Dael, do you think he should.. Head for the town, have a few beers... Course he should, course he should, course he should..'

The cheerful song echoed through Dirimloth as the knight called Dael bowled along in his battered chariot, bloody entrails hanging from his armour. It had been a good day, brimful with slaughter, and all in the name of:

'LORD ZIR!!!!'

Orcs, trolls and giants alike trembled at the knight's roar - or so he liked to think. Once in Devardec, Dael charged down Justice Way, screaming, 'NO BRAKES!!' and cackling at the sight of pedestrians falling back at his coming. Fortunately, the guild portcullis was open, as, without slowing, he thundered into the Central Square and screeched to a halt, narrowly missing a group of knights who were peacefully drinking there.

'Ho comrades! I greet you in ZIR'S name!!' With that, he leapt from the chariot, pinched a flagon of ale from an unsuspecting Glorin, and drank heavily. The rest of the group rolled their eyes and said nothing. Anything you said when Dael was in this mood always seemed somewhat of an anti-climax.

Blowing kisses all around, Dael finally perched on a bench and regarded his comrades silently for a moment. 'So... what's happening tonight chaps? Shall we cause havoc in the Singing Sword, or go to Tranos and wind up the warlocks? Find something vaguely female and charm the leggings off it.. or stay in and pray like good paladins?'

'If you could shut your fat face for one moment, Dael, we were discussing the gargoyles.' This came from Glorin, Blueheart's right hand... hobbit. Such was the force of Glorin's personality that even the irrepressible Dael was silenced. Briga, that most diffident and quiet of knights, grinned briefly at Dael before speaking:

'As Blueheart said, there is a fortune's worth of rubies and other gems to be had from the gargoyles' lair. Either we can steal from their hoard or... each creature drops a gem when killed. We could afford new chambers, new armour, and most importantly, enhance the glory of the guild!'

Dael mused, 'Oh yes.. glory of the guild. You know, I always rather fancied myself in pink mithril.'

The company choked as one at the thought of Dael in pink. Oblivious, Dael pulled thoughtfully at his blood-encrusted hair. Finally, the tallest and most elegant of the group arose. He had a wicked glint in his eye, and the sharpest mind in the guild. 'Then let us go, as much for the fullfillment of such a vision as for the guild's glory. But... at first light. I have a pressing engagement with a young woman of rare beauty and even rarer virtue.' With a flourish, he strolled into the night.

'What's Denard got that I haven't? muttered Dael.

'Clean underwear, for a start.'

'Oh shut up.'

At first light, five fearless and legendary fellows rode forth, startling the inhabitants of the city, for they rarely showed their faces before lunchtime. At the head of the column rode Blueheart, deep in conversation with Glorin about a new charter that they were devising for the guild. Behind them, eyes shining with noble fervour, back straight and sword gleaming, rode Briga, murmuring softly to whatever gods might be awake. And bringing up the rear, being chastised by Denard for neglecting to have his chariot cleaned, was Dael. Having had only a hour's sleep, he was in no mood to be lectured, and the wrangling of the two comrades drifted after them, harmonising with the squeak of the chariot's wheels.

In time, they came to the foot of the mountains where Blueheart had seen the gargoyles flying recently. On foot, they set up the rocky inclines, swearing softly as wyverns passed over, dropping... whatever it is that wyverns can't digest... on their helms.

Eventually reaching a platform big enough for them all to rest, they sat, panting in their armour, and Blueheart motioned the party to unsheath their swords. Dael's blade flashed like fire, having been gifted to him by Lord Zir, and this quickly alerted a group of gargoyles. Dropping out of the sky, screeching wild, broken cries, the gargoyles attacked furiously, but on seeing Dael and his god-forged blade, they dropped back, and one flew back into the mountain while the others hovered cautiously.

The knights were confused by this, but then Blueheart groaned loudly.

'You know what they're doing? They've alerted the King.'

The others wondered why Blueheart, afraid of nothing except women who wouldn't buy their own drinks, should groan so.

'He's a complete idiot, their king, and he ALWAYS challenges Zirites to combat.'

Dael brightened. This sounded promising. A gargoyle poked its head over the rock and called out in a broken voice, 'This way, please, this way... can't keep the King waiting, oh no...come along please.' Mystified, the fearless five followed and were eventually led into a huge cavern, full of gargoyles. At the far end crouched a massive black gargoyle...wearing pink mithril over its torso. Dael's eyes gleamed with envy. 'Look at that!' he breathed reverently. He then looked sly for a moment and grinned to himself.

The King cackled when he saw the knights approach, and stood, his wings stretching halfway across the cavern. Dael strode confidently up to him, waggling a cautionary finger.

'Now Sire... I know you probably like a good fight as well as I do, but how about a different challenge? I bet you... that I can beat you into submission with laying one finger on you!'

The gargoyles shrieked with laughter, and the King rolled around the floor, squashing several of his subjects.

'This is toooo goood to miss! Do your worst, puny knight, and pray to your useless god for mercy when I am ripping your lungs out!!' With that he furled his ghastly wings, sat back and watched Dael carefully. And Dael began to talk. The other knights suppressed smirks as he spoke of feats he had achieved in the name of Zir, of women he had seduced, in the name of Zir, of battles he had triumphed in, all in the name of Zir.

'And then, Sire, I drew my sword, thrust it high and charged forth in Zir's... are they all asleep yet?'

Denard grunted, then opened his eyes. 'Uhh...impossible to stay awake.' The comrades grumbled as Dael prodded them into wakefulness and then slowly, slowly, they crept up to the King, undid the glorious pink mithril from his body, and dragged it onto the floor. It was huge, it was gleaming, and it was PINK. Briga glanced around, but all the gargoyles were sleeping peacefully.

'That's worth a fortune!' hissed Dael reverently. 'I can forge my armour and there'll be loads left. Of course, you can dye the rest, if you like.'

'There's only one slight problem then' whispered Blueheart.

'What's that?'

'How the hell do we get it home?'

Never take life too seriously.