The old story has ended, and a new one is about to begin.
The undying flames of the candles cast warm yellow halos on the faces of the audience.
A Knight: It would be best to move on. Allow Someone to introduce the rules of the Comic Knight Festival.
A Knight: First, there is need of a large space, one big enough for all the participants to gather around.
A Knight: The hall in the suitcase may prove suitable—hm, perhaps Someone ought to ask Vertin's permission, as she is the owner of the suitcase.
An-an Lee: Alright! It sounds like it will be fun!
A Knight: Each participant needs to prepare some jokes … Any kind will do.
A Knight: Then, this little green bird will decide the order of show—simply put, whoever the bird's beak points to will be the next to tell their joke.
A Knight points his gauntlet towards the little bird.
A Knight: Someone has not arranged such a gathering with so many friends in many centuries.
A Knight: It must go over well. Someone must make sure of that.
A Knight: Yet, fashions and fads change with the seasons. How can anyone keep up with the latest in comedic wit?
A Knight: Someone had hoped to acquire new material worthy of the upcoming festival.
An-an Lee: Sir, you're right that fashion has changed. Maybe I can help!
An-an Lee: I think that these days people like to hear ghost stories! You should try telling a joke that involves ghosts.
An-an Lee: Something that might be both scary and funny!
A Knight does not reply. The armor sits motionless with a hand posing under an invisible chin.
APPLe: This APPLe once heard Ms. Titor tell a joke about apples.
APPLe: "Nowadays, you are worthless in IT unless you have a byte."
APPLe: This APPLe still doesn't quite understand the joke. But Ms. Titor sure seemed to enjoy it.
Oliver Fog : Programming, ghost stories, it's all dull—dull, dull, dull.
Oliver Fog : The only thing that makes me smile these days is an upcoming vacation.
Oliver Fog shrugs, staring distantly out the window before returning.
Oliver Fog : Still, out of deepest respect to you, I'll join in on your joke festival.
A Knight: Someone could not help but feel honored.
Their discussion on stories and comedy soon begins to wind down, as the sky of the suitcase fades from sunset into darkness.
An-an Lee: Sir Knight, I have to go. I have a field deployment tomorrow morning.
Oliver Fog : I must leave as well.
A Knight: Fare thee well, friends. Someone hopes that the coming festival will not disappoint.
The young guests shuffle their way out of the room, more content than they'd arrived.
The lights flicker, and the room falls quiet for a time.
A Knight: Mr. APPLe, you're the only one who heard both stories.
A Knight: If you were to compare them, which story did you like more?
APPLe: This APPLe preferred the story in which Sir Roland visited the Queen of the Moors.
A Knight: Why do you think that, sir?
APPLe: It seems you had intended to create a light, humorous, and lively atmosphere for the story of Lady Oder ...
APPLe: But whether you claim it to be the truth or not, its all-too-quick and sappy resolution clearly tells another tale.
A Knight: …
A Knight: What a pity.
A Knight: So, what was the truth of her ending ...
Roland: —No!!!
The Everlasting Sword has failed to pierce Felgert's body in time.
Doing his best to control his trembling hands, he draws his sword out from the crumpled giant's belly, inch by inch.
Then, summoning all his courage, he looks towards the giant's right hand.
The brute's hands are balled in a tight fist, and crimson blood drips down its knuckles.
There is no life stirring within the balled hand, but no sign of Lady Oder either.
Roland: … Oder?
For a moment, he feels some hope rising within him once more. With what strength he has left, he searches for any sign of Oder in the fields around him.
…
The giant has thrown his stone. Now only the wind remains with him standing in the field.
A bird flies up from the edge of the field, carrying Oder's ribbon in its beak, soaring away into the vast blue sky.
The bird is green, with long tail feathers, but its belly has been painted in a hauntingly familiar crimson.
Knight II: My Lord Margrave, we found a letter among Oder's effects.
Knight II: It was addressed to you.
Sir Roland:
If you are reading this letter, then I have reached the end of my journey.
I must confess a secret, for Oliver confided in me that he has always enjoyed
our jokes.
Please, don't be cross, Sir Oliver.
I could not bear to go to my death without revealing a punchline.
Roland, should you ever mention me to anyone,
please make sure there is a fitting ending to my story,
one fit for me—believe me, I'll hear about it.
I wish you good spirits, humor, and happiness, always.
A Knight
A Knight: Sir APPLe as an educated fellow, you must have read the Greeks Tragedies. The greatest of them, the most tragic, came from those who made no mistake but suffered anyways.
A Knight: Someone has always had a soft spot for tragedy. Something about the darkness of a true tragedy speaks to a young knight.
APPLe: Truly? It seems to me that young knights would prefer courtly romances and the tales of dashing knight-errants.
A Knight: You may think so, but in that time, those legends were only just being written, and it was the old knights who appreciated them. Perhaps because it allowed them to reminisce, or perhaps they enjoyed mocking the false endings the minstrels would invent.
A Knight: And they would compare, over grumbles, the rewards written about in those tales with those of their own.
A Knight: It seemed that imaginary monarchs were so often more generous than the real ones.
A Knight: No, it seemed the younger knights and squires preferred tragedy … Perhaps it was a fashion, or something that came upon them because so many had never seen true battle. Perhaps for them, it played to their ...
A Knight: Hm … Today, it might be called … "Teenage angst"?
APPLe: Perhaps it was a longing for meaning, the younger man's foolish wish to die as a hero rather than an old man?
A Knight: Oh, yes, longing. Their eyes said as much.
Without a doubt, many yearned for war.
Minstrels plucked the lire, their tongues as smooth as silk, painting war as a grand spectacle in their songs.
In the stories, blood would weave into a scarlet ribbon. Knights only needed to don it, and gold and glory would rain down upon them.
A Knight: Sir Roland once believed that as well.
A Knight: Until the Battle of Roncevaux Pass.
A Knight: The story of that battle is the last recorded tale of "Roland" in history.
A Knight: Sir Oliver had joined the ranks of the rearguard, standing alongside Sir Roland.
A Knight: He had advised against the stand they made that day … No, I will speak the truth. It was more than that. He was afraid.
A Knight: He had always been more adept as a strategist than a warrior.
A Knight: But the situation in that battle had grown dire, with thousands of enemies surrounding them. The life of their sovereign was hanging in the balance of their action, so he had to take up arms and charge ahead.
A Knight: In the heavy melee, his face was wounded, and he lost his sight.
A Knight: Sir Roland saw that he was injured and fought his way through the Basques to get close to him, intending to offer assistance.
A Knight: But he mistook Sir Roland for an attacking enemy and struck him with his sword.
APPLe: What happened next?
A Knight turns towards the window.
A Knight: Allow Someone to continue in the role of "Sir Roland."
Mr. APPLe adjusts the lighting appropriately.
The story returns again to that day at twilight, as the battle unfolds in a distant land on a narrow pass.
There in that valley, the warrior Maganis comes galloping in on his warhorse, his lance ready.
He charges the lines of Sir Roland's men, riding with such speed that the point of his lance pierces straight and true through shield and hauberk. Through and out the body of a young knight.
Roland: Oliver!!!
Sir Roland scrambles to Sir Oliver's side.
The young man's injuries are severe. His body growing colder and stiffer by the moment.
A Knight: Any knight knows perfectly well that there was no chance of survival from a wound such as this.
A Knight: There were to be no miracles for Sir Oliver. His body was like a shattered clay pot, the flowing water of life pouring out from within.
A Knight: Sir Roland would remember his last words to this very day.
A Knight: He said …
A Knight: "What do you say when you find a … a deer without any eyes?"
A Knight: It was a terrible joke, and yet ... Someone laughed.
APPLe: Was that another one of your adaptations?
A Knight: No, this happened exactly as it was said. Someone was among that proud host of knights that day—every word of it is written indelibly on Someone's soul.
APPLe: My deepest condolences then.
A Knight: Mr. APPLe, you needn't apologize.
A Knight: Sir Oliver's deeds of valor have endured—for him, too, death is far from the end.
A Knight: Someone must state their earnest belief: that there is far greater power in comedy than most imagine.
A Knight: Someone surely believes that the suitcase could have use of more levity in these dark times.
A Knight: So … would you be willing to participate in the next Comic Knight Festival?
A Knight: The festival date will be set on February 29.
A Knight: Someone will eagerly await your reply.
"Humility, honesty, mercy, valor, justice, sacrifice, honor, soul."
"And, of course, a bit of humor."
