A Common Knight

Requisitioned a new spade. Again. Soon I’ll be digging with just a stick. That’s my lot now, digging up worm-eaten things or digging a hole to put in things for the worms to eat. A soul needs a good confessor, whether the ear of a trusted comrade or a good barkeep. Lacking both, I’m practicing my letters to keep my head straight. Used to be mocked for being decent with my letters, back in the village. I caved their heads in but good. All the wealthy knights keep playing their chess games up above. Rulav and Ulfar circle each other for a drop of Attalus’s love. He in turn pines for our Lord and Master. But all the toil comes trickling down to us common foot soldiers. It’s all about finding damned relics and mystical baubles now. These quarrelsome knights slaver over the prospect of finding such things like starving hounds. We chase rumors of the comings and goings of magicians and conjurers. I’ve dug up things that could plant a madness in your skull. But I don’t got time for that rot. I just keep digging. I’m the conqueror of mud.