Sirius: The Fallen Knight

A solemn man, his stature is sturdy, strong even. Long, naturally straight yet tangled hair, from the harshness of elements and lack of maintenance, fall just past his shoulders. Parts of it are coal black, but the roots are grey with experience and worry; a long streak of grey works itself abnormally from root to end; overreaching its welcome amongst the dark hair coloring. An angled, strong face holds within it icy blue eyes, swirling in the midst of dark circles around them; sleep seemingly uncommon to this individual. His skin is tanned from exposure, not in a glow, but in a burnt, bronzed fashion. Among the tanned skin are numerous scars, from a myriad of weaponry and battles; from nails to teeth leaving their violent reminder on his sinewy physique. He appears gaunt and malnourished; his cheeks sunken in, leaving his bones prominent in their features.

Biography

Born to a simple man and woman, Sirius would never know the face of his mother – her life being taken during his first breath of fresh, beautiful life. For this, his father treated Sirius like a worker, rather than a son. He resented him for murdering his love, and seldom would deal with his young boy. This treatment, from a tender age, left an ever-present feeling of guilt on the youth’s conscious.

During the ripeness of his teenage years, Sirius enlisted in the Sirandian army. His fitness, courage and good-heart saw him succeed and climb the latter of success in a hurry. His superiors tenaciously praised the determined Sirius, telling him his road showed nothing but greatness. There was very little that seemed to stand in the way of his achievements. His father, proud of his accomplishments, re-invited Sirius into his life; allowing him to communicate with cousins, aunts and uncles for the first time since he was a young boy.

By the age of twenty, Sirius was bestowed the honor of a knighthood. A rare occurrence from one with as humble an upbringing as him, but while there were many who sought to deny Sirius of this position, the majority encouraged his inclusion amongst their ranks – seeing him as a valuable ally to have standing beside them in the thick of battle and life.

It was in the midst of his fourth year in service of the King’s army that he fell prone to alcohol- a sin he avoided like all else because of its addictive nature and his difficulty to defeat its alluring nature. However, the wine followed freely this evening, and the intoxication followed; an attractive barmaid was the pursuit of the young Knight – his comrades yelling him forward. A man of virtue, Sirius thought it ignoble to engage in sexual interactions out of wedlock. However, such thoughts were absent this drunken night, as his desires were released in a passionate engagement.

Ashamed of himself, Sirius sulked like an adolescent for many months – until the barmaid found him in his chambers. She professed a truth to him, that she had not bleed in two months, and that he was the only man she dared be with – giving into temptation because of his knighthood. Seeking advice from his companions, they all said the same thing. “You shall have a bastard,” one such as sir Lorys said. “You will give to them both discretely, make sure they live good lives, and interact with them no further.” Distraught by this reality, Sirius fell into despair.

A man of perpetual honor, through and through, Sirius proposed to the lass. Her reaction was a fantastic faint that left all in the tavern applauding the newly engaged. Hand-in-hand, they remained inseparable. As suspected, this plan for marriage did not sit well with the comrades of his unit – the fellow Knights began to shun Sirius for his act; deeming such a proposal as unworthy of knighthood, a lessening of all their duties and a terrible decision all-together. Upset by the words but unwavering in his stance, Sirius endured the hardships; many a night was spent without the warmth of a fire during patrols, his evenings of sleep came upon the hard surface of rock and with small rations of aged food – for his fellow men denied him much as punishment.

By the day of the marriage, a full belly was evident on the bride – which caused even more discussion. Sirius’ actions were rising to higher levels of authority and many spoke of removing the man of his knighthood. An order had been sent to detain Sirius, to be implemented during the midst of the wedding, and to revoke him of his right to be a proud Sirandian Knight.

It was in a small, local church that the event was being held. Sirius stood in his father’s suit and upon his bride, his mother’s gown. Sirius envisioned her image before him, imagining the emotion that had stirred between his parents – the love that he had never bore witness to. It was during the swap of rings that the chapel doors were opened; in walked the man in charge, sir Lorys the acclaimed. His beard hung low to his belt, white with age and wisdom – is was to be said. His voice boomed within the confines of the religious architecture, “Come now, Sirius of house Kevan. You are ordered by the duties of the Knighthood – you have been deemed –“ a scream just outside broke the Knight’s words apart. His men drew their blades, eyeing the direction of the anguished yell.

Silence fell over the participants. Sirius and his bride stood motionless – overcome by a plethora of emotion that could not be described easily; from the interruption to the shame of the marriage to the commotion about to unfolds, Sirius knew not how to act.

Then, it happened so quickly. A swarm of men burst through the doors – the crowd looked at them in utter bewilderment. They were unarmed men and women – children, even! The color of their skin was changed, altered to resemble that which should not be alive, that should no longer draw breath or movement on this plane. The Knight’s backed slowly as the crowd, attempting to draw themselves out of their seats and rows, chaotically pushed toward the back of the church grounds. The first dead man fell to the blow of sir Lorys’ esteemed hammer; the skull of his head bashed to a thin layer of being that even a zombie could not overcome. The next few minutes were a scramble of fear and violence. The undead tore into Sirius’ friends and family, breaking their bones with no thought; chewing on each and every portion of the human body possible.

Sirius, unarmed, grabbed the nearby candelabra. With force and determination, he whipped the furniture around toward any who approach, but the numbers were countless and insurmountable. This epidemic spread so quickly, so abruptly that no one could foresee such a disaster. At the sound of sir Lorys’ deep yell, all knew the fatal conclusion to this event.

Decayed limbs reached outward toward the couple; the fallen soon rising once more to claim a position amongst the army of the dead. Sirius, grabbing the hand of his pregnant love, fled for a route through the midst of chaos and fellow Knights doing their diligence in fighting to the death. But, it would be futile, for all fell; and sir Lorys’ undead appendage rose with uncanny swiftness to grab the leg of his bride, tripping her and Sirius onto the ground. Pulling her closer with the determination of parasite, Sirius struggled to compete. But it was soon over as the rest swarmed her fallen body – Sirius scrambling to reclaim his footing and climbing toward higher ground in the church’s rafters.

If the death of his bride, brutal, before his eyes was not enough to make his blood run cold, then it surely was the cry that soon emerged as her stomach erupted. From within, what would have been a beautiful, blue eyed girl was a monstrosity. Its small hands let it crawl outward, searching for the first nourishment of blood.

Sirius sat, shaking, on the rafters as the world crumbled around his eyes. By nightfall, the church had been reclaimed by warriors of Siranda – from the militia to simple farmhands, all picked up anything to battle against the diseased. They found Sirius, paralyzed by his own mind, in the corner. His inability to speak nearly had him slain, for he could be mistaken for the very beings that plagued the ground. However, his screams revealed the life still coursing through his veins.

Soulless, Sirius wandered through the wasteland that was once his home – his Sirandian armor upon his physique, the knighthood that should have been taken that he so desperately refused to release. Through many havens, of sorts, did Sirius travel. In the wake of his steps, he provided generosity and courage – fighting and purging that which took his life, but left his knighthood.

It seemed a sign to the man that he was meant to remain a knight – that it was his rightful duty to be such. The gods had intervened in the attempted dismissal, but punished him for his crimes against the code. With sword in hand, he spread the code of chivalry where he strode; fighting many times when life seemed fleeting from his body. Yet, he persevered, through and through – each time, he remained the lone survivor of these communities. Each time he searched for forgiveness through his kind actions; some repentance to relieve his troubled mind - that his good deeds would extinguish his sins.  

Alcohol became his dear companion; he sought solace in its daily and nightly – wandering the world alone, and seemingly forsaken. Years passed, groups – families, couples, nomads; he blurred through them, fighting alongside them with sweat and blood and vigor; waiting in his drunken stupor to be relieved of this world. But such would not be his fate. Each attempt would leave him the victor, but he would awake, sober and alone and wanting for something. Tears were not uncommon in his journeys. When sobriety hit him, like a hard wall, he would try to dispel himself of the poor habit, the vice that seemed the only savior in sight.

It was during a cold night that he ran out of the fiery liquid. Literally tearing at the skin that concealed his bones, he feared for his life for the first time in many moons. Sword and shield was lost, but armor remained; clanking and heavy, he moved slowly and little – living off the scraps of mice and smaller critters to feed his dying spirit.

Dreams haunted him nightly; dreams of duty and honor thought to be forgotten as he lived like a coward – hiding and running from anything that could do him harm – physical or otherwise. He longed for the dreams, of his friends and loved ones returning before his eyes; praising him for his talent to last when all seemed lost. He would lay in the same position, through his own shit and stench, wanting more of the lucid dreams. It was the cry of a child that led him away from a dream, of his arms around his newly born child – his same blue eyes returning their stare – but the scream that erupted through her lips was not fictional, but real. Mere steps away, a mother and infant fled – somehow they had survived years of this tortured world. Sirius, reinvigorated by some unnatural force, raced to their aid. He pummeled an armored fist into the pursuers of the mother and child – but he was unable to save them in time.

Upon the inspection of their corpses, he found letters and markings of another establishment in Kalaram. Just after burning the bodies of the two, he made his way toward a new destination. Uncertain of what is on the horizon, Sirius continues in his search of redemption.