Drained Knight

There was a whole lot of nothing up until the point he heard a woman’s voice.
“You’ll do, boy. You’re going to experience something no man ever has before.”
At the time he had no context for any of the sounds he was hearing; his mind was too groggy to understand the words. His eyes had opened, and seeing an outline, a shape, in the gloom, he’d comprehended nothing. When the shape began to glow and a cold hand that he didn’t realize was a hand at the time touched his chest and something warm and tingly pushed into his flesh without any pain and disappeared, well, what could he think of it? Nothing, this was his whole frame of reference at the time. A cold finger touched his lips and the voice whispered to him once more. “I was never here” it said, and then the shape was gone and the darkness returned, and then the nothingness… only it wasn’t like before. He was awake now. Aware. After untold time he began to move. He licked his lips and found them parched. He realized the need for something. He became aware of his body, of toes that could wiggle and fingers that could curl. He began to familiarize himself with muscles he’d long since forgotten, it seemed. Sitting up in his bed seemed a far more arduous task than it should be, but once he accomplished this he felt much better about his situation. He’d been lying about too long. How long? Long enough to lose muscle mass, that was obvious. He reached out with an arm much thinner than he felt it should be, and found a nightstand with a jug. There was liquid there, but he couldn’t find a cup. Using both hands he managed to bring the jug to his lips and drank greedily. The water was stale; it had been standing there for a while. But it was water! So refreshing!
The empty jug was returned and he began to consider standing up. He had to take stock of his situation. How’d he ended up in this situation? He seemed to recall riding through the hills, a mountain pass, something like that? He’d been on a quest. A grand quest, fit for a knight. He WAS a knight. Sir…
“S-sir Ontto?”
The voice came from the door. It had been opened, and from the hallway beyond a dim light shone around a robed figure. A monk’s frock, this was a monk who knew him.
“Eh” he responded to the best of his ability. Speech was difficult. He tried to stand up but fell over and tumbled to the floor with a grunt.
“Oh no, no, no, no! No! You, you just, no!” the monk babbled and slammed the door shut behind himself, the echo of his running footsteps ringing in Sir Ontto’s ears.
Well then. How was he to get up and back on his quest? The first thing to do was to climb up to the bed and use it to prop himself up, learn to walk again.

Turned out learning to walk again was much harder than Ontto had assumed. He managed to get back on the bed and took a rest there, breathing heavily and feeling utterly drained. His limbs simply couldn’t move the way they should. The haze that had taken over his mind had completely lifted though, and the only thing bothering him now was an odd dream he’d seen at some point. What was it again? A woman had appeared, with something glowing in her hand, she’d reached out to touch him…
Ontto touched his chest. There was nothing amiss there, but he was quite certain that in the dream…
The door opened.
“See I told you he’s awake!” the monk he’d seen previously said, as another pushed past him into the room, flanked by another, this one fat and equipped with a broom.
The person at the head of the procession spoke with a voice far too loud for indoors.
“What manner of spirit are you that inhabit this poor man’s body?” he demanded.
“Ham mhe” Ontto replied.
The monks retreated and huddled up, whispering among themselves.
“Hamme, are you of the Heavens, the Elements or of the Infernal Plane?” asked the spokesman.
“Ho! Ham mhe!” Ontto retorted, trying to sit up again.
“HIT HIM! HIT HIM!” the cowardly monk ordered, and the fat one poked tentatively in Ontto’s direction with his broom. Ontto kicked at it and despite barely brushing it, the fat monk dropped his weapon and retreated out of the room. Only the spokesman now remained.
“Close the door, brothers. Do not open it until I speak to you the secret words we have agreed upon!” he ordered, and without hesitation the two closed the door and barred it from the outside.
“That’s better” the spokesman said, pulling a candle from his sleeve and lighting it, bathing the room in light. He placed the candle in a stand on the wall and sat at the foot of the bed.
“I apologize for my brothers in faith, but there have been ill omens of late, and they believe an evil presence has visited us this night. Your awakening in tandem with such a visitation has left them at their wit’s end”, he explained.
“We have been keeping watch over you for 8 months now, and I must say we’d all given up hope of you ever stirring. Praise God!”
“Amen…”
The monk smiled. “Yes, you’re still with us, aren’t you? There’s no evil spirit hiding in you. To tell you the truth I don’t believe any could ever enter these sacred grounds anyway. God wouldn’t allow it, you see”
“I see”
“Your speech is already returning to you! Another miracle, to be sure”
“I’m hungry”
“Ah, yes. You’ve eaten little enough in your state. We’ll see to it right away, of course”
The monk got up, walked to the door, knocked on it, exchanged some gibberish with the two behind it and the door was opened. Soon enough soup was served, and Ontto found he had the strength to eat on his own. He asked for more. He ate. He drank. He felt his strength returning. After he’d had five bowls of soup and eaten as many whole loafs of bread and a wheel of cheese the monks once again shut the door and locked him in. Sir Ontto did not feel deterred and seeing his muscles visibly restored he kicked the door down, facing his caregivers with a grin.
“I need a horse and armaments” he said. “And I need more food. You must have salted pork and beef and beer and wine and such, yes?”
The three monks all ran away from him, splitting into different directions. He opted to follow the fat one, as that would lead him to the kitchens with the greatest certainty. While doing so he noted his cell was but one of many along a long corridor lit by candles. Likely underground, too. What a place! How had he ended up here after the rockslide or avalanche or whatever it had been anyway? He’d been travelling with companions, right? How many had perished? Were there others like him in these cells, waiting to be awakened? Ontto was acutely aware of the unnatural, hm, nature, of his recovery, but who was he to question it? He had a quest to go on! And he’d go on it, alone or with others, that didn’t matter.

The kitchens, the larder, the wine-cellar, the brewery, all these places Sir Ontto raided as he wandered around the monastery hungry and thirsty, and as he ate and drank his body grow ever fitter until he felt quite satisfied with himself. His arms and legs were as strong as they ever had been, if not more so, and the alcohol he’d consumed left him with a merry buzz. Sir Ontto looked for a place where he might obtain a horse while humming a tune but found no stables. He was unable to discover and arms or armour either, and so he realized he’d have to question a monk to obtain what he required. They’d all skittered off somewhere though. Maybe there was an abbot he could question? Ah, nevermind all that! The way he felt now he wouldn’t need a horse, he could run, and who cares about armour when you can heal by eating!
“Today is a good day! Do you hear me? A GOOD DAY!” he shouted to no one in particular, and wearing nothing but the rags he’d woken up in, his feet bare, Sir Ontto left the monastery along a dirt path, a song on his lips and joy in his heart, to undertake his quest. Whatever that was. He knew he’d set out with companions on a matter of great importance and the fate of this that and the other rested on their success… but that had been almost a year ago. He stopped in his tracks. No, the old quest wasn’t what mattered. He had something else on his mind. Something… something more romantic. Unknown. A mystery! That’s it, it was a mystery! A quest that he didn’t know! Now that was quite an adventure.
A stick on the path seemed the appropriate shape and size for a walking stick, and though he didn’t need it Sir Ontto picked it up twirled it around. Dressed in rags and stick in hand, leaving a monastery? He seemed like a pilgrim. Maybe a pilgrimage was in order? He needed a holy site to visit then…but hadn’t this already been one? From a holy place a pilgrim would have to go to a place that was profane, then. Unholy, rather. What was the unholiest place in all the land, he wondered. He’d heard it spoken that nestled between the Plain of Many Miles and the Great Birch Wood there was a forsaken place, a land where the dead did not sleep. That was quite the opposite of this monastery where the living lied in sleep for 8 months, wasn’t it? And to reach there from this general area – if he was still where he’d been when he got buried under all that earth – he’d have to go through another place most men of his kingdom avoided like the plague. The Swarming Grounds were filled with all manner of insectoid creatures, and those were known for both great numbers and strength far surpassing that of mortal men. Sir Ontto felt he was on such a level now himself, though. As good a quest as any, wasn’t it?
So he walked on, toward the setting of the sun without a care in the world save that of reaching his destination.