Sam Smith and the Fisher King
Much later in The Wasteland Saga, Sam Smith and his companions must attempt to end the Great War by restoring the sacred connection between the Fisher King and the Land. Unfortunately, his problems are only beginning...
The Castle of the Fisher King rose before them. A medieval fortress upon a high hill, it was a massive structure of pale granite entwined in countless grape and ivy vines while climbing roses encircled its impressive towers and fortifications. The enormous iron gates of the fortress swung wide to reveal a courtyard overgrown with wild roses, while beyond the uneven flagstones stood the gates to the central keep. Much to their surprise, there were no guards or other defenses, and opening the heavy oak doors, Sam and his companions entered the building.
Within was an abandoned palace where beauty and wonder had crumbled to ruin. Penny and Alice choked back tears as they saw magnificent paintings and tapestries faded and ravaged by time, porcelain and marble statues of exquisite craftsmanship toppled and broken, and silver mirrors tarnished and blackened with age.
At the end of a corridor was a throne room. As big as a cathedral, the walls were of porphyry and serpentine marble, and were delicately carved to represent the Faerie Folk engaged in scenes of revelry, celebration, feasting, and merriment. Stained glass windows of breathtaking beauty allowed the afternoon sunlight to illuminate the room, and although whole and unbroken, thick pall of dust muted their bright colors. The floor was in checkerboard patterns of simple black and white, and extended to a raised dais of gray marble upon which sat a massive throne of dark stained oak carved in the shape of fantastic beasts and inlaid with gold and previous gems.
Seated upon the throne was an ancient king who must have been at a hundred years old. In his youth the King must have been impressive indeed: broad of shoulder and strong of chest, the King must have been a man of great physical strength and commanding appearance, and from the bones of his face had probably been quite handsome in his younger days. But now the man was a mere shadow of his younger self, with hair white as snow, heavy brows, and a beard that hung almost to his belt.
In spite of his fragile appearance, the King wore rich garments of silk and linen in gold, saffron, and scarlet, with a purple wool and velvet cloak trimmed in ermine.
Gold rings set with exotic gemstones gleamed upon his fingers, while upon his brow was a heavy crown of solid gold encrusted with flawless rubies which seemed to glow like burning coals in the afternoon sunlight. Curiously enough, leaning against the right side of the throne was a large round shield with a cover of simple black leather.
Slowly and carefully, Sam approached the Fisher King and fell to one knee before him.
"Your Majesty. Do I have the honor of addressing the Fisher King?"
"I have been called by that name, although I have many others." His voice was soft and pleasant to the ear, yet held a note of uncertainty. "What is your name, stranger?"
"My name is Sam Smith. My companions and I have come a long way to see you. May we have an audience?"
The Fisher King seemed to become lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his pale gray eyes the color of mist.
"No one has come here for a long... long time. I thought Perceval would be the one... but I was mistaken. None of the Knights ever returned, and I have been alone all these years..."
"Maybe we can help you. Please tell us how!" Alice cried, tears in her eyes.
The Fisher King moaned with pain. "This crown is awfully heavy. Why must I wear it?"
"If it pains you so, why don't you take it off?" Alice replied.
With considerable effort, Fisher King removed the golden crown, staring in bewilderment at the rubies which gleamed like drops of fresh blood... and with a cry of despair, the Fisher King hurled the crown across the room, where it shattered into pieces against the wall.
Much to his surprise, Sam noticed that it collapsed into a heap of cruel thorns, glistening with blood.
"Why must they make me into what I am not?" the Fisher King moaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Although the Shield roots me in place, I need the other Treasures to make me whole again.
"With the Cup, my strength shall be restored. With the Spear, my wound shall be healed... and with the Sword, the Land and I shall be one again."
The Castle of the Fisher King rose before them. A medieval fortress upon a high hill, it was a massive structure of pale granite entwined in countless grape and ivy vines while climbing roses encircled its impressive towers and fortifications. The enormous iron gates of the fortress swung wide to reveal a courtyard overgrown with wild roses, while beyond the uneven flagstones stood the gates to the central keep. Much to their surprise, there were no guards or other defenses, and opening the heavy oak doors, Sam and his companions entered the building.
Within was an abandoned palace where beauty and wonder had crumbled to ruin. Penny and Alice choked back tears as they saw magnificent paintings and tapestries faded and ravaged by time, porcelain and marble statues of exquisite craftsmanship toppled and broken, and silver mirrors tarnished and blackened with age.
At the end of a corridor was a throne room. As big as a cathedral, the walls were of porphyry and serpentine marble, and were delicately carved to represent the Faerie Folk engaged in scenes of revelry, celebration, feasting, and merriment. Stained glass windows of breathtaking beauty allowed the afternoon sunlight to illuminate the room, and although whole and unbroken, thick pall of dust muted their bright colors. The floor was in checkerboard patterns of simple black and white, and extended to a raised dais of gray marble upon which sat a massive throne of dark stained oak carved in the shape of fantastic beasts and inlaid with gold and previous gems.
Seated upon the throne was an ancient king who must have been at a hundred years old. In his youth the King must have been impressive indeed: broad of shoulder and strong of chest, the King must have been a man of great physical strength and commanding appearance, and from the bones of his face had probably been quite handsome in his younger days. But now the man was a mere shadow of his younger self, with hair white as snow, heavy brows, and a beard that hung almost to his belt.
In spite of his fragile appearance, the King wore rich garments of silk and linen in gold, saffron, and scarlet, with a purple wool and velvet cloak trimmed in ermine.
Gold rings set with exotic gemstones gleamed upon his fingers, while upon his brow was a heavy crown of solid gold encrusted with flawless rubies which seemed to glow like burning coals in the afternoon sunlight. Curiously enough, leaning against the right side of the throne was a large round shield with a cover of simple black leather.
Slowly and carefully, Sam approached the Fisher King and fell to one knee before him.
"Your Majesty. Do I have the honor of addressing the Fisher King?"
"I have been called by that name, although I have many others." His voice was soft and pleasant to the ear, yet held a note of uncertainty. "What is your name, stranger?"
"My name is Sam Smith. My companions and I have come a long way to see you. May we have an audience?"
The Fisher King seemed to become lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his pale gray eyes the color of mist.
"No one has come here for a long... long time. I thought Perceval would be the one... but I was mistaken. None of the Knights ever returned, and I have been alone all these years..."
"Maybe we can help you. Please tell us how!" Alice cried, tears in her eyes.
The Fisher King moaned with pain. "This crown is awfully heavy. Why must I wear it?"
"If it pains you so, why don't you take it off?" Alice replied.
With considerable effort, Fisher King removed the golden crown, staring in bewilderment at the rubies which gleamed like drops of fresh blood... and with a cry of despair, the Fisher King hurled the crown across the room, where it shattered into pieces against the wall.
Much to his surprise, Sam noticed that it collapsed into a heap of cruel thorns, glistening with blood.
"Why must they make me into what I am not?" the Fisher King moaned, burying his face in his hands.
"Although the Shield roots me in place, I need the other Treasures to make me whole again.
"With the Cup, my strength shall be restored. With the Spear, my wound shall be healed... and with the Sword, the Land and I shall be one again."