This being the story of Zenith, a young knight

Here I am, standing on the hills overlooking Trinsic. Trinsic was once my home, well, maybe not this Trinsic, but another one just like it, back in the days when the sky had both moons, Trammel and Felucca, in it. I haven't been down in the city since those days, and I'm not going there now, so I don't really know why I'm standing here looking at it. I wonder if my parents and brother, Xylan, live there.

The sun is setting behind me, and it's turning everything a shade of pink. The city's pink. The hills and forests are pink. It looks like I'm wearing pink too. It reminds me of those parties my mother used to throw for me where I actually had to wear pink. It's nauseating, and it reminds me of why I left Trinsic and my family.

So anyway, I've started at the end. Maybe I should start at the beginning. A long time ago, there was a paladin who was a man, and a guard who was a woman. They met at some contest of arms in Trinsic (and there's no shortage of those contests), and they got married, and they had two kids. The older one was my big brother, Xylan. The younger one was me. They named me Zenith, which means "where the sun rests at noon" or something like that. I suppose it could be worse, look what they did to my brother -- "Xylan" means "woody."

Well, our parents wanted Xylan to grow up following in their footsteps, so they always dressed him up in little armor, and gave him a little shield and a play sword to wave around. Me, they dressed in pink and put ribbons and bows in my hair. Funny thing is, I wanted to be the paladin, and Xylan didn't. Or it would have been funny if I hadn't been trapped in the situation.

Xylan they sent to the Training Hall to learn how to be a fighter. Me they sent to the Tea Society Juniors to learn how to be a debutante. I hated every minute of it. Whenever I could, I would escape and wander over to the Shining Path Armoury, or the Honorable Arms. The smiths there would let me pump the bellows for them. I never tired of watching the blacksmiths make armor and weapons from scraps of metal.

One day, Tryon Hammer, the head blacksmith at the Honorable Arms, asked me if I'd like to try my hand at making something. When I nodded, he handed me his hammer and tongs, and some ingots.

"Melt the metal, and pour it into this form, to make a sword blank," he said. It took the metal a while to melt, me pumping the bellows and shoveling on more coal. I poured the molten metal from the crucible into the sword blank form. "Let it solidify, but while it's still soft, hit the edges to form a nice even blade," said Tryon.

I followed the instructions. I guess I didn't know how to do that well, because when it cooled, I could see that the sword I'd made would not take and keep its edge -- it'd always be blunt, useless as a weapon.

This did not seem to bother Tryon. "Bind the tang with leather strips, to make a grip," he said.

Well, I did that, and the result was very swordlike. I swung it experimentally a few times. It was balanced right, after I'd filed it a bit. "There now," said Tryon. "A fine practice sword. You can practice with it, without the danger of cutting off your own arm," he laughed.

I don't know if Tryon was trying to be helpful, or having a joke at my expense, but I took him at his word. During the days, I'd go to the dull boring Tea Society Juniors and be all dainty and ladylike. Late at night, I'd slip out my bedroom window, grab my practice sword from the bushes where I'd hidden it, and head over to the Training Hall, where I'd have at the training dummies there. Oh, there was a guard at the training hall, but a few teacakes convinced him not to say anything to my mother.

Thrust! Punch! Turn! Kick! Stand! I practiced the offensive moves, postures, patterns. I was slower with the defensive moves, because, let's face it, training dummies don't attack much. A few years passed. I was getting stronger, and growing up too. I was even becoming more tolerant of the Tea Society Juniors, thanks to being able to vent energy and anger in my weapon practice sessions.

My parents noticed I was growing up. One day they announced that they were sending me to a famous finishing school in Magincia. I told them I didn't want to go, I didn't want to be a debutante, I wanted to be a paladin like Father, and like Xylan was already studying to be. My pleas fell on deaf ears. "We have enough fighters in the family already," said Father. "We want you to be a lady of quality, marry a rich noble, and live in a big house in Britain close to royalty," said Mother. "It's a wonderful life, with lots of culture and refinement and elegance, and you will learn to like it," they chorused in unison.

Ugh. What could I do? I ran away that evening. All the kids who grew up in Trinsic knew how to get over the city walls unseen. I didn't bring a whole lot with me, just my practice sword, some food, some clothing, a knife, a couple of bottles for water. I cut my hair with the knife, and dyed it black with berry juice. I splashed my face and skin with a more dilute solution of the berry juice -- once it'd set, it wouldn't wash out or wear out for about three weeks. It was not a great look, but at least I didn't look like me any more.

I ran as far to the northwest as I could, and when I was worn out, I climbed a tree and spent the rest of the night catnapping in its branches. Morning came, and I slipped down to the ground.

"Gnarsh," I heard behind me. "Gnarsh kroogle Greeash!"

I pulled my practice sword out, and spun around.

Thrust! Punch! Turn! Kick -- and the troll grabbed my by the foot and bashed me into the tree. I had the wind knocked out of me. The troll looked none the worse for wear, for my edgeless sword was not much of a weapon.

The troll had an immense club, made from some small tree, with bits of alligator tooth embedded in it, and he was starting to swing it --- A little green flower bloomed in the troll's chest, and then another, and another. The troll looked down in surprise, dropped his club, tried to pull out one of the arrows, then collapsed.

I got up, practice sword in my hand, and turned to face a band of scruffy-looking men, dressed in green cloaks and soft leather armor, all carrying bows. "Whoa, hold up, we're not brigands," said one.

"Didn't we just save thy life?" asked another.

"The least thou couldst do is refrain from spitting us on thy, er, sword," said another. His eyes twinkled merrily as he beheld my poor weapon.

"Go along with ye, and we shall have no trouble," I replied.

"Oh come, we are all friends here," said one man. "Put up thy sword." At these words, all of the men shouldered their bows and relaxed. "My name is Billiamie, and my men and I are the Rangers of Spiritwood." He executed a courtly bow, as courtly a bow as any I'd ever seen, and I'd seen many at the mixer dances I'd gone to with the Tea Society Juniors.

"Hail Rangers of Spiritwood," I replied. "I am the lady, um, Gwenneth. Are ye not a bit far from Spiritwood?"

"Hail Lady Gwenneth," said Billiamie. He executed another courtly bow. "Aye, indeed we are far from Spiritwood. We have suspicions that the gargoyles will be invading the land, and taking this part to begin with." He pulled out a map, and indicated an area stretching from Yew down along the west coast of Britannia to where we stood now. "Our task is to, um, stop any gargoyle scouts we meet up with. And what of thee? Where art thou bound?"

Somehow I trusted these men already. "I'm bound from somewhere, and haven't yet fixed upon a destination."

"Well, mayhaps thou wouldst do well to travel with us, for these woods are no place for a la-- er, anyone to be traveling in unaccompanied," said Billiamie.

"I have no skill with the bow," I said.

Billiamie reached into his pack, and brought out a long package encased in oilcloth. He unwrapped the oilcloth, revealing a long slender sword of a type I'd not seen before. "This was made for an elvish hand, but methinks thou art of the same proportions as the original owner," said Billiamie.

I took the sword and tested it a bit. Aye, the balance was good. It was a bit lighter than my practice sword. What looked like a smudge on the pommel caught my eye. There, scribed in lettering almost too small to be read were the words, "Crafted by Tryon Hammer."

I travelled with the Rangers of Spiritwood for a month. During that time we had many adventures. We never did run into any gargoyle advance teams though. One day, I came back to camp bringing an arm full of firewood. All of the rangers were gathered, which was unusual -- usually a few were out hunting. Billiamie approached me with a sheepish grin.

"Seeing as how thou dost want to be a paladin so badly, we passed the hat, and took up a collection, so thou couldst attend the academy in Delucia." He handed me a pile of gold. I could see it was enough for the years the paladin training would take. I thanked and hugged each and every one of them. Then Aidan, one of the rangers, pulled out a Moongate scroll, and used it to open a path to Delucia.

I had a lot of fun and more mischievous adventures with my classmates at the Paladin Academy, for scaling its walls was almost as easy as scaling the walls of Trinsic. It was odd I didn't see Xylan at the academy, but frankly I was a bit relieved at not having to explain what I was doing there. I graduated with honors. I don't know why, but I reclaimed my original name, Zenith, and that's what's on my diploma.

Ink on my diploma still figuratively wet, I went to the placement office. There, on the bulletin board, I read of an honorable outfit called the "Queen Shieba Alliance," based in Skara Brae, and I decided to travel there, meet some of Queen Shieba's followers, and seek my fortune.

before going to Skara Brae, I just wanted to look upon the city of Trinsic again, and that brings me to the end of my story, which is also the beginning. Here I stand in the pink pink pink sunset, and in a moment my feet will turn toward Skara Brae.