Rojuun by John H. Carroll

light.
    When they were within twenty paces of the
tall figure, it put up a hand. A hollow voice echoed throughout the
cave. “Hold, figments.”
    They stopped as commanded. Vevin’s flames
illuminated nearly-invisible runes running throughout the plate
armor. More runes, mixed with etchings of flames, ran down the
center of the shining sword. A golden clasp at the base of his neck
attached to a rich red cloak flowing down his back. His visor was
down and they could see nothing of the figure inside.
    “Why did you call us figments, Sir Knight?”
Liselle asked courteously. She didn’t know what else to say.
    The knight put his hand back on the thick
crossbar. The sword was tall as the knight from the bottom of the
steel-threaded hilt to the tip of the blade.
    “You are obviously figments,” the knight
responded. “No one has been here in one millennium plus six
centuries,” A great sigh escaped the armor. His chest heaved with
the breath. “It’s alright. I’m used to it. I must say, you are a
very pretty figment, Milady.”
    Liselle smiled and blushed. “Well, thank you
Sir Knight. It’s nice to meet someone so polite.”
    Vevin nodded. “Oh yes! Sayyy . . . I’d like
to make this my home. It would be very polite of you not to
object,” he suggested hopefully to the knight.
    The knight looked at Vevin. Then he looked
back at Liselle. Lastly, he turned toward Tathan who had his sword
at the ready and was in another crouch. “You are very odd figments,
not at all like the usual ones created by my mad imagination.”
    “I didn’t even realize that I was a figment
until you told me!” replied Vevin. “I feel quite real, I must
say.”
    “I apologize, Sir Knight, but we are real,
not figments,” Liselle said.
    “Are you certain, Milady?” he asked.
    “Yes, Sir Knight. I’m certain. Tathan and I
come from a valley twelve days south of here. We met Vevin in this
city.”
    “I don’t know that I’m not a figment in all
honesty,” Vevin said, turning to Liselle. He didn’t see Tathan roll
his eyes.
    “You are not figments after all!” the
knight exclaimed. “I must say my warning then!” He cleared his
throat. “Ahem. Hear ye, hear ye, you who would come to steal the
Crown of Morhain! You must know that I, Sir Danth Wazmordin, shall
dutifully guard the doors to the vault ‘til death and beyond!”
    “Oh wonderful! That’s a vault behind you!
What good news. I need a vault for my home,” Vevin said
enthusiastically.
    Sir Danth Wazmordin lifted his sword and
settled it onto his shoulder. “I do not like this talk of you
making a home here, Sir.”
    “What if we’re not here to steal the crown,
Sir Danth?” Liselle asked.
    The knight paused for a moment as if the
thought had not occurred to him. “Well of course you’re here to
steal the crown. Why else would you be here, Milady?”
    “Tathan and I are exploring and Vevin is
searching for a new home since his old one was stolen along with
all of his treasure,” she explained.
    “Stolen?! What a travesty,” the knight
sympathized.
    “And he hurt me!” Vevin exclaimed, turning
so that Sir Danth could see the wound.
    “Terrible! It is not at all right!” Sir
Danth agreed. “Well, I’ll let you live here then, but you cannot
have the vault. I have sworn to guard the doors.”
    “We won’t steal the crown, Sir Knight,”
Tathan said. “We’re sorry to bother you and will leave now.”
    “What?! Leave?!” Sir Danth asked with alarm
in his voice. “You can’t leave! Please don’t leave! Please!” He got
down on his knees.
    The group stared at the sudden
transformation in stunned disbelief.
    “I’ve been here for one and a half
millennium! Do you know how long that is? Not one person has come
to steal the crown!” Strangled sobs came from inside the helm. “My
soul is bound to the armor and I can’t escape unless it is
destroyed, but it’s magical and will most likely exist until the
end of eternity! Please don’t leave me!