The Return of the Scarlet Gyphon

[DoS Archive]

From: bleysofglory@aol.com (Bleys of Glory)
Date: 01 Jul 2000 13:30:00 EDT

The castle rested on a rather strikingly attractive hilltop not far from RhyDin Towne itself. The hill itself, in fact, was nearly impossible to miss. Yet, somehow, no one had seen the castle for years. No one had seen the castle despite the fact that it was constructed entirely of black opal, the whole structure being nearly one huge and expertly carved gemstone. The banner wasn't precisely inconspicuous either, being
a gryphon segreant in flaming scarlet on a field of equally fiery orange. The arms bore a motto, also in scarlet, the irreverent "If at first you don't succeed, hit them harder!" All in all, the keep and its four towers made a striking picture.
Yet it had been completely unseen and unnoticed by most for many years. The reason for this was fairly simple really. It had been, quite deliberately on the part of the owner, rendered invisible. Until now.
Now it was back. Yesterday it had been gone, today it was there again. The owner had been, to put it simply, "out of the country." Not anymore. Now men watched the towers, guards were posted at the gates, and the stables were full. However, the activity outside was nothing compared to the activity inside.

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The painting had hung in the study for as long as the castle had been in existence. The picture was nearly as striking as the castle itself, being of a man who seemed almost half fairy and half giant, andit was more impressive for being apparently life size. If appearances were not deceiving, the man portrayed stood only two or three inches under seven feet. His broad shoulders, powerful arms and chest, long, muscular legs,
and trim waist all seemed to betoken tremendous strength. His red hair hung to his shoulders and a slightly weak chin was well disguised by a short and elegantly trimmed beard of the same fiery color which, together with a moustache, surrounded a smiling mouth. He seemed to be laughing, and the devil himself danced in his bright, nearly sapphire, blue eyes. He wore a half cape of scarlet satin over one shoulder of a bright orange long sleeved silk
doublet which bore the same crest as the banner, a scarlet griffon segreant. His belt and hose were of scarlet, and the blade at his side seemed to have been forged for a man of his size particularly.
The pommel of the sword bore a ruby, and his hands were both ringed. A sapphire and a ruby winked from the middle and ring fingers of his right hand, respectively, and an emerald was on the ring finger of his left. On the opposite side of his belt from the sword there hung a dagger, with a sapphire pommel stone.
An individual who could only loosely be called a man stood nearby, staring carefully at the painting. Blood stained the being's clothing, and several wounds were visbile on his/its face and throat. None of the wounds seemed to be bleeding, however, though they looked fresh. The features, those not mutilated past recognition, of the being were sharp and feral. The ears didn't quite come to points, the teeth all seemed to be canine, and the cheekbones
were high. The being did not seem to be in any kind of pain at all, almost as if this were its natural state.
The bizarre creature was speaking, to the painting of all things. "Your Highness," it intoned in a deep, yet soft and gravelly, voice, "Are you there your Highness? It is I, Skhraal."
The painting seemed to move. Suddenly the red-headed man in the painting did not seem to be dressed the same. He now wore a red leather jacket and orange t-shirt with blue jeans and combat boots. Mirrored sunglasses covered his eyes, no jewelry was visible, and his hair was pulled back in a pony tail. He, somehow, spoke out of the painting, replying, "I hear you, Skhraal. I take it you are ready for me? Will Doomfoot be waiting so I can head to the
Inn and look for the old boy in the basement?"
The being apparently named Skhraal gave a short nod. "Of course, your Highness. Though I don't understand why you didn't just leave your sword and the other items here. Giving them into the keeping of someone you happened to like to get drunk with seems rather irresponsible and foolish to me. Come ahead."
Skhraal held out its hand, and suddenly the painting returned to normal. However, the man in the painting appeared in front of the strange being, clasping its hand. "Ahhhh, it is good to be back at my home away from home. I have been away a long time, but it will be good to see any old faces I can again. I am sure that a few of my old friends would never leave." The big red head chuckled heartily. "Let's get to the stables, and quick. I have to get
moving."
The pair quickly headed through the nearly labrynthine halls of the castle to the paddock, where the red-head found the horse he had requested saddled and waiting. He was a big, black stallion, obviously a fine warhorse. He seemed as powerful as the man who, without bothering with spurs or a change of boots, easily mounted and began to ride for RhyDin. Bleys of Amber was back.