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As he approached towards them he felt his blood screaming. The fear and terror that should have been wiped from him was still there. A part of mortality that the Lady’s blessing would never remove. The blood of his past and the facts of his life before this moment were pressing down upon him more and more as the Knight ascended towards the Vampire Duke.
But as they came closer and closer. That they reached a point where Lucian could clearly make out the heraldry of each corrupted Black Grail Knight, that another feeling came upon him. He felt like he was becoming something that every Bretonnian, every man wished to become.
For years he had dreamed for this. As a boy Lucian had fought with his brothers and sisters in play, imagining themselves as Knights on a Quest towards that would save the realm. Where every night they would be told stories of Gilles and Louen, those Kings who had made and saved Bretonnia countless times.
Those legendary men, both of them blessed by the Lady herself, must have felt the same kind of fear that Lucian felt. The fear not of death, but of failure. That if they failed to complete this task that Bretonnia would fall into the hands of the darkness which hounded them at every turn.
It was a will of every knight, let them be the most impetuous Errant to the most mighty of Grail Knights. A will to face such terrors and act against the darkness which threatened them. To be the lance which pierced the very night itself and bring about the next day for all of Mankind.
The Black Grail Knight, before six to each side of the Bloody Red Duke, moved themselves between the Black Knight and the Vampire. Each of them were mighty warriors tricked into being damned, each of them having their very souls trapped into these vile corpses which forced them to fight against their country folk.
But Lucian knew that there was one thing a Bretonnia Knight, let they be alive, dead, or damned, would never lose their sense of.
His memory went back to the nameless Knight. He who had given Lucian his armor. The one who, even while forsaken, was willing to give the Peasant the chance to become a member of his family.
“Scourge of Aquitaine, Blood Kissed Duke,” The Black Knight called as he rasied his weapon. The words came to him as he spoke a name that was as ancient as the winds, “El Syf ash-Shml!”
He noticed it. Upon speaking the name of the man his eyes now focused upon the Grail Knight. The Red Duke did not look upon Lucian as prey, but a challenge.
“I am the Durand, the Harbinger of Doom, and Champion of Morr!” The Knight spoke loudly so that all the world could hear him, “I, Lucian of Aquitaine, challenge you to a Duel! Face me, or may both the Gods of Order and Chaos know you have no honor!”
