He was the mighty warrior, the one called Shadowrider, Champion of the Three Villages, and wielder of the dreaded blade, Bunniesbane. From beneath his shining helm, his eyes glowed in triumph over his foes. From across the field came the sounds of the dying battle: shouts of victory floated through the settling mist, amidst the moans of the wounded and dying and the occasional startled yelp from someone who had just been inadvertently stepped on.
The battle, hard-fought, had left its mark on Shadowrider: axe-marks hew the noble device on his shield, his armour was smeared with dirt from the battleground, and his sword was caked with the blood of his enemies and a certain number of his friends too, which was almost certainly accidental.
The Reortor, son of Reorthus, the village chieftan approached, followed by his daughter, Betty, who led Shadowrider’s steed by its reins.
“Hail, Shadowrider Quicksword,” proclaimed the chieftan, “the one who is also called Blademaster, and occasionally, Stan. You have bettered our enemies and left them slain in the field,…”
“Thank, you, Lord Reo—”
“…where their sucking chest wounds will ever prevent them from rising again against our land,…”
“Yes, my—”
“…and whose noses will surely be plucked from their faces by the winged carrion-eaters.”
“Uh… yes,” Shadowrider said carefully. “Hmmm.”
Betty, Reortor’s daughter, approached Shadowrider, her eyes wide with wonder. He sheathed his sword and bowed deeply to her.
She smiled graciously in return and handed him the reins, saying, “O Shadowrider. Quicksword. Will you ever again return to our land and grace our chieftan’s hall?”
“My lady,” Shadowrider said, standing, “I will never be far, should the villages need me, for I live in my parents’ basement, which is but a few minutes from here.” He considered this for a second. “If,” he said, “I can borrow my father’s horse.”
“Oh,” she said. “I see. Well… thanks.” There was an awkward pause, which she ended with a friendly wave. “Bye.”
Taking that as his cue, Shadowrider turned and leapt onto his mount. In his excitement, however, he overshot his target and slipped off the other side, hitting the ground with a solid thud.
“Could, um,” he began. “Could anyone help me up? I seem to have fallen on something pointy.”