Dark Armor: The Joys of Travel

The Black Knight shifted on the padded bench inside the carriage, then shifted again. He had been riding for the better part of two hours; wherever the carriage was taking him, it must be near the farthest border of his father's lands... perhaps further. He hoped the journey would be done soon. 

In his early days as the Black Knight, he had stepped into the carriage with a sense of anticipation. Later, it had turned to boredom, and then resignation. Now, finally, it was dread. He wanted to get wherever he was going, defeat whatever enemy he'd been sent to destroy, and be done with this. For all that he trained in his time outside of the armor, Pallian entertained no illusions that his presence was necessary. The armor added to his strength and made him invulnerable; his blade cut through armor and flesh with the same ease that it would cut through grass. The gleeful sense of power in that sort of fighting had long since given way to boredom and eventually a sort of dull horror. 

A more sensible man might have resigned his commission and made his escape. Then again, that same more sensible man would very likely have been murdered by his father, the wizard-king of Teregor, within the space of a day. There were choices, and then there were choices. 

It was a faint shift in his balance that alerted him: the carriage had turned slightly, and was now descending. The black mares that pulled it would soon set their hooves to ground, carving hoofprints into soil and stone alike as they pulled the carriage along its designated route. 

Pallian had no idea what he would find when the carriage stopped. The wizard-king did not provide explanations. He merely called, and when the call came Pallian stepped into the armor and became the black knight. When the call came, the black knight stepped into his carriage and went to do battle on the wizard-king's behalf. It was, and had always been, as simple as that.