Dark Armor: Return and Recuperation

The carriage door swung open, and Pallian stepped out into the courtyard of the mausoleum. The angle of his frozen leg forced him into a sort of uncomfortable crouch which probably looked ridiculous and undignified, but that was acceptable here, where no outside eyes could see. 

Tybben loped forward, carrying a long case. A mis-invoked initiation had left him hairless, with a dog-like skull and a twisted, hunched body; the wizard-king had relegated him to the crypt decades ago. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, Tybben was utterly loyal. 

Pallian set the spear in the case, and Tybben immediately snapped it shut and then stood waiting. Pallian touched his helm with both hands and commanded it to loose. As he drew it off, Tybben said: "What have you done to your armor, Champion?"

"Taken it into battle against the Spear of the First." He gestured vaguely at the case, then added: "And triumphed."

"Some triumph," Tybben muttered. 

Pallian could have rebuked him, but chose not to. Privately, he agreed; but it was wiser not to speak such thoughts aloud. Any victory achieved by the Black Knight was a grand and glorious triumph. Thus, the conclusion of this latest battle had been a grand and glorious triumph, and not a desperate struggle for survival that happened to succeed. "Take that to the vault," he said. "I'll take care of the armor."

Tybben harrumphed. "Nonsense. I'll send some skeletons to help you with it, and get you to the bath."

Pallian considered, then conceded. "As you wish." He hated showing weakness, even here, but Tybben was right: he could barely move. "I'll need food as well."

"Yes, yes, it will be done." Tybben turned and loped out of the room.

It was only a bare few minutes later that a half-dozen of the skeletons came in, lifted Pallian up armor and all, and carried him off to the sanctuary.