text: On a particularly dull afternoon, a knight rides into a poor peasant village. Arriving on horseback, armor glistening from the sun’s reflection, he hops off of his steed and removes his helmet to make his way inside the local tavern. However, he is stopped by a local peasant farmer. “Oy, you a knight?” The peasant farmer asks. The knight turns to face him, and puffs out his chest. “Hello good sir, I am a knight, indeed. In fact, I am the warrior of Alberanth, the famed Knight of Two Swords!” The farmer’s mouth opens as his eyes squint, “Two swords? What’d ya need two swords for?” “Well, I carry two swords for I am no ordinary knight! I am twice as dangerous as any and have killed many men with these two swords!” The farmer looks at the knight, perhaps as confused as he’s ever been in his life, “That don’t make no sense, two swords is more heavy than one sword, aye.” “W-what do you mean?” “Aye, well two swords don’t make ya deadly, it makes ya slow, don’t it?” The knight gives a hearty chuckle. “Ah, a common but understandable misconception, and one I will gladly clear up.” He puts his hand on the farmer’s shoulder. “You see my good fellow, my swords are slightly shorter than your standard grade military weapon. It allows me to strike doubly fa- “What if ya drop somethin’?” “I beg your pardon?” The knight asks. “Well what if ya drop somethin’ like yer helmet? Ya can’t pick up a helmet when yer holdin’ two swords like. Just don’t seem feasible to me.” The knight replies, a mix of confusion and annoyance, “Well, if I were to drop my helmet I would merely sheathe one of my swords and pick it up.” The farmer scratches his short beard. “What if you get stabbed while yer pickin’ up the helmet?” “I shan’t.” “But what if you shall?” “Then I will simply not pick up the helmet until I have cleared the imminent threat. I shall defeat any man tha-” The farmer once again interrupts, “Ye, but I don’t think it wise to be fightin’ without a helmet. Be awful dangerous, aye” The knight stops and collects his thoughts. Disdain begins to replace his patience, and he scoffs. “Good sire, I cannot imagine a situation that would arise that would cause me to drop my helmet.” “Aye, and I never imagined burstin’ in on me grand-pap and seein’ his goolies, but here we are, aye.” The knight does not understand. “What?” “Me grand-pap. I seen his goolies.” Again, the knight only stares. “Y’know, his goolies!” The farmer says, waving his hands. “His bag o’ raisins! His bodily grapes! His wrinkle berries!” An uncomfortably long silence settles in. “Good sir, I find your analogies for your grand-sire’s testicles to be both odd and discomforting.” The knight finally replies. “Aye, and ye weren’t the one to lay yer eyes on his forbidden fruit.” The knight loses his patience, “Aye, good man! And thank the gods for that! Now I believe I am finished with this conversation and wish to guzzle some ripe tavern ale. I bid you good day!” The farmer nods, and as the knight turns to enter the tavern, he is suddenly kicked in the head by a horse and falls to the ground. His body does not twitch, nor does it breathe. He is dead. The peasant farmer stares, before being joined by another local tavern goer. “Oy, was he a knight?” The peasant farmer sips his ale, before replying. “Aye, he was. Knight o’ Two Swords they called him.” “Well why’d he go and fight that horse without a helmet? “I don’t think he could pick it up, he was carryin’ two swords.