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Creative Writing: Sir Perceval

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Why couldn't Sir Perceval enjoy a nice, quiet supper at Camelot's Cup and Sword Tavern? “Yer a damn thief! Gi' me my money, ya rotten little lout!” shouted a grimy, older patron from across the dimly-lit tavern. A hush fell over the room, and the man's equally-unwashed companion scoffed. “I'll give ya nothin' and you'll like it, ol’ coot!” Sir Perceval looked up from his meal and cast his best mate, Sir Gawain, a look of concern. “I don't care if they kill each other,” said Gawain with nonchalance, lowering his head over his bowl. “I'm eating this stew while it’s hot and nothing will stop me. Involve yourself in that foolishness if you like.” The knight tucked into his supper. “Please,” said Perceval with an eye roll. “You love a good fight. …show more content…

Perceval shook his head with disgust. “It's our duty to –” “– to maintain the peace, protect the realm, and uphold the laws of Camelot. I wasn't knighted yesterday, you know!” Gawain dropped his spoon and stood. “Are you coming, or no?” “Of course I'm coming! I'm the one who told you –” Perceval didn't finish his statement, because Gawain had already vaulted over the dining table and charged into the fray, which now included four men. Perceval was right on his friend's heels. Most of the tavern goers hid beneath tables, and many had already fled the clean but well-worn building. This was one of the many times Sir Perceval's formidable size and strength was a benefit. As one of the tallest and largest men in the kingdom, sometimes, it took nothing more than him crossing his arms over his broad chest and giving a stern look to convince people to stop engaging in nonsense. But this wasn't one of those times. A mere dirty look wasn't going to stop these four drunk men from tearing each other apart. Elbows and fists flew with abandon and chairs came crashing down over skulls. In that moment, twenty-year-old Sir Perceval Gales wished he was still a farmer, especially when he took a sharp elbow to the jaw, which made him see …show more content…

Drunk men fought hard. The knights had managed to knock out two of the offenders with solid punches, but now, Perceval and Gawain struggled on the floor, grappling with the two men who'd started the fracas. “I can't wait to drag your sorry arses to the dungeons,” growled Gawain, his knee jammed into one offender's back. “My stew's cold now and it's your fault!” The man finally

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