The highest calling, that of a knight, glorious and honorable, a calling to anyone with a heart willing. One of highest standing, noble in deed and title. Yet to be a knight, a strong warrior in the face of a thousand armies, it is a life of tears and sorrows one must follow. Discipline is the greatest foe and friend, a rod to the back to teach what is right.

Those tears that drench your pillow every night, with every bitter sob, strength and endurance are added, building up an impenetrable armor, though now it seems not so. The pain that grips your heart in a claw so cruel, twisting and squeezing it, breath gone from lungs, that pain is a gift in disguise, building up resistance for darker times to come.

Not all complete their Quest, eaten by dragons or falling slave to the siren’s call. Yet to be a knight, to serve the King of all the land, that is the highest calling, to be pursued despite all short comings. When all seems hopeless, new strength will be given by a passerby shadowed in mystery.

Squires so young, yet eager and yearning to learn their craft. Weak made strong by trial and ordeal, held in waters deep till lungs nearly burst but not quite, and crawling onto the shore breathing in sweet air, it’s hard to see the good it has done. Yet the next time, and the next, things will be just a fraction different and growth of self will have occurred.

The Quest is the greatest one any adventurer could ever embark upon, with the greatest reward waiting at the end. To drink the cup of healing and eternal joy from the chalice of hope, to finally lay down the sword and sit at the banquet table, laughing and singing, giving thanks to the host, the King.